#this might be angst but it’s equal parts sweet and loving and down right good | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fanzou · 1 month ago

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Hi!! could you write about sanji dating someone whose old partner only cared about their own happiness (sexually and non sexually) and she starts believing thats how a relationship is supposed to work. sanji shows her it’s not supposed to be like that

Spoil Me!

✗ Pairing: Sanji Vinsmoke x Fem!Reader

✗ Summary: Sanji shows you how to be selfish for a change.

✗ Total WC: 4.4K

✗ CW: Angst, Reader being in a manipulative relationship before Sanji, SMUT, Sanji calls reader lots of pet names, Reader cries in good and bad ways (let me know if I missed any), fluff, Nami smacks your butt (my personal favorite part)

✗ A/N: I always see this prompt with other writers and got super anxious just cuz it could get angsty, but I feel that I did somewhat of a good job with this. I’m happy with it! So… enjoy, and thank you so much for this request!

It’s been 2 months since you and Sanji had established yourselves romantically.

And ever his romantic self, Sanji had always done things different with you. Everything was equal, everything was amazing. Everything felt right in his mind. You’d help him with the dishes, you’d help do his laundry, hell—sometimes he’d let you help prepare his favorite dishes with him to serve to the crew. Of course, there had been a select few things that were off limits, like paying for the bill, which he always had you covered, it was but a friendly gesture. You’d return the favor the next time you guys went out, even if he almost fought the waiter about it. (You couldn’t help yourself!)

When it was absolutely pouring and Sanji saw you hadn’t brought a coat in preparation, there was no hesitation in giving his up for you, but you insisted that you and him could both get underneath the coat like an umbrella, and he swore he fell in love with you all over again right then.

Even though he always liked the idea of being the one to take care of his partner, this was something different, something new. He’d grown to appreciate it—the equal friendship you’d shared. And when he realized his new and profound love for you, he felt unstoppable. Suddenly he wanted everything to do with you, and less to do with anything else. It was like he was attached to your hip. Wherever you went he wasn’t so far behind.

So it was a surprise to no one when you both finally decided to get together. He was ecstatic, the smile on his face couldn’t be wiped away for days.

And then it came crashing down.

exhibit A.

You’ve done this 3 nights in a row.

“My heart, you don’t have to worry about the dishes tonight, okay? I’ve already washed and dried them all, just get some rest.” You kiss his cheek and walk away, presumably to your room.

When the door closes, he finally settles back into reality, what he experienced could only be described as shock. He thought it was just a coincidence the first two nights. Maybe you just wanted to go to sleep a little earlier, but Sanji can’t help but feel a pang in his heart. Though it might seem like a boring little chore to an outsider, there was something that filled his heart about being able to do the dishes with you. It was so much more intimate. There was something about being side by side with you, talking and chatting about how your day went, asking you about the crew, if you did anything special that day. It was the little things for him, and he couldn’t relish in his favorite part of the day because of whatever reason you wanted to finish the dishes as early as possible.

You laughed into his shoulder while he told you something funny he encountered that day, “Sanji, that’s crazy!” Your laugh was so bright. Oh, how he loved to hear your sweet laugh, and this was one of those moments he could cherish it, to really savor it with no disruption.

Another time, you’d tease and get some soap on his cheek and he’d rebuttal by getting you a little wet. He giggled at your gasp and put down the wet dishes for a second and put his wet hands around your hip. You didn’t mind, never. You grabbed his face and pulled him into a kiss while his hands soaked your shirt and pants. It was absolute heaven to him, and he didn’t want it any other way.

Surely he hadn’t done something wrong, that had to be impossible. Given your body language, and the way you leaned into him, everything was fine on his part.

He turns around and twists the door knob to the kitchen to follow you to your room, and makes a quick turn to your door.

He opens it and there you are, already dressed in your night gown, ready to sleep. You look exhausted, he looks at you in what you can almost make out to be a pitiful expression. “Is everything alright, sweetheart?” He walks towards you carefully and lifts your hand into his, and contrary to your tired expression, he can tell you try your utmost to keep an enthusiastic attitude, “Of course! There’s nothing to worry about. You should go to bed Sanj’.” You squeeze his hand, “I don’t want you to be tired.”

A silence falls, until you continue, “Something bothering you? Do you want me to come to bed with you? So you can sleep?”

Even though you meant well, and to anyone else it would seem thoughtful— the words you had uttered were far from reassuring to him.

exhibit B.

It was a special day, a very special one. Something that you almost didn’t want to celebrate, for whatever reason, but with the way it made Sanji so happy to be able to participate in, you couldn’t help but let him have it.

“Happy Birthday!” The crew says in unison. They just got done singing the most off beat and terrible rendition of what they thought was the happy birthday song, and you loved it. the three layer cake was decorated in the most gorgeous pink you had ever seen. Complimented by pink pearls on the sides with what you can only assume to be the most attentive detail, prepared by your one and only. It was thoughtful, almost so thoughtful that there was a guilt forming in your stomach. Nami picks some frosting off the top and swipes it onto your nose, to which you cutely stare at the middle of your face. She licks the residue off her fingers and in satisfaction, she yells to the cook, “Wow Sanji, this is amazing!” His smile softens when he hears her words. “I’m almost jealous. Where was all this for my birthday?”

“Now hurry up and cut the birthday girl a slice before I eat this entire thing!” Luffy exclaims, and everyone is quick to start arguing with him. “Don’t you dare, you idiot!” Nami yells.

You can only laugh, “My slice? That belongs to Sanji!”

The commotion comes to a silence and everyone looks at you, most of them with confused expressions or blank one’s. Sanji doesn’t understand what you meant, and neither did the others so you continue, “It’s important that he gets the first slice, I almost feel bad that I made you prepare such an amazing cake, I couldn’t possibly be the first one to eat it.”

There was an awkward silence, but he decided to break it. “Darling… it’s your cake. I made it especially for you.” You thought about it for a moment, long and hard, before a memory came back to you:

Y’know I bought this cake for you, so it’s only fair that I get the first piece. A bit selfish of you to try to hog it all up, sweetheart. A woman should always serve her man first, ever heard of that? The voice rings through your ears and you shudder.

You scratch your neck and look off to the side, “I was always taught that it was bad manners for me to take the first slice, please Sanji, would you do me the honors?” You look a little nervous to even be saying that. The swordsman answers before he or anyone else can, “Bad manners? Never heard that one before.” He says before taking a sip of his drink. It would be completely unlike Sanji to ever participate in such a tradition, it would be no exaggeration to say that it made him mildly uncomfortable. But because of the way you look at him with pleading eyes, albeit hesitantly—he cuts himself the first piece, and then the rest for everyone else.

“Alright!” Luffy licks his lips. “Let me know if anyone doesn’t finish theirs!”

“I hope you enjoy it, my love.” You say to him with your hand cupping his face. His eyes widen for a split second.

He doesn’t miss the sad look in your eyes.

exhibit C.

This was something you couldn’t do very often with being on the waters almost all of the time, and when you were on ground there was always a quick and rising conflict that had to be dealt with, so it was difficult for you and your lover to get some alone time.

And the restaurant was absolutely fabulous, violin music playing in the back, the red and orange lights that illuminated the environment were calm and not overbearing, they were dimmed just right to fit the seductive atmosphere that you and Sanji both basked in. The food was amazing as well, something he couldn’t say about many restaurants. He wasn’t crazy about this island, but he’d be lying if he said there wasn’t some great food here.

“You look beautiful, dear. This dress is absolutely perfect on you.” Sanji says simply, but it dusts a blush on your face, one that he wishes he could see, but the ambient light does good to mask it, much to his disappointment. He liked leaving you flustered. “You look handsome, but you know that.”

“I like to hear it from you. ‘Makes me feel like I’m the luckiest man alive.” He purrs. You don’t miss the way his feet glide against yours, and the hungry look he gives you.

Like he almost wants to take you then and there. And suddenly the mood changes—from romantic to sexual. There’s a certain glimmer in his eyes that you want to get familiar with, but this is a restaurant, and he had enough food. “I think we should get out of here, my love.” Not taking his gaze from yours, “I’m hungry for something else.”

“I paid the bill already, baby, so we can bounce whenever you want.” You say with an eagerness in your tone, trying to match his energy.

Sanji looks nothing like he did a second ago, he’s confused and almost surprised, sad and angry all at the same time. It’s unlike anything he’s ever seen. He didn’t want you to pay, that’s far from what he wanted you to do. He wanted to pay the bill, and then take you to the nearest hotel and make you feel special. “What do you mean you paid?” His tone is stern now.

“Sanj’, I was taught that it was bad manners to have a man— y’know… pay… ‘cause they do all the work. Y’know? And…” you continue, but Sanji cancels your voice out for a second. You fiddle with your fingers in your lap, you don’t want to look at him anymore, in fear of what he would say to you. You thought you had done the right thing but it probably wasn’t enough to keep him satisfied.

It’s all the same.

Honestly, he didn’t care about whatever bullshit manners anyone’s ever taught you. It’s something that he didn’t approve of. Sanji digs his hand in his hair, he’s frustrated. He loves you, he really does. But this is suuuuch a turn off. As a friend he could take you paying the bill after his countless times doing so, despite his absolute reluctance in letting you do it. It was much more different now that you were finally together. He didn’t want to be upset with you, perhaps you misunderstood, that was all. Your anxiety grew as Sanji stayed quiet, you could tell he was frustrated and you didn’t understand why. No worries, it’s nothing you hadn’t seen before.

“If it makes you feel better, I’ll make you feel good tonight if you’ll let me?” You say with hopeful eyes, and his gaze finally meets yours, but you quickly realize that it’s not enough to satisfy his needs, he just looks at you with a pitiful expression like he had the other few instances you suggested something like this. “My love… if you’ll let me be honest. I don’t really care about whatever dumb manners you had to learn growing up or whoever ingrained those dumbass ideologies into your pretty little head.” He takes your hands, “You’re with me, and I want to be able to make you feel like the most special girl alive.”

You were nervous, and you felt like your nails digging into your palm were bound to break through skin soon, you chewed anxiously on your bottom lip with your brows furrowed. Should you tell him? The last couple weeks of establishing your relationship was nothing short of a fantasy, but you didn't let yourself enjoy it like you wanted to in fear of coming off as selfish.

Would you be able to get the bill this time, babe? I'm a little short.

Ahh, short again. Well I did buy you that one thing... So you can maybe think of this as your payback!

I do enough for our relationship. You can pay this time, don't be greedy.

"Sanji..." you trail off, looking down at your lap once again, "The last guy I was with, he insisted that I did every thing, but the more I'm with you the more that I realize that it was probably very unnatural, to do everything for him. And I'm sorry, but I'm just now learning that." a tear trickles down your cheek. "I'm learning to unlearn this stuff, and I need your help."

He's no longer frustrated, but he can hear his heart break in his chest.

"I'll be here with you, my love. Every step of the way."

the breakthrough

It’s pushing 90 degrees today on the Sunny, and it goes without saying; everyone and everything is hot, scorching even. On days like this, or, who was he kidding? Any day, Sanji will whip up something to help the ladies feel better about any nasty weather they’re in, and while you three bask in the sunlight in your guys’ bikini’s. He loved the sight. And he most certainly hasn’t taken his eyes off of you all day.

You sported a 2-piece, the bottom half barely covered by some unbuttoned jean shorts and because of how hot it was out, there was a thin layer of sweat that coated your form which helped accentuate every curve of your body. He watched from a distance for most of the day, almost avoiding you in fear of pouncing on you in front of everyone. You were so sexy, and he almost felt perverted like this.

He had brought over some drinks for you and Nami and Robin to help somewhat alleviate the heat you had all felt, and you three thanked him kindly, but you noticed that same glint in his eyes, the same from the night at the restaurant. A super-duper mischievous one, and you promised you’d familiarize yourself with it. You wanted so desparately get up and take him to your bedroom and let him have his fun-- but you stopped yourself, like Sanji wanted; you to enjoy your time with the girls and not to worry about anything he was making in the kitchen, what he had to clean up, that fun stuff.

“He’s practically devouring you with those eyes he’s giving you.” Robin speaks, and it leaves you a little embarrassed, laying your head down onto the beach towel, he hasn’t been so discreet about the way he was ogling you.

“Yeah well, ‘second I’m done with this drink we’ll see where it takes us.” The girls giggle, and you clink your glasses together in a silent cheers. In truth, you were nervous, but you did well to mask it. “He’s one lucky guy!” Nami says, playfully smacking your butt.

Finally, he has you all to himself.

You guys are making out in his bed, and he’s so hard he could die. You’re palming him through his shorts and he moans into your mouth. “Fuck, baby.” At this point your jean shorts were easily discarded onto the floor while he slowly but surely makes his way to untying your bikini. He wants it all off. And he’s not shy about it. “Finally.” He makes work of untying your top piece, and you get lost in pleasure. Your tits are even prettier than he thought, and he licks your bud before starting to suck on it. You already feel your heat pooling through your lower piece. “Th-at feels so… so good Sanji. Yes…” You’ve never felt so sensitive, but with the way Sanji was attacking your breasts all while caressing your hips, coupled with the heat, it felt like so much at one time.

Before you get lost in the absolute euphoria that is Sanji, you become aware of one fact,

This simply just isn’t about you. Those words ring like a bell in your head in the midst of the pleasure, and what kind of girlfriend would you be if you let Sanji do all the work? It was so selfish of you to let yourself think that you could relish in this. After all, it’s all about him. Only, about him.

Women aren't even meant to cum, so don't get ahead of yourself sweetheart.

Trying to push away the thought, you softly cup your hand around his cheek and bring him to your lips to assert yourself.

“This is about you.” You quickly straddle his hips and grind on top of him and he groans at that, craving the new friction you gave him. you looked sexy like this, but he wanted this to go his way this time.

In an act of complete rebuttal, Sanji flips you around and you yelp, he lets out a breathless laugh “Yeah, right.” You’re on your back now, and he spreads your legs. He keeps his eyes on your cunt, looking down at it deliciously, and finally he starts stroking it through the only fabric left on your body, up and down with his thumb. You can’t help but let out a moan, this was new, you were used to being demanded--but not in this way. “San…ji… this isn’t fair to you, ba—”

The audible groan that comes out of him was loud and proud. “So tired of hearing that come from your mouth.” He gently moved your underwear to the side and started rubbing your bare clit. “You know what I think is bad manners?” He looks at you, “When I can’t make you feel like the princess you are.” You can’t help but moan, it was obvious you weren’t used to this kind of treatment.

When he presses your thighs against your torso, you're almost shocked, you assume that he’d start to pull his pants down and have his way, but instead, his head comes down to meet your cunt face to face, he pressed kisses on your inner thighs and the sight is so very romantic, you feel so selfish, so very selfish.

It feels amazing.

When his tongue takes its first long swipe across your cunt, it felt dirty, and sooo good. You let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding in and not long after he started his attack on your clit, lapping and sucking on it like a madman. “Sanji… yes.” You moan his name over and over coupled with some curses, and his hands grip tighter onto your thighs. His squelching and sucking, the sounds are so lewd, and you can feel his drool mixed with your juices trickle all the way down to the mattress. The image would forever be ingrained into your head, it was too perfect.

Sanji starts prodding into your cunt with one finger, and then inserts another, scissoring and fucking them into you while you shake under his wrath. “That feels so good, more, pleaseeee.” He meets your gaze and you want to melt at how he looks at you; like you were his lifeline. You feel a knot form in your stomach, something almost unfamiliar to you. You couldn't remember the last time you had an orgasm unless it was from your own fingers.

“Wanna see that pretty face when you cum on mine.” And the fact that he would be the reason behind it made him only hungrier. "I can't... Baby... It’s so much. I think I might… ohhhhh…." Your mix of Sanji's and Fuck's and Yes' only grew breathier and more demanding. "Cum on my face, please, yes." He begs you and his tongue goes faster over your clit.

When you finally bust, you can only mutter a "Mmmmmmmyesssss" with a heaving chest that followed suit, hips grinding into his tongue so you could ride out your orgasm. Your face was in absolute bliss, eyes squinted, brows furrowed, and mouth a little opened from how good it felt. It's almost too much for you, he gives your cunt a few more licks before getting up and massaging your thighs with his thumbs.

"Did that feel good, princess? I'm sorry if it was a little rough." He comes down to your lips and gives you quick kiss.

"Please fuck me Sanji. I need you inside of me, please."

Who was he to deny his princess?

He kisses your lips again while making quick work of the tied knot on his shorts, he didn't even realize how hard he was until he took his shorts off, cock still in his briefs.

Sanji takes off your stretched out underwear and throws it on the floor once and for all, and his own meet yours soon after.

His cock was very long—8 inches, if you had to guess. Curved upright, and it was beautiful, but you'd be lying if you had said that you weren't a little afraid of taking it. Luckily he catches your gaze and he smiles, "You nervous, princess?"

"Just a little bit..."

"Don't be, I'll take it slow." Had you not spilled to him that night about your failure of a previous relationship, he would've taken you for a virgin the way you trembled looking at his dick. He couldn’t begin to imagine the pain and frustration you had endured in your previous relationship, telling him about how he never let you cum and only sought to chase his own pleasure. He was willing to change that, and right now—he’d be damned if he said the way you look at it didn't turn him all the way on. "Watch it go in. Trust me my love, it's not that bad."

You listen and nod, and you watch with him. He lets it slide across your pulsing heat a couple times before he lets his head slowly slide in, he's biting his lip and lets his own line of curses come out of his mouth. When he's about half way in, another breath you didn't know you were holding lets itself out, and another inch, and another, until he's all the way inside, and saying you felt stuffed was really an understatement.

He takes the back of your knees in your hands and spreads them a little further, he starts moving slowly and you both let your sighs of pleasure out.

He starts to pick up his pace when you ask him to, not too quick but steady enough for you to feel every detail of his cock graze your insides. Because of the heat, it's not long until you're both covered in sweat.

He can't help himself, he comes down to kiss you again and talk you through the moment.

"I'm so lucky to have you."

"You're the prettiest woman I've ever met."

"You look so perfect right now."

The praises were too much and you felt insanely spoiled, something you've never felt before. The slapping of skin, the closeness you felt to him, his cock steadily coming out of you, only for it to stuff you full over and over again. The way he kept his eyes on yours, it was so much. And before you knew it, tears ran down your cheeks, ones of pleasure and joy--you couldn't tell which was which.

"I love you so much, S-Sanji."

He kisses your tears away, "I love you more, princess. You're doing amazing." Kisses your lips, but not for too long as he doesn’t want to mask your beautiful sounds.

“You’re so beautiful when you cum, baby. Are you gonna cum soon? I wanna see it again.”

Now, Sanji’s thrust are sloppier but a little more harder, you can tell he’s probably going to approach an orgasm soon along with you.

“Y-Yes. Ohhhhhh fuuuucckkk~”

“You take me so well, princess. You were made for me.” The clapping between your bodies gets louder, and you try your hardest to bury yourself into the pillow from how good it felt. “Look at me.”

You obeyed, like you always do, even though he looks disheveled; mouth covered in juices and spit, there’s beads of sweat running down his face, he really loves this moment with you.

“Tell me you love me” he says.

“I love you.” His thrusts are inconsistent now, but he’s still hitting the same spongy spot inside of you.

“Again.”

“I love you, Sanji. Ohhh, shit.”

“Again.”

“I love you so much! So, so much! I’m gonna cum again! Mhhh!”

And just like you spoke, you came all over him, it hit his chest, his balls, thighs, and all over the mattress, and he fucks some of it back into you while he follows you in reaching his own orgasm.

Before he can, he pulls out of you and releases the hot white liquid onto your stomach, stroking his dick til there was nothing left in him to give.

Completely disregarding the fact that he just came all over your stomach, he collapses onto you and joins you in almost synchronized breaths. “That was… amazing…” you managed to say. “Thank you so much.”

Sanji rolls over and pulls you onto his chest, “You deserve everything and more, that was only a fragment of how much I appreciate you, sweet thing.”

To his surprise, you get up from your position and look at him. You scan his body and come to one conclusion, “I should probably clean you up a bit.”

He wants to roll his eyes, but instead he takes your arm and yanks you down with him in the same position you were before. “If I’m gonna be dirty, I’ll be dirty with to you. But if you wanna take a bath with me, that’s a different story” once again, that mischievous undertone in his voice is something you can’t miss.

You’ve still got a long way to go, but he’ll be there with you through every step.

#vinsmoke sanji #sanji vinsmoke x reader #sanji x reader #sanji x you #sanji x y/n #one piece x reader #one piece #zoro x reader #roronoa zoro #law x reader #law trafalgar x reader #law trafalgar

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alwaysanundertone · 6 months ago

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hiw Abt a marauderers x FEM reader, like where it's after a double moon or smth and Remus is EXTREMELY clingy to the reader, snuggled in her, doesnt let her move, literally anything...and sirius on the other hand is in an awful mood cuz he had some family problem or some thing...he needs support and the reader or Remus aren't there to help him out..and jamesie? Well he had a quidditch match and lost that and is in an equally depressive mood...they all need the reade..but she isn't able to comfort them all...

Sirius becomes and and shouts at the reader...rmeua shouts at sirius for shouting at the reader and James (he can't shout, he's too sweet lol) argues with Remus for being to clingy to the reader...

And so they all get mad and stuff and go to other rooms of the house (lol)

This keeps on continuing until the reader lashes out on all three of them!!!

(p.s: u can totally not do it, if u don't like it lol)

my first request! I'm kind of nervous. My requests are open, and while writing this I realized how much I love them! So feel free to send them <3

Love can be overwhelming | poly! marauders x reader

slight angst / a bit of fluff

word count: 1.8k

CW: mention of abusive household

part 1, part 2 , part 3

When you started dating the Marauders, the first thing that your friend Dorcas said was to beware, polyamorous relationship could be tough. At first, you brushed her off: you knew that, but your love for the boys would have overcome everything.

Or at least you thought so.

You have been experiencing the worst week of your whole life, you were stressed over your head with schoolwork, wanting to stay on top of your class but, also, struggling too, and this time, your boyfriends weren’t helping at all.

It all started with the fact that, obviously, it was the week before the full moon, meaning that Remus was extremely on edge, but also clingy. Having an afternoon for yourself was a luxury: the werewolf had to stay by your side all of the time. You didn’t quite get this clinginess, because he behaved this way only with you; he wanted to have the other two marauders near, of course, but he was fine as long as you didn’t wonder off, and sometimes he seemed to be a bit possessive over you. So, let’s say that if you felt the need to have some practice lessons for potions, he had to be there, and it didn’t matter if the professor didn’t want anyone else in the room with you: you had to choose between having him near you, or skipping the extra lessons you so desperately needed.

“Remus, I know it’s stressful for you, but you must understand I have to take this class. It’s not like I’m going to be gone all afternoon, I’m asking you for two hours maximum. You know that Slughorn doesn’t like having other people during these lessons, and he’s doing me a favour here” He looked like you just might have kicked him.

“I don’t understand why my partner suddenly doesn’t want me around.” You took a deep breath: truth was, you knew that he wasn’t being unreasonable because he wanted to. If his werewolf instincts weren’t acting up, he would have probably pushed you to take even more lessons, but now he wasn’t in his right mind. You had to chance tactic.

“Baby, you know that I love you, right? I love you so, so much” You took his face into your hands, you saw his expression visibly shift. “And I know it isn’t easy for you, I know that. I swear, if you go napping now, you won’t even notice I’m gone”

“But napping is way more fun with you” His voice turned sultry, his hands now groping your ass lightly. You couldn’t help but feel a pang of need, but now was not the time.

“Tell you what, I’m going to lay down with you until you’re asleep. I’ll give you some head scratches, then, when I’ll be back, you’ll have me all to yourself. Does this sound good?” His pupils were now a little bit wider; he nodded and hauled you on his shoulder, making you yelp when he made you fall on the bed. He positioned his head on your chest, a hand crawling underneath your shirt to grip one of your tits possessively, while the other one stayed underneath your ass, the tips of his fingertips hovering dangerously close to your core.

You knew that his hold wasn’t casual: he was trying to make you stay, knowing the effect that he had on you, but you couldn’t give in: you had to stay strong, because deep down you knew that, if you failed this exam, you wouldn’t be in the right mind to help Remus during the full moon.

You just had to get through this week, it was only 7 days, right? And most of today was gone, if the other boys would be helpful, as they always did, everything was going to be just fine.

You wandered off to the Great Hall for breakfast, exhausted. After the lesson with Slughorn, you came back to a very needy Remus, who took all of his clinginess out of you, leaving you sore and tired; while he slept soundly, though, you had to study and make up for the hours lost being supportive for your boyfriend, leaving you with about two hours of sleep in the last forty-eight hours.

“Hey girl, didn’t see you in our dorm room yesterday, oh what the fuck-“ Dorcas looked at you like you might have grown another head during the nighttime. “Babes, have you slept? Like, at all?”

“No, I haven’t. Remus is being extremely clingy, and you know that I’m not the best when it comes to Potions. Given the fact that the test is going to be next week, I barely have time to rest” She scoffed, but you interrupted her before she could start. “I know that James and Sirius should help, but he’s being this clingy only with me, and they can’t do much about that; plus, the upcoming game is stressing them out so much, yesterday they came to bed after practice, they didn’t even eat anything. I just want to support them”

She sighed. “I know baby, but try to not burn out, okay? If you need any help, I’m here, you know? Now, let’s go eat something”

You were happy to share some time with her and your boyfriends, but when you sat next to Sirius, one look at him told you anything that there was to know.

He didn’t greet you, didn’t sport his usual smirk: he was looking down at his plate like it might have held the answer to all his problems, while James looked at you preoccupied. Remus just held you close to himself. You tried to peel yourself away from his embrace, to not avail.

“Sirius, baby, do you want to talk? We can skip the first few hours and go on a walk to the Black Lake?” Now he was looking at you, his eyes were red and puffy, you tried to not cringe at his expression.

“It’s okay, Y/N, just the usual” You hated how he always seemed to shut down, not wanting to share his problems with you. As you tried to reach for his hand, Remus snatched you back, holding you close to him: you could see the moment in which Sirius shut you out for good, and you wanted to kick Remus for it.

“I’m going to handle this, you’re going to think about Remus, okay darling? Then I will report back to you, I swear” James whispered in your ear, You took a deep breath, nodding: you were thankful for him, but you still didn’t want to make Sirius feel like he couldn’t count on you.

You had the time to eat a biscuit before you had to head to class, Remus trailing behind you. You just had to wait for a few days, a few days and all of this would be over, and you had James to help you get through this week. You would be fine, you told yourself.

On Wednesday, you were thankful that Remus had an important herbology test, which gave you enough time to check in with Sirius. You entered their dorm room, spotting his curled frame under piles of blankets: you felt a pang of guilt, you swore your heart broke just a little.

Without making any sounds, you peeled the blankets off and wrapped your body around his, he startled in his sleep.

“Shh, baby, I’m right here. You’re safe, you know that? And I’ll always be here for you, no matter what” It was like you opened a faucet: his body started trembling, and then came the sobbing, he turned around and hugged you back, you caressed his head and back softly. After he quieted down a bit, you took his face into your hands, forcing him to look into your eyes. “Would you like for me to sing for you?” He nodded eagerly, burying his face in your chest, while you sang him a lullaby.

After a bit, you heard his breath even out. Your heart ached for your lover, you didn’t know what living in an abusive household felt like, and you sometimes even felt guilty over the fact that you had the most loving parents someone could ever asked for. You knew it was silly, but if you could, you’d swap family in a blink of an eye, everything to take this burden off of Sirius’s shoulders.

“Is he okay?” James whispered, startling you. He bent down, placing a soft kiss on your head. “I don’t know, Jamie. He had a breakdown, now he is asleep. I don’t know how to help him, I don’t want him to suffer like this every month.”

“I know, love, I know. You’re doing your best, and he appreciates it. But” He looked at you embarrassed, and you already knew what was going on, you sighed. “Remus just finished his test, and he’s going kind of nuts, he wants you by his side. You should go”

“Can’t he just come here, so we could cuddle?”

“I don’t know, love. This moon seems different, he got a lot more possessive over you. He just wants you for himself, I think we’re going to fix this before the next month, but for now, I think you should go”

You nodded, looking down art Sirius for the last time, before looking for Remus.

You prayed Sirius didn’t feel abandoned by you, but you still had James to count on.

On Thursday, you stayed in bed all day with Remus. You studied, of course, and he seemed happy to have you around. You didn’t see Sirius at all, given the fact that you stayed at your dorm, but you thought that James was handling him well.

Exactly, you thought, because, as you and Remus took your seats for the Friday’s night Quidditch game, after having studied all day in the library, you felt a bit anxious. You told yourself you were being paranoid, but deep down, you knew something was off, and when Sirius entered the Quidditch pitch, you knew he wasn’t okay. He didn’t come to greet you, didn’t even look at you, and when you shoot a glance at James, he just averted his gaze: you were fucked.

You took a deep breath and snuggled closer to Remus, his clinginess now comforting, as the game begun. From the first actions, you knew that they were going to lose: Sirius looked like he wasn’t even trying, while James was too preoccupied to check on him to score a single goal.

And as the game ended, you knew your night was going to be an awful one: Gryffindor just lost the game.

#sirius black #james potter #marauders #remus lupin #poly!marauders angst #poly!marauders fic #poly!marauders fluff #poly!marauders x reader #poly!marauders imagine #poly!marauders x you

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violestars · 9 months ago

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𝙡𝙚𝙩 𝙝𝙞𝙢 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙠 𝙄 𝙣𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙙 𝙝𝙞𝙢

𝙥𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: Sunday x male reader

𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: childhood friends to best friends to nothing au, where rejecting your confession is worth more than the pain of infecting your perfect image with his sinful existence.

𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚: not proof read, !!only male readers!!

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: yandere-ish?,maybe ooc, mention of religion, implied homophobia, angst no comfort, just depressing.

𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙨: part 1, part 2

Your childhood friend is a rather confusing fellow, to the point where one would think his significant other, if he ever has one, is the type to do riddles for fun. You also love riddles but moreover, you love him. Can anyone blame you? You were consumed by these feelings in your undeveloped mind. Seven was the age you fell for Sunday, for the charming boy that is your childhood friend. Maybe it was just some puppy love between two foolish kids but no one can explain the bubbling excitement in your stomach whenever a barely visible pout was drawn on his face, whenever he uses sugar coated words to kindly ask others to leave you two alone or how his clinginess to you was shown so slyly. You were an equal to Sunday and it has left a sweet taste on your tongue till this day.

As you grow older, your mind started to question this fondness for him. You were taught love doesn't need any explanation but you aren't dumb, there are always reasons behind everything. Even the unknown comfort, warmness one could find in another is also a reason. You knew that because you have experienced it with Sunday but that wasn't your concern, for now at least. Deep down you knew this love for the other male wasn't merely a mystery, your relationship did not belong in those cheap romcoms you two would binge on a sunday night. Was it more evident on the day you went crying to him about your religious mother? Was it because of the warm hands that traced your cheeks, causing you to lean into such softness as he teased you with a coo? How you wished he could repeat his supposedly sin against his perfectionist family's belief was the attraction to the same gender, how the boyish smirk once he admitted how good rebellion feels.

School isn't your strongest suit and you beat yourself up for that, it also didn't help knowing your insecurity enabled the hatred from others. From family to friends, even strangers, their greatest gift to you was just pitiful stares. Sunday was different though, the soft smile that never fails to comfort you, the warm embrace of the only friend you can lean on, he was truly a breath of fresh air throughout suffocating days of school. The only subject you were good at is literature but the skills you've gained failed to form a clear answer to why your best friend has never doubted you. Asking him yourself only made the progress more complicated for both your mind and heart, as he flicked your head and told you about how much he worried more about your efforts than some silly printed texts.

“Your mind is built from poetry, not numbers, my little train-wreck.” You remembered his soothing voice right beside your ear, ignoring his ways with words and how it shaded your tear-stained canvas a light red, you let out a weak chuckle to lighten the mood.

“And yours is built of riddles. I'm not stable enough to solve one right now, Sun.” Your lighthearted response only brought him to laughter, a smile now placed onto your face as you silently hoped he would drop whatever sentimental words he just thought of since it was already as awkward as it could be. Who in their right mind would ask their best friend to climb through the bedroom window just because regrets were hitting too hard at 3 am? The guy has a controlling family for god's sake.

“You let people treat you so poorly just because of a subject, or it is everything about you throws them off. Why, though? You might think you're weird but I feel like you're just performing. A spectacular show that doesn't meet its audience, so desperately wants to be heard.”

As you thought you couldn’t drown yourself in thoughts of him further, this only deepened it. How you wondered if he actually has a third eye, silently guilding your thoughts to their respective docks. In your mind, he is the epitome of elegance, sometimes you wonder if the word is made specifically for him. Sunday is just perfect, while in one way he was expected to be due to being the adopted son of such a high status family, you felt like he doesn't even have to try. He handled stressful situations with ease, he joked it's you who taught him so with your antics. You two are the polar opposite, yet it felt like two puzzle pieces finding each other, different notes that falls in tune. You wondered how he tolerated everything throughout the years, not that you were complaining, it was just your anxiety often questions the authenticity of this friendship but as his hand cradled your face, the usual smile reserved for only you entered the view, you knew the dreams about him were real because Sunday adores you.

Unfortunately, your dreams crashed. You mentally cursed him for ruining everything, but it was not his fault he couldn't reciprocate those feelings, it was not his fault he is destined for greatness and you are the loser that existed. You knew you were being petty but it hurt how everything turned out to be a cacophony in disguise, how you two favored the full moon that night like the way you favored each other. Well, the way you favored him. Sunday wouldn't know all these shameful thoughts, you only nodded at his kind refusal with choked breaths after all. His frown only deepened once he noticed how tears sharp as the finest blade threatened to fall from your eyes and slice through his heart, but he didn't say anything. It hurts that your feelings were treated like a slipped word, a dumb accident, by both you and mostly him.

He knew you're worried, he was trained to be attentive to every change to his surroundings yet here he was, hands in a tight grip like how his thoughts were tied together in a messy knot. Sunday has been avoiding you, not right after the night of your confession though, he wasn't that cruel but he was evil enough to do it after reassuring you, hoping you would not throw away such unshakable friendship. Reason was, Sunday didn't know why he couldn't accept your love, he should have trust in every card he played, that was what they taught him.

It just tasted bitter. He isn't a saint, he hoped you also knew that, his mouth is filled with lies and his existence needs to be soaked in soap. In other words, Sunday is a freak of nature. Him and his sister were adopted to a rich family after the passing of their parents. Sadly enough, he still felt like nobody's son, his every step reminds him of walking on fragile ice under the threatening gaze of his so-called guardians but he still walks anyways. His sister, Robin, has her own dreams to fulfill and no one will dared to rewritte her role into another plaything for the Gods. That's why Sunday will carry all the burdens, the responsibility that will never be put onto Robin's freely spread wings and he works hard to keep it that way.

Sunday lived in this facade that is made of others' desires, he was a trapped bird that pretends to be an eagle, he felt like the strongest piece but never the mastermind. Unlike him, his darling was the salvation humanity carved for all their miserable life, you were the living proof that the lord heard his songs. You slowly metamorphosed into his only God though, Sunday believed his schemes were always concealed because he worshiped you. Sunday believed you didn't exist because he was only worthy of your afterimage. You were and are his 'father', his entire universe. He shamefully found himself praying to your name against the family's knowledge, images of your beauty embroidered in his mind rather than any flight of fancy.

But how Sunday loathed himself, how pitiful is he if everyone were starting to lead their own life yet he was still following a script, how unfortunate is he if the boy of his dreams felt like the vast sky from his cage. Why does one feel deep disgust within but still mindlessly follows the same path? He wanted to fly upward, to feel your touch but the sky is unreachable and so is you. Sunday knows his love for you like the back of his hand, it's more than the platonic feeling towards his sister and the ambition towards a perfect future, it's the only thing the family didn't plant into his mind at such a young age. His love for you felt like the only thing he could freely express.

You knew he wished to live in a dreamscape, where he would generate happiness for the unfortunates but you don't know this dreamland of his sprouted from the purest of love for you. Those troublesome worries won't reach you there, he swore upon his life that he would shield you away from this brutal world in your new home. You only laughed at his silly delusion though, you never wanted to live in a lie and he knew that clearly. Sunday envied that part of you, he detested how strong you are despite all attempts to drag you down but maybe that's what confirmed his feelings towards you.

You were able to confuse Sunday in the best way possible. You could sob about how ugly you are, complain about your failure of a life and hatred for reality but in the end, you didn't mean it. You wanted to live for the imperfect tomorrow, you wanted to erode a stone that is your destiny with him, with Sunday. Yes, that's what you are. So imperfectly beautiful as he's perfectly fake. That's why he would push you away, as unreasonable as his actions were, he will not taint your future and dirty your determination, this kaleidoscoping pain shall never reach your ears. Sunday doesn't want anyone to find out you're his weakness, he doesn't want to acknowledge you're the sweet reality to his pained dream. He was happily in your shadow even if he could catch a glimpse of your performance.

Sunday loves you so he will let you go.

#male reader #x male reader #honkai star rail #sunday hsr #sunday honkai star rail #sunday x male reader #sunday x reader #angst #hurt/no comfort #yandere male #yandere male x male reader #honkai star rail x male reader #gay #yaoi bl #violewritas

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sweetkpopmusings · 8 months ago

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long for you (act two) | h. hyunjin <3

a/n: i've returned with the second part of "long for you!" this is potentially the longest section, but we'll see :^) also ah! if you'd like to be added to the tag list, please reply to this or send me an ask <3 pics not mine <3

♡ find all parts here ♡

content: fluff, romance, fake dating, angst, a happy ending | wc: 7.7k | warnings: mentions of food/eating, a kiss, some crying | pairing: nonbinary!painter!hyunjin x gn!writer!reader | requests: open

synopsis: y/n is a writer with a long-awaited, well-deserved career opportunity. despite the excitement, there’s one major problem: the publisher expects a modern love story, equally romcom-like and authentic, but y/n lacks the inspiration to write something worth reading. through a chance meeting with mutual friends, y/n and hyunjin bond over upcoming deadlines and creative blocks. before the conversation ends, they discover that the ridiculous plot of fake dating might just work to solve their inspirational dry spell.

act two: the lovers

“sorry we are starting with something so stereotypical,” hyunjin smiles sheepishly as you both slide into your seats with fresh drinks.

“it’s okay! coffee shop dates are a default for me, if i’m being honest.”

they nod, pleased with your answer, “well then, why don’t you tell me about some of your other defaults?”

“meaning?”

“tell me about the music you listen to on repeat, the shows you watch and rewatch, your favorite color shirt to wear, your go-to story to tell at a party…” hyunjin pauses, pink tinting their ears when realizing he’s starting to ramble, “should i give you more examples?”

you laugh, “no, i think i get the gist of what you’re asking. hmm, let’s see…”

hyunjin waits patiently while you gather your thoughts and find a good place to start. it’s always a bit intimidating when you try to figure out the perfect conversation piece for a date. even if you’ve talked with someone over text beforehand, a lot rides on the first part of yourself that you share, even if it isn’t anything particularly vulnerable. perhaps because you’re a writer, you’re always hyper-aware of impressions, specifically the first ones you leave on and have about others. with hyunjin, your nerves dissipated after you walked through the coffee shop doors and waved to them. this arrangement, fake as it is, lends itself to a real comfort from the very beginning. you are not there to impress hyunjin. you’re there to know him for the sake of knowing him, and he’s there for the sake of knowing you.

hyunjin remains engaged with each anecdote you share, reacting enthusiastically at the exciting bits and showing concern at the right times. they even ask follow-up questions, make silly comments, and write down some new content to check out per your recommendation. by the time your drinks are halfway gone, you realize you’ve been the main one talking.

“so, when do i get to hear about your defaults? it feels as though i’ve been talking your ear off this entire time.”

hyunjin smiles, “i haven’t noticed! it’s really enjoyable listening to you.”

a sweet silence fills the space between you as they smile from across the table. you feel heat rising to your face at the tender attention, but, thankfully, it dissipates when hyunjin starts to speak.

“maybe it’s cliché, but i feel like it’s only natural if i start by talking about painting.”

“yes, please! i’d love to know about how that became your focus in art and life.”

hyunjin grins, a visible spark appearing in their eyes, “contrary to popular belief, painting wasn’t the first artistic medium i tried. i actually thought i’d pursue sculpture. there was something about it being so tactile, you know? like being able to feel the artwork with my bare hands, it was like my body movements were a part of the piece itself. and, being a pretentious college student, i loved leaving my actual fingerprint as my signature on each sculpture.”

hyunjin rolls their eyes, and you laugh, “oh, don’t even get me started on the pretentious stuff i used to do with writing assignments in high school and college.”

“oh, we’ll definitely be coming back to that,” hyunjin teases, “but even with my dramatic flair, sculpting started to…not necessarily bore me, but become…mundane. it was as though i hit a creative wall. none of my sculptures inspired me anymore; nothing seemed to go right. changbin reassured me that it was probably just a slump–we all have them, creative or not, as he said–i just knew that it was deeper than that. i was always searching for something in my work, and it felt like i had lost it in sculpting. then, by a stroke of luck or fate or good ole early adulthood happenstance, i attended a painting class. i don’t even remember why i took that particular class. immediately, though, it was like i was on fire with ideas. i remember my friends having to force me to leave the studio and eat, shower, or exist as a normal human being,” they laugh, slightly embarrassed at their former self’s antics, “eventually i calmed down from that initial creative high, of course. the fulfillment and energy painting gave me lasted. even today, even right now while talking about it, i can feel the urge to sketch out new ideas. so, i guess this is a long-winded way of me saying that, after taking a singular painting class, i fell in love with it, and years later i still haven’t expressed all that i need to through it.”

you nod, gratefully absorbing all of the information hyunjin shared with you. you notice there was an electricity in their voice when he discussed painting, hands gesturing excitedly and precisely when discussing how painting made them feel. regardless of your relationship with the art form, hyunjin’s description of it made you want to give painting a go. if you were honest, something about hyunjin’s words left you craving the feeling of a paintbrush in your hand. their words are like magic, and you wonder if all the great painters before had ever spoken so beautifully about the practice themselves.

“that’s incredible, hyunjin. it’s obvious you’re in the right field.”

he giggles, tucking his hair behind his ear, “i’m glad you think so. i always trust the judgment of a fellow artist.”

you giggle in response to their wink, and continue, “if you’re willing, i’d love to see some of your work. i know i could look it up online, but i figured i’d abstain from an internet investigation before our first fake date.”

hyunjin laughs, “i really appreciate that, y/n. i promise i didn’t read any of your writing before this.”

you feel a wave of relief wash over you, surprised that you were nervous about the prospect of hyunjin reading your work. before you could dwell on that mini revelation, hyunjin speaks again.

“rather than just show you some of my paintings, i think there’s something better we could do.”

their smile is playful, and you can’t deny the butterflies that flutter in your chest when you imagine the possibilities of what could be going on inside hyunjin’s head.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

sunlight washes over you, pleasantly warm and gently bright. hyunjin busies themself with the setup of the easels–small ones, so you both could sit comfortably on the picnic blanket he brought–and meticulously arranges the painting supplies. they hum a vaguely familiar melody, and your mind and body relax as you eat fresh fruit and sip homemade lemonade.

“ah!” hyunjin claps their hands together, “perfect!”

you give him a round of applause, which they respond to with a bow and thank you, thank you.

with two blank canvases in front of you, hyunjin asks, “do you know where you’re going to start?”

“hmmm,” your eyes sweep around the park, observing shadows fluttering in the shape of tree leaves and happy people walking and chatting down the park’s path, “ironically, i’m finding it hard to think of something when this place is so…idyllic.”

hyunjin sighs, more dreamily than in exasperation, “i totally get what you mean. maybe we can find a random prompt online?”

“what, like use a painting prompt generator?”

hyunjin makes a look of disgust, as cute and earnest as a toddler refusing vegetables, “no! i mean look for a list of prompts on tumblr or something and then choose one that sounds viable for us to complete on our date.”

biting your lip to prevent the instinctual smile that would erupt after a beautiful person says something like our date, you reply, “that works for me. why don’t you choose, as you’re the resident artist here?”

hyunjin agrees and gets right to work scouring the internet for the perfect picnic date painting idea. you busy yourself with finding the perfect playlist for your activity, which aids hyunjin in deciding on a prompt.

“how does painting the view from your bedroom window sound?”

“how do you know what the view from my bedroom window is?”

hyunjin’s eyes go wide, and they start shaking their hands frantically, desperate to dispel the thought of knowing anything about your bedroom, so you laugh and speak again before they fall too far down the rabbit hole, “i’m just teasing you, hyunjin! i know you’re not a creep who has previously snuck into my bedroom. that sounds like a perfect idea for our paintings.”

“phew!” hyunjin wipes imaginary sweat from their brow, “i’m glad we’ve cleared that all up. so let’s get started! let me know if you would like any tips along the way. i doubt you’ll need any, but i have made plenty of mistakes while mixing colors and choosing brush sizes to be quite the teacher.”

you both giggle at this admission and soon shout ready, get set, go! as you pick up your brushes. despite the racelike commentary, you both take your time. there is a calmness surrounding you, conversation sparse and ease abundant. much to your surprise, hyunjin asks for your advice a couple of times on their painting choices. you’re honored, which you tell them, and they only give you a look of confusion.

“what’s so strange about me asking for insight? you’re someone with a beautiful mind, and i’d be a fool not to appreciate your proximity.”

“you really know how to butter someone up, don’t you?”

hyunjin shakes his head, “according to changbin, i can only flirt unintentionally. it has to be natural; otherwise, i talk like someone who hasn’t had contact with another human in far too long.”

you laugh, not quite believing him, but you thank them for how they view your creativity. they jump at every opportunity you give them to discuss your painting, each time responding with grace and consideration. while you don’t spend too much of your time talking, you learn that everything hyunjin does with art is full of intention. that, you realize, must be what draws you in so intensely to their words and into the painting they hold before you.

“what do you think?”

hyunjin’s eyes are wide with anticipation as you scan every detail: the blue tint on the walls, the knick-knacks cluttering the desk, the dawn colors in the sky, and the two butterflies, mid-flight, just ahead of the windowsill.

“wow,” you breathe out softly, “it’s beautiful, hyunjin. i feel like i’m at home.”

they beam at your response and say about a thousand thank you’s in the span of about 20 seconds. when you show your painting, hyunjin takes just as much care in viewing yours. his focus is a little intimidating because of the ardor with which they examine your piece, but you trust that they won’t say anything too critical.

“this is stunning, y/n!”

you blush, a little taken aback by the passion, “you think so?”

hyunjin nods vigorously, “absolutely! i love everything about it. the textures, the colors, the items you included…all of it fits together so perfectly. sitting right in front of it makes me feel as though i’m safe from the outside world. it’s…serene.”

your head turns toward your painting, reviewing everything hyunjin mentioned, almost as though you’re looking for evidence of their claims. before your gaze can turn skeptical, hyunjin’s voice breaks your concentration.

“can i have it?”

you whip your head towards them, “huh?”

they gesture to the canvas beside you, “your painting. can i have it? i’d love to hang it above my desk, as an inspiration and a reprieve. i totally understand if you aren’t comfortable with that, or if you want to keep it for yourself, so no pressure! i just…well, honestly, i’d love to look at it and be reminded of today.”

you pretend you don’t notice the pinkness of hyunjin’s ears in hopes that they don’t notice the same flush on your skin, “um, yeah. yes! i’d be more than happy to give this to you.”

they nearly squeal with excitement and beg you to sign it. after your signature is placed in the corner, you hand it over to hyunjin. they stare at it lovingly, holding it with more care than you ever would have. after a little while, they look back up at you.

“why did you choose to paint the sunset at the very end, when there aren’t that many colors left in the sky?”

you can’t say that you thought it through before putting brush to canvas, but you pause before answering. if it’s for hyunjin’s curiosity, you’re more than willing to dig around in your brain for unearthed motivations.

“i think,” you start, not entirely confident but fully honest, “i think that i notice more of the world that’s right outside my room as i’m saying goodbye to the day. it’s like a transition from my public life to my private life, and, even though the night is only beginning, that time of day is when i can safely say ‘see you tomorrow’ to anything that isn’t in my home. that, or i just liked the colors of dusk better.”

you both laugh, and hyunjin sets the painting back on the easel before replying, “whatever the case, i’m honored that you’re letting me into that window of time with you. i’ll cherish this perspective, this moment, forever.”

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

you fidget with your clothes, tugging them to be sure they’re in exactly the right place, as hyunjin knocks on the door.

they turn to you and smile, “don’t worry, y/n, you look perfect.”

you smile back, now messing with your accessories, “thank you. i guess i feel extra nervous because i’m not used to going to things like this without felix or jisung.”

you feel a little embarrassed to admit that, but hyunjin shows no sign of judgment. instead, they pat you gently on the shoulder. the right amount of comfort.

“i know what you mean. you’ve got me though! let me know at any time if you need an escape. plus, i’m pretty sure felix will be here, so he can run away with you too.”

a giggle escapes your lips as changbin opens the apartment door, loudly greeting you and hyunjin.

“y/n! so glad you could make it!” changbin grins widely, beckoning you and hyunjin into his place.

as soon as you’re inside, changbin wraps his arm around hyunjin’s waist and places a kiss on their cheek. hyunjin laughs and wipes his cheek with the back of their hand, which earns a complaint from changbin.

“i love you, but i don’t want your cooties.”

“since when is it a crime to kiss the homies?”

“oh my god, changbin, you did not just say that,” a voice of disapproval chimes in from the living room.

you turn to the source of the voice and notice someone with long hair–similar to hyunjin’s, just lighter–and sharp features. before you even need to ask, hyunjin whispers jeongin to you.

“as in…?”

hyunjin nods, “yes, the jeongin who is ruining my life with his exhibition theme.”

jeongin turns his head so you can see him roll his eyes, “for once, our emo boy can’t come up with something heart-wrenching. i’m assuming that’s where you come in?”

he raises an eyebrow to you, more playful than inquisitive, so you nod, “yep! hyunjin’s muse, reporting for duty.”

you hear changbin laughing from the kitchen, and it grows louder as he returns with your drinks, “please, make yourselves at home! minho is almost done with the food, and felix should be here soon, so get comfortable!”

hyunjin guides you to the living room, and you catch a glimpse of minho working hard on the meal you’ll all devour far too quickly. yet another handsome member of the friend group–dizzying to think about how many attractive people are currently surrounding you–he also carries distinct features, particularly a sharp nose, and holds himself with certainty.

somehow reading your mind, hyunjin leans over to you, “don’t be intimidated. we’re obviously the hottest people here.”

you both snicker like schoolchildren, and you feel your shoulders relax bit by bit. felix’s arrival helps, especially since he engulfs you into one of his classic hugs the second he’s within arm’s reach.

“felix! you act like you didn’t just see me yesterday,” you chuckle, not making a move to break the embrace.

“yeah, yeah, i need to make sure your partner here doesn’t forget who comes first!”

felix sticks his tongue out at hyunjin, causing them to throw their head back in laughter. almost perfectly on cue, minho calls out to confirm that dinner is ready. changbin rushes around to serve everyone’s dishes, only being slightly micromanaged by minho. the conversation continues easily, while you all enjoy the graciously prepared meal. you learn not just about the new people in the room, but more about hyunjin: how they were in university, endless tales of their clumsiness, his affinity for painting flowers and portraits of strangers, as well as his never-ending love and support for those close to him. endeared only scratches the surface of the warm feeling growing inside you as you discover these qualities of hyunjin’s. if you were honest, you never wanted the conversation to go in a different direction. your heart was full learning more about the person at your side, and you were thoroughly entertained by all the faces he made when his friends embarrassed him. perhaps chasing the same warmth, hyunjin steers the conversation toward you.

“it feels a little silly to ask basic questions,” minho smirks, “hyunjin has already told us so much about you.”

felix giggles, “how could they not? y/n is the best.”

you smile at felix and then at hyunjin, who is trying to convince you that minho is exaggerating.

“i’ll only accept the best for our hyunjin, so let’s see if you really meet those standards, y/n,” changbin jokingly assumes the persona of a hardcore journalist, ready to get to the bottom of the night’s biggest story.

with that, hyunjin’s friends ask you question after question, sometimes starting with hyunjin told us about this, but we’d love to hear more from you in order to make hyunjin squirm in their seat. hyunjin’s adorableness reduces any anxiety or stress you would have normally felt when getting, for lack of a better term, examined by their friends. with him and felix on either side of you, you feel like you are in on the fun, not trapped in the spotlight.

“okay, okay, i think we can give y/n a break from the interview,” hyunjin puts their hands up in your defense.

changbin sighs, leaning back in his seat, “fine, but only because you asked, hyunjinnie.”

you could almost hear a collection of heart emojis coming from changbin’s mouth. it is funny how flirtatious he is with hyunjin, but you couldn’t deny a twinge of jealousy every time he made hyunjin blush. sure, you are fake dating them. but is it so out-of-pocket to feel as though you should be the one making hyunjin giggle, twirl their hair, and kick his feet? you make a mental note to ask felix that very question tomorrow, crossing your fingers that you were just feeling very committed to the bit and nothing else.

hours pass in the blink of an eye, and you only realize how tired you feel once felix mentions the time.

jeongin stretches, quickly standing up from the couch, “well, since changbin promised he would do all the dishes, i vote we all leave quickly so as to not hold him back from his chores!”

changbin yells in protest to no avail against jeongin’s mischievous grin. minho mutters something about “the kids” fighting again as he walks back to the kitchen. you hear the sink running and decide to invite minho to any dinner party you throw in the future.

felix checks his pockets to ensure he didn’t leave anything, turning to you before heading to the entryway, “would you like me to accompany you home?”

you shake your head, “no, that’s okay, felix! we live in opposite directions, and i can safely get home by myself. you go and get some rest!”

“who said you’re getting home by yourself?” hyunjin tilts his head.

changbin whoops from the kitchen, causing felix to laugh and hyunjin to quickly clarify, “i mean, who said that your partner wouldn’t make sure that you arrive home in one piece? it’s the chivalrous thing to do.”

“as long as it’s chivalrous and nothing more…” felix makes an i’m watching you gesture towards hyunjin.

you roll your eyes and wave goodbye to felix. within a handful of minutes, you and hyunjin are saying your goodbyes. hyunjin helps you to put on your shoes, and the two of you have almost escaped when changbin pulls hyunjin in for another kiss on the cheek.

“oh, come on!” hyunjin groans while changbin giggles in pure delight.

“bye, y/n! it was lovely having you here. you’re welcome back any time, with or without them!” changbin smiles at you.

you thank him, and minho, for dinner again. as you and hyunjin step into the hall, you are hit with another wave of tiredness.

hyunjin notices and drapes your coat around your shoulders, “let’s get you home, yeah?”

you nod, grateful that you don’t have to worry about staying awake to get home safely.

the two of you enjoy a comfortable silence as you make your way to your place. here and there, you share a smile, a knowing glance that both of you are quite happy to be there, together. there is a small pang in your chest when you reach your door, realizing that you’ll have to part ways with hyunjin now.

“so, i’ll see you in a few days for our next date?” hyunjin asks, hands in their pockets as they stand in front of you.

“of course! i’m looking forward to it.”

hyunjin grins. you start to turn toward your door, but you notice that they are staring at you.

“what’s up?”

hyunjin shakes his head slightly, as though they’re breaking themselves out of a trance, “nothing! sorry, i was just thinking about something.”

“care to share?” you raise an eyebrow, reenergized with curiosity.

their hand rubs the back of their neck, and they look down to the floor briefly, “i was running through the stereotypical goodbyes at the end of dates like this.”

you nod, only partially following their train of thought. they look back up at you, brown eyes soft yet focused. you’re not sure why, but you feel electricity in your fingertips beneath their gaze.

“in movies and books, nights like this usually end with a goodbye kiss.”

“oh, i see…” your voice fades, unsure of what to say next.

“we don’t have to! it just came to mind. probably an intrusive artistic thought. you know how creative brains live for the drama,” hyunjin jokes.

you laugh softly, somewhat halfheartedly, as you process what they said. you speak again, before they get too nervous.

“i wouldn’t be opposed to it,” you admit, “for the plot, of course.”

hyunjin’s eyes widen slightly in shock, but they nod quickly, “yes, for the plot! we should kiss for the plot!”

that sentence in particular earns a giggle from you, which relaxes hyunjin enough to take the necessary steps toward you. when you’re close enough to feel the heat radiating off each other’s bodies, hyunjin catches your gaze.

“are you sure?”

mustering up as much volume as you can–curse those big, beautiful brown eyes and all their charm–you respond, “yes, i’m sure.”

with that, hyunjin’s fingers delicately grace your chin, pulling you towards them. sweetly, like a hushed voice in a beautiful library, your lips meet. the kiss is quick, nothing too involved, but the sensation of hyunjin being so close to you, right beneath your fingertips, melts you in a way you can’t be sure that you’ve felt before.

when you open your eyes, you see that hyunjin’s are still closed, despite separating your lips a dozen or so seconds ago. the corners of your mouth lift, appreciating the innocent look on hyunjin’s face.

“wow,” hyunjin whispers, brown eyes observing you with a soft fervor, “thank you.”

oblivious to how much you’re blushing, you reply with a confident, “no, thank you.”

they smile widely, amused by the playful tone of your voice. judging by the look on his face, this is the best ending to the night that hyunjin ever could have imagined.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

stretching your arms and groaning, you remove your body from the position it had been locked in for the past couple of hours. you know the knock on the door was hyunjin–it hadn’t taken long for you to memorize what it sounded like for him to be near–so you do your best to open the door quickly and cheerily, despite your aching neck and shoulders.

“so sorry i’m late!” hyunjin exclaims, “changbin wasn’t letting me leave lunch, despite my insistence that i had a very important date to attend.”

you roll your eyes as you step to the side, letting hyunjin into your home, “are you sure you two aren’t dating?”

they scrunch their nose in light disgust, “i am certain. i love changbin, but we are not compatible partners, no matter what he may try to convince you of.”

you laugh, feeling a little more joyous at that admission than you probably should. hyunjin asks you about your day as you collect snacks to share, and he happily chats about anything and everything. whenever together, it seems as though neither of you would ever run out of words.

“so, are you ready?” hyunjin stretches their hands and wrists.

you nod, eyeing the stereotypical leather journal in front of them, “probably not as ready as you are.”

he giggles at the reference to the journal, “well, if i’m going to be in the presence of a real writer, i have to at least look the part, right?”

“what does that make me then, with my laptop on a metal stand in front of me?”

they hum, feigning deep thought before replying, “cute. it makes you cute.”

you scoff at the sly cheesiness, still having to turn your head in an attempt to hide the blush, “all right shakespeare, what do you say we get to writing?”

“i could never say no to you, y/n,” hyunjin replies with a sugary sweet tone and extra honey in their eyes.

with that, you two find your focus. after painting together, you suggested a writing date. admittedly, the suggestion came from your need to work on your novel as much as it came from the desire to spend more creative time with hyunjin. they, of course, jumped at the opportunity, clearly feeling just as fond of your painting session as you.

save for the low-volume background music, the sound of your keyboard, and hyunjin’s pen on paper, your home is delightfully silent. very quickly after hyunjin’s arrival, you make more progress than you had the entire day. hyunjin notices how in the zone you are, pausing their own work to appreciate your furrowed brow and fixed gaze on the screen. attached to the story unfolding in front of you, you’re not quite sure how long he has been observing you before you feel their eyes on you.

“is there something on my face?” your eyes flit to meet hyunjin’s before returning to the screen.

“just an admirable amount of concentration,” they chuckle, “though i’d hate to interrupt your flow, let’s take a quick break, yeah?”

you sigh, feeling the soreness in your wrists and back from vigorous typing, “okay, i guess we should.”

they’re obviously pleased as they sit up straighter, “yay! i think we deserve some treats, don’t you?”

you laugh, “i mean, i’m literally doing my job here, so i don’t know if that warrants a treat.”

hyunjin frowns, “everything warrants a treat! what do you want? a little bevvie? some food? it’s on me, so dream big!”

you laugh again, sweeter this time, “you don’t have to do that, hyunjin.”

he waves his hand in the air, dismissing your claim, “i do. you’re hosting me and letting me partake in your creative genius. the least i could do is offer you a snack or something!”

you can tell they won’t back down, so you agree to give them your order for your favorite restaurant. when the food arrives, you and hyunjin migrate to the living room, spreading out your spoils and turning on content you both love. it is casual and comfortable, wildly familiar despite this being the first time you two have had dinner like this. hyunjin says so themself, much to your delight.

after the plates have been cleared and the dishes have been cleaned, you two wind up at the table again, writing for hours and talking about random topics during your little breaks. eventually, you feel your brain wearing out, so you suggest that the writing session comes to a close.

“that sounds perfect to me,” hyunjin agrees, covering his mouth as he yawns, “was it successful for you?”

you hum happily, “yes! i can’t say that i made as much progress as i had hoped to, but i feel like i’m really fleshing out this story for the first time.”

hyunjin grins, “that’s wonderful! i’m so proud of you.”

your heart warms at their admission, and you ask, “how was it for you? come up with any masterpieces?”

they giggle, “i don’t know if i can call any of them masterpieces, but i did write some poems.”

“oh? you’re a painter and a poet?”

hyunjin looks away briefly, again tucking their hair behind their ear, “poetry is my favorite thing to write. i don’t do it very often because i’m not that adept at expressing myself in this way, but i enjoy the process every time.”

“expressing your thoughts with words gets easier with practice, so don’t discount yourself!” you reassure them, pausing to gain the courage to ask, “could i…would you mind if i read something you wrote?”

their ears immediately turn pink, but that doesn’t stop them from nodding and flipping through to a specific page, “here, this is my favorite one from today. please be nice in your feedback, for i am just a girl.”

you giggle at the last comment, and you graciously take the journal they place in your hands. the poem is short and impactful. in particular, you feel a few lines settling deep in your chest: a tenderness on fire / a lightness in your eyes / the unbearable closeness of desire / in the presence of your touch, in the proximity of your potential

“hyunjin,” you say their name softly, only loud enough for them to hear, “this is beautiful. your voice is captivating, truly. thank you for letting me read it.”

“you really think so?” their eyes linger on you, full of curiosity and wonder.

you nod, “i do. i can’t believe you wrote this while sitting at my kitchen table. i love it.”

hyunjin puts their hand on their chest, over their heart, “that means a lot, y/n. thank you.”

“of course,” you smile, slipping once again into a comfortable silence with them.

hyunjin accepts his journal back, and then fiddles with the page, “you can have this one, if you want.”

your eyebrows raise, shocked and excited, “really? you’re sure?”

they nod eagerly, tearing the page out before you formally accept it, “yes! i have your painting hanging by my desk, so it’d be an honor if you had my poem literally anywhere in your home.”

you laugh at their dramatics, gently holding out your hands to receive their beautiful words, “i’ll hang it on my fridge, so i can see it every morning, afternoon, and night.”

with that, hyunjin trails behind you like a puppy while you place the handwritten poem on your fridge, held up by your favorite magnet. you both smile, admiring the work in your quiet kitchen. the silence is only broken by hyunjin’s yawn, which they cutely apologize for. when you look at the clock, you realize how late it has become.

“oh wow! are you sure you’re awake enough to get home safely?”

“yes, i’ll be okay!” hyunjin assures you, walking toward your table to gather their things.

as you watch them move, you see their body sway with sleepiness in a way that emphasizes their natural clumsiness. there is no way you can let them travel alone, across town, in this state.

“hyunjin, please stay here tonight.”

they freeze, turning their head to you after a few beats pass, “are you–would that be–really?”

you fight the smile at their flustered response, “yes, really. i wouldn’t be able to sleep if i let you go home when you’re this tired. i probably have some clothes you can borrow and an extra toothbrush i keep for emergencies. you can sleep in the bed, and i’ll take the couch.”

“wow, y/n, thank you for caring this much about my well being,” they reply in an incredibly genuine tone.

your expression has to have been one of why wouldn’t i care about your well being? because they quickly speak again, “i just wouldn’t have expected my fake dating partner to be so generous with their home! no way i’m stealing your bed from you tonight, though. i will be sleeping on the couch, and that’s final.”

despite your honest efforts to donate your bed to hyunjin for the night, they truly won’t have it. you make up the couch while they get ready for bed, stepping into the bathroom yourself once they make themselves comfortable in the living room. you feel some nerves ripple inside you as you brush your teeth, but they verge on excitement more than anxiety. it’s strange, being so comfortable with hyunjin so soon. it could be the reduced pressure of your arrangement, or, more likely, it’s their good-natured spirit. you can’t help the warmth that envelops you as they wish you sweet dreams in a velvety, singsongy voice. you also can’t help the way your body sinks into the softness of your bed in an entirely new way, as though you have been introduced to a new kind of safety, a new kind of home that you didn’t know existed. you wonder whether hyunjin feels the same way too.

after a short while, you pad out to your kitchen to retrieve a glass of water. hyunjin sleeps soundly on the couch, blanket perfectly wrapped around them and hands folded under their pillow to prop their head at the perfect angle. you stare, enchanted by the soft curves of their slightly parted lips, hypnotized by the melodic rise and fall of their chest. standing there in your living room in the middle of the night, you discover that your fondness for the person in front of you has blossomed into something much greater than anything you would have expected weeks ago when you agreed to this fake dating venture. for fear that your gaze will pull them out of their slumber, you step back into your room, turning once more at the doorway to ensure they are still peacefully resting.

it doesn’t take much reflection to determine that you feel something special in hyunjin’s presence. though entirely unexpected and definitely not a part of the original plan, you know in your heart that you wouldn’t want it any other way.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

early in your “relationship,” you and hyunjin joked that, for a two-month anniversary, you should meet for dinner at a stereotypically romantic restaurant. both of you were people of your word, so it was no surprise when hyunjin made a reservation for a bistro in the area.

you decide to dress up like a movie character going to a date pertinent to the story’s plot–this may not be a proposal dinner, but two months into a three-month fake relationship certainly was worth celebrating. adorning curated accessories and the best outfit you could create, you happily stride to hyunjin at the restaurant’s entrance.

the space is bustling with people and conversation, but hyunjin’s greeting cuts through the noise with absolute clarity.

“hi y/n, you look lovely.”

you take a moment to appreciate their outfit–a simple trouser and button-up combo amplified by an embroidered blazer and statement jewelry–and reply with enthusiasm, “hi hyunjin, you look lovely too.”

he offers you a soft smile before guiding you through the front door. the host takes you to a table by the window, and you slip into your usual beginning-of-the-date conversation. hyunjin asks you about your day, tells you about theirs, and you laugh together at stories of your beloved friends doing dumb things.

getting the basics out of the way, you ask a question that’s been on your mind all day, “how is your painting series going?”

hyunjin lets out a small sigh, but quickly follows it with a smile, “i’ve made significant progress. i still have a long way to go, but, thankfully, i’m figuring out what i want to capture now.”

“oh, good!” you clap your hands, “i imagine the sigh was because of the stress? i know we are both coming close to the deadline.”

they take a sip of their water and nod, “yes, exactly. it’s difficult to appreciate creative breakthroughs when you’re hyper-aware of the clock ticking. how is the book?”

you grimace, “honestly…not as formed as i would hope, given there’s only a month left before i need to hand in the manuscript. the story is there, but i’m just not sure if i believe it, you know? and there’s the matter of the ending…”

hyunjin’s brow furrows, “isn’t it a guaranteed happy ending?”

“yes, thankfully i didn’t have to do the heavy-lifting of deciding whether the characters ended up together. i want to make sure, though, that the ending feels real. the lovers in the story are flawed. they make mistakes, they don’t always choose what’s best, they have big feelings and even bigger questions, and, ultimately, they’re realizing that they barely know anything about real love. i’m stuck trying to figure out how to grant them the gift of true love without losing the readers’ trust in my portrayal of the lived experience of loving someone. i think…i’m worried about whether people will agree that these characters have earned the happy ending.”

“if true love is the ending, then it’s not something they need to earn,” hyunjin muses, “i think everyone deserves true love.”

you let those words hang in the air, rolling them over in your mind. eventually, you smile at hyunjin.

“i’m not sure if that’s a conclusion i can come to naturally, but i think it’s beautiful that you have a romantic outlook on it all.”

they chuckle, “well, i’m sure that beautiful mind of yours will come up with the perfect ending, even if you don’t completely agree with my philosophy on the matter.”

after placing your orders, you both opt for quiet people-watching. the view of the city from that window feels intimate. just beyond a pane of glass is the world where you and hyunjin existed simultaneously before your paths ever crossed. while it’s probably the writer in you, you sit there wondering how many people could change each other’s lives, if only they were given the chance to meet.

the conversation is minimal throughout the rest of the meal. at times, you catch hyunjin watching you, only for them to quickly look away, seemingly embarrassed. you smile to yourself, unable to resist the cliché cuteness of it all.

after you catch them for the umpteenth time, you tease, “you know, if we’re fake dating, there’s nothing wrong with you staring at me.”

they laugh, tucking their hair behind their ear like clockwork, “i guess you’re right.”

“mhm,” you nod, leaning back in your seat, “what’re you thinking about when you look at me like that?”

hyunjin freezes, apparently caught off-guard by the question, “what am i thinking every time i look at you?”

“okay, maybe requesting an itemized list of your thoughts every time you look at me is a bit…extravagant, even for us,” you laugh, “so i guess i’m asking what you’re thinking of tonight, while you’re looking at me like that.”

he fidgets in his seat, and you worry that you’ve accidentally crossed a line into real-dating territory. you try not to scold yourself, at least not in the moment, because this faux-pas was bound to happen at some point or another, right?

you open your mouth to apologize for the weird question, but hyunjin answers, “i think we should end this.”

oh.

your mouth opens a few times before you can finally vocalize the only word you can think of, “what?”

hyunjin runs their hand through their hair, only to spin a ring on their finger over and over again while they speak, “i think we should end this arrangement we have. it’s been a lot of fun, don’t get me wrong, and i know we’ve both benefited creatively from it. i just think it has…run its course, you know?”

this arrangement. that phrase crashes over you like a tidal wave. you know it shouldn’t shock you because this is a fake dating arrangement. but it seemed that both of you started to treat it as something more. at least, that’s the impression you got with the intimate moments shared, the growing comfort between you two, and the abundant sweetness that surrounded you when you were together. sitting at this table and hearing these words, however, is an indication that maybe you were wrong. regardless, you can’t deny the fact that this has always been an at-will situation. if hyunjin wants to break it off, they can, no questions asked.

“i see…” you reply, hoping the pause wasn’t too long, “if that’s what you want, then that’s what we’ll do.”

“i’m sorry if this came out of nowhere. it must feel kind of random since i sort of…blurted it out,” they smile sympathetically, “i just think that it’s for the best. plus, we’ve both gotten what we needed out of this, right? i’ve gotten my paintings, and you’ve gotten your story. we accomplished what we set out to do.”

sure, you’ve gotten what you needed, but had you gotten all that you wanted? it feels as though there’s no use in asking hyunjin. if they wanted the same thing as you, they almost definitely wouldn’t have made the suggestion to end things.

“yeah, mission accomplished.”

you offer a weak smile, unsure of what to say next. a silence falls over you two again, signaling not comfort but the end of the conversation. you both simply have run out of words.

after saying the last thing you would have expected, after compartmentalizing everything you had built and secretly hoped you would never lose, hyunjin reaches out their hand, “no harm, no foul, right?”

choking back tears and mustering all your strength into keeping it together, you offer them your hand and reply, “no harm, no foul.”

hyunjin removes their hand from yours and quietly gathers their things. when they ask if you’ll be okay getting home on your own, you simply nod. hyunjin believes you, or at least respects your desire for space, so, with a small goodbye–not even a promise to see you soon–he walks out of the restaurant. instinctively, your eyes move toward the street to ensure they’re heading home safely, but hyunjin chooses to travel down a route out of your view. maybe that is for the best.

almost as though you’re the character in the movie you used as fashion inspiration, you lose track of time as you sit alone at the table. you know you need to go home, you want to get out of here, but you can’t figure out how to. when the waiter asks if you’d like more water, you shake your head and inform them that you’ll actually be leaving.

“i hope you enjoyed your dinner!” they grin politely.

“yes, yes, everything was great,” you lie.

“come back soon!” they call after you as you step past the threshold of the building.

you’re on the street. you’re standing where, only hours ago, you told hyunjin they looked lovely. how bitter it is to experience how much your world can change on such short notice. before you get too wrapped up in those thoughts, you will your legs to move, heading in the direction that will take you home. instinctively, you pull out your phone and call felix. when he picks up and says your name, everything falls apart.

“hey, are you okay? what’s going on?”

you sniffle, clear your throat, and beg your voice to do its job, “i don’t know, felix. i’m so confused. hyunjin…”

you hear felix jump to his feet on the other end, “did they hurt you? where are you? i’ll come get you.”

“no, they didn’t hurt me. well, not really. it’s,” a quick sob escapes your throat, muddling your words momentarily, “please come get me.”

“i’m coming. send me your location. i’ll be there as soon as i can.”

feeling comforted by the sound of his door closing behind him, you manage to say, “please bring jisung, too.”

“of course. stay where you are. stay safe. we’ll be right there. i love you, okay?”

“okay. i love you too. thank you,” you whisper, overwhelmed by the tears that stream endlessly.

after sending felix your exact location, you hide from the passersby against the corner of a building. with intense deep breathing and clenched fists, you manage to stop crying, at least enough for people to stop looking at you with concern.

“y/n!” two familiar voices call out to you from across the street.

you smile when you see jisung and felix running towards you, and that gratitude breaks your resolve, so the tears come falling down all the same.

jisung’s face is saturated with worry, “hey, hey, what’s going on?”

felix, eyes glistening with tears, wraps an arm around you to safely lead you home.

you stare at your feet, too emotional to look your dearest friends in the eyes while you admit, “hyunjin ended our…they broke…we won’t be seeing each other anymore. i don’t understand why, but…i think…my heart is broken.”

“oh, y/n…” felix laments.

jisung wraps his hand around yours and squeezes gently, “i’m so sorry. i honestly never would have expected this.”

“me neither,” you whisper, leaning even closer into felix, no longer distancing yourself from the truth.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

tag list: @velvetmoonlght @tirena1 (<333 tysm)

#sweetkpopmusings #stray kids fluff #hwang hyunjin #hyunjin x reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids fic #fake dating au #skz hyunjin #non idol au #skz fic #skz x reader #skz fluff #skz au #stray kids au #stray kids hyunjin #stray kids angst #skz angst #long for you

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kimikaami · 9 months ago

Text

hi. fic below the cut :3

AO3 link

f!byleth/seteth || teen+ rating || angst || regency au || period appropriate ignorance irt gender and sexuality

this is a regency AU in which f!Byleth disguises herself as a man to join the army, who then meets Seteth and Flayn when she retires in her late 20s. It's an idea I've had for a long time, but one that I don't love enough to do a longfic for, so I thought I might try and do little scenes here and there whenever I feel like it. This is the first of them :)

“Walk with me?”

Seteth lifts his hands from the pianoforte’s keys, the last notes plink-plonking into the air as Flayn finishes the measure. “Now?” he asks, looking up.

From the couch, Mr. Eisner — Byleth — eyes him over the top of his book, the smallest hint of a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “The afternoon is drawing long,” he says, “and I could use some fresh air. What do you say?”

Seteth stares. Byleth holds his gaze, daring him. This is a ritual that he knows by heart, and yet he finds himself stumbling through the first steps every time — wiping his sweaty palms on his trousers is not part of the dance.

His eyes drop, forfeiting the staring contest to glance at Flayn who now shuffles her sheet music to the next song.

“Go on,” she encourages, flashing him a smile, and Seteth imagines that she can read his mind at this point. He has certainly done enough worrying over her since her kidnapping scare for the both of them. “I will be fine here for a few moments.”

“Are you quite sure? I am happy to play with you a little longer.”

“There is always later, Father.” Her voice is almost gentle. “The sun and exercise will do you good. It is good to be out of the house, as you well know.”

“Quite right, Flayn,” Byleth says, now smiling in earnest. He closes the book and sets it aside. “I expect to be treated to your latest solo when we return. In the meantime however…” he says, standing, “Get your things. I will wait outside.” And without another word, he takes his leave.

“Well?” says Flayn, nudging his shoulder when he does not move. “You heard the gentleman. I have a piece to prepare.”

The jostling knocks something loose in him, leaving his heart in anticipation of something. “Quite right,” he mumbles to Flayn as he rises to follow his friend. “I imagine we will return shortly.”

Flayn just hums an acknowledgment and pushes him away when he bends to press his face to the crown of her hair, drinking in the warm scent. It’s equal parts a goodbye and an apology. He falls into lies of omission all too quickly these days, and the regret is gone even quicker.

Seteth follows in Byleth’s footsteps.

—

He waits until they are out of sight of the house to move closer to Byleth, their knuckles brushing together as they walk. Looking down at the shorter man, Seteth admires the way his eyelashes settle against his cheek and resists the urge to trace his jaw with his fingertips.

“The way she cares for you is sweet,” he says.

Seteth blinks, drawn out of his admiration. “Flayn?”

“Mmhm.”

He sighs and frowns. “She took on too much responsibility when her mother died — responsibility that I should have been the one to shoulder.”

“But she is kind and clever, and selfless.”

“All that and more,” he says. “And yet, were it not for you, I would have lost her. I was neglectful for so many years…” Seteth shakes his head. “No child should have to care for their parent the way she cared for me.”

At the gnarled oak that overhangs the path — a familiar landmark —, Byleth takes Seteth’s elbow and pulls him off the road and towards their spot. “Maybe so,” he says, leading, “but you are that much closer for it.” Holding the branches back, Byleth ushes Seteth through a line of bushes into their little grove lying just beyond. “In many ways, I envy you.”

Seteth pauses, waiting for him to make his way through. “The grass is always greener on the other side, I suppose. Your parents…?”

“I never knew my mother. My father died when I was young.”

“I am… sorry,” he replies, not quite knowing what to say. “I cannot imagine.”

“No, I should not have brought it up. I let my jealousy get the better of me,” he says, and in this moment, Byleth looks so profoundly lonely that his heart nearly breaks for the young man.

Even after months spent escaping into gardens and secret groves to be with one another in peace, he still knows so little about his friend’s background. Seteth takes a step, trailing his fingers along Byleth’s sleeve. “Do not apologize.”

“Sometimes I think that no one knows me at all.”

Furrowing his brow in thought, Seteth looks down at him. Tipping his chin up so he has nowhere to look but at him, he ghosts his lips across Byleth’s, just as he had done to him for the first time months ago. It’s the kind of kiss that asks permission — feather-light, a sign that he cares. “I have ears to listen, my friend,” he says.

Byleth’s eyes shine, watery. “There are things about me, about my past,” he says, hands braced on Seteth’s chest to keep him upright, “that I have deliberately kept from you.”

The seriousness in his gaze is enough to make his breath catch, enraptured. “Please,” he almost pleads, heart in his throat with anticipation. Seteth had followed Byleth here with the promise of time spent enjoying one another’s company, but the prospect of getting to know his companion’s heart more intimately is an alternative that he treasures for its rarity.

On this day, however, it seems he is lucky enough to have his cake and eat it too. Grasping him by the shoulders, Byleth pulls him down and kisses him firmly, and Seteth’s arms reflexively wind around his waist, angling his head to make their position more comfortable.

“Say you trust me,” Byleth says when they part.

“I do. Of course I do,” he promises. Only a year ago, he had been a shadow of himself. To think, one man’s presence could provide him with all this — a desire to see tomorrow. Trust is the least of what he owes him.

Almost hesitantly, Byleth shrugs off his coat and drops it on the grass. The loose white shirt he’s left in compliments his figure, slender shoulders narrowing to a cinched waist that makes Seteth swallow as his heart races, especially as Byleth takes his hand and lays it over his own racing heart. So many times his hands have accidentally wandered here only to be firmly guided away. He relishes the warmth bleeding into his palm, closing his eyes and committing it to memory.

“Seteth, open your eyes,” Byleth says. When he does, Byleth looks into them unflinchingly. “Take it off.”

“Pardon?” he asks, surprised.

“My shirt. Please,” he reiterates. “Trust me.”

“You’re sure?”

“Do it, Seteth, before I lose my courage.”

“Okay. Okay.” Removing his hand from his chest, Seteth takes Byleth’s hands in his and kneels in the grass, pulling the other man along with him and drawing him into another kiss.

Byleth’s entire body shakes under his touch and Seteth backs off, concerned. “There is nothing to fear,” he says, trying his best to be soothing despite his own misgivings. They’re both in uncharted territory here, both fumbling along.

“I know,” Byleth answers, a bit of desperation leaching into his voice. He pulls out his ponytail with a toss of the head, and Seteth has just enough time to register how it softens his features before he is pulling him close once more, teeth clicking, tongue venturing forth. An embarrassing noise makes its way past his lips and into Byleth’s mouth as he plants his hands on his hips, encouraging him to make a move.

It’s enough to spur him onward. Fully giving into his desires, Seteth wastes no time pulling Byleth’s shirt out of his waistband, and then fumbling with the buttons. He starts at the bottom while Byleth starts at the top, and when their hands meet Byleth laughs into his mouth, worry forgotten until he finishes the last bit and pulls the shirt off for good.

What he finds surprises him. A thick layer of bandages, wrapped around his upper torso. His mind searches for some logical explanation. Byleth had told him when they first met that he had been discharged for heart problems, but surely that’s not the reason for all this…?

Reaching behind his back, Byleth fiddles with something, eventually bringing a loose end of the wrapping forth to hand to him. Seteth holds it, blinking.

“Come on,” Byleth encourages. “Finish it.” There’s an unmistakably vulnerable look in his eyes, almost scared, so he does. Back and forth, he passes the bandages around his body until they fall loose.

He leans back on his haunches. “Byleth?”

He can’t believe what he’s seeing. The wiry frame, the slender shoulders, the soft facial features —

“I — my father — he died when I was small. I couldn’t take care of myself,” Byleth says. “But he was an old soldier, and I knew I could pass if I tried —”

He’s only half listening, too shocked to comprehend. His — her? Byleth’s chest lies exposed in the springtime air, angry red marks pressed into her skin from being bound so tightly for so long.

“I never wanted… mislead… sorry…”

All at once, Seteth is confronted with two truths.

The first is that he wants her.

The second is that he has wanted her for months now. There is no real difference between what he feels now, looking at this woman half-naked, and what he has felt gazing at… him… across the room since that very first kiss.

His lungs ache. This is not — has never been proper. No. Some part of his mind must have known all along, must have recognized her as her and had been overcome. It makes too much sense — a sad, old, widower like him just looking for a replacement for what he had lost.

None of this has ever been real, has it? He’s made it all up. All of his emotions, only what he wanted to feel.

“Seteth?” His vision spins as he looks at her, speechless. “Say something, please.”

“This isn’t right,” he says, staggering to his feet before he’s even registered the action. “No — no, this isn’t — I have made a grave mistake. I have violated — I am sorry.”

“‘Violated’?” she asks, incredulous. “Is that what you think? Seteth, I wanted this from the very beginning.”

He swallows. “Put your shirt back on.”

Her face falls, hurt. “You won’t touch me now, because I’m a woman.”

His silence is confirmation enough. “I thought you cared for me.”

Seteth winces. “I did — I do. You are my dearest friend. Now, I don’t… you are a woman, Byleth, and we are unmarried.”

“Can’t you see I don’t care about that?” she protests. “I have lived as a man for nearly the past two decades. If I gave a damn about tradition —”

“I do!” he says. “I care. For the Goddess’ sake, I have warned my daughter against the evils of men who lust after women without any intent to marry, and look what you have made of me! How can I face her now, knowing the depth of my hypocrisy?”

Clamping her jaw shut, Byleth breathes heavily, willing away the tears that are beginning to spill down her cheeks. “All of this, it did not mean anything to you because I was a man.”

Closing his eyes, Seteth crosses his arms. “That is not what I said. But encounters between a man and a woman and two men — they are not the same.”

“They are!” she protests, voice wavering. “For me, they were.” Then, quietly: “I thought I meant something to you.”

“You do,” he answers, arms falling. “But you are incorrect. Things are not the same now, nor will they ever be.” Staring down at her, Seteth opens his mouth to speak, then clamps it shut again. Silently, Byleth wills him to speak. Whatever he’s struggling to articulate, he gives up on and releases a frustrated sigh instead. “I must go,” he says. “Flayn will be waiting for me.” With one final, pensive glance back towards her, he stalks back in the direction they’d come, leaving her in silence.

For a few minutes, Byleth just stares at the spot he’d been standing, mind blank.

Shortly, the shock turns to anger. It is mostly self-directed, but as she forces herself into moving and yanks her undershirt back on, it turns in his direction too. All these secret meetings, they meant nothing to him?

They had meant everything to her.

In an attempt to put him out of mind, her thoughts turn to her father. If only he had not died so young. If only she had gotten a normal childhood, maybe none of this would have happened. They could have been happy from the beginning. No need for secrets.

If there’s one thing Byleth knows, it’s that time spent wishing for a different life is of no use to anyone.

Still, in some instances, there is nothing else to do.

Pulling her knees to her chest, Byleth weeps bitterly until there are no tears left to cry.

#imma be real folks im too tired to know if this is any good (the writing i mean. the art fucks sorry not sorry) but im posting it gnight #setleth #seteth #byleth eisner #fe3h #my art #my fic

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midnightstargazer · 10 months ago

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Cursed Child is awful, but I really like Astoria and have enthusiastically adopted that version of her into my headcanons.

First of all, I like that she's a genuinely good person who was (most likely) a Slytherin. I'm totally here for interesting villains and morally gray characters, but there's something very irritating about the way Slytherin is consistently the "evil" house in canon, as if 25% of the student body can be reliably identified as bad people from the age of eleven. Astoria is one of the few exceptions and feels like a breath of fresh air. She can be kind-hearted, loving, and non-prejudiced and still be a Slytherin, and I love that about her.

The blood curse is a pretty blatant example of fridging: Astoria is not meant to be important in her own right and is killed off to create angst for her husband and son, as well as to get her out of the way before the main plot gets started. But ignoring how it's handled in the play, I think the idea of the blood curse has a lot of interesting potential. The Greengrasses must have been in a very odd position, being part of the upper crust of pure-blood society and yet having their family's greatest weakness be a curse passed down from one of their ancestors, whether that is openly known or kept secret.

Astoria was raised with the same ideology as many Slytherins, in a family that was surely not still pure-blood by accident, but rejected that ideology and never looked back. That might have had a little bit to do with the curse and the weird position it likely placed her in, but I think it probably had more to do with the war.

Her experience was described on Pottermore as "similar (though less violent and frightening)" in comparison to Draco's, which I take to mean that she wasn't personally affected by the war. She was pure-blood, her parents weren't Death Eaters, and she was only fifteen or sixteen when it ended. She most likely flew under the radar and was left alone. And yet, she still came out of it believing in equality, unwilling to pass down bigoted ideas to the next generation.

To me, this suggests that she was a compassionate and empathetic person who was moved by seeing how harmful the ideology was to other people. Reading about all the awful stuff that was happening, hearing about the ways in which the war was affecting her classmates, witnessing the Carrows' cruelty even if she herself wasn't their target - although she was a bit too young to be involved in it personally, the war must have played a huge role in shaping how she sees the world.

Astoria is, above all else, a good mother. She and Draco raised Scorpius differently than how they were raised, and it shows. She taught him that Muggles are people deserving of his respect, she sent him off to school with sweets to share hoping it would help him make friends, she encouraged him to be kind and generous rather than trying to mold him into a snob or a bully. And, it's strongly implied, she helped him make sense of his family's past, especially his father's ("Mum always told me that you were a better man than I could see" - CC Act 3 Scene 3).

What really breaks my heart, more than the blood curse, is what a lonely life Astoria seems to have led as an adult. She clearly had a loving relationship with Draco and Scorpius, but between her disapproving in-laws and the stigma of being connected to the Malfoys, her husband and son seem to have been all she had. Not only is she never mentioned having any friends as an adult (which could just be because she's out of focus), Scorpius obviously had a very isolated childhood, and the family is subjected to vicious rumors thanks to Rita Skeeter. Scorpius never even mentions his maternal grandparents or his aunt when he talks about his family. Did Astoria still have a relationship with them as an adult?

And yet, it was entirely her choice. She loved Draco, she saw (or perhaps brought out) the best in him, and so she married him. I love that their relationship isn't some sort of arranged marriage or strategic match based on blood status. That they do genuinely love each other and are willing to be together even though it's not the easy choice. Even though his parents disapprove, even though she will be judged and scrutinized in a way she has done nothing to deserve, even though there is no promise of a happy ending where they grow old together.

It's weird, because Astoria is only mentioned once in the books and gets absolutely zero characterization. She comes almost entirely from the play, most of which I reject; the trolley witch is an ordinary person, and Cedric Diggory would never join the Death Eaters 🤣. And I don't really love how she was dealt with in the play, never appearing onstage, killed off without ever being properly introduced. But from the little fragments of her story that we get and the implications of what we're told, I find her to be a really interesting character.

#Astoria Greengrass #Astoria Malfoy #Drastoria

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specialgradefckr · 1 month ago

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Hello, I would like to start off with BYHTD. This is a very long message, so i apologise right now.

Never have i been so afraid of just knowing there might be a second part to a fic before. No afraid as in fear, but afraid as in the anticipation of adrenaline when you reach the highest point of a rollercoaster and you know it's abt to go down.

I gobbled up all the asks and everything to do with this fic. I'm so sO NOT normal.. and this level of hyper fixation is extremely new to me. I mean it. This one made me switch my cellphone off, had me deep breathing, muttering small 'damn', 'shit' 'fuckk' at random times during the day.

I've re-read it a couple times now and it just keeps pulling me in. I personally do NOT enjoy angst/ pining, etc. Not without assurance that the ending will be 'happy'. Yet this one. It's like when one first starts to get a taste for good wine, you know. For someone who absolutely detests the sad parts of a story, has even SKIPPED them in so many fics I've read before (not proud of it, but the heart wants what it wants), I am surprised to see that the parts that i specifically go back to are the ones where the reader is especially hurting/jealous. Like the realisation that they're both into other women but not reader. It hurts good. I was not this person. The story changed me. HOW DID YOU DO THAT!?

FINALLY, to My question. What would happen if reader just sort of... Gives up in the sense of wanting a romantic partner altogether? As in she just accepts that she's not going to get a good partner, and since all of her partners turn out to be 'evil' (given stsg frame them, etc) she decides to move on to 'self love/care'?

Imo, what if she wallows for a long time and the yearning gets to her. She realises what's happening and decides to participate on her own terms. So much so, that she does a 180 in her approach, and takes away what they hold most dear (her complete attention on them) and give them what they most fear (a stone cold facade that is borderline too sweet, too nonchalant, showing them that their antics have saturated the reader to the extent she's no longer affected). She just starts (outwardly) shifting her focus onto her work, etc. Like a sudden workaholic, who's gymming a lot too, suddenly.

I imagine them going in more aggressive, taking about their sexcapades more openly and all, but reader just... starts smiling and laughing with them. Even specifically mentions one of her 'friends' is interested in joining stsg, if they'd be interested. "She seems like your type. She saw you guys in my birthday pictured, and hasn't stopped talking about both of you. I can set y'all up on a date or something, since you're looking to spice stuff up... so yeah. lemme know."

All smiles and 'genuinely' looking out for them. And the whole times she's thinking... I'm gonna be an equally bad nightmare to you, I'm going to play according to MY rules and I'm not playing 'your' game. We're all playing mine now.

That's it. I'm glad I could voice it out because i haven't been at rest ever since I had these thoughts shimmering in my head.

I just want the reader to still have her pride intact, regardless of how the story goes. (I only just came to this realisation after I wrote this long-ass message)

Thank you for reading, I cherish you and your writing with my all my sanity and conscientiousness.

jdklsdhgfs i got this ask (and several others!) before posting the part two so let me just say!!! thank you so much for enjoying my work this much!

you, amongst several other anons, were so encouraging sending me asks like this. i had the "film them for onlyfans content" idea before this ask was even sent in, but it was SO fun to hear people talk about what they'd like to see next.

that being said, i hope it lived up to your expectations sjfhklgshdfg honestly i was kind of worried for a while that the next part i wrote might not live up to the first. but you gotta just for got it sometimes, you know?

but it is SO. gratifying. to think that this is how the fic feels from a reader's POV. as a writer i pour over these words and ideas SO MANY TIMES,, especially something like this part two which i worked on across a few weeks, it starts to feel stale, and i second-guess myself. hearing how much suspense you were in makes me feel like what i wrote actually was as emotionally impactful as i thought it was, and it's so rewarding to hear <3

honestly though if it makes you feel better, i also can struggle to get through a lot of super angsty stuff. there are particular kinds of angst that i can really feast on, but a lot of it can be a struggle to read through. i straight up skip the "hurt no comfort" tag most of the time, like for me a lot of the purpose of angst is the comfort or comeuppance.

but anyways... among the many theorizations for what reader could do, this is definitely on the more realistic side. gojo and geto have no good way of sabotaging your self-care and emotionally manipulating you much further than they already have.

the whole point of BYHTD is that they're reaching the limits of what they can do to you emotionally. there's just not a lot left to do without confessing.

i think the real problem with this route is, though it's an emotionally satisfying journey for the reader, i would struggle to create drama and yandere behavior like the original fic would call for. this is more a continuation that would focus on emotional growth and stuff.

even with the reader trying to play it cool and set them up with others. when you're manipulating someone, what you usually want is a reaction, and if the reader has feelings for them, still, well, they're really not better off than they were before.

it could be fun from satoru and suguru's povs as they try to sabotage your self care and slowly lose their minds more and more, but as a writer i shine more with emotional outbursts, or extremely fucked up yandere behavior (however dramatic/subtle it may be).

who knows though. maybe therapy is in the cards somewhere,,, SOMEONE here is going to have to change,, although to be fair. maybe not for the better >.>

but!!! i think i did do a good job keeping the reader's dignity!!! i absolutely feel you there like. on one hand there is value in putting the reader through hell, but personally i almost always need them to come out on the other side. i can be very stubborn with my grudges and i generally don't write readers who forget that they were wronged.

anyways!!! you are forgiven for the long ask, really, don't worry about it! i am always happy to talk about my work (although sometimes i have to stop so i can... actually work XD) - and i hope, whoever you are, you've enjoyed the next part that came out <3

#anon asks #answered asks #BYHTD

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strawberryfairi · 1 year ago

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Synopsis✨: The story of how you catch heavy feelings for the hot photography student, Shuji Hanma…even though you already have the perfect (fake) boyfriend.

Pairings: Photography Student! Shuji Hanma X Dance Major! Black Fem 🤎 Reader (ANYONE CAN READ🧚🏾‍♀️) Content: Drama, lots of denial, angst, sneaky link, lots of cheating, mutual pining, unserious Shuji, controlling parents, forced relationships, romance, fighting, porn with a good plot vibes, intense sexual tension, etc (just find out the rest lol)

(A/N🧚🏾‍♀️: First chapter might be a lil boring, but the tea begins in chapter 2)

w.c: 4.4k💠 Released: Jan 5, 2024

Next Chapter Chapters Masterlist

1; HOMECOMING 返校

It's homecoming today. One of the most stressful but most exciting days in the entire school year. It serves as a debut of both the cheerleading and dance teams, and of course the football team. In your case, today will be your first homecoming as dance team captain and choreographer.

Your freshman year was grueling, but you dedicated almost all of your time and energy into forming a proper dance team with high respect and credibility with the help of your good friend from senior year in high school, Emma Sano. Now, in your sophomore year, the grind absolutely did not stop. You have a team full of twenty girls (including yourself and Emma) to lead, and today will prove to be the hardest list of tasks you've ever checked through so far in your life.

"Mornin' baby." Your boyfriend Ken murmurs groggily, leaning over you to gently kiss your warm cheek. You're both snuggled up together in his dorm suite bed, as you had stayed the night in his room per his request. You smile tiredly, turning over to face him. "Morning."

The two of you have been together for quite some time now, a good two years and eight months. Though those years may seem significant or like a milestone, the relationship has always been stagnant. A boring, straight line. You're boyfriend is sweet, kind, mostly all of the above, yet he's just...never really been right for you. Why not break up?

Well, your parents are the ones keeping you both from leaving each other. Your mom, a part of the administration of the university, and Ken's father, the football coach, famous for cultivating champion players that later move on to the NFL in the states by senior year came together with the plan for you two to date.

Why not just do your own thing and date who you want? Your mom had made it clear that if you don't keep up the charade of the perfect college girl with great grades and a boyfriend with a great future, you'd be out of the school in a heartbeat, and out of dance for good. She says you need to be perfect in every way in order to gain success, especially as a dancer, and being already in a relationship will keep you from getting distracted by other guys during your four years.

Same goes with Ken and what his dad told him. In their pursuit of star students they went and 'hooked you two up', completely ruining what could have been a good friendship and maybe even relationship had they not rushed it. But honestly, it's not the utter worst being with Ken, though you wish you had a say in the kind of guy you wanted for yourself. It's hard having to force out a genuine sounding 'I love you' every day, and especially, have sex with someone you don't even feel anything for. Nevertheless, the two of you equally sucked it up and learned to 'love' each other.

"Big day today. You ready?" Ken grins, looking down at you with an excited smile.

"Nooooo." You groan, pulling the blankets over your head and snuggling up close to Ken's chest.

"Nah, don't say that! This is our big moment; been workin' hard for this." He shakes his head, tugging the sheets off of your head.

"I'm so nervous, and it's gonna be so hard trynna get the girls focused. You know all people think about is sex and the afterparties on homecoming." You frown.

"You're a leader, babe, they'll listen to you. It's just as important for them as it is for you. They'll tighten up when it's game time." Ken assures, stroking your bare shoulders comfortingly. You sigh, trying to bask in this moment of peace before the chaos inevitably ensues.

"Did you know I was approach by those school newspaper folks you always rant about yesterday? Allegedly, I'll be interviewed today since this is such a 'pivotal moment for the university, as the first ever dance team will be involved in the homecoming night experience'." You chuckle, doing a faux reporter voice.

"Oohh shit, they got you too, huh?" He lets out a breathy chuckle, flipping over onto his back, taking you along with him to rest on his chest.

"They sure did. At least I know what I'm getting into thanks to you, Mr. Quarterback. Maybe I'll see you at the interview room?"

"Maybe, depending on what time they want us there. We got interviews at ten a.m." He shrugs.

You pout with a light huff. "Awww, ours isn't till one."

"We'll see each other tonight, baby. We'll have the whole night actually." He purrs suggestively, sliding both hands down your back and giving your ass a firm squeeze.

"Hey hey hey! None of that till later!" You giggle, pushing away form him to try and get out of his tight grip.

"Can't wait..." He grins.

💎

Interviewer: "Can you discuss your vision for the team's performance at homecoming? What elements or themes do you plan to incorporate?"

"Considering it's the first year, how do you plan to make the performance memorable and reflective of the team's identity?"

"As a new dance team captain, how will you inspire and motivate your teammates, especially considering the excitement and nerves associated with a debut performance?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"They threw out all kinds of questions I wasn't ready to answer!" You rant into the phone, plopping down onto the chair outside of the interview room.

"I told you. It's intense ain't it?" Ken chuckles on the other side.

"Yeah! I feel like they should've at least done like a pre-interview or a practice run. It was so hard trynna answer those questions right on the spot like that!" You whine, facepalming. You take a deep breath then exhale, calming yourself down so you wouldn't annoy Ken with a bunch of ranting.

"Ugh, sorry, I don't mean to throw you off. I know you're getting ready too. How's everything going?"

"I'm all good, babe. I just wanna get on the field already." He murmurs.

"Facts. That's exactly how I'm feeling. It's gonna feel amazing once it's all over." You nod, fiddling with your top unconsciously. You hear the coach yell out to Ken from in the background, urging him back.

"Hang on, I gotta go. I'll talk to you later, alright? Love you." He says abruptly.

"Oh ok. Love you!" You hang up with a little sigh, getting ready to go over into the next section of the day. Just a few more hours now until the game starts.

4 Hours Later

"GUYS!" One of your freshman girls, Himari hollered, bursting through the doors to the dance team dressing room. You and all the others who heard her paused your conversations, looking at her with the same confused expression.

"What's going on now, Himari?" You huffed with an exasperated sigh. You loved her, you really did, but damn she's always got something going on.

"My body glitter just broke and spilled all over the bathroom floor! I hate my life!" She wailed, slumping against the door behind her, sliding down dramatically.

"Oh shit..." You murmur with a heavy facepalm. The girls all gasp, rambling about how they'd be so pissed if that happened to them. You'd be pissed too not gonna lie, if your expensive ass Fenty Glow broke like that...oof, you'd be seething.

"Just like..lay some paper towels down over it or something until we can find someone to clean it." Emma tells her, putting her focus back on the final touches of her makeup. You didn't have time to solve not another issue, thankfully that was easily solved as one of the girls Reina just let her use some of her body glitter.

You're only half dressed right now and still need to do your makeup and hair with only forty five minutes left. Nude tights with your elastic ankle braces was all you had on, you're not eve sure if that could really count as half dressed. Hurriedly you strip out of your school hoodie, chest completely bare as you grab your costume tagged with your name from the long clothing rack.

The costume this year was ten thousand times better than last years, as this time you were able to utilize design student Takashi Mitsuya from the university across the way from yours. He absolutely slayed the outfits, bringing out exactly what you were imagining. Your school colors are black, white, and silver, so the main color of the costume is a shiny black with accents of silver. It's a bodysuit, long sleeved with the silver as sequins on the cuffs of the arms, neck, and around the legs. A large cut out on the left side of the stomach area is also outlined with the silver sequins. Simple, yet such an effective, sexy design.

When you finished changing you quickly got to work doing your makeup, sprawling your products out on the table next to Emma and plopping down into a seat, whipping out your beauty blender and brushes.

"Easy girl. We still have some time. You know you move fast." She says softly, checking out her makeup in the vanity. "I know, I know. I'll just feel better once I'm ready." You huff, priming your face before pumping some drops of foundation on your beauty blender.

For makeup everyone has a silver lid eyeshadow look with black winged eyeliner and small jewels lined across the liner, topped off with a nude pink lip. Your hair was simple, an afro that you picked out nice and big, your bangs slicked down like a headband so you could see while you dance.

After a bit over half an hour you along with all the girls were finally ready.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Alright y'all, when we get out there, it's complete focus. Lock the fuck in." You warn, tone dead serious. You and your team are huddled in a large circle near the entrance to the wide football field. It was almost time for your performance.

"Freshmen, bring your absolute A-game, y'all hear me?"

"Yes ma'am!" The answer back instantly.

"Now, it's time to stunt on those cheerleaders, okaaaay!" You beam, smiling wide enough to show off your single dimple on your left cheek. The girls cheered, laughing and making their little jokes and jabs at the cheerleaders.

The dance team vs. cheerleader rivalry had been going on ever since you started this program. Of course, the cheerleaders were always the number one attraction during homecoming and all other sports games, but now that you all came along, it's actually some competition for them. It boosts you up every time seeing them get flustered and annoyed when your girls and you steal the show. It's especially bad when the boys get involved.

"Let's line up!" You command, beginning the line while watching all the girls get into position behind you.

The announcer finally acknowledges the dance team, giving the queue for the lights to turn off throughout the stadium. The crowd hoots and hollers as the field goes black, save for the phone lights and moon shining down brightly.

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself and rapid heartbeat, strutting out onto the field already in 'character'. The girls follow behind you, all getting into your practiced formation, waiting for the music and lights to come on.

After the thirty second time frame is up, the music begins, starting with the newest hit by Nicki Minaj: Everybody. Lights come on right when you all strike the first pose, making the crowd go wild.

~Aint' gang if you let shit slide Ain't bad if you gotta dick-ride Big guns and a lotta zip ties Said she look like me, quit lyin'~

You begin dancing, a little solo moment during the intro as the girls hold their pose. When the beat drops the girls join in, all of you going full out. The energy is so high all throughout the stadium, just how you want it. Some folks in the stands along with the football players on your side were dancing along excitedly. So far it's a hit.

3rd Person POV

Shuji's canon camera snapped shot after shot, taking skillful, clear pictures of the dancers in front of him. This was a pretty big opportunity, seeing as only the top students are allowed to photograph for events like homecoming and school newspaper posts, important things like that.

He didn't necessarily consider himself a 'good student', he honestly wasn't, yet the faculty couldn't help but acknowledge his talent as a photographer, so they gave him this chance.

He'd deliver though, and turn up with better pictures than the three other students out here snapping away half-assed, hoping for a couple nice shots out of nearly a hundred. They don't know how to wait, but Shuji does. He has a natural talent for patience when it comes to finding the right moment. It's like he can see it coming, then he freezes time, capturing it in perfect quality and light.

Looking through the viewfinder, he adjusts the lens, preparing for a shot right on the soloist. Waiting a few seconds he watches her dance, capturing the exact moment he was waiting for. She spins then stops in the perfect pose, one hand on her hip while the other arm is extended outward, her hand in an elegant gesture. Her leg is extended a bit with her arm, the ball of her foot on the ground giving her leg a slight bend.

His brows raise slightly as he looks up from the camera.

Her solo continues for just a bit longer before the other girls join, but for some reason, Shuji's eyes are still stuck on that one girl. He takes a moment trying to figure out what exactly about her made him react like that. She's a great dancer for sure, her movements fluid, exact, and graceful; sexy. But that's to be expected of an aspiring professional. Maybe it's her overall look, deep brown skin, big hair, and a gorgeous toned body. She's a sight, something interesting enough to catch his attention.

He goes back and forth, watching then snapping, watching then snapping. Then the girl spins once again, this time bringing her left leg into the air. It felt like slow motion what happened to him. Her anklet, looking as if it practically slid off her small ankle, flies right towards him just a few feet away from her. Instinctively he catches it with one hand, the other steadily holding the camera.

It's a gold anklet, real gold it seems. A chain with little designs carved into it. A light smirk makes it's way onto his lips as he places the piece of jewelry into his pocket.

Reader's POV

The dance routine lasted a grand total of twenty minutes, full halftime, and by the end you all were rushing with adrenaline. There wasn't a single mistake, and the stands were hyped. You couldn't help but smile as you all gracefully walked off the field and onto your designated spot on the bleachers, the section to the left of the cheerleaders.

The main event for the dance team was over, and it felt like a huge weight had come off your shoulders. You inwardly thank God that everything went better than you'd imagined from morning to now. All that's left is your short routines throughout the game, similar to what cheerleaders do, just without all the pep and bows.

Now you could officially pay attention to the game, and your boyfriend as the night went on. Apparently, your school the Jaguars had started out losing to the Kings, at a four point deficit until they started catching up. They'd officially surpassed the Kings just minutes before your performance.

There's a clean cut negativity that wafts over to your side of the bleachers whenever you and the girls do your routine coming right from the cheerleader side.

They have a captain as well, an upperclassman named Cho. She's a junior, and a bitch. You remember spending your first semester trying to become her friend for a while, but for some reason that you no longer care to worry about, she just never liked you. Her attitude whenever you spoke to her was ridiculous, so after a while you just stopped.

It was childish to you, the whole dance team vs. cheerleader rivalry, but it's how it just has to be apparently. There's no option of peace and being friends, so if they want to start shit you and your girls will be the ones to shut it down with poise. You knew why Cho was so mad right now, giving you her best side eye as you danced.

The cheerleaders didn't get as big of a spotlight this year seeing as the halftime show was dedicated to your choreography. Cameras and eyes were all pointed to the dancers, only occasionally turning to snap some pictures of the girls routines.

Did you feel bad? Hell no. You worked way too hard to be pressed about some hatin' ass girls in the back.

The game lasted another hour and about a half until it was finally over, a win for the Jaguars! The crowd was going insane, all the players huddled on top of each other in a pile, smiles everywhere. You felt like you were in a movie. The day was finally over, for both you and Ken. When the huddle broke up you hopped over the bleachers and past folks cheering, Ken unsuspecting as his back was towards you.

"Aaaaahhh!" You squeal excitedly, jumping up and wrapping your arms around him from behind. Ken makes a noise of shock before he realizes it's you, turning around and hoisting you up in his arms. Without a word the two of you kiss, completely blocking out the rest of the world.

Your hands cup his sweaty face as you continue, putting all your energy into it to show how proud you were. It's moments like these where your relationship actually feels real. Sharing a large accomplishment together, kissing publicly as a means of showing each other just how happy you both were.

Ken pulls away, setting you back down on the ground with a wide, beaming smile. "We did it babe!"

One of Kenny's teammates rather obnoxiously breaks your little moment up before you could even speak. "We gotta celebrate, man! Let's get to that party!"

Ohhh yes, the party...

Honestly, you weren't really in the mood for any parties, not after all the work you had to do today. If you could have it your way, you'd be chilling out in either yours or Ken's dorm room, having a special, intimate night with just each other. But he really wasn't that kind of guy. When the people need him, he shows up, and after something a huge as homecoming, he'd for sure be getting wasted tonight.

"Imma go and get changed and stuff now, K? I'll meet you out here unless you're gonna head to the party with the boys?" You tilt your head to the side.

"Nah, I'll wait for you." He shakes his head, giving you a peck on the forehead before you run off into the changing room.

As you make your way down the hall towards the dressing rooms for cheerleaders and dancers, it's nothing but hollering and cheers same as outside. You shake your head with a grin, pushing open the doors to the dressing room.

"WOOOOOOOO!"

A good seven of your girls cheer as you walk inside. You all do a little celebratory dance together, posting on each of your instagram stories as well as the dance teams insta page that you run.

"I just wanted to say on behalf of all of us that we're so proud of you and all the work you've been putting in since last year. We wouldn't have been able to pull off such an amazing performance without you and your creativity." Emma says with a proud smile. Your heartstrings pull and tighten at her sweet, heartfelt words.

"Ugh, stooop!" You whine, pouting your bottom lip out.

"No it's true! We love you so much, and we're so glad to have you as captain. You're so hardworking and always want the best for us; you're the best." Himari chimes in, placing a hand on her chest as she starts to tear up.

"Y'all...I don't even know what to say. That is just so sweet. I love y'all so much. I wouldn't even have my dance team dream come true without y'all joining and supporting me in the first place. So really I should be thankin' y'all." You sniffle, vision blurring from the tears pooling in your eyes.

"Wait! We absolute cannot cry this makeup off!" Emma outbursts, making you all laugh in response. She was right though, not only was our makeup bomb, but it also took forever and a lot of work to do. No crying tonight!

You all break up the sappy moment, going and getting semi changed for the afterparty. It was a frat party, so it was gonna be huge. Not only would the football players be there, but the basketball and soccer boys would pull up too. As you grab your sweatpants, you freeze just before you could step in with your left leg.

Something was wrong, your gold anklet was missing.

You distinctly remember putting it on before the show. This anklet was special to you, it being something that your mom gave you as a fourteenth birthday gift. It's real gold with intricate designs in the chain, simple but elegant, and beautiful. You wear it for every performance, almost like a good luck charm even though jewelry isn't advised.

You gasp, searching all over your little area, the clothing rack, and even Emma's stuff which is sat next to yours.

"Guys!" You call out. Everyone turns to you, confusion on their faces.

"Have you seen a gold anklet around? It's just a simple gold chain." You add, your tone worried as you frantically start searching through everyone's things.

"An anklet? I haven't seen anything." Is all that goes around as the girls help you search in confusion.

"No no no." You repeat to yourself, feeling tears start to prickle in your eyes all over again. It couldn't be gone, it just couldn't.

"Don't worry, just try to backtrack, ok? When did you last see it?" Emma asks, coming over to your side and helping you look.

"I remember puttin' it on before the game. I know for a fact I was wearing it." You shake your head, still rummaging around.

"It might've come off at some point during the game..." She says.

"No, not on that big ass field, it could be anywhere! What if someone stepped on it?!" You ramble, getting all worked up and upset all over again. Emma gives you an apologetic look, unsure herself really of what to say or do to make you feel better about this. You both knew it was highly likely lost in the sauce, trying to find that thing out there is like searching for a needle in a haystack.

"I'm sorry girl." She says softly, placing a hand on your arm comfortingly. You let out a frustrated sigh, going back to putting your sweatpants on. Now you really weren't in the mood for this stupid afterparty.

You finish changing, packing all of your things into your Nike duffel bag lazily. "I'm heading out to the party with Ken, I'll see y'all." You call out to the girls still in the changing room. You all share quick goodbyes as you head out.

Standing in the hallway you take a second, looking out at the opening to the field one more time. You really loved that anklet, and hoped maybe it just came off while you were at the bleachers. If it fell off there, it may be a good chance it's still in the same spot..?

You purse your lips, brows furrowed as you decide to go and search. Deep down you had a feeling it wasn't going to be there, but you were hopeful that maybe that feeling was wrong. You run out passed the people still left chatting on the field and some of the bleachers. It had quieted down faster than you'd thought it would, everyone probably already heading home or to the afterparty. You make it over to the bleachers you'd been sitting at, placing your duffel bag down as you search the entire row along with the ones above and below it.

Nothing. No sign of your anklet at all.

With a defeated sigh you plop down on the bleachers, facepalming as you take in the loss of your special piece of jewelry. Now that you were still, you finally noticed your phone buzzing over and over in your sweatpants pocket.

It was like every app was screaming at you for attention at the same time. Instagram, Imessage, Snapchat, Twitter, the list went on. Opting for Imessage first, you look at all the texts you have.

Best Friend #1👩🏾‍🤝‍👨🏻 GET UR AZZ TO THIS PARTY LIL GIRL😤!! I need somebody to get sturdy wit

Y/N💜 I AIN'T NO LIL GIRL LIL BOY😤 Imma be there soon

Best Friend #1👩🏾‍🤝‍👨🏻 U trynna pick me up some fireballs👀🫦🙏🏼??

Y/N💜 🙄Bye Kei...

You loved Keisuke, he's like an annoying older brother to you, and always finds a way to make you smile, though you two don't talk too often.

Emmy's🩵 Hey so my brothers are actually taking me out to dinner tonight so I won't be at the party🥺. Have fun with Ryugujiiiiii😈

Aw damn, Emma won't even be at the party?! You frown a bit but understand. Her brothers love her like crazy so it made sense they'd wanna take her out to celebrate. You send a quick "Awww that's so sweet! I'll see you later girl" and exit out of the chat with her, finally looking at everything Ken sent.

Big K💖 Wya? Been waitin for a while

Big K💖 U comin?

Big K💖 The guys are pressing me

Big K💖 We're leavin now

Your jaw drops as you reread the last text. He just left without you?! Is he serious?! He was supposed to be your ride! Emma and the other girls had already left, and Emma's not even going to the party anymore. Immediately you open up your chat with Keisuke again.

Y/N💜 Bro... Why Kenny leave me😐

You didn't expect him to respond since he's at the party but you went and sent the texts anyways. Now you'd have to go and put your duffel bag back in your dorm then Uber all the way to the frat part. Ridiculous...

A/N 🧚🏾‍♀️: Y'all don't understand how excited I am about this story! Also, having Keisuke Baji as your best friend is just chef's kiss in my opinion, like, I did my big one with that! But yes anyways, so excited about this, definitely put my whole coochie in this story y'all so like eat it up! Like, comment, reblog for sure. See you in the next chapter💖✨

P.S.: I'll have the next chapter soon (I don't really have a schedule yet for updates but if you guys really like it then I'll prioritize)

#shuji hanma #hanma shuji #shuji hanma x reader #shuji #hanma #draken x reader #draken x black reader #shuji hanma x black fem reader #shuji hanma x black reader #a mile away㊙️#strawberryfairi #black fem reader #shuji hanma x you #its complicated #shuji x reader

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tinkerbelle05 · 2 years ago

Text

I See You

Characters: Ao’nung x GN!Metakaynia!reader, Lo’ak x GN!Metakaynia!reader (one-sided on Lo’ak’s part)

Warnings: angst, denial of feelings, jealousy, fluff at the ending

Summary: After seeing you had become close to Lo’ak, Ao’nung started to feel jealous. But he wasn’t jealous because he liked you, he was simply looking out for you. Then, he noticed that Lo’ak was getting closer to you and then you saved him from drowning. Ao’nung realizes his feelings and takes some inspiration to snatch your attention away from the forest boy.

Word count: 4,935

Taglist & Masterlist

Ao’nung has known (Y/N) for as long as he knew life. He couldn’t think of a time when you weren’t attached to his sister’s hips. And in a way it made sense, your parents were good friends with his parents. So for most of his life, you were just another annoying sister and someone he generally ignored unless he wanted to prank you with his friends.

But then at some point, he saw you in a different light. The way you smiled at him, all toothy and sweet. The way the sun would shine on your blue eyes, how your skin was the same teal color as the ocean, and the marking on your skin looked like the waves. How he would love to trace them with his fingers.

In every sense of the word, you were undoubtedly stunning. You gave him butterflies, and Ao’nung didn't get butterflies. Sure, he gave other people those feelings because look at him. But it was never the other way around.

Instead, it was. And there was proof of those feelings whenever your hand brushed against his or how your laugh made him smile. Hell, even you looking in his general direction did something to him.

“Oh Eywa, dude this is getting depressing now,” Rotxo grumbled in irritation. “This is the 3rd time this week I caught you staring at them, looking like a lost baby ilu.”

Ao’nung and Rotxo were sitting by the shore, watching you play with your ilu. You were just laughing and splashing in the water with him, no care for anything but the two of you.

He groaned at his friend but before he could say anything Rotxo stopped him. “No, no, I am being serious right now. You like them, so why not just grow a pair and tell them how you feel? Your whole personality is being confident so I don’t get it.”

Ao’nung looked at him and saw the sincerity in his eyes. While he and Rotxo were close, they weren’t the type to pour out their feelings to each other. It’s just not the type of person that he was. It wasn't an easy thing for Ao’nung to do. To expose the deepest part of himself to others.

His pride is something he greatly valued but it’s so fragile, like glass, that he will do anything to protect it. Which is why he couldn’t tell you how he felt. Ao’nung and you were at a place where you could consider yourself comfortable in the presence of the other and, telling you might end up ruining the comfort you felt around him.

“Because it’s not that serious, man.” He quietly chuckled at his friend like this was a joke. One big joke. “It’s just a little crush. Trust me it won’t get any deeper than that.” Rotxo didn’t look the least bit convinced with his answer by the way his eyes flicked up and down, judging me like I was a fool. And hey, maybe he was the fool for making things harder than they needed to be. But this is his plan so he’s sticking to it. “Hey, wanna go on an ilu race? Or is all this sentimental talk to stop me from absolutely destroying you?”

Rotxo has many great, and equally horrible, qualities. One of them was extremely 50/50, his competitiveness. Sometimes he’d get way too into it, and if that’s coming from Ao’nung, then you know it’s bad. Sometimes, not as much. However, it also means if you pushed the right buttons, he’d lose track of whatever he was originally thinking.

He glared at Ao’nung, offended that he’d even imagined the idea of beating him, much less speaking it into existence. “So, that’s how it’s gonna be?” He got up and started to call to his ilu and Ao’nung readily followed suit. It was supposed to be a ruse to get Rotxo to drop the topic, yet he’d only just scratched the surface.

“Yo, (Y/N) come and be the ref for our race!” Rotxo called out to you and gave his friend a knowing look. That conniving little shit, always having something up his eywa-damned sleeve.

But before he could give Rotxo hell for it, they appeared. The forest people, riding on their..ikans? He thinks they're called. Ao’nung wonders what they were here for. Forest people belong in the forest, not the reefs.

“Guys, father is calling a clan meeting,” Tsireya called out to us. She looked confused, and slightly anxious, mainly confused. Her lips were pursed together and her eyes were darting around. Ao’nung knew why, the last time a group of Na’vi, he assume from the forest, traveled out this far it had not been good news.

It happened 15 years ago, a year just after hr was born. The war, as the people called it. The Toruk Makto, a former Dreamwalker, rallied up the many clans who lived in the forest, along the reefs, and on the plains to fight against the other Dreamwalkers. The war was devastating even though we won. Homes were destroyed and families have ripped apart.

They all walked along the path to the clan meeting grounds. The usual chit-chattering was replaced by dead silence as each Metkayina racked their brains for why this was happening, and what it could mean for their clan.

____________________________________________

Ao’nung was fucking seething, frothing at the mouth even. He was so irritated, it wasn't fair at all. It wasn’t, it just wasn’t fair. For some reason, his father had asked, no, he had demanded that Ao’nung and his sister help the Omatiakan teens settle into their new home.

It turns out that the oh-great Toruk Makto and his family are being hunted, so instead of fighting like an actual Na’vi would have, he ran away like those Dreamwalkers do. Ao’nung guessed under the blue skin and towering height, he still was nothing more than a Dreamwalker, a demon.

He didn’t come asking for help to battle, but to hide and cower like a coward with his family. And on top of that, some of them had 5 fingers. And they were forest people. Their indigo skin would stand out starkly against the vast and rich cerulean sea and make it harder to hide from predators that they couldn’t outswim or fight. Speaking about outswimming, their skinny tails and arms would make it hard for them to swim against the harsh currents. They would never survive in the reefs. And if Ao’nung had thought of all this, for certain, his Father did as well.

“Okay,” Tsireya says, clapping her hands together. “First order of business is introducing each other.” She smiled warmly at the forest people, that’s his sister for you. Always kind and welcoming, even to outsiders. He definitely hoped that you would have a better head on your shoulders.

Right now everyone is sitting in a circle near the ocean. The actual first order of business was to teach the forest people how to breathe underwater. So pretty much teaching the basics that even kids as young as three could do in their sleep.

Ao’nung still couldn’t understand why his father would volunteer him to waste his precious free time teaching these forest people. His sister seemed more than happy to teach them by herself so why’d he have to tag along? His only saving grace was that you were also in attendance, Rotxo having tagged along too. Not that he’s happy because he likes you or anything. Just that having his both friends here makes it more bearable.

“Well, I’ll go first,” You started with a warm grin on your face. So you didn’t have a good head on your shoulder. He didn’t know why he expected better, you were always one to lend a helping hand.

You looked breath-taking today, your hair hanging loose and a set of matching bracelets adorned your wrist. They’d look really pretty with a necklace to finish off the look. “Hello, my name is (Y/N). It’s really nice to meet you guys, even if it’s under these circumstances.”

“Oh, that’s a pretty name,” one of the forest people said. “My name is Lo’ak.” he gave you a ‘charming’ smile that had Ao’nung pouting like a little baby.

Out of the corner of his eye, Ao’nung saw his sister smile slightly and murmur something under her breath. Now, he wasn’t the best mouth reader but he was pretty sure that she said that boy’s name. Does she like him? Already? It’s only been a few minutes, damn. Oh, Eywa help him.

The rest of the forest freaks and Rotxo introduced themselves but he couldn’t be bothered to listen to any of them. He saw the lingering glances that Lo’ak kept giving you and how you’d laugh at all of his stupid and frankly cringe-worthy jokes. But he doesn’t care, well he does care but not that much though. But not because he likes you or anything, just looking out for you like a friend should. Yeah, just looking out for you because you deserve a good person and this Lo’ak dude is below average.

Though, Ao’nung understood exactly why Lo’ak fell for you. While teaching them how to breathe, you were always patient and calm with everyone. Especially with Lo’ak who just so happens to always need extra help. And will always need it from you. To Ao’nung’s dismay, Lo’ak’s constant longing stares, bright smile directed towards you, maybe a touch that lasted too long all continued well into the months that the Sullys had stayed here.

And then, it happened. It was during their training sessions when Lo’ak went under and hadn’t come out. Tsireya was the first to notice his absence, shouting at the others for help. Ao’nung brushed it off as him just wanting attention from you yet again. He’d been pretending that he can’t ride the ilu so he’ll need help or something along those lines if that didn't work.

However, you had dived right into the water in search of him, while his sister and Rotxo called to their ilus.

“Neteyam, you guys stay here in case he washes up along the shore!” Tsireya called out before riding out into the blue waves on her ilu in search of the ‘missing’ teen.

“Shouldn’t we call the adults?” Kiri, the freakiest of them all, asked her brother. Neteyam was by far the only tolerable one. Then she looked at me, “Aren’t you gonna do something, fish lips?” She sneered the question out.

Ao’nung only rolls his eyes at her naivety. She had grown up with the idiot and still didn’t know his tactics. “Oh give me a break. You guys have been here for weeks now, the only reason that idiot is ‘drowning’ is because he wants attention!” He snapped back at her.

Whatever the freak said next fell on deaf ears as he watched you pull the idiot out of the water. You were mesmerizing, the ocean blended in with your skin, making you seem a part of it. You looked powerful and fearless, carrying the boy on your back effortlessly. Once you got to the shore, the others quickly surrounded you guys. Ao’nung watched as you laid Lo’ak on his back, checking him over. Giving him your undivided attention. You started chest compressions on him and in a few minutes, he was coughing up water.

But let this be known, Ao’nung is not jealous because he doesn’t like you like that. He just doesn’t want you with someone who would pay a cheap trick like that on you.

Laying his head in your lap and looking down at him you spoke gently. “Are you okay, Lo’ak? Can you breathe?” You looked up, face wrecked with worry and terror as you turned to Tsireya. “Reya, please go get your mother.”

“No,” Lo’ak protested weakly. He sits up but his hand is still holding on to yours. “I’m fine. Thanks for saving me.” He’s all smiles and heart eyes. Gross.

After the situation died down he went to his family’s shared Mauri, laying on his back and staring at the huts roof. That’s when he realized it. Thinking about the feelings he had regarding you and Lo’ak. He always knew, deep down, that he liked you. More than a friend.

“I like them.” He says to himself, softly. Testing out the sentence on the tips of his lips. “I like them.” He said again, with more confidence this time. He likes the way saying it makes him feel. The beating of his heart and the heat from his cheeks. This feeling was familiar but foreign in the same way. Either way, he loved this feeling. He loved you.

The pain in his chest returned once he realized he was more than likely too late. He knew what that forest freak was going to do after this. It was clear as day, anyone could see it. And he doesn’t know who he hates more. Lo’ak or himself.

____________________________________________

Ao’nung had an idea. It was a stupid and hypocritical given his thoughts on what Lo’ak had done, but it was an idea nonetheless. He wanted to tell you about his feelings. He wanted to say them so much that it hurt and his throat closed up from how dry his screams of confession would become. He didn’t know if you would accept his feelings but the least he wanted to say was the he tried.

Ao’nung and you were alone for the day, with the forest freaks off exploring and only Eywa knows where his sister had run off to. He didn’t know what was up with her these days but she’d been moody and snappy.

The sun was high in the cloudless sky and the waves were calm. Usually, this scenery would soothe Ao’nung but nothing could with the pounding of his heart.

“So, wanna go for a swim today?” He asked you, he had assumed newly courted pairs would be together unless you had rejected Lo’ak or the fingered demon hadn’t said anything yet. No matter the reason, this was his chance.

“Yes, that would be great, Ao’nung.” You gave him a smile before a devilish smirk slipped onto your face. “The last one there is a rotten ilu egg!” Was the only warning he had gotten before you took off into the ocean.

Ao’nung let out a bright laugh and ran to join you in the ocean, determined to not lose. He dove into the water, the coolness of it was a relief from the scorching sun that was burning him a few minutes ago. One of the best things about living among the reefs was how calm the water was. The oceanic life around him was just beautiful, he saw it every day yet it always managed to take his breath away. The plants were colorful and the animals swam around you both, not paying attention to either of you as both you and Ao’nung admired them.

The swim was one of the best he had in a while, and it was most definitely not because you were there. Okay, maybe it was because you were here.

He wanted to do it, to have your attention. No more forest boy trying to steal you away. And that's when he realized how. He'd go under, you'd save him, and then he’ll confess his feelings. It would be perfect.

So with a deep breath and his mind set on putting his plan into motion, he let go of his breath and let the water push their way into his lungs. The waters presence in his lungs was immediate and uncomfortable. Oh, Eywa, it was terrifying. His instincts were telling him to swim up or breathe correctly or do something. Ao’nung would like to say that he refused because he wanted the plan to work. But truthfully it was because he was in shock and he begged you'd notice.

And when you did, the panic in your eyes crushed him. Regret filled him immediately. You swarmed quickly towards him and, once securing your hold on him, swam upwards. You struggled slightly with the weight of you both dragging you down, not to mention how scared you were. Your tears mixed with the seas, a sight that broke him even more.

Death by drowning did not happen frequently because of how strict the Metkayina were with learning to hold your breath. But when it did, it was a tragedy, mostly because the victims did it on purpose. Ao’nung watched you as you dragged his body to the golden sandy shores and quickly began chest compressions on him. He watched as you pressed into his chest, counting to yourself. He was starting to hear a ringing noise and his vision started to blacken. The last thing he saw, the last thing he remembered was how wide your eyes were. How the eyes he had grown to love so much had tears pouring out of them as you screamed, but Ao’nung didn’t hear it.

When he had finally woken up in his family’s Marui, Ao’nung slowly blinked and tried to remember how he had gotten there.

Oh.

Oh no.

He had to find you! He had to explain, he had to apologize. Shame and panic filled him and his heart grew heavy as he remembered the fear in your eyes and the tears that were already spilling. He had just wanted your attention, and was too much of a coward to be upfront with it.

“You need to rest, my son,” his mother’s voice spoke to him as she entered the Marui. It was soothing and almost lured him back. Almost. He got up and tried to push past his mother, but she stopped him in his tracks.

“No. Mom, I have to..” He struggled against her and attempted to break free of her hold. But she was stronger than him and managed to get him back into his cot. “What you have to do is get better,” she corrected me with a hard look. But her eyes softened, “You have a visitor though.”

She gave Ao’nung a smile, before walking back out again to grab his visitor. Not even a minute later you come rushing in. Tears still stained your cheeks and your eyes were still red from how much had been crying. “Oh, Great Mother! Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” You repeated like a mantra and hugged him. The hug was fierce but not too strong. Even when you are hurting, you still are considerate.

“I’ll give you two a minute,” His mother said, standing by the entrance. Nothing gave away her true feelings but, with a knowing look directed to Ao’nung, she left the Mauri.

Once you’d calmed down, you smiled sheepishly at Ao’nung and cleared your throat, “Um, sorry for how I acted earlier. It…it was just so scary seeing you passed out like that. You looked so terrified and then you were out for days. But anyways, how are you feeling?”

Guilty, like an idiot, like…like how I described the Toruk Mako at the beginning. A coward. “I- I am fine.” He finally smiled back at you. He had to tell you. No no, he should tell you. He had no right to your attention. Not after what he had put you through. “Listen, I have to tell you something.”

“Wait! Wait, before that,” You smiled at him. The same bright smile that he loved to see so much. “I have something for you.” You pulled out a bracelet, it looked similar to the ones you always wore. Hell, you are even wearing them right now. You slipped it on his wrist and it was gorgeous. Made from different types of seashells that could be found littered around the shores.

“It’s an apology bracelet, and a little something more.” You said, not looking at him and with a small blush creeping its way onto your face. “Ao’nung, I am so so sorry. I wasn’t strong enough and I should’ve called for help but I didn’t. If I did, then maybe you would have woken up sooner.”

“Hey, hey. None of that.” He corrected you. “What happened to ‘it is your fault and your fault alone Ao’nung!’? Okay, do not blame yourself.” Guilty was absolutely wrecking him, how long had you been thinking this? He should tell you. Tell you now. But... ”Something more?” He questioned you. Yes, he was being racked with guilt and this ‘apology bracelet’ did nothing to help the feeling. But Ao’nung couldn't just ignore the ‘something more’. He couldn't ignore the beating of his heart. He had ignored his feelings enough.

You took a deep breath before confessing. You tell Ao’nung these feelings were always there and that you were worried that you’d always be the ‘childhood friend’. But having him almost die right in front of you, watching his eyes close with the possibility of them never opening again stirred you into action.

Ao’nung was delighted to hear this from you. He’d never allow himself the dream that you’d actually reciprocate the feelings he kept hidden. It would hurt too much if he got his hopes up for nothing. But, like all good things, he knew this moment would not last. So he savored it, the emotions he felt, the way you looked at him, committing everything to memory.

Then he confessed.

For the kind and gentle soul you were, seeing you angry was like seeing a completely different person. Rage consumed you, and you lashed out at everyone. One of the elders described it as being stuck in the storm’s path with no clear way out. Another said it’s because you don’t get angry often so it just builds and then erupts like a fiery volcano. Doing more harm to yourself over anyone else.

You pulled your hands out of his quickly as if they were a piece of fresh coal, burning away at your skin. The look you gave made his body ache with sorrow, nothing but anger and disappointment could be seen in your eyes.

“So, let me get this right, you were jealous of my ‘closeness’ with Lo’ak, and gave me a heart attack…gave everyone a heart attack-!” You shout at him in rage. And then proceed to throw up more screams of bitterness and anger. Not just at him, but everything. Ao’nung clutched the bracelet you had given him, to hold on to a sweet memory. It was no use trying to talk to you. Too blinded by your emotions to listen. No less believe the boy.

“I…I can’t believe you’d do something so reckless, so selfish, so stupid! Everyone was worried for you. You could’ve died, Ao’nung!” You roared with your fists clenched at your sides. That’s when Ao’nung saw the tears that were rolling down your face. Not bothering to brush them away.

That was when Tsireya came running in, probably hearing your shouts and sobs. She looks between you two in puzzlement before looking at him in vexation. “What’s going on here?” She demanded of Ao’nung with a facial expression that looked eerily similar to their Mothers.

She turns to look at you but you simply shake your head at her with a weary smile before leaving. She turns to look at her brother with her signature ‘you are fucked’ stare. “What did you do?” She demanded again but spoke a lot more harshly.

Ao’nung could only sigh and tell her the whole story. She gave him a disappointed look, her eyes blown wide and mouth agape. Normally he’d give her shit for looking at him like that, but he deserved every last bit of disappointment that was about to be thrown his way. And, every bit of the verbal lashing his mother will soon give him when word gets out.

After a moment of silence, she talks. “You need to apologize to Ao’nung. I know that is a given but seriously. They were a mess and inconsolable for days after you passed out, and would hardly leave your side.” She looks away from him for a minute but then talks. “Lo’ak, did like them and the stunts he played were for their attention, but they always liked you.” With that, she leaves him to think about the revelation. He couldn’t mistake the voice crack she had halfway through though.

For days, Ao’nung sat there, thinking of what he should say and how he should say it. He’d twist the shells on the bracelet you gave him before everything went to shit.

“What troubles you, my son?” His father asked him one day while Ao’nung lay in his bed, his depressive state yet to pass. He just wanted to curl up and hide away, even if he did have a game plan to apologize, he couldn’t either way. “Well.” Tonowarai walks over to his cot and sits on the edge, a patient smile on his face.

Ao’nung let out a low exhale and proceeded to tell him everything that happened. He was honestly surprised that Tsireya hadn’t ratted him out yet but she hadn't been there for a few days.

His father narrowed his eyes at him. “So you endangered yourself…because you were jealous?” He asked the question slowly and stared at him puzzled. “First, you are definitely grounded for that stupid stunt because I and your mother did not raise a skxawng. That behavior is not of someone who will one day lead the clan.” But his father’s eyes grew softer as did his tone. “Secondly, be honest with them. It’s been a few days so maybe they might’ve calmed down but know this. They are not obligated to accept your apology or to be as close as you once were.”

Every time Ao’nung would come to you, he was ignored. He would try to say hello just for you to mumble an excuse and scurry away or if it even looked like he’s walking in your general direction you would take off. He doesn’t take this to heart, remembering his father’s wise words. It was rather annoying but he knew he deserved it. For the next three days Ao’nung has been collecting seashells from the sand and asked Rotxo to collect shells from the ocean. Not that Ao’nung was scared or anything because that would be embarrassing. It’s just…easier to have Rotxo do it while Tsireya teaches him how to weave a necklace for you, that he was planning to be similar to the matching bracelets you had.

So, maybe he was a bit scared of the water, liking going too deep with no one around. But, slowly, with the help of his mother, he was getting more comfortable.

Today was the day. It was nearing eclipse when Ao’nung found you with his gift in hand and he slowly approached you. He didn’t get that close when you held a hand up, stopping him. In a monotone and cold voice, you spat at him “What?”

“I am so sorry-” He started to say.

“No!” You butt in. “I do not want to hear this from you, I can’t hear this from you Ao’nung. I can’t.” Despite your attempts at keeping your voice leveled, it still broke. To hear this emotion in their voice just shattered his heart. To think that your hurt was because of him.

Ao’nung held on to your shoulders as you tried their best to get out of his grip and just away from him in general. He forced your eyes to meet, and for the first time in weeks, he saw those gentle blue hues he missed so much. Saw the bright white freckles dotting your teal skin, and saw the wave-like marks on your body. He saw the anger and pain he had caused you, the tears that never ended, the glare you sent at him. He saw them all.

He caressed your face like it was the most precious pearl in the ocean and spoke, “I am truly sorry for the pain and despair I caused you. The reasoning will not make it any better but please let me explain. You can go our entire lives hating and wanting nothing to do with me, but please let me explain.”

You slowly nod your head and put some distance between the two, now his grip had loosened. “Go on Ao’nung.”

Ao’nung began, “I’ve always…liked you, but I thought that you would never like me the same and so as to not ruin our friendship I said nothing and pretended that I didn’t like you. But then those fore-.” He paused, “The Omatiycans came. Lo’ak came, and he got too comfortable with you. It made me jealous to see the closeness and the attention you gave him. So instead of being honest with you, I decided to pretend to drown. But I did not do this as a sick joke, I did it because I care for you a lot and I just didn’t know how to say it.”

Ao’nung sucked in a breath, before he whispered to you, “ I…I did it because I see you.”

Silence engulfed you two as Pandora became alive in the night. The bright plants bloomed around the two of you, definitely setting a more romantic vibe. Ao’nung watched as you took a deep breath and considered some things. He did not know what was going on in your head but he surely hoped that you took his words into consideration before taking action. He even pleaded with Eywa.

“You said that you..see me?” You question him, your eyes widen as his words finally click.

He blinked, nervously looking to the side as his teal skin showed some resemblance of a blush. “Yes..I meant every word that I said. What I did was childish, and for that I am sorry.”

“It’s okay, Ao’nung I forgive you. But you will be making it up to me.” You said with a serious tone.

Ao’nung lets out a small chuckle, just happy that he was forgiven. He leaned in, his breath fanning your cheek, before giving it an almost experimental kiss. “Well,” He brings out the matching necklace he spent days crafting, a cheeky grin growing on his face as he pulled back. “This is for you.”

You gasp at the sight of it and take it gingerly into your hands. Your eyes wide with and your hold gentle, almost as if it could break at any given moment.. Ao’nung watches as you inspect the necklace, your love for crafting making this stare a lot more nerve wracking for him. Truth be told, he was nervous as hell, but if it wasn’t up to your standards then he’d remake it until you're satisfied.

“Wait, Ao’nung..this matches the bracelets I made.” You marveled at him with shining eyes and a bright smile on your face. It was just nice to see you smile at him like you used to.

“Yes, which means that we have a matching set.” He shows his wrist, shaking it and looking at the bracelet you had made him.

You wrap your arms around his neck and hug him, staying still and relishing the moment as he wraps his arms around your waist. After a few seconds of silence you whisper into his ear,

“I see you too Ao’nung.”

____________________________________________

Tag list & Dedication

I would love to give a special thanks and dedication to @enslique for being my lovely editor and making the fic 10x better, and to @crabcollectorskykid for allowing me to use their idea from a shitpost they made.

#avatar: the way of water #avatar (2022)#ao'nung x reader #lo'ak x reader #fanfic #y/n #gender neutral reader #x reader #angst #fluff #love confessions #denial of feelings #jealousy #aonung fluff #atwow fanfiction #aonung avatar #aonung angst

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sugar-petals · 3 years ago

Text

sub!𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐜 🌹║ 𝚗𝚜𝚏𝚠 𝚊𝚕𝚙𝚑𝚊𝚋𝚎𝚝

↳ smut A-Z / 𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖈𝖆𝖓𝖔𝖓

【ＧＥＮＲＥ】› smut/angst/fluff + monaco gp au

【 ♥ pairing.】charles x reader

words. 🍒 16k — bc 16 is a good number :)

WARNINGS/TAGS. ⚠️ 18+ (mdni), pwp, sub charles oh là là, bondage, femdom + vanilla dynamics, face sitting, suits kink, protected sex, pegging, anal play, masochism, oral, multiple sex partners mention, alcohol mention, French language kink who knew

↳ [ // 🍓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄. ] i like my alphabets long with feelings and sub plots: pun intended 😂 you’ll find parts that are romantic, sad & horny, the rest is fun, now let’s get into it. 🍌

posted: july 7, 2022

【 read it on AO3 】

a = aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

One of the best parts of sex, he’s one sucker for you. Charles loves getting aftercare so much, ending up lost in your eyes because he can’t help it. Jeez, his cuddliness. And god, he smells so good. Charles is blushy, and he’s and clingy, and he talks so much. Face buried in your hoodie kind of affectionate. It always has you wondering, why does Charles love me so much, why does he act this way, like a literal puppy. But he just likes being looked after this way after he satisfied you. Behind all those layers of ambition and stress, there is only needy and dependent Charles left — he won’t lie about it.

In contrast to him, you keep it efficient. And relatively short, never exceeding 20 minutes, but it’s oh so vital. Less is more sometimes. A glass of water for Charles and he feels refreshed: „Merci beaucoup, mon rêve.“ — he calls you `my dream´ very often. A little lotion on his back and legs is just as quick, and he’s ready to sleep. Lighting some incense, candles, or bringing him a big cup of tea. Putting on a vintage movie on a beamer and just embracing to snuggle, barely listening to the dialogue in the background since you turned down the volume deliberately. If you denied your darling pillow prince his orgasm earlier, you will gently suck him off now, sloppy enough for little bubbles to start forming around your lips. You make sure your favorite blue-white cotton duvet is within reach just like towels. Gotta stay warm and covered afterwards.

On other days, you like to go the extra mile. You switch on the big red popcorn machine or make some light pink cotton candy. Cherry flavored, of course. His mom always gifts him these fancy kitchen machines for fun, but she’s right: More delicious things for Charles. His secret sweet tooth is actually adorable. Ferrari’s dietician comes for Charles, but not for you, so this is the ultimate loophole. Charles and his cotton candy have become inseparable. He just loves to pull those fuzzy strings out of the `main cloud´ as he calls it. Or, laughs his ass off when his lashes get caught in it. They’re so long, how can he blame `em.

Dose of head pats, lots of water chugging — no coffee, rule of the house. As a wise British prophet (King Lewis the 44th) once said: Coffee is disgusting! You’re keeping it healthy, Charles he wants to sleep tight in your arms later, after all. Instead, sweat wiping. Forehead kisses. Snack bars. Charles needs a quick fix here and there. But he’s very relieved of some heavy stress, and very smiley. You feel content and proud, but usually not with a weight off your shoulders since there was hardly any to begin with. You’re with Charles, your everything. Your angel and treasure, and your beauty. Just looking at his friendly face once can suffice to destress for three days in a row. If you do the math: Looking at him ten times equals one month without tribulations. That’s the energy.

What’s absolutely expected: He appreciates your idea to run a bath after sex recently. This man might as well live in the tub permanently. „Grown any gills yet?“ — a frequent favorite quip of yours. Maybe he should pin wheels to the whole thing, paint it red, and roll up at the starting grid with this next-generation Ferrari. Nickname: The Merman of Maranello. Nothing else on but some yellow trunks and shiny designer shades. He’s gonna win a Championship with that in no time. New Ferrari Masterplan unlocked: Charles drives his bathtub to P1. But anyway, we digress. Aftercare.

Charles loves to be bathed and lathered in jasmine shampoo. You like to shave him when he’s covered in foam like that. His axilla, chest, or neck, just because the sound is satisfying and Charles enjoys this type of personal attention. Aftercare with Charles Leclerc can turn anyone into a soft domme or service top. You take your extra time to towel him down bit by bit, and make him feel luxurious in a way that even his salary can’t. You will admit to Charles that you like to pamper him, and that makes him give you a very sheepish look. Is he flustered? Yes, he is.

Aftercare is filled with conversation. You know how he can suddenly talk like a waterfall, lots of exclamations and dramatique expressions? That’s exactly the atmosphere. Free-flowing chats. Charles talks about himself in 3rd person pretty often, which is cute. Little spoon all the way, too, this guy is like a human kitten. Likes to suck on your fingers with a cheeky, blissed-out expression. It’s a go-to favorite to calm himself a little and to have his lips busy on you. Definitely an aftercare hugger rather than a direct kisser. He wants to breathe deeply now. And be softly tickled, it’s perfect to make him laugh. The sweet bun, no wonder his name rhymes with éclair.

b = body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

As far as you observed him at the bathroom sink, Charles is super into his hair recently. He’s trying out new products, often things you bought him as a casual gift to spoil your honey boy. It’s the personalized things that make Charles feel special to you. Since last month, he talks about how much shine and definition he can achieve. The helmet ruins his whole effort in one go, but he’s trying. Even consulting his barber on it. Always learning from the professionals.

As for his body as a whole. He’s still not admitting to his height, but at one point you said, silence bottom. You look good. You look nice. You’re a cutie pie. Head to toe. The whole world likes you. And you’re serious, because the entirety of your boyfriend is more important than whether he towers over you or not. He’s compact and huggable, what’s not to like. He got everything to hold on to, the arms, the shoulders. Even his pecs are growing nowadays, those tight white shirts look damn good on him. Wet t-shirt contest when? Father, son, and the house of Ferrari: That sight would be mindblowing.

People think his appeal is mysterious. To you, Charles’ handsomeness can be explained in simple terms. Everything about him is pleasant. That photogenic masterpiece, look at him. The Orlando Bloom of Formula 1. Any angle does him good. His way of coming across, his speaking, his gaze, his humor, his smile. All pleasant. Nothing upsets the ear, the eye. He is polite, he is pretty, with the exact amount of being gorgeously sexy on top. His face is banging, his body is shapely, what more does anyone need. That he’s often a little confused without even intending to just adds to his overall charm.

Being good with people is the cherry on top. Charles having a hundred social graces and winning people over with a simple „could you please repeat the question, sorry“ — I mean come on. The thing is. If you put him next to a Men’s Health magazine cover, he probably won’t meet whatever white guy beauty standards of the time, in whatever circles, whatever trend it is now. He’s not carrying around a 10-pack, he’s not a 6’3 spaghetti noodle, and doesn’t crank out an itty bitty waist either. Your man’s neck looks like he got it from a different person. And yet— Charles is the ultimate magnet. What is it?

Oh honey… it’s the demeanor. People so crucially forget his ways of expression factoring in. Charles’ body language. Why does nobody ever mention that. It’s very readable. That makes someone so easy to approach and like. You love his mannerisms and point them out often. Charles is always surprised he’s even doing these things. This guy even shifts from one foot to the other like he’s dancing 24/7, so. Even more attractiveness points.

c = cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Plays with it using the tips of his godly fingers when he gets you off in the evening — “Oh my god. You’re incredibly wet.” His job is all about working with his hands all day, every day, after all, finding the right buttons. So, Charles got that down, rest assured.

Loves the sounds, loves to make you cum slowly but surely, calling you oh mon amour while doing so. Prepare for his hooded bedroom eyes and him licking off his fingers like it’s icing. His hand coordination… it’s criminally insane what this guy can do with your clit. I believe it’s magic. Charles is an epicure but also a loverboy, he does all of this without expecting you to do anything in return. Just lean back and enjoy.

Meanwhile. Brace yourself, Monsieur. You have some other plans when the mood is right. Charles is definitely up against a caliber here. Your latest fantasy is ruining one of his ultra-expensive Italian suits with some crazy debauchery. Jacking him off in all directions, no mercy. And squatting down naked on top of a very clothed him, Charles wearing a silky blindfold for good measure. His suits make you turned-on beyond all reason. It’s custom, the cut clings to his million-dollar body like satin. The material of his clothing somehow gets drenched in your spit and drool as well — I wonder how that could happen.

To make it worse, you deliciously eat slices of watermelon while sitting on his face. Choking him out by pulling at his black tie, all without a care in the world where the melon juice will drip and dry. Feeding him with another slice is step two, just to see it all flow down his cheeks and chin. Charles can clearly feel his collar being soaked, but there’s only so much he can do. The blindfold is perfect because not only deprives it Charles from knowing what you do, but it also makes for a good reaction face once he sees the result.

Yeah, I know. This poor `innocent´ guy getting a full 69 treatment. Although you have to say, Charles is definitely rising up to a challenge here. Who of these other drivers currently has his face full of pussy, does breath play level expert, gets waterboarded by a sticky summer fruit, and tries not to cum from getting his dick French kissed and drooled across. Sounds fun, but from a sub’s perspective, that’s actually demanding. Multi-task legend.

Part of your fantasy is Charles whining about the ruin of said suit until it is born again after a thorough laundry. The next day, as per your text decree, he has to wear the whole thing on the paddock. No excuses. Distinctly Italian shoes with laces and glossy coating included, even if it’s not the red carpet. Charles rises to the occasion, he keeps his promise. Time to strut some golden pinstripes down the runway, baby. Wearing a slutty turtleneck underneath the tux, which almost explodes at the seams because his neck just won’t fit. Even Mister classic suits king George Russell will have to pick up his jaw from the concrete when Charles will walk, no, float along.

Jesus is the whole thing fitted. Literally so tight around the ass and shoulders. Gotta raise the fashion morale among the younger drivers and inspire more men to be a suits hoe. And the best thing? You like the fact that he’ll only think about last night while wearing it, constantly checking his body as if the evidence was still there. He concurs you have him beat with outrageous ideas, and managed to successfully corrupt him. Just to be sure, though: His racing suit is off-limits. But yep. The media will go wild and Charles’ beauty will break the F1 Internet. Nobody suspects what happened before the detergent.

d = dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

This cute lil’ mouse really is one of the most toppable drivers on the grid. Yes, I hear the crowd: Besides Mister Norris (Formula 1’s undisputed HSIC — Head Sub In Charge) and Monsieur Gasly. Gotta be precise and honor Charles’ contemporaries. An absolute dark horse sub is none other than Valtteri, but the world is not ready for that discussion yet. Maybe his booty portrait will pave the way among a 30+ audience. In any case. Charles got a certain hard sub flavor to him. That’s right. His luxury twink face and cotton candy antics deceive. He likes a strong grip on him. His dirty secret really is how far he is willing to go to submit.

He’s not as easy as Pierre on his own soft limits. Pierre is more playful and loves a good niche fetish that nobody heard of. Charles, completely different. What on earth is a soft limit! He doesn’t want to put anything on a `try…maybe…´ list. Too tentative. He either goes for it or not. „I can do it“ is a frequent agreement. Aftercare is mellow, but your man definitely has a streak of wanting to be steadfast and likes your topping more abrasive and immediate than not.

Really letting go is his unspoken sexual dream. It’s something every good driver wishes to achieve in their car, so of course, he wants to know how that applies to him in bed. Charles’ secret desire is to be tenacious when he’s in pain. No half-assed domination on your part. The real fucking deal. Red stripes on skin, everything. Charles is the quintessential masochist, you can smell that from across the Shanghai straight. And that straight is long as hell.

Charles has no intent of taking his frustrations out on you. He puts a lot of his stress into neck training, and his stamina, but he would feel bad using his strength to dominate you to the bone and make you writhe. He just can’t. Sure, Charles knows what he wants (…for the most part), but that doesn’t entail hanging you from the ceiling by one ankle. Vice versa, if you talk to him about trying a bondage suspension, however— You might awaken a curiosity. When it comes down to it, he has no qualms.

After thinking about it a lot, you realized there was a convincing reason for his secret. In his life of racing and competing, being steadfast? That’s often impossible for him. Racing is messy, sudden, direct, and fleeting. In bed, Charles can surrender and endure as much as he like. On the one hand, he can prove that he can take it all. On the other hand, he does not have to worry about getting things under his control. Subbing is his unexpected perfect match, even if he might only be half-aware, or not confident enough to go full BDSM at the beginning of your relationship. He still needs and wants to be taught.

One of his dream scenarios is this. Your kitty cat, classy but nasty he is, wants to be groped while he’s playing the piano. The bench is elongated enough for two people. His thighs and crotch are right there. So, while he’s playing you a little piece, Charles’ expression is kind of like „just do something really inappropriate“. And aggressive, not just feather-light. Your hand between his legs, making him go insane through the fabric of his black pants? That fantasy is his eternal cause for morning wood. Likes being groped while driving, too. Neither case needs a handjob to top it off. Charles just wants to feel aroused and then rub his dick against your thighs if possible. Until you get annoyed with the sensation and tell the naughty garçon how he can touch himself. And he can drive with one hand.

e = experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

While you were on holiday in a lodge, he conceded something to you in a bittersweet recount of his earlier years in Monaco. Charles hooked up pretty quickly when he was still sleeping around, getting lost in whirlwind emotions. If he had the time, any excitement-promising approach was considered. And: Put to practice fast enough to match the pace of the racing world, if not on the spot. He couldn’t really say no, his vice. If somebody cute asked him kindly, please sleep with me, Charles: He replied where and how.

Charles almost went too far liking to please, offering his body, and his default answer being „so what do you like me to do“. Rather than „what do we like to do together“. He regrets he didn’t decline more often. For a myriad of reasons, Charles has a difficult time telling you that. Sex was taking over his life and didn’t fit into his natural flow. He was careful with his partners, but it was just as lustful as one would expect. That in and of itself didn’t impact him as strongly as the confusion of feelings. And, the fact that he had an easier time saying yes to someone who wanted a ten-minute romp than actually approaching somebody he had a crush on. Small talk, sure. He’s good at it. Offering a hot lap and driving them around track? Sure. But asking that person on a real date? He was terrible.

He’d only manage to drop hints he was throwing a party at best. Charles ended up surrounded by flirty people before he could even spot his crush in the crowd. On to the next circuit after sunrise: The opportunity gone. No number, no nothing. Charles’ trust into his own feelings for somebody corroded time and again that way. There was no event where he could develop his own infatuation or any reciprocity. The people he liked didn’t think they had a chance, and those who liked him wanted fast relief from their obsession, disappointed at how normal, frustrated, or half-hearted he came across.

The vicious cycle continued with distractions and more attractive people that gave him a blitz hormone rush that almost felt like being in love. Some of them — those who essentially invited themselves into his sheets — were really good in bed, which increased the satisfaction and had an addictive shock value. But after getting them off and then himself, in an almost medical and hyperfocused, stoic way, he still went to the bathroom with a deep existential sigh in his mind which he had no idea how to label. It might have been a feeling of being dragged along into something too messy to get out of.

Meanwhile, people who thought themselves less attractive came back for validation and wanted to pry Charles into daddying and husbanding them back and forth. He almost fell for the incentive and toxicity of that power trip he was offered. Which doubled the people on his lap, his fatigue, the let-down, and mistakes while driving. Wanting to try things out harmlessly became a stream of forgotten names which Charles thought was a mutual pity, all done just for the sake of a tiny glimpse of feel-good body motions. Which he could deliver, he was great, which complicated things even more, and gave him nudges to repeat himself.

That irresistible seduction swallowed up countless hobbies and friendships before he even noticed. The hookups went by faster and faster. Charles was no longer cocky, but numb. Which put his already inundated and clueless brain through a blender and confounded him even more. Knowing he had so much responsibility in this cycle was just as stalling. His notorious Achilles’ heel of not being able to do quick problem-shooting was the last straw. What Charles said to you about this will haunt you forever: “When I make a mistake, when I try to fix it, it just becomes a second one.“

All of this results in Charles’ body count easily exceeding the two figures. He feels paralyzing guilt in retrospect, mixed with positive emotions of remembered pleasure, which is an awkward blend. Charles overthinks how he got passed around so much to distract himself from an empty inner space. He cries about his memories on the couch and doesn’t really seem to stop being preoccupied for weeks after he revealed those things to you. That he apologizes for being `used up´ rubs you the wrong way since he has so much love to give. But you get why Charles got himself into these situations. He had always been stunning, and people thought: Sharin’ the joy.

Good for them, and his drive is arguably high, he wanted relief. Charles did get something out of it. He satisfied many people who deserved some Charles Leclerc in their lives, even if it was just for an hour. But still, you can imagine the chaos and heartbreaks. Many people Charles hooked up with gaze at your boyfriend in a peculiar way when passing by and seeing you. Charles can’t look up, even if you have nothing against these persons and they seem to be cool people.

It’s his body, he did what he wanted to do with it. Charles could try himself out as he should have, and he’s the master of fanservice. Truth be told, who wouldn’t like it when their idol was making out with them. Nothing more understandable than the massive collective excitement for Charles Leclerc. Of course you’re flattered he settled with you, and you can build this from the ground up. He protected well, having a baby is quickly done indeed. Last thing he wants to do is spread STIs or race with a toddler at the back of his mind. Who Mommy has to explain to what dad does for a living. Everything but that.

He’s talked a lot about it to you which you think is courageous. You don’t resent Charles having done things like taking two people with him to his hotel every time there was some palpable sensual chemistry. And there was, and it was good to live in the moment. Some dates weren’t draining or disappointing. Who’s mad people had a good time with Charles: That’s a thousand times more preferable than any opposite of that. And no way to wind back the clock — he knows that best. It happened, and he is honest to you about it, risking the whole relationship by doing so.

Your stance is this. If Charles slept around, that’s what he did. Nothing to complicate there. He’s done his thing. A lot of people had a lot of late-night fun, and there were two or three emergency pills. Which gladly turned out fine. He figured all the other safety stuff out, too. He really learned the essentials, but in person, not in a textbook. Charles thinks he’s a dummy, but you disagree. It shows in his way of showing worry and saying the right words, and he knows not to cause someone he slept with physical concerns. That he’s not a wild-ass sadistic zaddy dominant adds to the overall image. He could not slap someone across their face for a hundred million plus.

All that amounts to a pile of experience. What about it? It’s not like Charles is craving eighty people on him every Sunday night. Come on, King Lewis could outdo your boy on any given evening in one of his local vegan gangbangs where the Sir indulges anyone who shows up with a smoothie, Sebastian merch, or a pride flag. With a big cheeky smile, you know it. Charles was more on the other side of the spectrum wanting fewer people involved. Keeping the overview and staying focused on good sensations and at least a little romanticism, which usually failed. Which is why he also wants a monogamous future for himself. A partner he can worship but also eat greasy takeout with, somewhere in an empty American diner at 3 AM looking like you both just survived all ten Biblical plagues.

His experience helps him know what feels good to both partners and what to avoid. But he also has some remaining mental baggage from the exhaustion, the stigma, and rapid socializing. He got fucked half-drunk pretty often which was not a good thing, and he hates that the most. That’s why it’s important to Charles that you’re sober, you’re in control, and he’s glad he has you. His health is checked. He’s well aware what a French Letter is and keeps on using it. Although Charles thinks he is undeserving of a stable relationship regardless of his wish for exactly that, you don’t falter. After a `second mistake´ can always come a right choice.

f = favorite position (this goes without saying)

By far that’s face to face, lying down on your favored sides. Your leg over his hip. A comfy pillow under your heads. The room nice and warm. Need I say more. Charles enjoys the angle and way of accommodating so much. He can penetrate you while kissing and feel your legs and hug. It’s the position you had your very vanilla first time in, so you keep repeating it for nostalgic value. You love being centimeters short of your lashes touching his, nose next to nose, and seeing his eyebrows arch in pleasure: Priceless. That position is called The Rocker, and it does have a nice rocking motion.

It was — and how else would it be, Charles is a wonderboy — a kind first time. Charles was not a klutz and knew how to arrange his body perfectly. He put a lot of sweat into making this a great starting point. That way of having sex on your sides is actually not so easy from the guy’s perspective, it speaks of Charles’ dexterity even if he is not extremely bendy Yuki-style. You like it because it feels so stable and is close to a regular hug. Charles really did the opposite of walking up to you saying „okay madame, missionary?“. He’s generally open-minded and makes less popular positions feel easy instead of awkward. This particular position is also useful to transition into many others, which is why it’s a bedroom staple.

Charles can make love in any reasonable way, though. You on top of him. Prone, super relaxed. Doggy over the backrest of his sofa. And those are just the classics. He’s not gonna throw you around or put you in a piledriver, and most standing positions are weird to him, but the rest is fair game. There’s no shame he feels in the moment, although he may be shy. Just because he had a lot of partners, doesn’t mean he won’t be bashful. But also don’t forget: Behind those dimples is a lot of resolve. He wants to be flawless. You always look forward to Charles taking the whole thing so damn seriously. You don’t mind him being so accurate. Like anything, it shows his natural will to please and be good rather than not caring at all.

g = goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

In a puzzling contrast to his rigid perfectionism, Charles `I sing in the shower´ LeBean is a hilarious goofball incarnate. He’s insane, he’s strange, he can’t stay straight-faced at all, ironically. People are far too distracted by his appearance and Monéygasque attitude. He constantly makes little jokes during foreplay — he once acted like he handed you a toothpaste instead of a lube bottle — and won’t stop randomly squirming or making weird-ass moves. Body language again: He’s his own universe. He can create the greatest atmosphere with that dripping chocolate honey marshmallow strawberry ice cream French, too, even if he said the biggest ever nonsense. It’s a miracle language.

His PDA is just as unconventional. Recently, he gave you a hand kiss and curtsy. Basically on the paddock, where you arrived to work, see him, and bully some team principles as a side quest. You simply got bored once Charles was told to warm up indoors. So there’s that, a nice hand kiss. Charles seems to consider you Monte Carlo royalty, but maybe that’s because he’s such a pretty prince himself. Although, he does not behave like some kind of monarch as soon as the occasion calls for him to be a meme, and that includes right in the act. Charles is the type to verbatim say „oops, I actually came! What happened!“ As always, one of a kind. You’ll never stop laughing with this guy.

He’s so sorry about making all these unintended jokes. He just can’t see the puns cumming, can he. As mentioned earlier, Charles prefers a whole bit of orgasm denial anyway. Tell him he can’t climax until you say so, and he’ll gulp, and stick it out with his teeth clenching. You’re gonna make this man explode harder than the night race fireworks, that shit got nothing on him. You’ll have him a sweaty wreck by the time you’re done with him, he’ll talk in at least two languages at once. Charles’ trilingual lifestyle is a warranty for plenty of verbal mix-ups. „You are so `otte…“ — „Haute? Like haute couture?“ — „No, `ot! Like temperature!“ — „Oh, hot!“

h = hair (how well-groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Trés chic! Charles is a chameleon: Closely trimmed, then all-natural. To give a more orderly impression, he likes to take care of his cleavage and especially the happy trail to give you a nice view in general. That spot’s gotta be smooth. When you lick across his chest, that’s gotta be sleek, too. He experiments with how to groom his pits and puts a scented conditioner on his leg hair in the shower sometimes.

To rave about the obvious: Charles has that lovely and consistent dark hair. Spectacular, amazing, stupendous. That beard awakens something in you. Don’t get me wrong. There are some pretty cool beards on the grid. But Charles has one that is stylish, versatile, fitting, and unobtrusive. It’s complimentary and gives him yet another touch of elegance. He has quite the beauty regimen in the morning. Knows how to tweeze his eyebrows, but doesn’t overdo it in the outer corners.

i = intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Charles is so sensual. If not the number one driver on the grid who understands what `erotic´ really means and looks like, next to Monsier Gasly of course. Erotic, that’s giving no discomfort, but a smile. Your first guess was that he might be a bitchy brat who gave his top a dramatic display — I mean he puts the winky face smoochy heart emoji into his captions — but little did you know he’s very focused on your experience and snuggly. Charles needs that downtime. Babe can’t expend all his energy smiling through the pain all day, or distract himself on his phone, can he. Charles has an expected soft side that comes out even more in complete privacy. On an intimacy scale to 10, he’s an 8.

Sure… Charles has a tiny bit of attitude: „That turns you on, doesn’t it?“ Because he knows exactly what you like, and his way of speaking English can make it sound bolder than it is. It will sound way different in French. But his nature as a pleaser who looks for signals in return rather than someone who thrives on one-sided romance does come out pretty quickly. He’s talked to you about those awkward past scenarios of being in that unrequited position, and how that ended up like. Charles is careful looking up to someone although he wants to do that so much, and it’s a huge part of defining intimacy to him. That’s why romance has to feel light and airy to him. He values fooling around rather than classic date nights sometimes, but is also the type to say „You feel amazing“ a lot during sex since he likes to give revering compliments.

His most candid intimate thoughts will only exist in written form: A diary. Yes, Charles will sit down and journal. If he finds time to write stuff into his Ferrari burn book, he will find time to write something in his journal at home or the hotel. Facts. You don’t pester him to show you. Charles can keep secrets or talk about it however he likes. He’d not touch your phone ever, either. Not once. He is more wary than jealous. He figures his mind out by himself and trusts you. One of the things he’s written down and actually dared to put forward in a conversation is that he has a fantasy of you acting more possessive over him. Physically, psychologically. In less of a romantic way. Who knew.

j = jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He’d never eat his own cum directly. The rest? Free reign. Charles treats his dick like. What to even compare it to. Lando vibrating and squealing and jumping around in his gaming chair. Weird analogy, but you get the idea. He’s going ballistic. Traction control off. Among the whole grid, Charles would win a speed contest. Always masturbates like it’s his first time doing it. Usually on all fours, winding left and right when no one watches, throwing himself around. This guy is fucking desperate, you don’t even know. His post-nut regrets are three times worse than the average guy’s. His wrist hurts while steering later, so Charles will masturbate the most at the beginning of the week. Saturday night? Not a chance.

Since he jacks off like a madman to destress, it makes him even more like a human pressure cooker. Ironically, since he thought it would blow off steam big time. You often have to remind him that he better not detach his dick from himself with all that heavy tugging. Charles realizes that a gentler approach will be better at prolonging his pleasure and finding the right moment for release. „The more deliberate you are, the less regret you’ll feel“ — especially if you get kisses all over your face while doing so. Guided masturbation is his perfect match. „Keep it clean. Only this direction.“ He listens to you since Charles knows you make sense. The more he gets into that, the more he likes that form of indirect domination. Just how much can he arch his back? Come in and find out. Allez, Charles.

k = kink (one or more of their kinks)

The thing is. Your bébé has not really tried full-on submission beforehand. He’s played around with handcuffs, blindfolds… but never dared to go all the way. And neither was he encouraged, even if he’s really interested in those things. That’s probably why he was bouncing from one hook-up to the other, hoping for something spicier to occur, without actually communicating that, which set him up for being disheartened. Vanilla sex is great, but still far away from his full potential.

Those thighs and ass can handle it, Charles is ready for a whipping. He’s ready for the strap, he’s ready for the slaps, he’s ready for the feathers tracing over his body. Bring on the adrenaline. And oh boy, he’s already among the top 20+ drivers in the world doing adrenaline as a full profession. You gotta hit it out of the park. His fascination with BDSM has a reason: Charles thinks he missed out on exploring his submissive side, like there’s a gap in his sexuality. From your side, it goes much further. From your observation, you have a masochistic diamond on your hands. Still raw, but soon to be sculpted in full.

Pegging as a first step, it’s a wild ride in all meanings of the word. You have to be careful to guide him. Charles is easily sensitive. Paradoxically, he doesn’t want gentle prep. Go big or go home. That goes for strap size, too. Using smaller toys to dilate is simply not his thing. He cleans himself up in the bathroom to get ready, but that’s it. This man is gonna talk nonstop. „Like this? What do I do? Is this okay like that? This feels crazy! But in a good way! What do I do with my hips?! Where do I put my leg? What’s this feeling?“

You have to talk your cherry boy through it like an instruction video. Charles’ ass is twitching like hell, which makes you wonder how on earth did this man not get properly dominated by anyone yet. Well, there’s always a first time, and who knew there was still a way to take his virginity. Like wow. And so abruptly, he just wants you to push it in from behind, no fingers first. Good evening to his prostate. This guy’s eyes will be falling out. He’s never been this touchy-feely.

Charles is going to be stunned out of his mind for hours after. You’ll see reactions he never did before. It hurts a lot, like a lot lot, but… he gets excited from that; his heart beats faster than at the start of a race. Charles had no idea that being split in half was that much of a big deal, and you spanking him as a little treat makes it even better. He’s gonna do a little yelp anytime something happens, and seriously. Sure you’ve heard him gaming, but Charles is a different kind of screamer when you pull his hair. The ultimate stress relief.

If that already keeps him on his toes and gives him an existential crisis (which, to be fair, is his primary mode of living these days), wait until you break out the long gloves. Charles will think you’ve gone insane, but it turns him on. He likes being confronted with extremes as is his driver nature. Oh, to get his face slammed down into a pillow and just getting ravaged, and this time not a piece of plastic. And again: He does not like it tender. Charles has the guts to enter an F1 car, you can rearrange these guts without a worry. No „Mommy mommy please take your time“ — he’s not that kinda sub. His name ain’t Lando. It needs to be at the limit until he can’t take it anymore. Lube is your best friend.

In vanilla, he’s a romantic, but for subbing, this guy is not for the faint of heart. You’re doing those things on Monday, not Friday evening. Maybe Charles doesn’t feel the car bouncing because his ass is already numb. That would explain a lot. You’re leaving is in literal shambles. Just how often have you blown his back out? Charles will avoid soft subbing, he enjoys you being brutal, sometimes a bit too much, in fact.

Sure, you can give it to him strongly. Why not have a little hate sex. You saw how much he likes being choked with his own tie. It’s nice if things get red-hot. But the calm and subtle side is missing, which is why you sometimes just rope him in while on his knees for an hour or two. Believe it or not, for some softer couple time. Bondage is the best and most patient way to explore Charles’ body in full and to develop your rigging skills along the way. This is an art, and pretty red ropes (what else) fit a pretty boy well, don’t they.

l = location (favorite places to do the do)

First off. You know the drill. His racing car is taboo. Some… other drivers would pull this. But not your very mannered guy. The garage, same thing. Charles behaves. Come on, that damn car. You wouldn’t squeeze in there either, who are we kidding. Keeping it classy, and if there’s nastiness, it is calculated or just in his head. Like Charles’ fantasy to have sex in the car while competing at Le Mans. He’s insane for this, but he will constrain that idea in his head for obvious safety reasons.

That he likes being pinned against a wall though, that can be arranged. Yuki would be proud of your expert kabedon. And not just the light version. Charles wants to get pushed against the surface ruthlessly, have you ripping at his shirt and collar, and he wants to get scolded. Quite submissive of you, Monsieur Leclerc. Some like it wild.

The superior place though? His yacht has a nice interior. The perfect spot. Superb privacy. It’s not just for sex, though. Charles has an open ear for your thoughts while it’s cuddle time or you’re having pasta there. He’s your bestie, you are giggling about a random Youtube video you’ve seen. Once you go on land, still laughing, you will look crazy to outsiders, but you are free. PS: Has long joined the mile high club with you. That’s been one of the first things you did together and oh boy, was it enjoyable. One of the horniest days in your history as a couple. You’ve done it again a dozen times after.

m = motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Would never admit simping over you, even if he’ll often say „Je t’aime“ in broad daylight. But he wears his mirror glasses for a reason. Nobody will notice how often he looks in your direction. Charles is in a precarious mindset about you very often. He knows it could all be over by the dawn of tomorrow, whatever the unforeseen event or split may be. Hoping that the odds are in his favor and in yours, but knowing all the ways of misfortune and endings all too well, Charles often tries to tweak his thoughts to be more shallow when looking at you: But in all cases, he fails. He’s a relationship guy, he can’t help it. He’s turned on by by thinking „I am her boyfriend.“

n = no (something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)

Mind games. Someone with zero brain cells. And: Classical music. Or mainstream rap. Those stay off the sex playlist. Either would disturb his creative flow. Being, in essence, either too cheesy and epic, or too much in your face with mumbled punchlines. 90s rap, he would say yes. But with modern music, Charles needs a way more sensual way to color the room with background atmosphere… and puts on cringe tracks that you will promptly roast. Who listens to Vampire Weekend while fucking. It’s not like you’re slamming his taste, you’re just um putting on your own playlist and he’s gonna like it. Easy.

o = oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Let’s start with receiving. So. He doesn’t have a desperate preference, but he sure enjoys himself to the rare maximum. Like, really letting go. Which is a feeling Charles does not usually experience without any roadblocks. This man is violently cursed from experiencing pure joy. So naturally, you like to spoil him rotten. Charles is terribly weak for that. He’s a lips enthusiast. And he knows his dick is nice, he’s clean, so he got a nice pastime to offer in return.

What’s in his mind about it? That he has been blessed. When does life ever give this man a break except for a damn blowjob. He feels pathetic and never begs you to do it, but he’s also grateful. Charles is feeling very much alive again. His sexy hands are surely busy on you, too. It’s all big serotonin for Charles. Which is a concept you like. Something simple within ten minutes can paint a relaxed smile on his face. He sleeps like a baby afterward, and probably cooks you breakfast while dancing in the kitchen the morning after.

You do pay attention not to give him pleasure as a `substitute´. It’s not supposed to be a drug. And it can’t obscure the fact that he’s often faced with strife that needs to be overcome directly, by himself. Then again, you do like to comfort him by sucking him off. You can’t help wanting to do it, even if it contradicts your wish for Charles to come home from the circuit with a smile on his lips already. Since a big famous racing team is responsible for either fucking him over and ruining his mood, it’s a little complicated, though.

Whatever you do: Charles considers you an oral sex goddess, and even scorns himself for thinking he falls short vice versa. He works hard to reciprocate. You put dedication into it and really bother with techniques. Hands-free and shallow and deeper and twisting and tongue work and rubbing the sweet spots underneath, everything. It’s the passion that counts the most though, and you have it. Charles can’t like it enough. You can suck his dick until it falls off like a 2020 Mercedes tire. Fuck, does he taste good. Champagne bottles do pop differently when they’re from Monaco.

He likes the more energetic style of fellatio even if he is otherwise quite the sensualist. Some timid licks won’t do here, nor does a languid double-handed twist. He stays true to his endurance motto. And you’re similar to him. You wanna eat him up, you’re eager to see him tremble. Plus, you’re aware he’s a wanted man. You want Charles all for yourself. His moans, his dick, his body, his smiling. Charles asked you to be possessive. This is one of your ways of showing it.

Charles is pretty vocal with his back against any horizontal surface stable enough. He wants both of you to have plenty of cushion support. He typically rests his hands on your shoulders, or loosely palms your hair. What’s interesting to you is that Charles has actually been pretty stingy with blowjobs in his past. This is something special to him. He wants the lips wrapped around his dick to also say loving, encouraging words to him in other situations. Charles wants to deeply like you rather than just wait until you put him in your mouth and he won’t care about the rest. That he’s okay with you giving him head says a lot about what Charles thinks about you.

Saved the best for last: Giving. At first — Charles is actually a bit insecure, but in a way that you can work with. What steps to do? Where to look? How to move? He prefers it when your hands guide his head and put some gentle pressure on it. Teach him all the spots and directions, teach him all your ways. Initially, you wonder why a person who slept with a gazillion people is so not confident with eating you out. But you realize, Charles always needs a little push. He wants to please you the way you want it with an immense exactitude. His mindlessly horny encounters were… less ceremonious, and as you saw, not that heavy on the oral component from both sides.

That stuff was like. Hop on my dick, I give you a hot lap. Let me heat that engine, big finish, chequered flag, let’s kiss, goodnight, it was very good. I’m flying to another continent in two hours, you were amazing. Charles wants a bit more indulgence and deliberation this time, and a more correct technique. Giving head to party girls was like: So here we have Charles Leclerc and his aimless tongue finding random spots, making superficial 8s, and it’s all under time pressure! Going down on a complete stranger and figuring it all out in a minute, and the same applies to a blowjob, that’s just weird as hell. Charles’ opinion is, you have to know what they like in detail.

He regrets not having put more effort and education into it back then. Although, and that’s obvious to you but not him, his former slut life was clearly facilitated by his already far above-average sex talent. But yes: Now he can make up for lost knowledge. Which are more like, mere finishing touches. He’s quite proactive to catch up. And as you know, Sharl is a bit of a social butterfly. After getting advice from the number one sex coach in town, things are wildly different. You’ll hear sentences like „just cum on my face sweetie ♡“ and immediately know it’s the voice of Sir Lewis Hamilton speaking through him. You’re not surprised that Charles asked Lewis out of all people to level up. After all: No surprise, eating pussy is completely vegan. Instead of meat, I eat veggies and y/n — Eurovision fans will get it.

But you also raise a little brow at Charles’ loose lips. He really did kiss and tell there, huh. You’ll make him sign an NDA if he continues to consult people who so happen to frequently chat with Sebastian #TheGossipMan Vettel. Who will then spill the tea at a press conference for the world to hear. Instead of Charles just researching on the plain ole Internet and calling it a day. Your boyfriend apologizes profusely and realizes just how fast this intel could spread. Regardless, you compliment him on his choice of expert and are sure that Lewis will not pass on the information lest he wants his avocado toast stolen.

Instead of learning complicated tongue swirls, Charles has an easier time when you just sit on that Orlando Bloom of Formula 1 face and just ride on. Like properly. On your knees, facing his feet. Charles’ feet are fucking top tier. Did I mention his feet are great? Elegant, beautiful, aesthetic. Like the man himself. And no worries. He preps his beard so you won’t get hurt. Charles is now confronted with your ass doing all the work, but his horse neck can handle it, zero doubts there. In other words: At the beginning, he’s better at being passive than active. Gotta make that mattress squeak. You can drive it home on that glorious face. That will enter his mind permanently, just like what you did to his sexy suit.

But then again, he won’t give up on improving himself. At dinner, Charles has recently confessed to having a lot of sexual fantasies where he sees himself in 3rd person, pleasing you with his tongue like a pro. He thinks it’s a shame his lips aren’t very big and plump, but he does his best, zealously, to stimulate the right spots. Sometimes, you need to urge him to concentrate, he’s really trying and trying everything at once. Charles enjoys the effort to lick you up well. If he loves someone, he likes to figure them out.

„I wish I was a natural“ is his constant motto. He really makes no excuse. No wonder, because you’re so delectable. Your labia are so tasty to suck on, and the dripping wetness in the middle is his undisputed favorite thing. No wonder you are Miss Éclair. People with a bump on their nose simply are the best pussy eaters. Sorry, I make the rules. Charles will ruin his face in the best way possible by swiping his nose base to tip, upwards, making you gasp out loud. Somebody is getting the hang of it. Just imagine feeling his lashes on the insides of your thighs. Lucky you, lucky you. And him doing the thumb-tongue combo. He really goes for the podium in your heart, does he. Instant win.

If you are the goddess of oral, Charles feels very inspired to be the matching god. Standards, baby. You hold him back from pushing himself, but it’s clear he is a gifted student at almost everything, as is typical of him. In other words: Learning curve. Charles has you heated up like the comment section of George’s topless pics when he talks that extra sultry, heavy fucking French. „Mon rêve, how do you feel?“ Goodbye, man. Good fucking bye. Charles will cater to your voice kink until you’ve cum twice in a row. He is really starting to play to his strength these days, keep that guy.

p = pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

To be enjoyed with care. Charles’ brain is imploding when the speed picks up, and he’s turning into a messy hoe. Mind that he’s extremely strong by virtue of his job — Charles doesn’t want to hurt you or himself by acting out. He’ll have to hold his body back to match you, but he’s okay with it. Subbing clearly helps with that, too. He’s not at the risk of doing something disproportionate when he’s tied down. Charles can control his physique really well, but he still wants to be safe, fearing his arms could crush or sweep you in a wrong direction by accident. As always, he is paranoid of mistakes. That’s why Charles is comfortable being on the receiving and passive end especially, and will rather use his muscles for simply looking good laying there (hell yeah), and enduring rather than going on to dole something out.

At a certain point, he loses his usual athletic coordination and just closes his eyes. He will peak in no time and cry out loud. A mid-range speed is always the best way to go. Anything that will match a sped-up breathing pattern. Charles thought going steady is not his thing, because he’s a racing driver. But he does feel proven wrong with time and embraces it. Which adds to his sensual style, and that’s fucking hot.

q = quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

How does one even find time and inspiration for that. In the high-paced circus shitshow that is Formula 1? Well, easy: Charles has driven the 2020 car. He knows what it’s like to slow down and create his own lane. A little sex on the side, absolutely his thing. Charles is a quickie enthusiast of the highest order. He doesn’t call it quickies, though. He always refers to it as `little fun´.

But it’s more than fun. He could make out with you all day, even if he turns delirious. Breakfast, lunch, dinner, night. For example, he fantasizes about standing behind you at the kitchen counter in the afternoon. With his shorts a little pulled down. You eat together while you’re feeling him from behind. And the whole thing becomes more and more passionate, and, and— The oven goes up in flames.

Charles’ fantasies are always interrupted by an element of demise, added to the fact that he is already terrifyingly booked on weekends and in the factory. Which is why he has a mentality of improvising quickies rather than modeling them after what goes on in his head. His eagerness tends to backfire there. On some days, Charles might not even manage to get out of his own trousers by virtue of his dick situation, fumbling around aimlessly while kissing. Uncoordinated Charles and the helping hand of his domme — a match made in heaven. Admit it: You baby Charles too much and you enjoy it. But really: He needs that bit of extra TLC. And he’s on all fours to repay you, he’s fair.

So. It’s you who’s guiding his hands. Charles hesitating or not knowing how to move sometimes doesn’t mean he wants to safeword. His insecurities don’t root in you. You’re out of that equation. He definitely wants to sleep with his mon amour, out of question. He just needs some minutes to catch up and switch into off-the-paddock mode. It all works best when you indulge his inner romantic rather than fucking like rabid beasts. Being tender and focusing on the waves of pleasure will grant you a much better 15 minutes of little fun in the kitchen — without the oven on. Charles is already hot enough, aye.

r = risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He’s the kind of sub that sees something on the Internet says „Oh my god! Who would do that!“ and proceeds to ask for doing it five minutes later. Jesus fucking Christ, Charles. „But I guess we can try it out!“ is his battle cry. Needless to say: He needs a wise and circumspect partner who at the same time is very open-minded and resolute. It’s a lot to ask, but his best partner is an all-rounder domme. A lady who knows how to lead, but also strokes his cheeks and gives due praise. That way, it works out considering Charles often changes his mind and wants to go more extreme, more immersed. Roleplay, and the like.

There’s a negative side that you noticed, though. Charles infuses a lot of it with personal topics that he normally pushes to the side. He really wants to act and feel like you hate him sometimes, giving him severe punishments, stepping on him a lot more brutally, hitting him in the face hard with no regard to the consequence, and talking to him from behind a callous emotional barrier. In short, really mistreating him.

You’re not 100% okay with that and actually tell him off. You feel like Charles will end up misusing this dynamic without even noticing. To castigate his conscience, to grant himself a proxy to express the buried feeling of being really beaten down. Since his self-hate has terrible effects, he believes someone else hating him could free him of it: But it has to be someone who actually likes him, so that the situation is not real. Roleplaying seems to look like Charles’ coping. You understand the point of relief through a fantasy, but you still don’t agree that his reasoning is healthy or in any way effective for his career.

Even if they appear like immovable mountains, you animate him to rather face those problems outside of bed. He clearly has the zeal, that’s absolutely obvious to you. Charles can’t fix what happened, but he can think about the present day. Getting a sexual punishment won’t really let him move on. Guess why he likes bondage so much: It mirrors his feelings of constriction (alongside the burden of being il predestinato) and gives him the relief of being unbound after a session. Real-life doesn’t unbind him, which is why he keeps wanting to do it in kink, symbolically, and he asks you to do it again and again.

Even if you really enjoy tying him up and roleplaying — these types of Dom/sub play consume enormous time already, and with Charles, it feels like an emergency remedy. You can see where this is going: BDSM ain’t therapy. Especially since he’s a sub who tends to be on the receiving end of some pretty intense practices, you explain to Charles that it’s better to pursue sexuality for physical and spontaneous mental pleasure. Rather than, say to compensate for a larger life crisis that weighs too heavy on him to confront outside of sex. Or so he believes. Easier said than done, but you want to point it out to be sure.

It’s a bitter truth to swallow. And a criticism often unheard of. But it’s part of safe-sane-consensual that a partner will slam the breaks on any deeper issues that creep up. Dominating him should be no all-purpose sugar pill. It should be leisure that so happens to bring some extra dopamine. And if somebody agrees that being light-hearted is a hundred times more beneficial than compensating into a bottomless pit, it’s Charles. Hands down. This guy knows what you’re really talking about. There’s a reason why he thinks back positively to his karting days since that environment was more cheerful, not as serious and quickly punishing as being among the best drivers in the whole world.

He’s gladly aware and won’t deny it, which makes the situation easier. Charles has well observed that he’s not the most unbothered person out there. Somebody who refuses to be conscious of that is simply nerve-wracking to deal with. That mentality can shatter relationships. You are relieved that Charles listens. He asks to think about the concern for a while because he sees the point.

Charles misses a lot of people who took care of him. So, he’s swinging to one extreme of accepting his abandonment by asking his partner to act highly dismissive and degradingly towards him. Or, the other end of the pendulum: Of wanting to be doted on nonstop, reassured he won’t be left alone. You thought about it, and it told you something extremely important. That Charles is largely clueless about balancing his need for an authority figure. He either wants full distance or too much love, all to mitigate his perpetual inner turmoil. It really is what it boils down to. And it must be extremely painful. You understand why he wants a quick fix and can’t find the golden mean.

That’s also the reason why he could and would not attach in his hook-up days. Because these people just wanted good dick from a smoking hot guy (understandable), and then they took off. Abandonment. People showed up for his body, an orgasm, and the brief experience of the famous Charles Leclerc, the celebrity him. And now he’s with you, permanently, and it’s suddenly an elaborate power dynamic where he is the actual submitting party. Being taught discipline, and having somebody stand above him. Do you finally see why Charles is so interested in you now?

It takes a week until he sorts himself out, and you don’t really have sex until then. The breakfast table glances are extremely loaded with thoughts. Charles feels guilty for things digging so deep where you should be having a blast and enjoying life, especially with the amount of money and travel opportunities at his disposal. Coming to terms with his burdens on your sex life and this risk for your connection is already half the path to go, though. He values that you confronted him and want to know what really drives his actions. To Charles, that’s a testament to caring and sincerity.

He returns to sleeping with you after clearly stating that he’ll try his best to focus on being more moderate. Although he also says he’s afraid he can’t eradicate his submissive side, and moreover, and most importantly, he really needs you. You’re taken aback since that’s not really been a question to you. In your eyes, he can take your respect for these things for granted. Charles needing you is okay, and his interest in freaky stuff is okay when it’s done for the right reasons. Wanting to look up to someone is not a bad thing. Nor are you going anywhere anytime soon.

You’re here to chill out on red flamingo floaties in the pool and goof off, and bond in the sheets with your petit beau. And Lord knows who doesn’t love a subby Charles. You just don’t want him to fall into a further downward spiral of loathing, anger, compulsion, or rapid mood swings because of his grief. You’re literally right there for him. Which unburdens him a lot when he hears that from you, although he realizes that it’s a given when he looks at how you behave. And you depend on Charles a lot, too. You want him, badly, you can no longer deny it to yourself.

Charles goes on to promise that he won’t expect you to heal his losses, or give him an excuse to open up solely through kink stuff. As, he puts it like this, some kind of cover-up. While at the same time neglecting your needs and not centering his attention around you. „It was too selfish of me even if I had my reasons. I was drawing too much energy from you. That can’t be justified.“

Knowing that he’s not the only one who likes sweet stuff, Charles frequents a top-class confectioner to get an expensive, personalized chocolate basket as an apology. There are all kinds of treats in there, in fantastical flavors. He buys it not for showing off, but to show you the meaning of wanting you to be satisfied, and reassured. He doesn’t want to use you as therapy, forget your side of the coin, or please himself only, just to alleviate what spins around in his mind as an issue that should not slowly undermine your love life.

His grief is important. But it should not disturb the affection you’re sharing, even make you despise or control each other, or cause wreckage. What he does want is for you to stick around and be his anchor, or someone he can learn from to some extent. That’s what he really desires. Well, at the end of the day, you did teach him something there already, further proving his point. So, you don’t really have to do anything to assure Charles. You’re doing it naturally.

s = stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

His abilities: Jawdropping. Charles is very invested in being able to go a lil’ longer than a meek two minutes. Charles is excited, but deliberating. He knows about the common irony that when he doesn’t focus on stamina, and just directs his pleasing to you, stamina is no longer a thing. Seeing a random homo sapiens naked does not send him into a wild frenzy. Charles has seen it all. He feels like that’s a plus, but also an obstacle.

You did notice that he is a bit desensitized, physically. His job is defined by pushing himself beyond all limits. He knows how to show his appreciation for you, but he’s also scarred by his former sex life which was endlessly repetitive. Being stuck in that rut kind of fried his brain, as do the constant fuckups in Ferrari’s racing strategy. Double whammy. There’s a reason why Charles wanted a permanent partner who had a different approach. What Charles dreams of is spicing it up with things he’s not done yet, conversations he’s not had yet, with somebody who’s the clever to match his stupid. Sapiosexual detected. „Ah, it’s like this? You’re a genius!“ — classic Charles phrase directed at you.

What’s not surprising and an advantage: He doesn’t really bother with picture-perfect appearances anymore. Someone being beautiful, extra-groomed and well-formed is amazing to him, but the result of having sex is always the same. Everybody wants a positive feeling out of it. The most otherworldly and rich sex partners he’s had were some of the most stress-laden personalities. Who had, pray tell, uncanny baggage in life and really suffered with no seeming way out. Copy-paste to Charles. Not so wholesome, and a natural relationship slash libido killer.

He’s aware of how jet set attractiveness is hard to create and maintain to begin with. Attractive people with by a thousand bees buzzing around them are just like him. Birds of a feather, a great spark at the beginning, common ground of popularity, but also twice the exact same issues combined. He already considers himself hard to date due to his fame, schedule, and a mountain of horrible things swirling around in his brain. A person who might look extraordinary but has as much pressure as he has? They’d barely hang out or find some opportunity for creating happiness. Dwelling on a deserving mentality, waiting for outside luck, doing chronic complaining, and overwork. Charles knows the drill. Even more detriments to stamina.

Double the extreme beauty in a couple might be common in his circles — doesn’t mean it’s beneficial. The paparazzi would tear the relationship apart, and Charles can’t just do his thing in peace from all the hype and envy. His partner’s looks will wind up irrelevant down the line. Only someone witty gets this guy off his phone, someone outrageous, a bon vivant who provokes him. Not a fellow celebrity who’s just clocking in for two minutes facetime, too busy making themselves presentable, smiling, posing, strutting around, pretending the world is happy and they are sexy, all that rotten phony Instagram delusion.

Chances are they have zero muse for talking passionately about racing or his mental health, and if they do listen for a second, it’s meant to gain approval points. Actually taking Charles’ circumstances to heart is more than just an `understanding´ hum on the phone. Imagine someone having that audacity and then going on to promote their own stuff online. In your words to him: Shrugging off your partner is a fucking insult. You have to get your hands dirty — in private — to really really show what you’re there for. Them. Not just yourself.

Charles doesn’t want to wait three hours until he can cuddle you. Every hair and lash in place, still insecure how you come across? Please no. His lifestyle does not allow for waiting. Everything has to be on the spot, and he wants a partner who has kick-ass swag five thousand. Not someone who caves as soon as Charles is struggling. They have to be strong! An iron will under the surface. He’s not Lewis finding time to fly to every fashion show within a radius of 24.901 miles aka the whole earth, nor a poker-faced Scandinavian driver with indestructible patience. Not to mention that he doesn’t want to peel you out of ten layers of whatever fabrics. Corsetry, tons of jewelry, complicated itchy hairstyles going all over the place and whatnot. Makeup caking in the heat of Bahrain, or sky-high shoes he can’t take you anywhere with for a getaway. Turn-off. Pragmatism is sexy.

PJ and athleisure: Just right. So comfy. And don’t say you’d rather go through all that dolling up forever rather than being in his arms right away. If you’re horny for Charles, you won’t postpone it. Everything else messes with your natural instinct. He gives zero fucks. Only being fresh out of the shower is a good idea, obviously. The same goes for the often sweat-drenched, stressed-out him. No double standards. Charles is a bubble bath hoe anyway, he smells like a rose garden. But yes — the guy’s not as superficial as his origin suggests. Which results in an interesting dynamic.

The psychological `glue´ between people is more impressive to Charles. He’s turned on by a person’s way of acting. He’s well-versed with body stuff. He’s in a contact sport, to understate it. On the other hand, if we’re talking D/s. Since he’s new to submitting, Charles is easily overstimulated. You can tell that he had lots of conventional sex that didn’t really target much of the body as a whole. BDSM, in a lot of disciplines, is a little more distinct and takes into account every nook and cranny. Which Charles is very enticed by. Imagine the effect of a single nipple clamp on this strong-ass Italian stallion.

Body endurance-wise, and that goes for the entire grid: High, of course. This guy’s job is doing a 2-hour Grand Prix almost every other week. Driving front of the grid, at immense speeds, with crazy focus. Steering and talking and drinking and pushing buttons and memorizing the track and racing the Top 10 and adhering (unfortunately) to strategy and… the list just goes on and on. Imagine the chemicals on fire inside this body. What an athlete.

So: Charles has the resilience. Sex is pretty easy on his circulation, it’s not a crazy cardio workout for him. He trains much harder stuff. Don’t mistake his lack of breaking a sweat fast for a lack of feeling, though. You’ll be able to sense it in his touch. I don’t have to tell you he’s courteous and affectionate and the cutest, you already know it. But also remember that Charles is careful to attach himself 100%, and not because he’s a player. This guy can’t even wink properly.

You know the reason why he’s hesitant to confide in somebody. And that his profession is an enormous hazard. He often has no clue whether to go the extra mile feeling-wise or not. If he does, that makes it so much harder to watch the race for you. If you can bring yourself to do that at all, after an especially spectacular night with him. It’s the price to pay. Keeping it lighthearted versus YOLO-ing the whole thing is the bane of your relationship. Charles wants to be emotionally available, but also no let-down or a tragic figure. You tell him, „Charles. That already shows you care so much.“ He’s loving regardless, no matter what he decides. He’s already invested, so why not go all the way and make it a relationship that lives life to the fullest?

Charles, knowing that entire emotional backdrop, gives the whole dynamic a touch of good friendship rather than aiming for Romeo and Juliet. And he doesn’t have to. Charles suffers from the invisible break on his romantic nature that wants to prepare you a candlelight dinner instead of doing an extra track walk. It’s the Sebastian Vettel effect: Either full power on the circuit, or full throttle at home: Choose one. The amount of times he asked another trusted driver about improving his thinking with those things, being vague enough about you but still desperately trying to find a solution, you would not believe it. Pierre has tried everything so Charles would not feel so conflicted.

Your boyfriend talks a lot to you about being in the mood for love and wishing he could pour rose petals to your feet every weekend when you woke up rather than being on the grid. But — if that’s not romantic in and of itself. Charles didn’t realize how words could be enough to tell you what he means. A thought can be priceless, much better than making something reality sometimes. Doesn’t mean a big candlelight dinners won’t take place when the season’s over. You are patient for Charles. That is also important stamina in relationships.

t = toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Aside from straps? The absolute minimalist. Not the type to ask being collared and put on a leash like a puppy: That’s Lando and Lewis territory. Charles is pretty reserved, he would not mass buy toys or experiment much. Anything that vibrates? Freaks him out. Your theory is that his phobia has to do with being a driver for Ferrari in particular. When something goes brrrrrrhh he automatically thinks he needs to box box immediately to get his car reconstructed from the ground up mid-race.

And whether that’s toys used on him or yourself, he’d also get a heart attack when the battery starts dying on him and the toy makes irregular noises. You know which ones I mean. As if it’s staggering. His driver mind goes like `Oh my god. The engine! What’s happening?!´ while you are already busy switching batteries like it’s no big deal. Anything that’s too high on the tech component and needs a whole-ass instruction manual makes Charles question his life choices. How would Charles spend his time stretching condoms over a Hitachi. That’s your thing, not the unsuspecting kitty’s. This man is far too traumatized by vibrating noises. So, please spare Charles of the toy mania unless you buy him a nipple pump for fun and plenty of laughter. Nipple stuff is fine. But nothing too fancy.

His blissful ignorance is amazing. He has no idea how a vibrating constriction ring works and what that even is. Charles can tell you what a Hockenheim Ring is, a Hungaro Ring, a Nürburg Ring, and a Red Bull Ring, but some super specific toys? He’s too confused and doesn’t want to find out. This dude has enough electronics to deal with on the regular. Like. Charles thinks anal beads are a home decoration. Okay, he’s not that naïve. But you get the point. In his mind, brrrrrrhh equals red alert.

Obviously, he doesn’t mind if you have your own little collection to masturbate by yourself, it’s just not his cup of tea to use as a couple. He also doesn’t like watching you in a weird way. He’s more likely to offer helping you himself, or he listens to some music in another room, or he’s gaming. He’s not gonna disturb you doing what you like doing. He might enjoy seeing you please yourself with your fingers, just laying there half relaxed half on edge, but even then, he can’t stop stroking your thighs. It’s either no contact or full contact.

In the same vein: Those sexy black harnesses you bought for him to try on make his dorito body tingle in the oddest ways. Tip: Mail them to the Mercedes and McLaren garage instead. It will be highly appreciated. Sir Lewis, Prince George, and Mister Ricciardo will slay the house down on their social media with those. Lando will use them um, privately. Charles, and this is very chic and extra of him, prefers a nice homemade rope harness that’s specifically crafted by you. It’s just more intimate and beautiful because it’s temporary.

You tie it in front of two mirrors so he can see what you do in the back and front, and you always see his face, too. He prefers the more complicated stuff rather than just beginner’s bondage. Shibari is right up his alley. So, if ropes count as toys rather than accessories or tools, then this is it, this is the one. And I mean. This is no surprise. At all. It’s the nature of the sport. Every Formula 1 driver has the strongest safety belts and trains their body with harnesses on strings, you know the ones. That crazy painful G-Force neck and shoulder workout. If that’s not high-end BDSM, I don’t know. The creepy torture machines F1 drivers have in their gyms? Gives any dominatrix a run for her money. And tell me what kind of utensil Charles uses to warm up? A jump rope. Bingo. He has such a thing for that stuff.

Ropes aside. If we’re talking classic masturbation helpers: Charles’ skeptical gaze says miss me with that Jurassic Park stuff. Because that’s what toys look like to him. Would never use even the most basic toy on himself if his life depended on it. He might be curious, but Charles thinks it’s really embarrassing and gross to clean it all up. He doesn’t have time for that. The same goes for using anything on you, he just thinks his hands and thighs do a better job than „creepy dinosaur toes and purple plastic snails“ as he puts it. What on earth does he mean by purple snails, what has he seen? He refuses to elaborate. It’s probably better that way.

Besides, and he is honest here. This sinnamon roll had so much Quali traffic in his early years before he got to the main GP in this relationship — and he notoriously masturbates like a jackhammer, careful Charles don’t hurt yourself — he needed no fleshlight ever. That all amounts to Sharlie being on the fence with toys. Except, and we summarize: For nip stuff and bondage supplies. See the positives: No extra cupboard needed. And: That Charles is not a big tech enthusiast speaks volumes of his confidence to make you climax.

By the way: He thought lube is a lame alibi, while spit or being extremely horny are the answers. Fair enough, you can spit on his dick or in his mouth any day of the week. Essential skill. And you have no problems getting the hots for Charles. We’re talking wetter than Monaco 2022, and it has really been pouring down there. Meanwhile, your approach is the exact opposite. Tops see the whole thing from a different perspective. You would literally bathe in lube with Charles, swim in it, and: Roll out the big bottle on him when his ass is about to get destroyed. He will thank you on his knees and realize the value of a good lubricant. Charles is soon returning from the groceries with new stock.

u = unfair (how much they like to tease)

He’s always the one who catches your eye by looking so good and tasty. Charles being so pretty and delicious really is a way of teasing. That logic cannot be argued with. But yes. You womanhandle the living shit out of him. Charles walking around with blue balls is the best thing ever. This shit will have him melting down because he tries to control himself so much. Which spurs him into even fiercer masturbation minutes later. You have some very sexy solo videos of him on your phone, with good lighting and sound quality.

Fairness as a whole? You do something good and caring for him, it goes on his mental list to make sure you feel reciprocated on the right occasion. Although he knows some people wouldn’t like that style of relationship, he sees a need for a certain back and forth. If you come home and give him the biggest hug ever, he will come home and give you the best back massage ever on the exact day where you feel tense. It’s not always reciprocating with the same thing, but with what’s appropriate.

I know: He’s the most blatant Libra ever. This man is ruled by Venus, baby. Mutual uplifting, he reveres his lady. Charles always nails the presents for you. As if his face was not the gift already, but that’s beside the point. He also creates proper quality time as often as he can, jet ski dates beloved. And there’s so much more, he never runs out of ideas. Charles’ thought process: „So many things to do with her!“

Amusement park rides at night, food buffets, motorboat cruises for two. Bowling. Pool billiards. Going to a swimming pool with artificial waves (so much fun). Baking you pizza with exquisite ingredients he bought with great care. Going to a top-class barber together. And the like. All presented to you with a wink. Not boring stuff like golfing — ugh — and blah, although he does flex his legs and silhouette there so props to that. If we’re talking fairness, he’s always more than that. Cash can’t buy love, but it can embellish it by making memories when it’s already there. Charles is using his money wisely.

This man rolls out the red carpet under your feet or throws himself into the puddle you walk across — and he is the celebrity. Let that sink in. Charles is fucking humble. Rather than thinking of himself as a walking piggy bank, a reason he won’t disclose is that he’s aware how his good pay when there’s a good reserve and you have that privileged opportunity, needs to be used for the present moment to do what it’s supposed to do. He has an actual reason to consider that there might be nobody who could eat a big pasta plate with you anymore by tomorrow. Carpe diem, baby.

v = volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Medium volume. At first. Guy doesn’t even know he can and will go much louder when it comes to… some type of pain play. Before he has to show up in the adjacent hotel rooms to go „Um excusez-moi“, it’s all constricted to your personal estates. So, he screams his lungs out at home for the most part („Oh, my ass—!“), and just breathes really hard everywhere else. Charles is any dom’s wet dream when he gets loud and responsive, and really creative with his expression. Makes you wanna say, good job, baby. He’s such a talker, too. Even mouth gags cannot stop him. And, as before. He is pleasant in every facet, so Charles’ sexy time noises are no different. Especially when he receives praise. Oh my goodness me. The praise kink is real. He will cum in five seconds if the compliment hits right.

w = wild card (a random headcanon for the person)

Your first time meeting? How else could it be, just days before a Grand Prix. And which GP? You guessed it. Miami. You got a free paddock pass for being an influencer and bumped into Charles at the fake marina just minutes before Free Practice: In your super skimpy bikini. And then you just made out with him after the race. Party in the city when the heat is on— No I’m just kidding. Of course you met in Monaco.

Alerted by some very strange noise outside, you scooped up this wet poodle of misery with your bare hands. From a random edgy premise at 4 AM, an empty low-rise socialite building you sort of lived next to. He crashed at this place after an unhinged party and really didn’t know why. A hungry as hell Charles floated in the water with swollen eyes, making the pool close to overflow with his tears. He was actually about to open an XXL flask of absinthe he got from a house bar to top it off. Yeah, fuck.

You were like, what’s going on there! You went down, squatted at the pool and said, put this bottle of poison away and come out, you need something to eat, man. Just because you can cleanse a wound with that liquid doesn’t mean it works on your soul. Thank God this house is vacant because I think you’re trespassing. And Charles went „oh mon Dieu I’m such a loser I’m the worst“ and you were like „no you’re just naked in cold water, let’s go upstairs“. And Charles was like „okay“ and reluctantly put the alcohol aside, even he didn’t have an idea where and who he was anymore at that point. Hell, he was already extremely drunk. You gave him your jacket to cover up down below, then helped him climb nothing short of 80 stairs with wet feet.

An XXL American-style deep-frozen pizza with extra pineapple later (to shock his Italian brain back to reality), Charles was rambling and rambling. With a mere towel around his hips, saying „guess I just give up and see what happens“. Eventually collapsing on the table face down, Charles ended up dragged into your bed. 69 kilogram and his legs were still on autopilot, so that was doable. Your couch was nice and comfy so you moved there after checking if you had anything toxic that Charles could drink in your flat while sleepwalking or waking up earlier than you. Just to be sure.

Months later, Charles said he thanks you for „not taking advantage“ of him then and there. It would have been easy to just take off the towel, or just do whatever thing with him. You say man, what the fuck Charles. You were a sobbing mess. This guy has really been surrounded by psychopaths, leeches, betrayers, and manipulators everywhere. Hell, Charles almost forgot his own name from all that crying. He needed a damn shelter, bed, and something warm to drink.

Back there, you felt like Edna Mode from the Incredibles giving her big speech on how to stand up and fight. You wound up driving Charles to the track the next day after getting hangover sushi for lunch. He asked for your number, and you said Charles, I work right here in the paddock. You’ll see me walk around, now eat this chocolate bar and put your chest out walking with pride. He said what, are you a good Samaritan, and you said no I just move some Formula 2 Pirellis around. Now get to work, there’s a title to win! Veni, vidi, vici! And off he goes.

So you just kept on rolling stuff around as always and saw Charles’ helmet turning whenever he passed you. You did wave at each other. Later in the afternoon, you saw the Ferrari team, soulless faces all around, in shambles during a routine stop. You came along and grumbled, why is everything so uncoordinated and untidy here. Step aside horse hoes, I will rearrange your tires, this is a safety hazard. The team said who the hell are you and Charles said wait she’s my friend. Okay so that’s how you’re rolling and rearranging things around for Ferrari, including Charles’ baby step confidence, but it’s not like he didn’t need it. Your logic is simple:

His iconic booty is already racing around at 300 kilometers per hour. In an oddly-shaped circle. He can steppy step on some pedestals and steery steer this little expensive computer wheel. He has sexy balaclava lines, great feet, and nice eyebrows. How could someone not win a championship like that. He just needs a team that can roll the tires correctly at the right point in time, that’s all. Bewildered, the Scuderia tells you mamma mia there is so much more to it, like what about this and that DRS issue and other teams and— but you insist, no folks. Stick to the basics first.

Busted suspension? Who the hell cares, duct tape is a thing, takes a good mechanic three seconds. Charles is just as fast regardless! He doesn’t even need the car, the car needs him. Corroded engine? Duct tape again. Rival teams are acting shady? Nobody cares! Just check if you have enough duct tape with you! Gotta focus on one damn goal! Just let Charles be good-looking and press some buttons and everything will be alright. Blend out the others, he should just be careful not to hurt himself or someone else. Just drive round and round and get tires when you think you need `em. That’s it. The motto has stuck with him since, actually.

Charles qualified third and won on Sunday. Big party, spell break celebrations, everything. He was crying right in front of you again. You agreed to meet for pizza without pineapple the next day. At your’s, because it’s cozier. This time, Charles — without a hangover — brought the pizza along and it was perfectly soppy in the middle, with crisp edges like his jawline, oh duh. Guess who was the happiest man on earth and got a little kiss on the nose goodbye.

Charles stumbled into the new race week a little love drunk which some mechanics noticed, but they were also too busy rolling around the tires the way you told them to. Since Charles suggested you travel to the next GP instead of working in F2, you packed your stuff and did as you always did next Sunday in Baku. Charles followed the exact guidelines and just sat there looking good, steering his Sharliemobile in a circle, the whole shebang, and earned P2. The curse truly was dissolved by the power of pineapple on pizza. It was like a reset for his neurons.

Charles had a new philosophy. Rule #1, if he made a mistake, he just shrugged and pressed another button. On it went, there was always another chance to slay. Rule #2, if somebody wronged him, he was unfazed, too fast to linger. After all, racing was nothing more than a hobby, and he knew what he was doing. The more Scandinavian the approach, the better. Charles didn’t need rehab or new team staff. He needed some Hygge in his life. On track, and with a partner. Ease in his body, ease in his mind.

Five weeks later, Charles asked if you could be his girlfriend because he had one big fat crush on you.

x = x-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Look at my horse, my horse is amazing. So we’re talking car equipment of the number one Monégasque Megawhore (trademarked). Now this Ferrari doesn’t have an engine failure nor faulty smokin’ breaks, believe me. And I mean. Look at this lil’ freak. His way of walking is the weirdest way of human movement. Charles’ shorts are always sitting suspiciously low. He constantly tweaks and pinches at his racing suit, it’s so painfully tight. Somebody save him.

He’s literally wearing swim trunks that say ICONIC on them, in bright neon so everyone will know and the competition can sashay away. Charles also has to spread his legs sluttishly wide when he sits down not to get super uncomfy. Come on man, pick up some loose trousers and close your legs instead of wearing fabric that holds everything in place and— Oh. Hum, what could that mean. Not one clue. But science tells. How on earth could he have had a rendezvous with every possible single his age if Charles had no one-size-fits-all dick. Seriously. It really has a bit of everything. An enviable universal appeal.

Very slight upward curve, but it’s well-aligned. No slant to the side. Mister Charles Leclerc junior stays off the track limits, baby. A proper tip, but it’s not disturbingly formed. Some sleek thickness to it, but he’s not too heavy nor just — awkwardly flops around. Yikes. Nothing like that here. He’s not really huge, and he’s not really small. Because he’s Charles, he has lied about his inches total, but that doesn’t detract from the fact that he’s nice and meaty the way he is. You’re particular about this, but you like your hand wrapped around him. Charles holds his breath when you do that. He’s just on edge, don’t make fun of him.

He’s not too flexible either, but also not one thrust away from his dick breaking in half. Doesn’t look cut, but he’s also not uncut. Not veiny, but it’s also flushed and light. Yes, I know — It’s still hard to picture it. So let’s just say it looks very good like everything on his man. No big news. You’ll make it clear to him, nothing to be insecure about. After all these phone numbers he got, Charles is still not happy and finds flaws? Damn. To raise his esteem, what do you do? Well, not what has failed to lift his esteem in the past: More sex. Instead, you’re doodling cute NSFW caricatures into his burn book to make him laugh. Laughing is the best medicine. Who knew silly drawings could make him feel better about himself, but it works.

And last but not least. Pubic hair. Of course, as dark as his legendary eyebrows. It’s the Italiano in him, va bene. Even a close shave will not get rid of the shadow underneath the skin. It’s not too messy, not too stubbly. All in all, class act.

y = yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Charles is on fire. Boy started wilding topless since the year began. If the season is shit, he can at least be down bad. By the sheer power of languages, Charles has French, Spanish, and Italian style libido combined. He could not keep this up without an equally horny partner. They need to have an obsessive craving for his body. Your guy does not leave the house without condoms. He is ready anytime there is relative privacy, and you are dying to rip his pants down. Charles gets hard pretty fast.

What kills his yearning is a bad day at work, and that has consequences. Seeing Charles struggle has the same effect on you. It doesn’t comfort either of you to just postpone your vexation and replace it with an orgasm. Nor is it a good idea to fuck Charles if his body had to deal with the enormous impact of thudding against a track wall. When he is worn out and depressed, it’s no good to milk him for attention or pleasure. Fatigue is extremely tough to alleviate with sex, whether that be vanilla or not. Charles has no other solution for that than time. You feel for him when he’s retiring the car or missing crucial points. In fact, you cannot comprehend how Charles can bear this inhumane level of constant misfortune and mishandling of his career.

In the same vein, and exactly because Charles cannot stand you looking as ruffled as him, your boyfriend caters to your every need when you have cramps and feel no libido at all. When you feel sick, this stuff is constantly in his head. He thinks, she must feel so uneasy. Or, I hope I wasn’t too loud in the morning making breakfast. Recently, Pierre has given Charles an instructive TED talk on how to mend cramps and body aches. So that advice will be in action, although Charles has to text Pierre to repeat bits and pieces sometimes. „Je suis désolé. My brain is a sieve.“

Charles adds his own touch by cheering you up with his prettiness (very effective) and cuddly body heat, which is the perfect mix. During those days, he seems to be obsessed with peppering your head with countless kisses, and you actually switch positions for once, he big-spoons you. So his hands can go rub rub and say „sorry that you are hurt, mon coeur“. Charles can’t stop kissing and kissing and putting his face in your hair, too. He’s touchier than usual without even being conscious of it, and he doesn’t celebrate a pole for longer than an hour when you’re at a hotel, tucked into bed nauseous.

You didn’t expect him to hurry back to the place you’re staying at, but it’s a pleasant surprise. He brought a ton of your favorite snacks from the groceries. Bébé spent a fucking fortune. Big ass sandwich, pastries, choco cake, muffins, that one ramen that just never fails to taste amazing, tangy cookies, a mango, paprika crisps, brioche, croissants, and strawberries. Express pain killers and pads your size on top. Boom.

Could he be a better boyfriend? Except for the fruit, he can’t eat any of it because of his diet, but he’s happy to see you eat. He admits it… since Charles doesn’t want to cheat his food plan too much, he lives vicariously through you a little there. You can literally pick from the whole store and stock up without going there. Charles, you legend. He’s so nonchalant about it and just goes to order you some tea from the hotel kitchen, serving it like a butler at the bed. You are the queen of Monaco. Charles also calls you a cute little hamster, though. Hamster mom to be exact, and he is hamster papa, fluffy as he is with that hair.

His recent specialty is helping you shower, picture this pup with a big ole sponge asking „is this okay“ every other second. He genuinely helps. Sometimes, it makes your heart sink that Charles extends more endless concern towards your painful days than toward himself, and you do tell him that. Charles realizes that he could inspire himself from the acts of service he does for you because some driver self-care never hurt anyone. It’s okay to eat a little snack for the soul every now and then.

z = zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterward)

Before sex, he tends to keep himself awake and ready by doing some light exercises. Warms up his muscles, warms up his torso, which gives off a snuggly heat when you make love. His favorite time of the day to have sex is in the evening. After all that hustle and bustle is long faded, he’s slacking off, he’s showered and shaved again. Only so many hours in a race week — Charles can enter the twilight zone in ten minutes after. Until then, you make sure everything’s cleaned up and dressed up and wound down and switched off. It all follows a certain regimen.

Sleep becomes extremely valuable when you’re on the move. You are 24/7 adventurers and travel enthusiasts, dwelling at a new quay every week to watch the water. Charles and you always look for interesting protected places to go. Charles has his arm across your shoulders often because he is just so huggy. You sometimes fall asleep in a different country than where you wake up, the jet lag is real here. Which also means, you don’t just go all night and forget the rest of the day. Resting as a couple is your number one hobby more than you assumed. It's good to chill with your honey to recharge. The best place to sleep is on your bébé’s chest to hear and feel him breathe.

Charles can’t sleep without you laying down on top of him. More often than not, he gets pretty bizarre dreams otherwise. If you can call it dreams. All kinds of unsolicited graphic nightmares, and that’s a far better description, can drive him into a 4 AM scare, and a gut-wrenching discomfort until he rolls over to you, gladly thinking „everything’s fine, everything still there as it always is“. He often plays with your hair in his sleep to calm himself down. You do the same, he tells you, when you’re the one being exhausted. Who can blame ya. Charles Leclerc… Sleeping beauty right there. Caressing each other is a natural antidote to a bad night.

read charles a-z on ao3

✿ FINAL NOTE. ⇢ i just wanted to post something sexy and instead i’ve been writing and crying my heart out 😔 thanks for reading, i hope this hit home and made y’all laugh. look at my horse, my horse is amazing 🙌 reblogs and esp comments always welcome 💞

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pagerunner-j · 2 years ago

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Some TLOVM new-episode notes, under a cut 'cause there's some great stuff here and I, uh, went on for a bit:

Not gonna lie, I was halfway expecting the theme to The Neverending Story after that Falcor-looking fucker flew by.

Watching an animated version of something I watched happen in person in a live episode is a damn trip. I feel like I should be sitting in a movie theater on Pico all over again...

Grog all torn up over hurting Pike: *tinysob*

Put...the sword...down....Grog...

Okay, putting it down in a rock will do. More dramatic than a pocket dimension, anyway.

Percy, stop trying to sound like an expert and get on with flirting with grass.

Hey! Laura found her best friend from the next campaign! Convenient!

Honestly, I'm kinda liking how they're shifting things around with Grog. Having this fit in with his whole "where do you get your strength?" theme works.

Hi there, Billy! Nice to hear you here!

Arta -- ahem -- Garmelie drawing dicks? Fancy that.

Vax, you're cruising for a bruising here, and by that I mean my palm across your face. Chill.

Ashley and Sam going full country twang: bwahahaohdearhelpme.

(it works, though)

Pikey made the Scan-man bluuuuuush...

PokéTrinket!

...I think I read this in a fanfic once.

(istg it's fucking pollen they knew what they were doing)

Diplomacy in action! About time.

Well, the boys are talking again. That's good.

"We are all just prisoners of our own anxieties...." Keyleth wasn't wrong about that part, at least, before the rainbow vomiting started.

Sylens, stop being an arrogant jackass and start being useful--oh wait. Wrong narrative.

Ripley consorting with dragons: *chef's kiss*

Twin angst incoming!

Syngorn is indeed pretty AF.

You don't want to tango with pixies, indeed. You might, on the other hand, want to steal their furniture for your dollhouse. *side-eyes Percy*

(yes, that was an actual thing that actually canonically happened in the campaign)

(I will love it forever)

Heh, I've heard THOSE lines before. Wink wink nudge nudge. Little sudden in this context, but I certainly can't complain that they're here.

can't complain at all

nope not me

VELORAAAA

Velora's owlbeaaaaar

Velora so cute

Troy sure does do a good job at playing a pretentious ass.

(cough)

Wilhand!!

And there we go with the namedrop. This time it pretty much worked.

stop giving Vex's character moments to Vax challenge 2k23

We're about a handsbreadth here from Miracle Max and honestly I can't really be mad about that part.

"You'll need to amend one name, though."

Watching that happen in person was so fucking satisfying, I'm not going to lie.

All right, I have notes here and there about how they're adapting this, mostly just because it's having to happen too quickly for all of it to land (the eps are short, what are you gonna do), but I love this conversation between Percy and Vex. They finally got to work in Percy making things for her, too!

"I gotta stimulate myself? Okay..." "Back it up." Sporfle.

Nice frog-to-not-quite-a-frog transition there. (Ribbit.)

Saundor, you creepy fuck. HANDS OFF OUR GIRL.

"Sweet, broken Vex'ahlia." I love that line and hate it in equal measure, and I want her to shoot him in the fucking faaaaaaaaace.

Hey, THERE'S that line I wanted her to yell at her father! Slightly different context here, but hey, I'll take it.

"My heart is someone else's." <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

"How do you fight a tree?" With FIRE. Seriously, this was one of Keyleth's coolest moments and best strategic decisions in the campaign, and I love that they're going for it.

"Twig dick." I say again: sporfle.

Okay, they're making this fight look absolutely badass.

SHE'S USING

PERCY'S

ARROWHEAD

see, this is how you do it

Stubby

Garmelie Artie, you little fuck.

(The traveler, hmmmm?)

(And thank god that was Matt. I mean, who ELSE could you cast?)

KILL BOX INCOMING

So the herd is fucking terrifying. Appropriately. But dang, this got grim in a HURRY.

Mythcarver has been so much more useful in this show than in the campaign that it's kind of hilarious.

One thing I love about this episode: Grog has, legendarily, an intelligence of six, but it's easy for the animated version of him to slip into all-doofus-all-the-time mode in the way the campaign never did -- in part because Travis is clearly so damn smart and you have him out of character as part of the picture. So it's nice giving Grog more depth here to do its part in balancing things out.

Pikelan cuteness: <3

Grog backstory! Grog and the gnomes! <3

KAYLIE

I wouldn't flirt if I were you, Scanlan

I mean: I really, really wouldn't

for reasons

Grog saving Wilhand is everything I hoped for.

In a word: ouch.

Dark-haired Pike! <3

I want to hug them both, okay? They deserve hugs.

....Scanlan, please, hit the brakes before you hurt yourself.

Good to see some tabaxi out and about in the world! Now please save the wee one.

"I swear, I know that voice!" Iiiiindeed.

Kevdak, you're an asshole, and you'd be nothing without your magic toys, and you know it.

"Your armor's not exactly the quietest." Oh, Pikey. Never the stealthiest, are we.

Scanlan, I'm not gonna say this again. COOL YOUR JETS.

Nice magic tricks, though.

saaaave the kiiiitttyyyyyyy

you're not doing this on your own and we all know it so listen to Pike okay

...all right, save the KILL BOX INCOMING for next week, but we're well on our way!

#critical role #tlovm #tlovm spoilers

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gryffindors-weasley · 3 years ago

Text

For The Very First Time

Sirius Black x Reader

Summary: Sirius Black just might be more sentimental than you think when he takes you on a trip down memory lane.

Prompt used: “Sorry how do you spell that?”

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: mild angst, smoking, fluff, kissing

A/N: This is for @sweeterthansammy ’s 1k writing challenge! I hope you enjoy. Flash backs are italicized, and the prompt I used is bolded!

The weather was a little bit chillier now that the sun was dipping down in the sky, chilly enough for a sweater or a light jacket. Something you didn’t have much time to think about with the spontaneity of Sirius’ plans and just how urgent he’d been making them out to be. Really, there was no rush and he knew that, of course he knew that, but he was far too eager for his own good and you knew that.

You were certain he’d under dressed when you found him standing by the front door, leaning against the frame in that tattered old jean jacket. The one there’s no chance in him getting rid of, not in a million years. It’s got a myriad of holes here and there in the faded, washed out denim, the cuffs having seen better days as the frayed material dangles down half torn. A miscellaneous pin from James is still on there, even that bright yellow smiley face is stuck on the collar that you’d put there ages ago. It was more than a well worn article of clothing, that much was for sure.

You managed to break away from James and Lily’s conversation, more so Lily, and any other time you wouldn’t have minded a single bit. You absolutely wouldn’t have, but with Sirius calling you from the floor below in the small Potter home, you find yourself having no choice but to give in to saving the conversation for later in favor of quieting the raven haired wizard.

You walk down the stairs until equally tattered converse come into view, then those same old black denim jeans, the those frayed jean jacket cuffs. You smell the distinct smell, something that’d only further been confirmed as you reach the very last step.

“Either I’m a fool, or time just stopped,” he says, flicking the ashes from his cigarette as he smiled down at you.

The corner of your mouth quirks up, the kind of smile he knows isn’t a hundred percent sweet.

“I think you’re just a fool, Pads,” you say, that smile widening a fraction. There it is. He walked right into that one and he knew it, rolling his eyes. “And I don’t think Mr. Potter would approve of you smoking in his beloved family home.”

“Which is exactly why I’m standing outside,” he grins before bringing the cigarette back to his lips, throwing his hands up as he takes one step backwards through the threshold of the doorway just so he can officially say that he is in fact outside and not at all breaking the rules of the residence.

Sirius Black liked to bend the rules when he could, he liked to walk on the wild side just about every chance he got no matter how trivial it may be. He claims it’s the only way to be, claims that’s what having fun is all about and anything less is boring. Nonchalance is simply in his nature.

“Yeah, I’ll bet you are,” you counter, hopping off the very last step when he tugged on your hand to urge you out the door.

He pulled the door shut behind him and stopped you in your tracks, making you turn on your heel before you could take another step forward. You look up at him with a narrowed gaze and await an explanation as to just why it is he’s gone and stopped you when all he’s done the past ten minutes is tell you how desperately he’d wanted to go. So you stand and your stare and you watch as smoke blows past parted lips, lips that quirk upwards in a smile as he looks at you.

In that moment, he dips down, pressing his lips on yours in a kiss that’s as smoky as ever and the gesture alone has your smile pressing into his kiss. A smile that’s genuine just as much as it’s teasing.

“I thought we had somewhere to be?” You say, breaking away as you look up at him with a raised brow.

“We do,” he says, taking another puff before you snag the cigarette right from between his fingers, dropping it to the little stone walkway before putting it out beneath your boot.

You take notice of his pursed lips that fight a smile, at the squinted gaze he’s got set on you as you spin on your heel and walk ahead, leaving him to stand there and stare after you for a fleeting moment or two. You’ve got all the amusement in the world sitting on your expression and he doesn’t even need to see it to know it, he can tell just by simply hearing the laugh fall from your lips. He can see it as he catches up to you within a second’s time.

“How very rude of you,” he says in faux offense, but it’s not too long before you feel the tips of his fingers brushing against yours.

“How very generous of me,” you counter, and his scoff doesn’t go unheard.

The next time you look up at him, he’s got those sunshine yellow shades on, those obnoxiously yellow sunglasses that sit on his nose seemingly more often than not. James had gotten them for him at the town fair just a few years back, a gift just for laughs that he’d gotten with the rest of his tickets. They were bright and they were bold and very much fitting for the year nineteen-eighty-one, but he’d gone and kept them. Of course he did.

Sirius Black kept every single thing his friends have ever given him no matter how ridiculous or trivial it may have seemed. Even when he was just a child still stuck in his dreaded family home, he’d saved a shoe box from a pair of dress shoes he absolutely hated wearing, one pair of dozens that inevitably got scuffed up just a little too much for the liking of his parents before they’d gone and bought him a new pair to look more presentable for the family image. Aside from that, he’d kept a shoe box, one that he had tucked under his bed.

Inside were all the letters that James and Remus had sent him by owl over summer break, each and every letter even if it was simply James complaining about some nonsensical thing or a joke or if it was Remus writing to see if he’d gotten his Hogwarts letter yet. He kept all of them. He kept the four leaf clover James had stumbled upon, and he kept that special quill Remus had swiped from Snape. He never knew his best friend had a knack for being mischievous until that moment.

He’d read those letters on his best nights and his worst, read them just for so. They were tattered and worn at the creases where they were folded, but he didn’t plan on getting rid of them any time soon.

Over the years that sentimental collection grew and grew, adding to it a myriad of pressed flowers and leaves from Lily, and bookmarks from Remus, postcards from James that were the absolute most ridiculous he could find. You added to it with miscellaneous letters and a guitar pick you thought he might like. He never used it, he didn’t want to ruin it. He kept that feather boa you’d found and even that lucky coin. He kept it all.

Sirius Black was more sentimental than he let on, he’s got a softer heart than he showcased to most, he kept every one of those things no matter how stupid or trivial it may seem to someone else. But he’d never in a million years admit it. James had found it once, but he never said a word about it.

“You never did tell me where we’re going,” you say, kicking a pebble out of your way as you walked along the cracked sidewalk.

“I believe that’s the point of a surprise, love,” he says, and you catch his smile as you look up at him, lips pursed as you nudge him with your elbow.

“You’re terrible at surprises,” you tease, your smile in your voice and had he not been wearing those sunglasses at sunset, you’d have been able to see his eye roll. But you knew him well enough to know he’d gone and done it regardless of the visual confirmation.

“Have I ever told you you’re a pain?” He asked, his chuckle following his words as he grins ahead, glancing down at you briefly.

“Yes, and I take that as a compliment,” you say, hearing his continued laughter as he shakes his head.

You try and put the pieces together, try and pick up any hints to put together any form of information that just might lead you in the direction of where you could possibly be going. It was in town, that you knew for certain. It was somewhere, local otherwise he’d have taken Mr. Potter’s car. The attire was no use in a giveaway because there was not a single chance there’d be an occasion where you’d find Sirius taking you somewhere in which you’d need to dress to the nines. The days of pristine suits and freshly polished shoes were far behind him, he hated dressing up with everything that he had.

He didn’t even dress up above and beyond for James and Lily’s wedding; well, he did, but he dressed down his suit with a half loosened tie that wound up being a headband and that tattered pair of converse. And he even wore those same old yellow sunglasses.

It was early evening, and things don’t tend to stay open for that much longer, so that narrows things down just a little bit more. Makes things just a little bit clearer, but it all proved to be not as helpful as you’d like it to be.

The small town was dotted with street lamps casting the area in a warm glow as it began to get darker and darker outside. The surrounding trees held reddening leaves that dropped and fluttered to the ground when the breeze sifted through them. And it’s only then that it hits you, the smell of coffee and spice that wafts through the air the closer you get. The sweetened air the closer you got. You even heard that familiar little clang of the bell over the door.

It wasn’t until then that you’d realized that maybe this was his surprise, that it absolutely was judging by the way he’d been biting the inside of his cheek to stifle his grin.

“Sirius Black, is this what I think it is?” You ask, your brow raised as the corner of his mouth quirks upwards.

Your question is answered when that smile breaks through, when you do indeed stop in front of the door to that ever familiar coffee shop and he holds the door open for you to step inside. It’s noticeably warmer than the chilly weather outside, cozier than ever as the smell of coffee washes over you. It looked just the same as when you were here last, felt just as inviting as it always did.

There were a few carved pumpkins sitting outside the door, an assortment of fall decorations littering inside the small shop. Each of the little wooden tables have cozy orange table cloths, and string lights are hung. The entirety of the shop smelled like fall festive drinks and what was left of the pumpkin rolls and muffins, not to mention the sweeter than sweet scented candles that were lit.

He tugged on your hand as he stepped up to the counter.

“Can I get a black coffee with two creams and a hot chocolate?” He asks, dropping your hand to dig around for his wallet in the pocket of his jacket.

That was another thing, Mr. Potter had gifted him that very same wallet a handful of years ago. It was a hand-me-down, but that was the least of his concerns when he was given the leather wallet. He didn’t care about the scratches or worn corners. That was the first real gift he’d ever gotten that had true thoughtfulness behind it.

He remembered your order like the back of his hand, and he’d gotten the same thing every single time.

The drinks were ready in no time and he put some money on the counter with a little extra for a tip, handing you yours as he headed towards that ever familiar table tucked away in the corner by the window.

He ran his hand through his hair, sitting those sunglasses back on the top of his head once more to push his hair out of his face. Your smile was fond as you looked at him, a stubborn chunk of black hair dipping over his forehead and brushing against the tip of his nose anyway.

“Remember this place, love?” He asks, a knowing smile playing on his lips.

“As if I’d ever forget,” you say, a laugh leaving your lips.

Of course you did, it was hard to forget the one and only place you’d met Sirius black in a few years back.

It was a hectic afternoon, customer after customer flooding into the coffee shop especially now that the fall season was sweeping in at last. Things were always busy around this time of year, things were always busy around this time of day, so you’d come to expect the rush hour by now after all this time you’ve worked there.

Things were fairly simple once you got the hang of it, once you were able to do things with a practiced ease and it made the line of customers a little bit easier to move along. Most of them you knew by name, most of them you knew their orders because they never failed to get the very same thing each and every day that they came in. Some of them came in every day, some of them came in every week, some of them even had a select day of the week that they stopped in for their usual order.

It was one of the things you liked about working there. The regular customers were friendly as ever and made the workload a little easier given the prior knowledge of just what they get and how they like it, and it makes the time fly just a little bit faster.

The day hadn’t been your finest, you’d gone and spilled half a cup of hot chocolate on your apron, one you didn’t have the time to swap out and you’re quite sure you’d still had a smear of flour on your face from catching up on baking that morning before opening time. But that clumsiness was only in your nature and it was everything you expected from yourself.

“Y/n, can you cover up front? There’s someone waiting.”

That clumsiness only heightened at the sight of a new face, one you don’t believe you’ve seen frequent the shop before. He’s got a mess of black hair he keeps tucking behind his ear, yellow sunglasses dangling from the collar of a Queen t-shirt as his gaze focuses out of the window to his left. He’s got a pack of cigarettes tucked in the front pocket of his jean jacket and pin on the other.

You quit your staring, you quit while you were ahead as you smoothed your coffee stained apron.

“What can I get for you today?” You ask, capturing his attention as he looks at you.

You swallow thickly as your gaze meets gray eyes, a half smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. You take notice of the dimple in his chin and the strands of dark hair that dip down over his forehead as he leans against the counter.

“Just a black coffee with two creams, please,” he says.

“Your name?”

“Sirius.”

You nod with a smile as you snag a cup and the marker from your pocket, turning on your heel to head towards the coffee as you uncapped your marker before you very quickly made that realization and spun back around. In the process, you nearly tripped over your own two feet and you can feel the heat blossoming in your cheeks.

“Sorry, how do you spell that?” You ask, biting the inside of your cheek.

You hear the softness of chuckle as he looks at you, surprisingly not out of mocking even with the way you just made a fool of yourself in front of him. He spelled it out for you with a smile, and you turned away without tripping this time. You made his drink just how he’d asked, your heart racing in your chest the entirety of the two minutes it took to make it as you thought about his smile.

You tried your best to stall, to steal a little bit more time before you had to go back to the counter to face him once more. To give yourself a little more time to let the heat in your cheeks cool off.

You pressed on the lid to his cup and took a breath, turning around and heading back to the counter where he stood leaning against it still.

“One coffee with two creams for Sirius,” you say, setting the to-go cup on the counter as he dug around his pocket for some money.

He counted it out in his palm as his hair fell in his eyes, quickly brushed away as he ran his hand through his hair and set the money down in exchange for his drink, and a little extra for a tip.

You notice the way his gaze lingers on you for a little bit longer, you notice it as the seconds pass and your heart races. It lingers on you and you can see the way the corner of his mouth quirks up as he does, spinning the cup in his hand out of an absentminded habit as his gray gaze finally meets yours.

“You’ve got a little something on your face, love,” he says, pointing to his own cheek as a signal for your own face.

Your hand shoots up immediately to swipe across your cheek, the heat in your face flooding back once more as you swipe your fingers across your skin, pulling back to see that dreaded flour on your face that you knew was bound to be there from that morning.

“Oh, uh, thank you,” you say with a laugh and a smile, his following soon after as he nods.

There’s a sort of tension that simmers as you meet his gaze once more, as it bounces to his smile and you’re not quite sure if time actually stopped or if this is some cliche moving moment happening to you in the middle of your shift, or neither and you’re just being ridiculous. That, it’s probably that one.

Either way, you find yourself interrupted by the ding of the bell to your side on the counter from a customer growing impatient, a call of your name sounding over your shoulder just behind you. It all brings you back to reality.

“Have a nice day, Sirius,” you say, watching as he nods.

“I’ll see you around.”

With that, he offers you that same smile that had your mind on it for a ridiculous amount of time, that smile that made your heart race, and he turned away and headed out that door with a little ding of the bell over the door. He headed down the sidewalk as he snagged a cigarette from his pocket, lighting it before he disappeared around the corner.

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” Sirius asks, grabbing your attention as he gazes at you over the rim of his cup, gray eyes full of amusement.

“About what?” You ask, playing into it with a half smile even though you know you’re bound to be met with a tease.

“That time you tripped over your own two feet. I mean, do I really have that effect on people, love?” He jest, feeling you kick his foot just under the table.

There it is.

“Must you be so cocky, Pads?” You ask, your gaze glimmering with amusement as you purse your lips.

“I’m afraid I must,” he says.

You roll your eyes as you sip on your drink, eyeing the smile forming on his lips. “What?”

He chuckles as he shakes his head, his gaze dropping down as he swirls his drink in his hands and bites the inside of his cheek. His stare is more amused than ever as he looks at you again, that same lingering gaze set on you in the very same way it had been all those years ago and you knew it couldn’t have meant anything good. If it was anything like that very first time, you were bound to feel your cheeks grow hot even though you’ve known the troublemaker for years.

He doesn’t say anything at first, quiet as he lifts his hand and swipes it across the top of your lip and all the way to the corner of your mouth. He’s just as amused as he wipes away some hot chocolate that’s been left behind from your sip, his chuckle immediate.

“You’ve got a little something on your face, love,” he says, and you hear that teasing tone in his voice that he’s always got, that mischief dancing in his eyes.

“I truly think it’s you that’s the pain,” you huff, biting back your smile.

He chuckles. “‘S that so?”

You nod as you smile at him. “Very much so.”

He bites his lip momentarily as he looks at you, that pesky chunk of his hair falling back down in his face. “I take that as a compliment.”

He used your earlier words, of course he did, that’s just how Sirius Black is. Taunting and teasing in the most lighthearted of ways and that’s something that’s always been so, that’s something that always will be so forever and ever.

He’s got the tip of the arm of his sunglasses between his teeth, having given up on using them to hold back his hair as he looks around the little coffee shop where it all began, as he looks out the window at passers by, the corner of his mouth quirking up when he feels your gaze on him. It widens a fraction as he feels you get up, feels you swing around the edge of the table to take a seat in the booth bench next to him rather than sit across from him.

You’re quiet for a few moments as you rest your head on his shoulder. The foot traffic in the shop was dwindling as it neared closing time, growing less and less busy until it was starting to become just the two of you there. But you weren’t so focused on the details, not when you’ve been in your own little world with the one stealing your attention right next to you as you sat in your usual booth in the corner.

This was it, this was where it all began, this was where you’d met the chaos that is Sirius Black. The chaos that’s brought nothing but good into your life, nothing but a thrilling excitement that only he could bring.

You lift your head and look up at him, his gaze falling on you within a moment’s time. You see that smile, that smile that makes your heart race a mile a minute. You see it and you mirror it as you look at him. It’s only a matter of seconds before you lean up and press a kiss to his lips, soft and sweet and tasting of hot chocolate and coffee and a little bit of that smoke that never quite left his lips.

You kiss him before you wrap your hands around your cup, feeling his eyes on you. You take a sip as you stifle your smile, the arm of his glasses between his teeth once more as that smile he’s got remains as you look at him. You smile when you look away, head shaking as you nudge his foot with yours.

This is where it all began a handful of years ago. This is where you met Sirius Black for the very first time.

—

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