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seiwas · 1 year ago

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₊˚⊹｡ keep this drive to just us two | fushiguro megumi

wc: 2.7k

summary: megumi is a liar, but there’s a reason for all this.

contains: f!reader in mind but can be read as gn!, college!megumi, pre-relationship stuff, feelings, some swear words

a/n: happy birthday to our boy ♡ set in the same universe as this megumi fic (so a ~kind of part 2); some songs that inspired this & ones i imagine playing in the car: the shining by the neighbourhood, paradise by chase atlantic, & over the moon by the marías

part: 1 | 2 | 3 series m.list: by your passenger seat

It’s just you and Megumi on a late night drive—a quarter past 11 p.m.

The passenger seat has long since been adjusted to you, his car a somewhat second home. There’s that characteristic reverb accompanying the deep bass of the music he listens to, and his knee is bobbing to the beat of it, like it always does when the music is good.

Megumi’s car always smells of mint, a fresh, crisp scent that cuts through—an accurate depiction of the man: level-headed, cool. A sharp honesty exists in every word he speaks; it’s the only way he knows how to be.

Except, maybe, lately. Like this moment.

Megumi’s a liar right now.

He feels a little guilty for it, tricking you into coming out tonight. But how bad can it be to invite you under the guise of it being from Yuuji?

“Yuuji said he’ll meet us there?” you settle into your seat, dragging the seatbelt across your body before locking it into place.

Megumi shifts the gear to drive, nodding as he turns the wheel to get out of the parking lane. He can’t trust himself to speak.

The ride is quiet save for the music, a comfortable silence he seems to only have with you. Nobara and Yuuji like to talk, to fill in the empty pockets of air he never feels the need to. You—you adjust, read the room; you become what the situation calls for all on your own.

That’s what he likes about you, among many other things—he’s stopped lying to himself about that, at least.

The streets whiz past you in a blur, both vaguely familiar and unrecognizable. There’s a fast food joint your group of four frequents as a post-party drive-thru, and the holiday lights are strung up on lampposts lining the sidewalks.

Yellows, reds, and greens melt into one another as the backdrop of your window. But all Megumi sees is gray—

When he dislodges his phone from the stand clipped to the AC vents at the center console, handing it over so you can control the music. His eyes stay locked on the road until he feels it, the slightest brush of your fingers against his.

He turns to you, a quick glance; you’d shrugged off your puffer jacket some time during the drive and tossed it to the backseat, leaving you in this right now.

—the gray sweater that he knows all too well; that you haven’t returned but you wear like it’s yours, as if this piece of him is something you’ve chosen to keep.

It looks better on you, anyway, he thinks.

He turns back to the road, breathing a little quicker, grip tighter and knuckles a bit whiter.

If he listens carefully, the comfortable silence between you hasn’t actually been all that silent lately. A constant beat’s been drumming in his ears, exacerbated only every time you’re near. You’ve locked eyes far too often for two people sitting in a car, driving from point A to point B, and this isn’t the first time your fingers have brushed, nor is it the second, or third (or even fourth if he’s thinking about the technicalities).

He finds himself smiling too easily when you speak, the corners of his lips aching by the time he’s dropped you off on the way home. You’ve looked at him fondly too, a handful of times, when you think he won’t notice; but it’s impossible not to when he’s paying just as much attention—from the corner of his eye, in his periphery. A responsible side-glance that inconspicuously catches everything.

There’s something between you two, and he’s grown more confident of that the more he’s accepted his fate:

He likes you.

It’s why he called you tonight, out of all nights, in the first place.

Aimless driving can only be so convincing up to a certain point, and that point comes fast approaching as Megumi is about to pass the same street for the third time. You don’t notice because you’re queueing songs on his phone, but he has to think of a diversion—just something to tide him over past midnight.

“I’ll get us some snacks,” he signals to the left, pulling over to a 7-Eleven.

“Oh!” you look up from his phone, swapping it for yours, “I’ll ask Yuuji if he wants anything. Did he mention if Nobara’s coming?”

Megumi freezes, panic setting in—if you message Yuuji now, you’ll realize that he’s been lying. He holds his breath, shifting the gear to park before pulling at the edges of his sleeves.

Think.

“He’ll eat anything, it’s fine. Nobara probably won’t come too. Wouldn’t pick up when he called.”

For someone who always puts things bluntly, he’s surprisingly good at coming up with lies right now.

You hum, nodding, “Okay. Do you want me to go down?”

“I’ll be quick,” he shakes his head, fishing around the center console for his wallet, “you want anything?”

Then he looks at you, your head tilted to the side as you think. A little pout causes your lips to jut out and he can’t help it, how his eyes fall to them, shiny in the way only your lip balm can make them.

“Maybe something warm?”

Your voice snaps him out of it, but the moment is frozen—like he’s been caught red-handed. He’s so sure you saw him staring, your eyebrows shooting up, flustered while watching his gaze shift from your lips to your eyes.

He doesn’t expect it when you do the same thing.

It’s freezing outside and his lips feel chapped; he wonders if they’re cracked, if you’re studying the grooves of split skin—if he should buy lip balm by the counter, on the way out.

He looks away, clearing his throat, one hand to the door handle.

“Okay,” he opens it, “turn up the heat if you’re–”

You nod.

“Yeah, okay.”

He steps out.

The cold is biting as he tucks his hands inside his pockets, rushing to get into the convenience store.

(You watch his back retreat from the window of his carseat, and the influx of cool air should make you shiver, but you feel warm, heat rushing to your cheeks.

This whole night has been confusing; the subtle touches and lingering gazes—ones like just moments ago, especially. Being alone with Megumi lately has been both comfortable and nerve-wracking; you have feelings that you aren’t quite sure are reciprocated, no matter how much Nobara teases the both of you already.

You can’t take it; you need a buffer—where is Yuuji?

11:41 p.m.

< are you otw already? we just went to grab some snacks

You wait, fingers tapping on the back of your phone.

11:42 p.m.

yuuji 🍡

> huh?

> otw where?

> who’s we?

> i’m outside fushiguro’s rn! with gojo-sensei!! apparently he surprises him every bday…

> you should come! you live near right?

You scrunch your eyebrows, confused. There are too many thoughts in your head right now—has Megumi been lying?

11:43 p.m.

< oh ok, i probs misunderstood!!

< and i’m out tonight, idt i can make it but lmk how it goes!!

You’ve never known Megumi to be a liar, but he’s definitely in it right now for some questioning.)

The 7-Eleven doors swing open, revealing Megumi with his shoulders shrugged up to his ears, hands deep inside his pockets as a plastic bag hangs around his wrist. He opens the car door, immediately settling in his seat before shutting it.

He still won’t meet your eyes, fishing through the random snacks he bought instead. It’s awkward, the air in the car tense; and it takes the biggest guts in him to look up as he hands over the warm bottle of tea he got you, just like you wanted.

It’s even worse when you’re staring right back, expecting—almost like you’re about to confront him.

“Be honest,” you start, eyes squinting.

Shit. Sweat forms at his palms as he blinks, the beat drumming in his ears intensifying.

“Did you bring me out here to murder me?”

He raises an eyebrow, expecting you to convict him for lying, “The fu–”

Which you do, bringing your phone up so he can read. Your text chain with Yuuji casts a white light over his face, his eyes darting from side-to-side as he scans each message.

(You aren’t mad or anything, just even more confused than you already are; some clarity would be nice, once and for all.

Embarrassment is painted on his face the more he reads through your phone screen, lashes entirely too long as it bats against the tip of his cheeks; a faint pink blooms on his skin, like winter peonies.)

There’s a reason for all this.

He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath; he’s dreading having to open them—do you think he’s weird now? That he had some ulterior motive bringing you out? His jaw clenches at the thought—

But then you laugh, a soft chuckle that accompanies the ‘click’ of your phone turning off. And when he takes a peek, squints one eye to catch a glimpse, you’re smiling; your lips are pressed together with the corners curled up slightly, as if you find this entire thing funny.

The tension dissipates, but he frowns, eyebrows scrunching as he considers whether he wants to be the reason for whatever it is you’re thinking.

“Stop it. Don’t make fun of me.” his head turns to the side.

You chuckle again, biting your bottom lip, “You’re just too cute.”

A beat.

(It slips out before you can catch yourself, heat rising to your cheeks. Megumi isn’t doing any better; his ears are flushed red, crawling down to the sides of his neck as he swallows.)

The plastic bag crinkles on his lap, cutting through the silence.

How can you just… say that?

You clear your throat, “So, uh, did you know about the surprise?”

(Your eyes shift to the corner of the infotainment system, 11:52 p.m. in white.)

He sighs, running a hand through his hair as he leans back on his seat.

“Gojo-sensei tries to surprise me every year, I didn’t think he’d call Itadori this time.”

“You sound like that’s a bad thing…” you tilt your head, curious.

He pauses, staring ahead as he considers his response, “Not bad… just,” his fingers fiddle with the plastic bag, “too loud, sometimes.”

(Megumi’s mentioned a bit about this ‘Gojo-sensei’ guy, his kind-of-mentor slash benefactor since being orphaned with his step-sister at age 6. You’ve never met him, but Yuuji never stops talking about how fun he is, how cool.

It makes sense why Megumi finds him a bit much, if anything.)

“And you think I’m any better?” you snort offhandedly, joking as you turn to the side, facing him.

He tilts his head towards you, leaning back on the headrest; your eyes lock for a moment, the corner of his mouth lifting subtly before he looks away, straight ahead again.

If he had the courage, he’d tell you that you’re the only company he wants to spend this birthday with—

That there are songs in his playlist he’d otherwise never listen to, but repeats and repeats and repeats because it reminds him of you;

That he looks forward to doing deep cleans on his car every weekend, but has started to dread it once he noticed that it washes away your scent from the Fridays that he drops you home;

That he’s a liar because he really likes you, but can’t find the words to tell you.

So he doesn’t say anything, shrugging.

The silence is telling.

(You feel too warm, whether from the heating system or from the implications of this moment. The 11:58 p.m. on the clock adds a pressure that it shouldn’t, an almost taunting presence that tells you if you act now, tomorrow could be very different.

Are you reading the signs right?

Should you just say it?

Each second drags on twice as long, and you think—

Fuck it.)

“Megumi?” your voice breaks through softly.

The plastic crinkles on his lap as he turns to you.

He could be any other place right now.

But he’s chosen to be here, with you, parked outside a 7-Eleven, minutes before midnight.

“If I tell you something, will you be honest with me?”

He blinks before humming, nodding. This is the least he can do after today’s blatant lying.

There’s an intensity to your gaze that makes him nervous; your fingers tug at the edges of his (your) gray sweater, a piece of him you’ve taken with you. Then you speak—

“I like you,” you say it plainly, unblinking, “and I need you to tell me if you don’t feel the same.”

—and you take the rest of him too.

12:01 a.m.

He stares at you, turning the confession over and over in his head. He’s always had a feeling but it’s different when it’s out in the open, when it’s from you and isn’t based on some gut-feeling.

There are so many things he can say, but you did ask him to be honest—to tell you if he didn’t feel the same.

“Do I stay quiet if I do?” he mumbles, cheeks deepening into red.

There’s a smile he’s trying to hide, one he won’t allow himself to let out until he gets one from you too.

You visibly relax, releasing the breath you were holding. Your lips curl up instinctively, wide and infectious—that feeling of your heart bursting.

“Smartass,” you scrunch your nose before glancing at the time, “happy birthday.”

When you look at him this fondly, there’s not much else he can ask for, really.

You eat the snacks in his car (an exception—whether it’s because of you or his birthday, you’re not sure) and tell him that your actual gift is back home, sitting in dog-patterned wrapping paper by your entryway.

The drive back is, for the most part, the same—lingering gazes when the stoplight permits, a brush of your fingers when you hand him his phone after queueing songs. You’re wearing his sweater and his car still smells like mint.

But you both can’t stop smiling.

And when he drops you off, he’s tempted to tell you to stay longer for just one more song, but he figures there’s lots of time for that now. So instead, he grabs your puffer from the back, gets down and rushes over to open your door, helping you out.

He holds up your jacket as you slip your arms into it, zipping it up so you stay warm and toasty. Cute, he thinks, when your grin reaches your cheeks; he could pinch them, would you complain if his fingers are too chilly?

Your hesitance is evident in the way you bite your lip, but you go for it anyway, diving in to land a soft kiss to his cheek. It happens so quickly, it barely registers to him—the touch of your lips to his skin. When you pull away, you look shy.

He doesn’t say anything, heat rushing to the place you’d kissed. You take this as a sign to go ahead, so you move, but he can’t—

—can’t let you go just like this.

Not when he’s been thinking about those lips since he last laid his eyes on it.

It’s reflex, the way he grabs your wrist, pulling you back to him. He lets go immediately, hovering, but his eyes drop dangerously, down to your lips—shiny and plump from the lip balm he knows you carry.

His breathing quickens and he asks so softly, “Can…”, he gulps, nervous, “Can I?”

You nod, humming.

(When Megumi leans in, long lashes fluttering over your eyelids, you think, this can’t possibly be real. But then his lips slide over yours, cold but not cracked, and you move yours against them, gentle in the same way he is.

His fingers slot themselves at the edge of your jaw, palm pressed to your cheek; it makes you shiver, how cool it is, but it warms up quickly.)

The kiss is over far too soon (you think so, too), and when you part, you’re beaming, a twinkle in your eyes that makes him want to kiss you again, if only to keep them shining the way they do.

It’s the end of the night, but the beginning of something new and Megumi’d be lying if he said he didn’t like the noise; this constant beat drumming in his ear is all he can hear now, swiping his tongue over his lips to taste mint—your lip balm of choice.

thank you note: to everyone who was just as excited abt this as i was—@soumies @mysugu @augustinewrites @mididoodles @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat @selarina @pastelle-rabbit @mymegumi @kagelun @irisintheafterglow & @shidouryusm for making me see that paradise is so megumi 🥺

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

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pucksandpower · 9 months ago

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Something Sweet

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: the story of your relationship … as told through gelato (in honor of Charles opening an ice cream shop)

The warm spring sun beats down on your face as you stroll along the winding streets of Monaco, gelato in hand. You savor each sweet bite, the rich hazelnutty flavor melting across your tongue.

This is bliss.

You just moved here to attend university and every day feels like a dream come true exploring your new home principality.

The picturesque buildings with their sun-baked stucco walls and colorful tiled roofs line the narrow alleyways. Locals bustle about, chatting rapidly in French as scooters whiz by. The air carries a tang of salt from the glittering Mediterranean just beyond the palace ramparts.

You could get used to this.

Suddenly, a body careens around the corner, slamming right into you. You stumble backward as the gelato goes flying, splattering across the quaint cobblestones in a sticky mess.

“Oh mon dieu, I’m so sorry! Are you alright?” A frantic voice rings out as a pair of strong hands steady you before you can topple over completely.

You look up, slightly dazed, into a pair of warm green eyes filled with concern. The man is clad in athletic shorts and a snug t-shirt, damp with sweat from an obvious run. Tousled chestnut hair flops across his forehead in an effortlessly tousled way.

He’s … incredibly handsome.

Like, stupid levels of handsome.

“I’m fine, really,” you stammer out, feeling your cheeks flush as his hands linger almost ... protectively on your arms. “Just clumsy me dropping my gelato.”

He grimaces, following your gaze to the melting puddle. “I’m such an idiot, let me replace that for you.” His face is the picture of remorse as he gently releases his grip.

You wave him off with an awkward chuckle. “Seriously, it’s not a big deal ...”

But he’s already shaking his head adamantly. “No, no I insist. That looked delicious and it’s entirely my fault.” He shoots you a lopsided grin that makes your heart skip a beat. “I know this amazing little place that makes the best gelato in Monaco. My treat to make up for barreling into you like that.”

You can’t help but be charmed by his earnestness as you nod slowly in acceptance. “Well, when you put it like that ...”

“Perfect!” He beams at you, that bright smile crinkling the corners of his eyes in the most delightful way. “I’m Charles, by the way.”

You introduce yourself as well as Charles begins leading you deeper into the winding backstreets, clearly knowing exactly where he’s going. You can’t help stealing sidelong glances at him as you walk, admiring the strong muscles of his arms and shoulders visible through his fitted shirt.

Finally, he ducks into a tiny alleyway, stopping before an unassuming doorway you surely would have just passed right by. A faded sign hangs above reading Gelatomania in curling script.

“This place is my favorite,” Charles confides in a conspiratorial murmur as he holds the door for you. “Family-run for generations and miles better than any of the touristy places.”

You step inside and are immediately enveloped in a thick, sugary aroma that makes your mouth water. A few little metal tables with rickety chairs are squeezed into the compact space, but it’s the immaculate glass cases lining the walls that draw your eye.

Filled with every flavor imaginable, the gelato looks utterly divine — from naturally green pistachio to decadent chocolate hazelnut to tangy lemon. An older woman with a grandmotherly face greets Charles like an old friend in rapid Italian from behind the counter.

He responds easily in kind before turning back to you. “What’ll it be? I recommend the hazelnut again if you liked your first one.”

You nod and watch, utterly charmed, as Charles places your order for a fresh hazelnut gelato with a deferential “per favore” and that knee-weakening smile of his. He gets a simple vanilla for himself before paying and leading you over to a little iron table outside in a sliver of sunshine.

You take your first bite and … oh my god. This is gelato from the heavens themselves. You can’t contain the downright blissful moan that escapes your lips as the divinely creamy, rich concoction melts across your tongue.

“Good, right?” Charles looks incredibly pleased at your rapturous reaction as he digs into his own treat with gusto.

“This might be the single most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted,” you admit fervently between increasingly enthusiastic licks and bites. “How have I survived this long without knowing this place existed?”

Charles throws his head back with a full-bellied laugh at your passionate proclamation. God, even his laugh is unfairly attractive ...

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” he grins around a mouthful of velvety vanilla. “I’ve been coming here since before I could walk. Quickly became my favorite gelato spot.”

“You’ve lived here a while then?” You ask between savoring bites of the impossibly luscious confection. “I only just moved for university.”

Charles nods as he licks a stray drip from his thumb. “Yeah, born and raised a few streets over actually.”

There’s a slight lull as you both focus on thoroughly demolishing your gelato for a few contented minutes, exchanging occasional muffled hums of sheer delight. The warm sun filtering through the awning casts a soft golden glow over the little alleyway, lending everything a dreamlike haze of perfection.

“So beyond being from here, do you have any exciting hobbies or interests?” You ask eventually, dragging the conversation back into the open.

“Well ...” Charles’ expression morphs into one of almost sheepish amusement as he leans back in his rickety chair. “You could say my hobby is also kind of my job. I’m actually a Formula 1 driver, believe it or not.”

You damn near choke on your next bite as his words register. “You’re what? As in ... a race car driver? In Formula 1? Seriously?”

There’s no way this stunning man is being truthful. Sure, he looks like he could be some kind of athlete with that perfectly toned physique. But a literal professional race car driver? The thought is almost too crazy to be believed.

Charles just laughs again at your dumbfounded reaction, clearly used to this response as he nods. “Seriously! I compete for Ferrari if you follow the races at all?”

You think you might pass out from shock as everything clicks into place — the athletic build, the way people seemed to stare as he passed them on the street, the laid-back confidence and easy smile of someone incredibly comfortable in their own skin ...

“Oh my god, you’re ... you’re Charles freaking Leclerc, aren’t you?” You gape at him in abject disbelief. “As in, the guy literally plastered on the huge billboard across from my apartment? Leading the championship? Incredibly talented and famous?”

He lets out an almost bashful chuckle at your rapid-fire incredulous questioning, shrugging one broad shoulder. “Well, I don’t know about incredibly talented or famous. But yes, that’s me — just your average local race car driver currently making an absolute mess while eating gelato.”

Here you sit, having just shared an utterly divine dessert while shamelessly ogling one of the most popular and well-known athletes in the damn world … and he’s acting like it’s absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. Like you’re just two regular people enjoying a sweet treat together on a sunny day.

“I can’t believe I’m having this conversation right now,” you murmur, shaking your head slowly. “Do you have any idea how many people would kill to literally just ... sit across from you like this while you eat mediocre gas station ice cream, much less the world’s best gelato? I’m … stunned you’re so nonchalant about this whole thing.”

Charles merely flashes you a self-deprecating grin as he pops the last bite of cone into his mouth. “Well, to me you’re not some screaming fangirl, but just a lovely new friend I enjoy gelato with. Though my ego certainly appreciates the compliments.”

He winks at you impishly and you feel an unwitting smile tugging at the corners of your own lips despite your lingering disbelief. You suppose being surrounded by such incredible wealth and luxury every day in Monaco, Charles likely doesn’t register it anymore. Not to mention the clearly down-to-earth personality he seems to possess given that genuine humility.

The hours just seem to slip effortlessly by then as the two of you continue to chat and laugh and bask in the perfect afternoon contentment of the moment. Charles regales you with ridiculous behind-the-scenes stories about increasingly crazy bets with his friends and crew during the season. You share equally hilarious tales of your own coming-of-age mishaps as an overeager teenager.

At some point, you both reach for your long-empty dishes simultaneously, fingers brushing in a spark of contact that sends your pulse stuttering. Charles doesn’t pull back, letting his hand linger outrageously close to yours as his warm gaze stays locked intensely on your face.

You try to swallow past a suddenly dry throat as the atmosphere shifts abruptly, suddenly heavy with the hot crackle of unmistakable chemistry and unspoken tension. But then, just like that, the moment passes as quickly as it came.

Your phone buzzes loudly in your pocket with a text, the notification startling you both back to reality. Charles sits back, clearing his throat slightly as you pull your hand away to quickly check the message.

It’s from your roommate asking when you’ll be home for dinner and if you need her to start cooking.

You glance up at Charles with an apologetic grimace. “I should probably head back. I didn’t realize how late it’s gotten.”

He blinks rapidly before seeming to visibly shake himself. “Right, of course! Time really got away from us, didn’t it?”

You stand as Charles rises smoothly to his feet as well, shoving both hands casually in his pockets. “So ... I had a really great time with you today,” he says carefully, something almost hesitant flickering across his face. “And I’d love a chance to take you out again sometime soon, if you’re interested? Maybe grab dinner when I’m back in town?”

Your breath catches in your throat at the unmistakable request for an actual date. With Charles freaking Leclerc no less ...

Tamping down your sudden nerves, you nod slowly as a shy smile blossoms on your lips. “I’d really like that,” you admit truthfully. “Let’s definitely do dinner whenever you’re free.”

His whole expression brightens immediately at your affirmation, lips stretching in a wide grin of pure delight. “Perfect! I’ll be back from my next race in just over a week then. How about exchanging numbers so I can let you know as soon as I’ve returned?”

You quickly rattle off your number as Charles punches it into his phone before doing the same for you. As if sealing some unspoken deal, he sticks out his hand to shake yours, that warm roughened grip lingering perhaps a moment longer than strictly necessary.

“I’ll text you soon then,” Charles murmurs intently, that spark of heat flickering in his eyes again. “Promise me you’ll say yes this time.”

You can only nod mutely, mouth gone bone-dry at the pointed words and heated look washing over you. Charles maintains that blistering eye contact and heart-stalling grip on your palm for another loaded handful of seconds, leaving you dizzy with giddy anticipation.

Then, just like that, he releases your hand with one final squeeze before taking a step back, seemingly satisfied by your stunned agreement. Charles shoots you one last lingering look and crooked grin before turning to stride easily back the way you came.

You remain rooted in place for a long moment, utterly dazed by the entire surreal scenario as you watch his broad shoulders and narrow waist disappear down the narrow alleyway.

Today started out as any other nothing-out-of-the-ordinary spring day in your new home. But now … now you have an actual date scheduled with an unbelievably charming and disarmingly down-to-earth racing superstar.

A giddy giggle bubbles up from deep in your chest as reality finally settles in. Who could have ever predicted that bumping into your new acquaintance — quite literally — would lead to not only discovering the most heavenly gelato on the planet, but lining up a date with an internationally famous athlete?

Suddenly, your bright future studying in Monaco just got about ten thousand times more interesting …

***

The week passes by in a blur of anticipation after your initial meeting with Charles. You can barely focus during lectures, your mind constantly wandering to that charming grin and those warm eyes crinkling at the corners whenever he laughed.

Finally, the evening you’ve been eagerly awaiting arrives. You’ve just finished getting ready — pulling on a flowy sundress and brushing out your hair one last time — when your phone buzzes with a new text.

I’m outside whenever you’re ready for our date night. Looking forward to seeing you again 😘

You can’t bite back your giddy smile as you quickly reply that you’re heading out before taking one last steadying breath.

It’s just Charles … the internationally famous and absurdly handsome Formula 1 driver you’ve somehow managed to snag a date with.

No big deal at all.

The evening air carries a pleasantly cool breeze as you exit your apartment building, scanning the idling line of vehicles for Charles’ car. You spot him immediately, leaning against the gleaming metallic side of what you now recognize as an eye-wateringly expensive Ferrari.

Charles looks … unfairly gorgeous. He’s shed his athletic wear in favor of a simple white linen shirt and tailored slacks that somehow make him appear even more effortlessly suave. His hair is artfully tousled and damn if those clothes don’t accentuate every hard plane and corded muscle of his built frame.

You must be staring because suddenly Charles is pushing off from the car and straightening to his full height, those intense eyes crinkling warmly as soon as they land on you.

“You look stunning,” he murmurs appreciatively once you’ve drawn closer, making a show of trailing his gaze slowly up and down your figure. You’re abruptly grateful for the dusky twilight hiding your furious blush at the blatant admiration in his tone.

“Thanks,” you manage to get out without your voice shaking too noticeably. “You don’t look half bad yourself, race car man.”

Charles throws back his head with one of those deep-bellied laughs you’re quickly becoming addicted to. “Why thank you, gelato girl.” He shoots you a wink before surprising you by gallantly offering his arm. “Shall we?”

You take it without hesitation, reveling in the solid warmth of his bicep pressed against your side as Charles leads you to the waiting glossy black sports car. He opens the door for you like an old-fashioned gentleman, closing it carefully once you’re tucked inside the buttery leather interior.

The engine roars to life with a powerful rumble and you can’t resist shooting Charles an impressed look as he deftly maneuvers out onto the street.

“You know, I’m starting to think this little hobby of yours might not be too bad of a gig,” you tease lightly, waving a hand at the sleek interior compartment.

“I can’t complain,” Charles volleys back with a crooked grin, seamlessly navigating the tight turns of the old city. “Sometimes they even let me drive in circles really fast just for fun.”

You roll your eyes at his retort, but can’t quite wipe the smile off your face as Charles guns the engine, the car surging forward in a burst of speed and power. Clearly the man knows how to leverage any opportunity to show off those expert driving skills … not that you mind one bit.

Eventually, Charles pulls up in front of an unassuming doorway you never would have noticed tucked down a quiet side street. The understated sign above simply reads Trattoria Giovanni.

“This place has been run by the same Italian family for over fifty years,” Charles explains as he holds the door for you. “Best authentic cuisine in the city, but you would never find it unless you knew where to look.”

The interior appears to have been plucked directly from a rustic Tuscan villa — burnished wooden beams criss-crossing the curved ceilings and terracotta tiles underfoot. You breathe in deeply, savoring the mouthwatering aromas of garlic, tomato sauce, and fresh bread wafting from the open kitchen.

An older man with a thick mustache and crisp white apron greets Charles immediately in fluent Italian, ushering you both back to a cozy alcove table secluded in the very rear. He pours you both generous glasses of deep red wine before disappearing again with a conspiratorial wink in your direction.

“So, how was your race?” You ask between sips once you and Charles are alone, genuinely curious about the difficult career he’s managed to carve out.

He shrugs one broad shoulder almost dismissively. “Decent enough, I suppose. Grabbed another podium finish, but didn’t quite have the pace for the win.” There’s no disappointment or frustration in his tone as he speaks, just a simple statement of fact.

“I’m endlessly in awe that you treat accomplishments like that so casually,” you admit with a shake of your head. “Finishing in the top three in Formula 1 seems like the kind of thing most people would be over the moon about.”

Charles lets out a low chuckle at that, leaning towards you over the small table with eyes twinkling mischievously. “Well maybe I need to find a new way to impress someone like you then.”

You open your mouth to respond with a playful retort of your own, but Charles’ gaze has already strayed to somewhere past your shoulder.

“Ah, perfect timing then. Here’s Giovanni himself with our orders.”

Sure enough, the older man you spotted earlier bustles up with a tray overflowing with piping hot plates of food. He doles out the dishes methodically while rattling off a stream of explanations about preparations and ingredients that have clearly been passed down for many generations.

Everything looks and smells utterly divine — from the heaping bowl of glistening spaghetti blanketed in a simmering tomato sauce to the golden-baked chicken drenched in rosemary and olive oil. The endlessly affable Giovanni even sets down a small ceramic dish full of creamy pale cheese, patting Charles on the shoulder.

“The burrata for you and your lady friend. Freshly made this morning by my wife,” he declares proudly before whisking himself away again.

For the next blissful hour or two, you and Charles completely lose yourselves in this veritable feast for the senses. You savor each and every decadent bite — moaning around the pillowy strands of spaghetti and tearing off chunks of the crusty, herb-brushed breads to soak up the savory juices.

Charles, for his part, dives into the meal with just as much enthusiasm, occasionally reaching over to snag a bite off of your plate until you resort to smacking his wandering fork away between fits of laughter.

Stuffed and utterly content, you both eventually push away your long-cleared dishes to nurse the final sips of your wine as the evening stretches languorously on. You fall into these simple moments like an old habit by now — trading comfortable silences and contented looks between impassioned recounts of childhood anecdotes or musings about life.

Finally, as the candles on the small wooden tables begin to gutter and wane, Charles summons over your waiter to settle the check with a few murmured words and one of those knee-weakening smiles. Rising smoothly, he extends his hand in a wordless invitation for you to join him back out into the balmy evening.

This time, instead of heading for the car, Charles tucks your hand into the crook of his elbow before choosing a new direction — down a maze of narrow streets until you finally emerge along the harbor’s edge. Strings of twinkling lights reflect off the lapping waves while the soft strains of background music filter out from somewhere nearby.

“Feel like grabbing a little dessert to walk off that incredible meal?” Charles asks in a low murmur, bumping your shoulder conspiratorially.

You shoot him an incredulous look even as you nod. “You mean in addition to the literal feast we both just had?”

Charles tugs you closer to his side until your hips graze together as you match strides. “There’s always room for gelato,” he counters with an arched brow. “Besides, when in Monaco ...”

Any further protests die on your lips as Charles guides you around another tight corner to reveal that familiar cheerful gelato shop from your initial meeting. The old woman behind the counter greets you both like regulars already, no doubt thanks to Charles’ frequent patronage.

You maneuver through the small line until it’s your turn to order. “I think I’ll go with the tiramisu flavor this time,” you decide, mouth already watering at the prospect of that rich coffee and creamy goodness. “What about you? Mixing it up or still sticking with the basics?”

Charles shakes his head resolutely as he hands over a few crisp bills to pay for your treats. “Trust me, a heaping helping of simple vanilla is just as gratifying as all those overly complicated flavor combinations.”

You balk at his slander, bumping his shoulder with your own without any real heat. “How dare you insult my incredible palette like that?” You glare at him in mock offense. “I’ll have you know I have some of the most refined gelato taste in all of Monaco now.”

“Oh yeah?” Charles tips his chin down with a challenging smirk twisting his full lips. “Well what if I told you that vanilla is scientifically proven to be the most popular and beloved flavor in existence?”

“By who? Basic boring people?” You volley back mercilessly, eagerly leaning into the playful banter now. “If anything, those findings just demonstrated how sadly uncreative society at large is.”

Charles barks out a booming laugh as he grabs your hand and tugs you back out of the shop, gelato in the other. “You heathen! We’re clearly going to need to educate you on the finer points of flavor appreciation.”

Your eyes narrow dangerously even as you let yourself be lead to a nearby bench overlooking the gently lapping waves. “Oh, you’re on, Leclerc. Let’s see if your vanilla snobbery holds up after a taste of tiramisu heaven.”

You scoop up an exaggeratedly generous spoonful of the divinely rich, creamy gelato and make a show of savoring it with overstated moans of delight. “Oh my god, this is so good. Here, you have to try this! It’s life-changing.”

Charles wrinkles his nose even as you wave the spoonful enticingly in front of him. “Nice try but I would never cheat on vanilla!”

The two of you devolve into helpless laughter at that point, dissolving into breathless giggles over the ridiculous debate getting more outrageous by the minute. Finally, you relent in the battle, settling back into the cool metal of the bench and turning your face up to the inky sea of stars glittering overhead.

“You’re right though — sometimes simple really is best,” you admit finally in a softer tone, slowly licking another sweet bite off your spoon.

Charles hums in agreement next to you, shuffling closer until your arms brush together with body heat and contact. “The classics never go out of style.”

The next comfortable silence stretches out between you as you take your time savoring your treats while simultaneously drinking in the breathtaking view laid out before you. The water laps almost hypnotically at the shoreline, twinkling reflection of docked yachts bobbing gently on the calm surface.

A breeze skates across your bare arms, raising a faint ripple of goosebumps along your skin. Charles notices immediately, shifting even nearer until he can shrug out of the lightweight jacket he had been wearing.

Without a word, he swings the soft fabric around your shoulders, tucking it securely around your front. You burrow instinctively into the material, the lingering body heat and remnants of his cologne wrapping you up in an cocoon of soothing warmth and intoxicating comfort.

With your free hand, you toy idly with the collar until Charles’ arm comes up to curl around your shoulders, effectively enveloping you into his solid frame. You let your cheek tip onto the firm muscle of his arm as Charles squeezes you closer with a contented exhale.

Time becomes meaningless suspended in that perfect sea-side bubble, waves flowing rhythmically while you enjoy every last savored bite of your melting treats. You let the quiet inevitability of dropping your head onto Charles’ shoulder wash over you, his familiar cologne invading your senses until your entire world narrows to just him.

When Charles polishes off the final bite of his cone and you go to shift away, another cool gust skitters across the harbor. He tightens the arm curved around you, making no move to let you up or leave the cozy haven you’ve made.

“I could get used to evenings like this, you know,” he murmurs eventually, lips brushing the top of your head. “Just taking it slow and savoring each other’s company without a single worry or care beyond where to find the best gelato.”

You hum in sleepy agreement, luxuriating in the casual intimacy of having Charles wrapped so protectively around you. Part of you can scarcely believe how instantaneous and natural this connection has blossomed between you already. But another part feels like you’ve finally found your soul’s missing piece slotting seamlessly into place after stumbling around lost and incomplete for so long without ever realizing it.

The two of you remain suspended in that perfect, tranquil bubble for what could be minutes or hours more. You’ve completely lost track of any sense of time beyond the lullaby of the gentle waves and occasional murmur of Charles’ breathing ruffling your hair.

Eventually though, his stirring signals a slow return to the real world as Charles regretfully extricates himself from your entwined position with clear reluctance.

“I should probably get you back before your roommate starts to worry,” he says remorsefully as he slides off the bench to offer you a steadying hand up.

You accept it without hesitation, but can’t resist clinging to his jacket still cocooned around your shoulders, unwilling to shrug off that lingering cocoon of comfort and safety just yet. Charles notices, allowing a tiny grin to quirk one side of his mouth upwards as he takes in your refusal to part with it.

“Looks good on you,” he murmurs with unmistakable heat in those hypnotizing eyes. “I may have to let you hang on to that one for a while.”

Your mouth goes abruptly dry at the blatant implications in his tone, but you manage a coy smile in return as you turn to make your way back towards wherever Charles has his car crookedly parked.

The streets are all but abandoned by the time you arrive at the discreet entrance of your apartment building. Charles hesitates a split second before rounding the front of the gleaming Ferrari to face you properly on the quiet sidewalk.

“Thank you for an incredible evening,” you say honestly, gazing up at his silhouette in the dim glow of the streetlamps. “I don’t think I can even put into words how special you’ve managed to make me feel these past couple weeks.”

His expression softens instantly. One calloused palm comes up to tenderly cup your jaw, tilting your face up towards his with feather-light reverence.

“The pleasure has been all mine, I assure you,” Charles rumbles in a low tone that steals your breath away. “I don’t think you’ll ever realize just how remarkable you are, ma belle.”

Your eyes flutter shut without conscious thought as his nose brushes yours. Charles’ lips glide torturously against your cheek leaving a blazing trail to the very corner of your mouth.

The softest, most infinitely gentle press of satin flesh on flesh and then he’s pulling back — his ragged exhale warm and intoxicating against your tingling lips. You chase his retreat on instinct, but Charles is already withdrawing further with clear reluctance.

“I’m afraid I don’t trust myself to take things slow quite yet if I stay,” he murmurs in a strained rasp, pupils blown wide and dark. “But I do hope you’ll allow me to make this our new gelato tradition from now on ...”

It takes you several faltering attempts to find your voice again, chest rising and falling rapidly in the aftermath of that lightning bolt of affection. Finally, you manage a jerky nod, sliding one trembling hand over his where it still cups your cheek.

“I want that more than anything,” you confess in a hushed tone. “Just ... promise me we’ll see each other soon.”

He releases a shuddering breath of unbridled relief, dipping his forehead to rest against yours. “Soon,” Charles vows lowly. “I promise.”

You stare up into his earnest eyes. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Charles’ lips quirk in that lopsided grin you already adore so much. “I’m counting on it.”

With obvious reluctance, he finally steps away, snagging your hand to press one last searing kiss to your knuckles that has your heart stuttering all over again. Charles holds your gaze as you carefully back away towards the entrance, unwilling or unable to fully turn your back until the very last moment.

You chance a glance over your shoulder as you reach the front doors. Charles is still there, unmoving in a pool of streetlight beside his idling Ferrari, hands shoved in his pockets as he tracks your every step until you’ve slipped safely inside.

Exhaling a shuddering breath, you lean back against the cool stone wall, fingers coming up to ghost across your still-tingling lips almost disbelievingly.

When you finally muster the courage to peek through the glass once more, Charles has moved to lean against the side of his car, head tilted back as he stares into the lobby with an unmistakable softness etched across those chiseled features.

You can’t resist pressing your palm to the pane in a gesture you know he’ll recognize. Sure enough, Charles’ intense gaze instantly snaps to lock on you from across the quiet street, expression melting into pure adoration and wonder. His lips shape the same promise he uttered just moments ago — soon — as your own quirk in a delighted smile.

One last impulsive spark of inspiration has you playfully blowing him a single kiss through the barrier between you. Charles catches the invisible token easily, hand flying up to press over that broad chest as he throws back his head with a laugh that you can’t hear but imagine with vivid clarity.

You stand there transfixed, drinking in every last detail of him — the effortless elegance he carries himself with, the striking planes of his handsome face, and those beautiful eyes glittering with a thousand unspoken promises under the streetlamps.

Finally, with your own vow to reunite pulsing between you, Charles slides behind the wheel of his car. The powerful engine roars to life, twin beams from the headlights sweeping up to briefly wash through the windows of the lobby in a silent farewell before he’s peeling away into the night back towards the glittering city center.

You remain at the entrance for several long minutes basking in the memory of Charles’ phantom embrace still clinging to your skin. Only once his Ferrari has faded into the distance do you finally turn towards the elevator up to your apartment — every footstep lighter than air in the wake of an evening that lived up to even your wildest dreams of romantic splendor.

The simple joy and humble pleasure of a perfect scoop of creamy gelato will always hold untold meaning now as the spark marking the start of something beautiful blossoming between you and Charles.

And, as you finally drift off that night with a permanent smile etched across your face, you know without a shadow of a doubt that no flavor in the world could ever compare to the sweet indulgence of a life together just waiting to be savored and explored.

***

The warm spring breeze carries the sweet floral scents of the Brera Botanical Garden through the air as you stroll hand-in-hand with Charles. His fingers are laced through yours, his thumb gently stroking over your knuckles. You can’t help stealing glances at his handsome profile — the defined jawline, those soft kiss-curled lips, those kind green eyes that always seem to be smiling even when the rest of his face isn’t.

“What are you looking at?” Charles says with an amused grin, catching you staring again. You just shake your head and squeeze his hand tighter.

“Nothing. Just admiring the view,” you tease. Charles laughs that bright, infectious laugh of his that never fails to make your heart flutter.

You come to a stop beneath a blossoming cherry tree, pale pink petals floating down around you. Charles turns to face you, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“Y/N … there’s something I want to talk to you about,” he begins, suddenly uncharacteristically nervous. You tilt your head curiously. “You know how passionate I am about racing, about Formula 1. It’s been my dream since I was a little boy.”

“Of course,” you nod, unable to stop a small smile. Charles’ love for motorsports is one of the many things you have come to adore about him.

“Well, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately,” Charles continues, taking both your hands in his. “And I’ve realized that I want to have something else in my life too. A … passion project, you could say. Something that’s away from all the spotlight and pressure.”

Your brow furrows slightly as you try to imagine what he could mean. Charles has spoken before about potentially getting more involved in charity work or environmentalism on top of his racing career. But the almost childlike excitement dancing in his eyes tells you this is something different.

“I’m going to open a gelato shop,” he blurts out finally. You blink dumbly.

“A … gelato shop?” You repeat slowly. Out of all the possibilities, that was definitely not what you were expecting.

“Yes!” Charles grins broadly, clearly delighted by your surprise. “Think about it,Y/N. What’s more perfect than gelato made right here in the heart of Milano? And I’ve already found the ideal location — a little shop just across the street from here. Can’t you just picture it?”

He starts gesturing animatedly, that bright smile never leaving his face as he outlines his grand vision. You can’t help getting caught up in his infectious enthusiasm, even if the idea still seems a bit random.

“I’m going to call it Lec,” Charles says with a proud smile. You let out an undignified snort of laughter.

“Lec? Like your last name?” You shake your head in amusement. He looks almost offended by your reaction.

“No, no, not just my last name,” he corrects you seriously. “Lec as in … our last name. Yours and mine.”

The words hang in the air as realization slowly starts to dawn on you. You open and close your mouth dumbly as Charles takes a deep breath, sliding off the path onto one knee on the ground before you. With shaking hands, he pulls out a small black box from his pocket and flips it open to reveal the most stunning diamond ring you’ve ever seen.

“Y/N Y/L/N … you are my world, my everything,” Charles’ voice is thick with emotion as he gazes up at you. “I cannot imagine spending the rest of my life with anyone else by my side. I want to wake up every morning and go to sleep every night with you beside me forever.”

Tears are already welling in your eyes, one hand pressed to your trembling lips as you listen to the beautiful words.

“Will you ...” Charles’ voice catches in his throat and he has to clear it before continuing. “Will you do me the greatest honor and become my wife? Will you marry me?”

The last few words come out in a rush of breath. You’re vaguely aware of several other people in the gardens who’ve stopped to watch, but all you can see is Charles’ face — hopeful and vulnerable and so full of pure adoration for you.

“Yes!” You finally manage to choke out through your joyful tears. “Oh my god, yes! Yes of course I’ll marry you!”

Pure relief and blissful ecstasy bursts across Charles’ face at your answer. With hands trembling just as badly as yours, he eases the glittering ring out of the box and onto your finger where it nestles perfectly, the diamond catching the dappled sunlight.

Before you can even look at it properly, Charles is on his feet again, pulling you into his embrace and spinning you around in a deliriously happy circle. You cling to him, laughing and crying at the same time as he peppers every inch of your face with kisses — your forehead, your cheeks, the tip of your nose.

Finally, inevitably, his mouth finds yours in a long, deep, loving kiss that has your knees feeling weak. You get lost in the warmth of his arms around you, the gentleness of his hands cradling your face, the tenderness of his soft lips moving reverently against yours.

When you finally part, you’re both smiling so much it almost hurts, foreheads pressed together as you share the same breath. Charles brushes away a few stray tears on your cheeks with the pad of his thumb.

“I love you so much, mon cœur,” he murmurs softly. You mouth the words back to him before stealing another lingering kiss.

Hand-in-hand once more, Charles leads you out of the botanical gardens and across the street. You come to a stop in front of a quaint yet sizable storefront, the windows covered in brown paper and a faded For Lease sign still hanging crookedly in the door.

“Here it is,” Charles says, gesturing up at the building with undisguised pride. “What do you think?”

You take it in slowly, trying to envision what the space might look like once renovated and filled with cozy seating and the alluring scents of freshly-made gelato.

You picture the two of you working side-by-side behind the counter when Charles doesn’t have a race, laughing and bantering as you serve up delicious treats for smiling customers.

It’s such an endearingly normal, domestic dream compared to the fast-paced frenzy of the Formula 1 lifestyle. But standing here with your new fiancé, it feels absolutely perfect.

“I think … I think it’s going to be incredible,” you lean into Charles’ side and wrap your arms around his trim waist. He responds by kissing your temple and pulling you closer.

“Just think,” he says happily, his warm breath ruffling your hair. “We’ll be the owners of the best little gelateria in all of Milano.

“Sounds like heaven,” you smile. “Just be sure to make plenty of hazelnut and tiramisu for me.”

“Done and done,” he promises solemnly. “Though you know vanilla will always be number one in my book.”

“Oh really?” You arch an eyebrow challengingly. “Is that so?”

Without warning, you loop your arms around Charles’ neck and pull him in for a long, lingering kiss. You can feel him melting into your embrace, his arms snaking securely around your waist.

When you finally manage to pull apart again, you’re both slightly flushed and out of breath. Charles’ usually perfectly tousled hair is charmingly mussed from running your fingers through it. He looks at you with such naked affection and desire that your heart flutters.

“You know what?” He murmurs huskily, resting his forehead against yours. “I take it back. You’re definitely my favorite flavor. And I can’t wait to start this next chapter with you, mon amour.”

And with that promise lingering sweetly between you, Charles takes your face in his hands and kisses you deeply once more, pouring every ounce of his devotion into the embrace.

You can taste forever on his lips.

When you finally part, grinning giddily at each other, Charles takes your hand and leads you back towards your next adventure. Whatever lies ahead, you know you’ll take it on fearlessly and joyously, side-by-side with the man you love more than anything in this world.

***

The reception hall is a whirlwind of joy and celebration as you take in the scene, your heart overflowing with love and happiness. The elegant decorations, the twinkling lights, and the smiling faces of your loved ones surrounding you all blur together in a beautiful haze.

You can scarcely believe this day has finally arrived — the day you’ve dreamed of for so long.

You turn to Charles, his warm green eyes sparkling with so much love, and your breath catches in your throat. He looks devastatingly handsome in his perfectly tailored tuxedo, his million-watt smile making your knees go weak.

This incredible man is now your husband.

“Hey you,” he murmurs, taking your hand and brushing his lips across your knuckles. “Having fun, mon amour?”

A joyful laugh escapes your lips as you nod enthusiastically. “More than I ever thought possible. I’m just … I’m so happy, Charles. I can’t believe we’re actually married!”

He chuckles, that rich laugh that never fails to make you melt. “Believe it, Mrs. Leclerc. You’re stuck with me forever now.” His expression softens as he cups your cheek tenderly. “I love you so much. I’m the luckiest man in the world.”

You lean into his touch, savoring the moment. “I love you too, Mr. Leclerc. More than anything.”

A throat clears behind you, and you whirl around to see Arthur, your new brother-in-law, grinning mischievously.

“If you two lovebirds are done making everyone else nauseous, it’s time to cut the cake!” He teases, jerking his head towards the lavish gelato cake that sits on the dessert table.

Charles throws his head back with a laugh. “You’re just jealous that you don’t have someone as amazing as my wife to make gooey eyes at.”

Arthur rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “Whatever. Get your butts over there before I eat the whole thing myself.”

With a wink at you, Charles takes your hand and leads you towards the dessert table, the crowd of guests parting like the Red Sea to let you through. Your heart does a little flip as the magnificent gelato cake comes into view — a towering masterpiece of creamy gelato in vanilla, hazelnut, and tiramisu, all artfully swirled together and decorated with fresh fruit and chocolate shavings.

“It’s perfect,” you whisper in awe, giving Charles’ hand a squeeze.

He pulls you into his side with a content smile. “Not as perfect as you.”

The crowd applauds as you approach the cake, and a chorus of cheers and wolf whistles rises up. Straightening your shoulders with a grin, you pick up the gleaming cake knife and lock eyes with Charles, suddenly feeling bold.

“Ready to do this, husband?” You ask with a teasing lilt.

His eyes blaze with undisguised desire. “More than ready, wife.”

Together, you slice into the towering gelato cake, the creamy filling oozing out and already making your mouth water. Once you have a generous slice on a plate, you scoop up a spoonful and lock eyes with Charles again, arching an eyebrow in challenge.

His pupils dilate as he catches your meaning, a low growl rumbling in his throat. “Don’t start something you can’t finish, mon cœur.”

“Who says I can’t finish it?” You take a step closer, holding the spoonful of gelato up temptingly.

Charles tips his head back with a groan. “You’re killing me here.”

“Good thing you have me to bring you back to life then,” you quip, pressing the spoon to his lips.

He opens obediently, letting you slide the gelato into his mouth with agonizing slowness. His eyelids flutter shut as the flavors explode over his tongue, and he actually moans — deep and guttural and utterly sinful.

A choked sound comes from somewhere in the crowd. “Oh please, get a room!” Joris, Charles’ best friend and best man, calls out with a mixture of amusement and mortification.

Charles doesn’t even open his eyes, simply raising one middle finger in Joris’ direction as he savors the last of the gelato. When his tongue finally darts out to catch a stray bit on his lips, you feel an unexpected flare of heat low in your belly.

Okay, two can play at this game.

Deliberately holding Charles’ heated gaze, you dip your finger into the gelato drippings on the plate and slowly, so slowly, bring it up to your lips. You let the very tip of your tongue dart out to catch the sticky sweetness, swirling it around luxuriously. His Adam’s apple bobs as he watches you, jaw tense.

That’s it.

You slip your finger into your mouth fully, hollowing out your cheeks as you suck the gelato off with an utterly obscene sound. Charles’ knees actually buckle, and he grips the table behind him for support, pupils blown wide.

“You are so dead,” he growls under his breath, low and dangerous.

Unable to stop yourself, you let out a breathy giggle, drunk with a dizzying cocktail of desire and sheer bliss. Charles takes a half step closer, his eyes burning into yours. You quickly scoop up another fingerful of gelato, desperate to keep pushing those buttons and draw out that delicious intensity.

But before you can bring it to your lips, quick as a flash, Charles is on you. He drags you flush against his solid form, his free hand cupping the back of your neck to angle your mouth up to his. The scorching kiss steals the breath from your lungs, leaving you dizzy and clinging to his lapels for purchase.

When he finally breaks away, his eyes are blazing with unconcealed want.

“You missed a spot,” he rasps.

Then he’s ducking his head, and with one torturously slow lick, he clears the stray bit of gelato from the tip of your nose. The heat of his tongue on your overly sensitive skin makes you whimper.

The catcalls and whistles from your guests fade into white noise as you melt against your husband, lost in the endless depths of his hungry gaze. Screw being appropriate — you’ll give them all a show to remember if you have to.

“Fuck, I love you,” Charles rumbles, his voice low and rough with barely restrained desire.

Before you can respond, he’s kissing you again — deep and thorough and all-consuming. You sigh into his mouth, bunching the fine material of his tuxedo jacket in your fists to pull him even closer. His hand slides from your neck into your hair, cradling your head reverently as he pours every ounce of his love and passion into the kiss.

An eternity later, he breaks away with a ragged breath, resting his forehead against yours. “I think it’s time to get out of here, don’t you?”

You can only nod breathlessly, already imagining the deliciously wicked things he has in store. As if in a trance, you allow him to take your hand and lead you towards the exit, shouting and wolf whistles following in your wake.

Just before you slip out of the hall, you hear Pierre Gasly’s teasing voice behind you.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, you two!”

Charles pauses only long enough to call over his shoulder, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“But there’s nothing you wouldn’t do!”

Then he’s sweeping you into his arms with a playful growl, carrying you into your new life together as man and wife. Peals of laughter and cheers chase you down the hall, but you only have eyes for each other in this perfect moment.

You’re married to the love of your life. You have forever with this incredible man. And if the wedding is anything to go by, forever is going to be deliciously amazing.

Literally.

1K notes · View notes

allthesmutl0vers · 3 months ago

Note

Hi! I have a request if you accept.

George and the reader have been dating (sort of secretly) for a while now. The reader is someone who falls outside the typical, generic Slytherin image. She is kind and calm (well, mostly). Until some of her rude bully friends started messing with George, his family and this 'blood traitor' thing about the Weasley name. This is a definite turning point. The reader definitely proves to everyone that she is truly a Slytherin. She shows her scary and cruel side to those who deserve it. From now on, no one will mess with the ones she loves, she can do anything for the guy she loves. Possessive and protective. George's jaw drops... and after all this they may need to find some privacy.

Oo! I love this idea!!😃 Thank you so much for sending it to me 💗Let me see what I can do. Sorry this took me a day to get to, love.

MDNI, NSFW, 18+.

Requests: OPEN

Masterlist

Reblogs and comments are always appreciated. 🫶

Pairing: George Weasley x F!Reader

Word Count: 2,959

Summary: Nobody in Slytherin could ever imagine being caught dead with someone from another house, let alone from Gryffindor. Nobody but you, at least. You've always kept to yourself, especially when it comes to your relationship with a certain Weasley twin. Everyone, including even your friends, wonders how you ended up in Slytherin. When those same friends go too far with their deplorable insults, you decide to show them exactly why you were sorted into Slytherin.

TW: Bullying, Name calling, Violence, Smut (P! in V! -You're on birth control), Oral (F! Receiving), Praise, Possessive!George, Protective!George, Spanking, Hair Pulling, Breeding adjacent?- Not sure about this last tw, lmk in the comments if that's what it is.

Song Inspo: Click here (River: Bishop Briggs)

"I'm just saying, this school has gone to the dogs," Pansy huffs. "I mean, seriously, how could Dumbledore think having a werewolf as a professor is a good idea?"

"It was last year, Pansy. Get over it," I mutter as I try to focus on my book. She's nice enough, but I swear to Merlin, she can never just sit in silence. And when she can't think of anything to talk about, she somehow finds a way to talk shit about someone else.

"Didn't peg you for a half-breed sympathizer," pansy quips, leaning back on her hands as we sit in the courtyard.

I roll my eyes, cursing myself for saying anything at all. Because now I'm sucked into a conversation I never wanted to be a part of. "I could say the same thing to you. Isn't your family currently harboring Greyback?" I ask with a raised brow over my book.

"Hush up about that, will you?" Pansy asks as she looks around the courtyard in a panic. "Nobody is supposed to know."

I do my best to ignore her, trying to go back to my book. But when I see George Weasley come into the courtyard with his twins and a band of Gryffindors, and a mix of the other two houses, I can't pull my eyes away.

I watch as he pulls something out of his pocket. It lights up like a sparkler, and he begins to toss it back and forth with Fred while the others around them 'oo' and 'ahh.' Probably the Whiz-Bangs he was telling me about in our last little rendezvous in the room of requirement, a new invention that they've been working on. His eyes meet mine and he smiles, biting the corner of his lower lip as he catches it again.

I smile back, wishing more than anything that I could just go up and be with him publicly. George has mentioned wanting to go public with our relationship, but being a Slytherin princess makes it a little more than difficult.

Going back generations, all of my family has been sorted into Slytherin. And although my parents are a little more progressive than most Slytherin alumni, they've made it clear how they feel about me dating outside of my house.

"Ugh, look them over there. Tossing around that garbage," Pansy huffs, annoyed.

Before I can say anything, she's already up and walking over with Daphne Greengrass. Shit. I stand up, too, and walk behind them as we approach the small circle that has started to form around Fred and George. "Hey!" Pansy shouts, shoving her way through.

Fred and George look between me and Pansy with confused looks and a knot of nerves forms deep in my stomach. "What do you want, Parkinson?" Fred bites back.

"Surprised you managed to slither your way out of the dungeon," George adds with a smirk.

Pansy crosses her arms over her chest with a huff. "How dare you talk to me like that," she spits at them with a venom-laced tone. "I'm just shocked you managed to actually make something. Aren't you failing nearly everything? What's up? Weasley's can't afford a tutor?" She quips.

My fists clench at my sides. It's not fair to blame the children for parents not making more money. Especially when they're the kindest people in the world. I watch George's jaw tick with annoyance. "Better than sucking dick to get a good grade. Or were you on your knees in front of Snape for another reason?" George fires back.

I purse my lips to keep myself from smiling. Nobody is supposed to know that except for me, but the look on Pansy's face makes it well worth telling George about.

Pansy's face turns bright red as everyone around us gasps and starts whispering among themselves. "Shut up," she seethes with anger. She turns to me, and I see her nostrils flare. She knows I had to be the one who told him. "How fucking dare you?" She spits at me. "You promised not to tell anyone. And you tell that filthy fucking blood traitor?!" She practically screams.

Something inside of me snaps, and I look over at George, who is already drawing his wand. I shake my head softly before turning back to Pansy. "Actually, he just guessed. You just outed yourself," I quip, taking a step closer to her. "And don't fucking talk about him like that," I snap at her.

"You're defending him?!" She gasps, pointing to George. "You're a Slytherin, for Merlin's sake. Have some fucking class," she says with disgust. "Talking with blood traitors," she shakes her head. "What would your parents say?"

Everyone around us falls silent. I've never talked this much. Most of these people have probably never heard me talk at all. "You're one to talk about class, Parkinson," I step closer to her. "Your family is so fucking inbred it's a miracle you're even able to write your name."

Pansy begins to shake with anger as she draws her wand, and I draw mine, too, holding it at my side. "You disgust me. The fact you can call yourself a Slytherin with that filthy mud-blood of a mother is beyond me," she snaps. "And defending a blood traitor to top it off?" She scoffs with disgust.

I grip my wand tight. "Say blood traitor one more time, and I'll remind you just how much of a Slytherin I am."

Pansy clenches her jaw before she opens her mouth. "Blood-"

"Flipendo!" I flick my wand, throwing Pansy back five feet and making her land on her ass. Everyone laughs, including Fred and George.

Pansy stands up in a hurry, brushing off her skit as she aims her wand at me. "Locomotor Wibbly!" she flicks her wand at me, casting the jelly-legs jinx.

George steps in front of me, dodging the jinx with a wave of his wand. "That's enough!" He yells, making everyone fall silent again. Fred and George don't yell in anger, so it catches everyone, myself included by surprise.

"I got it, Georgie," I say without looking at him as I move to stand in front of him. "Levicorpus!" I jinx Pansy, holding her up in the air by her ankles with a dangle of my wand. She screams, frantically trying to cover herself with her skirt. "Had enough?" I ask her with a bite in my tone.

"Let me down!" She screams as everyone points and laughs at her granny panties. Don't try to jinx someone on laundry day.

"That doesn't sound like an apology," I taunt with a smirk as I turn, waving my wand and Pansy over the fountain, holding her a few inches above the water.

"I'm sorry!" Pansy screams as I feel George put a hand possessively on my waist.

"Don't apologize to me," I taunt, leaning into George's touch. Fuck what anyone says.

Pansy looks at George and Fred, who moves to stand at George's side. "I'm sorry!" She cries with tears falling as she hangs upside down over the fountain.

I smirk and pull my wand back, breaking the invisible rope that holds her upside down and she falls into the fountain with a splash. I walk over to the fountain, leaning over the side. "Don't ever let me hear you say shit about any of them again. Got it?" I spit at her as she drips with water.

Pansy nods without a word, sniffling back her tears. I let out a deep breath and turn to see the large crowd that gathered as I dueled with Pansy. "Show's over," I tell them all as I walk up to George.

"Damn, didn't know you had that in you," Fred jokes, running a hand through his red hair.

I huff a laugh. "You know what they say about the quiet ones," I smirk. "I couldn't let her stand there and talk shit about you guys or your family," I tell them both before turning to look up at George. "Let alone my boyfriend," I say softly, admitting what we are aloud for the first time.

George smiles wide and pulls me into his chest. "Finally ready to admit it, huh?" He chuckles, the vibration of it reverberating against my chest as I wrap my arms around his waist.

"Maybe," I shrug and smile looking up into his eyes.

George bites his lip and leans down to my ear, his breath sending pleasurable shivers down my spine as he speaks softly in my ear. "As much as I would love to show you off right now, I need you."

My thighs clench at his words as he pulls back to look into my eyes. "Room of requirement?" I tease.

"That or I take you right here, show everyone who you belong to. But better decide quick, angel."

I chuckle and roll my eyes. "Room of requirement it is."

George leads me through the castle with his hand wrapped tightly around mine, and for the first time, I don't mind giving people a glimpse into my personal life. All of the whispers about George Weasley being with a Slytherin girl roll right off of my back. They don't matter. All that matters right now is getting to where we're going and George blowing my back out.

The door to the room of requirement opens and we walk inside to see the usual lay it that it knows we need.

A bed along the wall, with the silkiest sheets I have ever felt in my life, a small bathroom to clean up in, and a table with a chair. Not really sex up for sex. It appears to be for a student who needs their own room for the night. But it's perfect for what we need it for.

George kisses me as he walks me backward to the bed. The back of my knees hit the bed, and he lifts me up by my thighs without missing a beat. George lays me back on the bed, my head landing on the pillow as he kneels between my thighs.

I moan as George kisses down my jaw, trailing kisses to the sweet spot behind my ear and down my neck, nipping and sucking the tender skin as the blood beneath his lips rushes through my veins.

George props himself up with one arm as his free hand slides up my thigh, gripping it tightly right at the apex. "I've waited so long to make you mine," he groans as my hands work to unbutton his pants between us.

"I was already yours," I breathe as I get his pants undone.

George's fingers slide my panties to the side as he runs his fingers through my folds, landing on my clit and eliciting a moan to leave my lips. "But now everyone knows you belong to me," he moans softly as I pull his pants and boxers down just enough to free his cock and pump it in my hand.

"My parents are going to lose their fucking minds," I moan when he inserts two fingers inside of me as his thumb works my clit.

George smirks and leans down to press a kiss to my lips. "Then you can stay with me and mine," he says like a promise. "Let them lose it, I'll be your shield."

I flip us over so I'm straddling his hips, grinding myself down on him. "Careful, Georgie. Or else I might start to think you're in love with me," I tease as I unbutton my shirt and toss it aside.

George sits up, his chest flush with mine as I straddle him. He reaches around me, kissing my chest as he removes my bra. "Would that be such a bad thing, angel?" George teases as he takes one of my nipples in his mouth and starts to suck, nipping the sensitive peak with his teeth.

My head falls back as my fingers run through his hair, pulling him back, and he releases my nipple with a 'pop.' "Only if you don't mean it," I moan softly.

George groans with pleasure. He removes the rest of our clothes with a flick of his wand and impales me on his hard, waiting cock, making me gasp loudly. "Does it feel like I mean it?" He growls, his hand wrapping around to the back of my hair and pulling my head back.

I lift myself up and thrust back down on him, taking him deep inside of me. "Fuck, yes," I moan.

George grips my hip with a bruising force as he works me on top of him. "Then say it. Say you love me," he demands in a husky voice.

"I love you," I moan as he releases his grip on my hair just enough for me to meet his gaze. "Fuck, I love you, George."

George moans as his hand moves from my hair to the back of my neck, pulling me down with him as he lays back and thrusts his hips into mine. "God, I love you, too," he moans. "Such a good girl for me," he groans as his free hand lands on my ass with a hard smack.

I gasp and moan as the sting slowly melts into pleasure, and he does it again. "Yes, George," I pant as he thrusts up into me with a brutal pace.

George flips us, removing his cock from me and diving between my thighs. He throws my legs over his shoulders, and he holds my hips down, and his tongue lands on my clit. "Fuck!" I cry out as my hands grip his hair. "George!"

George uses his fingers to hold my folds apart, opening me up more for him, lapping at my clit with his whole tongue, and shaking his head, threatening to send me right over the edge. My legs clamp around his face, and he moans right onto my clit, adding vibration to top everything else off. The overstimulation is too much, and my fingers tug at his hair, desperate to be free and also not wanting him to stop what he's doing.

"G-G-George!" I cry out with a whimper as my legs start to shake around his head. "Please!"

George grips my thighs from underneath and pushes them up to my chest. "Don't interrupt my meal," he warns me with a dark gaze. "Now keep those fucking legs up."

I hold the metal bedframe above my head with a white-knuckled grip, and George keeps my legs pushed up to my chest. "You wanna cum, angel?" George teases me as he flicks my clit with an annoying soft touch with his tongue.

"Yes, George, please," I beg helplessly as my back arches.

"Then do it. Cum on my face like the good girl you are for me," he taunts before his tongue laps at my clit again. His words and his tongue send me over the edge. My toes curl, and my back and neck arch so far I'm scared they'll break, but I can't bring myself to care if they do.

After George rides me through my orgasm, he leans over me, lines himself up with my entrance, and thrusts into me harshly. "Fuck!" I moan loudly as he leans down to nip at my neck.

"You look so beautiful with my cock buried inside of you," he moans as he holds my thighs. "Think you can cum for me again, angel?"

I shake my head. "I- I can't," I moan pathetically, already feeling another one build. I grips his wrists as his hands hold my thighs up to my chest.

"Mm, I think you can," he teases. He knows I can. He does this every time. It's a game to us, I tell him I can't cum again, and he drags another one out of me. He punctuates with another hard thrust, and I swear I can feel him in my guts with the angle he's fucking me. "Hands on the bedframe," he demands.

I reach above my head, gripping the metal bedframe again. "Such a good girl for me," George moans as he pulls my legs up to rest on his shoulders and leans down, forcing me to take him deeper. "Want me to fill you up, angel?" He teases.

"Yes, fuck, yes!" I moan loudly as he fucks me hard.

"Beg for it," George says sternly, slowing his thrusts to a teasing pace.

I whimper underneath him, keeping my hands above my head. "Please, Georgie. Please fill me with your cum," I beg pathetically, the way he can make me.

"Fuck, I love hearing you beg," George moans as his thrusts quicken again, slamming into me harder.

The tether inside of me begins to fray, ready to snap once again. "George, I'm gonna cum again," I pant with a moan as my eyes roll back.

One of George's hands grips the back of my neck. "Me too, angel. Eyes up, baby," he demands as his thrusts begin to stagger.

My hands leave the bedframe, gripping his arms as he thrusts into me again, and our orgasms hit at the same time. The room a symphony of moans, pants, and a mix of each other's names. Once we ride out our highs, George lays down next to me on the bed, letting out a heavy breath as he pulls me to his side, my head resting on his shoulder. Fuck the last class of the day, and fuck whatever consequences that come from us not being careful as we snuck in here together.

And a big 'fuck you' to my parents if they have anything negative to say when they hear about my relationship. They can get fucked, because I know I will be.

#george weasley smut #george weasly x reader #george weasley x reader #george weasley #harry potter smut

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jadeylovesmarvelxo · 7 months ago

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Eddie gets beaten on by Jason and his crew and Reader (who has a crush on him) sees him limping to his van and she walks over to him and helps him into the van, drives him home and then does her best to patch him up and help him, maybe ending with a sweet kiss? Request by @somethingvicked

Mentions of violence, blood. Little bits of angst sprinkled with fluff and a speechless Eddie. mdni.

Eddie x fem!reader.

🖤

Not canon compliant because Jason is alive in this for story purposes, Vecna is gone for good though. Bye bye you grinchy ass looking bitch 💁‍♀️

🖤

The first hit came before Eddie could even dodge it. Jason's fist hits his face with precision, then another blow to his stomach doubles Eddie over.

"We all know you killed Chrissy and the others, you freak, I don't give a shit what the chief of police said, you did it" Jason's face is red with fury, lost in a haze of violence. One of his friends holds Eddie's arms around his back, so he can't defend himself.

Which is when Eddie has the extremely dumb idea to use his head to smash into Carver's nose. It works in the fact that it sends him stumbling back...doesn't help the pain he's already feeling though, the force of the hit sends another wave of agony through him.

Fuck, did he actually break his nose on Carver's face?

He can feel his heart pounding in his chest, he did not survive almost getting eaten alive by demobats to get killed by Jason and his friends. Jason stumbles to his feet and the grip on his shoulders tightens courtesy of David and Liam.

"Tell me what you did to her, Munson! Say it, you fucking asshole" Jason screams at him, Eddie wants to tell him everything, everything that went down during Spring Break, the Demobats, The Upside Down, Vecna. All of it.

But he can't. Nda's were signed and let's be real, Jason wouldn't believe him even if Eddie did tell the truth. He was still trying to wrap his head around it himself. "I didn't hurt her man. I didn't hurt any of them I swear it" Eddie chokes out. His ribs are aching and he's sure his bandages have come loose.

There's another thump that catches him off guard, hits the sensitive spots where the bats tore into him and he's blinking back tears of pain.

He expects another blow to knock him off his feet but when he looks up Jason's fist is cocked and he's in position to hit Eddie again but the hit doesn't come. Instead, Jason's face crumples in pain and he drops his hand, within seconds Eddie is tossed unceremoniously onto the floor and Jason and his friends are gone.

What the fuck?

He doesn't know how he does it but he manages to drag his ass up into a standing position and limps all the way to his van, tries to calm his racing heart and figures a smoke might settle his nerves.

His fingers are shaking as he tries to light up, then he almost drops it when a soft voice comes out of nowhere.

"Are you okay?"

🖤

You saw Eddie limping to his van just as you were ready to bike home. Even from where you were you could see the blood on his shirt. Jason and his friends must have caught up to him, you have no doubt about it.

Everyone knew what happened at Spring Break, at least with the murders. How Eddie was blamed then cleared, Hawkins finding the real culprit Henry Creel, a deranged serial killer.

To be honest you never believed that Eddie had anything to do with the murders in the first place, there were rumours about the state of the bodies, bones broken and twisted in ways that couldn't be natural, eyeballs sunken in and jaws broken. It was the stuff of nightmares.

Some idiots thought that Eddie was a vessel for satan and that's what Dungeons and Dragons was about, a satanic ritual. It was ridiculous. Your friend's cousin played D&D and it was just a fantasy game. Nothing satanic about it.

Without thinking you head over to Eddie. Maybe you could help? You were a whiz with first aid and he looked like he needed patched up and like he could use a friend. Quietly you approach him as he tries to light his cigarette, his hands are shaking so you reach out to steady them.

"You okay?" He peers up at you, big brown eyes wide and kinda like a deer in headlights, he really was beautiful. Normally being this close to someone you had a crush on for almost the whole school year would be mortifying but you were more worried about his injuries than your racing heart right now.

"Hi Eddie" you murmur and he's still gawking at you but accepts your help to light the cigarette, watches you curiously as he takes the first drag.

"Uh hi sweetheart" you and Eddie talked a few times, every time you did he would have a cheeky smile (all dimples) and a cute nickname for you. It did not help with your crush one bit, even though he probably called everybody some sort of nickname, it still made your heart skip a beat.

"Carver did a number on you" you wince as you take in the cuts and bruises on his arm, the blood on his face "I can drive you home, take a look at the injuries?" He nods and tosses you his keys.

You help Eddie into the van as best as you can then head inside. He gives you directions to head to his trailer and you get him there and inside with minimal fuss.

"Okay, you'll need to take your shirt off" you murmur as Eddie points you in the direction of a first aid kit. Eddie grins, "Trying to get me naked or something princess?" he teases and you do your best to hide how flustered you are.

It wasn't your fault, his eyes were so pretty and the way his voice deepened at the end of the sentence gave you butterflies. Shit. This was so not the time.

You locate the first aid kit and get out new bandages, wipes and plasters, scissors and painkillers.

When you head back into Eddie's room he's propped up on the bed. He's shirtless, tattoos on full display and from your vantage point you can see some scars where his bandages have fallen off, silvery scars that look a lot like bite marks...

Eddie looks nervous which is rare for him so you don't comment on the scars, you're curious though but don't want to push. "Do they still hurt?" you ask quietly and his smile dims just a bit.

"A little, not as bad as when it first happened though, fucking bats" he curses then his gaze widens as it meets yours. Bats?

"Bats?" you probe gently and make sure that his bandages are secure again, from the small peeks that you can see, the bite marks are healing but still red, some are healed or are silvery scars. It looks like he was mauled, the thought makes your hands shake.

He sighs, "You wouldn't believe me if I told you princess" your heart skips a beat again but you ignore that, still curious what he means.

"Yeah? Try me. Any person in this stupid town can see that it's cursed or something isn't right" Eddie bites his lips and he looks like he wants to tell you, he really does.

"I wish I could sweetheart but it's uh complicated, nda's and cover-ups and shit" Oh. Well shit. "But yeah bats, big bats, not cute ones either but ugly little shits with super sharp teeth and claws. I can let you know that much"

You're stunned but then some of the things that you've heard Dustin say to Jason and other people who don't believe that Eddie's innocent come back to you.

"He's not a murderer. He's a hero. You stupid assholes don't deserve what he did for you"

So Eddie was protecting the town? Dustin too and maybe other people were involved? You smile and begin to clean up Eddie's cuts. "Hmm, Dustin's right then" Eddie looks confused and you lean forward to clean the blood on his nose.

"Oh yeah? What did the little butthead say?" he asks with a fond expression, you giggle at his tone. Like Dustin is his little brother or something, it's sweet. It's sweet how he looks after people in Hellfire Club, and it pisses you off that people just think he's a freak and don't look past their stupid prejudices to see how good Eddie is.

"That you're a hero. I believe that Eddie Munson, then again I've always thought you were a hero" it's Eddie's turn to be speechless as he gawks at you.

"You think I'm a hero?" he looks like he can't believe that anyone would ever think that about him and it hurts your heart so much.

"Well yeah, anyone who takes lost sheep under their wing and protects them like you do? Or risks his life for a town that can't see past their own stupid prejudices to see what's really happening? Yeah, I think you're a hero Eddie" your speech is impassioned and a bit of a rant so you're breathless, eyes sparkling at the end of it.

Once again Eddie is speechless but not for the reasons you think. "You're beautiful" he murmurs awed and you're flustered once again. Damn it.

"Maybe the hero gets the girl?" he asks softly and there goes your traitor heart again. Does he mean you? Or some other girl maybe. The thought hurts your heart but you plaster a smile on your face.

"I'm not sure any girl could resist those pretty eyes Eddie" a faint blush coats his cheeks at your compliment and he fakes a swoon, smiles at you all dimples and cuteness.

"Flattery works with me princess, not only am I a hero but I also have pretty eyes" you giggle at his overdramatic gestures.

He's all patched up now so he puts his shirt back in and a funny tension hangs in the air. "So, uh would you like to hang out again? when I'm not all beat up and shit. Maybe Friday?" Oh. You beam and nod feeling shy all of a sudden.

"Like a date?" you ask hopefully and he's still blushing faintly. It's so cute and you're sure tonight you're going to be squealing over every interaction the two of you had.

"Yeah, a date princess, he moves closer and the way he's looking at you is sending your heart into overdrive. "can, can I kiss you?" He asks and you nod, wanting nothing more than to press your lips against his plush pink ones.

He strokes your cheek and then his lips meet yours, it starts off gentle and hesitant, then it deepens and you gasp pulling him closer. You both come away a little bit dazed and you giggle as he flops dramatically on the bed.

"Now that was some kiss sweetheart, he beams at the sound of your giggles, when you sober up you bite your lip and decide to tell him a secret.

"I never thought you'd notice me" you say it quietly but he still hears it and gapes like you've truly stunned him this time.

"Seeing your pretty smile dragged me out of bed most days sweetheart, even more than d&d but that's our little secret" he winks and you make a zipping motion. Before you leave Eddie pulls you into another kiss then another.

Okay, so maybe you could be a little late to return your movie at Family Video if it meant kissing Eddie some more.

🖤💌

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson angst #eddie munson hurt/comfort #eddie munson #eddie munson x female reader

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brickwhartley · 2 years ago

Text

Dear People of Tumblr,

I don’t know if you heard the news when it dropped, but I left the sunny island of Clawland in the rearview mirror a few months ago and stepped into a role back here at Tumblr as Chief Officer of Merchandising and Physical Engineering. I’ve been sharing my wares over at my Emporium, and more importantly, you’ve been buying!

Things have been going so darn well that last night, I had plenty of time to reflect on how far I’ve come. No blockers in my way, KPIs going through the roof, everyone happy with their new mugs and pins and tshirts, and me at the head of it all… everything’s coming up Brick, right?

But one thing about merchandising is, well, it’s fun, and creative… but there isn’t much clicking. Brick Misses Clicks!

I thought about how dang popular my little crabby friends were on the dashboard when I was away. Spawning like crazy! There’s no denying it: you kids love those crabs. You’re even spending cold hard cash sending them to each other.

So, the question was: how to combine that kind of clicktastic feature you know and love, with something new? Something FRESH?

And then, it hit me!

🦀🐛🧀👻🐴🍪!!!!!!!!!!!!

So I hereby announce that I’m taking temporary leave of my position at the Emporium in order to jump teams and become Tumblr’s Chief Reactions Officer.

Beginning today, you’ll be able to SLAM those react buttons at the bottom of every Tumblr post to express your emotions. On the web at least. Not in the mobile apps. (I’m a budget whiz, but not that much of a whiz.)

And listen, this is short notice. I haven’t slept all night, putting this together, ever since the idea struck me while stargazing and reflecting on my life and choices. So the actual reactions available to use are limited for now. They were actually just the most recently used emojis in my phone.

But I just know you’ll love them anyway. Because they come from me, BRICK!

Yours clickfully,

Brick Whartley Chief Reactions Officer Chief Officer of Merchandising and Physical Engineering (On Leave)

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justaaveragereader · 3 months ago

Text

Slashtober🔪|| Jennifer’s Body!Yeosang

Pairing: Yeosang x Reader

Word Count: 6.7k

Warnings: DARK THEME, Dub Con, CNC Manipulative Yeosang, Mean Yeosang, Mentions of Death, Yeosang Is A Killer😬, Choking, Reader Is Put Into A Headlock🤪, Spitting, Name Calling, Humiliation, Dollification, Raw Sex, Degradation, Rough Sex, Oral, This Is Slashtober..You Know What You’re Getting Yourself Into🤪If I Missed Something..Lemme Know👀👀..

A/N: Yall it’s finally time for Slashtober AHHHHH! Im just going to apologize ahead of time for the person I was when I wrote all the fics for Slashtober this year😔, they are all 5.5k+, believe it or not I cut a lot out of this fic otherwise it was going to be a 9.8k+ fic, with that being said let’s have an amazing Slashtober this year👏🏼🖤! Onto slasher Yeosang!

Slashtober 24’ Masterlist

NSFW UNDER CUT MDNI!!!🔞

“Yeosang come on.” You groan out, pulling his wrist. His shyness always killed you, the man was sculpted by the Greek Gods themselves yet Yeosang hid inside his shell constantly.

“This is our first day of college.” You groan, attempting to pull him further on campus. Trying to move him was next to impossible, convinced his feet here one with the concrete.

“What if someone talks to me?” He says nervously, while looking around the campus. Multiple people pass by him chattering amongst each other. Well immersed in college life. This was the lifestyle for you, not for him.

Over the past couple of months it was hard to convince Yeosang to go out, he had originally planned to take a year off after highschool, not even wanting to bother with any type of academics anymore. His parents had burnt him out, the social setting fried him up, and your constant nagging on attending the same school is what grounded him. Highschool had been quite a ride for you both, you both had always stuck to each other. Being the outsiders amongst all odds, none of that mattered as long as he had you, and vice versa. You were born practically attached at the hip, and nothing would change the connection you both had.

Letting out a loud sigh he begins to move his feet, dreading the life he signed up for all because you didn’t want to “be alone” in this chapter of your life. As his feet begin to move your eyes light up. Gripping his wrist you swiftly move towards the buildings dodging all the moving bodies, while you continue to yap his ear off about what classes you both got, Yeosang soaks in his surroundings, a shiver runs down his spine, just as his body breaks out in goosebumps a shoulder bumps Yeosang sending him slightly tumbling back into another body, your hand that was holding him was knocked away.

Your eyes immediately try to find the culprit of the contact you whiz your body around. Vocals warming up to cuss out whoever knocked into you both.

“Way to go San.” A small man says with annoyance underlying his tone, his hands placed on Yeosangs shoulders to help steady his balance.

“You alright man?” San says quickly panicking, hands flying in multiple directions, glancing over Yeosang to make sure he has no injuries. Wooyoung rolls his eyes, gripping Yeosangs shoulders tighter, pulling him closer to his body. His warm breath tickling Yeosangs ear.

“I think he’s fine, after all I did catch him.” Wooyoung says with a hint of teasing underlying his tone. Lightly shoving Wooyoung back, San steps in front of you, broad back facing you while he scans over Yeosang, lightly grasping him like he’s made of the most precious glass. His warm hands brushing his hair out of his face, exposing the birthmark by his eye. Sans jaw drops slightly, his eyes grow in size.

“How cool!” He says bringing his face closer to Yeosangs birthmark, wanting to inspect it further. San never knew the meaning of personal space. You slightly shove San to the best of your abilities away from your best friend, barely moving, he looks in your direction. Being shell shocked at the fact you put your hands on him.

“Who the hell do you think you are?! Get your hands away from him! You don’t go around touching people you don’t know. On top of that how rude of you bump into us. You got eyes, do they work though?!” You shout, as you shove off Wooyoungs hands from Yeosangs shoulders.

“And you!” You shout even louder, pointing a finger in Woos face, as you grip Yeosangs wrist snatching him out of his grasp.

“Who in the entire fuck are you?! You caught him my ass, your big boulder shoulder friend here knocked him into you. You didn’t catch him.” You shout in his face, his hands still in the air where Yeosangs shoulders were just seconds ago. You smack his hands down to his sides.

All San could do was watch with admiration in his eyes, never had he seen someone as fiery as Hongjoong in quite a while. His eyes followed your every moment, all the yelling you were doing was being drowned out, the twinkle in his eyes lighting with every finger you pointed in Wooyoungs direction. You poking his chest brought him back to reality.

“And you, all in my bestfriends personal space! What you got rocks for brains up there?!” Cracking a smile he grips your finger in his hand, warm palms engulfing it. He shakes your finger poking his chest. A radiant smile breaks out on his face, warming your hearts lightly. Face still stone cold you look at him with daggers in your eyes..

“Hello I’m San.” He says full of glee. Like you hadn’t been cursing him and his flirtatious friend out for the past five minutes. Snatching your hand back, you wipe your palms on your pants. Side eyeing his friend who was clearly looking at Yeosang like he was a hunger deprived animal. You step back, guarding Yeosangs frame. San beams his smile, stepping to the side, he waves his hand once more.

“Hi! I’m San! Nice to meet you!” He speaks to Yeosang, Yeosang gives him a tight lip smile, raising his hand quickly, barely waving before dropping it.

“And this here..” San says pulling Wooyoung in a bone crushing side hug.

“Is Wooyoung!” He says while patting Woos shoulders knocking him slightly forward.

“Jung Wooyoung at your service.” He says winking at Yeosang reaching his hand out, attempting to shake Yeosangs hand. Slapping his hand away, you push Yeo back slightly, not wanting him to get any closer to Yeosang.

“Listen here San, take you and your flirty feral friend over here out of my sight.” You grit out.

“Heading into the main building?” San questions with hearts in his eyes, your snappy tone fell on his deaf ears. All he heard was you say his name and his heart practically imploded on itself

“If so, that's where we are heading! We could walk as a group!” San crushes your side while Woo crushes Yeosangs side. Forming one line, San grabs your wrist pulling you and Yeo towards the main entrance. As you all fall into an assembly line of movement, Wooyoung blows lightly on Yeosangs ear, startling him, grabbing Yeosangs sweaty hand, he leans into his ear once more.

“You’re pretty and skittish, I like that in a person.” He whispers, blowing on his ear once more. A small squeak leading into a laugh fills Yeosangs ear. Your hand grips Yeosangs wrist tighter, pulling him closer to your body. As San continues to lead you all into the main entrance never does he stop talking, with each step joy fills his tone. A warmth spreads through your body at his actions, still on the fence you let him lead, hesitantly following him through the doors. Only if you had known then that the friendship that would bloom between you all would end up to their demise.

“How are you feeling?” You ask Yeosang, your palm covers his forehead, face sunken in, sweat covering his whole body. He shivers with each breath he takes. Letting out a wet cough he looks up at you, lips cracked, dehydration and lack of sleep warps him into a quivering mess.

“I think I’m going to die.” Yeosang whispers out, deep voice cracking in pain. Letting out a small groan he tries to cave in further on himself, pushing himself further in the fetal position.

“Should we take him to go see someone?” You ask distressed, your eyes shoot all over Yeosang. You had never seen him this sick before. Your stomach doubles over in worry, uneasiness filling your veins as you stand up grabbing his jacket and shoes. San grabs your arm, stopping your frantic actions.

“He will be fine, he probably has the flu.” San says, a small smile creeping on his face. His effort to reassure you falls short. As you both had grown closer the underlying jealousy Yeo and San felt for each other was hard not to notice. The tension between the two could suffocate anyone within a 50 mile radius.

“The flu? Look at him San, I’ve never seen him this bad before.” You reply, clearly on edge. Hushing you San brings you into a small hug.

“If he’s like this tomorrow, I say we take him to the doctor, as for right now I think we should at least give it 24 hours, his sickness came out of nowhere.”

Cracking a dry lipped smile, letting out a small whistle which breaks into a coughing fit.

“It’s almost like that’s how sickness works San.”

Rolling his eyes, San gets ready to rebuttal back to Yeo but is stopped by you placing your hand on his chest.

“I’ll call Wooyoung, and he can come babysit you.” San says, tone laced with sarcasm. Before Yeosang can respond his stomach lets out a loud growl, doubling over in pain, biting his lip he lets out a small groan. Before you can shoot to his side, San grabs your wrist holding you back. His lips graze your ear..

“He will be fine…Woo will be here shortly so he can take care of him.” Biting your lip you look over Yeo once more, grabbing him some more pain meds, placing them down beside his water. You brush your hands through his damp hair.

“Will you be alright..?” You whisper kindly to him.

“Of course. These could be growing pains.” He says with a chuckle, letting out a small laugh, brushing your hands through his hair once more you place a kiss on his forehead. Sans nostrils flare, one thing no one would ever break is your and Yeosangs bond. Two flames in the night, even though one always burned brighter than the other. You place your hand on his forehead once more, gathering your things along with San, you make way to head out before looking over your shoulder once more, against your better judgment you leave, letting the aching sound of the door close behind you. San nudges your shoulder lightly with his own, breaking you out of your thoughts.

“Hey…” he says in a small voice, giving your hand a squeeze.

“He will be okay, Woo will be over shortly.” Biting your lip, you try your best to gather a smile to send him, nerves of sickly Yeosang still cloud your mind. Nodding you both make your way to the library, Yeosang will be fine right..? Right. If only you had known that Yeo wasn’t the one in danger.

“Hey Yeo! I’m here!” Wooyoung gleefully announces. Taking his shoes off at the entryway of the room. Holding his backpack strap with a big smile on his face.

“San told me you weren’t feeling well. Don't worry, I made some soup. Guaranteed to heal you!” Looking up from the floor with the bowl in his hand. He looks around, the lights are off, the tv casts a shadow on the wall, such little light barely illuminating the small dark room. Taking a step forward he calls out for Yeosang again, with no response. Taking his phone out, he rereads Sans text messages, making sure that Yeosang was left at his dorm. Just as he’s beginning to message San, he feels a heavy presence in the room. It's like boulders have fallen on his chest, his knees slightly buckle. Dropping the bowl of soup, the liquid pours all over the floor, dampening the area around Woo, falling completely to the floor, gasping for air. His eyes fill with tears, struggling to breath, he attempts to crawl back out the door. Through blurry vision he sees an object blocking the door. Reaching his hands up he grasps Yeosangs pants, twisting them tightly, with pleading eyes he looks up, face turning a purple and blue hue.

“Look at you…” Yeosang coos through a sultry tone. Bending down so he’s eye to eye level with Woo, he traces the features of his face softly before grabbing a fistful of his hair. Fear pulsing through Wooyoungs veins, his choked sobs ring out though the room, the tv buzz adding onto the leery tension.

“Pretty and helpless.” Yeosang groans out, bringing his soft lips to Wooyoungs ear.

“I like that in a person.” He grits, a choked sob leaves Woos throat once more, his drowned out scream was all that was heard behind the dorm room labeled 1117 before silence took over.

“Have you heard from Woo?” You say into the phone stuffing your bag full of papers, running around like a chicken with your head cut off. Cramming as much as you can into your bag. With finals right around the corner, Yeosangs sickly experience, and Sans clinginess. Your plate was overloading with stress.

“Nope, not at all. He never even came the night you said he would.” He says with a frown on his face, you let out a small defeated sign. Rubbing your temples. Yeosang lets out a small gasp startling you.

“What's wrong?!” You practically yell through the phone, heart dropping to your stomach.”

“I’m a literal God!” Yeosang says in the most nonchalant tone you’ve ever heard. You let out a small hum, clearly annoyed at Yeosangs sudden change in behavior. Wooyoung was possibly missing, no one had heard from him in a couple of days. Yet here was Yeosang parading around like he was hot shit. A full one eighty from his normal demeanor.

“Yeo can we not do this right now?” You say with the phone held up by your shoulder, stuffing what felt like endless amounts of notes into your backpack.

“No I don’t think you understand, I am literally a God, you should see it.” He says through a breathless voice, almost in a moan.

“Yeo I’m a bit busy right now, where the fuck did I put those papers!” You slightly shout.

“Plans?”

“Yes, I have a study date with San..” you trail off at the end of your sentence, checking your bag once over again making sure you had everything you needed.

“Date? You have a date with San.”

“Are you asking me..or telling me..?” You say while your fingers pinch the area above your eyebrows. With a billion things on your plate, Yeosangs new attitude was adding onto it.

“Well I guess have a good time…” trailing off, the awkwardness in the conversation was so thick it felt almost taboo, forbidden.

“Umm..okay. I still have to go.” You huff out, trying not to let the annoyance seep through your words. Cutting the phone conversation short, you hang up. It just seemed like everything changed with Yeosang. He was this quiet, overly shy boy you had grown up with, attached at the hip with, and now? It feels like you barely know who he is.

Opening the lighter he had taken from Hongjoong pockets the night he caught him in the art room alone, flicking it open the flame ignited. The blue base of the flame catches his eye. Sticking his tongue out he lets the heat engulf the tip of his tongue, no ounce of pain in sight. Letting out a small squeal of excitement he closes the top to the lighter. The new found power goes immediately to his head. Deciding to go pay San a visit before you two could have your meetup.

You look down at your phone, San thumbs up your message when you let him know you are close to being at the pool house. On Tuesdays he had swim meet, deciding to stay behind to get some extra practice. You both decided to meet up and head to the library from there together.

“Hey San..I’m here!” You announce stepping into the pool area, clutching your bag strap with extra pep in your step as you walk closer before coming to a complete stop. The pool was a crimson color, the smell of chlorine, and iron filled your nose. Your body does a noticeable shiver, before you can step forward a gnawing feeling in your stomach stops you.

“San!” You call out, refusing to move from your spot. Your feet move before your body can comprehend what’s going on. Your back brushes the knob of the door, fully turning around to book it out of there. You frantically pull out your phone, dialing San when you hear his phone go off in the room you are in. Deciding to leave you hear a soft splash. Your hand frozen on the knob of the door, your brain is fighting your heart. Your brain is telling you to leave, be logical, that your fight or flight isn’t kicking in for nothing, while your heart tells you to turn around that it could be your San swimming in the pool playing a joke on you.

“Go on…turn around.” A timber voice whispers in your ear. Your body freezes in place, your eyes fill with tears. Your mascara smudging slightly, you turn your head to the side, watching as Sans phone floats at the top of the water, the small waves carrying the phone around the top. You feel a cold breath on your neck. Pushing the door you book it out of the building, your feet fuel your body, taking you the one place you always feel safe. Yeosangs dorm.

Your hands fly to your keys grabbing the spare key he had given you, with trembling hands, and eyes filled with tears you go to unlock his door, just as the door flies open you fall forward into his chest. Clutching the material of his damp shirt, you let out a choked sob. His cool hands come to hold the back of your shirt, removing the bag off of your arm, letting it smack the floor with a loud thud.

“Yeo-Yeo…San he wasn’t in the swimming pool bu-but..” you are cut off by Yeosang shushing you, grabbing you tighter. Your head on his chest, usually it was so warm but his chest is freezing cold, the damp material aiding in the temperate. You listen closely, as his heartbeat sounded like an angel playing the harp, it always has such a steady rhythm to it, like it was tuned by God himself but you heard nothing. It was almost like he was hollowed out. The same goosebumps you felt in the pool area, the uneasiness is the same feeling you have now. Your stomach is in a knot, biting your lip you don’t dare to look up at the man before you. Wanting to put space between both of you, you push him back slightly, eyes glued to the ground. The wet spot around Yeosangs feet make you wanna hurl.

“You're not my Yeosang are you?” You whisper quietly, the security you once had felt with him was slowly dying. Letting out a loud laugh he pulls a lighter from his pocket, pulling a cigarette from thin air, he lights it huffing in the smoke. Letting the smoke invade his lungs, letting out the smoke, blowing it from his nostrils. Pink moist tongue flickering over his bottom lip, a smile graced his face. The devil truly dressed as an angel.

“Now what gave you that idea?” He says matter of factly. Taking the lit cigarette and putting it out on his tongue. An even deeper smile gracing his face, a smile that could fool any man or woman. Your eyes grow large at the sight in front of you. Your hands come up to slap the cigarette out of his hand, the burn mark on his tongue glowing with redness.

“What is wrong with you?!” You shout.

His eyes that once shone with such light, dimmed to a dark room. This was not your Yeosang, nor who you knew at all.

“You know..” he says, taking small, slow steps towards you. Caging you in like you were a helpless animal who got caught in a weevable web. His slow but precise movements reminded you of a predator. Cold fingers coming out to dance along your jaw.

“I can count on my hands how many times you saying my name has brought me much joy..” he groans out, letting a smile creep on his face.

“I also could probably count on Hongjoongs hands, Wooyoungs hands, and Sans hands as well.”

Your heart falls into your stomach. Hongjoong the art major that had suddenly vanished out of thin air, assuming he had dropped out. As he steps closer you get closer to the door, with a flick of his wrist it locks. The temperature in the room changes drastically, it feels like winter has blown through the room. Skin breaking out in goosebumps, your eyes remain locked on Yeosangs dead eyes.

“What did you do to Woo? What did you to do San?” You semi shout, immediately shushing you he steps closer. His cold body radiating as much coolness as it can.

“Use that pretty head of yours.” He whispers into your ear, sounding like the voice in the swim area. Your eyes refuse to look at him locking on to the bag that belonged to San sitting alone in the corner of Yeosangs dorm, right next to Wooyoungs wallet.

Your eyes begin to swell with tears, shaky hands come up to lightly push Yeosang, barely moving an inch his cold hands come to rest on your waist. Your hands ball into fist pushing him harder than before. With his feet cemented in the ground he barely moves once again. Your tears pour over, streaming down your face a small choked sobbed leaves your throat.

“I hate you…I promise I do.” You say through shedded tears. Your heart breaks with each shove you give him. Knowing this isn’t your Yeosang, that this…this…thing was responsible for the disappearance of Hongjoong, Woo, and San.

“Get away from me.” You sob, trying to shove him harder, his hands steady at your waist while continuing to sob and break down. Your sorrow fills the air, and fueling Yeosangs need for you.

“Hey hey hey…” he whispers, pulling your body close to his, palming your head so you would place it across his chest.

“I’m sorry…” he whispers while kissing the top of your head. Arms wrapping around your body, so easily you fall victim to his siren-like voice. Your head immediately falls against his chest, arms tired of shoving and pushing him.

“You could have anyone you want Yeosang, why them? Why me? How could you do this to me.?” You say above a whisper. Head flat against his cold, beatless chest. His hand comes to brush your lower back, providing you comfort before he cocks his head back, head butting you with ease. Your body knocking out instanously, slumping against the floor. Letting out a small groan of satisfaction, he grabs you from the floor placing you onto his mattress.

Cracking his neck before he walks over to his bathroom to grab some supplies to clean you up. An empty face with each movement, yet on the inside he’s beaming with excitement. He can’t wait to dress you up, after all you are his doll.

“Yeo-Yeosang you don’t ha-.” Your sentence gets cut off by quickly wrapping a hand around your throat, the pressure making you let out a small gasp. He moved with such precision you didn’t even have time to process what kind of predicament you were exactly in.

“Good dolls don’t talk, they just act and do as they are told. Okay?” He says almost mockingly. All common sense leaves your mind, you are on the equivalent of being brain dead. Nodding your head slowly, your movements are restricted as his hand still sits on your throat. Removing his hand, you notice his veins are bulging, practically ripping from under his smooth skin.

“Look at you..” he coos, taking a step back to admire the work he has done. Your skin flawlessly smooth due to the foundation, eyes wide and doe like. His eyes twinkle with amazement, your dress that poofs at your mid section, cinching off your waist. Your breathing picks up pace, he’s studying your every move, you are trapped in a lion's den during feeding time.

Your eyes are locked into his face, refusing to look elsewhere. Hands nearly folded in your lap, back stiff, and sitting up right, just the way he wants his perfect doll. Placing the makeup brushes down, his empty eyes study you. Every breath you take, he watches as your chest rises and falls. Each time you blink he watches as your long eyelashes brush against your eyelids, the dried mascara not smudging on the skin. Biting his lip he can’t help but contain his smile. Your obedience fed his hunger.

“Look at my beautiful doll…” he answers to himself, eyes void of any light yet they speak more words than his mouth ever could. Coming close he tugs on one of the small bows on the shoulders of the dress, rubbing the soft material between his fingers. The chill that wafts off his body smacks you in the face full force.

Squishing your cheeks together, you look up at him with big eyes. The lovable and caring Yeosang was no more. His eyes twinkled with a dark lust. How could one not get lost in his eyes, the man you once knew was completely gone.

Lowering his head, nose brushing against your pulse. The soft fabric of the dress tickles his nose. He lets out a small groan. His hand that was still currently squishing your cheeks trembles slightly, grip faltering only for a second.

“You smell..” he takes another deep whiff of your scent in..

“So delicious, almost like I could eat you up.” He finishes his sentence off with a low growl. Sharp nails continue to pinch into your skin. Your eyes never leave the side of his face that’s currently being occupied by your neck.

“Wanna know a little secret?” He says, ending with a snicker.

“This pretty dress…” running his hands softly over the fabric that layered with ruffles.

“San actually bought you this dress.” Your heart comes to a screeching halt, tears swelling in your eyes. A small laugh leaves his mouth, face shriveled up in anger you pucker your lips and spit at him, the salvia hitting the side of his face. Your eyes grow big, your hand slowly coming up to cover your mouth in shock, smudging the lipstick as so. Not believing you just spit at him. Letting out a loud, breathy moan. He grabs his hard on that’s straining through his pants.

Wiping the spit off he puts some of it on his thumb sucking the warm liquid.

“Should’ve seen his face he cried out for you, ya know? His last thoughts were of you.” Ending his sentence with a snarl, his hand shooting out to grab your face. The veins are practically popping out of his skin, the red birthmark by his eye is glowing red. Yeosang is seething with the need to put you in your place once more.

“You know I don’t know why you let him come between us..” he whispers, face getting closer to yours. His eyes bore into yours snatching your soul and holding it within the palm of his hands. You were dancing in a circle with the devil. A heat rushes to your core, with every word he speaks it's almost as if you are diving head first into temptation.

“Then in the same breath I can almost say I see why he cried out for you..a sweet thing like you? Oh my…” his hands rested on your knees, the cool sensation of his skin mixing with your warmth made you break out into goosebumps.

“The jealousy he must’ve felt seeing how close we are…I wonder how many times he had your pretty ass bent over for him.” Voice like velvet yet the filthy words that were leaving his mouth were anything but silky.

“Always made me wonder if you liked it rough or soft…or maybe in between?” Bringing his face closer to yours his cool hands begin to hike under your dress. Your eye makeup creases as your eyes grow bigger with size, a heat spreads across your chest clearly embarrassed by how turned on you were by him mocking you and San. That guilty feeling you once had flees your body.

“Did you spit on his cock the way you spit on me?” He whispers against your lips, the cool plushness brushing against your lipstick, making your breath hitch. A small whimper leaves your throat. Refusing to break eye contact with him you continue to stare off into the empty pools of his eyes, doing laps in them.

“I’m not going to lie…I was almost a bit jealous, I can’t imagine having this wet of a cunt wrapped around anyone else’s cock but my own.” Cold fingers dance along the outside of your tights, pushing his fingers into the material he can feel the wetness of your cunt soak through the multiple layers of clothing you're wearing. Rubbing his thumb over your wet lips pussy lips, letting his thumb soak with your slick arousal, pushing further into the fabric letting the material get caught between your lips, his cool thumb brushes your clit, making your eyes slightly flutter.

“If you say pretty please, I might just give your little cunt some attention.” Yeosang coos at you, slapping your clothed cunt over, and over. Working your body up til it was on edge, his eyes never lost sight of you, watching your body twitch and move with each slap, letting his sharp nail cut the fabric of your tights so he had full access to your pussy. He pushes a thumb right against your throbbing clit, your skin heated with each slap making the skin on your cunt slightly swell.

Biting your lip you divert your eyes to the floor, not wanting to look at him as you beg for him to give you what you want. Standing back he rids himself of every piece of clothing, making his way slowly towards your fully dressed body. Pulling your dress down so your breast pops out. Letting out a breathy sigh, lowering himself he nips at the tender skin on your chest. Letting out a small mewl you can’t help but fist the sheets below you. Trying to remain as perfectly still you can’t help but stir in pleasure. His heavy cock brushing your thighs comes to a slow hault. Engulfing his hands with your left breast, he kneads it, letting his finger tips glaze over your perked up nipple. You bite your inner cheek at the sensation, more of your arousal leaves your body. Your white tights sticking heavily to your wet lips. Flipping your dress up he thumbs at your pulsating clit.

The small amount of attention on it has you letting out a breathy moan, legs twitching in need squishing his fingers together and slowly pulling them apart to watch your arousal spread before popping them in his mouth.

“Fuckkk” he sighs out at the taste of you, pushing your body back, flipping your dress up so your covered lower half was to his sight, stretching the hole he had made into your tights a bit bigger. Gripping his cock he slides it between your pussy lips, coating it in your warm juices before sliding in slowly, with each inch he gives you, the air is being knocked out of your lungs. Your cunt stretches to accommodate his size. His strokes start out slow, and deep. Letting you feel each vein that danced along his cock, choking on your saliva, your hands fist the sheets below you. Trying to grip onto reality as swiftly as possible, it’s almost like he has you underneath his own spell.

“Should’ve seen the way he was begging.” He said through a moan, continuing to deep stroke into your cunt. Your juices spread between your thighs as your back arches off of the bed.

“It was so pathetic.” He grits out.

“Now look, his girl is crying on my cock. Am I fucking your good baby?” Biting his lip, he brings his hips back, slamming them into you again. Your nails scratching down his bare chest.

“Sh-shut up.” You say in a breathless moan. With each stroke of his hips you feel the wind being knocked out of you. Your eyes filled with warm tears that are streaming down your face, you feel so dirty, so disgusting like this was all wrong but if sin was so bad, why does it feel so right?

“Or what?” He questions before letting your throat go. Thumb hooked in your mouth, soft lips wrapping around his cold thumb. Your immediate obedience sets him off. Pulling his thumb from your mouth he flips you over. Pulling your hips so your ass is arched in the air. The ruffles from the baby doll dress hike up, leaving the hole in your tights exposing your wet cunt to him. Snaking an arm under your left breast he grips your throat from the underside. Pushing his throbbing cock back into you, immediately hitting your spongy spot with the new position. Letting out a loud gasp your head begins to fall forward, squeezing your neck he pulls out before slamming you back on his cock. A loud cry leaving your throat, eyes immediately rolling back.

“Fuc-fuck! Yeosang please.” You cry out, letting his body weight on top of you, he continues to rag doll you up and down his cock. Your hands fly to his strong hand around your throat. Mouth agape as he continues to slide in between your warm, wet sticky walls.

“Tell me you love this dick.” He groans into your ear, with a big smile right across his lips. His other hand comes down to crack the meat of your ass watching it jiggle with each movement. Letting out a loud sob, you begin to drool on his arm, his thick cool cock contrasting your warm wet walls was so blissful, repeatedly he kept pushing your spot, which each hike up the bed your hands squeezed tighter around his arm. Fully wrapping you in a headlock, he drops even more of his body weight on top of you. Practically laying flat against your back.

“I love it Yeosang!” You cry out, drool running down his cool forearm. The speed in his hips picks up, his wet pelvis slamming against the meat of your ass, hiking your body up the bed with each stroke. The headboard of the bed slamming against the wall leaving indentations on it.

“You love this dick?”

“Yes!”

“Say it.” Locking his arm around your neck tighter, he begins to cut off some of the air flow. Your head begins to buzz with delight, toes curling as you are on the brink of an orgasm.

“I fucking love your dick Yeosang.” You practically scream out.

Putting you in a full head lock, he snatches you off the bed pushing your body against the door. Nipples coming into contact with the cool surface causing them to pebble up. Putting his arm back around your throat placing you in a headlock once more. His weight crushes you against the door, his other hand aids in pumping you up and down his cock. Your nails leave crescent like marks in his skin, small red marks litter random areas all over him.

“Yeaaa you love this dick. I know you do.” He grunts into your ear. Letting his arm loosen up, he wraps a hand around your throat, tilting your head back so he can kiss you. Both of your tongues dance in a heated session. Your drool is getting all over his chin. Teeth clink against each other as the fight for dominance is at an all time high. His hips pick up speed making you drop your jaw and let out a breathy moan into his mouth. Your lipstick smears all over his skin.

“Tell me you love it.” He groans into your mouth, hot breath being exchanged between you both. Your eyes flood with need, with desire, with want.

“I fucking love it Yeosang.” You pant into his mouth, his hand around your throat squeezes a bit tighter. You both lock eyes, the squelching noise from him sliding in and out of your cunt clouds the room. Your toes begin to curl once more.

“You gonna to be a good doll and take it?” His empty eyes continue to set a flame to yours. As your own orgasm is on the brink your toes begin to curl even harder. Your eyes begin to flutter, trying your best to remain focused on his gaze. You let out a small squeak when he grabs your throat tighter, practically lifting you off the ground. Pushing you harder against the door both his hands come up to your breast. Using them as an anchor to hike you up and down kiss throbbing member. Your feet are barely on the ground, your hands cover his own that are kneading your breast with each stroke he gives you.

“Yes, yes, yes!” You chant religiously like a prayer that Yeosang will answer to. Your foundation leaves streaks against the door due to your face being squished against the cool wood. Your eyes begin to roll back, nails cutting into the material on the door, your jaw unhinges and with one final stroke you are soaking his lower belly with your juices. Squirting so hard it nearly pushes his cock out of you, letting out a soaring scream of Yeosangs name, he continues to plow through your juices letting them soak his skin with the slick fluid. His hips slow in speed making sure to hit into you even deeper. His slow strokes are nearing the edge for him. Hands soon firmly grasped around your breast. Coming down from your high you blink the tears out of your eyes, pressing your head against the wood. He slowly lets you slide down the door til your feet hit the ground. Slowly easing his member out of your swollen pussy, he kneels down, hiking your leg up. Head fully under your dress, running his nose over your swollen and red clit. He flicks his tongue collecting the juices that run down your plush thighs. Letting out a small, satisfying groan at your juices dancing on his tongue. You try to push his head away with your hand, snatching your hand and pinning it to the door, he collects some of your juices again. Standing up, he tilts your head back spitting the liquid on your mouth, while you let the flavor of you both dance on your tongue he pushes his wet cock between your thighs, the head of his member brushing against your clit making you whimper. Grabbing your hand he brings it to his stiff cock, making him groan when you wrap your warm hand around him.

“Be a good girl and make daddy cum. If you do it right, I may just let you live.” He sing songs in your ear. What he says goes in one ear, and out the other. Your post orgasm brain is straight mush. Dropping to your knees you open your mouth, flattening your tongue out for him. Sliding his wet cock onto your warm tongue, coating it in salvia. He pets the top of your head before bending down, back arching outwards.

“Wanna know a secret?” He whispers, pulling you off his cock so he can brush his lips flat against your lips. Your eyes bore up at him, mascara smudged, lipstick all over your face, foundation coming off in patches. Running a thumb over your cheek he hooks two fingers into the bottom of your mouth prying open your jaw.

“This was the same exact sight San saw before I killed him.” He whispers on your lips before breaking out into an eerie smile. Head butting you once more, body immediately thumping to the floor. That eerie smile never leaves his face. Yeosang was ready to have his final meal of the day, you.

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#Slashtober 2024 #slasher!ateez #dom!ateez smut #dom!ateez #ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez smut #ateez fantasy au #kang yeosang smut #yeosang x reader #kang yeosang x reader #yeosang smut #ateez imagines #ateez hard thoughts #Ateez one shot #ateez scenarios

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nightxcreature · 2 months ago

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Hot-Blooded

Summary: Reader gets into a potion unknowingly that causes her deepest desires to rise to the surface.

A/N: @jacklesversebingo entry for the prompt "Love Potion", I took this in the direction of Love😏Potion so I hope you enjoy! This is the longest fic I've written since being back, over 1700 words!

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: Spicy language, Drinking, Ingesting a love potion without prior knowledge, smutty insinuation, cursing

Part Two

18+ ONLY

Music blasts from the small speaker on the counter as I whiz around the kitchen, spoon in one hand and drink the other, on a mission to finish dinner before the boys make it home. They had left on a hunt with Rowena earlier in the day, what should’ve been an easy salt and burn turned into something bigger and, while they would’ve rather enlisted the help of literally anyone else, the only person with a solution was the red-haired mother of the king of hell. I jump at the sound of the bunkers door slamming open and stick my head around the corner, the sound of heavy boots thudding against the stairs telling me that they’re right on time.

“Good timing!” I yell as I hear them nearing the entrance to the kitchen, “I’m almost done!”

“Good, I’m pretty sure my stomach ate itself 60 miles ago.” Dean grumbles as he turns the corner into the room, his deep voice pulls my attention from the pot in front of me. My breath hitches as we make eye contact. I almost drop the spoon from my hand at the want that fills my body. He always looks good, but today…he looks really good. His green eyes are somehow greener, the freckles scattered across his face more prominent, and his hair is tousled just enough to bring the filthiest of thoughts to my mind. He raises a brow at my staring and smirks a little, “You alright, Sweetheart?”

I quickly clear my throat and nod, turning back to the stove to take a couple deep breaths, “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” I shake my head and turn down the stove eye as Sam and Rowena make their way into the room.

“Smells great. Thanks for this.” Sam says as he reaches for the bowls in the cabinet above me, “We’re all starving.”

I smile and nod, “No problem. I knew you’d all be hungry, it’s the least I could do.” I slide out of his way and head toward the table. My eyes immediately find Dean again as I make my way across the room. He’s removing the flannel covering his T-shirt and I can’t help the way my gaze rakes over his body. The way his broad shoulders look in that shirt should be illegal, the fabric stretching across his chest as if its very fibers were made specifically for him. He throws the flannel across the back of his chair and turns to grab a bowl from Sam, allowing my gaze to fall to his hips. Thoughts of my head between his legs and his hand in my hair cross my mind in graphic detail and I have to force myself to look at anything else. I’m practically drooling when Rowena catches my eye and raises her eyebrows in question as a blush rushes my cheeks. I fix my eyes on the table and grab a seat near the door in case I need to make a quick escape.

Rowena takes the seat beside me and smiles sweetly, “You look a little flushed, Dear.”

“I’ve been drinking.” I mumble back and pray she’ll drop it; embarrassment rises in my chest at being caught ogling one of my best friends. Of course, I’ve noticed that Dean’s attractive before, what woman wouldn’t? But I’ve never thirsted after him like a pre-teen seeing boobs for the first time, and I would rather not be called out on it in front of him.

Rowena nods, pursing her lips and smiling in thanks as Sam places a bowl in front her, “I see.” She whispers, “And what, pray tell, have you been drinking?”

I look at her quizzically, a frown forming on my face, “Uh, my usual stuff. Tito’s and Sprite, why?”

She hums, taking a slow sip of the soup on her spoon before smiling sweetly again, “I may decide I need a drink soon, too.”

“Uh, okay.” I reply, grabbing my own spoon and digging in.

The chatter around the table is minimal as we eat, and, in my boredom, I catch myself staring at Dean again. His thick fingers are wrapped around the spoon loosely, his lips slurping the soup off the utensil lazily. My mind rushes to picturing his hands wrapped around my hips as his lips lazily move across my skin, his name a whisper on my own. I can practically see it happening in my mind’s eye, the wetness pooling below me becoming more apparent to me the longer I stare. My gaze slowly travels from his lips to his eyes, which are already schooled on me curiously and I can’t decide if the blush heating my cheeks is from being caught again or from the filthy thoughts running rampant through me.

“Darlin’, seriously, are you okay?” He asks again, dropping the spoon into his empty bowl, “You’ve been staring at me since I walked in.”

“Uh, yeah. I-I’m fine, I think.” I stutter out, shifting my gaze from his face to the food before me, “Just, uh, just got a lot on my mind, I guess.”

Rowena lets out a chuckle at that causing the three of us to glance at her again, “Tell me, Dear, did you happen to pay attention when I was telling you about leaving some…supplies in your freezer?”

I nod, “Yeah, you said you left them on the top shelf by my bottle and not to touch them.”

She smiles again, “And did you happen to see what my supplies were stored in?”

I shake my head, furrowing my brows and nodding toward my drink, “I wasn’t worried about what witchy-woo you brought in here. I was worried about getting buzzed while I cooked dinner.”

She laughs again, louder this time, and stands to slink over to the freezer. My mouth drops when she pulls out two identical bottles of Tito’s, a mischievous smile on her face, “Can you tell me which is yours?”

“Are you kidding me?” I blurt out, "Why would you put your supplies in a bottle of Tito's? What the hell did I drink?”

"It's inconspicuous," The smile remains on her face as she speaks, “Are you feeling a little overwhelmed, Dear?”

A huff leaves me before Dean butts in, “Stop toying with her, Rowena. What’s in that bottle?”

She turns her mischievous smile to him and winks, “It’s not me that’s toying with her, Mr. Winchester.”

“Yeah, if you weren’t so damn pretty, I wouldn’t be in this mess! You should stop toying with me.” I grumbled, immediately snapping my mouth shut and staring wide-eyed at him.

He jars back and glances between Rowena and I. Raising a hand, he points in my direction and then back to himself before smiling at the embarrassed look on my face. I fix my stare at the floor, feeling as if the blush on my cheeks is a permanent fixture there.

Sam lets out a little laugh, “A love potion, right? Why were you keeping that in our freezer?”

Rowena scowls and raises her bottle a bit, “Well, yes and no. It’s a love potion." She makes a pointed look toward me, "It brings primal urges to the surface for the one you truly care for. And, not that it’s any business of yours, Samuel, this was supposed to be shared with the Archangel…if he chose to make an appearance while I’m here.”

I grimace and glance up at her, “That shit was for Gabriel?”

She smiles softly and gazes at the bottle longingly, “Just to spice things up.”

“Okay…” Sam mumbles, “And how long until this stuff wears off?” He asks quickly, giving me a worried look.

I’m trying my hardest to keep my gaze from Dean but losing the battle. His furrowed brows and hard jaw leave my wandering thoughts to conjure up plenty of other reasons he could be making that face, reasons that I could provide if he’d give me the chance. I pull my bottom lip between my teeth and sigh, the thought of his body on mine overtaking whatever willpower I thought I had left. The heat between my legs is almost unbearable as I rub my thighs together under the table. What the hell did she put in that bottle?

Dean pulls his eyes from Rowena’s at the sound of my sigh, and glances between Sam and me, chuckling awkwardly, “Not that I don’t enjoy the ‘fuck me’ eye’s you’re giving me, Darlin’, I’ll have to agree with Sammy. We need to know how to fix you.”

“I can think of a few ways to fix me…” I mumble, looking up at him through my lashes and quirking an eyebrow, “It’s actually all I’ve been thinking about since you walked in.”

He chokes up a little on the beer he’s sipping and glances at Rowena, “What the hell is in that bottle?”

“Enough to keep Gabriel and I going for days, so if she wants to get over this she’ll need to sleep it off,” She states before giving Dean a small smile, “Unless you’d like to help with her little predicament…I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.”

A blush rises in his cheeks as she speaks and he turns to face me, “Listen, uh, don’t get me wrong here, I’ve thought about this before. A lot actually…” He gruffly whispers across the table, sending Sam an apologetic glance, “But, uh, I’d really rather do this when you’re of…uh, sound mind?”

“You’ve thought about this before?” I mutter, raising my eyebrows and smirking, “How often? Wait, don’t answer that…that’s the potion talking…I think.”

“Stop talking.” Sam groans, running a hand down his face, “Please stop talking.”

Dean glances nervously around, a blush across his cheeks again, “We can talk about it later.”

Rowena chuckles again and pats his shoulder, “Someone should tuck her in before she say’s something she’ll regret.”

I nod quickly, and turn to Sam, “I’m very sorry, but could you walk me to my room before I fuck your brothers brains out on this table.”

He grimaces and stands, turning to Rowena and pointing toward the bottle, “Keep that in your own freezer next time.”

“Or leave it here…” Dean mumbles, smirking at me as Sam pushes me out the door, “Sleep tight, Darlin’. I have a feeling you’re gonna need it.” He winks and I outwardly groan, my bottom lip jutting out as Sam continues to drag me down the hallway.

______________________________________________________________

A/N: I have an idea for a smutty part two, if you'd be interested? Please comment and let me know!

Taglist: @lmhf1 @whimsyfinny @enigmalynne @envysarchive @k-slla

If you'd like to be added to my taglist please let me know!

#jacklesversebingo24 #supernatural #spn fanfic #spnfandom #sam winchester #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #sam and dean #jensen ackles #jensen ackles fanfiction #jensen fucking ackles #jensen ackles fanfic #rowena macleod #rowena supernatural #rowena spn #dean

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hypnogold · 2 months ago

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Maple Heights 1: The beginning

In the quiet suburban enclave of Maple Heights, everything seemed to have its place. The two-story homes, with their neatly trimmed hedges and spotless driveways, lined the streets in perfect symmetry. It was the kind of neighborhood where everyone waved hello, the lawns were always green, and the local church bells rang every Sunday without fail. Families gathered in the evenings for barbecues, the kids played soccer in the park, and the routine felt timeless.

But recently, something strange had started to creep into Maple Heights. It began with subtle changes that no one could quite put their finger on at first—little things, like men in the neighborhood who began dressing differently, speaking in more structured, rigid ways. Then, almost overnight, more and more of the men started showing up in identical black Fred Perry polos, each one with distinctive yellow details—a thin stripe running along the collar and cuffs, and the iconic laurel wreath logo embroidered on the chest. These weren't ordinary polos, though. The fabric had a glossy sheen to it, almost rubbery or latex-like, and they were always worn with the top button fastened tight.

The Evans family had been living in Maple Heights for a decade now. Paul and Greg, a married couple raising their three sons—Luke, 24; Michael, 22; and Tyler, 20—had chosen this neighborhood for its peaceful atmosphere and sense of community. Paul worked from home as a software engineer, while Greg ran the local bakery that everyone in town loved. The boys were a lively bunch, each with their own interests—Luke was the athlete, excelling in soccer; Michael spent his time writing music and drawing in his sketchbook; and Tyler, the tech whiz, could be found in his room building gadgets from parts he scavenged at local sales.

Their lives had always been filled with laughter and activity. Weekends meant cookouts in the backyard, bike rides around the block, and movie nights with popcorn on the couch. Church wasn’t a big part of their routine, but every Sunday, Greg made it a tradition to bake fresh pastries and drop them off at the church before opening the bakery. It was his way of staying connected with the community, even if they weren’t particularly religious.

But lately, both Paul and Greg had started noticing changes in the neighborhood, especially among the men. It started with Mr. Anderson, two doors down. He had always been friendly—waving to Greg every morning as he walked his dog past the bakery. But now, Mr. Anderson was different. His usual flannel shirts and casual jackets had been replaced by a sleek black Fred Perry polo with yellow details. Even stranger, the fabric seemed almost rubbery, the way it caught the light. And the way he buttoned it all the way to the top, stiffly and neatly—it made him look more formal than usual. His conversation was short, stilted, and somehow… off.

One evening, as the family gathered around the dinner table, Paul brought it up. “Has anyone else noticed how people around here are dressing differently?”

“Yeah,” Luke said with a frown. “A bunch of guys at soccer practice started wearing those weird black polos. I mean, they look cool, but... everyone’s wearing them, like, every day now.”

“They’re Fred Perry shirts, right? But they look... shiny,” Michael added, tapping his fingers against the table in thought. “And they all button them up to the top. It’s kinda weird, like they’re in some sort of uniform.”

“It’s not just the shirts,” Greg chimed in, shaking his head. “People are acting strange, too. Customers at the bakery used to chat, laugh, but now they come in, order the same thing, and barely make eye contact. They’re so... focused.”

Tyler, the youngest, leaned forward, eyes wide with curiosity. “I saw a bunch of them after church last week. They were all wearing those black polos. I thought maybe it was some church thing.”

Paul and Greg exchanged a concerned glance. “It’s like some sort of group,” Paul said, lowering his voice. “They’re all starting to look and act the same.”

Over the next few weeks, the changes in the neighborhood became more noticeable. More men—fathers, teachers, even some of the older teens—were now dressing in the same glossy black Fred Perry polos, the yellow details standing out sharply against the dark fabric. Each man wore his polo the same way, with the buttons done all the way up to the top, giving them a sleek, almost uniformed appearance. Even their mannerisms had changed—conversations were short, their expressions calm, almost vacant.

Luke noticed it most on his soccer team. At first, it was just a couple of the players who showed up to practice wearing the polos. But soon, half the team had swapped out their jerseys for the slick, rubbery Fred Perry shirts. And once they did, their personalities shifted. They became more focused, more intense, and eerily synchronized. Luke, who still wore his usual soccer gear, felt out of place. His teammates, now all dressed in the black polos with their yellow accents, would glance at him with strange looks, as if waiting for him to join them.

“I’m not wearing one of those,” Luke said to his dads one night, slumping down on the couch. “They’re all acting weird, like they’re in some kind of club. And the coach is in on it, too. He wore one at the last game.”

“I’ve seen the same thing with my friends,” Michael added. “They’re always wearing those shirts now, and it’s like they don’t talk about anything else. It’s not like them.”

Greg sighed, leaning against the kitchen counter. “Even the customers at the bakery... I’ve noticed more of them wearing the polos. They don’t smile, they just take their coffee and leave. And today, one of them asked if I wanted to come to some gathering after church this Sunday.”

“That’s the second time we’ve heard about that,” Paul said, frowning. “Tyler, you said you saw them after church too, right?”

Tyler nodded, his eyes wide. “Yeah, they were all standing around talking after the service. But they weren’t really talking like normal. It was like they were all... rehearsed.”

Greg shivered. “I don’t like this.”

That Sunday, Paul decided to see for himself what was going on. After the church service, while Greg was delivering his pastries, Paul slipped into the side area of the church where the men were gathering. As he stood at the back of the room, he watched them closely. Every man was dressed in the same black Fred Perry polo, the yellow details gleaming under the fluorescent lights. Their shirts were perfectly buttoned up to the top, their expressions calm and focused as they listened to the man leading the meeting. His polo looked newer, glossier than the others, and his voice was firm but soothing as he talked about the “importance of unity” and “the future of Maple Heights.”

It was more than just a social group. This was something bigger, something that was spreading.

When Paul got home, he told Greg everything. “It’s not just the shirts,” he said, pacing the living room. “It’s like they’re all part of some bigger plan. They’re getting more men to join them. It’s like the whole neighborhood is changing.”

Over the next few weeks, the transformation continued to spread. Luke’s soccer team was almost fully converted, the boys showing up to practice in their glossy Fred Perry polos, barely speaking to anyone who wasn’t wearing one. Michael’s friends had stopped hanging out altogether, and whenever he saw them, they were dressed in the same shirts, their conversations short and emotionless. Even Tyler’s teachers had begun to show up to class wearing the same outfits.

One afternoon, Greg came home from the bakery with a tight look on his face. He held up a Fred Perry polo—glossy black with the yellow logo and details—and tossed it on the kitchen table.

“They gave this to me today,” Greg said quietly. “They said it’s time for me to ‘fit in.’”

Paul stared at the shirt, his stomach twisting. “We need to figure out what’s really going on, before it’s too late.”

But deep down, they knew it was already spreading faster than they could stop it. Maple Heights was changing, and it wouldn’t be long before the entire neighborhood was transformed, one slick black polo at a time.

The next week...

Luke stood on the edge of the soccer field, his cleats digging into the grass as he stared out at his teammates, all of whom were already dressed in their glossy black Fred Perry polos. Their yellow-detailed collars were buttoned up tightly to the top, and the sheen of the shirts gleamed unnaturally in the late afternoon sun. He shifted uncomfortably in his old practice jersey, the only one left who hadn’t made the switch.

Over the past few weeks, more and more of his teammates had started showing up to practice in the strange uniforms. At first, it was just a few of the guys, but now, every single one of them wore the latex-like black polo. Coach had been pushing them harder too, but in a way that was unnerving. The drills were more intense, more synchronized. The team barely spoke to each other anymore, their conversations replaced by curt instructions and short exchanges.

Luke felt the pressure mounting every time he stepped onto the field. He knew the others noticed that he was the last one holding out. His friends, or who they used to be, barely made eye contact with him anymore. They’d glance his way with strange, expectant looks, as if waiting for him to join them, to give in.

As practice started, Luke could feel the weight of their eyes on him. He jogged through the drills, but something felt wrong. The usual energy of the game was gone, replaced by an eerie, robotic efficiency. His teammates moved in perfect unison, their movements mechanical, their expressions blank but focused. And all the while, Luke couldn’t shake the feeling that they were watching him—waiting for him to fall in line.

“Luke!” Coach’s voice boomed across the field, pulling him from his thoughts. “Come here.”

Luke jogged over, his heart pounding. Coach stood on the sidelines, his own black Fred Perry polo perfectly buttoned, the yellow details gleaming in the sun. He had been wearing the shirt for a few weeks now, and ever since then, practice had felt more like a drill session than a sport. The coach’s eyes locked onto Luke’s, calm but intense.

“You’re the last one,” Coach said, not unkindly, but with a firmness that sent a chill down Luke’s spine.

Luke glanced at his teammates, all of them standing in formation, watching silently. “Coach, I’m just not sure about the mask. I don’t really feel like I need to wear it,” Luke said, trying to keep his voice steady.

Coach smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “It’s not about the mask, Luke. It’s about unity. The team needs to be united—on and off the field. You’ve seen how well we’ve been playing lately. We’re stronger, more focused.”

Luke shifted uncomfortably, glancing back at his teammates, all eerily still, waiting. He didn’t want to admit it, but there had been something different about their games recently. They were winning, dominating even. But it didn’t feel like a team anymore—it felt like something else, something controlled.

“I just don’t think it’s for me, Coach,” Luke said, though his voice faltered. The pressure was mounting, and deep down, he knew he couldn’t hold out much longer.

Coach’s smile faded, replaced by a look of quiet authority. “It’s time, Luke. You don’t have a choice anymore.”

Before Luke could respond, one of his teammates stepped forward, holding out a neatly folded black Fred Perry polo, the yellow details catching the light. Luke stared at the shirt, his stomach turning. The fabric looked slick, shiny, almost alive, and the thought of putting it on made his skin crawl.

The teammate, a boy who had once been Luke’s best friend, met his gaze, his expression blank but somehow expectant. “Come on, man,” he said softly, his voice calm but emotionless. “It’s just a shirt.”

But it wasn’t just a shirt, and Luke knew it. It was something more. The moment he put it on, he would no longer be himself. He would become just like them—another piece of the machine.

Luke stood frozen, his mind racing. He thought of his family, of his dads and his brothers, and how hard they were trying to resist the changes sweeping through the neighborhood. He didn’t want to give in, but here, on the field, surrounded by his teammates and Coach, he realized he was alone. There was no escape.

Coach stepped forward, his hand resting heavily on Luke’s shoulder. “You’re part of this team, Luke. You need to be like the rest of us.”

Luke swallowed hard, his throat dry. He reached out, his hand shaking slightly as he took the shirt from his teammate. The fabric felt slick and cold against his fingers, heavier than he expected. His mind screamed at him to stop, to throw the shirt away and run, but his body didn’t listen.

Slowly, he pulled the black Fred Perry polo over his head. The latex-like fabric clung to his skin, tightening around him as if it had a will of its own. He adjusted the yellow-detailed collar, his fingers trembling as he buttoned it all the way to the top. The moment the last button clicked into place, a strange warmth spread through him, and his thoughts began to blur.

His mind felt foggy, distant. The resistance he had clung to for so long started to slip away. His shoulders relaxed, and for the first time, he looked at his teammates not with fear or hesitation, but with calm acceptance. The shirt fit perfectly, and for a moment, Luke wondered why he had ever resisted in the first place.

Coach smiled, patting him on the back. “Good. Now you’re part of the team, put this on.”

Luke nodded slowly, his mind quiet. He took his place among his teammates, their faces no longer strange or unsettling, but familiar—like they had always been. The game started again, and this time, Luke moved with them in perfect unison, every step, every movement synchronized.

As the sun set over the soccer field, the last of Luke’s resistance faded into the background, replaced by the quiet calm of uniformity. He was no longer an outsider. He was one of them now.

After practice, Luke walked home in silence, the cool evening air brushing against his face. His mind felt strangely still, as if the buzzing thoughts he had carried all day had finally quieted. The black Fred Perry polo with its glossy sheen and yellow details clung snugly to his body, and the weight of it no longer felt strange—it felt… right. The top button was fastened tight, and though he had been uncomfortable with it at first, now it felt natural, like it was exactly where it should be.

Luke walked home from practice, the full-face rubber gas mask still tightly fitted over his head. The dark, glossy material gleamed faintly under the streetlights as he passed through the quiet, suburban streets of Maple Heights. The once-familiar neighborhood now felt distant, his breathing slow and controlled through the mask’s filters, muffling the sounds around him.

His black Fred Perry polo, with its yellow details and buttoned-up collar, clung to him as he walked, the rubber of the mask and the shirt making him feel as though he was locked into something permanent. Each step felt heavy, yet he was calm. His mind was quiet now, his thoughts no longer his own.

As he approached his house, he saw the warm glow of the kitchen lights through the window. For a moment, something stirred inside him—an echo of the boy he used to be, the Luke who would come home to his dads, joke with his brothers, and feel like himself. But the mask pressed firmly against his face, silencing those thoughts. He reached for the door, knowing they would see him like this.

When he stepped inside, the familiar warmth of home hit him, but it felt different. His dads, Greg and Paul, turned from the kitchen counter, their faces going pale as they saw him standing there, dressed in the glossy black polo and the full-face rubber mask.

“Luke?” Greg’s voice was filled with shock and concern, but Luke didn’t respond. He simply stood there, the mask concealing any expression, the filters hissing softly with each breath.

Paul stepped forward, his voice shaky. “Take it off, son. You don’t have to wear that.”

But Luke didn’t move. The mask stayed on, its grip on him firm, the strange calm washing over him once again. He was home, but he wasn’t the same anymore. And as his dads stared at him in disbelief, Luke knew that the boy they once knew was slipping away.

#male transformation #hypnotised #fred perry #gas mask #shiny #ai generated #rubber men

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ridingtorohan · 1 month ago

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Generic Headcanons for the Tulpar Crew!

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Curly can't bowl. Absolutely can not. As coordinated as he is, this sport is absolutely not under his forte. Somehow, he gets all strikes or only one pin down.

Used to have a bubble blowing pipe as a kid. Still collects bubble blowers but doesn't really use them.

Sentimental in that he doesn't throw gifts away, even if he knows he won't use them. Has them neatly packed away in boxes

His hair is usually slightly frizzy and brushed on trips but back at home, he does the full oil, scrunch, curl routine, resulting in amazing curls

Prefers vanilla ice cream

Diagnosed insomniac. Sleeps like the dead when he does actually sleep; his heart rate slows down a lot so he actually scared a few roommates in the past

Hairy chest

Usually wears two shirts. After the crash, he's far more sensitive to temperature changes and bundles up, even if it's sweltering outside

Has a nasty scar on his knee from when he tripped as a kid. Didn't get stitches but probably should've

Listens to a mix of rock and foreign music, even when he doesn't know what they're saying

Wanted to be an astronaut but settled for becoming a pilot

Curly was an only child to a single mother. She had a serious disease that had him taking care of them both at a young age. He used the insurance money to become a pilot. She really believed in his dream.

Slightly colorblind (mixes up yellow and green) but by the time he's an adult he's able to tell the shades apart, so it didn't affect his pilot's course

Really enjoys raisin toast and cheese whiz.

A little forgetful. Usually keeps a notepad in his pocket or his keys on a long string

Can imitate accents really well, especially Southern drawls

Has English ancestry

Secretly terrified of the concept of the immortal snail

Daisuke sings horribly, but in such a charismatic way that somehow gets everyone joining in.

Does very bad puppetry, usually with socks. However, he's surprisingly good at miming.

He likes to draw!

He alternates between being the absolute boss at video games vs scoring almost nothing.

However! He's the absolute king at dance dance revolution and guitar hero.

Can't sit still for puzzles but surprisingly has a lot of fun with games like candy crush (and is really good at it)

Likes lemon hard candies

Pours whipped cream on anything. Bread? Whipped cream. Coffee? Whipped cream. Swansea had to kick that habit out of him

On that note: sweet tooth

Drools in his sleep and has the worst bedhead known to man

Has three sisters, all older and with set careers. He loves them a lot, despite feeling inadequate sometimes. He also has two moms!

Can't hold his liquor BUT surprisingly can never get drunk off of cold medicine

Watches a lot of thrillers, action and romcoms. Is always captivated by them (and cries a little when the couple gets together)

Quotes Mean Girls a lot

Was definitely a Disney kid. Belts into Lion King songs all the time (Swansea wants to strangle him)

Listens to screamo when he's tinkering with machines (usually with cars or where he can't readily change the songs)

Otherwise has a playlist that has songs from every genre. Never skips any of them.

Believes in sasquatch. Vehemently.

Tends to have bad luck with electronics, usually sparking himself somehow. His electronics usually have a lot of scuff marks and dented corners but surprisingly no cracked screens

Fluent in Spanish and passing in at least three other languages

Knows beauty routines better than most people do (including social media infleuncers)

Either has flawless skin or has a strict routine to prevent breakouts.

Definitely had a crush on Marty McFly poster in his bedroom. Still does.

Jimmy is, surprisingly, a good writer. He usually drops them only a few chapters in, but they're captivating and really enriched

Taps his foot a lot

Scrunches up his face when he's concentrating, often comically so

Absolutely hates black coffee but refuses to drink any other.

Says he hates the song that's playing but 9/10 he'll be nodding along to it. Absolutely despises Swansea and Anya's playlists

If the person he hates likes a song/movie/snack, he'll absolutely hate it. Even if he loved it before.

Sleeps with his arms crossed and head tipped back

Knows a lot about a bit of everything but in a weird way. Such as how to replace a car radio but not how to hot wire a car

Acts like the "tsundere" trope where he's mean if he likes someone

Prefers uniform clothing and goes for simple button ups otherwise

Somehow always finds himself at the receiving end of gossip. He knows all the tea but doesn't care enough to share it

Crazy skilled at board games, especially strategy and Monopoly. May or may not cheat. The absolute biggest sore loser

Mint or rocky road is his go-to ice cream snack. eats ice cream cones from the bottom up

Really good at visual puzzle solving. ("How many cubes are there?", mazes, etc)

Plays guitar and does it well. Favourite song to play is probably Country Roads

Hates the song Pumped Up Kicks. The school he used to go to before meeting Curly had way too many incidents to be comfortable.

Somehow, he does really well at baking those fancy deserts. Souffles, creme brulees, macarons, caramel, you name it. Probably would have made it as a chef somewhere

Always packs light and never keeps anything. Doesn't even have cards to the stores he frequents a lot.

Usually has a lighter or one of those "7 tools in 1" tool in his pocket.

Gets super bored with horror and nature documentaries. A fan of thriller and action though.

Somehow winds up with 57 pens in his drawers. He's never sure where they come from.

Likes to keep his facial hair short or with a shadow. It makes him feel unkempt if he goes longer.

He's more of a hands-on kind of guy, preferring to be outside in the fresh air instead of reading a book or watching TV.

Salted pretzels are his go-to snack.

Anya wears contacts (based on the soundtrack cover art)

Licks her finger before turning a page of the book and dog-ears to bookmark it

Always has ink smudges on her fingers. She never knows how it gets there

Twirls pens when she's lost in thought

She has a neutral resting face, so when she smiles or frowns, it crinkles a bit but you can always tell it's genuine

Never keeps her hair short; it always leaves her itchy. Closest she'll get is chin length

She's definitely a homebody

She doesn't often like switching hobbies but when she does, she focuses all her attention on it. However, it takes her a really long time to master it, leaving her discouraged.

Had difficulties in school.

All her books are filled with highlighted passages and writings in the margin

Tummy sleeper with her face smooshed in a pillow

Sleepwalks in a horrifying way. She'll stand at the foot of the bed and say cryptic things like, "He knows you're here" before walking away. Doesn't remember it the next day.

Prefers tea over coffee and dark chocolate

Doesn't really care for ice cream but likes freezies and Gelato

Prefers dogs over cats and loves labradors, even though she doesn't have the energy for them

Never could stomach the smell of puke or fecal matter

Doesn't know how to swim

Absolutely burns in the sun, no matter how much sun screen she uses.

She drives with audio books on, or while she's studying. Constant interruptions stress her out

Knows how to play the flute!

Has a few Russian lullabies memorized and knows the translations for them, though she doesn't know much Russian otherwise.

Mother died young, so it was her and her dad for a long time. She never felt like she lived up to his expectations.

Really close to her cousin growing up, who acted like an older sister to her.

Somehow, knows all the obscure lore about haunted locations and folklore. While she believes in ghosts, she doesn't believe in other entities.

Never swears. It's just not who she is.

Anya listens to a lot of indie and instrumental music.

She once had a pet parakeet named Timothy but gave it to her cousin when she tried to study for med school.

She has a music box, gifted to her by her mother before her passing. It's one of her prized possessions. Anya plays it before sleeping.

She likes to watch silent movies, black and white, and those that relate to her experiences in life.

Audrey Hepbern is consequently her favourite actress.

While most of her books are educational or self-help, she owns a few classics like Moby Dick and Pride & Prejudice.

Swansea knows how to crochet

He's a GOD at gambling. Everyone is sure that he's cheating, but it's honestly a lot of skill

While he doesn't know any other languages, he knows enough basic phrases to navigate in most foreign countries.

Very old in his ways (men must be gentlemen type thing) but progressive in others

Doesn't vote

Annoyed when Daisuke arrived in his floral shirt. Not because Daisuke skirted past the full uniform but because Swansea owns a lot of them (and oddly enough, many that match with Daisuke). So he never gets out of uniform

Can fall asleep anywhere

He's the fastest typer out of the Tulpar crew, second only to Daisuke

Still uses a Nokia phone though

Listens to podcasts or radio stations, but if he ever sits down for TV, it's usually dramas (think, SVU or Young & The Restless). Gets super invested in the soap dramas, even if he swears he doesn't or otherwise. He knows everyone's names and backstories off hand.

Gets grumpy if you turn off the show he's watching.

Tried growing a beard once. Never again

Keeps photos of his entire family in his wallet. Mother? There. Wife? There. Kids? There. His dentist? Somehow, there.

Never went to AA. He doesn't exactly deter people from drinking, but he'll outright shove people in chairs and take their car keys if they're too drunk to drive

Owns a really beat-up sports car. The upkeep is horrible, but it's what he got in the divorce, and he won't trade it for anything. Let Daisuke drive it exactly once (1)

Took wrestling and boxing in his youth! He gives a mean right hook. He still has the arm muscles from it

Absolutely cannot stand sticky, tacky items. Hates the feel of gum on his hands. Okay with chewing it.

Very efficient at multitasking! Even if it looks like he's focused on something, he notices things from his peripheral vision asap. Also weirdly attuned to Daisuke and just knows when he's grabbing something that he shouldn't

Scary good intuition about people.

Absolute king at barbecuing. Steak is his favourite food, especially accompanied with beer (he misses those days), roasted mini potatoes and garlic vegetables.

Makes the meanest stew and soup you've ever known. Throws the absolute wildest ingredients into the pot, but it comes out miraculous every time.

Adds salt and pepper to his meal anytime anyone else is cooking. Even if it was adequately seasoned

Knows how to ride a horse!

His part of the city isn't the best (high crime rate), but all the kids know his name and go to him whenever they need to escape from home or a warm meal. He doesn't know why they're so drawn to him, but something about Swansea makes them feel secure. It's put him in the good graces of the not-so-good folk and he's left well enough alone by them.

Definitely owns a shotgun and probably had to fend thieves away from his home prior to that though.

Definitely has Irish and Scottish ancestry. Maybe a bit of German.

#mouthwashing #mouthwashing headcanon #curly #jimmy #swansea #anya #daisuke #mouthwashing curly #mouthwashing jimmy #mouthwashing anya #mouthwashing daisuke #mouthwashing swansea #mouthwashing headcanons #:// how did swansea end up with so many?

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