#will update every few weeks/months maybe
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Writing References: Plot
Basics: Plot Structure & Narrative Arcs
Basics: Plot & Other Elements of Creative Writing
Plot Methods: Save the Cat! â The Story Circle
Plot Development: The Transformation Test
Plot-Driven Story â Plotting a Novel â Plot-Planning Worksheet
Plot Twists â Types of Plot Twists â Subplots
Ten Story Genres â Elements of the 10 Story Genres
The 3-Act Structure: History & Elements â A Guide
The Shape of Story â The Shapes of Stories by Kurt Vonnegut
Tips
From Margaret Atwood â From Rick Riordan
Before Writing your Novel â Burying Information
How to Get "Unstuck" when Writing your Novel
Editing
Chapter Maps â Editing your Own Novel
Plot Holes & Other Structural Issues â Structural Edit
Self-Editing â Novel Editing
For Inspiration
Archetypal Narrative Arcs â Character & Literary Tropes
Snowflake Method â Ways to Generate an Idea
Writing References: Character Development â World-building
#writing tips#plot#writing advice#writeblr#writing reference#dark academia#spilled ink#literature#writing prompt#creative writing#fiction#writers on tumblr#story#writing resources#novel#light academia#compilation requested by anon#will update every few weeks/months maybe
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*taps mic* this thing on?
#r.txt#hi hi hi i miss being active sm i hate school :|#i still need a new computer too cause rn i cant run sims with anything installed it sucks ass#im excited for infants tho!!!! and the new pack im foaming at the mouth why do they make us pay for basic game things its so lame but wtvr!!#im just popping in for a min im on spring break but i still have hw :'((#just a few more months and maybe i can get a job and save enough for a new pc lets hope#im taking a photoshop/illustrator class and i rly hate my prof i havent learned anything i didnt already know#and we have to use MACS :| actually wanna fight its me vs apple products till i di#e#ive been playing vanilla for a bit and its not as fun but its alright#ive uploaded some houses to the gallery if anyone is interested ig i could post those to be semi active#i have literally sm to do in my life i hate being old (19) im basically dead#i say it every time but im going to make my return one day i swear it i love this community despite its many many flaws i miss everything#unfortunatly i have to deal w an 8-5 school schedule twice a week the rise and grind mindset is not for me#if i get time i might try to post more silly updates ive been doing but for now au revoir (adios) (im into tfb now smile)#ok bye aggain 4 nowsies
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#update on life GO:#after a few months iâve finally started writing again#god i forgot how hard this is itâs a muscle that needs to be retrained đ#ugh i hope i can finally finish some stories and start planning some new ones#and maybe đđ even some ORIGINAL ones !!!#but weâll see#ugh#but i also have some mods i wanted to finish for me but idk when or if thatâll even happen#iâm literally exhausted every day tho#this week has been particularly hard but#i canât do anything about it#đđ#personal
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Smoke & Light: Part 3 [Plug!Az]
SUMMARY: A run in with the cops is another reminder of the horrors Azriel faced through his childhood. Maybe one day he'll open up about it, but not today. Today, he's solely focussed on helping you out of a bad trip. (8.2k)
WARNINGS: swearing, reoccurring themes of use of recreational drugs (weed), greening out, teasing, flirting, kissing, dirty talk, use of toys hehe, slapping/spanking, spitting, dom!Az, mentions of Az's abusive childhood.
A/N: firstly, I want to massively apologise for not updating this in sooo long. Life has been busy and I've been reading so much lately that writing slipped my mind. To make up for it, there is some filthy smut in this chapter and I am hoping to be a bit more consistent with the next updates. Thank you for being so patient and I hope you enjoy!!
Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist
When Azriel was a young boy, he dreamt of becoming a guitarist. It didnât matter to him then if he was famous or not. Just so long as he was good enough to be able to replicate famous rifts with his own spin, and create his own music, too.Â
For his fifth birthday, his mother bought him a childrenâs guitar, complete with the plastic pics and a leather strap with his initials etched into the fine fabric. He knew, even at that age, that the gift had cost his mother a small fortune. But she didnât care how much it set her back. The look of pure shock and excitement on her boy's face was worth every single penny she spent.Â
He could still remember the untold amounts of sleep he would forfeit to learn a new chord or finally string more than three together at once. By seven years old, he could recreate the first half of Simple Man by Lynyrd Skynyrdâalbeit choppy and slightly out of timeâand memorise the chords by heart.Â
His half-brothers had never liked that about Azriel. His talent and passion for music and the guitar. Even at the ages of five and four, they did not like Azriel. More often than not, theyâd plant broken vases and stained cushions for their parents to find, and blame them on Azriel. They knew their father would take away his guitar for a few days to a week as punishment.Â
But even then, a week wasnât long enough. Their hatred for Azriel stemmed long before his love for guitar had grown. From the moment his half-brothers learned how to talk, Az was on the daggered end of their spiteful tongue and manipulative masterminds. As young as he was, Azriel wasnât blind to the cause of it. He wasnât blind to his step-fatherâs hatred for him, that he then instilled in his own blood sons.Â
Being what they called a âblood traitorâ would always be their main justification for what they did. Azriel had never admitted to anyone the second reason his brothers set his hands alight. But the other thought behind itâthe more vicious and calculated thoughtâwas to burn not just his hands, but his dreams, too.Â
For months after the incident, Azrielâs hands remained bandaged. He could hardly use them for everyday tasks like dressing and washing and eating. And when they had finally healed enough for the bandages to be permanently removed, he couldnât play his beloved guitar.Â
The strings were too harsh on his sensitive skin. It hurt so much just pressing down on the chords on the neck, let alone pinching the pic for longer than thirty seconds at a time. Azriel had to learn how to play all over again, covered in blisters and burnt flesh. And then his marred skin began to harden and callous and every strum was more painful than before.Â
He often wondered if this would still be his life path had the burning never happened. If he would have still met Rhys and Cass, if he would still be selling drugs. He knew he wouldnât be this well-off financially, but at what cost? What did all of this money mean when it was just him? When he wouldnât be able to fulfil his biggest dream in life?Â
He mostly thought about it all in times like this, when he was spontaneously pulled over by the cops for what they called a ârandom stop and searchâ, though they had never given a plausible cause for it. And today would be no different.Â
âYou stalking me again, Reynolds?â Az asked in a rugged tone as he exhaled the smoke from his cigarette.Â
Officer Reynolds, one of the few officers that continuously pulled Az over and searched his vehicle, leaned against the open window with his arms crossed. His blue eyes gleamed with hope of catching something on him this time, though Az knew Reynolds would walk away with another few grey hairs to add to his collection.Â
Reynolds was a strange looking man. Not in his features, but in the glint of his eyes and the disturbing tug of his lips whenever he offered a grim smile. He radiated nothing but offsetting energy, one that stunk of noncy behaviour and less than ethical tendencies.Â
His iced eyes darted quickly across Azrielâs lap and the passenger's seat, coming up short and settling his gaze on the man again.Â
âRandom stop and search, nothing personal.â He grinned that awful smile but Azriel paid no mind to it. âStep out of the car, licence and registration.â Azriel was already reaching into the glovebox for his paperwork before Reynolds could even speak.Â
He handed them over, opening the door as the officer stepped away, and stood with his hands on the hood of his Mustang. Azriel knew the drill. Heâd been patted down and had his car searched more times than he could count in the past six months alone.Â
And each and every time, Reynolds always came up short.Â
âGot any weapons in the vehicle?âÂ
Azriel rolled his eyes, looking over his shoulder as Reynolds began to pat down his stomach and thighs. âDo I look like the type that needs a weapon?âÂ
A dry chuckle slipped from the officers lips as he patted harder down Azrielâs calves and ankles before turning to his fullâalbeit shortâheight. âWhat about narcotics? Any drugs that I should be aware of?âÂ
Az grunted with another roll of his eyes. âI donât know what youâre talking about.âÂ
Officer Reynolds didnât offer a response. Instead, he bent his body into the driver's side of the Mustang and began stifling through every nook and cranny that his swollen hands could reach.Â
Azrielâs foot tapped impatiently as he waited and waited for the search to end. They wouldnât find a damn thing, especially because of the new addition Azriel had recently added to his modded car.Â
But that knowledge of the secret compartment didnât stop his muscles from tensing just slightly when Reynolds wrapped his puffed fingers around the foot mat and peeled it up.Â
Azrielâs stash was well hidden; wrapped and locked in an extended box beneath his footwell that managed to also keep the scent out. He knew it was a matter of time before they started bringing a K9 with them on their searches, so Azriel had to be prepared for that well in advance.Â
Especially with how strong the new strain smelt.Â
With a huff, Reynolds haphazardly threw the foot mat back down and struggled to clamber out of the car. And just like Azriel suspected, he came up short.Â
Reynolds handed him back his paperwork and rested his hands back on his belt, fingers itching for his baton to give Az a taste of the frustration he caused him. Azriel didnât so much as bat an eye at it. He knew Reynolds wouldnât touch him. Not if he wanted to keep both his stumpy legs in use.Â
âYou know, this is getting pretty old. How do I go about filing a harassment charge?âÂ
Reynolds scoffed. âGood luck with that.â
//
If there was one thing Az liked about having his brothers home, it was the lack of talking his mind did. There was no silence for his brain and thoughts to gang up on him, to have him question every thought and decision heâd ever made.Â
Music and guitar usually helped to quiet those demonsâthe shadows that he had no control overâbut the frustration from his earlier encounter with Reynolds had the desire for playing at the bottom of his list.Â
Instead, he settled for Nestaâs demand to braid her hair. She knew him better than she let the others know. Since they first met years ago, he became the brother she never had, that she never knew she needed. She was quick to learn his quirks and mannerisms; what they meant and how he felt.Â
And he learnt the same for her.Â
âYouâre doing it too loose,â Nesta huffed, picking at her nails from her seat on the carpet between Azrielâs parted thighs. He huffed, flexing his fingers and undoing the braid.Â
âLast time you told me it was too tight and it gave you a migraine,â he retorted back with an exasperated huff.
They argued like real siblings, too.Â
âJust do it a little looser than last time.â
Azriel split her hair into three sections once more and slowly started to braid, overlapping the sections and tugging a bit tighter than his previous attempt. Nesta hummed in approval.
They didnât pay much mind to the others. Rhys and Feyre were cuddled on the loveseat opposite them, Cassian on their left with a bulky pair of headphones on his head as he smashed the buttons of the gaming remote beneath his fingers.Â
He was growing frustrated that he was losing, but it didnât help that his hands were so massive that the pad of his thumb was big enough to press all the buttons at once.Â
âHey, Az⌠thereâs this girl I knowâŚâ Azrielâs grunt cut Feyre off before she could say anything else. He tied Nestaâs braid and tapped her shoulders, signally he was done.Â
âNot this again, Fey,â he groaned.Â
A sheepish smile sat on her full lips, a gentle tint of pink blushing the apples of her cheeks. âI really think you guys would get along, though. Sheâs super laid back and so gorgeous.âÂ
Nesta moved from between Azâs thighs on the ground and clambered back onto the sofa, reaching for her tumbler of gin and tonic. Azriel was used to this, to Feyre trying to set him up. Each time, heâd always shut her advances down, but that never stopped her.
Feyre considered it a challenge, and she wouldnât stop until Azriel agreed to go on a date. Just once, and sheâd back off. She was fairly confident that one date would be all it would take for Azriel to fall for her mysterious friend.Â
âI donât need to be set up,â he spoke, finality in his tone.Â
Rhys cocked a brow at how quickly Az dismissed his girlfriend but said nothing. He knew Feyre could get a bit too much with it sometimes, but Rhys himself still had hopes that maybe one day, Az would bite the bullet and just agree.Â
But Azriel had no plans to do that. He didn't want to be set up on a blind date, and he most certainly did not need nor want his friends involving themselves in his love lifeâor lack thereof. It wasnât that he struggled with girls, Mother, no. Not once in his life did Azriel ever have a shortage of pussy.
If he wanted it, he would get it. On his own. Without his brother's girlfriendâs self-involvement.Â
His phone chimed from his back pocket, and not bothering another glance at Feyre, Azriel retrieved it to read over the message.Â
You: you werenât kidding. This shit is strongggg x
His heart rate quickened as he read the text again and again. Azriel hadnât heard from for three daysâsince that kissâand now he was reminiscing on the taste of your mouth on his.Â
Azriel: I did warn you
You: maybe next time you could write a reminder on my baggie?
A grin stretched across the expanse of his lips, eyes glittering at how quickly you responded. The act didnât go unmissed by Nesta, who grinned against her staw and wiggled her toes against the side of Azrielâs thigh. She knew that faceâthat look.Â
âAzzy doesnât want to get set up because he already has a crush on someone.âÂ
All eyes snapped to Azriel and Nesta at her words, eyes so wide they almost bulged from their heads. They all knew Az was a ladies man, that although he kept his sex life private, he was well endowed in that aspect. But what they had never really seen was Azriel with a crush.Â
With someone who was more than a booty call or a fling.
Az narrowed his eyes at Nesta, a hard expression removing his previous smile. The phone in his hand began to vibrate and a quick glance at it had your number filling the screen through an incoming call.Â
His heart stammered.Â
âI donât have a crush. Itâs just a client.â He stood from the couch, his scarred thumb hovering over the answer button.Â
Nesta grinned maniacally, taking another sip of her gin. âA lady client?â Azrielâs response was a pillow launched at Nestaâs face before leaving his family and shutting himself away in his bedroom.Â
Az took a deep breath then swiped his screen to accept the call. âHey,â he greeted, bringing the phone to his ear. âYou doing okay?âÂ
There was a pregnant pause for a moment before your airy laugh breathed down the line and Azrielâs throat began to close up at the sound. âI think Iâve greened out a little,â you giggled, almost painfully. âEverything is spinning and heavy and when I close my eyes, I get seasick⌠is that normal?âÂ
Az pursed his lips, biting back his own smile. The fact that youâd managed to text full sentences and then call him suggested you hadnât greened out too badly. And by the light self-deprecating laugh at your own situation, he knew you werenât falling in too deep of a hole.Â
âIt should pass soon, it shouldn't get worse than how you feel now. Where are you?âÂ
âIâm at home so Iâm okay. I just didnât know what was the best thing to help.âÂ
Azriel shouldnât have let your words affect him the way they did. They shouldnât have warmed his heart and sent it soaring in his chest. But in your slightly vulnerable predicament, out of everyone that smoked in your life and would understand, it was him that you called for advice.Â
Not your friends, not your ex. Him.Â
âHonestly? Food and water.â
Another pause of silence had Azriel thinking a bit too much again. If you were calling him for advice, this was likely your first time greening out, and he wondered if youâd even be able to handle making yourself food alone.Â
After a moment of consideration, he spoke again. âWant me to stop by?âÂ
Azriel could hear your soft breath through the call. âIsnât that crossing a line?â you asked in a gentle voice.Â
He frowned, brows pinched. âWhat line?âÂ
âIâm your client, youâre my plug,â you reminded him, and something about it sent a sour taste to the back of his throat.Â
âYouâre my friend,â he offered.Â
He wondered if you considered that or not, and by the pause of silence once more, he got his answer.Â
âI am?â The soft tone of your question hurt him more than it shouldâve. It shouldnât have hurt him at all.Â
âAm I not yours?âÂ
You were considering it, though. In your book, he was definitely your friend. Heâd comforted you just a few nights ago after the fiasco with your sister's secret wedding, had bought you food and then⌠Heâd kissed you. Or had you kissed him?Â
You supposed he was your friend, but you didnât think you meant anything more to him than being just another client. Clearly, you were wrong.Â
âYeah⌠I guess you are.âÂ
The corners of Azriel's lips tugged upward slightly. âGreat, so send me your address and Iâll stop by with some food.â
Perhaps you shouldâve told him no, that it truly wasnât necessary and you could just pick at a couple of leftover cookies youâd baked yesterday. But you didnât. You wanted to see him again, wondered so desperately if that kiss had meant anything at all⌠if it would happen again.Â
âI have a spare set of keys in a security lock outside. The code is 4369, let yourself in.âÂ
//Â
You didnât know how much time you had to try and sort yourself out before Azriel would arrive. But as hard as you tried, every time you raised your head you were met with an onslaught of nausea and dizziness.Â
You spent around five minutes attempting to regulate your breathing to rid those feelings, but your body remained stomach down on the couch with your face squished against a pillow.Â
If you could stomach the feeling of your eyes being closed for longer than five seconds at a time, you probably couldâve fallen asleep. But alas, the sound of a key entering the lock of your front door had your eyes widening a little further and heart stammering against your ribs.Â
âKnock, knock.â Azrielâs voice dripped with honey as he spoke into the expanse of your open plan living-kitchen area.Â
Though you couldnât see him from your position, you could hear the faint rusting of a takeout bag in his hand as he closed the door quietly and kicked off his shoes at the door.Â
You didnât need to call out to him for Az to see you. Sprawled on the sofa, just off to his left, he grinned comically, ignoring the unfamiliar swell in his chest. His feet padded closer to the couch, settling the food on the coffee table and the smell of hot, fried chicken wafted through your senses.Â
Azriel helping you sit up and handing you the same meal you ordered the last time you saw one another was a bit of a blur. But the second the food hit your tongue and your tastebuds exploded in delight, the nausea slowly dwindled from your senses.Â
âYou are my saviour,â you moaned around the food, eyes fluttering closed and none the wiser to Azrielâs growing blush.Â
Sat in comfortable silence, Azriel didnât want you to focus on anything other than feeling yourself again. Within a few minutes, youâd both finished your food and your face didnât seem so sunken and pasty.Â
Now, you looked wonderfully blitzed, skin a little brighter than before and a sparkling sheen to your bloodshot eyes. Yeah, you were out of the woods, your body warm and relaxed.Â
âYou feeling okay?â he finally managed to ask, shoving the last fry between his lips as you nodded at his question.Â
âI feel perfectly baked now.âÂ
A laugh spluttered from his lips at your words as he wiped his scarred hands clean on a paper napkin. For the first time in the past twenty minutes, Az allowed his eyes to gaze across the expanse of your rather cosy living room.Â
Soft, golden lighting that warmed the room, plants of varying shapes and colours tucked into every corner and crevice available. Mismatched furniture and draping vines.Â
It was cute, all of it. Very you. The wall facing the couch was hidden beneath tall bookcases that were filled to the brim with every type of book he could imagine. Even with squinted eyes, he could make out a few familiar authors amongst your shelves.Â
âHave you read all of those?â He threw his gaze to you, wonder and slight adoration in his eyes, though you were sure you imagined the latter.Â
âMhm,â you hummed around your drink. âSome more times than I can remember.âÂ
You watched him stand from the couch, his tall frame approaching your collection. He was dressed in black again â his simple jeans and sweater combo â and his hair was perfectly tousled and swept down his forehead.Â
Eyes on him, his finger traced the spines of your beloved possessions, settling on one in particular that made your breath still in your chest. Azriel gently pulled it off the shelf, hazel eyes examining the near-pristine cover.Â
âCareful,â your soft voice warned him. âItâs worth three grand.âÂ
Azrielâs eyes almost bulged from his head as he turned to you with the most bewildered expression youâd ever seen. It took every ounce of control not to burst into laughter.Â
âWhat?â
âItâs 134 years old. I restored it the best I could. You shouldâve seen it when I found it.âÂ
Azrielâs brows pulled into a confused frown. âRestored it?âÂ
âYeah, thatâs what I do for work.âÂ
When his frown didnât ease, you cleared your throat to continue. âI work between an auction and a museum in the city. I find the old books and restore them, then sell them through the auction, or they go to the museum.âÂ
His once furrowed brows raised, his eyes darting back to the book in his hand as if he was inspecting the eighth wonder of the world. Azriel finally turned back to you with a smile that borderlined a smirk.Â
âThatâs actually pretty cool.âÂ
A satisfied yet sheepish smile found its way to your lips, cheeks warming under the intensity of his gaze. Azriel slid the book back onto the shelf and continued his observations.Â
If you were being honest, it was a little too intimate for your liking. No one in your life had ever taken such interest in your books, not your friends or past lovers. It wasnât like your love for books was much of a secret, but no one had taken the time to get to know them.Â
To know your books was to know you.Â
You shouldnât have been surprised that Azriel was the person to do so. In the short time youâd known him, you realised he was full of surprises.
âWhat about you?â Your voice greeted his ears softly as you cleaned up the trash from your food. Azriel casted barely a look over his shoulder, eyes caught on your limited edition fantasy book set. A part of you begged to take Azrielâs attention off them. âWhat do you do for work?âÂ
That seemed to earn his full attention, causing him to turn to face you fully. With an amused smirk, he followed you a few feet into the open kitchen. âYou know what I do for work.âÂ
Ah.Â
âYou donât have anythingâŚlegalâŚto keep on the books?âÂ
He tried to hide his amusement at your words, but to no avail. Azrielâs smirk only grew and he found himself wondering if his answer might make you think differently of him.Â
âIf you wanna talkâŚlegalitiesâŚthen Iâm an investor in the stock market.âÂ
It was your turn to hold the raised eyebrows â a look that Azriel was quick to mirror. âWhat?â He asked. âYou donât think I could work in stocks?âÂ
âDo you?â You pressed.Â
Azrielâs grin widened slightly. âI do. And Iâll have you know that Iâm very good at it.âÂ
You didnât want nor need to know any more. You werenât about to outright ask how much money he had, and if he told you out of his own desire, you were certain it would only make you feel like pure shit.Â
Your apartment and belongings werenât much but they were yours. Everything you had, you worked for. You could do without knowing how many thousands he had sitting pretty in his bank.Â
Azriel noticed that distant look in your eyes and took a seat at your island. The last thing he wanted was to make you feel uncomfortable. And if he was being perfectly honest, it was appallingly refreshing to speak with a woman about his side-hustle without them swooning or prying for more details.Â
And it appeared that it was only now that either of you were realising how different things were the last time you saw one another. When your lips pressed against his and he kissed you back with just as much want and vigour.Â
As if remembering that searing moment, your face and chest began to warm. You were quick to turn away from him, needing a moment to compose yourself and the tight feeling in the pit of your stomach.Â
You tried desperately to ignore the ache between your thighs at the memory, instead opting to focus your attention on the half empty box of cookies on the counter. Flipping the lid, you offered one to Azriel who took it without much prompting.Â
âTell me if Iâm crossing a line, but if you make enough money investing in stocks, why do you still deal?âÂ
Azrielâs eyes fluttered closed as he took a bite out of the chocolate chip cookie, and you found your eyes zeroed in on the way his plump lips moved and his broad shoulders slacked slightly.Â
His eyes opened to focus on yours. âThese are incredible.â You offered a smile, waiting. âDealing is what got me the money to be able to invest. Donât get me wrong, Iâm good at it, but I lost a lot to get where I am. Dealing is steady income for now. Itâs not something I plan to do forever.â
You didnât probe any further, satisfied with the answer he provided and not wanting to push your luck. Your eyes were drawn to his mouth again, flashes of memories littering your mind as your body warmed once more.Â
Clearing your throat, you desperately tried to blink away the haziness he seemed to make you feel.Â
âYou can smoke out on the balcony, if you want.âÂ
Azriel finished the last of his cookie and leaned forward on the counter. âI didnât bring anything.âÂ
Your head tilted slightly to the half-smoked joint on your counter, stubbed out and back in your open tin. âSmoke the rest of that. Itâs too strong for me and I know your tolerance is higher than mine.â
Azriel laughed; hearty and rich and deep. It tickled up your spine and reached around your neck and jaw to tug the corners of your lips into a smile. The effect he had on you was growing to be a slight problem.Â
âYou wanna come? Fresh air will help.âÂ
He watched you pinch the joint and lighter from your tin and lead him through to your bedroom. It was decorated similarly to the rest of your apartmentâtwinkling fairy lights and books and plantsâand out on the small balcony, youâd managed to cram a rattan loveseat and table with vines wrapped around the short iron guard rail.Â
âHere.â You handed him the joint and lighter. âIâll be back out, Iâm just going to change.âÂ
Azriel sparked up the joint between his lips, taking a long drag as you returned to your room. The smoke hit the back of his throat sharply, almost knocking him sideways. Even he hadnât smoked a joint this packed and strong in a while. It was no wonder youâd had a wobble with it.Â
He took a seat on the rattan furniture, admiring the little view your balcony offered. The summer air kissed his skin, even as late as the evening was. The warmth of it had him shrugging off his sweater and throwing it over the table, taking another deep pull.Â
If Azriel was honest, he was quite thankful for the moments reprieve from your presence. He needed to take a second to calm himself down. Az couldnât remember the last time he partook in something like this with someone who wasnât his brothers or their girls.Â
This was more of a common thing with Nesta, smoking and eating together. Never Feyre, she always preferred a glass of wine, and occasionally Mor would smoke with him when she was passing through town. Never a random girl, never a new friend.Â
But that moment's reprieve was ripped away far too quickly, because you were sauntering back onto the balcony and stealing the breath right from Azrielâs smoked lungs.Â
He was fucked. Comepletly and utterly fucked. Heâd never seen you look so relaxed, dressed in an oversized t-shirt and a pair of mismatched socks. Your hair was thrown up lazily and stray pieces fell out to frame your face.Â
Your legs, however, he couldnât stop gawking. Soft skin and a whole lot of thigh. Azriel forced his gaze to your face again as you took a seat beside him on the loveseat, leaning your back on the armrest and bringing your knees up to your chest.Â
Mother above, he could feel his cock begin to strain in his pants, his eyes begging to sweep your body once more to see what lay between your slightly parted legs. From his peripheral vision, he could see you cross your ankles, effectively shielding yourself.
But Azriel was good at reading people, and by the slight flush of your cheeks and the way your eyes grew more hooded by the second, he was more than certain you knew what you were doing and the affects your actions had on him.Â
He took another pull of the joint. âYou werenât kidding,â he mumbled, âthis shit is strong.â A bubbly laugh fell from your lips at the way his eyes squinted when the drug settled into his lungs.Â
âI did warn you.âÂ
Azriel offered it to you, watching your inner turmoil as you weighed out your options until pinching it from his fingers. âOne pull will be enough to keep me buzzed for the night.âÂ
He watched your lips thin as they clamped down on the roach. He watched your chest rise as your lungs filled with the thick tar until you pulled the joint from your lips and exhaled slowly. You handed it back to him, cutting yourself off completely for the night.Â
Azriel took it between two pinched fingers, keeping his eyes on your slightly flushed face as he took another few drags before stuffing the cherry out in the ashtray. His gaze found purchase on your lips again as he mirrored your position on the loveseat, though Az didnât tuck his knees to his chest.Â
âAre we gonna talk about it?â He asked.Â
You blinked at him, head tilted slightly to the left. âTalk about what?â
The way his taunting smirk grew made you shift uncomfortably. You had an inkling as to what he meant, but you hoped if you played dumb, he would drop it. Clearly not.Â
âAbout the last time we saw each other.â
Yup. There it is.Â
That familiar warmth spread across your face and chest again in waves of anxiety and embarrassment. You couldnât handle this type of conversation right now. You were mortified enough as it was, you didnât need to reminisce about your stupid mistake, nor the way he kissed you back as though his life depended on it.Â
You let out a long sigh. âI was kind of hoping youâd forgotten about it.âÂ
Azriel quirked a brow. âForget about it?â he asked. âYou expected me to forget a kiss like that?âÂ
It felt like all the air had been completely sucked from your lungs. You could hardly breathe, struggling to string a coherent reply together. Azriel continued to smirk at you, bathing in the way he clearly made you feel. Like he was getting off on your flustered state.Â
The state he put you in.Â
âItâs been replaying in my head for days.â Azrielâs admission sent your mind into a frenzy. You had no idea what to do with that information or how it was supposed to make you feel.Â
What you did know, was that familiar burning in the pit of your stomach, that daunting ache between your clenched thighs. And the way Azriel's eyes darkened and slowly traced the silhouette of your figure, you got the hint he felt the same way, too.Â
âYeah?â Your words came out as barely a whisper, lashes fluttering as the weed youâd just smoked began to settle into your bloodstream.Â
Azriel inched a hand tentatively toward your ankle, the tips of his scarred fingers brushing against your cotton socks. The touch had your body keening for more, your legs twitching as he slowly wrapped a large hand around your lower leg.Â
âYeah,â he replied, almost breathless.Â
He was testing the waters, desperate to get a feeler as to what you wanted from this interaction. Azriel watched you closely, cataloguing every response your body gave his touch. How goosebumps broke across the silky skin of your legs, how your cheeks flushed slightly and lashes fluttered at him.Â
���Is that all youâve been thinking about?â Your husky voice finally broke through the silence. Az raised a brow at your boldness. âOr do you let your mind wander to what else couldâve happened?âÂ
If it werenât for the stifling warmth in the air, Azriel was sure he wouldâve come in his pants from your words alone. Because he knew that meant youâd been letting your mind wander to something more.Â
You allowed him to gently tug your leg down, resting the back of your calf across his thigh. Your covered cunt was surely exposed, but Az didnât look. Not yet. A sneaky peek wouldnât be enough to satiate the appetite he had grown for you.Â
He needed to bathe and bask and bury himself in your scent. Mould his body to body, meld his soul to your soul. Even then, he would never be able to feel you as closely as he craved.Â
âYou want me to tell you what places my mind has wandered to?â His eyes were glued to your mouth, watching as your tongue slid out to wet your lips before tugging the bottom one between your teeth.Â
It was with a surge of complete arousal and haziness that had you uttering, âI want you to show me.âÂ
Azrielâs lips were on yours not a moment later when he surged forward to trap your small frame beneath his large one on the loveseat. You could barely make sense of where you ended and Azriel began.Â
His scarred hands cupped your face, his tongue massaging hotly against your own. Your legs had wrapped around his waist, ankles locked across his back to keep him close to you.Â
It was unlike any kiss youâd experienced before. Passion and need and desire. Pure want and carnage. Like nothing could ever stop him from tasting you again. Like he was savouring every single piece of you.Â
âIf you want me to show youâŚâ he muttered against your lips, âI suggest you let me take you inside.âÂ
You pulled away just enough for your noses to bump and make out a blurry picture of him before you. Swollen lips, mussed up hair that you hadnât realised youâd been running your fingers through.Â
âWorried someone might see?â You panted in a teasing tone.Â
His eyes shadowed impossibly darker. âI donât like to share.âÂ
Squirming beneath his thick body, your fingernails scraped across his broad shoulders, scratching at the cotton of his t-shirt. âItâs not sharing if theyâre just watching.âÂ
Azriel nipped your bottom lip. âWell, Iâm a greedy man, and I donât want anyone else watching you come on my cock but me.â
A breathless moan tumbled off your tongue like hot honey, your eyes fluttering closed at the words he spoke. You hoped this was just the tip of the iceberg with him. Prayed that he was as filthy as he was gorgeous.Â
Without another second to get lost in your thoughts, Azriel was gripping your hips, lifting you as he stood. Your legs around his waist tightened as your arms snaked to circle his neck.Â
Even in the dark, he moved swiftly, settling your body onto your mattress without missing a beat. He crawled back between your thighs, the moonlight kissing his tanned skin through the cracks of your window.Â
His lips were on yours again, searing and eager. Azriel poured every ounce of need and desire into it, massaging your tongue and licking against the roof of your mouth. He tasted like the cookies youâd baked, a hint of smoke and a tang of bud.Â
It was intoxicating. He was intoxicating.Â
Your fingers tugged at the curled tendrils on the nape of his neck, ushering him impossibly closer. His body flattened atop yours, the grooves of his abs pressing deliciously against your stomach and chest.Â
Gods, he was solid. Built like a fucking Greek God and your fingers itched to trace the delicate intricacies of his golden skin.Â
âAzriel,â you panted against his lips. âIf you donât touch me right now Iâm going to burst into flames.âÂ
A dry chuckle left his throat as he dragged his mouth across your jaw and down to your neck; kissing and licking and sucking. He nipped at a sensitive spot, begrudgingly tugging himself off your frame.Â
Sitting on his knees between your open thighs, he was a fucking sight. His chest heaved as he took a breath, his eyes dark and hair an unruly mess. Excitement was getting the better of you. So much so that when his scarred fingers looped in the neck of his shirt and tugged it up, you all but foamed at the fucking mouth.Â
An unexplainable sound squeaked from the back of your throat. He was fucking beautiful. His skin was flawless, abdomen toned with divots of muscle, and dark ink of swirls that adored his chest.Â
You could physically feel your arousal seep from your cunt, could feel your clit throb in desperate need for him. You could hardly breathe, your lungs almost crushed by his sheer beauty.Â
You could stare at him forever.Â
âAre you going to be good for me?â His rugged voice broke you from your trance. You blinked at him. Once, twice.Â
Gone was the flirtatious Azriel who once made you blush from teasing. Gone was the light warmth in his smile and cheeky glimmer in his eyes.Â
The Azriel before you was cold now. Calculated. He oozed power and dominance and your pussy clenched in anticipation of the pleasure he might inflict on you.Â
The Azriel before you held all the control. And youâd gladly surrender whatever you had left to offer.Â
âYes,â you whimpered in response.Â
He didnât reply. Not with words. Azrielâs large palms flattened on your inner thighs as he pried your legs further apart. The calluses of his marred fingers scratched at your silky skin as they inched closer and closer to your core.Â
His fingertips grazed at the soaked fabric of your panties. âLook at you, pretty girl.âÂ
Your lashes fluttered closed, lips parted open, head rolled back. Gods, you wanted his voice on a loop in your brain for the rest of eternity. If he was going to continue talking, you wouldnât last long.Â
âLook at your dripping little cunt.â
You couldnât hold in the whimper, nor the way you clenched on nothingâso desperate to be filled by him.Â
âIâm going to take my time with you.â You knew it wasnât a threat, but Christ did it sound like one. You were far too pent up to be touched in any way that wasnât with a cock buried deep inside you.Â
Foreplay could come next time, youâd let him spend hours devouring you if that was what he truly wanted. Not now, not when you were borderline going to sob.Â
âFuck me, Az.â
He stilled, eyes on you as his hands halted on your inner thighs. âPlease,â you whimpered, âI need you to fuck me. You can do what you want to me next time.âÂ
Azriel cocked a brow, the familiar hint of him returning to his face for a brief moment. âYou promise?âÂ
Neither of you allowed yourselves longer than a few brief moments to bask in the vow of a next time. Not when he ghosted his fingers across your cunt and you nodded your head quickly, desperately.Â
âThereâs condoms in the drawer.â Your words came out a breathless pant as Azrielâs toned body leaned over yours. He rifled through your nightstand, blindly reaching for a foil packet when his fingers grazed against something else. Something silicone.
His eyes found yours in the night, a mischievous glint that darkened his honeyed hazel irisâ. Your lips parted. âWhat?âÂ
From your angle, you couldnât see what he held in his hands. Not until Azriel leaned back on his knees between your parted thighs, and the moonlight bounced off the hot pink toy in his palm.Â
Oh, fuck.Â
Without breaking your gaze, Az gently stroked the tip of the six inch object against your panty-covered cunt. You were soaking through the fabric, your thighs trembling on either side of his legs.Â
There was no way this was happening. No way he was going toâ
âI think I wanna fuck you with this instead.âÂ
You couldnât argue with him, couldnât even muster a single word to leave your lips. No one had used a sex toy on you before, much less a fucking dildo. And yet here Azriel was, eager to please you in the dirtiest ways possible. Even if it denied him his own pleasure.Â
âAzââÂ
He held his free hand in the air.Â
âLetâs call it a compromise.â His tone suggested there was no room for argument. You clamped your lips shut and continued to take deep, ragged breaths through your nose.Â
âIf youâre a good girl with this toy, Iâll reward you with my cock later.âÂ
Later. As in, he wasnât planning on making you come just onceâŚ
You nodded once more, vigorously.Â
If it was down to Azriel he wouldâve tied you up and taken his time with you anyway. He wouldâve told you not to be a spoiled brat and to take whatever he gave you like a good girl.Â
But he couldnât do that, not yet.Â
He couldnât deprive you of the one thing you desperately wanted. But he could take away the thing to cause the most pleasure. Replace his cock with a toy. Watch you come all over it. And then ruin you until you creamed all over him and sobbed from overstimulating.Â
Azrielâs cock leapt in the tight confinements of his pants. He was desperate to free himself, touch himself. Have you touch him. Heâd imagined the feeling of your lips around his dick for days, let his mind wander to what youâd look like on your knees for him.Â
He needed to be patient, heâd be able to stuff your throat full soon enough. He was sure of it. Then heâd let you sit on his tongue and suffocate him until you were both seeing stars.Â
âPlease, baby.âÂ
Your pleading voice broke him from his trance and Azriel wrapped two fingers around your panties and pulled them to the side, baring yourself to him.Â
And what a sight you were.Â
Swollen and soaked. Your pussy glistened under the moonlight, your hips rolling lazily as if trying to chase the touches he wouldnât grant you. Az wanted nothing more than to bury his face in your warmth and stay there all fucking night.Â
But he didnât touch you, at least not with his own body and skin. Azriel motioned the toy to your heat, teasingly sliding through your slick folds to collect your arousal. You jolted at the sensation, shuddering beneath his touch.Â
Azriel leaned over your body, one arm supporting his weight beside your head, the other coaxing the toy through your head, nudging the head against your pulsing clit.Â
âYouâre gonna keep your eyes on me, and youâre gonna imagine itâs my cock fucking your tight little pussy.â Your chest arched into his, nipples pearled beneath the thin fabric of your t-shirt.Â
âDo you understand?â There he was again, that dominant and overpowering Azriel you saw just moments ago.Â
You nodded, lips blubbering slightly. âYes.âÂ
He cooed you softly, his head dipping down enough to brush his nose against yours. Azriel lined the dildo to your entrance, teasing your hole deliciously before gently pushing through your tightness.Â
Your lips parted, brows knit as your body grew taut. His honey gaze dripped into yours, melding you to him as Azriel rolled his hips to mirror what he would do if he was the one fucking you.Â
âSuch a good girl, taking that cock.âÂ
Your eyes fluttered closed at his praise, head rolling back into the pillow until his weight shifted above you and a briefly sharp sting met the side of your cheek. Your eyes flew open again, wide and confused.Â
Azriel looked down at you, his hand now gripping either side of your cheeks, his gaze much darker than before.Â
âI told you to keep your pretty eyes on me.â And then he sheathed the toy deep in your cunt.Â
A shriek of pleasure tore through your throat, hands reaching for the warm skin of Azrielâs shoulders. Your nails dragged across the muscles that rippled beneath your touch, scratching at the surface with a cry.Â
âFuck!âÂ
Azriel began with slow thrusts, allowing you a few brief moments to accumulate to the intrusion. Not much time, but enough. Because after the fourth thrust, he picked up the pace.Â
The noises were obscene, your high pitched cries and moans and the squelching of the toy that fucked your sopping cunt.Â
Everything was too intense to comprehend. The fullness you felt, the lack of control you possessed. And the way his eyes bore into yours, as though he was claiming your soul to melt with his own. He was hauntingly beautiful, even in his dark demeanour.Â
In your hazy state, it looked like even the shadows curled around his figure. As though he was their master, too.Â
âYouâre so fucking gorgeous, baby,â he praised. âTaking that cock like a good little girl.âÂ
His voice dripped with sex and arousal, and when he shifted his hips once more, you could feel the thick and solid bulge of his length in his trousers. You wanted nothing more than to feel it, taste it.Â
You clamped tightly around the toy, dragging scratches and marks down Azrielâs golden skin. âPlease let me come.â You had never begged to come before, had never even asked. But you felt no shame in pleading to the God above you for your release.Â
Youâd give him anything he wanted.Â
Azrielâs own breath grew shaky, unready. âOpen your mouth,â he commanded. You listened and complied immediately, eager to please him.Â
He leaned closer, pinching your face harder before spitting into your mouth, onto your awaiting tongue. Then he was kissing you, biting you, claiming you.Â
Your entire body felt like it burst into flames, hot fire licking at you from the inside out. You couldnât breathe. Your entire being completely locked and consumed as you came around the toy with a frantic sob of his name.Â
Azriel couldnât cope, couldnât handle the sound of his name on your lips as you came around something that wasnât him. Every ounce of self control was crumbling down at the sight of youâof your eyes still fixed on his, your jaw slack and your supple body arching to meet his.Â
Heâd never seen anything so fucking sinful yet heavenly at the same time. Never felt so connected to someone without even touching them. He couldnât take it, needed to touch you, feel you, taste you.Â
Az pulled the toy from your pussy, dragging it up between your bodies as you desperately attempted to catch your breath. He held it to your mouth, and without command, your tongue swirled around the length of it, tasting your own release with your eyes still boring into his soul.Â
And now he had an even more vivid image of what youâd look like sucking his cock.Â
Before Azriel could get a taste for himself, that cursed blaring of his phone broke through the heaving silence. He didnât hear it at first, not until it stole your attention from him.Â
âYouâre phone,â you muttered breathlessly, barely coherent.Â
Azriel dropped the toy to the side of the bed, his hands gentle on your body and face now. âIgnore it,â he breathed softly.Â
His lips met yours in a taunting kiss, one so stark opposite to the way heâd treated you just moments ago. The versatility of this man was going to give you whiplash.Â
But the phone blared again. And again. And suddenly, neither of you could ignore it anymore. His forehead rested against yours, a frustrated sigh tumbling off his lips.Â
âYou should go.â
He closed his eyes. He didnât want to.Â
âYou donât wanna come with me? Do some drop-offs?â He was tempting you, desperately wanting to spend more time in your presence, especially if it potentially ended like this again.Â
You hummed, considering it. But your body was spent and the idea of being in his car and not being able to have your hands all over him at any moment you pleased sounded like torture.Â
âNext time?â You posed it as a question, though the hope in Azrielâs eyes proved that he was more than happy to not only fuck you again, but to spend time with you, too.Â
âYeah?â
You nodded. âMhm.â
He nosed at your cheek, planting a teasing open-mouthed kiss to your jaw, nosing back up to your ear. âYou look fucking breathtaking when you come.âÂ
Your eyes fluttered closed when he pulled away, your thighs trembling as he knelt and then clambered off your bed. Azriel watched your spent body for a moment, the way your thighs rubbed together as you squirmed, no doubt still horny.Â
It pained him to leave you like that, wanting more. But if he didnât leave now, he likely never would. And that wasnât something he could afford to do right now.Â
So without another word, he bent down to press a kiss to your mouth, and then he leftâstill high on both the drugs and you.Â
Thank you for reading and I apologise again for such a massively long wait for this chapter!!
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#azriel#azriel x you#azriel smut#azriel x reader#azriel fluff#azriel imagine#azriel shadowsinger#azriel angst#azriel oneshot#smoke & light#acotar smut#acotar imagine#acotar
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i am so normal about him he's my family he's my friend my bestie he hates me and i hate him so much<3333 (lies i could never hate this man :'Dc)
Colours of love!!!
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Could you believe that we are on total of 21 pages for this comic? (counting all three stories) And yet here we are! This page is 20th and the next one is already on my patreon uwu. I am happy about how this page turned out, but also realizing that Ccino's sweater is probably too dark, but whoops to late to change anything, maybe in future pages I'm gonna fix it.
⢠Support me on Patreon! â˘
Just in case you didnât know - this story is inspired by @zu-is-here , @help-im-a-gay-fish @yuriyuruandyuraart and some other people, and is about what if all characters we know are just actors playing their roles in some kind of TV shows. The names are the same, but personality can be different.
#reblog#other's art#colors of love#fnk#fluffynightkiller#ccino#nightmare#killer#okay technically i queued every update but i ALMOST missed this one and i am embarrassed that i could ever be this dumb to do so xD#so i'm a LITTLE calmer. a little bit now that i'm not a total mess in the tags rambling like crazy hhh xD#almost like i'm making up for the radio silence these last few months (and week but i was a lil too busy with exams ya know the drill :'D)#but man this guy is such a little gremlin i WISH i could study him like some unknown species because dear god he's so interesting<333#night heard that line so many ties<- LMAAO hhhh killer you silly snarky smart little man i adore your stupid self<333#night is so in love with dense people<33 moronsexual<33 (maybe cause he's dense and a moron himself hhh he's good at hiding it tho)#ccino looks sOOOO CUTE!!! the shading spots from the ink almost make it look like he has freckles and i will not stop screaming about it-#their smiles their sMILES THEY'RE SO HEALTHY AND HAPPY PLEASE omg thank you for some nice sweet fnk i needed this<33#alright see ya in the next reblog be ready for more looove!!! >:Dc#amazing art<333
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halfas are the found family trope foster child
they all adopt each other. itâs the reason Vlad wanted so badly to have Danny as his son and the reason Danny immediately went with sure youâre my cousin now with Dani. itâs a survival mechanism from being so very few of their species. Sooo, halfa!Jason except he sorta isnât yet cause Jasonâs core is extremely ruptured from the lack of ectoplasm involved in his forceful resurrection. So when Danny finds Jason in his catatonic state he canât quite tell the dudeâs been dead and remains some, just that the guy for some reason seems very friend-shaped. Danny doesnât mind his friend is braindead, and is also a john doe, he gives familiar vibes and thatâs apparently enough for Danny to constantly find himself in the hospital doing his engineering homework on the room with the guy, and talking for hours about the updates on the absolute clusterfuck of the city and how he was from a freaking ghost town and he can almost even draw comparisons. he blabbers about how heâs not homesick enough times to even corner himself to talk about a ghost lore many times and how heâs just finding himself a little more prone to violence and in constant pain since none of the people he has adopted as his family are here with him and he canât consider a place a lair if thereâs isnât someone of his in it.
But Danny could never drag someone with him just because of some it, after all it was Dannyâs choice to come to Gotham to collage and not stay where at least his parents (good parents Jack and Maddie) were in Amity.
Ironically, Danny essentially canât feel that his core has been spoon feeding ectoplasm to Jason. As months go on, the little ball of energy builds in anticipation practically vibrating in the waiting pulse of something (Danny doesnât know but more often than not has he found himself laughing in happy confusion. it weirds him out in a good way) Itâs really that heâs feeling the slow healing process of his friend (brother brother brother) âs core.Imagine itâs just about to properly, correctly heal when canon strikes back and Jason gets snatched by League assassins. Danny is left feeling like his core got torned out. His core had spend months helping anotherâs only to feel the otherâs imprint and to not be able to protect it in return isâ forget it being an obsession; thats like having your newborn baby being ripped out of your arms. An all assuaging feeling of helplessness that is devastating. Danny just beginning to feel like home lair when out of nowhere the rug is swept under him. Danny suddenly struggling to not flunk all his classes and beat every single liminal that he can feel crossing paths with him to the ground. Danny suddenly having his chronic pain (that hadnât been so bad lately) dialed up to the point that there are just bearable and bad days.
The worse thing is he doesnât know why.
Jason had only been a guy.
âŚ
Itâs only a three weeks before Jazz tells him she accepted a job offer in Gotham.
(and the guilt only makes him feel worse when he can feel himself feel better because of it)
âŚ
now
whimsical time skip â¨
Danny is now on his feet again and friends with a Wayne of your choice (or maybe they were friends a little before Jay dissapeared and it was badTM cause Waynes? liminal đĽ˛) Danny definitely didnât enjoy snapping off to his friend like that. anyways itâs been a year since that and he and his friend are having a grand time playing civvies, uhh letâs say dick because I want them to meet while ice skating, Also Dick because he definitely turns a blind eye when Danny goes airborne for a second there yep. Heâs just having too much fun.
anyways as alwaysTM Danny doesnât clock celebrities and like why would he, Dick is just the random guy whoâs was fast to turn Dannyâs slow day in the ice ring into a competition one day and brighten when Danny matched up his puns. So he totally doesnât get why the guyâs so gloomy one day, anyways as you can figure, itâs Jasonâs deathday and Dick is a deprecating bean, Danny tries to cheer him up by having him remember his brother instead and Dick attempts to, but even skipping through some photos in his phone make his eyes burn.
It is because of that that he doesnât notice Danny absolutely freeze up at the photo of his friend Jay (Jay because heâs a John Doe, but thatâs just too impersonal and so the first letter is J *wink wink*)
Danny absolutely doesnât know what to do with this information, barely catches himself from asking Dick how did his brother die. Most importantly when because Danny just saw JayâJason less than a year ago, and this somehow doesnât feel too recent.
Annd that how we find Danny digging into the Wayne second son tragedy. Staring at the date of death while the knowledge that they met almost six months after burns his forefront of his mind. Danny spends a day going over all the questions running through his mind over how the fuck he couldnât sense Jay was a ghostâerr was⌠in past tense?? what the fuck?? Danny would really like a refund on his ghost sense.
Anyways Danny goes check out the grave (now that he knows there is one) and boom although intangible he somehow triggers those shitty ass sensors/alarms that somehow didnât go off when jason was literally digging himself out.
Obviously the bats get in the case immediately. And boy are they absolutely enraged that someone would steal Jasonâs body.
#the bats absolutely disgusted that someone would dare desacrate the grave of a dead child: đĄđĄ#meanwhile danny: :(whereâs my friend#Jason is a sad bean who thinks no one even thinks of him#in this au they will>:)#I had a sense of where to go with this but it was all over the place honestly#i just also love the idea of them not finding him until he enters the stage as red hood and the bats just. clock him down so fast#like. omg Jason!! weâve been searching everywhere!!!#proceed to tackle the fuck out of him with hugs đđ#jasonâs worldview crumbles cuz#you guys noticed i got outta my grave đĽş??#obviously thereâs still the replacement and jokerâs still alive point but shhh#one thing at the time#danny fenton#jason todd#ghost cores#also yes the violence tendency was a wink to the pit madness#batman#red hood#dp x dc#also when all was resolved danny and dick would absolutely fight over who gets big brother privileges#danny: I adopted him when you didnât even know he was alive#dick: yeah? well I adopted him when you didnât even know he existed#danny: you Dick! you already have Tim#jason:#jason: uhh guys Iâm a 2x1 package#(slides Damian into view)#Danny and Dick look at each other#Danny: you get one I get one?#Dick: No!#đ âdick just wants to gatekeep all his little brothers (he has secretly adopted Danny too)
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a couple of dad!simon headcanons âĄ
- hello! i'm sun, and this is my new writing account! i haven't written properly in years, so please go easy on me!
simon âghostâ riley x fem!reader
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
âź simon never imagined having a family of his own. even after the first few years of being together, the thought never crossed his mind. until your best friend had a baby...
your best friend was visiting with her newborn and seeing you holding the baby flipped a switch in his head. you smiled and cooed at him, causing the baby to flash a toothless smile. there was a twinkle in your eye that he hadnât noticed before and he pictured you glowing so beautifully as you held your own daughter, a mini version of you and him all in one. he didnât bring it up for weeks as he thought it through himself. was having a family even possible for him? was he just being selfish?
âź it comes up one day after you notice heâd been unusually quiet while spending time together. he wasnât the most talkative, but he enjoyed conversations with you, even joking here and there.
âis everything okay, si? youâve been extra quiet today.â
âhmm, yeah. just been zoning off.â he shrugs, unsure how to approach the subject. he knows you would listen but he doesnât know how heâd react if your answer was no.
deciding rejection is better than never knowing, he sharply inhales, âhave you ever thought about having children?â
the question throws you off, certainly random for a guy who doesnât speak much of the future. you sit for a second debating your answer, and simonâs chest clenches in anxious anticipation.
âi have a few times, nothing too serious though. it never seems like thereâs a good time for us.â
he nods in agreement, âbeen thinking about it these days. maybe itâs something we can consider.â
âź needless to say, you both decide after many conversations and more time, that expanding your family is something youâre open to. you stop your contraception soon after and begin trying. he becomes even more attentive, constantly checking in with you and doing plenty of research on how to make your pregnancy easy. he gets you anything you want - whenever you want. and back and foot massages become part of your everyday routine.
âź recognizes that he won't always be around because of his extremely demanding work. he checks in whenever he can, even writing letters if he has to. it breaks his heart having to miss doctor appointments and weekly milestones with you, but you always know he tries his absolute best for you two.
âź simon loves skin to skin contact for the first few months. he loves to lay with her against his chest and drift off to the tv while you take a quick shower. he finds himself just watching her a lot, trying to memorize every movement her tiny body makes.
âź soooo protective. no kisses, no pets, no sick people, doesnât allow anything that could be of risk near her. he always has the two of you in his sight, preferring to push the stroller as you walk on the side of him.
âź he's not one to care for style, so you do the main planning for the nursery. he builds all of the furniture for you while you watch. he looks so hot in his grey sweats and a black t-shirt that you can't help but distract him a few times.
âź it's a hard adjustment for him having to return for a mission after she's born. he spends his entire last day holding and watching her, a sad slouch in his shoulders.
"gonna miss you so much, darlin. i'll be back as soon as i can," he whispers, gently kissing her forehead before handing her back to you. simon's hands grip your waist, pulling you in close to kiss you deeply before resting his forehead against yours. "i need my girls to stay safe. ill update you when i can, dove."
whenever he can, he scrolls though his videos on his phone just to see her face. her eyes twinkle brighter than any star to him and a slight smile creeps under his mask.
âź relieves you from baby care when he can tell youâre exhausted. sighing and pulling yourself out of bed when crying erupts through the baby monitor. he doesnât get up at first, but when the crying continues for a minute, he comes to check on you. he pushes the door cracked door open, revealing you desperately hushing and bouncing her in your arms. your eyes are tired and heavy, wishing for a few hours of uninterrupted sleep.
âi got âer. go back to bed love,â simon says, taking his baby girl into his arms.
you give him a weak smile and a thankful squeeze at his arm, walking straight to bed without another peep. he holds her close to his chest as he sits down in the chair, propping her neck up as he stares down at her. her eye color matches his, but she resembles you more and more everyday. heâs enamored by her, his beautiful little girl that he created with the love of his life.
she quiets down shortly, falling back asleep in his arms as he rocks her slowly. his own eyes grow heavy, and he sets her down in her crib before returning back to bed. he climbs in behind you, pulling your back to his chest and planting a soft kiss on the side of your neck.
âif she wakes up again iâll take care of it. you just sleep darling,â simon whispers, receiving a hum in response from you as you snuggle into him.
he takes care of his girls so well.
#ugh i want him to be happy so bad#simon riley x reader#ghost x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley x you#ghost x you#dad!simon riley#.wbm
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Haii! Ive read your sub Heizou fic and omg... I kept thinking about scaramouche while reading it. I've also taken a liking to your page! Your writing is soo goodnendksjdnxw sub scaramouche fic when? đĽ°đĽ°đđ
(I feel like in going to interact with your page alot so can I be đ¸ anon? >_<)
â đđđ°đľ đŽ đđ˛đŽđđ˛ â
⌠đ°haracters: sub!scaramouche x dom!reader
⌠đ°w: mirror sex (at the end), implied orgasm denial, implied overstimulation, slight choking, cock can be interpreted as strap
⌠đord count: 1.02k
⌠đťotes: Youâre always welcome to my page, lovely đ¸. This is written especially for you. <3
It became a routine for Scaramouche to send pictures of himself when wearing different outfits. It was just a time to time update, like you had asked, but he had gotten unexpectedly used to it.
For a man who has impeccable fashion taste, you would always shower him with compliments with every picture he sentâbecause of that, he saw it as a way to get your attention.
As usual, you received a notification from Scaramouche and it was a mirror shot. The picture was enough to make you smile but what took your attention was the message he sent after it.
"It's been a week, when are you coming over?"
Scaramouche had gotten clingy as well after establishing a relationship.. or maybe there's something he's after.
"My schedule's packed for this week, maybe by the end of the month we get to spend time again."
You replied, which he immediately read. It took a while for him to respond as it turns out, he was preparing another picture for you. Only this time, his shirt was lifted up, his teeth biting on the fabric to expose his stomach.
"How about right now?" He sent with the picture.
You could almost read where he's going along with this but you decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.
After a few back and forth bickering, his pictures and messages had only gotten more and more explicit.
"My bed's missing you."
"Wanna show me what 34+35 is equal to?"
"Something wants to be filled and it's not my expectations."
If only he knew how much you actually wanted to rail him right now. If your schedule wasn't so packed, you'd be having your way with him.
Though who said you can't? It didn't take long for you to arrive at his place, a sight you could never get tired of unfolding right before you.
Scaramouche's nails clawed your back, almost holding for dear life as you mindlessly pounded him to oblivion.
"Wait..! Too full~!!" His grip around you tightened as he squealed with every thrust you give him.
"For someone so teasing, you sure can't take a lot," You commented, grabbing his thighs to push back, spreading it out even more.
Scaramouche's eyes narrowed down at you, biting his lips gently before speaking, "I didn't expect that simple words would provoke you."
His statement made you chuckle before closing the distance between the two of you. His legs spread apart as you pushed your cock all the way inside, resting close to his prostate, making him squirm from the sensation.
"It didn't provoke me, Scara," you cooed to his ear, "It only motivated me."
Before he could respond, you bucked your hips, finally hitting his prostate. Scaramouche's eyes widened as he lets out what could only be described as a scream.
"ngAHh~!! ⥠âĄ" His back arched from the sudden thrust to his prostate, a hoarse moan was forced out of him, eyes rolling back from the pleasure.
Your back has been marked to the core by his nails, it was painful yet you enjoyed the feelingâafter all, it was the result of having your way with him.
Scaramouche's thighs starts to tremble, his head rolling back as moans after moans stream out of his throat.
Just the way his body reacts to his prostate getting abused turned you on, how could you ever get tired of fucking this man?
"Do I fuck you good, Scaramouche?" You grunted, hands on his waist to keep yourself moving on the same pace. The only answer given to you were mewls, poor Scaramouche can't even think properly as he seems to be seeing stars now.
"aH~ aH!~ goofmgnh~ sho goodddh~!! âĄ" A few minutes after your question, Scaramouche starts to ramble, his tongue lolling out of his mouth with every word he says.
His cock was leaking precum, spilling all the way to his thighs. If he wasn't so focused on having your permission, he would've finished since thenâbut only good boys get that, right?
The sound of skin hitting skin was loud as you fucked Scaramouche harshly yet his moans were still louder than anything else. His pretty body was filled with fresh bitemarks and hickeys, even on places that's exposed easily. Not to worry, he won't be complaining anytime soon.
"fuck..! fuck! mnghah..!" He squealed as he watched your cock disappearing with every thrust you give, almost like his hole was sucking it in. His inner walls tightened, receiving a moan from you, "hagh- g-gonna cum!~ âĄ"
His words served as a signal as you swiftly changed his position, turning him around to make him face his bedroom mirror. Scaramouche's eyes widened after realising your intentions.
"N-not like thisfhAHH~âĄâĄ!!" Words were cut once his felt your cock fucking him in a rougher pace. You pinned his hands on his back, your free hand crawling up and wrapping around his neck so tenderly.
"Look at yourself as you cum," You whispered to his ear, your eyes staring at his in the mirror. The way you talked to him didn't help, everything was deliberately turning him on, his back arching further as he felt his body grow weak.
He was close, so close to finishing. Scaramouche knew that if he disobeyed this one last command from you, it's back to square one. His eyes never left the mirror, scanning the way his body gets pounded by you. The sight alone was making him scream in pleasure.
"mngha- cummiâ i'm cummingghhaHH~!! âĄâĄâĄ" Scaramouche's eyes rolled back, a long moan flowing out his mouth as his cock squirted cum all over the place, even reaching the mirror.
Once the white fluid stops spilling out of him, his volume decreased. What could only be heard now are heavy pants from him, his chest heaving with every breath he took.
"We're not yet done," his eyes widened once more as he hears you speak down to his nape, "You still have to make me cum, remember?"
Exhaustion has never felt this pleasing, Scaramouche knew he was in for a long night, and he wouldn't have it any other way.
#Genshin Impact#genshin impact#Genshin#genshin#genshin x reader#sub scaramouche#kunikuzushi#sub kunikuzushi#scaramouche x reader#sub scara#sub scaramouche x reader#genshin scaramouche#genshin scara#smut#smutfic#the balladeer#wanderer#modern scara#modern scaramouche
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Proof of Possession
(Original story posted January 6th 2022 and January 14th 2022) This story has been mildly Updated!
This story was originally posted in two parts but Iâve decided repost both parts together for your reading convenience
(Part 1)
Danny leaned back into the couch after the bizarre secret that his roommate Jacob had just confessed to him. âSo⌠you expect me to believe that you actually have the ability to possess people? Come on Jacob. Really??â He snorted at the idea like any sane person would.
âWell I mean⌠itâs more like I merge with them kinda. Itâs not like I become a ghost or anything. I can push myself inside their bodies and become one with them.â Jacob explained, trying his best to describe the power he held.
âOh of course. Now it makes total sense.â Danny rolled his eyes a little.
Jacob sighed. âOkay I get. You still donât believe me. Thatâs fair. I wouldnât believe me either so Iâll just have to prove it to ya.â
âW-what do you meanâŚâ Danny gave his roommate a weird look. He still didnât believe Jacob but he couldnât help feeling a tad on edge at that moment.
Jacob held his hands up innocently. âDonât worry Iâm not gonna do it to you dude. I was thinking of Mr Reigner maybe?â He began, immediately seeing the way Dannyâs eyes lit up at the mention of their dilf neighbor. âIâve seen the way you look at him. Canât blame you either. Absolute daddy material. So how about I head over there, use my power on him. Iâll even send you some hot pictures of him from his phone as proof.â
âYou know what?â Danny began, leaning forwards. âThis sounds not only impossible but completely stupid⌠but if youâre somehow telling the truth then my phone is always on meâŚâ
Jacob grinned. Heâd kept these powers a secret for what felt like ages now. To finally have someone to share it with was going to be fantastic!
âââ
It was only a few weeks back when Jacob discovered he could actually take over the bodies of other people. In fact the first time it happened was by complete accident.
Heâd been admiring this guy at the gym. Jacob had seen the dude there a lot which wasnât surprising seeing how jacked the dude was. Guy looked like a total meathead and totally Jacobâs type. Naturally Jacob found his eyes wandering towards the hunk fairly often. He couldnât help but imagine what it mustâve been like having a huge muscled body like that.
On this particular day Jacob watched as the hunk left for the locker room after his workout. That was when he noticed the jock had forgotten his water bottle nearby one of the machines heâd been using. Seeing this as a chance to talk to the handsome hunk heâd been eyeing up for months, Jacob grabbed the water bottle in an attempt to return it to its rightful owner. Perhaps heâd even get the chance to do some subtle flirting.
The bottle even had the dudeâs name written on it. âSam Warrenâ it said.
Upon entering the locker room, Jacob whipped his head around in search of the guy heâd been drooling over only to find him standing in nothing but a towel. Jacob managed to dig up the courage to go over and talk to Sam. Yet as he got closer, he couldnât help but further admire the manâs incredible side profile. Sam had a hypnotic shelf of hefty muscle he called pecs along with a pair of enormous arms that were probably strong enough to lift Jacob without a thought.
All he could think about was how amazing it would be to pilot a body like that. To take up so much space with all that muscle. To flex those pecs in a mirror every morning. To have men and women alike practically throwing themselves at him for a chance to hang from one of those gorgeous biceps. Those thoughts persisted through his mind as he grabbed the hunkâs massive shoulder.
âHey man, is this your water bottle?â Is what Jacob wouldâve said had he not felt a powerful jolt of energy surge through his entire being upon touching Sam. The same energy flowed through Samâs body causing the jock to let out a sudden grunt in shock and discomfort.
Thatâs when something truly unimaginable happened. Slowly but surely Jacobâs hand began sinking into Samâs flesh. He tried to pull himself back in a blind panic by grabbing hold of Samâs other shoulder for support without thinking. Next thing he knew, Jacobâs other hand also began sinking inside.
Sam was unable to do anything but groan and let out the occasional curse. He wanted to shout and shove this scrawny guy away somehow but his entire body felt as though it was paralysed. All he could feel was Jacob's hands and arms sinking deeper into his body. Before long Jacobâs arms had completely disappeared inside the hunk, pulling him in closer as his chest began to press against Samâs muscular back.
Then things started to get even freakier. As Jacob tried to move his arms from inside Sam, it was actually Samâs massive ones that began to respond. At first they just twitched a little. But the more effort Jacob tried, the more control he gained until he was moving Samâs arms like a puppeteer from behind.
He didnât have much time to wrap his mind around it though as Jacob felt his own legs and torso begin to stick to Samâs back and legs. His body somehow phased through both his own clothes and Samâs towel. This time Jacob didnât resist though. In fact as he started to realise what was happening, he started to go along with it.
He willingingly pushed his legs into Samâs huge trunks, allowing the process to hasten rather significantly. Within a few moments his legs had become one with Samâs. But that wasnât all as Jacob thrust his hips as hard as he could against Samâs thick muscle ass, allowing his cock and balls to phase inside the hunk. The process of which caused Samâs large jock cock to twitch.
Soon enough Jacobâs backside disappeared inside Sam as well and his torso was already halfway there. Samâs legs stumbled a little as Jacob gained control, just about catching himself before they fell. In that time Jacobâs torso had enough time to finish merging with Sam leaving only Jacobâs head now sticking out of that muscular back.
âN-nooooo-uughhh⌠get outta m-aarrhh⌠b-bro-uughhhhâŚâ Was all the dumb jock could say between all his moans as quickly lost control of his entire body. Slowly but surely being forced into the passenger seat as Jacob took over.
Jacob had to admit, He was a little worried. He didnât know what was going to happen to him once his head got pulled in. Would he still be himself? Would he remember what happened? Would he just become Sam? Unfortunately it didnât seem like he had a choice now so he put on a brave face and took a deep breath. Moments after finally allowing his head to sink inside.
Samâs eyes rolled back as his whole body convulsed for a moment or two. For him everything faded to black as his mind was pushed deep into his own subconscious. This however allowed enough room for Jacobâs mind to move in and take over completely. After a few moments his bulky new body began to settle as Jacob was at last able to see out of a new pair of eyes.
âHoly fuckkkkkkâŚâ Were the first words that came out of his mouth. He sounded just like Sam. He WAS Sam! Jacob looked down at himself to see he was now in full control of the massive hunky body heâd been lusting over for god knows how long. He had no idea how any of it was possible but⌠it was!
He certainly didnât waste any time getting to know his buff new form. Within seconds Jacob was already playing with Samâs pecs. Squeezing them, flexing them and bouncing them to his delight. He did everything you could imagine a guy in his position would do. Flex his biceps, marvel at his newfound size and height, play with new ass a little, admiring his new and much deeper voice. It was beyond exhilarating!
Doing so created quite the stirring in his crotch and before he knew it Jacob was dropping his towel to see Samâs juicy cock springing to attention. Pulsing and eager to be jerked. Jacob couldnât help but wrap a hand around his new rod while flexing a bicep. He was already loving how huge and powerful he felt.
âFuuuuuuck Bro! This feels insane!â The way he found himself speaking took him off guard a little. Bro? Thatâs not something heâd usually say. It mustâve been Samâs jock personality seeping through. âSooooo fucking huuuge!â He continued as he took no shame in kissing his biceps.
âS-Sam?â A voice came from across the locker room.
Jacob turned to see another buff as fuck dude. He recognised the man straight away. Heâd been working out with Sam earlier on in the gym. In that moment Jacob found himself subconsciously digging into Samâs memories and found that the dudeâs name was Ken.
Though the other jock clearly looked shocked to see his gym buddy standing naked and gripping his cock, Ken also looked a little flustered as well. His eyes darted towards Jacobâs crotch more than once. That certainly wasnât the response youâd get from any straight man which could only meanâŚ
Jacob sauntered over towards Ken, his hard cock bobbing slightly as he did. âGo on. Grab it. I know you want to bro.â Jacob grinned devilishly, glancing down at his cock then back up at Ken. He couldnât believe what he was saying but being in this body filled him with an unprecedented amount of confidence.
After that the rest of that day went on like an orgasmic blur for Jacob. First with him and Ken worshiping each other's thick muscular bodies. Only stopping when some other guys came into the locker room prompting them to run off to the showers together. It wasnât long before Jacob had Ken on his knees sucking him off until he nutted down Kenâs throat. And shortly after Jacob was more than happy to return the favor.
Once they were finished, the pair got dressed before heading over to Samâs place. Jacob drew on the memories of his host once again to find the way. The moment they entered the apartment, they were already making out again. Tugging their clothes straight back off until they made it to the bedroom. What transpired after that was a long evening of hot passionate sex where Jacob made sure to get his new virgin jock hole nice and stretched.
The following morning Jacob was the first to wake. One of his huge arms was draped over Kenâs still sleeping body. So far heâd loved every second of being Sam. Having these huge muscles and getting fuck another muscle stud over and over. It was an absolute dream come true! However, now that he had some time to himself, he began to wonder if heâd be stuck in this body forever. Would he want that? As amazing as this was, did he really want to leave his old life behind forever?
As doubts began to well up inside him, a strange feeling began to rack his body. It wasnât too dissimilar from what he felt when he first merged with Sam. Before he knew it, his eyes began to roll back as his vision went totally black.
Jacob began losing control of Samâs body causing it to go limp as his original body was slowly ejected out. Moments later, Jacob regained his vision as his head popped out of Samâs back followed by his torso, legs and finally arms. It was almost like pulling off a body suit heâd been wearing.
Now back to his usual scrawny self, Jacob hopped off the bed as Samâs body laid unconscious. Since his clothes had disappeared when he originally merged with Sam, he now found himself standing completely naked as he looked over the two sleeping hunks. In a panic, he quickly but quietly grabbed some of Samâs discarded clothes. They were far too big but theyâd have to do as he snuck out of the apartment.
Once he was out, Jack couldnât help but laugh as he thought about how the real Sam was gonna react when he woke up. Sleeping in bed next to his gym buddy with a sore asshole. As a straight man he was never gonna live that one down.
Jacob learned to better control and understand his power over the next couple weeks. He possessed so many more men. All different shapes and sizes. All with different lives and backgrounds.
And all he had to do was touch them while wishing to become them.
Pretty simple right? Then once heâd enjoyed himself enough in a guy's body for long enough, all he had to do was wish he were himself again and heâd be ejected out. Ready to move on to the next guy.
âââ
Now Jacob was leaving his apartment to go pay his neighbor Mr Reigner a visit. Of course his roommate Danny didnât believe him after finally he decided to tell him about his power. But he was certain taking over Mr Reigner would be more than enough to change his mindâŚ
âââ
(Part 2)
After hearing a prompt knock at his apartment door, Mr Reigner opened up to see none other than one of the college boys from next door. âOh Hey. Whatâs up Jacob? Something you need?â
âNah nothing much Mr Reigner. I was just wondering if I could come inside to talk to you about something.â Jacob shrugged with an innocent smile.
âOf course! Come in. Itâs my day off so Iâve got as much time as you need.â The man said with a genuine smile. âAnd call me Mike. Mr Reigner makes me sound old.â He added as he moved to the side to allow the younger man to pass.
Jacob almost began to feel bad about this as he entered the apartment. Mike was genuinely such a nice guy⌠but that didnât change the fact that he looked like a total dilf. Besides, it wasn't like he was planning on stealing that sexy body forever. Just a little while so he could prove his powers to Danny that was all. And have a little fun of course. And so Jacob strolled through to the living room before seating himself on the couch, soon followed by Mike.
âSo, whatâs it you wanted to talk about?â Mike questioned.
âWell you see⌠I recently lost my job and I was wondering if you could help me look for a new one?â What he said wasnât even a total lie. Due to multiple accounts of absence and lateness throughout the last couple weeks, Jacob had actually been fired from his retail job at one of the local shops. Of course this was all due to Jacob not being able to resist using his newfound power on hot dudes whenever he got the chance. Could you blame him for completely losing track of time?
Upon hearing that news Mike, the sweet guy that he was, jumped at the chance to help his young neighbor out. He said heâd make them both a cup of coffee then they could start discussing what Jacob wants to do and start by looking online for something. Being a carpenter himself, Mike mentioned that he may even be able to get Jacob an apprenticeship in carpentry if thatâd be something he was interested in. And with that the older man headed off into the kitchen to make those coffeeâs he promised.
After that Jacob decided heâd better get this done now before he loses his nerve. He waited about a minute or so before taking a deep breath. He jumped up from the couch and quietly made his way into the kitchen. There he saw Mike standing by the countertop with two cups as he began filling the coffee pot.
The young and very horny college boy couldnât help but silently stare at his hot neighborâs dad butt pressed tightly against those welling fitting shorts he wore. Just looking at it was giving him a boner. He wanted to have that ass sooo bad badly and in more ways than one. He still felt a little guilty but⌠to hell with it! Jacob let his hormones takeover as he practically pounced on Mike, wrapping his arms tightly around the older man.
âJacob! What ar-roooo-o-o-o-oooooohhhhhaaa!â Mikeâs words swiftly devolved into a powerful groan as his body tensed up. Mike found himself unable to move an inch as the super powered 20 year old held him tightly. Mike was only just able to tilt his head down enough to see the impossible happening right before his eyes. Jacobâs hands and arms phasing through his shirt and into his body!
The college boy hugged his sexy neighbor as tightly as possible, trying to push his body inside as quickly as possible. After having had some experience now, the possession merge process had become quite a pleasure for Jacob. It was written all over his face with a dumb smile as his chest and stomach phased through the clothes and entered Mikeâs back. He couldnât help himself as he thrust his hips forwards, smashing his crotch into the bigger manâs ass causing them both to groan out while Jacobâs cock, balls and pelvis sunk into Mikeâs ass. His head was already about half way in by this point as he pressed his legs against his neighbor bigger, meatier and hairier ones. Mikeâs eyes rolled back as Jacobâs entire being sucked itself inside his flesh. Finally ending as the college boy's clothes fell to the ground.
Mikeâs, or rather now Jacobâs, eyes fluttered for a moment. Jacobâs being was getting itself settled inside the dilf body, causing it to jitter and convulse slightly. Eventually his eyes opened again once heâd gotten comfortable, now in full control of this handsome new body.
Without hesitation Jacob practically ripped off his shirt with a lust ridden look on Mikeâs face. He tossed it to the floor before running his hands along the dense forest of fur covering his new chest and stomach. It felt wonderfulâŚ
âDamn this feels incredible! So fuckinâ hairy!â Out of all the men heâd merged with so far, Mike was by far the hairiest and he absolutely adored it! Not to mention the awesome beard. He felt like such a man! It was hard to even explain. Sure heâd merged with bodies that had bigger chests and bigger biceps but this was just a whole other experience. So far Jacob had only been taking over the bodies of dudes his age. So now being inside Mikeâs more mature 36 year old body was truly something else.
As his hands continued to roam across his furry new torso and rub through his beard, Jacobâs new cock was quickly beginning to chub up. Not being able to resist the tent heâd made in Mikeâs shorts, Jacob pulled open the waistband and the briefs Mike had been wearing to get a look at what the older man was packing. He certainly wasnât disappointed as he was greeted by a thick, uncut cock that mustâve been a good about 7 inches or so. Reaching inside, he couldnât help but give the pulsing rod a few strokes, sending waves of joy throughout his dilf body.
Thatâs when he noticed Mikeâs phone sitting on the counter top and remembered what heâd promised to Danny. Digging up the self restraint to tuck his hard cock away, Jacob grabbed the phone and unlocked it with Face ID before swiping directly over to the selfie camera.
âFuuuck⌠Mike is suuuuch a hot daddy.â He muttered to himself. Even the sound of Mikeâs voice coming out of his mouth making his cock buck.
Once heâd finished admiring his handsome yet stolen face, he held out the phone and started taking a few photos and before picking out his favourite one. Jacob then jumped over to contacts before tying in Dannyâs number. After that he selected the photo and sent it to his skeptical roommate along with a message
â Believe me now boy? â
Danny saw the message and picture moments. He mustâve been in shock because it took him a good minute to finally respond.
â Mr Reigner?? What are you talking about? â
Jacob rolled his eyes. There was no way Danny still didnât believe this.
â Nope. It's Jacob! But can keep calling me Mr Reigner if you want đ â
At first he wanted to call Danny an idiot for thinking the real Mr Reigner would send something like that butâŚhe didnât wanna sound mean. Guess that was Mikeâs kind personality slipping through.
â I told you I could take over bodies! â
Once again Danny saw the message but took a little while to respond.
â No no no this is a prank. You and Jacob are pranking me. People canât just take over other peopleâs bodies. Thatâs all stupid sci-fi shit â
â Fine. If you still donât believe me then Iâll just have to prove it in person. Iâll be over in 2 minutes đ â
With that Jacob set down the phone before heading out of Mike's apartment in nothing but his blue shorts and trainers. As he walked down the apartment complex hallway, he saw one of the other neighbors, Mr Davis, who Mike was good friends with. He couldnât help but give the man a kind smile. Saying hello just as Mike would. Mr Davis gave him an odd look likely due to his bare chested ness but gave a friendly hello back regardless.
Dannyâs heart jumped when he heard a knock at the door. After getting those messages, and especially that photo, from Mr Reigner he didnât know what to think. There was no way Jacob had actually done what he said right? Possessing their dilf of a neighbor? There was no wayâŚ
He jumped up from the couch and made his way over to the door, hesitating for a moment before pushing down the handle. Opening the door, Danny was greeted by the man heâd had countless wet dreams standing shirtless before him with a devious smirk.
âBelieve me now?â Mike smirked.
âJ-Jacob? Is that reallyâŚyou?â Danny still didnât quite believe it but at the same time he was sure Mr Reigner wouldn't agree to go this far for a prank right?
Jacob gave Danny a soft smile as he leant down to his roommates level. Their faces were mere inches away. The hairy dad placed a gentle hand on Dannyâs cheek before leaning in and sealing their lips with a soft kiss. Jacobâs beard felt incredible as it rubbed against Dannyâs skin. This moment was everything the latter had ever wanted since he first laid eyes on Mr Reigner. Those ten seconds felt as though they lasted an eternity until the older man finally pulled away. Danny almost melted into a puddle as he looked deeply into those kind, soft brown eyes.
âWould the real Mr Reigner do that? Of course itâs me!â Jacob laughed.
He was right. The real Mr Reigner was straight and that kiss felt way too real for it to be part of a joke still. Which could only mean that it wasnât a joke at all. This really was the real deal!
With that Danny offered the man inside, closing the door behind them. They sat down in the living room as Jacob re-explained his powers to Danny who this time around had a far more open mind about it.
âSooo ummm⌠what should I call you now? Jacob or Mr Reigner?â Danny wondered.
âOh just call me Mike. I hardly look like Jacob anymore and saying Mr Reigner makes me sound old.â Jacob chuckled. He didnât even realise how heâd said almost the exact same thing that Mike had earlier.
âWell then MikeâŚâ Danny began as he stood back up. âHowâs about I help you break that new body of yours in a little.â He outstretched an arm to Jacob, pulling him up from his chair.
âIâd say that sounds like a wonderful idea.â Jacob leaned in for another kiss, this one far deeper than the last one as he felt Dannyâs hands start to explore his hairy chest, squeezing his pecs as if heâd waited his whole life for it. âYou know I got a good feel for my new dick earlier. I think youâre gonna love it boy. Nice and thick. And balls full of cum just for you.â He growled, trying to play into a more daddy-like persona as he glanced down at the growing hard on in his shorts.
Danny reached down and grasped Jacobâs cock through the fabric, earning a grunt from the man. âHoly fuck⌠you werenât kidding. That thing is thick!â He stated, giving Jacob a rush of pride.
However Dannyâs other hand drifted down the ridges of Mikeâs back until he reached the waistband of those tight blue shorts. âHowever I was wonderingâŚâ His hand pushed down past the waistband into the shorts, causing Jacob to grunt again as he squeezed one of those hairy globes he called ass cheeks. ââŚIf I could take that furry bubble butt of yours out for a spin first?â
With a chuckle Jacob agreed before the two locked lips once again. They continued making out with a fiery passion while slowly making their way over to Dannyâs bedroom, discarding their clothing as they went. Danny wasted no time pushing Jacob down onto the bed, Mikeâs furry ass presented in all its glory. After devouring that hairy hole for a good few minutes, he lubed up and slipped his cock inside. Jacob cried out in a mixture of pain and pleasure as Mikeâs virgin dad hole was suddenly stretched by a young college boy cock. Luckily for him though Mikeâs body seemed to be quite the natural when it came to anal. Before long his ass was already adjusting to the feeling of a cock stretching it and before long he was groaning out in that deep baritone voice while Danny jackhammered that ass relentlessly. It wasnât long before Danny could feel himself getting close.
âCome on boy! Daddy wants you to breed his hole with that delicious cum!â
Hearing his hot neighbor say those words sent Danny over the edge. He couldnât hold back any longer as his cock exploded with cum inside the older manâs hairy ass. Filling that once never before used hole with a healthy load it so desperately needed. Afterwards they both looked at each-over, happy and exhausted as Danny pulled his cock from Jacobâs ass.
âAlright two minute break then itâs my turn to breed your ass!â Jacob stated with a grin.
âââ
And so the rest of that afternoon was spent exactly how youâd imagine. The two taking turns fucking one another until they finally wore themselves out. Now they laid in bed, Danny snuggling his head against Jacobâs hairy chest.
âSo how long do you think youâre gonna stay as Mike?â Danny asked curiously
âI havenât really decided yet⌠the longest Iâve stayed inside a guy was just over a day. Always feel like I need to get back to my life you know?â Jacob responded truthfully.
ââŚâ
Jacob turned and looked at his roommate. âYou want me to stay inside Mike donât ya?â
ââŚYeah.â Danny admitted with a blush.
âWellâŚI suppose I could stay for a while. And who knows if I like this body enough and it likes me then⌠I might see if I can make it a permanent arrangement.â Jacob grinned.
Danny looked up at Jacob in surprise. âNo way⌠would you actually consider doing that?â He asked, trying not to sound too excited.
Jacob looked down at his bigger, hairier body before rubbing a hand through his hair and beard. Mikeâs body was everything heâd ever wished he could be and now he had it. Why not keep it? Of course it wouldnât be easy with the sudden disappearance of his old body and what not but he was sure theyâd get through it. Besides, being inside Mike just felt so good. His kind and loving nature was having an incredible effect on him so far.
âOf course. How could I resist wanting to be your daddy?â He teased.
With that the new Mike kissed Danny on the forehead as they went back to an evening full of cuddling and kissing. Talking endlessly about how they were gonna spend the rest of their lives.
#male possession#male takeover#male body theft#identity theft#hairy#male merge#male tf#magic#male transformation#jock#daddy#daddy tf#mental change#straight to gay#age progression
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Friends with Benefits
Rafe Cameron x fem reader
After your confession to Rafe goes badly, he finds out you have a boyfriend. But you will always belong to him.
Warnings! Unprotected sex! Slapping! Spitting! Slight angst but ends happily! Daddy kink! Light choking! Not proofread! W.C 2.5K thank you to my sexy @xxbimbobunnyxx for always beta reading!!!
You were laying on your back, Rafes thick cock filling you up as he thrusted deep and hard inside you, leaking cum into you and onto the mattress. His thrusts came to a halt, sweat came off his forehead as you both moaned in each other's mouths. It was the third round, you both had been apart for a few days too long. Something that rarely happened in the months you both had been hooking up. Rafe rolls off you, wiping off his face with a hand and you sigh as the painful reality starts to hit.
After you both have sex, he never stays.
It happened the first time at one of his parties, one you had been invited to by your cousin Barry who was responsible for providing cocaine and booze when you had met Rafe. He was charming, hot and rich. His body was like a godâs, long with lean muscle strong enough to pin you down on the bed and fuck you relentlessly as he did nearly everyday. Multiple times in a row. You were familiar with his dick and the way it filled you up expertly, hitting every pleasurable sweet spot you had.
But there was one issue.
You actually had fallen in love with him. Why wouldnât you be? He was everything you wanted. Strong, independent, crazy, passionate and a slew of other things most people didnât pay attention to once he flashed them his credit card. Something he used on you too. He bought you clothes, updated your car, phone and your meals whenever you both actually hung out somewhere. He treated you decently, for his reputation at least.
You lean on your elbows as Rafe gathers his clothes on the ground, slipping on his t-shirt. âYouâre not staying?â
He paused and shuffled around pulling on his shorts. âNo. Why? I never stay.â He says to himself and absently waves you off. You swallow with a pang of hurt before wrapping yourself up in the sheet.
âMaybe you could this time. I donât want you to leave.â He stopped this time, giving you an incredulous look and curled his lip.
âI donât get it? What is it? Is something wrong?â He asked and you were losing your nerve as you tucked a hair behind your ear.
âNothings wrong, I just want you to stay with me. You never do.â
Rafe rolled his eyes. âYeah, I know thatâs why Iâm leaving. Whatâs gotten into you? Been acting weird all fucking day.â
âIâm not acting weird Iâm just asking a question.â You said defensively and he set his hands on his hips.
âWhy? Why do you want me to stay?â
That was the question of the hour. One you wanted to answer and run from. But you promised yourself if you had the opportunity, you would be honest with him. So you took a deep breath and spoke. âRafe. I want you to stay with me becauseâŚI have feelings for you. This isnât just fucking for me anymore. Itâs more. And I want-â
âStop.â His voice was stern as he stepped closer to the bed and bent down to your lower. âThatâs a mistake. I told you from day one what this is and what it will always be. Just sex. If you canât handle that, then itâs not my problem.â
You felt your heart shatter as he stormed out of the room, leaving you broken. You buried your face in your hands and started crying. How could you be so stupid? How could you even consider he would feel the same way about you as you did for him? He was Rafe Cameron for god's sake. Why did you even bother telling him? Your own personal resolve? It was stupid and so were you.
You got out of his bed, put on your dress and shoes. You reapplied your makeup. If you were going to be sad, you were at least going to look good at the same time.
Rafe hadnât seen you-fucked you-in over a week. You kept avoiding him and he hated it. His hand went to knock on your door, he knew the way to your house with his eyes closed but he hadnât expected another car to be in the driveway. It wasnât anyone he knew. So some stranger was here? Maybe a new friend?
It wasnât like he was extremely active in your personal life but he knew you well enough. Several seconds went by as he waited at the door and he grit his teeth impatiently. What the hell was taking you so long?
He was about to call you when you opened the door. He arched an eyebrow as he took in your nice sundress. You usually never wore it unless you were going out. Your hair was braided with a flower crown. He crossed his arms with a pang ofâŚwhat was it? Interest? Of course not.
âTook you long enough. Why havenât you texted me back?â
âIâm not at your beck and call, Rafe. You know that right?â You quipped and he snorted. Attitude too?
âYeah, whatever.â He rested a hand on the doorframe above you, leaning down with the intention of kissing you when a male voice called your name.
Rafeâs eyes narrowed when he saw a tall, not as tall as Rafe, male with brown eyes and brown hair. He could just tell by the way he was dressed that he was a pogue too. He gave him a look and wrapped his arms around your waist from behind. Pulling you against him and Rafe wanted to reach forward and punch him in the face.
âSomething wrong?â He stared at the other male who asked you that question.
âWhat the fuck? Who the fuck are you?â Rafe shouts and moves forward but you hold up your hand.
âThis is my boyfriend. Josh.â
âJosh? Heâs a fucking pogue,â Rafe spat out the last word and Josh immediately straightened his shoulders but you stepped inbetween them.
âGive me a minute.â You said before shutting the door and stepping onto the porch. Rafe crossed his arms and flexed his jaw. He couldnât stop himself from being upset even though he knew logically he had no right to be.
âRafe. You need to go.â You told him softly. âYou need to leave and we canât talk anymore. I have a boyfriend. And whatever that was? Itâs over.â
Rafe laughed humorlessly. âYou canât be fucking serious. Is this because of what I said last week? Is this some kind of joke?â
Your eyes hardened and you stepped closer. âNo. Itâs not a fucking joke, Rafe. Iâm in a relationship now. And it has nothing to do with the other day.â
âBullshit. As far as Iâm concerned-â
âEnough!â You shouted and pointed at his chest. âThis isnât about you, Rafe! Itâs about me for once. I met him. And now, weâre going out. Itâs that simple. Donât like it? You had your fucking chance, asshole. And you treated me like shit. And this conversation is over.â You spin around at that and slam the door behind you.
Right in his face.
Rafe knew he had made a big mistake as his eyes squeezed shut. He was an asshole to you. Pushed you away too far. And nowâŚ
Heâd lost you.
You hadnât talked to him in six months. Half a year and now you were pounding on his door after 3am crying when he opened it, eyes wide with a range of emotions. âWhat the fuck?â He muttered before ushering you in. âGet in here, itâs raining.â
You quickly stepped into his house, wiping away tears and smearing your mascara. âIâm sorry, I know I shouldnât be here but I didnât have anywhere else to go.â You sobbed and Rafe immediately set his hands on your shoulders.
âItâs okay. Whatâs wrong? Why are you crying?â You were back. In front of him. And he wasnât going to ruin any chance he had. He was afraid youâd disappear again.
Your blue dress was almost black from the rain. Your shoes probably ruined from the mud, you didnât drive?
âDid you run here?â
You nodded. âYeah, Josh was driving my car. And weâŚwe got into a fight.â Rafe stiffened and his blood went cold as you lifted up your arm.
You had a hand print around your wrist.
âDid he do this to you?â He growled when you nodded again with watery eyes.
âYeah. He didnât want me to hang out with my friends today. And I told him I could do whatever I wanted so he grabbed me. Wouldnât let go either. I finally just got out of the car and started running. We were close by soâŚâ you sniffled and Rafe felt nothing but rage at your confession.
How dare anyone put a hand on you?
âIâll be right fucking back.â He says with a set jaw. You step in front of him.
âNo, where are you going?â
âWhere do you think Iâm going? Iâm gonna fuck him up.â Rafe tries to move around you but your hands fly to his chest, holding his shirt.
âNo, no, donât leave me. I donât want you to go. Not again.â You buried your face against him, crying harder and rafe was frozen for a second.
Don't leave again. Your words echo in his mind as his arms encircle your shoulders and pull you even tighter against him in a warm embrace. He wasnât accustomed to hugging people. He didnât have anyone close enough to him to encourage such motions but nowâŚhe could stay like this forever. Your head tucked underneath his chin, arms around his waist. You were still crying but he knew you felt safe.
He said your name quietly after several seconds and gently tugged you back. âListen, I want to say something.â And he cleared his throat. Months of waiting, hoping and even fucking praying that he would get a chance to speak was finally in front of him and he didnât want to fuck it up.
âI know, Iâm sorry.â You stepped out of his hold, wiping underneath your eye. âI shouldnât have bothered you. You have better things to do. Iâve stayed here too long.â You shrugged and gave him a fake smile. âI shouldnât have bothered you.â
âBothered me? Youâre not bothering me, I want to tell you something.â He tried to interrupt but you kept going.
âItâs stupid. Me coming here. Especially with how we last ended things. I know I showed up completely without warning-â
Rafe crushed his lips to yours, silencing you and causing you to make a surprised sound. His fingers set on your hips while his other hand cupped your jaw and he sucked your lower lip, slipping his tongue inside briefly before stopping the kiss. âJust let me talk,okay?â He said breathlessly and briefly rested his forehead against yours before taking a step back.
âIâm sorry. For everything. I never should have left you. I-I like you, okay? I always have, I was just too much of a pussy to admit it. And I was an asshole. You didnât deserve that.â It wasnât much of an apology but Rafe wasnât good with words. âBut youâre mine. I donât fucking share. And Josh or whoever he thinks he is, heâs done. When I deal with him, heâll know that.â He promises you.
He waited for you to speak as you bit your swollen lower lip and looked at him with big doe eyes. His gaze trails down, you were pressing your knees together. âLet me ask you somethingâŚâ Rafe began. âDid he fuck you as good as I do?â
You gasped at his question and he smirked. âI asked you something, baby girl. Itâs bad manners if you donât answer. Or did he allow that too? Did he let you act like a bad girl?â Rafe nudged your knees apart with his, causing you to gasp and your back hit the wall.
âHe didnât fuck me as good.â You whispered and Rafe nodded.
âCourse he didnât. He doesnât know you the way I do. He doesnât know how to please that tight little pussy. But thatâs okay. Iâm gonna show you exactly how well I remember you.â He reached down, lifting you into his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist as he met your lips.
Rafe kissed you with a feverish passion as he kicked open his bedroom door, slamming you on the mattress without breaking the kiss. You tasted sweet like sugar as he shoved his tongue in your mouth, searing you with a force youâd missed for six months.
He lifted up your skirt, revealing that you werenât wearing any panties. Rafe laughed darkly. âThatâs my girl. Always a fucking slut.â He separated your thighs, showing your arousal pooling out of you and he dragged a finger along your slit. âDumb little bunny. Thinking this could ever be for anyone else.â He circled his thumb on your clit, causing your back to arch off the bed.
His digit stays there before he trails them down, pressing a finger inside your entrance, making you moan underneath him as he wraps his other hand around your neck. He pushes another one inside, curling them both upward and you mewl.
âOh fuck, daddy I needed this.â You manage and he smirks down at you as youâre struggling to even speak.
âYeah? Needed daddy to fuck you?â He says against your neck, pumping harder causing you to whimper and claw at his shoulders.
âMhm, please fuck me with your cock. Want you to fill me up.â You beg him and he smiles wickedly.
âSince you asked so nicely, baby girl.â He pulls back, sucking his fingers before tugging off his pants and boxers. His dick low and heavy in between his thighs. His thick tip presses against your clit as he rolls his hips, teasing you and you whine louder.
âPlease, daddy, god, please!â He finally grants your wish and thrusts into you. Hard.
The bed squeaks against the floor as he rocks forward, your hand wraps around his throat, choking him gently and he groans and licks his teeth. âThatâs fucking it. Thatâs my girl.â He rasps and picks up his pace.
He humps you with a brutal rhythm, no source of kindness in his movements as he fucks you. âYou. Are. Mine.â He growls as you tighten around him. âSay it, fucking slut. Tell me.â He lightly slaps your cheek and you gasp.
âIâm yours, daddy!â He taps the other side of your face.
âAgain.â
âIâm yours!â
âAgain.â He spits in your mouth, making you swallow it and you shudder, releasing all over his cock as you scream out.
âIâm yours, daddy! Fuckkk!!â You squeal and he bursts inside you, filling you up just like he promised and it drips onto the sheets. He continues thrusting, messily searing you before he collapsing on you, his lips resting on your forehead.
Youâre shocked at the tender way he kisses your head, peppering your skull and hairline as he rolls off, pulling you to his chest. His fingers trace your shoulder, goosebumps raising on your skin as breaths in and out. âIâll never leave you again. Iâm sorry I ever did.â
âI know.â You answer back and blink away watery eyes. âLetâs just stay like this for a while, okay?â You ask and he nods.
âAlways. But Iâm still gonna fuck him up.â
@drewstarkeyslut @redhead1180 @marchsfreakshow @slvt4jamesmarch @take-everything-you-can @emsgoodthinkin @gri959 @oceandriveab @rafescurtainbangz @rafesthroatbaby
#rafe#rafe cameron#rafe cameron smut#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron fanfiction#rafe cameron x you#rafe cameron x y/n#rafe cameron x female reader#rafe cameron x smut#rafe x reader#rafe obx#rafe outer banks#rafe smut#rafe x you#outerbanks rafe#rafe imagine#rafe fanfiction#rafe cameron imagine
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OKAY SO what with the TWO new Hermits implied by the updated banner I will say that, though the Skizz truthers have me convinced, I now have room to do my own crazy red string monologue and throw my hat in for my choice
1) Mythical J. Sausage (the J is silent) is a multitalented S-tier builder that absolutely deserves to be shoulder to shoulder with the Hermits. The man does buildings, interiors, terraforming, custom trees, and he does them SO WELL.
2) The production values!!! Beautiful replay mod sequences with shifting camera perspectives, shaders, music that sets the tone for each segment that's different from series to series. He already has more than a million followers on YouTube and for good reason!!
3) He has been SO consistent lately. He started a hardcore world about three months ago (about the time you might expect the Hermits to finalize their s10 choices maybe...???) and already has 15 episodes and hasn't gotten involved in any other big content. (He did just start playing a little of the BCG server but from what I understand that's super casual /copium copium copium).
4) That hardcore world is conveniently about to reach a good "pause" point. He started his world on a cherry blossom biome island that he's filled with a medieval village and starter farms, he's said it's almost full and what's left is the castle. I'm guessing the new season will start the first week of February, so if Sausage puts out a video this week building out that Castle and finishing that island it will be MIGHTY CONVENIENT TIMING.
5) This man can GRIND. His Hardcore world hasn't even been going half a year and he's built... So much??? Magnificent! And when he was on the Hermitcraft server he did the Razorcrest for scar AND the player head baby yoda/stormtrooper merch AND the noteblock themesong AND still built in the xmas village and other "diamond of peace" and so many other shenanigans. Did the man even sleep? He can grind with the best of them.
6) He can do redstone, too! Maybe not unique designs, I honestly don't know, but he builds farms for build materials no problem.
7) The DRAMA this man loves his improv and his backstory and trauma lore! For every series he does! Can you imagine if he gets to interact with Ren for an extended period of time, what that would do to them, to us?? Give Martyn a run for his money!!
8) Which brings me to my next point, which is that Sausage is already One of The Gang, because he's been in series with so many of the Hermits already! Empires and the crossover, obviously, but also Pirates with Cleo and Origins with Scar, and he's even done MCC! Joel is the only other player with the same depth of different series but there are other people truthing him already.
9) The EPIC BROMANCE with Pearl. My god the devotion of this man to his sunflower goddess bestie. I would try to do ot justice but y'all have seen floweroflaurelins work, you already know.
10) He's already a PG streamer but with HILARIOUSLY PG-13 tendencies. Imagine him and Cleo cracking each other up at an HHH stream, *grips your shoulders* IMAGINE IT.
11) Sausage comes with his own mascot in the form of interdimensional dog extraordinaire Bubbles, but he's also just an animal lover on general. Mans drinks his "I love Jellie" juice and had her in his world even before the sad news of her loss.
12) Diversity win! No one should be hired just for their gender, race, sexuality etc etc unless it's truly necessary to the job, but we were all happy when more women got added to the server in s8 and I know a lot of people would be happy to see some ethnic diversity added, too.
... That bulletin board had a lot more pins in it than I thought it did but anyway MYTHICALSAUSAGE TRUTHERS/ALL OTHER TRUTHERS RISE UP SPEAK YOUR TRUTH! we'll only get to wildly speculate for a few weeks so we might as well make it everyone else's problem ENJOY IT TO THE FULLEST!!
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bro I'm so frustrated with pokemon go rn đ
I took a break of over a month from the game after being a daily player for YEARS because it has gotten to the point where it was crashing every few minutes and was just utterly unplayable. I figured maybe there has been a buggy update and if I just took some time away, it would get resolved.
well this morning I'm feeling like it might be nice to go for an early morning walk, so I open the game back up for the first time in weeks, I install all the updates, I'm excited to see the halloween art on the loading screen and by all the new research tasks that are waiting for me
and then I try to click here
and the app immediately crashes :/ and does so every subsequent time I try it :/
so I can play the game but I'm screwed if I want to change my appearance, open gifts from friends or send any, check my progress on leveling up or badges or anything, etc.
what the fuck man this genuinely makes me so sad
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nothing's going right, and everything's a mess, and no one likes to be alone | jack hughes
author's note: don't ask me how the university semester timeline in this works. i have simply given reader a three week break in march bc why not. this is fanfiction okay, anything can happen đ no one proofread this for me so soz for any typos!
word count: 3.4k words
warnings: none that i can think of? but lmk if i've missed anything. soz if the ending makes you mad LOL i do love a cliffhanger
read part one here
read part two here
(This is a fem reader insert)
More writing here (soz that the masterlist is not up to date lol) | send thoughts/feedback/suggestions here
Somehow, the ill feeling of waiting until summer to see Jack again began to fade with each passing day. The itch to text him every time something exciting or infuriating happened to you began to lessen. The thoughts of him when you saw a funny meme heâd like, or your shared favourite foods on special at the grocery store, quietly stopped happening as frequently.Â
But then there were the things that didnât stop. The sharp pain in your chest whenever Jackâs smiling face popped up on your social media feed. The butterflies in your stomach whenever your parents brought him up in conversation, fuelled by whatever the latest updates were from their group message thread with Jim and Ellen. The joy that would wash over you when you heard about a Devils win or a Jack Hughes goal, followed almost always by a wave of sadness that you were hearing about it second or third hand, rather than from Jack himself.
You were the one whoâd asked for space. You needed time, youâd said. Given the blow up of All-Star weekend, all Jack was doing was respecting your wishes; but a huge part of you not so secretly wished heâd be a bit more disrespectful and reach out. Your mind was a mess of conflicting thoughts, and your heart wasnât sure which emotion to feel or where to go next.Â
Since kindergarten, youâd barely gone more than a few days without seeing or communicating with Jack in some way. Now you were nearly a month without a word, and even though you were still mad at how heâd treated you, you were craving a return to the friendship youâd become so accustomed to. Jack knew you better than anyone, could basically read your mind with a single look, and although you had plenty of friends at college and still around in Toronto from high school, none came close to the camaraderie you shared with Jack. He was someone you could talk to for hours, or sit next to in silence for the same amount of time, it didnât matter. With Jack, you could be utterly and entirely yourself, no complications. Now it felt like you were always pretending. And it was exhausting.
It was about 9pm on a Thursday night when you found yourself pushing through that exhaustion to try and complete yet another university assignment. For motherfucking economics. You couldnât wait until youâd completed all of your compulsory economics credits because it was the absolute opposite of your cup of tea, when it came to academic subjects. This assignment was your last one, and you werenât sure whether to cheer or cry at the idea of hitting the submit button on the online portal. Maybe you shouldâve bought a confetti cannon to celebrate. Or a box of wine. Or booked yourself a flight somewhere fun, given you had a break from classes soon.
As soon as the thought of a trip crossed your mind, your phone began to buzz with an incoming video call. A video call from⌠Luke. Luke Hughes.Â
Your face scrunched in confusion, as you swiped to answer the call, met with Lukeâs smiling face and messy curls.Â
âHey sunshine! Long time no see. How have you been?â Luke spoke cheerily. Almost too cheerily.Â
You were immediately suspicious and narrowed your eyes at the youngest Hughes.Â
Luke was 3 years old when you met for the first time; he could barely remember a life without you in it. Given how inseparable you and Jack were, Luke became your de facto little brother, always tagging along where he could and joining in your adventures. Later on, when he became a teenager, you were the one Luke would come to when he was having issues with his friends, or trying to build up the courage to ask out the cute girl in his math class, or missing his brothers when they moved away. You were his second call after Ellen when he felt homesick at Michigan, and you were his first call when he had fucked up something that he felt his brothers would never let him live down. Emotional support and damage control, with a healthy dose of teasing and laughs thrown in. That was the dynamic between you and Luke. It also meant you could read him to filth when he was lying to you, and your honesty radar was through the roof at this sudden video call.
âIâm fine, Moose. Just trying to wrap up my final assignment before the break without losing my entire mind.â You offered weakly, half-expecting Luke to make a joke about your mind having been lost years ago, but the joke never came.
Instead, you saw the concern flicker across Lukeâs face, just for a moment, before he forced a smile.
âHow long is your break for? Any plans?â
âThree weeks, and not really. I promised my mother Iâd spend a few days helping her with planning for their anniversary party in June, but that probably wonât happen until right before I go back to school.â You chatted absently, hitting save on your essay and standing up from the couch, bringing your phone with you as you moved into the kitchen to make yourself a drink.
You propped the phone up against the vase on your kitchen bench, reaching up into the cabinet to retrieve a glass.Â
âWell, you should come visit. Weâve got like 5 home games in a row or something ridiculous coming up. Itâd be fun!â Lukeâs tone was cheerful, but cautious, like he wasnât sure how you were going to react.Â
You hummed in response, moving slightly out of view of your phone to get some ice cubes from your freezer and a soda from the fridge.Â
âBesides, I heard a rumour that youâve got an airline voucher to use. Iâd hate for it to expire or something.âÂ
You could feel your heart starting to beat faster. Luke knew about the voucher. Did that mean Jack had told him about your fight?Â
âThe voucher wonât expire for three years. Iâm sure Iâll manage to use it before then.â You deadpanned, stepping back into frame to see Luke rolling his eyes at you.Â
âYeah, sure, but will I survive that long without seeing you? Absolutely not. Come on, sugar. Please? Even if itâs just a weekend?â Luke had moved into full begging mode, with puppy dog eyes and everything.
You sighed, fidgeting with the straw in your drink and avoiding his gaze.Â
âI donât⌠we havenât talked at all, Luke. I donât know what heâll do if I just show up there.â You half-whispered, feeling that all-too-familiar wave of sadness coursing through your veins.Â
âHe talked about you tonight at dinner. Says he misses you. But he doesnât want to push, or not give you the space you wanted. But right now, heâs on the couch watching Gossip Girl, soâŚâ Luke stated matter-of-factly, staring you down with a knowing look on your face.
Gossip Girl was something youâd insisted Jack get into when you were teenagers, as long as he âwanted to be called your official best friendâ. And The OC. And Gilmore Girls. And One Tree Hill. And basically any other teen drama series you could think of. Collectively, those shows had thousands of episodes, and you always found yourself settling down to watch them whenever you were missing Jack more than usual. Youâd never realised before that he did the same.
âShould⌠should we tell him Iâm coming? I donât want him to get upset by a bad surprise.âÂ
âNot at all, sugar. Book the flight and send me the details, Iâll sort out the rest.â Lukeâs beaming smile made a smile of your own creep onto your face, as you nodded at him and went to retrieve your laptop from the couch to log onto the airline website.
âNow that thatâs sorted, I was wondering, what does it mean when a girl asks me what my sun, moon and rising are? Should I be worried? Or is it a good thing?â
âÂ
Two days later, you were done with your semester and on your way to the airport. Luke had suggested you book a one-way flight, âThat way, you can go home whenever you like!â, but you were starting to feel like the whole thing was a mistake.Â
Nonetheless, you pushed through those feelings and boarded your flight. The whole ordeal took less than two hours, and soon enough you found yourself navigating the arrivals area at Newark airport. You spotted Lukeâs lanky figure, clad in a Michigan sweatshirt, with his back to you. You couldnât help but creep up on him and poke his side, cracking up with laughter as Luke jumped at least three feet into the air. Heâd always been the easiest to scare, ever since you were kids.Â
Luke cussed you out, and then pulled you into a bone-crushing hug.Â
âMissed your face, sugarplum.â Luke murmured, as you pulled away from each other and he rested his hands on your shoulders, studying you.Â
âAw, Lukey. Iâd say Iâd missed yours too, but we really gotta do something about that hair.â You poked your tongue out as the youngest Hughes brotherâs jaw dropped in mock offense.Â
You retrieved your bag from the luggage carousel, and headed out to where Luke had parked. The two of you fell into easy conversation as Luke navigated through the New Jersey streets back to the apartment he shared with Jack.Â
You managed to bury most of the nerves, but they came bubbling back to the surface when Luke pulled into the parking garage at the bottom of his building.
âIs⌠um⌠Is Jack home? Alone?â You managed to squeak out, and Luke looked at you like you were crazy.Â
Ever since All-Star weekend, youâd been having a recurring nightmare about Jack and the girl from the messages youâd accidentally become privy to. In particular, it was a scenario where you would come home from wherever youâd been out, and opened the apartment door to find them⌠entangled, on every possible surface you could think of. You felt yourself starting to feel ill as the images from your nightmares started to flash back into your mind.Â
âHeâs alone. Ever since⌠ever since he came home early from All-Star, heâs been alone. None of the⌠usual visitors have been over. And he hasnât been going to theirs, either. Not even when weâre on a roadie.â Luke said carefully, and you could tell he was trying not to upset you.
You could also tell that he was being honest. Because you could always tell when he was lying. But your mind was running a million miles a minute. Jack hadnât⌠for a month? Because of his fight with you? You loved Jack, but you also knew (despite wishing that you didnât know at all) that it had been years since heâd gone that long without intimacy. In fact, it was probably the longest since losing his virginity that Jack hadnât fulfilled his desires.Â
Your mind was starting to wander into the gutter, and you pressed your eyes closed to bring yourself back to Earth. All you could do was nod at Luke, before you both hopped out of the car and into the elevator. Luke insisted on carrying your luggage, so you found yourself fidgeting incessantly with your hands as the elevator climbed to the correct floor.Â
You trailed behind Luke as he strode towards the apartment door and unlocked it, stepping inside and putting your bag down. He looked back and waved you into the apartment, pressing a finger to his lips. You tiptoed across the doorway, and your heart softened at the scene before you.Â
You could see the back of Jackâs head leaned up against the couch, and an episode of Gilmore Girls playing on the TV mounted on the wall. In fact, it was one of your favourite episodes; where Jess comes back and shows Rory the book he wrote, and calls her out for dropping out of Yale. You smiled ruefully as you thought about the parallels between that episode and your current situation with Jack, as the argument between Jess and Rory played out on the screen. Â
What do you mean?
You know what I mean! I know you. I know you better than anyone! This isn't you!
âŚÂ
This isn't you! This! You going out with this jerk, with the Porsche! We made fun of guys like this!
You caught him on a bad night.
This isn't about him! Okay? Screw him! What's going on with you? This isn't you, Rory. You know it isn't. What's going on?
I don't know. I don't knowâŚ
âAre we Team Jess or Team Rory this time, Jacky?â Luke called out, making you jump.Â
âTeam Jess all the way, obviously. Where have you bee-â Jack stopped dead in his tracks as he turned to face his brother, and instead saw you in the middle of his living room.
Jackâs face was a revelation. Confusion, at first. Then the briefest flash of hurt and anguish. Then a smile. Then caution and uncertainty, as he slowly stepped towards you.Â
You let a breath you hadnât realised you were holding, and quickly moved across the room, clumsily throwing your arms around your best friend. You felt Jack freeze momentarily, almost as if he was shocked at your touch, but that soon passed and you felt his hands slide around your waist and squeeze, bringing your bodies as close together as possible.Â
You nestled your head on Jackâs shoulder, breathing in his scent. His thumbs softly rubbed up and down your side, and you felt him press a soft kiss into your hair. You stayed like that for a minute, or maybe longer, relaxing into the embrace.
The sound of the apartment door slamming shut made you jolt, and you rolled your eyes as you realised that Luke had tried to sneak way unnoticed and failed miserably.Â
âHi.â Jack whispered, pulling back from you slightly but keeping his hands locked around you.Â
âHi.â You whispered back, reaching up to brush his hair out of his eyes.Â
âIs it still shit hair? Or better now itâs longer?â Jack teased, rolling his tongue between his teeth.
âBetter. But only slightly.â You teased back, your hands slipping down to the back of his neck comfortably.Â
The warmth of the surprise arrival was starting to fade. The dread youâd felt over addressing your fight with Jack was starting to set in, fast. The guilt you felt for being the catalyst for over a month for not speaking to your best friend was washing over you. Your heart rate was through the roof, and your palms were beginning to sweat.Â
Jack sensed your change in mood, and pulled away from you to look you up and down.
âAre you hungry? Do you want to shower? Or take a nap?â He was nervous, too.
âI ate before my flight. And showered this morning. And itâs 11am, so I think Iâm good on the nap front. But I do think we should⌠we should talk. About everything.â You were basically tripping over your words at this point, but Jackâs reassuring nod helped to calm your nerves.Â
Wordlessly, Jack took your hand and led you over to the couch, gesturing for you to sit. You sat down and faced him, crossing your legs and resting your hands on your knees, still fidgeting with your hoodie sleeves.Â
âIâm sorry - â You both said unanimously, a gentle laughter filling the room.Â
âIâm sorry I needed so much time apart, J. It fucking sucked, and it was my fault, and I just didnât -â You began to ramble, only stopping when Jack leaned over and squeezed your knee reassuringly.
âYou only needed that time because I was an asshole, sugar. Itâs on me, really. I had no right to treat you like an occasional friend, or something that I shouldnât prioritise -â Jack paused as you cringed, remembering the text messages that referred to his time with you as âboring family bullshitâ.Â
âI was thinking with my dick, not with my head, and thatâs not fair on anyone.â You shot Jack a weird look, and he looked sheepish in return.
âQuinn⌠Quinn said that to me. After you told him to tell me about the messages. Heâs right, thought. It wasnât fair.â Jack continued, pausing to take a deep breath.Â
âThis whole⌠thing, this life -â Jack gestured broadly at the apartment around you, and you glanced around properly for the first time. Framed jerseys of Luke and Jackâs adorned the walls.Various photos of the Hughes family scattered about the place. The fridge, with a gas bill stuck to it, along with a polaroid of you and Jack from last Christmas. And a photo from your senior prom. And a group photo of everyone from last summer at the lake house, Jackâs mouth open in laughter with his arm slung over your bikini-clad shoulders.Â
âItâs all I thought I ever wanted. And itâs amazing, and Iâm so grateful. But itâs worth nothing to me, the money, the girls -â You felt yourself involuntarily cringe again. âThe fame, the accolades, itâs worth nothing to me without the people that I love by my side. And if those people donât know how much I love and appreciate them, because I treat them like shit, then thatâs on me. No one else. Me.âÂ
You sat quietly, taking in Jackâs emphatic statement. You werenât quite sure what to say. So instead, you gently reached over and took Jackâs hand in yours, lacing your fingers through his and squeezing softly, for a moment while you gathered your thoughts.
âI know the life you live, Jack. You donât have to be sorry for it. Playing hockey was all you ever dreamed of, and I honestly canât blame you for⌠enjoying⌠all the perks it comes with.â You swallowed the wave of nausea that hit you, before continuing.Â
âI donât⌠I donât know what life looks like without you in it. The last month was such a bizarre experience, and not one that I ever want to repeat, but I also⌠I need to⌠Can I be honest?â You spoke softly, glancing up from your hands to meet Jackâs gaze, and he nodded encouragingly at you.Â
âI wasnât just upset because you made me feel like I was inconveniencing you, or cock-blocking you -â It was Jackâs turn to cringe. âI think I was upset because I was jealous. Because that will never, ever be me. And I think⌠I think I want it to be? Maybe? Fuck, I donât know!â You dropped Jackâs hand and stood up from the couch, and started to pace the room.Â
âSugar, please sit down.â Jack pleaded, and you paused, looking back at him on the couch. One look was all you needed, and you narrowed your eyes at the smirk on his dumb face.Â
âWhy are you smirking? I am experiencing emotional distress, you asshole.â You seethed, running your hands through your hair in frustration.
âTell me more about this jealousy thing. Iâm intrigued.â Jackâs tone was light and teasing, and washed over you like sour milk. Your head whipped in his direction and your face mustâve said a thousand words, because Jackâs smirk soon disappeared and he hurriedly stood up and walked over, reaching out to touch you.Â
âSee, this -â You jabbed a finger into Jackâs chest. âThis is why I have avoided this conversation for almost my entire life. Because you think itâs hilarious that we could ever go down that path. That we could ever be something more than what we are. Because Iâm not good enough,or pretty enough, or just enough and I never will be, and I hate it. I hate it so much.â Your voice cracked on the last few words, and you felt the hot tears start to bubble out of your eyes and stream down your face.Â
Jack didnât say a word. He didnât have to. He pulled you into a hug, bringing his hand up to your face and gently brushing away the tears with his thumbs.Â
âBreathe, sugar. You need to calm down.â Jack said quietly, willing you to calm. That just made you cry harder.Â
You were about to pull away, when you felt Jack cup your face with both hands, before leaning in to kiss you.Â
#jack hughes#jack hughes x reader#jack hughes imagine#jack hughes one shot#new jersey devils#luke hughes#luke hughes imagine#quinn hughes imagine#my writing#nhl fanfiction
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more than anyone â´ď¸ cl16
genre: childhood friends to enemies to lovers (a mouthful), smut, humor, Fluffff!!!!, angst
word count: 13.7k Â
You moved out of Monaco at fourteen with an unrepaired friendship hanging by a thread. Ten years and a whole lifetime later, youâre forced to work with him confront it all over again.
auds here⌠hi hi hi!!!! HAPPY 4k to us guys!!!!! i am so insanely thankful for all of u and i will make this a longer note when i wake up tomorrow because i have so much to say but have this for now. i hope u like it,i love love love u guys forever also i changed the banner because i wanted to
nsfw warnings under the cut!
18+ because... penetrative sex, semi public sex, praise central, size kink (pretty tame smut in auds world)
You know itâs bad when your assistant-and-friend-aka-friendsistant (her vernacular) Rachel walks in with a free coffee without a quip about how dependent you are on this exact order of coffee (sheâs a millennial, so caffeine and lack thereof are in her arsenal of Funny Jokes). You fear you didnât correctly anticipate just how bad it was going to be when she stays instead of leaving to work on your schedule, combing a few fingers through her fringe and sitting herself on your couch stiffly. Maybe youâre intuitive, maybe you spend too much time with Rachel and you can spot the way she scratches at her eye, maybe bothâbut itâs bad.
You donât take a sip from the Starbucks that sits idly on the coaster, opting to watch the latte sweat instead. You do stare, though, at Rachelâs stagnant posture, scrutinizing her every movement. She takes a few deep breaths and drops the bomb.
âDavid sent me to tell you he has good news. But there is, um. Bad news.â Dread writhes through you at the mention of your manager with bad news, and you clear your throat to compose yourself.
âWhatâs going on?â
She purses her lips. âHeâs on his way over here. JustâŚâ She cocks her head sharply to the glass door of your home office, expression antsy. âSorry. Wait for him. I canât tell you anything yet.â
You take a swig from the pity coffee. âAm I getting blacklisted?â
âGod, you dumbass, noââ She makes an incredulous noise, but before she can open her mouth to elaborate, your manager walks in with an excited expression on his face, pocketing his Juul to take a seat by your table. His smile is the radiant one of a man over forty with a comical amount of Botox.
âRachel told me you hadââyou stifle the adjectiveâânews.â
âThat I do, yes.â He hums, tracing the edge of your table. âDid you enjoy Paris Fashion Week?â
Beside the brash Frenchmen, God-awful timezone differences and consequent calls at half past three, hungover show attendances, posing for pictures until your ankles blistered, and a temporary diet of black coffee, cigarettes, and stale croissantsâsure, it was fun. It was your job to attend anyway, your obligation to shake hands with important people and be photographed in designer clothing and benefit from the PR, but how often could people call work fun?Â
âSure.â You take another gulp off your coffee. âIt was⌠fun.â
âWell, since your movieâs doing well,â David pauses and hums, âhow do you feel about another few weeks of fun?âÂ
âLike Paris Fashion Weekâweeks⌠this month?â You frown, eyebrows knitting together. Is this a new Vogue thing? Youâre not sure how many updates they give the schedule, but you wouldnât mind too much if you could travel again for a little bit. âSo soon after spring? Did Anna want this?â
âIiiitâs, er, Vogueâs new project. Capsule shows in Europe, coastal and summery. She wanted an exclusive guest list. She asked for you by name,â David says smugly. âWell, she called my office, granted. But to ask for youââ
âAre you fucking serious?â You stand up, and if you hadnât had some fix of coffee you wouldâve gotten dizzy. âDavid, tell me youâre serious.â Time seems to have suspended itself as you await his answerâwhich, if affirmative, would be a pretty big deal to you.Â
âYeah, I am.â He plays off a grin. âShe loved your movie with Greta, and would love to send you to Europe to do PR on a few shows and pair up with some guests on a couple features. Exclusive stuff.â
You sit back down, mouth slack. âOh, my God. I canât believe it.â Your eyes dart to Rachel, whoâs caught between a smile and an awkward purse of her lips. âFuck! This is huge, David.â
âYeahâokay, yeah, it is.â David shifts in his seat and crosses, then uncrosses, his legs, then his arms. He stutters for a second. âGood and bad news, remember?â
You blink a few times. Youâd nearly totally forgotten the fact that this good newsâand it is overwhelmingly goodâcomes with a bout of bad news, so bad apparently that itâs noteworthy enough to state alongside this massive deal. But itâs. Fine. Itâs whatever. Worst case scenario, youâre going to need to fucking swim to Europe sans oxygen canister.
âSo⌠the shows? Events, and shit?â He watches, waiting for you to signal that you follow. When you nod, he continues, averting his gaze to the face of his Patek. âTheyâre all in Monaco.â
Wrong.
âMonaco.â You repeat, deadpanning your delivery. Itâs not out of the ordinary, the glitz and coast of the city being a perfect venue for high fashion. But Monaco is different for you, vastly different, and you tend to avoid the place to the best of your abilities. âMonaco. Areâyouâre sure?â
âMmm,â he hums in affirmation. âI know, I know youâre not exactly privy to Monaco because, bleh, childhood shit, whatever. But thisâlike you said, this is huge! And I donât think we should jeopardize that.â He pulls a piece of paper from the folders tucked in his arm and waves it around.
âWellâyeah, I suppose. Iâll deal with it.â
âYeah.â He sucks his teeth, eyes gliding over the scenery of L.A. that your window offers. âOkay, thatâs it, so. Byeandhaveagoodlunch.â He slams the paper onto your desk, jostling you a little, but as he makes his exeunt, Rachel raises her arm to stop him.
âIs that it, David?â She asks, an edge to her voice.
You pick up the paper as they make hushed, stifled conversation, and find that itâs a call sheet of sorts, listing all the collaborators traveling to Monaco and what or who theyâre in charge of, or paired up with, there. Models, athletes, celebrities, influencersâall making TikToks, or appearances, or brand deals, or interviews, or YouTube videos, the whole shebang.
âYeah,â says David dismissivelyânervously? âThatâs it.â
You search for your name. âOkay. Um, hey.â Rachel turns to you, trying to catch your eye, which is busy scanning the sheet. âDid, umâdid David mention youâre paired up with Charles Leclerc for a feature? Because you are. Paired up with Charles Leclerc for a feature, I mean.â
David sucks his teeth. âThank you very much for graciously reminding me of that, Rachel.âÂ
Still half-distracted and growing increasingly worried with the exchange happening in front of you, you make haste in your searchâeventually, you find your name, printed in plain letters beside one youâve wished to never read over ever again.
âWait, my Charles?â You pause and look up, suppressing a yell as your eyes widen, and you blunder over a pathetic self-correction. âI meanâno, sorryâCharles, as in Charles Leclerc? I canât work with him, you know this!âÂ
âWhâwell, Vogue apparently wanted a really good Monaco-born pair and they seriously lucked out on you two. Also,â Rachel says, adamantly defending herself, âyouâre always saying you can work âwith anyoneâ!â She raises two comically vigorous air quotes to further her (moot) point.
âI didnât evâI never say that,â you lie straight through your teeth, mouth dry. You definitely do. You can place all the exact moments. âI wouldâve known if I did. RachâDavidâI cannot, absolutely cannot work with Leclerc. Heâs my⌠weâŚâ You shut your eyes and sneak two fingers upward to massage your temple, slowly caving into defeat.
David makes an oh well face and shrugs passively. âFine. Then itâs either Anna Wintourâs special job that will help the Academy campaign or not meeting the ex-boââ
ââfriend.â You look up to cut him off, eyes narrowed. âEx-friend.â
âAlright, kid. Suuuure.â David leans against the back wall of your office as Rachel comes to comfort you, her eyes already sympathetic and droopy. It shouldnât be so bad, right? She asks sweetly, nudging the latte closer to your catatonic figure. You have seen him since, anyway.
With a despondent gaze, you just remain silent, refusing to state the negative aloud, opting to stare at the latte. At your disagreeable silence, Rachel continues, tone anxious: You have seen him since. Right?
You moved out of Monaco at fourteen, right after the school year finished and your father had gotten the opportunity to transfer out. The whole thing wouldâveâshouldâve, evenâbeen a sentimental affair, full of tears and dramatic caresses of your bedroom wall, whispering thank yous to the city air in French and Italian, but it wasnât. Months prior, youâd been preparing yourself for this kind of goodbye; but when it came to it, you merely kissed your extended family goodbye and slept en route to the airport, silk sleeping mask pulled taut over your shut eyelids. The only thing you left in the city was a letter written only to Gi and Cha about how much youâd miss them, with your email address scribbled at the bottom for an added touch, in case they felt like sending you longer messages.
âDo you two at least get along?â David asks, noting how genuinely aghast you appear.
âItâs not that simple.â You tap a nail against your desk a few times. âBut I think itâll be fine. I hope, at least. We used to be⌠good friends? As teenagers.â
You feel like an alien hearing yourself talk about it, talk about him and the whole circumstance a decade later. Your friendship with Charles was the only thing that mattered to your adolescent self, all lemonade stands and long car rides and stealthy conversations about your futures (racing and acting, respectively). It was happiness, in what you consider to be its truest form, it was lovely and real. And it ended abruptly, no goodbyes, no nothing.
âSo itâs a no.â
âIâm just saying itâs impossible for me to work with him, and in Monaco no less?!â Your eyes are wild with frustration and anxiety at the prospect of your past whipping you in the face, full-fledged. âI donât even talk about the guy or the city, how can I spend time with him there?â
âAre you seriously going to junk this amazing fucking opportunity just because of some petty childhood fight?â Davidâs tone is comparable to that of a dadâs, scolding and horrified, almost. âLook. If you donât take this, career-wise, it doesnât mean much. You get paid a shit ton, youâll surviveâyouâll do well. But emotions-wise? Maturity-wise? Be the bigger person and do itâI mean it.â
You stare back at him because you know heâs right. âMaybe it wonât be a big, long feature?â Rachel offers as some advice, some comfort. âIf you reject it, his team will know, and so will he.â
And yes, you were fourteen, and yes it was petty and unexplainable even for fourteenâbut there was a catalyst to all of this, a reason why the move became easy and forgetting childhood memories became second nature. A reason why youâre selective with who you make contact with from home. A reason why Giada and Charlotte are selective with topics they choose to bring up with you.
So, fuck it, really. Thatâs how you end up in Monaco, booked for the next three weeks, sharing a studio and public appearances and a 24-hour shoot with the last person youâd ever want to be in a room with. Ten years laterâthe person still is, and no doubt will always be, Charles Leclerc.
â
âMAMAN!â Charlesâ voice was loud, loud, and so incredibly loud. You followed not far behind, legs running at full speed to try and leap onto his lanky figure and wrap an arm around his head to quiet him. Itâd been futile: he ended up at the dining table facing his family with a victorious smile on his pink face. He breathed heavy, waiting for everyone to turn their attention to him.
âCharles,â you chimed in warningly, breathing even harder with the effort you had exerted to chase him from the sidewalk to here. âDonât.â
âGuess who got the lead spot in the recital.â He slowly turned to point at to your angry face, and then bent, rifling through his already messy, grubby knapsack for something that he raised with glee: a headress that readâŚ
âBut-ter-cup.â HervĂŠ sounded amused when he looked at your fuming expression. âYou?â
âYes, Papa! Maybe, just maybe,â he sing-songed, using the term wrong yet again, âshe got the titular role!â He walked over to you and placed the headress square on your head, beaming.Â
âThere is no titular role in a school recital,â you seethed, burning with embarrassment. Your stellar academic record had apparently granted you incentive to be centre stage during the routine year-end recital, where years were lumped into twos or threes (in your and Charlesâ cases, Years 8 and 9) and the student body would dance or sing a variety of teacher-selected music.
In your case, it was Build Me Up, Buttercup, complete with choreography youâd be practicing over the next month and a half. Charles laughed at your pouting expression, didnât stop laughing even when youâd both sat down and twirled through forkfuls of spaghetti, didnât stop chuckling even when Lorenzo got the turn to speak and he started talking about how Bringing Up Baby was his movie of the month.
You allowed him to laughâeven laughed yourself at some pointâbecause all day, youâd been absently wondering how youâd break the news about your moving away to him.
â
Charles is not okay. Heâd gotten off a red-eye from a short vacation stint, and now heâs back in Monaco, sleepy and a bit jetlagged, being briefed on brand deals and press junkets he has to accomplish by three p.m. today. âOn the dot, sharp,â said his assistant, like the two didnât just mean the same fucking thing. Heâs patient, though, smiling through the exhaustion, through the dressing room, the tape around his waist and legs to measure clothes for this fashion⌠thing.
âA meeting for Ferrari, two TikToks, a vlog for your personal YouTube channel, three stories by noon⌠oh, and in the next few weeks, youâre going to film a Vogue-sponsored 24 Hours With⌠withââ
âDâaccord, thank you,â he cuts in, already exhausted from the spiel alone. Heâs a professional; no matter what people believed or what gossip rags liked to say about him, he maintains a well-kept reputation of being polite and kind to people he works with. Maybe itâs the jetlag, maybe itâs the lack of sleep, maybe itâs the heat outside, but today he just wants to close his eyes and sleep for days.
But the assistant follows, clipboard and Excel sheet and all, still spouting all his media obligations lest he forget (and mark his words, he definitely will). âSorry,â he says. Heâs new, probably assigned as a part of the Vogue team, lanky and tall and nervous looking. âIâm new. Iâm Greg.â
Briefly, Charles is left alone to stare at his tired reflection while the assistants reconvene and connect. Thereâs several of them, each assigned or already committed to a different celebrity. Charles should know more details, but thereâs only so much reading of a call sheet he can do before heâs conked out on Ambien; he trusts heâll be around people much more famous than he is, probably American or English, actors and athletes alike. Heâll figure it out.
Yeah, sheâs almost ready. Is Charles here? One of the assistants says, a bright-eyed American. They need to be introduced before 11. Her voice is quiet, quick and hushed, and Charles has to focus to hear what sheâs saying. Greg chips in with something he canât decipher; in response, the American whispers, Yeah, Iâll get her to sign it for you. Bring Charles out in five.
In five, he is indeed being brought out to the lobby of this hotel; the outdoor area is decked out with models, cocktail tables, Vogue signage and a carpet for pictures. Itâs even busier inside, wait staff and event coordinators conversing in angry, aggressive Frenchâtable settings, mineral water, extra forks are needed. Greg keeps a steady pace transporting Charles through the indoor throng, and at 10:59, Charles is outside, by the pool.
âUm, right, yeah. Okay, uhâwait here. Your partnerânot really partner, but like, mate? Fuck, definitely not. Um, partner. Sheâs on her way heeereâŚâ He checks his phone. âOkay. You caught her name, right?â Charles nods to fend him off. âOkay. So, wait here.â
There are cameras taking pictures of him when Greg departs, some microphones waved his way; in the distance he spots fans waving crazily, sporting Ferrari merch. Charles is doing what heâs told (waiting, maybe posing a bit) when an even bigger crowd appears, surrounding one person; with their arrival, ameras click even faster, and an uproar follows. Greg waves him over, pointing at the person frantically, so Charles smiles, extends a hand, and when the crowd partsâ
There you are, in all your glory. Pink dress, hair clipped into a bun, a tanline on your exposed skin, lithe hand coming up to shake his. Your eyes are flat but the lack of expression doesnât inoculate them from beauty; they remain sparkling and pretty all the same. Cameras snap the interaction, seemingly innocent, seemingly the first.
He fights, he really does, to keep his hands shaking yours. He forces himself not to hug you, press a kiss to your cheek even if that might look friendly, caress a hand across your cheekbone, brush the tendrils of hair out of your eyes. Itâs a valiant effort.
A valiant effort that pays off because, as soon as youâre ushered into a room by yourselves, your smile turns into a scoff; your hands are kept to yourself, slipping a pair of sunglasses on, and; underneath them, your eyes begin to roll. âI need a drink,â you huff, not even looking at him.Â
Youâre on two couches opposite each other, in what he assumes to be a foyer to a hotel room thatâs much bigger than the one he was in earlier. A-list fame and that. The girl heâd seen earlier scurries off, mumbling something about a martini. Greg, beside him, goes: âDo you need a drink, too?â But he shakes his head.
âAre you voluntarily working for this guy, Greg?â You refer to his assistant by name, offering a sarastic, honeyed smile. You adjust the strap of your dress and he blinks his gaze away.
âOh, no. I meanâyeah. Kind of. I was assigned to him.â
âItâs okay, I donât expect you to do it of your own will,â you joke, crossing your legs.
Charles laughs dryly. âWho asked?â
âSo he speaksâŚâ You ping off his retort without missing a beat, a sardonic smile playing at your lips.Â
âIn the two minutes weâve been around each other, youâve insulted me and my assistant. Iâd prefer silence, your highness.â
âAww, did my joke and asking Greg a question piss you off?â You suck your teeth. âYou must be fun at parties.â
âDo you two, um. I donât want to, like, overstep, but do you know each other?â Charles notices that Gregâs forearm is signed by you and realizes he has no allies here, with an inward grimace. âOr if you donât, like, are you two just⌠not in good moods or something?â
The girl comes in then, saying hereâs the martini and catering you a sweaty glass with a smile. You offer up the empty space beside you, patting the white leather for her to sit down on. Your eyes meet his again briefly, catty and a bit challenging, before you turn back to the girl. âSit.â
Maybe Charles spends too much time with Max, because heâs starting to become more and more inclined to getting the last word in lately. âBossing people around, eh? Fame really does change you.â He offers a smile of his own.
âSheâs my assistant, Rachel,â you say sweetly, but your smile is gritty. âWe need to check my schedule.â
He wants to slap himself. âToo busy to open your calendar?â Nevermind, heâs a god.
Your sarcastic smile drops. âAnd whatâs on yours? P6 this week, P7 next, DNF after?â
Fuck. The tension is so thick at this point, itâs almost steaming hot. Both the assistants stare at you, waiting for Charles to wedge something in, but he bites himself back. Thankfully, right as the silence just begins to settle like oil on water, the door swings open and one of the coordinators steps in, noisily rattling off the weekâs plans and proclaiming youâre both free for the remainder of the day before things pick back upâSchiaparelli show at noon, both of you, front rowâtomorrow.
The four of you filter out of the room, and you make a quip about your autograph on Gregâs arm, which grants your assistant some face time with Charles. She turns to him, combing a hand through her hair and furrowing her thick eyebrows. âHey, Iâm Rachel, by the way.â
âCharles.â
âI know,â she says sheepishly. âListen. I know you two have history, sheâweâsheâs, um, told me about it before. I donât know the whole story, and Iâm not⌠like, Iâm not saying I do, so I respect it, whatever it is. But I hope you can find it in you to work with her properly. Itâs a huge gig for you both. Soâyeah, uh. Great job, and good luck.â
She smiles with a nod before exiting the room, leaving Charles alone and stirring with thoughts and memories woken from wild unrest.
â
âAlors,â Charles had said, not turning from his position in front of your vanity mirror. Heâd been picking at his face, stopping only when you tsked at him not to. âWhat is the problem?â His eyes flicked over to you, your lying figure on the bed exhaling little puffs of frustrated air to the ceiling. âAre you missing the recital?â
âQuoi? Non.â You gnawed at your lip, accepting your defeat. You couldnât lie for much longer, not when youâd been keeping this under wraps for two months. âListen. Charles.â He nodded, clearly preoccupied with something. âCharles.â
âHmm?â
âCan you pleâlook at me.â Your voice hardened.
Heâd noticed it then, the curt cutoff of your voice, the absent look in your eyes. He knows you even through a mirror, even in the low light of your room. âDesolĂŠ. This pimple wonât go away.â
âCharles,â you said, groaning but allowing yourself to laugh. âListen.â
âOkay.â He turned to face you, a spot on his chin red from how long heâd been scratching at it.
You shrugged then, suddenly scared to deal with the realness of it all. You didnât understand why you felt so torn. âItâs something to do with me,â you said.
âYeah.â
âIâm moving.â You rubbed at your nose, the cold draft coming in through the window causing you to sniffle. âOut of Monaco.â
A beat. âWhat?â
You closed your fingers around your necklace, scratching absently at the divots of the pendant. One, two, three little dips in the gold locket, tiny but comforting. âYeah. In a few months, like, after school. Itâs Papaâhis job. Itâs a whole thing.â
âEurope?â You shook your head. America.
âWhat⌠well, what does that mean, then?â His expression didnât waver but if anything did, it was his eyesâdesperate, seeking more answers, wanting them with a guttural, belly-deep desire. Youâre his best friend, so if he has to let you go in this life, he at least needs to know everything about the move.Â
âWeâll keep in touch,â you reassured, kicking your leg to further your point. âYou were bound to get busy with karting anyway, so itâs like. Ăa revient au mĂŞme.â
âIt isnât the same,â he said, his voice thin and cracking.Â
âYouâll be fine.â
âYou have a very misguided idea of who I am.â
âShut up. Come off it,â you laughed, sitting up straighter. âWeâll call everyday, and Iâll meet all the famous people whoâll get me a real acting job, and Iâll come for the holidays or summer or something. Things wonât change. Not that much, at least.â
âMaybe, just maybe.â He pauses. âWill you be here for my birthday, at least?â Heâd made a big deal all year of his turning sixteen on the sixteenth.
âCharles,â you sighed.Â
âNo, yeah. I get it.â He looked down, rubbing his thumbs together, like heâs just been hit across the face. He will tell you one day it felt infinitely more painful than that. But at the time he shook his head and looked up at you, reached his pinky to yours, a thin slip of paper around the finger that matched your interlocked one, and didnât say anything else.
Just: âWeâll be okay.â
â
You could pin a lot of adjectives on Monaco: picturesque, without a doubt; warm, glamorous, but youâd sooner die than pin the word home over it. The city is sprawling even with the little surface area it possesses, and only few things seem familiar. Your lodging is a hotel in Monte-Carlo, a penthouse suite that requires you to travel very little. It feels like a vacation.
And you embody the role of a vacationer very wellâthe first five, six days of your stay in Monaco went great, mainly appearances that lasted a few hours at most and several junkets to promote Vogue and your latest film, before you were free to do whatever you wished. Youâd gone the touristy route already: shopping more times than you could count, trying your immense luck at the casinos, and eating at Michelin-starred restaurants; eventually all the fun blurred into each other and you found solace in naps instead.
Your troubles are not far behind, however, and they finally come after you on Day 7. The event coordinators had informed Rachel, who in turn informed you, that the first of next weekâs agenda would be a photographed tour of the MusĂŠe OcĂŠanographique de Monaco, a grand seaside building right at the edge of the water. Today is, apparently, a day for you to âfraternize withâ Charles, which meant you would once again need to put a façade over your less-than-kind appearance toward him.
Those are the concluding words of Davidâs very firm text, encouraging (read: coercing) you to settle things with Charles into some approximation of civility. You resolve things by calling him to skip over the awkwardness that comes with texting. It takes you all of twenty minutes and twice your body weight in courage to press the green telephone button.
âBâjour,â he goes, his voice quick. French people (he will hate that you called him French, even if it was just in your head; you relish in this) always talk rapidly. After some silence, he clears his throat: âHello?â
Butterfliesâsome form of them, whateverâflutter in your stomach. âItâs me.â
He drops formalities and adopts a disinterested voice. âHuh. What do you want?â The butterflies have rotted to death.
âI need to talk to you.â
âTo insult me again?â He sounds a little amused even over the phone, a breath of laughter landing in your ear. âBah, I get it. We are enemies. You have no interest in reconnecting, et cetera. Câest tout ce que tu as Ă dire? I gotta go.â
Your face warms at his accusatory tone. âWow, leave it to a guy to be charming, huh?â
âWhy should I be charming with you?â
âAt least be polite,â you taunt, but your voice lacks its usual edge. On the other line, Charles lets his own defiant tone ebb downward.
At least be polite. Itâs the least he can owe you after ten years of forgetting. It wasnât as if you two had a mutual agreement then, in 2013 when you moved away, to stop becoming friends. For months before you moved out, he completely stopped talking to you, like heâd forgotten you two were even connected, were even friends. What little words you two shared became petty and abrasive, and suddenly Monaco lost its color. The closeness you had with him, which for so long youâd convinced yourself was once-in-a-lifetime, was ripped from you, robbed from youâby him, no less, which hurt all the more. Youâd given up on finding out why at some point. You waited for him to reach out. Maybe, you told yourself, just maybe, it would take a few months, a year.
Ten years of radio silence. He owes you that: politeness.
âIt doesnât matter,â you say to nobody in particular, in an effort to segue into the topic of your choosing. âLook, weâre supposed to be friends. In⌠on camera, at least. Itâs disastrous if we look like we, you know, hate each other. We need to be professional.â
âFor the cameras,â he says back, solemn.
âYeah.â You wind a finger through your hair. âJust⌠for the sake of civility.â
You hear his little hums of consideration. âDâaccord,â he says after a few minutes. âTruce, then.â
âSure.â You smile a little. âI have to go.â
â
You were halfway through your mess of clothes when your mum peeked through your door, her hair held back by a headband. âCall you yet, poppet?âÂ
âNon,â you said, decimating your voice to a monotonous murmur. You looked up from the dress youâd been folding and offer a half-hearted, sardonic smile. âJe tâai dit quâil ne le ferait pas.â You were right: he wouldnât call. What difference did a month make, anyway? This time, though, the usual victory of being right settled into an ugly disappointment in the pit of your stomach.
You wanted so badly to be wrong. To clamber to the telephone, to your Skype, to your cellphone, any of the three, and see his name flashed across the helm or his voice in your ear. Maybe he was dialing your number now, to ask if you wanted to grab dinner after the year-end recital, or to update you on karting, or to tell you Pascale wanted lunch.
She could tell, as all mothers can, that youâd been upset. The knit in your brows that didnât go away, the bottom lip being chewed, the tight clutch of your fingers over the already-folded dress. She sighed. âIâm sorry, baby.âÂ
âItâs fine.â Your voice came out sharper than you intended and you have to roll it back, recede it, to sound more relaxed, more at ease. âItâs⌠fine. Iâm fine.â She knew better than to pry, closing the door softly to continue packing up the living room.
You heaved a dry sigh to express the nausea that came with his absence. It began a month ago, two days after you first told him about it and poked at the zit on his chin. Heâd buried his head in your shoulder until tears seeped into the cotton sleeve of your shirt, and you let him. You felt guilty, after all, for keeping it a secret for so long. You would leave in September, you told him. We have time.
Two days later he walked you home as always, on the âdangerousâ side of the street, lanky legs skipping to the tree in front of your house. You pointed at the beginnings of clementines on its dewy branches, smiling, inviting him in, but he remained leaning against the trunk, playing with his mop of hair that covered his forehead.
âBah, trop dramatique,â you said, poking fun. Lorenzo had showed you both some art house films he studied in class, and with the bout of French cinema, you and Charles had grown obsessed with making fun of overdramatic stills that often included the classic leaning-against-a-surface. âCome on, Mum made bouillabasse, I smell it.â
âWe need to talk,â he eked out awkwardly. âI have something important to tell you.â
You dropped your knapsack, leather scratching against the concrete of the steps to the front door as you walked over to him. âOuais?â
âIâŚâ His lips moved, wobbled, but nothing left, so he shut them and his eyes, like he was considering something. His breathing slowed into one rhythm you find yourself unconsciously matching, just two kids looking at each other in the dusky breeze of Monaco, the orange sun casting shadows over the clementine tree. You closed your hand over his, a tight clamp over his knobby wrist with certainty. âIâŚâ
âSay it.â
âI want to.â His eyes were shut. Exhale. Inhale, open. âI⌠Iâm going⌠going home.â
You breathed out apprehensively and relaxed. âOh.â You blinked. âThatâs it?â
âYeâouais. Yeah. I gotta.â Already he was climbing to the gate, waving a half-hearted goodbye. âSave some for me, oui? Bye.â
âCharles,â you warned after him, voice tinged with concern. âThatâs it, promise?â Your hand flexed around air.
âCross my heart!â The last thing he ever said with any bit of something genuine.
â
You reunite with Charles at a meeting; under the guise of your truce, he makes the barely-necessary small talk. The rest of the staff file out of the restaurant in due time, but you both stay. You ask about Lorenzo and Arthur, leaving out questions youâd rather not listen to him answer, and he tells you theyâre both alright. That his mum asks about you sometimes. That makes you smile. He asks if youâre still dating the guy youâd most recently been partnered with in Us Weekly.
âGod, no. We never even dated, the⌠um, tabloids always make shit up.â You purse your lips. âAnyway. Is Lorenzo still in film?â You ask, turning your head a little. You donât think youâll ever forget his affinity for cinema.
âNot professionally, but I still sit through hours-long⌠you know, reviews, and stuff.â He laughs when he sees you laugh, eyes half-closed and meeting the ceiling.
âHe introduced me to some of my favorite movies, especially when I got into acting and I was kind of⌠like, I wanted some inspiration, acting-wise. But not my actual favorite movie.â
âWhich is?â He segues into a more personal topic. âIs it still Bambi?â
âOh, it was, for the longest time!â You almost squeal with excitement. âNot anymore, though. Itâs been dethroned, ha ha. I think itâs⌠Iâd say itâs maybe Casablanca now.â
âHow American.â
âShut up.â Your face warms. âItâs so romantic. When he saysâwhen he goes, um. Weâll always have Paris. And then, Godâwhen Ilsa goes, I said I would never leave youâand Rick goes, And you never will⌠isnât it so classic? Romance movies nowadays areâI, I, I⌠I get scripts sent to me that are just so bad, and theyâre either too idealistic or too pessimistic, or too indie or too commercial, and.â You sigh. âItâs like nobody gets love right anymore.â
âUs Weekly disagrees,â he says weakly, after a period of silence.
âStop,â you laugh warningly. âAnd donât act like youâre not being paired up with different girls, too.â
For a minute you sit with the realization that youâve both been keeping tabs on each other all these years, even just a little bit. Itâs a bit jarring, itâs a bit warm, itâs a lot confusing. You make a move to ask for the bill but Charles is quicker, opens his mouth to implore your presence.
âCome see me tonight.â He says it like he didnât mean to, like it escaped him on a whim, a blurted out confession born out of your memories and conversation. His voice is dreamy, faraway. âEarth toâŚ?â
âWhâsorry. Fuck.â You clear your throat and deduce your next words. âWhere?â
âIâll text you. A club, near your hotel.â
âYeah⌠yeah, sure.â You hum an affirming noise.Â
â
Your name is on the list, though youâre sure it doesnât matter whether or not it was. No ID is needed, and paps catch a bouncer being dispatched to guide you through the nightclub toward the elevated area with significantly less people. Itâs low-lit, smoky, vaguely blue and purple, smelling of flows of alcohol and fresh ice. An Azealia Banks song is playing, pounding through your head.
Tabloids donât care about nightclubs. They care if you come out drunk or with a smidge of snow under your nose, neither of which have happened to you; entering is fair game, a fun affair, especially in a district like Monte-Carlo. You donât have any explaining to do, not even to questions like are you clubbing with your professional Vogue collaborator, Charles Leclerc?
The collaborator in question is the first to greet you, getting up and approaching you with a smile so obviously tense. The picture in front of him is like if heâd conjured up a forlorn fantasy of his to lifeâyour hair fell loosely over black lace, a hand pinched around the hem of your dress. âHey.â
âHi.â
âSo.â He realizes heâs in charge of the socializing, and turns to properly introduce you. âUm, guys, this is myâfriendâyou already knowââhe fusses over your name, which everyone in the world knows, anywayââand these are my friends. Pierre, Alex, George, Lando, Daniel⌠you know Joris.â He points to each guy's face as he goes, eliciting a beam every time he gestures.
You wave with a polite smile before you station yourself beside the only one you know: Joris, with whom Charles shares a longtime friendship. He greets you first, with a side hug. âLong time.â
âYeah, itâs been.â You watch him turn toward the low table, and back around with two shots, offering them to you with haste.
You thank the Lord that he makes quick, dextrous work of it, and before long youâve downed a glass or three of some strawberry four seasons thing, socializing with the different people around the table. One of them, Lando, talks about your latest film for five whole minutes (âI rated it five stars on Letterboxd. I left a review, if you wanna seeâ) before he leans close and asks: âAre you his girlfriend?â His is obviously referencing Charles, and you pull back from the proximity to shake your head.
âNo,â you holler to emphasize it. âWe used to know each other. I grew up here.â
âOh shit! Native!â He whoops, offering you another glass. This must be your fifth, maybe, fifth G&T or Cosmo or something or other of the night. You take it, drinking as you walk, planning to collect your bag to take with you to the bathroomâanother hand takes yours, though, dragging you down the steps. Halfway through, you realize itâs Charles.
âHowâs the drink?â He asks, brows straight.
âThatâs all you wanted to ask?â You raise your voice above the bass. âSomeone needs to teach you fucking⌠proper small talk.â A laugh involuntarily bubbles past your lips, eyes crinkling.Â
He laughs, too, despite himself. âNon, I wasâI was just asking. We shouldâI brought you over here toâso we couldâŚâ He realizes heâs been talking too fast without getting to the point and pauses, resetting himself with a pinched sigh. âDance.â
Your heart pulses. Dance? You hear yourself ask. For whâŚWhy?
âFor the sake of the truce.â His voice is light. âWe should try being closer.â
âWe were close once,â you say, loose. âDid you forget?â
Heâs looking right at you, and youâre warm all over. âHow could I?â
It feels too real. Not the wordsâyes the wordsâbut the alcohol, the alcohol is what youâre referring to, and all those shots and drinks suddenly seem not as harmless as theyâd seemed earlier. You scan the periphery for the WC sign and try your best not to look deranged on your way there, offering the same pretty smile to recognizing passersby. Behind you, Charles calls out; but you wave him off, heaving dryly.
The restroom is clean because the nightclub is outrageously expensive; you push yourself into the available stall thatâs in your direct path and crumple above it. You heave. Heave some more. Nothing comes. The nausea rises and recedes, so you decide to wait it out.
The bathroom door hauls open, bringing with it a few seconds of noise before it swings heavily onto the frame again, sealing the sterile silence. The momentary return of the bass from the dance floor sends your head spinning all over again and you freeze, willing yourself not to wind up hurling your guts into the toilet. Itâs a futile effort, though, because youâre feeling nauseated beyond your limit again, and you need water and maybe a salve or something.
âThis stall is open,â somebody says, a chipper American voice that grows in volume as it nears you. A gasp follows, and then: âOh, my God. Are you okay?â
You turn, your face flushed and lips parted. âIâm so sorry. I justâIâve been nauseous all night.â
âI have water,â she answers, reaching her arm outward, as if seeking it. âCarmen, the water!â A bottle of Evian is thrust into her hand by another girl (Carmen, you presume), and she doesnât hesitate to bend next to you to feed it into your mouth. She stares for a second, then goes: âOn the off chance Iâm lucky, and youâre the famous actress, by the way, I just want to say Iâm a huge fan of your work.â
Eyes wide, you lock eyes with her and pull away from the water. âOh, God. Yeah, thatâs me. Iâm so sorryâthis is so humiliating.â
âItâs notâitâs normal,â she assures, nodding. âWeâve all⌠yâknow, puked into a club toilet before.â From the stall doorframe, Carmen nods. âWhatâd you drink?â
âFruity stuff,â you recall, eyebrows knitting at the memory. âAnd shots.â
They both grimace at the same time, knowing the exact feeling, the exact taste, it seems. âAre you heartbroken or something?â Carmen asks; Lily shoots her a look that can only really mean donât ask the world-famous actress if sheâs heartbroken. But you laugh it off, shaking your head.
âNo. Thereâs a guy, though, and heâs⌠weâre⌠itâs a lot. I think I thought alcohol would absorb all of it, but⌠clearly, it did not.â Your lips simmer into a straight line and youâre quiet for a few moments before remembering youâre on a dingy club floor being supported by two nice girls who are strangers. âAnyway! Sorry. Iâm clearly, um, delirious.â You get up on semi-wobbly feet, swallowing the nausea as you go.Â
You walk to the sink, and behind your back, the girl and Carmen share a telepathic exchange (should we ask her to elaborate? Yes! Should we really? Fuck, no.) You rinse your mouth out, washing your hands and focusing on your reflectionâyour tired eyes, your smudged lip gloss, your fussed-up hair. You turn after rinsing, offering a small smile. âThank you.â
âItâs nothing,â says the first girl, offering her hand and a tube of lip gloss. âIâm Lily, by the way. And just so you knowâIâm so sure that guy has nothing on you.â Carmen, beside her, nods in solidarity, and your heart blooms.
Your smile grows as your hand shakes hers, accepting the lip gloss. âYouâre too kind. Thank yââÂ
âLil? Baby, are you puking?â Comes a disembodied male voice from the door, ajar ever so slightly. Lily visibly cringes and walks over to the door, pulling it open further. On the other sideâthe detective of sortsâhappens to be Alex, who youâd been introduced to a few hours ago. At the sight of you, his eyes widen with recognition.Â
âWeâre fine. Leave us alone,â replies Lily in a conspiratorial whisper. âCarmen and I have a new friend.â She doesnât even need to drop your name; your face alone is enough to make people recognize who you are.
Alex, however, refuses to admit defeat. âTry harder next time.â He pumps his eyebrows. âWe were introduced earlier.â He looks up and waves to demonstrate his truth; when you smile back, Lilyâs jaw drops as she turns to her boyfriend again, aghast.
âWhat the hell? How?â A pause. âNo offense. Itâs like. Two levels of fame, right there.â
He makes a pinched face. âSheâs Charlesâ⌠friend? I donâtâcoworker? Something, something. They were both vague about it. Actually, George and I were talking about it, and we both think something is up. With them.â
âWaitâyou might be right.â Her eyes are hyperfocused, and her voice drops to a whisper for a second. âLetâs talk about it at the hotel.â
You and Carmen watch their hushed exchange, and eventually Alex leaves you three alone again with a loud goodbye, which allows Lily to rejoin your conversation. âSorry,â she says with a smile. âThat was my boyfriend, Alex. I didnât know you two were introduced! He told me you knew Charles?â
âOh.â Your shoulders relax. âYeah, um. We knew each other as kids, but I moved away and we kind ofâwe drifted apart, so. Iâm here on a business trip, and heâs just welcoming me.â You try to reduce the decade-long mess into a sentence.
âSo youâre friends?â
âYeah.â You feel like vomiting all over again.Â
â
The skyâs a searing blue at noon, silver clouds lining the horizon. Charles has to press a finger to the high point of his cheek to test if heâs sunburned from the heat, and the cameras catch it; he doesnât doubt the fans will spin that into something cute later. Youâre somewhere else on the property, this big, massive thing of a museum thatâs crashed into by the waves.
He remembers Andrea first telling him about this whole arrangement. He and the team had deliberately left out any mention of you, like they could predict the immediate veto. He wonders if you knew, or if you, too, had been surprised when seeing him, a ghost of your past looking into your eyes. He wonders if you, too, are now in this endless emotional turmoil. Inside thereâs a photoshoot ongoing, with you but also with some models in varying aquatic-related poses to convey the intent of the building; heâs done his share of pictures already, just needs to sit down with you for an interview.Â
âAnd a B-roll of you guys, um, like, walking, likeâaround?â Gregâs voice invades his head again, the nervous man beside him running through a to-do list like this is boot camp.
Youâd left him hanging at the clubâhe couldnât blame you though. A truce hardly called for the bringing forth of memories you two are now supposed to have buried beneath you. Memories he buried first. But alcohol had loosened him, and maybe you had, too, your eyes in the vaguely bluish light and your smile.
He wishes to apologize. He makes up some excuse and finds you nursing an Evian by a faraway corner, against a screen of stingrays. Your eyes widen when you see him, in recognition. He waves and then, with a thumb, gestures to the catering outside.
You end up by the water eating one of the catererâs churros, a recommendation he deems âvery special.â (âHave you worked with these caterers before?â âNo.â) Itâs also his excuse to cheat on his diet and eat a churro or threeâchocolate dip included, always. You rave over the taste, smile, enjoy the view. Charles realizes this looks deceivingly like a date, and at the same time realizes he would not stop to correct someone if they assumed so.
âOur truce seems to be working.â You say in-between chews, voice flat but eyes bright.
âIt seems so. I owe that to my personality.â
You really laugh at that. âI didnât know you had one. Itâs very fit for someone as unapproachable as I am.â
âWho said that?â
âNo, nothânobody.â You comb a lock of hair behind your ear. âAw, putain. Iâm ruining my lipstick. Patâs going to kill me. I look awful.â There are no reflective surfaces around you to affirm your statement, but you sound so sure of yourself.
He smiles. He enjoys the illusion, the mask that you two seem to wear, albeit involuntarily. The chocolate syrup he squeezes on your little paper box of churros. The muttered back merci when heâs finished. Your flushed face, eyes darting from the delicacy to the ocean, eyelashes fluttering, lips smiling, curving into a laugh at some random realization. Briefly he imagines what he might tell somebody if they stopped to ask if you were dating.
Some old woman, French accent and short in stature. You two are so cute. Si mignon! And she would ask how you two met. Charles would tell her the story. But that is imagination. He blinks out of it and focuses on the beauty in front of him, so very real.
âNo. You are very pretty, you know.â He says then, and itâs taken him all his nerves and then some just to wrangle it out of his mouth and past his lips. Anticipatory, he watches you, waits for your response.
You comb the hair out of your face messily, licking over the cinnamon sugar on your lips; then you smile up at him, turning your head in question. âSorry,â you laugh, and his heartâs frozen because itâs the prettiest sound heâs ever heard. âWhat did you say?â
The wind roars in his ears, so Charles barely hears himself when he says, stuttering, âWhat? Nothing, I said nothing.â
You make a faceâconfused, suspiciousâbut all your allegations quell once you bite into another churro, stepping yourself a path along the area. Having blocked off the building, production staff and models are all that populate your surroundings, big headphones and even bigger cameras, rolling around racks of monochrome and HermĂŠs, Birkins to match Loro Pianas. Itâs easy to get lost in a crowdâin a cityâwhere everyone looks the same, and knows the otherâs name. Perhaps thatâs also why, even at fourteen, you were excited to leave, he thinks.
âThe coast was always my favorite part about the city.â
He notices. The way your eyes have softened, become more fond than when youâre in the centre of it all, in the bustle. Here itâs busy, but less busy; the distinction, perhaps, matters. Your gaze is not one of distaste, of disdain. Itâs nostalgic, homesick, yearning. He supposes he describes this gaze so well because itâs the way he catches himself looking at you over the week.Â
âI wanted toâŚâ He trails off. âI wanted to talk to you because, ah. Iâm sorry. It was foolish of me to put you on the spot last night. I shouldâve been more⌠yeah. Iâm sorry. I hope youâre okay.â
You stare at the sea and nod quietly. Instead of responding, you launch a story: âI alwaysâŚâ Youâre clearly lost in a different sphere of thought, and you have to fall quiet while finding the right words to say. âI remember, um. In Year 3, weâI came here with my mum. And I was super mad, because I got, like, three mistakes on my Maths paper?â You laugh and he does, too, but more because your storytelling is so effortlessly enthralling and funny and he needs to shut himself up.
âAnyway.â You pace around again, and he follows. âSo, Iâm mad, and sheâs trying to cheer me up, buys me glace and everything, but no. So I go sit myself on a random bench. It mustâve been around here, I think.â You look around and point at an empty area. âThere. But itâsâthey mustâve ripped it out. Whatever. So yeah, Iâm sitting there, and moping, and all of a sudden All You Need is Love by The Beatles comes blaring into the entire area.â
Charlesâ eyebrows knit confusedly. âWhat, the bench area?â
âNoâthe whole pier, I guess? Like, it was loud, I almost jumped. And then this guy comes in holding this hugeâthis, um, board? Sign? Poster? And heâs got half the pier in on his whole thing, and Iâm totally⌠it was just⌠yeah.â You smile. Itâs the biggest smile heâs seen on you since you got here and the fact that heâs even around to see it gets him all warm.
âSo what happened?â
âIt was a flash mob. You know thoseâyeah, theyâre usually insufferable, but that one was a little calmer. Nobody was, you know, dancing and yelling. It was just a bunch of people cheering and all, and the guy was actually proposing to his girlfriend. It was so cute.â You sigh a little, a brief exhale of air, and it turns into a smile. âIâd love that.â
He raises his eyebrows and, despite himself, laughs. âVraiment?âÂ
You turn to him, ready to defend yourself, mid-laugh. âHeeey. Everyone says they find big, romantic gestures cheesy, but I think deep down, if you trust the person enough, youâll like it. Maybe not a proposal, thoughâcan you imagine the pressure?â You pause. âBut I donât know. Thereâs something so nice about just knowing that person loves you so much they think itâs worth it to share it to everyone around you. So even if itâs cheesy, I wouldnât mind much. You?â
âItâs cheesy for me,â he disagrees, shrugging. âBut I see your point.â Truth be told, he didnât see you as a romantic typeâbut all heâs ever seen you do lately is work, and even back in childhood, all you ever did was study. He likes learning these little facts, ones you wouldnât share in interviewsâlikes knowing you feel comfortable enough to share with him. âDancing is a bit overboard.â
âOh, definitely.â You throw your head back to laugh, eyes half-shut and crinkled and reflecting the sun. Would you look the same if he was dancing to The Beatles, proclaiming all the words he hasnât had the courage to say?
â
Next question is who your first love wasâweâre rolling in threeâŚ
âFirst love?â You laughed a little, facing the camera to continue your Screen Test interview with W. The questions had been candid and lovely, but they were about your career, which you answered with familiar ease. First love is differentâuncharted, private territory. But youâd realized all this too late, and the director called go, and you let words spill out of you like a bag popped open.
âI want to be funny and witty and say acting, but that would be a lie. Um, my first love was a childhood friend. We lived near each other, our parents were friends, and I⌠I really did, I liked him a lot. But theseâthere were so many factors at tension with each other, like me moving away in 2013âthatâs, what, six years ago now? And us being young and not really knowing how to communicate. When youâre a teenager, youâre kind of just like, oh, no worries, um, thatâll sort itself out, and then you grow up and look back and realize, these things never do. But I miss him a, a, a⌠a lot, and I think of him always.â Your smile didnât reach your eyes when you looked at the camera again. âWe learn a lot from childhood loves.â
Cut. Lovely. Just lovely.
âThank you, Lynn,â you said with a small smile. A pause as silence creeps up onto the room, and then, quieter: âCould we omit that? Iâsorry. I could answer anything else. First kiss, or something? Iâm sorry, I just. Sorry.â For the first time in five years, you realize, youâve conjured his memory again.
â
âOkay. What else do you remember?â
âI⌠do you remember the recital song?â
âOf course I do! The dance is⌠thatâs a different story.â Youâd been at Charlesâ hotel room earlier to go over some video shoot regulations for a 24 Hours With video youâre doing in a few days. You stayed becauseâthatâs beyond you at this point, and youâd rather not delve into the rationality of it all. Youâre content with thinking about how nice this conversation is, a trip down memory lane.
âThe dance, mon dieu, the dance.â He smothers a hand over his face, smiles fondly. âYou were at the center!â
âStop. Stop,â you protest, letting laughter settle into quiet. âItâs crazy, you know? How we⌠like, we share a life. Notâbut like, we had a whole childhood together.âÂ
âAnd nobody knows.â Itâs not something you keep a secret on purposeâitâs just that neither of you feel like name-dropping the other. Some stories have surfaced, but none of you have fully commented. Somehow, thatâs a good thing for you.
âDo people ask?â
âPeople ask, yes.â His accent is a reminder of your pastâyouâd once had the same thick wraparound, the loose reign over English youâve now grown to master. Now your accent is a lot thinner, to the point where itâs barely perceptible, and if it is, your coworkers and fans call it cute, chic, use it as a jumping off point to ask where you grew up. But in this hotel room, legs folded underneath you and glass of wine in hand, you have no coworkers or fans, it feels like; no one to perceive you but Charles. Charles and his accent, nostalgic and so very his, which you wouldnât describe as anything but home.
âWhat do you tell them, then?â Quickly, you add: âThe truth, orâŚ?â
âThat we knew each other as kids,â he says, smiling absently. âThat is the truth, no?â
You cover a smile with the rim of your wine glass, nodding. Thereâs no revisionist history in that statement, but it hides a lot of the truth, the nitty gritty of it. You know it, he knows it, you both know it. âWhat would you want me to say?â His voice is soft and thin and imploring, so different from the boisterous voice he uses in public, from the slurred voice you heard in the club. This sounds real. This sounds like a conversation you wouldâve had years ago in your childhood bedroom before everything wentâ
âNothing, thatâs fine.â You cut your own reverie off, clearing your throat. You even laugh, to alleviate the tension, but he sees right through you so many years later. âUnless youâre privy to telling people how we didnât talk for months before I left.â
He blinks, smothers a palm over his face again, and sighs, eyes meeting yours. âIâm sorry. I donâtâI⌠Iâve wanted to bring it up.â
âIâm not mad.â Itâs a half-lie. âOkay, noâI am, a bit. It justâit wouldâve been nice to hear it two weeks ago.â
âI know.â He doesnât even need to say it, but him saying it sends a low thrum of reassurance in you. Charles has found, in the two weeks of being in your company, that he accomplishes a sense of selfâa sense of quiet, a sense of privacyâwhen heâs alone with you. Perhaps itâs your natural ability to bring out the best in people, to talk and loosen tongues and make everyone around you feel safe. Or, and this is on a likely front, maybe he misses being one of those people.Â
He pretends heâs back to last week after another club rendezvous left you tipsier than the first time, dropping you off at your hotel room with two hands taut at your shoulders, one pinching a keycard. Youâd been muttering something under your breath, stumbling as you wentâyou werenât tripping too much, really; he didnât need to hold you, but he told himself he had toâand leaning against the doorframe of your room, staring at him blankly. When he met your eyes, you said: maybe, just maybe. Just those three words. If he tries to remember right, youâd been smiling, but he was sufficiently tipsy, too, so he could just as well be wrong.
He does remember a few things right. The eyeliner smudged across your lower eye, lipstick smacked to a point where it looked like you wore none, beads of salt by your lip, your hand wrapped around your necklace.Â
The silence is anything but awkward; still, he resolves to break it. âWhen you were drunk last week.â He looks up. âYou saidâyou kept saying, maybe, just maybe.â
A laugh escapes you, stilted and a bit nervous. âOh. That wasâyeah, okay.â
âWhatâs it mean?â
âYou seriously donât remember?â Youâre laughing for real now, your hair bobbing with it, eyebrows furrowed to emphasize your confusion. âOh, my God. Charles, itâs all you ever said in Year⌠what, 7? I donât⌠anyway. But when we were maybe twelve, IâŚâ
Momentarily, youâre stunned by the memories of himâyouâd forgotten they were even there. You press a few fingers to your lips and clear your throat. âSorry. Yeah, I, umâI think you heard it in a movie or read it somewhere, and for ages it was your favorite saying. Maybe, just maybe.â
âI donât understââ
ââYou were always just saying it,â you cut in, laughing, your voices layering as you discuss the origin of his former favorite term. âNo, you reallyââ
âI donâtâI do not ever remember sayââ
ââWell,â you say, âI remember.â He stays silent for a few seconds, the intensity of your stare and the little smile on your face and everything beating down on him. For a split second he thinks of opening his mouth and getting on his knees and telling you everything, all the apologies, all the things unsaid in the months and years you became strangers. He seriously does. The pressure is almost physical, beyond overwhelming.
âI have to go.â You swallow the lump in your throat, disentangle your legs and clamber off the couch, setting the empty glass on his coffee table. âGood?â
âYeah,â he says, blinking. âYeah. Take care. Should I drive you?â
âGod, no.â You laugh breathily. âIâll see you tomorrow.âÂ
He closes the door after you leave, stares at it, as if that will conjure you back to him. It occurs to him, jolts him almost, that heâd almost let slip a quiet utterance of love you as you slipped out. His stomach boils. With thankfulness over not having said it, he wondersâor with regret?
â
âBest friends now, are you?â Lily, Carmen, and Rachel look up to the sound of your voice, their serious faces breaking out into smiles. If you could chart the time you spent here, there are definitely people youâve spent the most time withâthese three are at the top of the list. You hang your coat and drop your Chanel bag on the entryway seat, already picking up on the British noises of Love Island UK from the telly.
âWait, so sheâs hooking up with him?â Lily asks, confused; her train of thought is cut off by your flopping onto the bed. âHiiii. Whereâve you been?â
Muffled by the bedspread: Charlesâ place.
Silence. The television switches off and you hear the precarious preparation of three girls readying themselves for a debrief-or-sobfest of a lifetime, a noise youâve heard and partaken in countless times over your life. You suddenly feel too watched, too spectated; you break the quiet by looking up, displaying your tear-streaked face.
âTalk to us,â Rachel encourages, her voice raspy with unuse (Love Island will keep one occupied and quiet for hours on end). Three of them are touching you in some way or other, reassuring grips on your hair or shoulders. âDid you two fight?â
And, oh Christ, fight? Itâs not like youâre dating. You arenât even halfway to that (not that you want to be, but thatâs a discussion for another time). The idea of a fight with him is so terribly juvenile, so horribly reminiscent of secondary school and Monaco and being together and being friends. You canât fight with a guy whoâs not your boyfriend. You canât fight with a guy youâre not close to, for Chrissake. You squeeze your tears out of your eyes and breathe hiccups out.
âDo you want gelato?â No, no.
âLove Island?â In a minute.
The truth is, you want both, but you really just want to sort everything out with Charles. It was no useâhating each other was futile, but pretending everything was fine in some pathetic attempt at a âtruceâ seemed even worse. You just want to talk everything out, even if it excavates feelings youâd once been able to suppress.
âWhat kind of crush doesnât disappear after ten years?â You ask through tears. Itâs almost funny, but the question comes straight from the heart. âIâve dated guys, lived across the world, started a whole new life pretending he neverâpretending we wereâfuck. Pretending he didnât exist. It wasâIâm not lying, it was easy, pretending. But one glimpseâI see him one time and suddenly it feels like all of it was in vain. Itâs the same crush I had before, coming back, like itâs never going to leave me alone.â
âMaybe itâs not a crush,â says Lily, slowly.
âSo what is it then?â You ask, hopelessly. What is thisâthis revival of memories? This little feeling, this sense that no matter where he is or what heâs doing, youâll be just as in tune when you reunite even if it takes a decade? A decade spurred by months of being given the cold shoulder? What kind of magic is that?
She doesnât answer, because you already know.
â
âHey VogueâIâm here with Charles Leclerc, and weâre here to take you along with us on all our little adventures here in Monaco.â Your smile is rehearsed, the perfectly-orchestrated blend of fun and serious, and when the cameraman calls cut, it falls into a more natural resting face. Itâs the one Charles turns to and observes for any signs of a grudge.
The day is busy, which is precisely why it was chosen as the film day: three shows in the morning, press junkets for your movie and Charlesâ season in the afternoon, and then a gala in the evening, hosted and attended by Anna Wintour herself.
The dayâs business is only trumped by its tension, which reaches its crescendo in the janitorâs closet of the fourth floor of your hotel. Itâd begun with a fight over the color palette, then a fight over last conversation you shared, then a fight over him fucking up the color palette, and then kissing against the door. Ironically enough, this floor houses a fair number of honeymoon suites.
Itâs ironic beause hardly anything about this is or should be romanticâitâs a temporary fix, a pause from the turmoil, his hand squeezing your thigh. Heâs gentle but you feel his possessiveness, lingering longer, higher and higher up until heâs playing with the high hem of your skirt. You knot your fingers in his hair, smell the shampoo and hairspray and cologne in the wispy curls there.
He kisses your jaw, then downward, until heâs licking, nipping at your throat. Charles.
âYeah?â His voice is rough against your pulse point.
âMake itâwe gottaâquicker.â Your hands tremble, heart hammering loud and bold in your chest. His voice is sure, gravelly, quiet, and you have to focus on somethingâso you centre on his hands, up your thighs and slipping under the lace of your skirt, bunching the fabric up around your hips. His hands, big and calloused, fingers resting on your hipbones, on your ass.
Heâs hard against your thigh, straining against his jeans. You could cry. âI want more.â
âI know, baby. I know.â The pet name, so new but so natural, sends you into a dopamine rush.
You squirm when he doesnât let up on his touches, over every inch of your body, groping you. He wants to take his timeâhe hates that he canâtâand counts on the possibility of a next time. You pull him in for a spit-slick kiss, needy and whimpering, sloppy and tongues knotted. It feels goodâfuck, it feels like this was all you were ever made for, his touch.Â
You buck your hips into the air desperately. âWe reallyâfuck. We donât have time.â Cameras, a shoot, a video; reminders ring in your head like alarm bells. He nods, goes I know, and you pick up the strain in his voice as he tugs his jeans down just enough to rub his clothed cock under your entrance, hard and drooling through the fabric.
You moan softly. âPlease, I can take it,â you breathe. Youâve never been this wet, this worked up, this teased. You need to feel him, be full of him; he presses you flush against the door with a hand at the small of your back to keep it from aching too much, and drops forward as he pushes into you. Your noses brush and he goes deeper, air thick and muffled with little moans and whimpers.
His mouth is against your jaw, thrusting slowly to get you used to the size of him. The angle gets you dizzy, draws a burst of wetness out and gets you clenching around him. Youâre flushed and sweaty, moaning. Feels sâgood. So good, Charles, so, so good. He fucks harder, the door rattling, dirty talk cooed from his lips to your ear: Yeah? Feels real good? Youâre so good for me, baby, come on.
Your needy voice, needier movements, are driving him crazy, getting him to fuck you harder, licking over his lips as he watches you fall apart on his dick. Relax, he slurs. You squeeze around him and moan, wretched and raw. Oh fuck, fuck, fuck. Youâre so big. Youâre getting his dick wetter and wetter with every thrust, shiny and drooling with cum.
Yeah? He says it so well, the best kind of reassurance. Come on, we donât have time, baby. Let me feel you cum.
I knowâ you whine. Iâm cummingâit feels too goodâ
You cum first, thighs shaky around him and lip curling into your teeth. You lean forward, mouth to his shoulder, and bite at the cotton. Fuck, he grunts, and releases then, a groan spilled into your hair. You watch, laughing breathlessly, and feel the world click into something different.Â
You two will do anything, apparently, but talk this all through.
â
The gala is big and extravagant and youâre seated not with Charles this time, but with a roster of celebrities straight out of an LAX red-eye. Anna is at the table adjacent, andy you were able to talk to her about the experience, though not without leaving out bits with Charles in them.
Youâre beside Florence and sheâs talking about something, about a new movie sheâs working on, and you chip in with jokes and laughs but your smile doesnât really reach your eyes. Youâre still caught in a web of fragile confusion. âI need to excuse myself for a moment,â you say after a while, after youâve done nothing but smile and push broccoli puree around on your plate.
Consolation comes with isolation, at least tonight, at least right now. You find an empty balcony on the third floor, stare into the black sea. You try and try to remember what life was like three weeks ago, but itâs irrevocable now, the change thatâs come since then. You tap the glass of your beer bottle against the marble banister, solid and probably expensiveâa match for the rest of the hotel, you realize. Itâs starkingly clean and smooth, and white, the kind of things youâd only say about a marble banister when youâre trying to avoid an adult introspection.
Behind you: âAre you okay?âÂ
In response, you say, âWe shouldnât have had sex.â
Charles settles himself into a spot near you, not totally beside but not too farâhe, too, holds onto a bottle of beer. There are fancier drinks around, but somehow the dry taste of ale is all that brings you comfort right now. Your gears turn and, without prompt or question, you spill yourself forth.
âIt was hard, when you didnât⌠when we didnât talk, and you didnât ever tell me why, so I didnât know anything. I keep remembering it, even now, whatâten years later, ha ha, even after⌠I donât know, after the fact. Weâre supposed to have moved on from shit that happened to us when we were fifteen but Iâm finding it to be the hardest thing in the world. It was so⌠like, I had no trouble saying goodbye to anything else but you. And Iâm famous now, my life is a whole thing, aâthis whole party, and Iâm supposed to⌠fuck.â You shut your eyes, and you can feel, through the thick fog of embarrassment and delirium, the tears that stain your cheeks. âItâs like. You know when youâre a teenager and you see all of it in movies and TV, this, like, moment where youâre staring at someone from across a room, and youâre smiling and talking to other people and youâre happy because you know in a few hours, youâll be with that person anyway? At home, rearranging furniture, feeding the dog, eating leftovers? That⌠I always thought youâd be that person for me. Maybe because you were the onlyâyou knowâthe only love I ever knew, and now, what. Four? Boyfriends and ten years later, you might expect me to feel differentlyâhell I expect myself to feel differently, but, unfortunately for you and me, I donât. Sorry. Iâm notâIâm not drunk, or anything.â
He stares at you, his expression soft and unreadable. It feels like itâs just the two of you in the world today, twenty-somethings, ten years later, unearthing all you left buried. âIâŚâ he says, before pausing. âIâm sorry for leaving.â
You nod in response.Â
âI always thought you would forgive me.â His face is sullen and handsome and your heart seizes. âI wanted to be your person.â
âHow could I forgive you without an apology?â Your voice comes out fragile. âI leave in three days. Youâve fuâyouâve⌠youâve kissed me, had sex with me, flirted with me. Youâve done everything but that.â
âI did apologize. I donât think it was enough, butââ
âBut you didnât,â you reply, a jagged response. âYou never said anything.â
âI wrote you.â His eyebrows knit. âI wrote you.âÂ
âYou wrote me.â You repeat, deadpan. Your head spins with it. âWhat, a letter?â
âAn e-mail. Before your first film came outâ2014? A year after you⌠yeah.â Heâs quiet and timid and nervous. âI forced Gi to tell me your address.â
âI didnât⌠I wasnât using that e-mail anymore. I havenât in years.â You pinch your nose and let the silence settle like fine dust onto the room, an unspoken bomb that explodes over the both of you, raining regret and unsaid words. âI have to go.â You push yourself off the banister, turning already to the doors of the balcony. He stops you before you can step any further, a hand closed over your wrist, rough and warm.
âIf you find the message,â he says, âwill you read it?â
âI donât plan to,â you lie. âGoodnight.â
â
From: Charles Perceval Leclerc <[email protected]>
Date: 14 October 2014
To: You
Subject: Urgent!
hey buttercup, I asked Giada for this email address. my bday in 2 days. Will you be home for Xmas this year btw? ill show you some new places that open ed + we can bike around. mum misses u a lot too. parfois je souhaite que tu ne partes pas⌠not sometimes but always. i think i need to edit this a little let me try ag
From: Charles Perceval Leclerc <[email protected]>
Date: 14 October 2014
To: You
Subject: Buttercup
jâappellerais mais je ne pense pas que tu veuilles rĂŠpondre. itâs been more than a year since you moved out, in two days iâll be celebrating my second birthday w/o you. iâve been karting a lot, things are looking up, just like we always said they would :) just want to say i miss you a lot, and i hope youâre doing good. i would say i hate radio silence but i know itâs my fault all this happened in the first place. iâm sorry i stopped talking to you last year when you were moving away. i was being childish, but the truth is it was the only way i could handle it - by pretending we werent friends at all⌠i donât want to make you pity me or anything (ne pense pas que je suis) but yeah youâre my best friend and you always will be. iâm sorry for being a knot head.
i was always scared to tell you but itâs been there since forever: i love you. i shouldâve enjoyed your months here instead of leaving you in the air. i know i ignored you but itâs the 1 thing i regret. shouldâve done a lot more, i know.. but i didnât. we have a lot of promises i broke because i was being selfish. i kept the paper ring to remind me. remember that? we had a âplayground weddingâ when we were 5/6?
tu ne me dois rien - i just want you to give me a chance to make you happy, even if itâs just in the way weâve always been (as friends). if you write me back iâll try and fly there. mum is always asking me if weâve talked yet. if not, thatâs ok. i love you all the same and i will love you as you reach your dreams. this will never change.Â
charles
p.s: est-ce que je te manque?
p.p.s: call me if you can and wish me a happy birthday?
â
âRachel, I would sooner die than wait another two hours for the tarmac to clear again.â You try to up the firmness in your voice but it fails, only serving to make you sound less angry and more agitated. When all you get in response is a muffled Iâm coming! you grumble and hang up the phone. Your plane was delayed all of three times, and the instant it arrives and is scheduled to take off on time, your friendsistant is nowhere to be found.
Lily and Carmen had thrown you a goodbye party the night prior, with sprinklers and music and cocktails, and promised to be on the next flight to L.A. Vogue and David had emailed you for a job done spectacularly, and to watch out for the videos and interviewsâ release dates. Twitter is raving about your movie. Everything should be good, and yet, itâs not.
You check your inbox. IM COMJNG LILTIERALLY IM RUNNING THRU AJRPPRT!!!!!! You scoff again, hoping the plane doesnât somehow take off for the fourth time, and take a seat on the VIP waiting area sofa again, shaking your now-empty chai latte. The room, sectioned off from economy and business, is fairly full.
A woman paces over to you, a bright grin on her face. âHi. Iâm a huge fan.â
âThank you,â you smile, despite your tiredness.
âThis is so embarrassingâbut do you happen to have the time?â
âSureââyou tap your phone openââhalf past four.â
âGreat,â she says. âThanks, Buttercup.â
Youâre opening your mouth to say youâre welcome, but it catches like cotton in your throat. You watch her depart like nothing happened, a strange feeling settling in your chest. You have barely any time to answer it, because a flight attendant is tapping you on the shoulder, addressing you by name, thankfully. She maintains a tone of professionalism all throughout her announcement that the aircraft under your name will have to evacuate the runway in ten minutes or less.
âI know, I knowâIâm just, um. Iâm waiting for somebody. She should be near now, though.â
âTremendous. Merci, Buttercup.â
âWhââ You stutter, blinking and watching her leave. âWhat?â
She doesnât turn, walking to the kiosk to exchange information with her coworkers. You look around the airport, for a camera hidden somewhere maybe. Perhaps youâve been unknowingly listed in some Impractical Jokers skit.
Rach hurry you text instead, leaning back and hoping youâre in some grandiose delusion. Your phone dings. Omw promise! It reads. Then: Look up buttercup
Your head snaps upward faster than you can register what youâve just read, matching the opening notes of a song youâve grown all too familiar with in your lifetime. The opening beat to Build Me Up, Buttercup flows like honey through the roomâs intercom and floods it with life.
Mouth agape, you watch as the staff and guests perform the routine youâd learned at fourteen, complete with hops and turns you were too embarrassed to do even then. Theyâre smiling and whooping themselves and each other as they go, finishing the entire first verse before turning collectively to the entrance of the room. There, in all his glory: Charles, wearing an entirely too-small headdress that reads Buttercup, worn dusty from years of being stored away.
Heâs dancing, too, closer to you. You refuse to budge for the express purpose that he dance some more, which he complies with, though not without an eyeroll and an exasperated sigh. Your heart beats with something irregular and warm. Youâd told him about this before. Heâd listened.
The music settles for a little and the dancers do, too, so he takes the time to raise his sign. Will you forgive me? It reads. No pressure. Except kind of. You laugh, throwing your head back at the gesture, at this entire affair that must have taken some amount of effort to prepare. As the lyric comes on, so does his sign: I need you⌠more than anyone, darling.
He drops the sign when you approach him, arms crossed over your torso. He removed the headdress and places it gingerly on yours. âI believe that belongs to you.â
And, hyperaware of all the eyes and yet the complete lack of camerasâyouâre grateful for itâyou finally, finally, finally pull him in for a kiss. Youâve kissed before, done your worst, but still means volumes to the both of you.
In-between kisses and cheers (from voices belonging to Lorenzo, Rachel, Lilyâso many familiar ones), he says it again: âIâm sorry. Iâll make it all up to you.â
âYou better,â you tease into his lips, smiling. âI know. I love you.â Ten years laterâyour person still is, and no doubt will always be, Charles Leclerc.
#f1#charles leclerc#charles leclerc fluff#charles leclerc imagines#charles leclerc drabble#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc smut#f1 x reader
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Court baby i've waiting for this moment! I have this idea for a fic living rent free in my head. Its Frank x fem!reader. They were in a very cozy and confy moment when the snap happened and reader was blipped! You could write how Frank deald with those five years and with reader coming back. With a lot of angst moments and flufly and maybe spicy after she comes back. I would love if you accept this request! Thank you, I love you â¤ď¸
i'm not gonna lie to you, the blip is my least favorite marvel storyline, but I love you so I put myself and frank through it just for you đ¤
I would say sorry that i'm about to emotionally wreck you but in my defense, you did ask for this so...enjoy or don't
warning: swearing, mentions of blood, violence, guns, & alcohol, heavy angst, very brief allusion to suicide (blink and you miss it) word count: 4.1k
the blip.
A split second. Thatâs how quickly Frank lost you. He turned his back for a second to refill his mug of coffee, and when he turned back around, you had vanished seemingly into thin air. At first he thought maybe you had gone back into the bedroom to grab a sweater or something. It had been a bit chilly in the kitchen, and you were always cold. But then a few seconds turned into a few minutes, and Frank didnât hear any shuffling or soft footsteps. He didnât hear anything at all. The crisp silence had an icy sense of dread trickling down his spine, and when he didnât hear your sweet voice responding to his cautious calls of your name, he went into a full blown panic.
You were gone.
Year One.
This wasnât happening again. It couldnât be. There was no way he had survived losing Maria and the kids just to find you, to let your endless patience and irrevocable empathy fill the gaping void in his chest, only to lose you too. It had to be some kind of cruel joke. Frank didnât consider himself a good man; he was well aware of and acquainted with his demons. But he didnât deserve this.
Did he?
It was forty-eight hours before anyone even knew what happened. One giant asshole snapped his fingers, and half the universeâs population ceased to exist. Frank had stopped believing in God a lifetime ago, and he certainly didnât believe in aliens or otherworldly creatures. He had seen first hand during his time in the Marines that mankind was the real monster. But it didnât matter that he didnât believe in it, because it happened, and not even the fucking Avengers could stop it. Hell, half of them were gone too.
Two weeks after the snap, news broke that Thanos had been killed, and that the Infinity Stones were destroyed, but the remaining members of the Avengers were trying to come up with a way to bring everyone back. For months Frank was glued to every news outlet, frantically waiting for even the smallest of updates. Anything was something. He refused to believe that the snap was permanent. The Avengers were going to find a way to bring everyone back. They had to.Â
Your pillowcase had stopped smelling like your shampoo, and Frank found himself using it and your body wash just to keep your scent on the sheets. He burned your favorite candles and read your favorite books. He wouldnât stay gone longer than fifteen minutes in case you finally came home. He wanted to be there when you did. Frank kept himself busy with little projects around the house, things that you had mentioned changing or updating that he had promised he would get around to and never did. Frank swore to himself when you came home, things would be different.Â
He would take that trip you wanted to go on. Heâd take you to the shelter to pick out a dog like you had been talking about. Maybe you two would finally start a family. Whatever you wanted, heâd give you. Heâd find a way to give you the goddamn moon and every single star in the sky if you wanted them.Â
As soon as you came home.
But then a year went by, and nothing had changed. The anniversary of the snap came and went, and everyone seemed to give up hope on bringing everyone back, or they just decided to move on and accept that no one was coming back.
But Frank couldnât do that. He wouldnât. He refused to believe you were really gone.
Year Two.
The worst part about the snap was that Frank couldnât collect his vengeance in blood like he had with his family. The one who took you from him was already dead, and even if he hadnât been, Frank had no way of reaching him. Thanos was a Titan, someone who was revered as a God to those that followed him, and Frank was just a man. A man poisoned with rage and an insatiable thirst for revenge. So, he did what he was good at. He punished. Even though half the universeâs population was gone, that didnât mean there werenât still monsters left on Earth.
Frank killed without mercy or prejudice. There was no sin too harmless for his wrath. His fists collided with skin and bone until there was nothing left but ivory fragments tainted crimson and torn flesh. He didnât stop, not even when his destructive blows caused his own knuckles to crack. It had gotten to the point where he hardly reached for a gun anymore unless he absolutely had to. He preferred to use his hands or serrated steel. He wanted to inflict every ounce of pain that he felt inside on whoever was stupid enough to get in his way.
It was like he wasnât even mentally present anymore. His conscience had been shut off somehow, and all that was left was a relentless killing machine. Whenever he ran out of targets in the city, he moved on to hunt in the next one, and the next one, and the next one. He lived primarily out of his van, or whatever dingy motel he came across on the road. He hadnât stepped foot in your home in almost a year. He couldnât. It was haunted by your memory, and he couldnât desecrate the home you two had made together with what he had become.
You would be ashamed of him. You would be disgusted and horrified by the things he had done. That thought echoed in his head as he watched the water continue to run red while he stood under the weak spray of the shower head. He didnât know what town or even what state he was in. He didnât know what day of the week it was, or what month it was. He didnât care. All he knew was that you were gone, and he had nothing left.
Nothing left but the white hot fury that infected his veins and had him seeking out blood like water in the desert.
Year Three.
Frank couldnât visit you, not like he could Maria and the kids. He couldnât even have the closure of burying you, because there wasnât a body. There was no final resting place for you, and he didnât think that was fucking fair. Today was your birthday, and Frank had been drowning himself in whiskey trying to dilute the painful memories that played in his head like a haunting home movie.Â
The angelic sound of your voice as you read him whatever book your nose was buried in that week, your fingers slipping through his dark tresses while he laid his head on your chest and listened in pure content. The feeling of your soft lips on his heated skin and delicate noises of pleasure as your bodies connected like they were made for each other. Your melodic laughter, the silkiness of your skin, slow dancing in the living room with the moon acting as a spotlight.Â
All the words he never said. All the promises he didnât get to keep. All the dreams that wouldnât come true.
Somehow Frank found himself in a church. He couldnât remember the last time he stepped foot in one. Maybe it was Sunday school back when his parents still forced him to go. He had stumbled in, his heavy boots thudding along the aisle, the only other sound coming from the amber liquid sloshing around in the half empty bottle in his hand. He stopped when he got to the front, looking up at the stained glass depictions of angels, until his weary eyes landed on the savior that was nailed to the giant cross.
Frank glared at him for several minutes before hurling the half empty bottle right at the head of the statue, causing a firework explosion of shimmering shards of glass to rain over the altar and various candles that had been lit for loved ones that had passed on. His rough voice boomed throughout the empty space.
âYou son of a bitch! Why didnât you take me, huh? Why not me? She ainât never done a goddamn thing wrong. Iâm the one you want. Iâm the one that deserves it. Iâm the goddamn killer here, huh? Iâm the fuckinâ Punisher. So you bring her back, and you take me!â
Frank started grabbing bibles from the pews and hurling them at the statue with all his strength. In his inebriated state, some of them flew right past the statue and knocked over other small figurines and candlesticks. He let out a guttural war cry every time he threw a new one, and by the time he ran out of steam, he was panting heavily, and tears had formed in his eyes.
Dropping to his knees, he looked up at the melancholic face of the statue that matched his own, and he did something he hadnât done in years.Â
He prayed.
âPlease. Please, just bring her back. Iâll take her placeâŚI wonât fightâŚjustâŚjust bring her back. Iâm begginâ youâŚIâll do whatever it takes, alright? JustâŚyou canâtâŚyou canât do this to me again. You canât. I may deserve it, but she donâtâŚokay so justâŚjustâŚâ
Frank was tired. Three years without you was too long. He hadnât been able to find the peace that he had found after Maria and the kids. He spent a year waging war on everyone, and it did nothing. He spent the last few months drowning himself in booze, and it didnât help. Nothing helped, and there was nothing to keep him going. You were gone, and you werenât coming back, so what the hell was he still getting out of bed every morning for?
Reaching into the pocket of his coat, Frank pulled out a revolver and stared down at it. There was only one bullet in the chamber, and it wasnât meant for anyone but him. If God wouldnât bring you back, then he would go to you.
As soon as he cocked the hammer, a familiar voice sounded behind him.
âYou donât wanna do that, Frank.â
Turning his head to look over his shoulder, Frank squinted his blurry eyes before turning back around, shaking his head with a dry laugh.
âYou gotta be fuckinâ kiddinâ me. Half the goddamn universe gets wiped out, and I get stuck with the fuckinâ altar boy.â
âFrank-â
âMind your fuckinâ business, Red. Just cause thereâs only one bullet in this chamber donât mean I wonât handle your ass.â
Matt let out a deep exhale through his nose as he took a few cautious steps towards where Frank was on his knees in front of the altar.
âYouâre drunk-â
âAnd youâre fuckinâ relentless. Go home.â
âLook, whoever you lost-â
âWhoever I lost? I lost everyone, Red!â
Matt didnât flinch when Frank suddenly rose from his knees and stormed over towards him, his loud voice booming in the silence as they stood barely an inch apart. Matt cocked his head to the side slightly, his lips pursed as he grit his teeth.
âYou think youâre the only one thatâs lost everyone youâve ever cared about, Frank?â
âThen what the hell are you waitinâ on, huh? You too much of a fuckinâ pussy to do it yourself, huh? That it? You need me to do it for you?â
Matt carefully reached out to place his hand on Frankâs arm, lowering the gun that was in his hand while he spoke in a calm voice.
âI donât want to die, Frank. And I donât think you want to either. You just want the pain to stop. But if you do this, itâs permanent, and youâll never know if she came back.â
Frank shook his head and blew a puff of hot air out of his lips, his dark brows scrunching up in pure annoyance and frustration.
âShe ainât cominâ back-â
âYou donât know that. Sheâs not dead, Frank. Sheâs lost. Maybe sheâs with Karen and Foggy. Frank, someone came down from another planet and wiped out half the universe. Is it so crazy to think that could be undone?â
The anger that was simmering inside Frank from Mattâs intrusion seemed to be burning through the alcohol in his system, and Mattâs question was igniting a tiny ember of hope that Frank wasnât prepared to tend to. His body physically deflated as he dropped his head between his broad shoulders. There was a heavy tide of tears on his bottom lash line threatening to flood at any moment.
âDonât do that.â
âYou have to have faith, Frank-â
âI donât, Red.â
âI do.â
Frank didnât know when Matt managed to slip the revolver from his grasp, but he didnât feel the weight of a permanent decision in his palm anymore. Matt had planted a tiny seed of hope, and what ifâs were taking over Frankâs brain like wild ivy.Â
What if there was a chance you could come back? Matt had a point, you werenât dead. Not really. Even if the probability of it happening was one in a million, didnât Frank owe you the same unwavering patience you had always shown him?
âLook Frank, justâŚgive me a year. One year to show you things can be different. If you still want to make that call in a year, I wonât stop you. Iâll leave you alone. But FrankâŚyouâve gotten through this once before. You can do this again. If not for yourself, just try for her.â
A year. A year was nothing in the grand scheme of things. Frank had already been without you for three years now.Â
What was one more?
Year Four.
Mattâs apartment was fucking obnoxious due to that goddamn billboard across the street, but it was better than the shitty motels Frank had been staying in. He still couldnât step foot in the home he had shared with you. It had been three years now, and even though he wasnât fully convinced you could come back, he couldnât let it go. Everything that was you was there, and if he sold the house, that meant every trace of you and your existence was gone.
Matt had one rule for Frank staying with him; no killing. For a week, Frank lounged on the couch trying to figure out what to do with himself. He would start to read a book, but could never get more than a few pages because he remembered how much you loved to read, and then he would get stuck staring at the pages while memories of you played on loop in his head. There wasnât a TV because Matt didnât have use for one, and Frank didnât care to watch anything anyway. It didnât take long for Frank to go stir crazy. He had never been good at staying idle.
While Matt was out making the world a better place, Frank had managed to find a construction job. Busting down walls all day long allowed him to get his pent up anger out while not breaking Mattâs golden rule. Most days it felt like Frank was on autopilot. He woke up, went to the job site, smashed a sledgehammer through a wall until his hands bled, came home, tried to sleep, inevitably had a nightmare about losing you, and laid on the couch staring blankly up at the ceiling until the sun rose.
Every single day was a repeat of the last until they started to blur together. Frank didnât speak to anyone at the job sites. He didnât speak to anyone at all. Between Mattâs busy court schedule and his nightly patrols, they didnât see each other often, and even when they were home at the same time, Frank still hardly spoke to him. He wasnât sleeping, he barely ate, and on the days he had off, he didnât leave the couch. He felt like a hollow shell of the man he used to be.
Matt knew what he was going through. Hell, he had been there himself after the second time he lost Elektra. He knew what it felt like to lose the person you loved most in this world, and that had happened to Frank twice now. He did his best to be patient, but after four months, he couldnât take it anymore. Matt was fortunate that heâd had people that helped him combat his depression to find his way back to himself, but Frank didnât have a soul in his corner.
Except for Matt.Â
And even though Frank wasnât shy about not wanting Mattâs help, Matt didnât care. Frank could be stubborn, but he didnât have the energy or the drive to match Mattâs stubbornness, and Matt used that to his advantage. He was relentless in pushing Frank to participate in life again. He purposely antagonized Frank, even if it meant being reduced to a human punching bag, because that meant Frank was still in there somewhere.
Matt started small in getting him out of the apartment, like guilt tripping Frank into joining him on trips to the grocery store.
âYouâre not gonna help your blind roommate get groceries? You know, a lot of items donât come with braille labels. So when I die because I accidentally put bleach in my coffee instead of creamer, you have to say nice things about me at my funeral.â
âYou donât need labels, Red. You got that goddamn bloodhound nose. Would you stop lookinâ at me like that? Jesus fuckinâ Christ, fine. Get your fuckinâ jacket and letâs go.â
After a while, he even managed to get Frank to join him at Fogwellâs from time to time.
âNo wonder you became a goddamn lawyer. All you know how to do is fuckinâ argue, makes sense you made a livinâ outta it.â
âIâm not arguing, Frank. If we got in the ring, you would lose. Thatâs a fact. You donât know how to box, you just know how to run at people and slam them into things. And youâre too bulky to move as fast as me. None of that is an argument, itâs a simple observation.â
âWhy donât you observe your ass in that ring so I can shut you the fuck up, Red.â
The more time they spent together, and the more Frank put in an effort to move forward one step at a time, the less empty he felt. The nightmares still came every so often, and there were days where the weight of your absence was too much for him to bear, but for the first time in four years, he didnât feel so hopeless.
He could think about you without breaking down. He could see something that reminded him of you, and it warmed his heart instead of ripping it out. He had finally reached a point where he had slowly crawled out of the deep pit of grief that he had been digging for the past four years.
As much as he hated to admit it, Matt had helped him find a semblance of peace.
Year Five.
The sound of a dog barking caught Frankâs attention. He pulled his head out from under the hood of his truck, looking over at the grey and white pitbull that was standing a few feet away from the front door of the house you and Frank had lived in together that heâd finally moved back into six months ago. He glanced between the front door and the dog with his thick brows furrowed.
âWhat is it, Daisy?â
The dog turned her head when she heard Frankâs voice, the movement so fast it made her long velvet ears flop. She turned her attention back to the door and continued to bark. Something inside had caught her attention. Eyeing the front door warily, Frank rubbed his grease stained hands off on a small rag and walked over towards where Daisy was, kneeling down beside her to gently scratch that spot between her ears that she loved.
âHey, shh shh shh. Câmon now, whatâs got you so worked up, huh? What do you think is inside, huh? You smellinâ that-â
The sound of the front door opening caught Frankâs attention, and he instantly snapped his head in the direction of it. All of a sudden, his warm brown eyes went wide, and time seemed to freeze in that very moment.Â
âSweetheart?â
His quiet whisper was dripped in disbelief. There you were, looking exactly the same as the day you had vanished, looking between Frank and Daisy with an expression of surprise and perplexment.
âFrank?â
God, your voice. It had been five years since he had last heard it. That was all the confirmation he needed that this was real. You were real. You were really home.Â
Without wasting a second, Frank stood and ran over towards you, tears filling up his eyes as he wrapped his arms around your frame and hugged you as tightly as physically possible. His heart was thrashing against his ribcage, and he was terrified this was just a vivid dream, but then he inhaled the scent of your shampoo intermingled with your perfume, felt your hands gently pressing against his back, and heard your soft angelic laughter.
âFrankieâŚbabyâŚyouâre crushing me.â
Frank pulled back only slightly, bringing his large hands up to cup your face to study your features, taking in every single inch of you. He caught the way you frowned softly, looking up at him in pure concern when thick tears streamed down his cheeks. You lifted your hand to delicately brush them away with the featherlight touch of your fingers.
âHey, whatâs wrong?â
âYouâre really here.â
âOf course Iâm here. Where else would I be? Baby, why are you so upset?â
As you ran your hands through his long grown out curls, a crease of bewilderment nestled in between your brows when you took in his appearance.
âWaitâŚwhat happened to your hair? It was just short five seconds agoâŚand you didnât have a beard. HowâŚhow did you do that? And when did we get a dog? Frank, what-â
Five seconds ago.Â
Is that all it was for you? Frank could see the visible disorientation on your delicate features, and he had a lot of questions of his own, but right now nothing mattered but you. He leaned in and captured your lips in a deep kiss, pouring every emotion he had felt in the past five years into it. He kissed you like the world could end at any moment, because for him it did the day you vanished.
When he pulled away, he pressed his forehead against yours and let out a deep exhale of relief.
âYouâŚyou were gone, sweetheart. You were gone a long timeâŚa long goddamn time.â
âGone? What-â
âIâll explain everythinâ, I promise. JustâŚjust give me a minute, please. Just let me hold you for a minute, can you do that for me, baby? Please?â
Frank had always been able to read you like a book, and he could tell by the look in your eyes that you werenât just confused. Hearing you had been gone for a long time infused you with a sense of panic and uncertainty. But you trusted Frank, and you knew whatever hard truth he was going to tell you, he wouldnât let you go through it alone.
âOkay.â
As Frank embraced you again, you suddenly felt a pair of paws on your back. Glancing over your shoulder, you couldnât help but smile at the sight of the happy dog wagging its tail while looking between you and Frank. Reaching down, you gently pet the side of her face with a soft smile.
âHi there, precious.â
âDaisy.â
Glancing up at Frank, your lips parted slightly when Frank told you her name. A soft smile covered his lips, the first smile to do so in five years. He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear slowly.
âYou always said if we got a dog and it was a girl, you wanted to name her Daisy.â
Tears welled up along your bottom lash line as you looked up at Frank, a gentle smile covering your lips. After a moment, you glanced away from Frank to look at Daisy again, letting out a soft laugh.
âIâve waited a long time to meet you, Daisy.â
Frank gave your waist a light squeeze, leaning in to press a soft lingering kiss to your cheek.
âAnd weâve been waitinâ a long time for you. Welcome home, sweetheart.â
tags: @day-dreaming-goddess @kdogreads @heimtathurs @mars-rants-a-lot @casa-boiardi @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @hazallem @avencol @neverlandcity @charmedkim @queenofthenoobs @stilldreaming666 @mattymurdock1021 @bubuslutty @ninejlovebot @purrrfect @pennylovey @firesunflamed @oscarisaacsleftknee @ameliaswife @Vane28282 @kmc1989 @messymissy @dark-academia-slut @strawberry1042 @utterlynuts
#frank castle#frank castle x you#frank castle x y/n#frank castle x reader#frank castle x female reader#frank castle x fem!reader#frank castle x f!reader#frank castle request#frank castle fic#the punisher#the punisher request#the punisher fic#matt murdock#daredevil
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Iâve read a few of the umpteen thousand upset comments about the paid Watcher service, and Iâve read comments angry about the upset comments. Thereâs one thing I want to point out, and itâs that this isnât, or shouldnât be, âYouâre saying people donât deserve to earn money for their work.â
The Watcher guys do deserve to earn money. I already give them money. I give them $5 a month on Patreon, not because I think they do or donât give me $5 worth of media, but because I want to support them. I canceled Netflix for pissing me off with its price hike/ad tier, but I give Watcher Entertainment money.
Theyâre saying now that the Patreon will be solely about the podcasts, and they understand if people leave. Iâm perfectly happy to switch the support I can afford to the streaming service. With the early adopter 30% discount, Iâd actually save money. In fact, I tried to subscribe, but the site didnât work.
Watcher wanting to profit from their shows isnât the problem. Itâs that theyâre now discovering that their fanbase is young and broke in a terrible economy, judging by tens of thousands of comments on multiple platforms. I can throw them $5/month, so I do. But the Patreon only has (checks notes) 5874 paying followers, and thereâs a reason for that. $60/year upfront would not be âaccessible.â Patreon is literally patronage from the people who can afford it.
If the guys had said up front, âONLY new shows and episodes will be exclusive to the service,â I think weâd be having a different conversation right now. But at first they did say, âWeâre pulling all our content from YouTube,â to the point where Variety had to issue an update. Like, thatâs in print and Iâm pretty sure it was on video. Now theyâve backtracked to ONLY new etc.âbut most people havenât heard, and they feel crushed. And the trust is probably gone regardless.
So now four years of back catalogue will stay public. And now, youâre paying $6.99 a month for one episode, maybe two, of something a week, and now, not an exclusive back catalogue. I would pay for Watcher shows before Iâd pay for anyone else, but I just donât think the company is big enough yet for a SVOD at that price. Theyâre not Dropout size. They needed to build more programming and get a higher follower count first, or at the very least, charge less.
The international price/exchange rate situation is a nightmare and I donât know what it is theyâre not doing to make it⌠not⌠be like that.
I donât know what they should have done instead of a full streaming service, but surely there were alternatives? Iâve seen comments from people suggesting they GET a Patreon. Lean on that more! Do the shows exclusive for a month and then let them roll onto YouTube! I donât know! Anything but One More Fucking Streaming Service, which enraged me, and I was willing to move my support to it!
And I shouldnât say this, but I will. In the âGoodbye YouTubeâ video the guys posted, they say that setting up the streaming service has allowed Steven to do a remake of Worth It where he and his cohosts travel the world and eat expensive food. This is the first new show they announce. Not âWe have always been committed to diversity and weâre now able to bring on new creator(s) to expand our programming.â No, a redo of an old show that by definition has got to be expensive. Commenters are saying they canât pay for the streaming service because they canât make ends meet in this economy. The optics are terrible. I genuinely question what the thought process even was here.
I love the guys and I still watch their shows. I want to see Watcher succeed. I started watching Buzzfeed Unsolved in 2018 while recovering from surgeryâas with a lot of people, their shows got me through a tough time. Iâm as attached as anyone. If I can continue to afford monthly supportâthis is not a certaintyâIâll give it to them. Iâm not a ~hater who doesnât want Watcher to make money. But I am absolutely BAFFLED by every single decision here. I want them to figure out how to turn this around and go in a better direction, because right now, this ainât it.
#long post#I hope nobody hates me for this but like#this is someone supporting you#this is the best I can do#and that should tell you something#watcher
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