#you guys have the best taste in music i swear!!!

[be-gay-d0-several-crimes]

OH YOU ARE MY BOYYFRIEEEEEEEEEND COME MEET ME AFTER WORK OH YOU ARE MY BOYFRIEEEEEEND COME GET ME IN YOUR CAR

[moonjxsung]

Kinktober Day 5: Perv Best Friend

[kinktober masterlist.]

🔞 warning: smut below! mdni.

pairing: Han Jisung x reader

•

“God, Hyunjin’s so annoying,” Jisung remarks, as he shoves his way past the door and into the bathroom.

The faint sounds of chatter can be heard when he gets quiet again, observing the way you touch up your crimson lipstick in the mirror. There’s a rhythmic thump from the heavy bass of the speakers downstairs, and when he glances at the door to ensure it’s locked, he can almost swear he still hears Hyunjin’s obnoxious tone filling the room with tales of his pretentious college life as an art major.

“Jisung, you’re not really supposed to follow a girl into the bathroom,” you say to him, chuckling lightly.

“What? It’s not like you’re taking a piss or something. You’re just doing your makeup again.”

You sigh frustratedly, biting back a smile at the sight of Jisung leaning against the wall behind you, a bottle of apple juice in hand and his arms folded over his broad chest.

It’s almost pathetic how clingy your best friend can be- completely sober at every social outing, always sulking about how much he despises the atmosphere.

“I’m just going because you’re going,” he’ll usually say, and you know it to be true by the way he follows you around like a lost puppy. Always voicing his distaste for the people, or the music, or sometimes the food. Typically a little annoyed if there are more men than women, but also painfully awkward in the presence of any woman besides yourself. Fidgeting around on his phone as though a game of Tetris might somehow make the evening go faster- in between strings of texts to you, of course, begging to just call it a night already.

“He’s not annoying,” you finally say, and Jisung scoffs in response.

“Nobody cares that he studied abroad for a semester. And I’m sure anybody could paint the way he does.”

“Sounds like you’re just a little jealous,” you say, raising an eyebrow, as you blot your lips with a folded tissue.

“Jealous?” He retorts, his eyebrows arching up as though he’s pleading for you to think otherwise. “You’re just saying that because you want to fuck him.”

Jisung waits for you to argue with him, taking a swig of his apple juice as he prepares for you to pivot on your heel and yell at him for implying such a far-fetched idea. But when several seconds of silence pass, he swallows nervously, knowing that this is an even worse outcome that he was preparing himself for.

“What, so I’m right?” Jisung chimes in again with a chuckle. His fingers run along the grooves of the plastic bottle, pupils trembling, as he hears you sigh loudly.

“I think he’s cute,” is all you say, mentally preparing yourself for the fit he’ll inevitably throw at the confession.

“Hyunjin?” Jisung voices, like you haven’t been talking about him for the entirety of your conversation so far. “Are you serious? Wow, you really do have the worst taste in guys.”

He takes a step forward, placing the now-empty bottle on the granite counter by your makeup bag and meeting your gaze in the mirror.

“Do you do it on purpose?” He questions, a breathy chuckle escaping his lips as one hand runs through his tousled black hair. “Choose the worst guys to thirst over?”

“He’s not the worst, Jisung. You just don’t like him- that’s different.”

“I don’t like him because he’s the worst.”

When you finally do pivot around, Jisung is surprisingly close to you, his fingertips practically grazing the hem of your skirt as his gaze meets yours. He swallows nervously at the proximity, hands shoving awkwardly into the pockets of his jeans, as he towers over you.

“What’s a guy like Hyunjin have,” Jisung begins, observing the way you straighten your posture to maintain a confident stance. “That a guy like me, doesn’t have?”

You can’t help but chuckle at the question, your heartbeat quickening in your chest at the sight of him this close to you.

It’s a fair question- one you’ll never be able to conjure up a proper answer to, considering there’s really nothing Hyunjin has that Jisung doesn’t. Sure, he’s an artist, and he’s remarkably handsome. But Jisung is both of those things, too- he’s also funny, charming, adorably clingy. There’s no reason you shouldn’t be smitten with Jisung, too- except he’s your best friend, and nothing more.

“Nothing,” you say candidly.

Jisung furrows his brows in confusion at your response.

“You never call me cute,” he argues. “It’s always some stupid frat guy, or a total jock, or a painter. Not that I care, anyway, but you’re not really helping your case by admitting that we share no real discrepancies, and yet you still favor him-”

It’s you who kisses Jisung first, leaning forward just an inch to press a chaste kiss to his pouty lips, your eyes shut while his eyes widen in surprise. When you pull back again, he scans your face for some sign of this being a cruel joke, but there’s no clear indication in your otherwise unreadable expression.

“What was that for?” Jisung asks, his heart racing in his chest. He hopes you can’t tell that he’s already hard beneath his jeans, desperate for you to do it again- maybe take it even further, the way he’s always wished you would.

“You’re annoying,” is all that you say to him, stepping back to hoist yourself onto the granite counter. You assume a spot on the counter beside the sink, hands by your sides, your eyes locked on his as though you’re beckoning for him to continue.

Jisung isn’t sure if he should make a move, knowing you’ll probably just complain that he’s not Hyunjin. But when he takes a single step forward, his lips hovering over yours once more, there’s not a complaint uttered from between your parted lips. Instead, your heavy breathing, as your hands pull him in by the thin black tank top he sports, pressing your lips back to his to kiss him properly this time.

It’s clear how badly Jisung’s always wanted this, by the way that he slips his tongue between your lips, moaning softly between motions as his hands part your legs. When he separates momentarily to slip your sweater off, he’s mesmerized by the lacy brassiere you sport, having gotten off to the thought of it several dozens of times before.

His lips find yours again, working down your neck in hungry motions, as though he’s trying to paint your flesh in as many bruises as he possibly can with the few minutes he has you like this in the bathroom.

“Jisung,” you say to him, your fingers traveling to his crotch and palming his bulge over his jeans.

He practically reads your mind before you can make your request, his nimble fingers working down to undo his belt and snake his jeans down his slender waist. And then all at once he’s in just his underwear, his cock straining desperately against the fabric, as he toys with the waistband of your panties, too.

“Please, can I?” Jisung asks, almost pathetically, as he emits a soft moan before he can elaborate. Your hands massage his clothed bulge, fascinated at how big your best friend feels when he’s hard- and all of it for you only.

He groans when the contact is broken again, but only for your hands to tug his underwear down and effectively free his erection for you. And when your head tilts to observe the sight of his pink cock leaking with precum, he buries his face in your neck again pulling your flesh between his teeth and whispering little pleas to let him pleasure you.

“Sorry I’m not some frat boy, or an artist,” Jisung mumbles against you, rutting against your thigh like an animal in heat. “But I guarantee I want this more than they do.”

An involuntary chuckle escapes your lips before you grasp his chiseled face between your hands, forcing his gaze onto yours and kissing him passionately.

“If you’re gonna fuck me,” you say to him, your hands traveling down to pull down your own underwear. “Then get on with it already.”

His lips pull into a toothy grin against your mouth as one hand wraps around the base of his cock, the other hand guiding your legs a little wider as he positions himself in front of you. He taps the tip of his cock against your clit in anticipation as he kisses you again, and you moan softly at the sensation, your arms wrapping around him to pull him in even closer. At the same time you do, he thrusts himself inside of you, slipping past your lips with ease, his girth completely engulfed by your wetness.

Jisung’s eyes seem to roll back when he’s finally inside of you, quickening his movements without a second to spare as he thrusts in and out of you, his hips rutting frantically, like you’ll change your mind if he slows down to remind you it’s your best friend fucking you. But your movements are frantic, too, clawing at his broadened back as he slips his tongue between your lips again, his cock hitting every inch of you and filling you up in a way you’re not sure you’ve ever been satisfied before. One hand reaches up to steady himself on the glass mirror behind you, pressing desperately against the foggy glass, as he fucks you a little faster now, grunts escaping his lips with every thrust, as his other hand steadies your waist.

“Fuck,” Jisung remarks, head hanging to watch his cock disappear in and out of you. “He could never fuck you like this. Do you know how hard you make me?”

“Yeah,” is all you can say back, and it’s unclear whether it’s an answer to your question, or a verbal display of blissful pleasure. Either way, when he meets your gaze again to kiss you, he feels your nails dig into his back, your walls clenching around him as you near your finish.

“I’m gonna cum,” you breathe out to him, trying to catch your breath as his movements maintain their quick pace.

And for a brief moment, you’re reminded that Jisung is your best friend- and he has been for several years now, despite your knowledge of him always wanting something more. He makes no effort to hide it from you, of course, frequently caught staring at your chest a little bit too long, inquiring about your one night stands, or even insisting he tag along on dates to “keep an eye out for you”. Perhaps there have been a few comments here and there about how he’d have fucked you long ago if you weren’t friends first and foremost, or that you check every box for a woman of his standards. But the confusion is nothing but a fleeting concern for another day, as you’re brought back to the sensation of his fingers gripping your waist, his cock hitting your cervix with every thrust.

Jisung’s been spewing his perversions all the while your mind’s run elsewhere, admitting that he’s “always thought about you like this”, and that “he’s never been this hard for another girl before”. And the rest is indistinguishable as his voice raises an octave, begging to cum inside of you, as he fucks you particularly hard now.

Before he can even announce that he’s close- or perhaps he already has, Jisung is indeed cumming inside of your throbbing sex, as he buries his lips in the crook of your neck, littering sloppy kisses down to your clavicles. He doesn’t slow his thrusts just yet- in fact, his breathing grows labored as he begins to fuck his release in and out of you now, meeting your lips once more as he attempts to speak.

“Are you close?” Jisung asks, whimpering at the sensation of your pussy clenching down around his length. “I’ll stop when you finish, too.”

And the words are dizzying, to hear that he’s so insistent on putting your pleasure first- something you’re not sure any guy has done for you before. Of course if it was going to be anyone, it’d be your perverted best friend and longtime admirer, who’s only dreamt of getting you to cum for him.

“I’m gonna cum,” you say for the second time this evening, while Jisung is still half-hard inside of you. His thrusts are a little shallower, but he keeps a steady pace, just grazing your lips with his as he works you to your release.

He might be persistent, and his mind may run a little too rampant with thoughts of you- both of which work in your favor, you now know, when you finally feel yourself clench one last time around him, throbbing as you gasp for air during your release. In one swift motion, your fluids are trickling down around his cock, and he’s groaning at the sensation, fucking the last of his release, and now yours, back into you.

His panting slows its course as he pulls out of you, scrambling to collect a wad of tissues to assist you in getting cleaned up. As you hoist yourself off the counter, you can’t help but keep your gaze on his, cocking your head curiously, as he fastens his belt once more and tousles his hair in the mirror.

“I suppose we should head back out there,” Jisung states casually, gesturing at the door.

It’s you now, who can’t seem to stop staring at the broad chest he flaunts beneath his tank top, eyeing his slender waist and his veiny hands. He’s a good fuck- perhaps also skilled with his fingers, and most definitely his tongue. The sink is just big enough for him to bury his face between your legs- and outside, the party is just busy enough so that nobody would notice if you stayed here another half, maybe even a full hour.

“I dunno,” you say to Jisung, fiddling awkwardly with the hem of your bra. “We could… stay here a bit longer?”

He smirks, as though this was his plan all along, and then he pulls his shirt off over his head before he can relay a proper answer.

“You’re annoying,” is all Jisung replies, using your own words against you, as he hoists you back onto the granite counter.

*

[mrsbarnesblog]

just a friend

masterlist

requests are open

summary: your best friend gets jealous when he sees you talking to some random guy at his party

words count: 3k

warnings: +18❗️smut, swearing, p in v sex, protected sex, friends to lovers, possessive but softie Rafe, dirty talk, pet names

You were standing near the kitchen island, far away from everybody else, sipping on your drink and observing Rafe. The loud music busted through the speakers, there were too many unknown faces and for the hundredth time wished you had stayed at home. 

Rafe was sitting on the couch in the middle of the room with Kelse, Topper, a few other guys, and, most importantly, some random girl. She was way too touchy for your liking and it honestly seemed like she was ready to get into his pants in front of everyone. 

Rafe didn't pay much attention, though, even while she was rubbing his pants-covered thigh and saying something in his ear. No, Rafe was too interested in the conversation with his friend, but it didn't stop that nasty and overwhelming feeling of jealousy bubbling in your stomach.

You and Rafe have been friends for almost three years, but it didn't seem like it. While you had neved crossed the invisible line, unknowningly for each other you both admitted to yourself that whatever was going on in between you two was not a regular friendship. Friends shouldn't sleep in each other's beds. Friends shouldn’t spend that much time together alone. Friends shouldn't be jealous every single time someone talks to their friend. And friends shouldn't be in love. 

Yet, here you were. 

You were staring at this scene for at least fifteen minutes and it drove you fucking insane. Especially the fact that Rafe had never let any man even talk to you, not to mention be all up in your face. It was so unfair that he had double standards for you and that he probably didn't even realize your feelings for him. 

Rafe was just too overprotective and possessive and you had to admit the ugly truth to yourself that it wasn't because he was in love with you. 

You finished your drink, wincing at the taste of alcohol, and straightened, looking across the room full of people. There were too many guys; you spotted the one that looked kind of attractive and moved in his direction. You were done with Rafe’s bullshit. If he could have girls all over himself, so could you. 

“Hey.” You tapped on the guy’s shoulder to grab his attention. He became flirty way too quickly, stepping closer to you and giving his best smirk, yet your eyes were still drifting back to Rafe. 

You saw the exact moment when your best friend noticed your current company. You and Ed were chatting for no more than five minutes, and while he was talking about it being his plans for the night, you saw Rafe getting up from the couch with a frown on his face. He quickly crossed the room, not bothering to check on the girl who was trying to get his attention over the loud music, or say even say something to his friends. 

“What are you doing here?” His brows furrowed even more, his eyes going up and down the guy near you. 

“I’m talking, Rafe. Go back to your company.” You rolled your eyes, looking back at Ed. “So what were you saying? Your frie—” 

“You’re coming with me, Y/N.” Before you could even say anything, you were dragged away to the second floor, where no one could bother you. “What the fuck was that, huh? I told you like a million fucking times to not talk to the guys at these damn parties; they're goin’ to hurt you.” Rafe freed your hand, pacing in front of you and running his own hand through his hair. He was visibly annoyed and pissed, and with the way he was acting, you wanted to push his buttons even more.

"You are my friend, Rafe, and you have no fucking right to tell me who I can and cannot speak to or go out with!" You shouted back, not even in the slightest fear of the flames in his eyes, when his head snapped back towards you. 

"Whether you like it or not, Y/N, I am not going to let any fuckers with bad intentions get near you."  

"Apparently, they are the only ones who are interested in me. You seem to be always busy with all the girls who are ready to climb you.” You laughed even though it hurt you to say it out loud. “I'm sick of your double standards, Rafe. You think I want to look at you with some random girls? You think it’s okay to scare guys away from me and then casually let everyone be all over you?” 

“What the fuck does that mean? You know I am not dating anyone. They can do whatever they want because I have no plans with any of them." He rolled his eyes, already irritated that he was actually fighting with you for the first time. But there was no going back and you both felt it. The constant tension and secret feelings were overflowing and they had to find a way out. “You’re acting like a child, swear to god, babe.”

“Because you're giving me mixed signals and confusing me!” You stepped closer, pointing a finger at his chest. 

“You know the reason why I do this.” Rafe grabbed your wrist, slightly pulling you closer. Your eyes locked on each other, and your faces were so close that you could smell liquor his his breath. You felt the way your stomach dropped when Rafe’s eyes quickly felt to your lips, yet you were still filled with anger. 

"No, I don't! You’re giving me hope on something, you’re being affectionate with me, we’re spending all our time together, but then you just step back as if it was nothing! Just stop playing with my feelings and tell the fucking tr—-“ Before you could even finish your sentence, your body got pushed back and pressed in between the wall and Rafe’s body. His grip on your face was firm yet gentle enough to not hurt you when he brought you closer to him and finally kissed you.

You both moaned into the kiss as if you were surprised and content that it had finally happened. Rafe’s lips moved quickly, easily dominating over you, as he swiped his tongue over your bottom lip, asking for permission to slip in. 

“I’m just a friend, huh? You’re driving me fucking insane. You’re mine, don’t you understand it?” He mumbled against your mouth, sliding one hand down your body and at the same time pushing his legs in between your thighs. He just simply wanted to pin you against the wall, but the way his thigh pressed into your pulsing core made you both hiss. “Do you really think I would let anyone kiss you? Touch you? I’m selfish, Y/N, and I don’t like to share anything or anyone.” You felt as if you were high or drunk with the way your body reacted to Rafe’s touches, trying to concentrate on his words but actually only wishing his lips to get back on yours. 

“You let them touch you. That girl was all over you today, and you did nothing to prevent it.” You breathed into his lips, feeling a lazy smirk stretching across his own. Rafe leaned in again, pressing a few quick, wet kisses to your mouth and wrapping one hand harder around your body.

“She was fucking annoying and I tried to get her off of me. I don’t need any of them. My eyes have always been on you. I swear.” Rafe’s hands tugged on your dress, sliding it higher to have more access to your body. “Holy shit, Y/N. I don't know how I was able to be friends with you for so long. I want you so bad.” 

You moaned, your head falling back against the wall, when Rafe’s lips slid down the side of your neck, leaving soft bites and reddish marks. Your own hands reached under his t-shirt, touching his firm abs and scratching his tanned skin until he moaned into your mouth. 

“I was scared to make a move. To scare you away. But you are the best thing that has ever happened to me, and I cannot pretend to be only your friend." His hands were sliding up and down your thighs, bringing you closer and not pulling his face away from your neck. Your scent has always driven him insane and he couldn’t have enough of you. “Do you feel it? Do you feel how hard you make me, Y/N?” His hands tugged your hips closer, until his bulge was firmly pressing into your leg.  

“Rafe…” You whined, your hips moving on his thigh, which was still pressed in between your legs. The feeling of your underwear getting wetter by the second made you wonder if Rafe could feel it through his pants. “Y-you know that everyone thinks that we’re sleeping together, right?”

“I think we shouldn’t disappoint them, hm?” You felt a smile spreading across his lips and you giggled back at him. Your hands are now tagging the annoying piece of fabric that hid his body from you, not even caring about people that might go to the second floor of Cameron’s house and catch you.

You managed to drag the t-shirt off of Rafe, your mouth instantly getting watery with the image in front of you. Sure, you saw Rafe shirtless countless times at the beach, but knowing that you could shamelessly do whatever you wanted made your whole body tingle. 

“Fuck that.” Before you even knew it, Rafe’s hands easily lifted you up, making your legs automatically wrap around his body. His lips met yours again, and he started blindly moving towards his bedroom. 

Your body bounced on the way-too-soft and way-too-expensive mattress of his king-size bed as he threw you there and went to lock the door. Rafe followed you shortly after, too desperate to keep touching you. His hands slid up your bare thighs, going past the strings of your panties, pushing your dress until it was gathered around your waist. 

“Can I take it off?” He looked at you, his eyes surprisingly soft and completely different from what you'd expected. You just simply nodded, lifting your hands in the air, until the only real item of clothing was taken off you and thrown somewhere in the room. 

Rafe’s eyes took every inch of your exposed skin, his hands gently sliding down your sides. You were only dressed in a simple black set, but for Rafe, it was the sexiest thing in the world. 

He wanted you for so long. Just looking from afar, he was trying to restrict himself from getting closer to you because he had always thought that you deserved someone better. But at the same time, who could treat you better than him? Only Rafe knew everything that you liked and needed, and he was willing to give it to you. 

“You’re so pretty, for fuck’s sake. I’ll be careful with you.” Rafe's body covered yours, his soft lips kissing your neck and going all the way down to your belly, making you gasp. You buried your hands in his hair, moving it away from his face. “I’ll take care of you. I promise I won’t fuck this up.” He looked up at you with his baby blues, and your whole body got covered in goosebumps from the look in his eyes. 

“Please, Rafe.” You whispered, taking his face into your hands and dragging him back on top of you. You two could not stop moaning as your hands began to explore each other's bodies and your lips met once more in a passionate kiss. “I want you.”

“Baby… Can’t even imagine what you’re doing to me.” He groaned against your mouth. The position that you were currently in, with Rafe comfortably in between your slightly spread legs, made his pants-covered erection perfectly press into your dump panties. “Need to be inside of you or else you’ll make me cum in my pants.” 

It became a mess of tugging on each other's clothes while trying to have as much skin-to-skin contact as possible. When you were both naked, Rafe slowed down, holding your face with one firm hand. “Is it really what you want to do? ‘Cause I won’t go back to pretending to be friends anymore.”  

“Just fuck me already, Cameron.” You whispered, not breaking intense eye contact. 

“As you wish, sweetheart.” With these words, Rafe pulled back to reach the nightstand and take a condon. He carelessly threw it near your exposed body and took a few seconds to finally admire your naked form. 

You were basically inviting him to do whatever he wanted with your slightly spread legs, which let him see how wet you already were. That pleading look on your face didn’t help the situation either, making Rafe want to fuck you dumb until his name was the only thing on your mind. 

He looked you up and down a few times before leaning forward, pressing your legs closer to your chest. Rafe’s calloused hands reached to your sensitive breasts, touching nipples with his thumbs, until your eyes rolled back into your head. 

“Are you ready for me, or do you want me to eat you out first, hm?” His soft breath on the side of your neck sent shievers down your body. As much as you wanted to feel his lips on you, it felt like you could not think straight without his dick stretching you out, so you helplessly shook your head. 

“Next time, please. I need you now.” 

He gave you a sly smile and, in a single motion, ripped off the foil, rolled a condom over his throbbing cock, and placed himself at your entrance. You squirmed at the feeling of his tip going up and down your wet slit, gathering your juices and stimulating your sensitive clit. 

“Fuck, so you’re soakin’ my sheets, baby.” He smirked, looking down at your pussy and teasing you more, until a moan of his name escaped from your mouth. “Keep your legs here, okay? ‘N I’ll take care of you.” 

When you felt Rafe's cock slide into you, your eyes flattered before closing completely. It was big. It was bigger than you had ever had before, but it seemed like your body quickly adjusted to him as soon as he bottomed out. With one hand near your head to hold himself up and the other one on your leg, he slowly started moving in and out. 

“Rafe!” You squeaked, digging your nails into your thighs and trying to control yourself.

“Sh-h, ‘s okay. Knew this pussy was made for me, babe.” He moaned through gritted teeth, gradually increasing the speed of his thrusts. Soon, the sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, along with muffled moans and Rafe’s praises. His bed was making a noise with every movement, and if you hadn't been too lost in the pleasure, you would’ve thought about other people hearing you. Rafe could not take his gaze away from your face—the way you tried to control yourself but soon lost it when his cock touched that sensitive spot inside of you. Your glossy eyes, hot skin and puffy lips made him go feral, fucking you harder into the matress of his bed.

“That’s right, scream my name. Made ya go dumb for my cock, huh?” He watched in awe at the way you were going insane under him; your release was visibly getting closer with every thrust. You moan even louder, feeling a tight knot form in your lower stomach, and the feeling gradually increased when the base of his cock brushed over your clit. “Squeezin’ me so tight. My good girl... fuck, baby. That’s right, cum for me. I’ve got you.” 

Rafe grabbed both of your hands, showing you to put them around his neck. It made your legs fall from the previous position and you weakly put them around his waist. Rafe finally lowered his face closer to you, catching your lips in a wet and sloppy kiss, still pounding into you roughly and steadily. 

“I-I can’t, Rafe, please!”

You particularly breathe the same air, moan into each other’s mouths, hooded eyes locked on when the orgasm washes over you almost simultaneously. Without even realizing it, you dragged your nails down Rafe’s sweaty back, leaving red marks that he will proudly show off tomorrow. His hips slowly pushed into you while you were still pulsating around his cock, enjoying your own release. Just the feeling of your pussy milking him could’ve made him cum again. 

“Rafe…” You whisper, your eyes now closed and your head feeling all fuzzy and warm. Rafe slowly slipped out of you, walking away to throw out a condom. You whined at the empty feeling and the coldness that the lack of his touch had brought. 

“‘M right here, baby. You did amazing.” As he came back on top of you, now wearing boxers, he placed kisses on the heated skin of your neck, his hand sliding down your side to soothe the aching muscles of your legs. “My pretty girl... Gosh, now I’m not letting you go. Like ever.” 

You giggle, draping your arms over his shoulders and playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. “So all I had to do was talk to some random guy for you to get all angry and kiss me?” 

“Don’t remind me of that. I just realised that I might actually lose you.” Rafe whispered the last part, nuzzling into your neck and wrapping his arms around your waist until there was no space left between your naked bodies. 

“You won’t lose me, I promise.” You hugged him back, enjoying the comfortable silence that fell into the room, until you both fell asleep in each other's arms. 

[teenidlegirl]

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀౨౿  ׅ ۟   ֪ 𝓢ecrets 𝓐nd 𝓣emptations ۪ ׂ   𓈒 ୭

ઇ ˚ ݂ ֹ ꒰ professor!miguel 𝓍 professor!reader ꒱ ! ۟ ׅ ♡

ׄ   ׅ ྀ 𝓢𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘. it was just a stupid party. drink, flirt, and gossip. you weren’t expecting to have a one nightstand with a charming, mysterious man. you also weren’t expecting he is the newly hired professor at the same university you teach at.

ׄ   ׅ ྀ 𝓒𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓. college!au, strangers to enemies (sorta) to lovers, tension, angst, smut, protected sex, fem oral, confessions, jealousy, swearing, pet names, hispanic/latina!reader ( mdni )

ׄ   ׅ ྀ 𝓛𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝓝𝐎𝐓𝐄. i had lots of fun writing this, definitely another fav of mine. kudos to @lazyjellyfish300 for the wrist kissing scene because of her post. thanks for the inspo, queen! ♡

enjoy yourself tonight.

that’s what your friends told you.

despite your many objections, they dragged your ass to a party. a friend of a friend is throwing it. not wanting to be a complaining bitch, you suck it up and tag along. a basic mini dress and matching heels. nothing too extra, just simple.

the minute you arrive there, you want to leave. you don’t know anyone but you’re two friends, lyla and felicia. the best decision is to stick by their side. unfortunately, felicia is flirting with some tall light brunette skinny guy. he isn’t that attractive but everyone has their own taste. lyla, on the other hand, immediately heads over towards the food. she’s a big eater, already stuffing her mouth with appetizers.

a sigh escapes your lips. left all alone.

so much for enjoying yourself. your friends ditched you and you don’t know a single soul here so how the hell can you enjoy yourself tonight?

the only thing to enjoy is “double fantasy” by the weeknd playing through the speakers.

with nothing much else to do, you stumble towards the bar. you kindly ask the bartender for a modelo. the look he gives you says you picked an odd choice out of all options but shrugs it off and fetches your requested drink. you resist rolling your eyes.

fucking dick, you thought to yourself.

it’s been 10 minutes and you haven’t received your corona. your brows furrowed in confusion.

“excuse me?” you call out to the bartender, who’s dealing with other customers. of course the bastard didn’t hear you over the loud ass music. another sigh falls from your lips. “excuse me, sir?” you wave.

that finally got his attention but his slightly annoyed expression caught you off guard.

what’s this dude’s deal?

“you forgot my modelo.” you tell him, trying to be polite, maintaining your attitude.

he turns around and grabs it from the shelf.

it was there so easy to grab yet took him 10 minutes? he was just straight up ignoring you.

“sorry.” the bastard mutters without eye contact then walks away to tend other customers.

now you roll your eyes. “cabrón.” you mutter, grabbing the bottle and take a sip of the drink.

turning around, you scan the area. half talking on the sidelines and half on the dance floor. your eyes widen when you find felicia making out with that same guy. welp, at least she’s having a great time. you shrug it off with another sip of your modelo. glancing around, you begin feeling like an outcast. your fingers clench the glass bottle, holding it to your chest. standing there awkwardly as everyone else has fun.

instead of glancing around like a weirdo, you wander around the place. passing by all types of people you’re not familiar with. trying not to bump into someone, especially a drunk idiot.

with your social battery running low, or basically not in the mood to deal with people, you find a secluded space where not much people are. away from the dumb party. you stare out at the view, the gorgeous city of nueva york from a rooftop.

just a moment of solitude.

a delicious fresh breeze flows by, making you close your eyes to relish the refreshing air.

“escaping from the chaos?”

a baritone voice form behind makes your while around, startling you a bit.

a man, tall and broad. clad in all black. dress shirt, slacks, and oxfords. brown curls slicked back. a simple silver necklace dangling around his neck. a matching silver watch that was obviously expensive. his right hand holding a small glass.

utterly handsome, definitely your type. you only like brunettes. what caught your eye are those sharp cheekbones and strong jawline. so perfect and sharp, slide your finger along them and you’ll get a paper cut. firm, masculine facial features.

“parties aren’t really my forte.” the lack of enthusiasm in your voice says it all.

“you’re not alone.” he walks forward, walking up beside you. “they aren’t mine either.” he stares out at the view, taking a sip of his beverage.

you observe him with curious eyes. turning around so you’re facing the view again. only this time you have company. strangely enough, you don’t mind. you get a good whiff of his cologne. damn, he smells good.

you also realize exactly how tall this man is. way over a foot taller than you. perhaps two feet taller.

“suppose we’re the outsiders.” you joke.

“like the book?” he muses.

you quirk a brow, intrigued by his reference. “i guess so, classic book and movie.”

“agree.” the man hums.

a beat passed by before he speaks again. however, his next few words surprises you.

“i have to confess, i noticed you earlier.” he admits. “you caught my eye. i just had the urge to talk to you, as strangely as it sounds. which i apologize for.” he quickly adds that last phrase.

you gaze up at him. intrigued by his interest in you. it was foreign to you since you’ve only been on a few dates but never led to anything serious. or a man confessing wholeheartedly of their interest.

you notice his slight tensed expression when you don’t respond. the air got tensed as well.

“miguel o’hara.” he quickly introduces himself, extending his free hand for you to shake.

you finally respond with your name as you gently shake his hand. taking mental note of his engulfs yours completely. damn, they’re really huge. you make sure to not ogle at them.

“so what brings you here?” you decide to initiate a proper conversation. your interest in this man slowly grows. his mysterious aura is so alluring.

“mutual friend of the party owner. didn’t want to come but was forced to anyways.”

your brows raised in surprise. “in the same boat. i was dragged here then left like getting dropped off at daycare.” you take a sip of your drink.

that earns you a light snort from the tall man. “doesn’t seem like true friends.”

you shrug. “they’re great, just spending time with things they love. men and food.”

miguel’s head tilts a little, one thick brow quirk up. “what do you love?”

the question caught you off, definitely wasn’t expecting nor know how to answer. what do you love? it’s complicated, despite how simple it sounds.

“solitude. being alone is comforting.” your gaze returns to the view, away from his for a moment.

“i guess i ruined that comfort.”

you lightly shake your head. “you didn’t. surprisingly enough, your presence is actually the only one that doesn’t bother me tonight.” you look back at him.

it’s true. his alluring presence doesn’t make you feel uncomfortable or annoyed. intrigued and captivated instead. perhaps he is another outsider like you.

“well, i’m glad to know that.” the corners of his very plump lips twitch upward, a brief smile.

surprising, that makes your heart flutter a little. you’ve only met the man and already has an affect you. no other man has done that before.

you and miguel carry on your conversation, getting to know one another. you two retreated to the kitchen inside, sitting on the barstools at the kitchen island. sipping on your drinks. his fingers would linger beside your bare calf. his touch igniting sparks in your body. your expression remains a neutral as you talk, but internally screaming. damn this man really has an affect on you. perhaps the only good thing that came out from this stupid party.

“seems like it’s getting more intense. do you want leave? someplace less crowded where we can hear each other better.” a light chuckle left his lips.

a little smile graces your lips. “sure, besides i don’t wanna deal with more drunk idiots.”

that earns you another chuckle from him, making your heart flutter once again.

you try finding felicia and lyla to let them know you’re leaving but there’s too much people it’ll be possible to find them. you’ll just send them a text.

⠀⠀⠀⠀𓂃 ୨ ₊ 𓂃 ౨ৎ   𓂃 ₊ ୧   𓂃

miguel takes you a small pub which was much less crowded. you have dinner there since both of you didn’t eat at the party. this was much better, in a quieter atmosphere, no chaos, and having a sincere conversation with someone who’s considerate.

“can i kiss you?”

his husky, seductive tone makes your heart swoop.

you then remember this could lead to a one nightstand and nothing else. although, there is this spark between you two, obviously sexual tension. miguel may be a nice guy, just don’t fall too deeply. it’s be a one time thing. it’s also probably be the last time you’ll ever him since you two never talked about your personal life like jobs, if either of you live close by. you prefer to keep personal information private, miguel respected and understood that.

you nod with a tiny smirk. “polite, i like it.”

miguel grins as he leans closer. his breath fanning yours. his lips gently pressed against yours. a gentle, soft kiss. damn his lips feel good, all plumped and nice. yours, though, are addictively sweet. he can taste your lip gloss but doesn’t care if some get on his. you never thought you’d kiss in a pub, let alone in public but with miguel, you feel comfortable.

he takes you back to his apartment. on the drive there, his hand gently massaged your thigh while driving with the other. your body tingled in excitement at the sensation. the same hand never left your lower back as you entered his home.

instead of rushing to the bedroom, you two talk a little more. miguel reassured you if you wish to leave, if you’re not comfortable with this because he doesn’t want you to think he’s only looking for sex. he truly enjoyed his conversations with you. you told him it’s fine and want to stay with him.

truthfully, you’re excited for what’s coming but of course you keep that to yourself. you’ve been wet since the moment his fingers were on your calf back at the party. his touches are just something else.

gently taking your hand in his, miguel guides you to the bedroom. he turns around and gingerly cups your face with both hands then kisses you. your hand rest on his abs, feeling the muscles through his dress shirt. you fight the urge to unbuckle his belt, you don’t want to seem desperate.

the kiss grows more passionate. shivers go down your spine as his hands slowly trail down your back. shoulder blades, the curve of your spine, then at your hips right above your ass. you can sense his hesitation so you decide to apply some pressure into the kiss and roam your hands over his broad shoulders to tigger his tendencies.

it worked since he gently palms it through your dress, eliciting a soft moan from you. now that did trigger his urges. bending down, miguel grabs the back of your thighs and lifts you in his arms. instinctively, you wrap your legs around his slightly pinched waist as he walks towards the bed. very carefully, miguel placed you down the mattress, hovering over you, yours lips never detach. your fingers dig into his brown curls as your passionate makeout season continues.

you softly sigh as his lips brush along your jawline then your delicate neck. fingers playing with his curls, making miguel’s mind hazy.

he leaves a few more butterfly kisses on your neck before lifting up. miguel glances at your chest then your eyes. “puedo?”

you nod with smirk, hiding your excitement.

his fingers grip on the zipper on the front of your dress and slowly pulls it down. miguel bites back a moan as peeks of your cleavage are revealed to his lustful eyes. a glimpse of your black lacy bra hugging your breasts perfectly like a gift.

you inhale sharply as his large palms gently cup them. he gives them a gentle squeeze, eliciting a soft gasp from you. board palms playing with the soft squishy fat, kneading it with expertise. the lacy fabric of your bra on his fingertips. the addicting sensation makes you arch your back, chest leaning into his touch. miguel buries his face in your cleavage, kissing and licking the soft skin. a moan falls from your lips when his hands push them together, stuffing his face more with your soft tits.

one hand trails down to the hem of your dress. “is this okay?” he lifts his head to meet your gaze.

you hum with a nod.

miguel slowly pulls your dress off your body over your head then tosses it on the floor. his breath gets caught in his throat at the sight of your exposed body. eyes roaming over each curve.

his admiring gaze makes you a little nervous. it’s been a while since you’ve been intimate with someone. last time was a one nightstand with some asshole, in the beginning he didn’t seem like one, and he only went straight for pound town, not silently worshiping like the mysterious man above is.

you also don’t want to be the only one almost naked. your fingers grip on his belt. “your turn, guapo.”

a low chuckle falls from his lips. “impatient.”

you help him unbutton his shirt, revealing his toned chest. decorated with chest hair. the sound of his belt unbuckling makes your body tingle in excitement, specifically down to your throbbing core.

your eyes widen in awe at his muscular form. chest hair, delicious abs, and mouthwatering happy trail. they widen more as you notice the large bulge in his boxers. you expected him to be big due to his large frame but the outline makes it look like a monster.

“lift up your hips for me.” he said.

you obliged, lifting your hips. miguel slides a pillow underneath, giving you some support.

he bends down towards your legs. grabbing one leg, his lips brush against your calf. miguel slowly trails up your leg, reaching towards your inner thigh. your heart raced in anticipation. your breath hitched as you feel his lips sucking your inner thigh. your core throbs terribly, desperate for him.

he grins against your skin as he feels your legs twitch. “impatient for me, huh gatita?” he slowly moves towards your clothed cunt. miguel’s grin widens as he hears a small whine from above.

“no te procupes, gaitia. i’ll make sure you scream my name.” his seductive words makes sends shivers down your spine. gripping the edges of your panties, miguel slowly drags them down your legs.

those crimson eyes never leave your exposed pussy as he tosses your panties on the floor. grabbing your thighs and placing them on his bulky shoulders, miguel dives in and licks a stripe up your throbbing core. making you shudder and let out a soft moan. he switches between licking you up and sucking your sweet bundle of nerves. those sweet noises you’re making encouraged him to continue.

“dios… you taste amazing, gatita.” he moans against you, sending vibrations through you. “my dessert tonight.” he says in between licking and sucking.

his lips suck bit more aggressively on your clit, causing you to moan loudly. instinctively, you dig your fingers in his hair once again. each lick and suck makes you grip on his hair tighter, earning a muffled groan from the brunette man.

“miguel!~” you moan, arching your back off the bed as he starts penetrating you with his tongue.

the tip of the wet muscle penetrating you perfectly. causing your back to arch like waves. instinctively, you grind against his face. endless moans spilling from your lips. you definitely weren’t expecting him to be such a munch. each flick of his tongue, lips sucking your clit contain with such expertise.

after more flicks of his tongue, you come with a wail of his name. gushing over his tongue with your sweetness. a shiver runs down his spine at how beautifully you sang his name. miguel drinks you up feverishly as if he found an oasis.

finally, he moves away from your now sensitive pussy. “delicious, gatita. best dessert ever.” miguel seductively runs his tongue over lips, collecting the leftover of your sweetness. the sight makes your pussy flutter. he caught that and smirks.

grabbing a condom packet from the nightstand, miguel swiftly takes off his boxers. his cock bouncing out from its confinements. your eyes blown out by the size of it. holy shit he’s really fucking huge. there is no way that will fit inside you. your pussy, however, throbs for it, despite its size.

he sensed your apprehension. “i’ll be careful. lo prometo, gatita.” miguel climbs back on the bed, hovering your smaller figure.

“do you trust me?” he asks softly. “if we need to stop, tell me.” sincerity in his tone.

you nod. “i trust you.”

gripping his cock with a hand and the other on your thigh, miguel aligned himself with your entrance. a shared moan mingles in the steamy air as he slowly slides through your tight fluttering walls.

“fuck- so tight, gatita. gotta let me in a little more, por fav.” miguel groans.

you try by spreading your legs as much as you can, giving him the space he needs. a soft whimper falls from your lips as you feel his bulbous tip settled against your sweet spot. as soon as he bottoms out and you give him the green light, he does a slow thrust. eliciting a soft moan from you.

gingerly taking both your wrists with one hand, miguel’s gaze is locked with yours as he slowly kisses them then pins them above your head on the pillow.

“gonna make you feel good, hermosa.” he whispers huskily before capturing your lips with his, slowly thrusting into your tight cunt.

your moans and whimpers are muffled, sallowed by miguel’s lips. his cock slowly dragging out before plunging it back inside your fluttering walls with a deep slow thrust, allowing you to feel every inch of him. even with the condom on, you feel all of him.

miguel is in awe of your blissful expression. fluttering lashes, brows furrowed, gorgeous eyes rolled back, pretty sounds falling from your lips, back arched. a sense of pride flowing through his veins, knowing he is causing those movements of ecstasy.

“hermosa… taking me so well.” he softly pants, face leaning closer towards yours. his panting gently hitting your face as he admires you.

“oh miguel~” you moan as a big deep thrust hits your sweet spot. back arched for the hundredth time.

he lets out a groan as he feel yours walls clenching his cock. going insane at the sensation, motivating him to slowly pick up the pace of his hips.

obscure sounds mingles in the hot air of sex. your moans and his groans in unison. his hips snaps against yours at a faster pace. with his free hand, it travels down to where you’re connected and flicks your clit with his middle finger. causing you to moan loudly which makes him smile, back arched off the bedsheets at the sudden intense sensation. your hands balled into fists, nails digging into your palms.

“no other man has fucked you like this, huh gatita?” he pants above you. a grin on his face that grows wider when you shake your head followed by a whine.

the bed rocked due to miguel’s slight harsh thrust. the headboard repeatedly hitting the wall. he’ll get complaints from his neighbors but doesn’t give a shit. this intimate moment with you is more important than worrying about disturbing his dumbass neighbors’ slumber.

a few more rough flicks to your puffy clit and thrusts against that sensitive spot, you come with a wail of his name. gushing over his concealed cock, miguel wishing he could truly feel it but accepts it and is too mesmerized by your angelic expression as you reach the pinnacle of pleasure so beautifully.

as soon as he gently releases your wrists, you use all your strength and flip positions. miguel’s eyes go wide as he’s suddenly laying on his back, impressed by your sudden take of control but oh so loves the view above him. resting your hands on his abs, you ride his cock after feeling desperate to do so. another loud moan escapes your lips. you feel him deeper in this position. all the way in your guts.

large palms grip the fat of your hips, tightening with each roll of your hips. while riding the fuck out of him, you suddenly remembered you’re still wearing your bra. quickly unclasping it with a hand, the garment falls off your chest, freeing your breasts. miguel’s eyes widen, a groan rumbling from his chest at the sight of your exposed breasts. watching them jiggle as you bounce on his dick. a thin layer of sweat coating them like a dressing.

a deep feeling of hunger bubbles in his body. his hands on your hips travel up to your bouncing tits and gropes them. kneading the soft mounds feverishly. relishing the squishiness in his palms. with his thumb and index finger, he pinches your perky nipples then gently tugs them. eliciting a loud whine from you. the reaction makes him grin.

a loud groan erupts from his throat, throwing his head back against the pillow as you circle your hips in sinful manner. “oh fuck- mami…” instinctively, his hands return to your hips, tighter this time.

your legs were about to give out due to the burning sensation but miguel’s hands on your hips guiding you was a big help. the more you bounce on his cock, the faster both your orgasms were approaching.

“fuck- i’m gonna—“ miguel cuts himself with a load groan as he reaches his climax. spurting thick white ropes into the condom, filling it with his seed. secretly wishing it was your pussy.

you come as well, marking it as your third time tonight. you’re never orgasmed so much in your life. definitely an incredible experience.

you collapse on his chest and miguel immediately wraps his arms around you. your pants echoing the room as you both recover from your highs. his thumb tenderly rubbing up and down your spine as comfort.

after a few minutes to recover, miguel tossed out the used condom in the trash and carefully cleans you up with a towel from his bathroom. after cleaning up and giving you a water bottle, he then joins you in the covers and allow slumber to call both your names.

⠀⠀⠀⠀𓂃 ୨ ₊ 𓂃 ౨ৎ   𓂃 ₊ ୧   𓂃

you never forgot that night.

you left that morning before miguel woke up. a part of you felt guilt but it was a one nightstand after all. despite the chemistry between you two. some things are meant to end. it’s just how life is.

besides, you’ll probably never see him again. miguel radiates that mystery guy vibe who’ll you will meet once and never again afterwards.

you really liked him, you really did. still do, in fact. he never left your mind. his touch still lingering on your skin like a ghost. how good he made you feel, the sex and conversations with him. you felt so comfortable with him. however, it was just a one time thing.

oh well.

now summer activities are over and the new school year begins. another year giving lectures. you love your job as a professor, encouraging and motivating students to become their best.

each year is different. you’re excited to see what’s in store for this school year.

dressed in a fresh outfit for the first day. a baby pink blouse with a long white silk skirt. after your first two lectures, you decide to head to the teachers lounge for a quick cup of coffee. you didn’t go to your usual cafe this morning since you were in a bit of a rush.

entering the lounge, you head over to the counter where the coffee maker is. waving and greeting fellow colleagues on your way in. once you make your coffee, you stir it with a plastic spoon. after enough stirring, you take a small sip to test if it’s good. a satisfied hum from your lips says it all.

as you turn around to start your journey back to your classroom, your heart drops.

standing across the room talking with a few other male colleagues, a man with brown hair and stands way taller than his two counterparts. clad in black button up shirt and dark denim jeans. a pair of thick rimmed glasses settled over his eyes.

miguel.

the same miguel from the stupid party.

the same miguel you fucked that same night.

suddenly, you feel paralyzed. a wave of shock coursing through your body. jaw dropped and eyes popping out of your damn skull.

he’s a fucking professor here? at the same fucking university as you? what the actual fuck.

you fucked a coworker?

oh fuck.

those thoughts pause the moment his eyes meets yours before widening as well. his expression matches yours. a wave of anxiety hits you.

shit shit shit.

your body goes into panic mode and you bolted out of lounge. not sparing a glance at him. anxiety consumes your body like a virus. heart pounding in your chest as you hurriedly walk down the hallway. you didn’t notice the concern looks given your way as you rush back to your classroom.

a sudden wave of nausea hits you as you enter your classroom and hurriedly shut the door. tossing your coffee in the trash. the nausea destroyed your thirst and hunger simultaneously. holding your hands close to your chest, you slowly slide down against the door before sitting on the cold tile floor. the rapid drumbeat of your heart echos in your ears. chest heaving frantically and eyes fluttering.

this can’t be happening. this can’t be true.

miguel is a fucking professor?

but you’ve never seen him before in previous years. you’ve been teaching at nueva york university for four years. never once you saw his devilish handsome face on this campus. you’re 100% sure of it.

oh shit- is he new?

word has been announced a new professor, a biology professor specifically, has been hired.

oh my god- it’s fucking miguel.

glancing at the clock on the wall, your phone was on your desk so you couldn’t read the time easily, it’s an hour before your next lecture. that gives you time to deal with this mindfuck and calm down.

all you pray is to not run into miguel at all.

that ultimately fails when he catches you in the parking lot.

“don’t touch me.” you aggressively shrug away from his light touch on your upper arm, stomping your way to your car as fast as you can.

“please, can we talk?” miguel pleads, almost sounds desperate as he follows you like a lost puppy.

“no, stay the fuck away from me.”

“hermosa, pro favor—“

“stop!” you whirl around with bloodshot eyes, making him stop in his tracks. “stop following me! i don’t wanna fucking talk to you… at least, not in public…” you quickly glance around the parking lot, making sure there’s no bystanders.

his eyes do the same before sighing, his shoulders slumped. “i know, just please let me explain to you.”

you shake your head. “i said not in public.”

“then let’s go someplace else.”

“i’m not going anywhere with you.”

he frowns, secretly butthurt. “¿porque?”

“because i don’t wanna be seen with you because we’re coworkers! when people see us together too close, they’ll get the wrong idea.”

another sigh escapes his lips, understanding what you’re implying. “i understand but we really do need to talk—“

“no, we’re not talking. end of conversation.” you stomp your way to your car, which was only a foot away, ignoring miguel’s pleads.

part of you really wants to talk to him, know what the fuck is going on. it’s the right thing to do but the potential gossip of two professors hanging out with each other a bit too closely which could jeopardize you both consumes your mind.

miguel gives up and stops chasing after you once you got into your car and drive off with a pissed off face. shoulders still slumped as he sighs, feeling defeated and a little frustrated.

“fuck…” he curses at himself, running a hand through his brown curls.

⠀⠀⠀⠀𓂃 ୨ ₊ 𓂃 ౨ৎ   𓂃 ₊ ୧   𓂃

you avoided miguel like a fucking plague.

cooped up in your classroom majority of the day. the only times you’d leave is to use the restroom, fr an a quick snack from the local campus cafe, meet other professors for discussions.

luckily, miguel hasn’t shown up to your classroom. probably doesn’t know which room number is yours. although, you don’t doubt he has asked others for it. but still, he hasn’t shown up yet.

you never stepped foot in the lounge in fear of seeing him there like the previous time. too afraid to see his large silhouette around campus and chase after you.

you feel so fucking guilty. you truly are making this worse and awkward than it already is. you should talk to him, sort this shit out. communication is key.

but fear is consumes you like virus.

you fucking a coworker would cause a scandal. okay, maybe you’re being a little dramatic. you and miguel are both adults and professors. you just don’t want drama or gossip spreading around. coworkers whispering behind your back. that’s the last thing you need, more bullshit added to your list.

you exhale deeply as you walk down the hall towards your classroom. the first lecture starts in 20 minutes so you had time to grab breakfast at the campus cafe. a croissant sandwich and fruit.

“hey!” a familiar male voice calls out.

turning around, you see your coworker eddie. a sigh of relief leaves your lips, thankful it’s not miguel.

“hey, eddie.” you greet your friend with a smile.

“hey, me and the guys are meeting at jackie’s tonight. you still planning to come?”

the guys consist of you, eddie, your coworker peter and his wife mj, your other coworker jessica and her husband. eddie used to bring his girlfriend anne until they broke up. almost every friday, you all would head over to jackie’s, the local bar for funnies.

you nod with a smile. “yep, i’ll be there.”

“okay, cool! also, should i get red or white tulips?”

you quirk a brow, smirking. “you’re really trying to win back anne, aren’t you?”

a shameful smile plastered on his face. “yeah…” he awkwardly rubs the back of his neck with a hand.

you sigh, shaking your head with a smile. “white because they represent forgiveness.”

eddie claps excitedly with a big grin before pulling you in a quick, tight hug. “thank you, thank you, thank you! you’re the best!”

you chuckle at his enthusiasm. “of course, eddie.”

“see you tonight!” he lets you go then starts walking away with a wave.

you laugh, waving back. you hope things work out for him and anne, unlike you and miguel. you dismiss the thought with a head shake and walk away.

unknowingly, a pair of jealous brown eyes observed the interaction from down the hall. miguel knew eddie, one of the coworkers he became acquainted with on his first day. he sometimes gets on miguel’s nerves with his shitty ass humor, and consistent crying about his breakup with anne.

but oh eddie was really on his nerves when he pulled you into a hug. miguel’s jaw clenched and fists tightens at the intimate moment. he knows eddie is still in love with anne, would never chase after another woman because his heart still beats for her. by the interaction, it seems you two are friends which is totally fine. it’s normal to have friends.

but miguel’s brain says otherwise. eddie’s arms wrapped around you made his eye twitch. jealously boiling in his veins. miguel knows he shouldn’t be jealous because you’re not his and he’s not yours. but his feelings for you are strong. he wished it was him giving you that hug, just to feel you in his arms again.

your distant behavior was taking a toll on him. turning on your heel the minute he sees you and tries chasing you but ultimately fails. it leaves him upset and frustrated. miguel needs to talk to you.

he needs to find a way.

he has find a day to talk to you.

⠀⠀⠀⠀𓂃 ୨ ₊ 𓂃 ౨ৎ   𓂃 ₊ ୧   𓂃

as you’re walking down the hall to your classroom, a yelp falls from your lips as you’re suddenly yanked by the arm into a supply closet. whirling around to face whoever snatched you, your eyes widen.

“motherfucker…”

“i’m sorry, i didn’t have another choice.” miguel holds up his hand cautiously.

“dragging me into a supply closet, where the janitor can clearly walk in, was your only choice?”

he lowers his hands. “okay, not the greatest idea but i just need to talk to you.”

“no.” you try moving past him but his bigass frame blocks you completely. “ugh! move, miguel.”

“not until we talk.” he said sternly, crossing his arms.

you groan, rolling your eyes. “ya te dije, i don’t wanna talk to you. especially not here, miguel.”

“tell me why you’re freaking out and i’ll let you go.”

anger and impatience boils in your veins. nails digging into your palms as your fists tightens. “i swear, if you don’t move i’ll—“

“what are you gonna do, gatita?” he coos, smirking.

“don’t call me that, especially in public.”

“we’re in a supply closet, there’s no one else.”

you grown out of frustration. “ay por dios, miguel! let me out! i have a class in 10 minutes!”

miguel just stands there with an intimidating expression, piercing eyes looking down at you. his heart races in his chest. being so close to you again makes his mind hazy. it’s been weeks, almost a month since you’ve been in the same space, standing so close to each other. he fought his demons to touch you, hold you in his arms.

you whine, running both hands over your face. you can’t believe this is happening. locked in a closet with the man who’s been constantly on your mind. tossing and turning in your bed having wet dreams about. whose touches still linger on your skin.

you hate the way he towers over you so easily. you hate the way he can corner you with his big frame. you hate the way your heart is racing because of him.

“fine, you wanna talk? let’s talk. why didn’t you tell me?” you fold your arms, mirroring his posture.

you went straight to the point.

miguel sighs, frowning. “first, you never mentioned you worked at a college. second, at the time i didn’t know if i was getting the job or not. i didn’t get a call until a week after we met.”

allowing his words to sink in, you do remember not mentioning you’re a professor at nyu. you kept personal information private.

“okay, the first part is on me.” you state before sighing once again. “fuck…” you lean against the wall with a thud, staring at the ceiling to avoid his eyes.

“trust me, i’m just surprised as much as you are.” miguel takes a small step closer.

you look back at him, staring at each other for a moment. if you had superhearing, you’d hear both your rapid heartbeats. the close proximity makes you and miguel anxious, bashful messes.

quickly blinking, you snap out of it. “there, we talked, bye.” swooping past him, you quickly open the door and walk out, not giving him enough time to react.

thankfully, there wasn’t anyone in the hallway. rushing back to your classroom, you swiftly close the door and sat down at your desk. you let out a deep breath before slouching down in your chair.

you can’t believe that just happened.

⠀⠀⠀⠀𓂃 ୨ ₊ 𓂃 ౨ৎ   𓂃 ₊ ୧   𓂃

coffee and books, two of your favorite things. you pay a visit to your local bookshop café. you spend an hour and a half slipping on coffee while reading a murder mystery novel. once it’s time to leave, you pack up your things and exit the little café.

the night sky above tells you it was late. on the path home, you pass by a sketchy alleyway. decorated in graffiti and trash scattered among the floor. a shadowy figure emerges from the shadows.

“hello, gorgeous.” a homeless man.

you ignore him, picking up the pace so you can avoid the man at all costs.

“don’t walk awayyyy.” the idiot slurs.

“please, stay away from me.” you keep on walking but you can hear his footsteps behind you. anxiety begins creeping through your veins.

“whaaat, i’m not gonna—“

“leave the lady alone.” a third voice said.

turning around, you see miguel standing in between you and the homeless guy.

“s-sorry, man.” the man holds up his hands in surrender. a slightly frightened look on his face before walking away like a coward.

with a stern frown, miguel keeps a cautious eye on the guy until he was completely gone. he then turns around, about to ask if you’re okay but you opened your mouth already.

“you’re following me, now? fucking creep.”

miguel lets out a frustrated groan. “i’m not following you. i just left the boxing gym and was on my way home then i saw you on the way.”

“uh huh, sure.” you narrow your eyes at him.

“ay mujer, when will you fucking believe me for once?” a sigh escapes his lips.

your eyes dart at his outfit. a black tank top and a matching sweatshirt over it. gray motherfucking sweats. strings of hair sticked to his forehead due to sweat. his duffel bag hanging over his shoulder.

fuck, he looks so good. you imagine him boxing, muscles rippling with each punch—

no, can’t have horny thoughts right now.

“what is this? my knight in shining armor? real fucking classic, miguel.”

“wh- no. that homeless guy wouldn’t stop bothering you so of course i had to stop him.”

“oh so what? you want my token of gratitude? sorry, i don’t have a handkerchief on me.” you pretend checking yourself for one. “i’ll just say thank you and goodbye.” you turn around and start walking away.

miguel blinks in disbelief at your childish tactics then proceeds to follow you. “you can’t just keep ignoring me and pretend nothing happened!”

“yes, i can.” you state firmly, still walking away.

“just talk to me!”

“miguel!”

a pregnant pause falls between you two. staring at one another. chests heaving, feeling breathless. your yelling cussed some heads to turn but neither of you care. people continue brushing past you both.

“not here…” you plead softly.

with a sigh, miguel silently nods and you both walk back to your apartment. the tension grew stronger during the silent walk back.

once you stepped foot into your apartment, you force miguel to take a shower because you don’t want his sweaty ass sitting in your living room. he teasing comment about showering together earned him a slap on the arm. his chuckling and smirk on his handsome face makes your skin crawl. he changed into his other set of clothes, different shirt and sweats. you take a shower after him, changing into a nightgown with a silky robe over it.

how the fuck did it get this far? one minute you’re avoiding him like a fucking virus at work, then he’s sitting on your couch after using your shower.

after offering him tea, you hand him is mug then sit down on the other end of the couch, leaving mic space between you two. much to his dismay but miguel understands and respects it.

another long awkward silence before miguel speaks up. “i was really happy i found you…” he glances at you. “i haven’t stop thinking about you since.”

that made your heart skip a beat.

“i really enjoyed spending time with you. i’ve never felt so connected with anyone before. i knew you were special the moment i saw you and i’m glad i decided to go to that dumb party to meet you.” he turns so he’s fully facing you. “believe me, spending time with you is better than any party.”

your heart did multiple summersaults. his words created butterflies in your tummy. never in your life someone had said such heartwarming words to you, nevertheless about you.

“when you left,” you notice his tone changes, a bit more sorrowful. “i was scared i’d never see you again. i asked some friends from the party if they knew you or at least your friends so i could find you. but i got no luck so i…” he pauses for a moment, sighing.

that guilty feeling returns, consuming your body. “i’m… i’m sorry i left. it’s just… i thought it was a one time thing so…” your gaze falters.

miguel frowns, upset but understands. he was about to say something but you continue on. he didn’t mind though. he wants to hear you.

“but the truth is i do feel the same way. i haven’t stopped thinking about you either. our conversations did mean something to me. i’ve never felt so comfortable with someone, especially right off the bat. it felt so nice having a sincere connection because it’s hard to find that with someone.”

you quickly glance up and see his expression softened. it reminds you of those conversations with him that night. how attentive and thoughtful he was.

“the reason why i’m freaking out is because coworkers dating isn’t really looked upon on well.” you tear away from his gaze with a shrug, concealing your embarrassment. “i didn’t want gossip spreading around and affect our jobs. especially you since you just started.” you let out another sad sigh.

that frown returns, but a concern frown. “hermosa…” scooting closer so he’s next to you, he gingerly cups your cheek with a hand, making you look back at him. “i appreciate your concern, a lot. i understand coworker relationships aren’t praised but honestly i don’t care.” he watched your eyes widen. “i don’t care what they say. what i do care about is you.”

your heart flutters, butterflies in you belly.

with both hands, he gently holds your face in his hands like the precious thing is in his palms. “i really like you, querida. i want nothing more than getting to know more of you, if you let me.”

at this point, you heart is beating like a drum. lashes fluttering and cheeks warm. his kind, heartwarming words washes your worries away. finally, you allow your heart to win. gently placing your hands on his wrists, you give them a loving squeeze. “sí.”

the corner of his lips curl up into a smile. a smile that makes your heart swoon. leaning closer, miguel gently pressed his lips on yours in a soft kiss. your hands leave his wrists to cup his face. his hands slowly move down your body, fingers skimming over the fabric of your silky robe waist as the kiss grows more passionate. instinctively, you wrap your arms around his neck and lean closer. his own secured around your waist, tugging you closer to him.

things escalated quickly, growing spicier. soft moans and groans. lips devouring one another. hands roaming around feverishly. left with no patience, miguel quickly rises from the couch and rushes to your bedroom, carrying you bridal style in his arms. your laughs echoing in the hallway.

perhaps everything was going to be fine. as long as miguel is by your side and you by his, no negative comments or criticism will stop you from loving each other. in fact, nothing but praises came your way when your relationship was later revealed.

everything was fine.

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓. ♡ @rinyukaa @laysmt @felinespark @eatalyy @devotion @miss-canon-event @club-danger-zone @clearlysworld @unhinged-reader-36 @slut4oscarissac23 @hao-ming-8

© teenidlegirl. don’t steal, plagiarize, or translate my work. ♡

[struwberrii]

suna headcanons 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

here are my silly sunarin headcanons!! hope you guys likey

ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧ (also is mostly relationship stuff but not all)

has the craziest sleep schedule like he stays up all night, falls asleep at 5am, wakes up at 8 am and just goes to school fine

buys you snacks from the vending machines daily

teases you a lot but is really flirty about it

probably most active at night and invites you out when it’s dark, he just likes how much emptier everywhere is

has the best music taste and always puts you onto his music

nonchalant dread head of japan

would probably sneak into your house through your window just to see you

says the funniest things with the most deadpan expression which makes it 10x

if you dont reply to his messages fast enough he hits you with the "why do you hate me"

he’s too honest sometimes and has a bad habit of saying things that are rude when he really didn’t have to

randomly tackles you and play fights

bros the type to pick you up and jump into the pool with you

does the bare minimum with all his school work

starts talking like you and using your slang when you guys hang out long enough

he’s the guy people talk shit around bc they think he’s quiet and a loner but he’s lowkey a shit starter and shares what he hears

slacks/lazy in most things but he carries you guys in fortnite

his bed is covered in stuffed animals from you, even all the cute sanrio ones

ur his profile pic online

i feel like he’d use discord and get paid as a mod on some server 😭😭

calls you stupid as a term of endearment

he can always tell when something’s wrong, like he can sense if something’s off with you

probably wears a lot of sweat pants

always smells really woody and fresh (yk like generic men’s cologne idk 😭)

very touchy, loves having an arm around you waist :3

allergic to drinking water, ik his piss is acid (honestly same here….)

his sister loves you so much

lowkey the worst at soothing you/cheering you up so he just hugs you

let’s you do skincare on him, he thinks it’s relaxing

i feel like he’d own at least one of those stupid tiktok fidget toys that he swears works but everytime he uses it he can’t stop laughing thinking about how stupid he looks

has a bad diet only because he’s too lazy to actually cook

burps SO LOUD and SO OFTEN like hold it man

has a tiktok account that he rage baits people on and reads the comments to you pretending it wasn’t him who wrote them (smh)

tries to teach you volleyball so you guys can kinda play together

i feel like he’d know a lot about the stars and like the constellations

i also feel like he’d really like coke floats (ice cream + coke in a glass) a lot for some reason

acts like he doesn’t really care but he cares so much

he’s only vulnerable and emotional with you

randomly attacks you with kisses

i feel like he'd know some really good unknown dessert spots all around town

i feel like hes an adidas guy

says out of pocket stuff on purpose with no reaction just to see you panic (he thinks its funny)

[imfinereallyy]

“Steve, it’s an emergency. I need to kiss you. Actually, I need you to kiss me. But I can’t just do it without asking because what if you don’t want me to, and I practically attack you? So yes or no? I swear it’s for a good cause.” Eddie comes running up to Steve in the bar, panting so hard Steve can see the chest movements.

They have taken Robin to a bar out in Indy to get her laid finally. Or at least a tongue in her mouth. The girl is pent up. And it’s Steve’s job as best friend to make that happen (Robin has told him to stop saying that, ‘it is gross’). Eddie is the only other queer person they know and, luckily, has made quite a few trips to Indy to know which bars were the good ones. He tells Steve that, like Robin, he is desperate to get laid, so this is the perfect opportunity.

Steve does his best to try and ignore the burning jealousy he feels at that. Eddie doesn’t know about his feelings (hell about his sexuality), and Steve is pretty sure Eddie doesn’t see him that way.

“Huh?” Asks confused, his brain struggling to process.

“Okay, I see you’re stuck on how to answer, but Steve—“ Eddie grips Steve’s shoulder, and Steve tries not to swoon. “—my ex, the extra shitty one, is here, and if he sees me alone I’ll either a) go home with him tonight and—“

Steve cuts Eddie off with a searing kiss. The thought of Eddie going home with someone else was enough for Steve’s brain to catch up to speed. Steve presses Eddie against the bar. The loud bass of the music suddenly becomes a light thrum in the background. All that he feels is the delightful pressure of their lips together. Eddie’s hands slide up into Steve’s hair as he gets pressed harder into the bar. Steve’s hands' grip Eddie’s waist and give them a tight squeeze. The idea of bruises being left behind, a mark of what they are doing here, makes Steve deepen the kiss. His tongue used to massage Eddie’s, tasting the menthol and rum on his breath. Eddie moans loud and heavy, vibrating Steve’s entire body.

“Eddie?” A voice interrupts them. Steve feels his anger spark back slightly but wills it down because the interruption is probably needed. They are very close to getting kicked out for public indecency.

“Oh hey, Ryan.” Eddie looks the blonde man up and down. He’s cute, Steve notes, but he lacked personality in his appearance. He isn’t what Steve expects from an ex of Eddie’s. He isn’t naive enough to think Eddie dates exclusively metal heads, but he expects someone to match Eddie’s energy. This guy—Ryan apparently—looks like every other guy you’d find on a Sunday in Supermart. Boring and lacking imagination.

“Who’s this?” Ryan looks at Steve pissed.

“Steve?” Eddie wraps an arm around his waist, bringing Steve close up against him. “This is my boyfriend.”

“This dude’s your boyfriend?” Ryan snorts. “C'mon baby, I know you can do better.”

Steve feels his anger finally pop. “He is not your baby. Yea, he can do better than both of us combine, but I’m lucky enough to get him. Now, you interrupted our time together, and we both know you saw what we’re up to, so don’t act like it wasn’t on purpose.”

Ryan startles backwards, “I—“

“Sorry, maybe I wasn’t clear. I meant leave the fuck right now.” Steve grits out, some of his Upside Down protection mode popping out. Ryan scatters quickly.

“Jesus, Steve, that was amazing. I’m sorry I had to make you uncomfortable with that.” Eddie’s eyes find his and cuts Steve off before he can protest and explain no, he really did like that “—and you never even let me explain reason b, by the way! Reason b is b) he would probably humiliate me in the middle of the club.”

Steve nods at Eddie but has one track mind at this point. He grabs Eddie by the face this time before crashing their lips together once again. This time Steve moans into Eddie’s mouth as they both get lost in the kiss.

Steve pulls back ever so slightly and talks directly into Eddie’s mouth, “Sorry. I think he’s still staring. Needed to do more.”

Eddie, with swollen lips and a kissed-out face, looks around the bar to find nothing. “I don’t see him anywhere.”

Steve smirks and pulls Eddie by his belt loops so they are flushed together. Steve leans into Eddie’s ear and nibbles at his lobe. “Hmmm, you’re right. I think he’s actually in the bathroom. Maybe we should kiss in front of him there.” Steve whispers hotly.

Eddie’s brain, which has short-circuited much like Steve only minutes ago, finally catches up. Eddie groans, his face collapsing into Steve’s neck. He licks a stripe up Steve’s neck all the way to his mouth. “Fuck. Yea, baby, I think I saw him too. Think kissing, though, won’t be enough. We might need to up our game.”

Steve nips at Eddie’s lips, “I was hoping you would say that. Guess I just know how much you love your games, Eds.”

They meet each other for one last searing kiss before rushing to the bathrooms to share a very tight, very heated stall.

[leclsrc]

it’s never over ✴︎ cl16

genre: childhood friends to friends with benefits to lovers (a mouthful), smut, humor, Fluffff!!!!, several references to 70’s music, 

word count: 12.9k  

You must have lost the plot along the way, because pretending to date your childhood best friend was not on your 2023 bingo card. (Neither was the fact that things are looking a lot more real as time passes.)

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... handjob (f receiving), penetrative sex, semi public sex, praise central, size kink

auds here… hi hi hi!!! you’ve no idea how much i missed writing posting and interacting w u guys. thank u for all the love & follows i’ve gotten in my periods of mia. more things soon i promise ty for ur patience love love love u allll 🌟🤎🤠💋 this is my love letter to fic tropes. i feared if it was too long i’d lose the plot somehow so i had to condense it. i truly hope u all like it :) will try & reopen reqs sometime soon to get inspo kicking

It’s later than late. The lights are strobing purple and blue, the “let’s get you even drunker than you are” headache inducing kind. The floor is crowded, swelling with teenagers who are probably too young to get in, drunk off cheap aperol and watered-down tequila shots. You’re balancing yourself on a barstool, one hand busy wrapped around a slim glass, the other clawing your miniskirt lower because the air bites at your legs.

“Another voddy Red Bull!” You’re slurring, mind spinning almost as fast as your vision. You almost drop your empty glass in your rush to look for another one—but right as it slips clumsily out of your fingers, it’s caught. 

Charles, your cocktail’s knight in armor and yours just as well, is eighteen. His hair is  light brown and long, but not draping over his eyes like before. You know before because you’ve never not known before—Charles has been your best friend since you were five.

Snoopy, he says, voice steady and calm in your ear. His frame is still lanky but he’s tall and his grip on your shoulders is enough to quell the yelling. You pout. Get me another voddy red, you plead. Charlie, it’s my birthday. He smiles to himself, knowing your vision’s too cloudy to see him and your mind’s too bogged to remember any of this. You’d already slipped up and told two bouncers you were seventeen and not eighteen, like your poorly-Photoshopped ID suggested; Charles had to keep you in check, lest you or your friends end up kicked out of the club.

A song booms in through the speakers and your eyes widen with recognition. Charles doesn’t anticipate your reaction fast enough, affording only a stumble backwards when you attempt to leave the barstool to dance. He swears under his breath, mind recounting the five previous dance sessions that left you exhausted and out of breath earlier.

I’ll get you a vodka Red Bull if you sit down, he tells you. He enunciates because, twelve years later, you still can’t wrap your mind around his thick European accent. Sit down.

Alriiiight! You hoot, throwing two fists up in the air. Customary for many bartenders on nights as busy as this one, a free shot is thrust into your vacant hand and you cheer loudly, much to Charles’ chagrin. With whatever malice the eighteen-year-old can muster, he casts the bartender a dirty look before turning to face you again, worried. He places a hand on your shoulder and watches, half-anxious and half-endeared, you take the shot and visibly grimace at the raw taste. Fuck. It’s gin I think, you sputter. Charles presses: You okay?

More than, you holler, smiling. I am officially seventeeee— 

The bartender’s eyebrows furrow, the thirty-something businessman in the adjacent stool turns to look—so Charles has no choice but to shut you up, leaning in and pressing his lips to yours before you can seal your fate.

Your eyes widen briefly, and when Charles feels the passed seconds are sufficient, he pulls away. You stare, eyes hazy, at the pretty boy you’ve had feelings for since you turned fourteen, and lean in to kiss him again. 

—

Pascale is hosting her weekly Sunday brunch at the Leclerc residence, all French windows and wide kitchens and bowls of fruit. As always, your place is at the kitchen island picking at plates to taste test them. Bonjour, Arthur drawls when he walks in. He turns to Pascale. Mum. Then you. Snoopy.

You halt biting into your forkful of arugula and turn toward the younger Leclerc, eyebrows raised. “What’d you just call me?”

“Snoopy,” he says simply. He’s beside Pascale, one arm wrapped around her affectionately. “Or, Snoops, if you like that. Yes?”

“Who told you about that nickname?”

“Lorenzo.”

“Hasn’t been in use since your voice was cracking every sentence.”

“Tête de noeud.” Pascale swats his arm and he yelps, so you resume your arugula with satisfaction.

Charles is late for reasons he did not disclose, but everyone is used to it. The open kitchen door stretches into the front yard, where the table is set up and Lorenzo is setting the places. You know that although you usually expect a few more relatives, today’s just for the family—and you, but you’re basically family.

“How is Paris?” Arthur asks, licking hummus off a spoon opposite you. Your position is reminiscent of how you spent afternoons after school with Charles before, and the memory strikes a chord in you. Strange nostalgia, fondness.

“It’s fine.”

“Oh really?” He laughs in-between nibbles of carrot.

“I got an offer for a higher position,” you relent. Pascale calls you both, and you get up and walk toward the yard to sit down. “If you must know.”

“Oh? Let me know how that goes.” He follows you, carrot slice in hand, chewing. The conversation is cut short by the smooth noise of Charles’ decidedly un-smooth parking outside.

You’re seated at your usual spot—in-between Charles and Lorenzo, across Arthur—when the former finally walks into the yard. He looks tired, moreso than usual, bags under his eyes deep and hair a bit more disheveled.

He sits beside you. “I need to talk to you.” Then, quieter, “Private.”

You hum confusedly, eyes flitting across the three other people at the table to gauge their reactions. They’re equally aloof. “Wh—now?” He nods.

You end up talking in the kitchen. He’s sighing the whole fifteen steps there, rubbing the bridge of his nose, exhaling, inhaling. Ever observant, and of someone as close to you as he is, you pick up on the tiny actions, behaviors. Charles is wringing his hands. He’s tried to pop the same knuckle twice. He isn’t frantic—he’s scared. You lean against the counter, waiting, eyes looking him up and down to identify his exact emotions.

“Tell me,” you press. “Whatever it is, I won’t judge.”

“The—my—the iCloud of my phone has been leaked. The press found out.”

When you were eight and he was nine, you and Charles summered in Villefranche with your mum and dad. The weather then was the kind you could write love letters to and about—blue skies, salty wind, soft sand. The current was calm enough that you could ride the gentle waves without fear of going under or straying far from the shore, where your parents sunbathed blissfully.

Don’t drown, he’d warned you, ever protective. You wore pink floaties over your arms, so it was already difficult to.

You dove under with great effort, fighting against the buoyancy, and poked his bare knee, surfacing to watch his reaction. He grimaced. Slowpoke, you teased, swimming away. You wondered then what it might feel to drown. Maybe not in the blue water of Villefranche, but anywhere else.

You think it hurts to drown? You blubbered, bobbing above the wave. Charles swam in front of you and wiped water off your face gently. I hope you never find out, he said, smiling.

But this is you finding out. This is it now, the drowning. Your fingers flex over the edge of the counter and you gulp, eyes fluttering with nerves. “Shit?” It comes out like a question from how nervous you are. “Um, sorry. What are we—” But your question is cut short by Pascale’s voice, cutting through the tension like it’s wet cardboard. The agreement is silent and mutual: save this discussion for later.

—

Charles can’t wake up fast enough. There are calls, texts, voicemails from every officer on his team, which isn’t that surprising given he’s up two hours late. But the amount—the sheer amount of notifications is dizzying. Overwhelmed, he finds it in himself to pull up his search engine app and let his fingers possess themselves.

All he types is his last name, and then The Sun article is splashed onto his face like a pot of scalding coffee: “F1 DRIVER ICLOUD LEAKED, PERSONAL PHOTOS ALL OVER INTERNET.” Daily Mail is next, of course, watering down the situation to seem more dirty and scandalous: “Naughty Driver? Charles Leclerc’s iCloud Hacked, Reveals Mystery Girl.” And then of course Page Six, who doesn’t miss a beat—

Wait. He blinks and presses the back arrow to return to the previous webpage. He reads over it again, slower this time. Mystery Girl? Shit—no. No way. It’s almost (it should be) silly, the way he’s reading vigorously over the reports like he’s a fan, but he’s anxious. He scrolls, because if any tabloid is daft enough to publish the leaked photos, it’s got to be the Daily Mail.

He pauses his quick swiping when his eyes harden with recognition, and staring back at him, on his phone’s full brightness, is a picture of you on his lap at Christmas. It’s the one Lance took while attempting to guess Charles’ password, one of you wine drunk with his head buried in your neck.

It’s unmistakably him, at his own house in Monaco where the drivers had a holiday get-together. It’s unmistakably you, hair draped over your face, three gold rings on your fingers. You had just given him a Strokes vinyl, he recalls. That’s why you were hugging.

There’s another one of you playing Scrabble in his bed—he’s not in the frame, but he remembers taking it. This, he could deny. He’s not in it, and he’s pretty sure the fans don’t know his house this well. Already his brain’s doing manual damage control, dread filling his veins at the thought of reading through his team’s frantic messages.

Another message stands out, pinned on top of all the others—from his mum, reminding him about brunch. He gets ready half-focused, half-lucid. Fully worried. He worries about the PR crisis this may cause, about his iCloud security, about the reactions online. Above all, though, he worries about you. About what he should tell the press. About how “actually, we’re not dating, we just fuck constantly” might hold up for the fans.

—

You’re twelve and Charles thirteen, both of you seated across Hervé and Pascale. Behind them stand your own parents, and they all look stern. What this is, Pascale says gently, is a family meeting. Okay?

Okay. It leaves your high voices in shaky unison. You both know what you’re doing here—you snuck out of school to catch a movie earlier, the teacher naturally caught wind of the misdeed, and now you’re in a meeting for it.

Snoops, Charles whispers, trying to ease your nerves with lighthearted commentary. This is the worst.

No, you want to tell preteen Charles—this is. You’re older now, yet still subjected to similar questioning, though today it’s Pascale going solo. It’s been three days since the fated day where the press leaked the pictures of you and Charles in compromising positions, and like any boomer, she’s used Facebook to her advantage and gotten ahold of the compromising pictures, too. 

“How long?” Her voice is enunciated in hard syllables.

“Mum—”

“Answer the question.” She looks back and forth, moving into territory of intense questions. “Both of you.”

“Um.”

“Because… I’ve been…”

You notice it immediately, given your observant track record: her shoulders relax and her lips smile just slightly. You sit still, and wait for the next words out of her mouth. “…waiting for this all my life!”

You and Charles watch in mild horror as Pascale’s face goes from firm to absolutely elated. Her eyes soften and a smile spreads over her face, illuminating her with pure joy. Do you even know how many bets I made with your papa, Charles? She claps her hands together several times.

Charles opens his mouth to verbalize dissent, but she doesn’t take it—she’s already droning on and on about how long she’s waited for this to finally happen. Your eyes glide over to the doorway of the dining area, where Lorenzo and Arthur watch with smug looks on their faces. Little shits won’t help you. You don’t even try to protest, and at some point Charles gives up, too. You don’t know how it’ll come across, anyway.

Ninety minutes later, you’re in Arthur’s bedroom rifling through his desk and praying you don’t find anything too gross. He’s on his bed throwing a bouncy ball up in the air, conversing with Charles about your gameplan with their mum.

The sky outside is in limbo between afternoon and night. It’s cloudy, so the sunset is a pale yellow instead of angry orange. “Why not just tell her the truth?”

You’d also thought that was the easiest option, escape route, exit path. But that would involve breaking Pascale’s heart, and that was out of the question for you, let alone Charles, certified mommy’s boy.

“I can’t, Arthur.” Charles’ voice is steady and unwavering.

“You can.”

“No.”

“Fine. Next best thing then.”

You fiddle with a Rubik’s cube, then turn in the seat. “What?”

“Pretend you’re dating.”

“Arthur,” you say seriously. “Shut up.” But he doesn’t join you, and you realize neither does Charles. You stare blankly at both of them, unwilling to believe they’d actually bank on this as an actual plan. 

“You guys realize this kind of thing never works? Zero percent success rate.”

“It’s just paddock appearences. You’re not pretending for millions of people,” Arthur says, shrugging. He catches the ball and throws it to you—you catch it one-handed. “You’re pretending for Mum.”

“Sure. And by extension, millions of people. Are you dense, or do you think the paddock appearances will just breeze by everyone who saw the leaks?”

“Ughhh. You’re acting like it’s impossible.” Arthur holds his breath before he utters the next sentence. “Like you two aren’t fucking every other w—”

“—oh, my God!” Shocked, you get up, and so does Charles. “Wh—I’m—language, Arthur!”

Charles balks. “How did you even—”

“I didn’t. But merci mille fois for confirming my theory,” Arthur quips faux-sweetly, smiling dopily. “I mean, I was going to find out! Your pictures are so… intimate. So just pretend to date and throw Maman off your scent.”

You protest briefly, wrestling with the option, and reconvene on the bed, you cross-legged and leaning on Charles’ shoulder and Arthur in front of the both of you. He’s always had a knack for schemes—he never got caught sneaking out, which destroyed your and Charles’ record of being caught twelve times by either of your parents. It’s a bit childish, but he gets the job done.

“Do it for… let’s say a month. Tell Mum you’ve been dating a while—Christmas isn’t that long ago, and that was the least recent picture. D’accord?”

You both nod, hyperfocused. 

“During race weekends, be all over each other—shouldn’t be hard—especially in front of Mum. People might catch you doing it, but I wouldn’t worry.”

“No, wait—I mean.” You shrug. “People—tifosi—they know I’m Charles’ friend. They’re going to be all over the fact that we’re apparently dating.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll use palatable density,” Charles says, nodding.

You pause. Arthur does, too, sensing something off.

“You mean plausible deniability.” Your deadpan voice is tinged with amusement, muffled into his shoulder. 

“Right, ouais, that.” He smiles, chuckling a bit; his shoulder shakes with it and your head nearly slips off. He brings a hand to cup over your jaw and hold you steady. “Sorry.”

“S’fine.” You sigh. “I’m totally okay with this. Just worried it’s going to have unintended consequences.”

Arthur quells you with rushed explanations about how it’ll be over and you two can say something like we decided we’re better off as friends to really sell the thing. At the seven-minute mark of your and Charles’ intense interrogation, he promptly kicks you out to figure out if you’re willing to do it yourselves.

You wedge yourself into Charles’ front seat, knowing you were headed to his place anyway. You massage your temples with one hand and fiddle with the hem of your shorts with the other. Nervous. Antsy. “Did Fred say anything?”

“Got the IT team to fortify my account.” 

“You think this thing’s going to be okay from a professional standpoint?” You look up and toward him; he’s already gazing at you, eyes soft. “I’m worried. Plus, with my job offer thing in London and New Y—”

“Don’t be.” He starts the car and maneuvers out of the driveway, into the dips of Monaco streets and the familiar route back to his place. “Bitter with the sweet. The only thing you need to worry about”—he takes your hand in the centre console, laces your fingers together loosely—“is your acting skills.”

“God, you’re right.” You sigh, looking out the window. “How am I going to pretend I can stand you?” Then, for good measure, you squeeze his hand wrapped in yours.

—

You visit Monaco from uni in London over spring, and for the first time in months, your schedule aligns with Charles’—though you learn this indirectly when you visit the Leclerc home. Pascale, of course, is the one who tells you his new flat’s address before she presses a kiss to your cheek and then leaves to run errands in the city. Alone, and in a burst of excitement, you make the drive there, take the elevator upstairs and shove the door open without knocking. He’s there. Your Charles. You can tell because the music he plays is loud—The Kooks—like his ears are still fourteen and not twenty-one, like he’s still in middle school and not in Formula One.

“Save your eardrums,” you say, before beelining toward the couch and leaping onto him for a hug. He sits up to match your energy, arms wrapping around you, sitting up straighter to keep you from totally falling atop him. 

“How’s uni?”

“Shit,” you say into his hair. It smells like his shampoo and his favorite cologne. Clean, soapy. “Obviously. How’s the Ferrari?” 

“Amazing.” He smiles. “Obviously. How’d you know I was in? Mum told you?”

“Ouais. She’s running errands. Listen, can we drink tonight?” You sigh, parting from the hug and sitting across him.

Yeah, sure. His voice is concerned, thick with worry. You shake your head—it’s not that deep, you tell him. It’s just—I had a bad date before I left and it’s put me in the worst mood.

Oh? He leans back, clasping two hands behind his head as he goes.What happened? He laughs. 

You tense visibly, rolling your eyes despite yourself. “He was just weird. Nothing.”

He wiggles his eyebrows. “You shy, Snoops?”

Ha-ha. You roll your eyes, but your face is flushed and your gaze avoids him. You reach up to tuck the loose strands of hair by your ears behind them, face warm. You’d never talked with Charles about boys or flings before—maybe several times, but never in full detail. It was always vague umbrella statements, like Ryan is boring or Greg is such a prick, but never anything beyond that. Come to think of it, you don’t know why, either.

“You can tell me.”

“The—when we—I had to fake,” you say cuttingly. “You know.”

He purses his lips and smiles, eyebrows furrowing. I don’t, actually. Something unnamed trills through you—through your stomach and into your fingertips. Your first time talking to your best friend in real life after months of uni and racing and this is the topic? It’s, if anything, a sign of your growing up, you guess.

Charles lets up on the teasing and you end up rejecting the club in lieu of sharing a bottle of vodka, throwing it back raw and without any type of chaser (to really prove nothing at all; you don’t even know why any sane human would do this). You do a Just Dance party on his TV, even try out drunk sim racing and FIFA, but by the end you’re well exhausted and retired to the couch again.

His voice is wavy and tipsy when he speaks. “You really had to fake it?”

“Yeah.” You pout. “Can never—um, finish, I dunno.” Your inhibition’s gone, shame loosened and untied by the vodka. You shift in your position on the couch.

“Maybe because it was too casual.” His voice hardens.

“So you’re saying I should…” You swallow dryly, eyes fluttering. “Sleep with somebody I know?” You’ve dropped the implication and it floats up, hangs above.

His eyes flick over to your legs, folded on the couch. The hem of your shorts. Your fingers playing with your empty shot glass. He didn’t mean anything by that. He’s half-sure you didn’t. 

“I am just saying that a good friend would do that for you.”

“You’re a good friend,” you say, volume low. 

Five minutes later you’ve properly crashed into each other, him pinning you down against the couch, licking fire up your throat. His lips trail across your jaw. 

He dips a hand into your shorts, presses against your clothed core. He’s smiling. So wet for me. He’s got his mouth pressed messily up to your jaw, when he sinks one finger all the way in, slow and stretching; and you’re clenching around him—

Come on, he’s saying. Insisting. You’re trembling, yanking desperately at his hair as he pumps his finger slowly in and out of you, aching to be full of him, to take him deeper. 

He slips another one in, and you feel the cold of his ring pressed against your entrance, then he’s fucking them into you and you’re leaking around them. 

Yes, yeah, Charles—you’re gasping, airy breaths tapering into whimpers that sound sinful, desperate. He knows you so well already. Presses his fingers against your sweet spot, watches your eyes flutter.

So needy, and you’re chanting his name under your breath as he quickens his pace, craving the stretch of him desperately. I know you want to cum, baby. He’s calling you baby and you’re closer, so much closer. Come on, for me, yeah? 

You melt, crashing and crumpling into him and shuddering as you release all over his fingers. He presses his forehead to yours and lets you take a beat. You feel giddy and dizzy and warm, which is weird because you don’t feel drunk at all anymore. This dizziness is something different. It’s Charles.

“Are we going to do that again?” You ask meekly, hand still in his hair.

“Only if you want. Whatever you want,” he says. He’d do anything for you. He’d do whatever you wanted.

“I do, I do want.” And Charles, the good friend he is, helps you out.

—

Imola is humid, warm, and the racetrack is absolutely teeming with people. But you’re not there—clad in linen shorts and a fresh tank top, you’re walking around the vicinity of the track, cup of gelato in hand, sunglasses over your eyes. The restaurant near you is playing music out loud. Beside you, singing along and drafting a list of wedding appetizers, is Lorenzo.

“Lamb chops?” You suggest, licking amaretto off the plastic spoon. The weather is pleasant enough that people are crowding the streets without it being too unbearably hot. Stevie Wonder flows from the speakers, permeates the entire block.

“I was thinking more seafood.”  

“Tuna? Make ‘em little tacos.”

“Good idea. Think I’ll go for those. Hey, are you sure you’re on board with fake-dating my brother?”

You turn sharply toward him, taken aback. He hadn’t brought it up in the week and a half this plan had been in the works—he’d been privy to it the entire time, too, which makes it weirder that he’s asking so suddenly.

“I meaaan…” You slow your pace, contemplative. A shy smile plays at your lips, brows knitted together. “It’s only going to be for a month. Ish. So, yeah. Are you—do you—sorry. Is it alright with you? Sorry.”

“It is not not okay.”

“So it’s…” You pause. “Okay.”

“It’s—yes, but I worry, is all. How sure are you that this won’t hurt anyone?”

“I don’t know, it’s… bitter with the sweet. And who’s getting hurt… like the fans?” You laugh a little. “They’ll live, won’t they?”

“Like you.” He pauses. “Like Charles.”

—

Pierre is running a comb through his hair, staring at himself in the mirror; his Narcissus moment is interrupted by a banana to the back of his head. Bonjour, he says, monotone and already knowing the culprit.

“We need to talk.”

“Could this possibly be about the news of your brand new ‘girlfriend’ over last week? Where is she, by the way?”

“With Lorenzo. Listen, here’s the thing. Mum thinks we’re dating, and I don’t know how to tell her we’re not—so I won’t.”

“Lie to your mum, go ahead.” Pierre crosses his arms and hums.

“Tais-toi. It’s for her own good.” 

“So you’re going to pretend to date.”

 “Ouais.” 

“Should be easy. You guys are hooking up and making out or whatever all the time.”

Charles pauses and lets the silence speak for itself. When Pierre makes a noise of confusion, he gives. We don’t kiss, he says finally. She thinks it is too intimate, and we ‘are not dating,’ so sex is the only thing we do. Sex, and if you still have leftover antsy energy, you pull on his shirt and sit up against the headboard to finish a crossword puzzle. Sometimes he helps you, but most of the time he’s just there to press lazy kisses to your hair and temple, cheekbone and jaw—never your lips.

“You don’t kiss?” Pierre’s genuinely shocked. “Putain, you’re a hero. How does that even work?”

“We just do not kiss. We fuck, but no kissing.” He shrugs. “It’s always been that way.”

“So how about her birthday?”

“She doesn’t…” Charlex exhales tightly. “Remember.”

“Charles,” you suddenly say, head appearing into the doorway. “Oh, hey. Fred said you might be here. What are you guys talking about?”

“Sprint racing,” Pierre says, an easy lie.

Charles, though, is never good at the lying bit. “International tariffs.”

—

Your only memories of your seventeenth birthday are applying lip gloss and mascara, wearing your shortest skirt and tightest top, and reciting your supposed date of birth in line like a mantra. Anything after that’s been sprayed off by the ultra-clutch strength of vodka. Which, you’ve been told, was your drink of choice.

“Headache’s better,” you moan over the phone, face squashed onto your pillow. “Mum gave me an Advil but I was so sick all morning.”

“Did you snog anyone?” Charles is always teasing.

“God, I wish.” You shut your eyes and try to remember if your drunken stupor had somehow managed to get you successful in lip-locked matters. Nothing comes up and you wipe a dry hand over your face, heaving a sigh. “I really wanted to kiss Matthew but I think he left before you and I did.”

A pause. Then Charles clears his throat. “You mean you and me and the police car that escorted us home?” He snorts.

“You’re such a prick!” You scream into your pillow, laughing. “I already thanked you for being my literal savior last night.”

He smiles to himself. “You’re welcome.”

“Did you have fun?” You flop onto your back and stare at the stick-on stars on your ceiling. You make a mental note to try and remove them.

“Bit boring because I vowed not to drink at all, but I got to dance. Bitter with the sweet, right?”

—

“Nervous?”

“I mean, fuck, yeah.” You fix the hem of your dress, speaking to Giada through the phone. “Pascale’s waiting for us on the paddock. And so are, like, a hundred photographers.” You wince. “Can you even imagine Charles and me? It’s just—I dunno—it’s weird.”

“It isn’t,” she says, laughing. “Not really. It makes sense. Plus, aren’t you on the whole arrangement?” You envision her air quotes.

“Yeah, but”—you slip your sandals on—“it’s on and off, and that’s not dating. It’s sex. Two different things.”

“Is it really, though? Considering how close you are outside of bed, aren’t y—”

“Okay, input no longer needed,” you laugh. “Bye, Gi. I’ll text you later.”

You reunite with Charles just by the paddock entrance. The throng of fans holding cutouts and posters notice you two before anyone else does, inciting a collective bout of yells around the both of you. He notices your blue silk dress first, eyes unmoving. “You look like the sky.”

“Thanks, man.” A beat, and you squint through your sunglasses. “That’s a compliment, right?”

“Sure.”

“Prick.” You peek over them and to the fans, who wave more aggressively when they notice you’re looking. Nervously, you raise a hand and wave back, and the noise heightens. “I think I’m going to be replacing you.”

“Dream on. On y va?”

You turn back to him, smiling, and you both enter at the same time. His hand wraps around your waist, dips a bit lower to rest at the small of your back as you walk—the fans clearly dig it, because everyone’s yelling in a frenzy as you depart. What are you doing, you ask through your smiling teeth.

“Did you forget we’re supposed to be dating?” He maintains an equally pleasant (totally duplicitous) façade, smiling. 

“I didn’t think,” you say, still smiling falsely, “that you’d put your hands on me five minutes into the whole agreement.”

“Smile, honey,” he teases. “I see at least five cameras at us right now.”

“It’s seven,” you beam. “Dumbass.”

“Again with the competitive streak.” memory

“I totally deserved to win last week’s game. You’re just a sore loser.”

“No you’re just a—hi, hi, hello!”

Your walk to the motorhome is interrupted by running into a friend of Charles’—someone from McLaren, one of the executives there. While Lando has been informed of your stunt, nobody else on that team has. 

They handshake and he waves at you politely. “Whole paddock’s buzzing with news of you dating,” he says, smiling. “It’s a tad crazy! I remember seeing you as Charles’ plus one back when he was in Formula Two. And now you two are dating. How did—well, if you don’t mind me asking, where’d it all happen?”

“Oh,” you say, laughing. “Yeah, Monaco.”

“Texas,” Charles says at the same time.

Alarm bells go off in your head at the totally random, unwarranted statement out of Charles’ mouth. Texas? Neither of you have even ever been at the same time. “He means”—you say, coughing and nodding—“we went on this, um. Wild West themed, um, restaurant in Monaco, and that’s where he asked me out.” You make a face that you hope conveys you get it, and it seems to work.

“Definitely not what I had in mind, but if it worked, it worked, eh?” He grins. “I guess I always knew you two would end up together. Alright, ciao!”

You’re smiling and waving after him as he leaves, and then you’re (semi) alone again, or at least within your own space on the incredibly crowded paddock. 

You turn to him, unable to hide your confusion. “Um? Texas?! What’s up with the backstories?”

“It slipped out! Sorry. But nice save.”

“You’re so f—” You try to scold him, but can’t, bursting into laughter and leaning forward to laugh into his chest. “Texas, really?”

“Sorry,” he says. You feel the vibration of his own laugh through his chest and it’s warm and nice. You peel yourself off lest you look too clingy, and resume your walk to the motorhome.

Ferrari is crowded, filled with people and strategists and guests. You’re given a bottle of water and then hounded with questions from the team who haven’t been informed of the situation at hand. David, one of the engineers close to Charles who you’d previously spoken to in one of the earlier races, asks to borrow him.

“Ciao, ciao.” They speak in one of the outdoor patio areas. “Is everything okay?”

“The car is fine. I just wanted to ask about the girl.” David punches his arm, playful. “You finally got her!”

“Oh.”

“It’s just… I remember all the times she would show up and you’d tell me about how much you liked her… I don’t know, it’s perfect for things to end up like this, no? Bravo!”

“Oh, si. I’ve just been, you know…” He looks through the glass sliding door and into the hospitality, where you’re talking to Isa and Carlos, sunglasses over your hair. Your hands are moving quickly, and you’re smiling while talking. He wonders what you’re so passionate about. When you’re caught in fits of happiness and passion, you’re extra animated. Your eyes are lively, and your lips can’t stop curling into a slight beaming smile. Now, maybe it’s France, maybe it’s crossword puzzles, slim chance it’s your job—whatever it is, he could watch you talk like this for hours. He thinks it’s beautiful, the way you transform, the way you smile, when you talk of things you absolutely love. 

“… crazy about her forever.”

—

There are banners, Italian flags, and Charles’ face on every other wall. He’s done his first hat-trick of the season (of several more, you’re hoping). You’ve foregone the usual clubbing for dinner with a smaller group of people, but only because you’ve been told the nightlife is bleak and you’d rather save that energy for the next race.

Lando picked out the restaurant—he’s “on a massive Yelp high” trying to get the best restaurants in every city they get to. He’s tried two over the weekend, and is hoping this guns for first place. The restaurant’s name is long and so very Italian, to the point where your semi-fluency fails you. The food is amazing, though, and so is the wine—a whole other level of grape-flavored bliss.

You’re in-between Joris and Charles, nursing your fourth glass while Charles downs a bottle of beer. Light conversation flows through the table, but your sleepiness only allows you to hear some of it. You’re content with the white noise.

Lando is getting a new cat, Lewis bought a new pair of shoes—oh, no, shares in the company that makes the shoes—Joris bought the shoes, Lorenzo will now buy the shoes, why isn’t anyone paying attention to Lando’s cat. It’s funny, entertaining, and the perfect nightcap to your immensely exhausting day of acting.

Wine tipsy makes you loopy and snoozy. By default, your head lolls onto Charles’ body; he immediately wraps a sweater-clad arm around your frame, leans back, pulls you closer. Doesn’t miss a beat. In fact, while doing so, he’s even able to get a dig in against Lando’s affinity for cats.

“No more wine, m’kay?” He whispers quietly, angling his head to yours. 

“Oh, but it was so good, though.” You mope, but nod in agreement. “I could seriously drink wine out of a keg here.”

“Sure did that a lot with beer.” You laugh, punching his bicep with what little space you’re given. “You sleepy?”

“Yeah. But I’m fine,” you respond, smiling. “Now shut up. I need to know what happened to Lando’s cat.”

Lewis leaves first, claiming he’s into this whole “sleeping at 9PM” thing, and Lorenzo follows to get ahead of an early flight tomorrow. It’s you, Joris, Charles, and Lando now, and you’re good as dead, eyes half-shut and fluttering, head slipping off his shoulder.

How was it? Lando asks, lowering his volume to keep from being too jarring. Day 1, fake dating? I actually read something like this in one of those, um, fanfiction stuff the fans do. Joris and Charles cast him a half-weirded out, half-amused pair of looks, but Lando defends himself. They’re actually pretty good, guys. I read one where I ended up with my rival or summat.

“Sorry to burst your bubble, Lando,” you croak, voice raspy with sleepiness and a day of bubbling laughter, “but Charles and I probably didn’t do your fanfiction kink justice.”

“Ignoring the emasculation.” He says, turning beet red. “What’d you do, then? Wasn’t it hard?”

“It was hard, but it’s like that.” Charles likes to substitute the phrase it is what it is to it’s like that, a result likely stemming from his trilingual childhood. “We just. Pretended. Oi, we held hands in front of the cameras.”

“Yeah, you can get a good wank in if that does it for you,” you joke. Lando hurls a cube of parmigiano at your face; it lands squarely and you flip him off, the table erupting with peals of laughter.

“In all seriousness, though—how are you two okay with this? I know I’d be second guessing my feelings every second.”

You shift, trying to hide your obvious lack of answer. It’s quiet for a few seconds, and then Charles says, “We’re both comfortable with each other, I think.”

“Yeah, comfortable enough that we can, you know, be honest.” You’re looking at Lando when you say that. You don’t know how well you could repeat the sentence if you were looking straight into Charles’ eyes.

You leave the restaurant with a generous tip, and Charles helps you pull your coat on when you’re out the door, back into the chilly night air. It’s then that all four of you catch news via text, of a club invite somewhere in the city.

“It’ll be fun, guys.” Joris and Lando stand in front of you and Charles, bumbling with excitement. “I heard Lil Tjay is going to be there.”

“It sounds very fun,” you say, smiling, “but I might pass out if I drink anything other than water, and I have zero energy. You three go ahead.”

“Wh—no, I’m not going, either.” You raise an eyebrow at Charles. “Serious! I wasn’t in the mood much, anyway. Joris, take Lando’s car and we’ll take mine.”

“Alright,” Lando whistles. “Suit yourselves, agoraphobes.”

“Joke’s on you”—Charles smiles, smug—“I don’t know what that means.”

“Not the dig you think it is, Charles,” you say, rolling your eyes. “Night, Joris, Lando. See you guys tomorrow. Use protection!”

“Should be saying that to you guys,” quips Joris with an evil grin that he closes the car door on.

The climb into the car feels like a chore in itself with how tipsy and sleepy you’ve become. Charles likes to bring his Ferrari to race weekends, but you convinced him to use a different car for this one, because you honest-to-God can’t stand the low seats anymore. 

“You want dessert?” He asks when he’s rounded the car and settled into his seat. “Gelato, a cone, biscotti…”

“No, no,” you say, voice thin. A palm covers your shutting eyes; blindly, you reach for his hand. It’s easy because he sees you searching and takes your hand to cut it short. “I’m good. So sleepy. Can I sleep at your hotel room?”

“Sure.” He starts the car, waves to the wait staff idle by the entrance, and drives off. “How was the day as my fake girlfriend? Anyone ask about me?” He wiggles his eyebrows, flickering his gaze to your figure beside him. “Wasn’t too tough, I hope.”

Imola whizzes by, trees and city, and a poorly stifled yawn escapes your lips, wine stained. You laugh sleepily. “It was a bit awkward, but bitter with the sweet, right?” He smiles, nodding, and you continue. “Yeah, few strategists, some people who knew you from Prema. I was talking to Isa and Carlos, too, earlier. Even if they know it’s fake.”

He recalls seeing you talk to them through the glass. “About?”

“You.”

—

The sun is merciless on the clay courts, and so are your shoes, shuddering against the surface in your continuing attempt to beat the opposing team. Charles cowers behind you—he’s scored less than half of your points thus far—but you’re on a mission, like your competitive self always is when you’re put in a position to be able to win.

You’re two points down now, and the noontime is becoming increasingly itchy and unforgiving; across you both, Giada and Joris call a mutual time out. “That’s not allowed!” You say, petulant.

“This is a practice session,” Charles says gently, nearing you. “Mate, none of us are actual players.”

You wipe sweat off your forehead. “Right. Désolée. I’m just—I’m in the zone.”

“Ouais, I get it. Relax, m’kay? We got this.”

You shake yourself off and hop a few times, skirt bobbing by your waist as you go. Your braid bounces on your shoulder and you nod, turning your racquet over in your grip. 

Charles pings the ball hard and it soars over to land just shy of the line, seemingly scoring a point for you two and securing your win. Giada and Joris chime in with protests, claiming that the ball’s out. You throw your hands up in question.

“Okay, what? That was clearly a point!”

“Snoops, I think they might be right. The ball looked out to me,” Charles says, wrapping a sweaty arm around your red shoulders.

“What are you talking about, Charlie? That ball was in! I saw it!” You elbow yourself out of his grip, aghast.

“How about…” He suggests quietly. “We let them win? You did win the last”—he pauses to count—“five sets. Come on, Snoops. They need this. Bitter with the—”

You take a deep breath, staring into his eyes. “Fucking sweet, right, okay. Fine, fine.” 

Charles thinks he’s in the clear and he’s managed to extinguish your flames of frustration—that is, until you walk into the Leclerc household for lunch an hour later and, after greeting Pascale and Hervé, you point squarely to the jar on the kitchen counter. “Five euros.”

He splutters. “Five? Wh—non, non! I was trying to calm you down.”

“You were blind and gave Giada and Joris a fake win,” you say playfully.

“Saluuut,” Lorenzo greets, sitting at the stool beside yours. “Quoi de neuf?”

“Charles has five euros for the jar.” The jar, the infamous jar, sometimes dubbed the Dumbass Jar when Pascale’s out of earshot. It was Lorenzo who first made it up after three straight instances of Charles pulling a push door (three different establishments).

Arthur’s joined in at this point, but its biggest indirect donors are definitely Lorenzo and Hervé, who view it as just about the funniest thing in the world. Out of pity, you don’t call dumbass too often, but the tennis loss is bruising enough that you warrant the usage.

“You heard Snoopy. Five euros. We’ll be able to get milkshakes with this money after next week.” You high five. “At this rate, Charles, you could open a restaurant in Paris.”

“He’s going to race,” you correct. You both watch a begrudged Charles junk a bill into the nearly-full jar. “What race driver is going to open a restaurant?”

—

You meet Yuki Tsunoda on a flight to Nice. You’ve seen him several times before, not too frequently but enough that his name and face are familiar on your mind. Also a personality trait that Pierre would bring up in fond conversations with you and/or Charles: he loves food, apparently.

“Yuki’s volunteering AlphaTauri to be your hideout,” Pierre tells you and Charles, across him. 

Turns out, the hardest part (insofar) of this whole schtick: the officially appointed paddock photographers are being extra sneaky with it, finding the best vantage points to snap pictures of an unwitting you and Charles.

They’re like hawks, watching for even the slightest glimpse so they can post the photos on Instagram and get clicks.

So, just a few hours earlier, Charles asked if there was a place you and him could talk if needed where photographers wouldn’t be awaiting you already, and this was the answer.

“If it’s too much trouble, feel no need to… you know.”

“Nonsense.” Pierre smiles goofily and Yuki pokes him to stop, pausing his session of eating a quesadilla (where he’d even acquired it, you’re clueless). “Yukino would be happy to.” 

The flight lands and the drive to Monaco is infected with notoriously slow traffic; you pop an Advil to try and alleviate the motion sickness. Pierre and Yuki, it seems, have joined you even outside of the flight. They’re in the backseat offering bits of conversation.

“Oh, mate, we should totally play tennis while we’re here.” Pierre sighs. “Didn’t you guys play before?”

“Mmm, yeah,” you mumble with a lilt of amusement at the memories from basically a decade ago. “At the country club. Doubles always, otherwise I’d knock Charles out of the park.”

“Hey, I won a couple times!” He protests weakly. “Like… twice.”

You laugh out loud. “Anyway, Pierre, do not bring me into tennis. I get all competitive and develop anger issues.”

“I had to calm her down twice a set,” Charles says; you swat him lightly to silence him. “Still do.”

“You know, if the Dumbass Jar still existed,” you say cuttingly, “I swear I’d be able to buy off Ferrari with that money.”

—

Monaco is swelterinly hot today. You know this because you know the weather here, you know the curves and ups and downs of it—this is your home. And today is hot. Every few minutes a breeze filters through the air and you can hear journalists or PAs sigh a collective breath of relief before they’re all subjected to the inane, high-degree weather again.

It’s also, according to Arthur, a good day to kiss in front of the cameras. He says it easily over a plate of sliced kiwi, with a devious smile, because he assumes your friends-with-benefits arrangement equates to constant kissing. But the truth is you’ve never kissed Charles, and it intimidates you.

“Do we have to kiss?” You play with his bracelets, sitting beside him on the sofa. The talk of kissing entertains the thought of sex and you can’t help but mentally complain at the remembrance that you haven’t gotten laid in weeks.

“If you don’t want to—”

“I do.” You splutter, eyes going wide, face warm. “No! I mean I don’t mind. If it sells the thing.”

“D’accord, then we will.” He smiles. “That okay?”

“Sure. First kiss,” you say. Your voice feels as clammy as your hands.

“First.” He looks away.

You take your woes off the kiss by playing a friendly round of tennis with your favourite opponents, Giada and Joris. They bemoan your competitive nature (that, to be fair, allots you and Charles three straight wins), and Giada incites a protest for a girls versus boys round.

You both embarrass Charles and Joris, heckling them as you win another two straight games. Charles runs over to you when you throw up the L sign on your hand, lifting you up and making you squeal.

“Put me down, loser!”

Giada and Joris exchange a look. Amused, knowing. “Charles! You’re such a cunt.” You kick hard, and manage to snag his abdomen, so he gently places you onto the clay again. He laughs and paces back over to his side, and you play with the tail of your braid as you watch.

You play set after set, but the kiss comes anyway. When you know photographers can see you—by the entrance—and it happens faster than your mind can muster. He’s leaning in, you’re reaching up, and your mouths slot together. It’s—and it feels crazy to say it, but—

It’s perfect. It’s lovely. You smile against his lips like they belong there and like they’re familiar and yours and like maybe this is all you’ve ever wanted, and like they deserve the smile, because they do. You feel your need to pull away before you can’t help but keep him tethered to you always. It’s strange and it’s not platonic—you’re mature enough to admit that, but not enough to label exactly what it is.

You spend the day with your fingers pressed to your lips, like you’re sealing the memory. Hours later, Charles wins. There’s massive uproar and you’re in the crowd when it happens, in the sea of strategists going to congratulate him on winning Monaco, which—that’s—it’s winning Monaco. Your ears ring by the end of it and your throat’s dry from your own cheering. Carlos comes in second, and the outlook for their team is going much better than it’d been at the start of the year, so there’s a lot to celebrate.

And celebrate you do. It starts with being pinned up against the door, hungry kisses along your jaw and neck. One kiss, it seems, has broken the dam from the few years you’ve spent abstaining from the kissing. He’s just finished interviews. He’s only just changed into his polo, and now he’s tugging it off again, feverish.

This is rushed and dirty, down low and dark. Only one light’s been switched on and he’s hiking your dress up, panties down with one hand to tug his cock out with the other. He’s kissing you—kissing you stupid, almost. Like he’s waited forever to taste your lips and now he’ll starve if he’s away for just a moment. He needs you. So have me, you want to say, all of me, push me up against the wall again and cover my mouth with your palm. Or don’t, don’t—so everyone knows I’m yours.

He presses your chest against the wall so your back’s turned to him, thrusts in with a breathless, throaty grunt. 

“S’ big,” you’re saying, clawing at words the pleasure bars you from finding.

“Barely even in,” he whispers. “Slow down, baby, come on, take it.”

Your toes curl. You’re high on the win, on the kissing, on Charles, on the slow delicious stretch of his cock. “I’m taking it, I’m taking it,” you say, shaky. He thrusts, slow and deep and dirty, until he’s bottomed out and you’re tiptoeing from the overwhelm.

“I feel you,” you’re whimpering, moans and gasps leaving your mouth. You blindly search for his hand, find it against your hip, drag it to your abdomen, under your dress that he hasn’t even fully removed. “I feel you there,” you say, an edge of teasing to your voice.

His cock’s bulging, almost, out of your stomach, and it’s getting you both all lightheaded. He thrusts harder, a devious smile felt against your neck.

I need it, Charles, you plead, please, please fuck me harder. You feel it coming, the familiar pleasure intensifying so quickly—you don’t usually cum so early, he’s always making you wait for it—pussy squeezing around him.

Jesus, already? He’s groaning but a laugh escapes, breathy and amused and taunting. He’s fucking you harder, faster. It’s so good, each hit getting you closer. Taking me so well, you’re bruised all over now, baby. You hate how well he knows what turns you on; memories of mornings post-sex spent inspecting the purple marks on your hips flash through your head and you’re even closer now, shaking, whimpering, begging.

You’re half-sure someone can hear, but it doesn’t even phase you. Harder, deeper— and you’re collapsing, legs spasming uncontrollably, orgasm so intense it’s on the brink of totally hurting. Tears roll down your sweaty face and he kisses them away, cumming onto your back to wipe off in a few minutes.

“I never even”—you pant, tired—“got to say congratulations.”

“That was more than enough.”

—

Charles is elated when you tell him his family has thrown a party for him the day next. He’s boyish in that way, optimistic and kiddy, the kind of person who’s up at five-thirty to announce their own birthday. 

He drives you both to his childhood home, a route so familiar he could drive with his eyes closed. (“I hope you’re not driving closed-eyed,” you’d warned.)

Even if he could, anyway, he’d rather not. The scenery of Monaco is stunning, ever-changing, and he never tires of it—the buildings, the skies, the trees and shrubbery, stores lining the streets, clean entrances. 

And you—in the passenger seat, humming softly to a song of his choosing. Drives are always better when you’re in the passenger seat.

The turnout is generous: extended family, and several friends from school. There’s bowls of fruit, salad, plates of salmon and racks of lamb, knobs of butter with warm bread. Pascale commands the kitchen—visible in how she leaves it cluttered with bowls, ingredients, whisks still dripping with syrup or batter, spoons licked for tasting. The good kind of clutter.

Lorenzo has also taken reign of the AUX, because it’s 70’s music playing, which is what he’s fond of for family gatherings like these. It’s My Cherie Amour now, Stevie Wonder mellowing across the lawn and into the house.

Charles knows you love the kitchen as much as his mum does, so when you get to the house, he’s not surprised to see you leave him in favor of checking out what damage has been done to your favorite marble countertops. He watches Pascale turn from the gas range, her eyes lit when she sees you, inviting you into an embrace. 

You look like the song playing, pretty and lovely, breeze in the summer. He almost loses himself in thought before his great-aunt Eden places two bony hands on his arms and greets him in feeble Italian.

He flits his eyes away from you, if just briefly, and faces the woman with a smile on his face. “Ciao, zia,” he says, voice buoyant, happy. “You came here to see me, no?”

All five-foot-one of her shakes in disagreement. She wags a finger for extra measure. “No,” she says. “Sono venuto a vedere la tua ragazza.”

His eyes widen. “She’s—” He pauses. He debates telling Eden you’re not actually his girlfriend, that this was a setup to appease Pascale and, by extension, tifosi. But he backtracks.

He shouldn’t, but he gives in, lives out his dreams for a bit. “Ah, she’s over there, zia. Con mamma.” He points to the open door, and to you on the far end of the room inside, holding a spoon. “Beautiful, yes?”

“Molto,” she says proudly. “You marry her?”

Fact: his great-aunt has the worst memory. She forgot Charles’ name twenty times, let alone niche facts like this one. Another fact: she rarely shows up to family events. Maybe now, because it’s a racing thing; but baby showers and funerals, she’s at home. So he indulges a bit more.

“Si, we’re engaged. But—it’s a secret, zia.” He grins. “Non dire a nessuno. Okay?”

“Sei fidanzato?!” She claps once, excited. “Ay, Charles. I waited my whole life for this moment, si?” And she’s wobbling away, still muttering under her breath.

—

“How is my son?” Pascale’s voice is teasing. She sighs happily. “For years I wondered if this would happen. And it really is.”

“Oui, sure is,” you sing-song, laughing a bit awkwardly. “We’re—he’s okay. We’re great. In love.”

“Oh, in love,” she swoons. She leaves you, after fifteen more minutes of detailed discussion, with half a spoonful of vinaigrette to taste-test, departing to check on the guests for a few minutes. In her place arrives Lorenzo, already bearing a shit-eating grin. “Saluuut.”

“Mmm, good to see you, too.” You taste the liquid and add lemon to the bowl. “How’s wedding planning?”

“Think we’ll throw a shower. Is that pretentious?”

“No,” you say, mulling over it. “Sure, a bit. But just don’t make it a whole thing, you’re golden.”

“I see.” He sighs fondly. “You know, many a conversation we’ve had right here at this counter. About anything.”

—

You loosen your school tie, slicing an apple like you so often do, waiting for Charles’ karting practice to end. Pascale had fixed you a bowl of something, Hervé a glass of orange juice. And somebody else would always, without fail, steal your food. A hand swipes two slices form your chopping board and your head whips up.

“Lorenzo!” You stomp your foot. “Stop stealing! That is my apple.”

“You mean the Leclercs’ apple.” He laughs, pops another slice into his mouth, smiling. 

You roll your eyes, shaking your head. The braid beside your head shakes with it as you continue slicing it into perfect quarters. He pipes up again: “How was school?”

“Shit, as usual.” You lower your voice and smile, leaning in. “Pascale scolded me earlier, for saying that word.”

“Did Papa?”

“Obviously not. He fist bumped me.” You share a laugh, both chewing on apple slices now. “Anyway, I aced a math test, had aubergine for lunch… got driven here by Charlotte’s mum.”

“Charlotte?” Lorenzo hums conspiratorially, making a mmmm sound. You look up from the yellow chopping board, furrowing your eyebrows. He persists: “Mmm. Cha-r-lotte.”

“What’s up with Charlotte?” Bit impolitely, you ask, in-between chews.

“I think she likes Charles, a little.” You nod slowly, trying to follow. Charlotte liking Charles. Your Charles. Wait, no. Not your—or nobody’s, really. Just Charles. Yeah.

“What? Bull!” You narrow your eyes. “Says who?”

“Why do you care?”

“Wh—I don’t!” You squeak, caught. “Just… I think I’d know, Lorenzo.” You make a tch noise, crossing your sweater-clad arms. “So—says who?”

“I saw her leering at him during his birthday party.” 

“You’re wrong,” you say, but you don’t really know who you’re convincing. He reaches over for an apple slice, and you move the chopping board out of the way sharply.

“Mon dieu, you’re snappy. Fine, fine. I might be wrong,” he relents, shrugging. He gets up and slides beside you to be able to acquire more slices. “I talked to her during the party, too.”

“Weirdo,” you tease, allowing him to take a few more. “About Charles, yes?

“No, about her brand new dress.”

“You’re the funniest Leclerc brother, I assure you.”

“She told me…” He says, louder this time, shushing you effectively. “She told me she ‘finds Charles cute.’” Air quotes, shrug. “But that they ‘probably won’t’ date.”

“Huh. Did, um. Did she say why?” You play with the tail of your braid, shuffling back and forth on your flats. You don’t know why you’re so fidgety—you aren’t nervous, you don’t think.

“Because…” he says, chewing to allow for a pause. “She said every time she looks for Charles to try and ask for time alone, or on a date, or something, he’s already following you around like some puppy.”

—

You comb your hair into a bun and venture into the patio, having avoided a good chunk of the noon heat. You greet some relatives politely along the way, and receive a hand squeeze from great-aunt Eden. At one of the tables is Charles, beside Joris and another friend, and Giada and Charlotte across them, an empty seat beside the latter.

You seat yourself in it and Giada kisses your cheek. “Hey. Ça va?”

“Fine,” you say, smiling. Then you lower your voice to a whisper. “Do you remember when I told you about my crush on Charlie? For the first time?”

“Yeah,” she whispers back. “Around… 2013.”

“Ouais. And… and it disappeared after that,” you say. “Right?”

“You said it did,” she says. “A year later. When we were sixteen.”

“Right.” You think. Seventeen onwards—you’d never formed a full-fledged crush on Charles. “Okay. It’s nothing. Just a memory. I was just. Yeah, oui.”

“Oui, let’s eat.” The memory fades and so does your running mind. Charles’ eyes meet yours across the table, and suddenly you feel a little less like your thoughts have ripped you open.

—

When you and Charles were younger, you adopted the adage “bitter with the sweet.” Charles will have people believe it was made by the both of you, with philosophical minds stretched so far beyond their years. Well, revisionist history. The truth lay in the Carole King song of the same name you’d heard on the stereo.

Those are the exact words Charles tells Ted when he’s interviewing for the Spain Grand Prix. It’s a hot day and you’re especially doubled down on by the fact that he’s finished ninth. 

You’d been fake-dating for the cameras all weekend. At all costs, you try and avoid interviews, but the damned Drive to Survive producers insist on a soundbite and start following the two of you around everywhere (only to find your conversations sound very weird and niche, and not scandalous or sexy).

Pascale also called—Charles first, and when he didn’t check his phone, you. You spent an hour on the phone just talking about the race. About the penalties and the nasty headlines that followed, and just everything.

“I’m glad you’re there,” she says. “God knows he needs you.”

You end up biking to try and relieve the stress, posing with fans for pictures.

“I’m such a big fan. I stalk Charles’ Insta like, all the time, and it’s crazy how you guys are dating.” A teenaged girl laughs nervously. “Where’d it happen?”

“Texas!” He, again, tries out the bit to appease the fans but you have to extinguish the flames of his blatant lies.

“He’s kidding,” you interject. “It’s just—it just happened, really.”

How does something just happen? Someone told you once, in a Paris bar, that love is like an echo. It’s always there, in the underbelly, underneath it all, and then one day it echoes, like a bass drum or a cymbal. And the echo—the echo is you feeling it. You feel the echo, the all-encompassing echo, even if the love itself’s been there all along.

With Charles, it’s out of the question. You love him. He’s your best friend. You trusted him before you even learned what trust meant, for Chrissake.

How could you not love him? That seemed impossible. The love was there. The love’s always been there and it’ll never go away.

It echoes at half-past-two in Barcelona, when he whips past you on his bike and says on your left. The breeze pulls your hair to the left, covers your face, and when you rake it away he’s stopped to check if he accidentally bumped you in his rush to look cool.

You’re creepily observant; you’ve been told this many times before. What people don’t know is with the observance comes even more questions. Ifs, whys, wheres, whens, hows, God the hows. The questions keep coming because there’s never an answer.

“Are you okay?” He asks. Green eyes glittering like a lake. Smile like the sun. Hair curly at the ends. “Did I hurt you?”

Then you realize. In the matters of love, every question—every single question. Every single one. The answer is Charles.

“Of course not,” you say. And you smile.

—

You almost drop your book in your rush to scurry past the paparazzi. They’re still busy on the two figures (Alex and Lily, you think) on another end of the paddock, which allows you only a few moments to try and evade them.

Others are stationed near the Ferrari hospitality, which means you’re going to need your hideout. Yuki had texted Pierre who had texted Charles who had told you that it was all clear to go there for a few minutes while waiting for the photographers to clear out.

Hurry, Charles is saying. Laughing. His hand’s gentle in yours. You want them there forever. You want to drag the tip of your nail over the barely-perceptible grooves of his fingerprints so he knows how much you need him.

The days post-Spain were spent biking, watching shows, listening to music, eating food. The travel to Canada—long, cold, compression socks. Pascale had called mid-flight to check on her “favorite pair”—you maneuvered yourselves into a much more cuddly position to appease her, and her giddy smile was incentive enough to stay that way for ninety minutes.

You’d been in a weird mental state trying to grapple with your rapidly returning and intensifying feelings for him, which have dawned on you all at once.

But he makes it better. You’re still laughing when you wedge yourselves in, eyes meeting.

And then you’re quiet.

The gaze you share is intense, but almost unsure, like you’re supposed to be looking away anytime now. You step backward shakily, and his hand moves from your waist to the small of your back to keep you from stumbling any further. You’re closer now. But this shouldn’t feel as strange as it does when you two have been in much more scandalous positions before—what’s different?

He’s so close, so so close, his green eyes looking right through you. You lean closer, ready to kiss him like you have before, ready to feel his mouth slot softly over yours, comforting and safe and Charles.

Funnily enough, it’s then that the illusion breaks, his grip loosening and the distance between you increasing. He coughs twice, awkwardly.

“Shit—sorry,” you say profusely, clearly having read the moment wrong. Embarrassment wells up in your system, warming your face. You laugh to diffuse the tension but it barely does anything.

“No, don’t—” He exhales, squeezes the bridge of his nose, trying to find words. “It’s not that I don’t want to kiss you. I do.”

“So kiss me,” you suggest simply, looking around for anything that might stop him. The embarrassment ebbs away, replaced quickly by confusion. 

“I don’t want to kiss you in an AlphaTauri stock room,” he mopes, burying his head in his hands in clear frustration. “An AlphaTauri stock room.” He repeats it in a hushed whisper, disbelief etched all over his pretty face.

“Charles,” you begin, smiling already, the quaint way that makes his knees go weak every time. “You’re acting like you and I haven’t kissed before.” 

“This is different.” He says firmly, looking away lest he lean in involuntarily. He interjects with conviction, not realizing what he’s implying until the implication’s hanging in the air. The longing kills him softly, and he feels if he looks at you a second longer he’ll kiss you anyway.

It’s a wonderfully confusing feeling. You open your mouth to respond but you can’t; your brain tacks itself onto his sentence, the division created between the kisses before now and the kiss that might happen anytime soon.

“H…” you trail off, throat drying. Blinking, you try again, “How different?”

He looks up, eyes conveying all the things his lips never will. This is different. You know it. I love you this time.

The answer is exchanged and accepted wordlessly. You slip out of the room when Pierre tells you it’s okay to, and it’s only then—only then—that Charles’ hand leaves your body. You seem to burn alive with its absence.

It’s a Ferrari 1-2. You snap a thousand pictures with Isa and Carlos holding Carlos’ trophy while Charles is doing interviews, and they invite you to join them for the break. You’re open to it—the win, the good standings, they definitely warrant a celebration for the few weeks’ break. So your original itinerary is Portugal—beaches, coasts, food—but the jet re-charts a route and the flight is cut much shorter because you’re in New York City.

—

Somewhere in Manhattan, a wedding shower is thrown on an outdoor rooftop. “This is one hell of a wedding shower,” you squeal excitedly when you spot him, bringing Lorenzo in for a hug. Your yellow dress flows in the wind. “I thought you guys were going to throw it in Monaco?”

“Yeah, well… why not here, right? It’s beautiful.” He gestures to the skyline, smiling. “Plus, Charles, Arthur, and Mum were already near the country for work, so we got ahead of it. Everyone was happy to fly out.”

“Well, for what it’s worth, I love it.” You beam. “I can’t believe it, either. When’s the final date?”

He opens his mouth to reply, but the wind is knocked out of him by Charles barreling into his arms for a hug. You roll your eyes at the latter’s childish behavior, smiling despite yourself. They part and Charles finds his place beside you, arm snaking around your shoulders. “What a wedding shower!”

“Don’t flatter me, dipshit,” Lorenzo jokes.

“It’s a lovely one.” Lorenzo thanks him. “An amazing shower. You know, it’s a total golden shower!”

You purse your lips. “Charles—”

“A golden shower, mate. Absolutely.”

That garners at least three odd looks and you calmly place a hand on his chest to whisper don’t ever fucking say that again it means something completely different please don’t embarrass me or your brother. 

For all your embarrassment, you make up for it in having the literal time of your life. The food is good, the city view is amazing, the weather is fair and the music—Desafinado now—is amazing. “I could see myself here,” you say offhandedly to Charles, who nods back with a faint smile. He’s half-distracted.

“You look beautiful, by the way,” he says, squinting from the sun in his eyes. “Very.”

You part ways at some point—Pascale whisks him off, no doubt for another long round of questioning about your relationship, and you meander around with a glass of champagne.

You’re halfway through swiping a mini quiche when a hand wraps around your wrist and squeezes to get your attention—Charles’ great-aunt Eden. She speaks only intermittent English, and your Italian fails to carry you through well enough, but you smile and greet her. “Ciao, Eden!”

“Ciao, bella.” She smiles. “Flight was long.”

“Oh, yeah. New York’s far. I might work here someday. I’ll hear results in around two weeks, but I’m hoping for London instead.” You slow your speech.

“When will you two wed?”

“Wed?” Your face warms and you stutter through a giggly mess of a sentence. “Oh, Eden—zia—no, no! We’re just friends.”

“My Charles told me you two are to be married.” You both crane your heads to the right, where Charles is leaning against the terrace railing talking to one of your friends, Matthew, animatedly. He meets your eyes, sees Eden beside you, and seems to connect the dots.

Jokingly, perhaps, he raises his hand and wiggles his empty ring finger. You can’t help but smile as you turn back to the old woman. “Oh, did he, zia?”

“Si, he did.”

“Well, we’re just going to let it happen, then. You’re invited. Front row.” You kiss her cheek and she smiles, wobbling off to drink more wine before any of the adults can stop her.

It’s announced then that the dance floor is open, and many of Pascale’s friends filter through to show off their moves to the 70’s music. You watch, amused, at the display of dexterity to Frankie Valli and Aretha Franklin. You cheer them on, content to watch them against the backdrop of the New York sunset.

When Ain’t No Mountain High Enough plays, the dance floor grows, because nobody can resist the song—not even Charles, apparently, who takes your hand without preamble and takes you, squealing, to the centre.

You sing each of the parts, like you always do when the song comes on. It’s semi-tradition at this point: you take Marvin Gaye’s, Charles takes Tammi Terrell’s. You both exaggerate your dance moves and pretend you’re performing.

His hand’s in yours, winding you around and pulling you close. At some point he starts robot dancing to entertain you. It works—you laugh out loud, your eyes half-shut and faced to the stars above. He could write a poem about this. Or a song.

The song ends and you lean onto his shoulder to take a breather—then the photographer swoops in and takes a picture. “That’s going into the RSVPs!” He says, accent unmistakably American.

“Does he know we’re not the couple here?” You ask.

Do we know we’re not the couple? Charles asks himself.

The night escalates as the “oldies” leave, and Matthew, Joris, and Giada join you both for one last round of drinks again. You’re all standing at the exit making conversation; Lorenzo attends to his friends at the other end of the terrace.

“I feel young again,” Matthew says, liberated by Tito’s vodka. He takes another swig and pulls his coat on.

“You’re twenty-five, calm down,” you joke. “Dodged that bullet.” You’re poking fun at the semi-massive crush you had on Matthew in secondary school, and a laugh passes through the four of you. “Anyway, you three be careful. No driving.”

“Jesus, but really—I haven’t been this drunk since you”—he points at you, laughing—“turned seventeen at that club, Amber? No?”

“Oh, God. Y’know, same.” You fail to notice Charles and Giada share a look. “I remember nothing from that night! Or, like, the first two hours at least.”

“I remember drinking my body weight because of heartbreak,” he jeers. 

“Heartbreak? Were you—were you with anyone?” You ask, confused.

It happens before anyone can stop it. “No, when Charles kissed you. And you kissed him after. Alright, night mates! Lorenzo—merci!”

Oh, fuck, you hear in the back of your now-muddled brain. Giada’s voice.

You open and close your mouth. “Ch—wait, he—what?”

“I—let’s talk here,” Charles flounders, dragging you to a more secluded spot and facing you. The three of your friends exit; Giada waves, apologetic. “When… we were at Amber… and you were absolutely hammered, we kissed. It was twice—just twice. And you didn’t, um. Remember a thing.”

You’re unsure. “In Amber?” You blink, confused. “What do you mean?”

“We… I don’t—I mean, I understand why you don’t remember. We kissed that night.”

“So that’s… Charles… You didn’t tell me.” Your voice quivers, like a wire flicked. “Why didn’t you say it at the time?”

He doesn’t give you an answer. He just looks at the counter, imagines the way your eyebrows furrow, your lips move, eyes glitter. He can’t give you one. He doesn’t want to hurt, disappoint, sadden you. He wants to get on his knees and root you here, so he’ll have all the time in the world to come up with an answer.

“Charles.” But he loves you, and he can at the very least be honest for you. “Look at me.”

“I was scared.” His eyes gravitate to yours.

“Of?”

“It felt stupid, is all. That you didn’t remember, and maybe you did but you were pretending you weren’t. I didn’t—it didn’t—sorry.” He laughs, stutters. “I convinced myself it didn’t mean anything because we didn’t have feelings for each other.” He pauses. “Then.”

“Well,” you say, slow. Eyes stuck to his. “How about now?”

“Now?”

“I love you, now. I mean, isn’t that all this is? Loving? Even if? De—despite of?” 

And this—God. This is how it feels. He’s looking at you and you’re telling him you love him because you do, and finally he’s been over with reassurance.

You love him, too. That way. He trembles with it. His hands are shaky when they lace into yours, like you’re a shrine, a prayer, and he feels like maybe these are the emotions that swirl through the human body when one wins the lottery and gets struck by angry lightning at the same time.

This is it, he thinks. Profound and lovely and an echo of sweet memories. He’s yours. Here in a city unfamiliar to both of you, yet to be conquered, your fingers lace lightly and you smile, smile, smile at each other, as if you’re the last two people on Earth. He’s yours, so foolishly in love with you.

Even far from home, you’re both filled with warmth, with longing. Extended stares, pits of your stomachs welling up with something lovely in between homesickness and nostalgia. Here again, you again, us again—it’ll always be us again, your heart seems to say, surrounded by the same love the same hurt the same sad the same everything, you and me, all the love in the world, all the confusion, we’re here. It’s never over.

Across the terrace, Lorenzo watches. Two figures, laughing, emanating happiness, gentle unkowing love. You two have finally made it here, after what felt like a thousand trials and dreams and stories.

So even if you’re taller, in high heels and a yellow dress—and Charles is broader, in a suit and tie—Lorenzo thinks he can blink and see the two little kids who hosted a tea party in the backyard. He can blink again and see you hugging, eyes shut, his lips pressed to your forehead to convey the intimacy nothing else will do as well. 

“So what now?” You ask. Again with the questions. In your defense—it begs so many follow-up questions. A love so many years in the making—layer after layer after layer—of course it begs all the questions, almost to the point of overwhelming capacity. What’ll we tell Pascale? The fans? The family? Everyone?! 

But one look and he makes it better. His green eyes, bright against the deep black of the skyline. You’ve grown. You’ve done it. You’re here. “We’ll figure it out.” He smiles. “We deserve this kind of ending, don’t you think?”

—

“He has my name.” A tubby finger points to the boy on the greeting card. “That one.”

“And who’s the dog?” Asks the girl beside him, hair wound into a plait. She likes this boy. He’s cute. She plays with the end of her braid and stares, eyes flickering in-between him and the card they’re staring at.

“The name’s right there. They’re best friends.”

“Okay, that’ll be me.”

“So that’s us.”

“Oui.” She smiles. “Charlie and Snoopy.”

–

read an omitted scene here :)

[yourelliewillms]

the guy from the record

store wasn't a guy?

ellie williams fanfic

━━ chapter 1 wc: 1.9k

read the chapters here !!

you've recently discovered this record shop, the perfect place to find everything of the new kind of music you've just gotten into, rock. your friends wouldn't share this interest with you but maybe the cute guy from the store will.

━━ he/him pronous are used for ellie sometimes but it's for plot purposes i swear !!

BASED ON THE GUY SHE WAS INTERESTED IN WASN'T A GUY AT ALL !!!! i love that manga so much i needed an ellie version so i did it myself. of course this is going to be shorter and pleeaase go read it i swear you won't regret it <3 i hardly recommend you to listen to the manga's playlist too, i'll add some of the songs to this fanfic. literally all i want is my lesbians to have the recognition they deserve. ALSO green is the characteristic color of that manga so i'll be using it here too, everything will be green bc we love green lesbians.

another warning, english is not my first language so you may find some mistakes.

it's been a long day at school but at least the week of exams has ended and you've done pretty good. "i deserve a prize" you think to yourself while your feet guide you out of the building. certainly the exams drained you, the only thing you want to do now is take a long nap to catch up on sleep.

walking down the sidewalk, you put on your headphones which have been your best friends for the last few months when you discovered this band nirvana. it is in fact a popular band but in your friend group? no, not at all. your friends prefer other kind of music. pop, kpop, even jazz, but rock? impossible.

so you find yourself unable to share your new music taste with your friends. even if you beg them to give it a chance, they'll refuse it every time. this is definitely the worst, how are you supposed to fully enjoy this work of art only by yourself? they definitely don't understand what good music is, if only they gave it a chance you could-

just when the music from your headphones stopped, you could still hear one of your favorite songs smells like teen spirit coming from a... record store?

your mind is full of questions, since when has been this store here? this is just 5 minutes away from school and you've never noticed it. maybe this is the prize you deserve for having successfully passed all your exams. buying your very first vinyl will surely be the boost of serotonin you need.

you took off your headphones before getting into the store and quickly walked to check all the beautiful vinyls. the excitement could be seen in your eyes, all the vinyls of your favorite bands in one store and you're even considering finding a job, buying everything of this store is not a want but a necessity. this must be heaven.

after what felt like seconds but were actually 20 long minutes, you finally make your choice and find the vinyl that'll have the privilege to be your very first and most appreciated acquisition.

you turn around, walk towards the shop counter and just then realize how rude of you was not to greet the old man at the store. however, you don't care that much, he should understand that you were too excited to even speak and... was it an old man? did you even look at the person who was next to you the last 20 minutes?

"i'll take this" you place the vinyl on the counter before looking up at the person in front of you.

but now, you reassure one more time that you're not on earth anymore. this is definitely heaven, or maybe something greater because the angel in front of you isn't from this planet at all. green eyes, auburn hair drawn back in a messy bun, a scar on one eyebrow, black clothes with a nirvana t-shirt, an arm tattoo and a mask. this is the most gorgeous guy you've seen in your entire life and you were rude to him, you didn't talk to him for this entire time.

"i love this one" he gave you your new purchase in a bag "you have good taste" that raspy voice that'll live in your mind rent free for an eternity, you're sure about that.

meanwhile, your mind has been spinning for the last 30 seconds. a cute guy with a stunning style and majestic music taste, you've seen only his eyes but you can already imagine a life with him where you get married and play your favorite songs in your wedding.

"thanks, you too. bye" and just like that the conversation ended. you're definitely not the most flirtatious person but you didn't ask him anything, maybe it was too soon to ask for his number but not even his name? really? you can already hear your friends scolding you but at least you remember half of his face and that's enough to be delusional the following months until you find another crush.

8 in the morning and you've been talking for half an hour to your friends about this cute guy from the record store. of course they scolded you for not asking his name but your excitement couldn't be taken away that easily. no other boy from your school has ever made you feel like this, no one called your attention like he did.

"is there any possibility that you see your boy again?" dina, your best friend asked "and maybe ask him out"

"dina!" you frowned as if she had just said the craziest thing you've heard in your life "it's too soon for that. but as soon as i see him again i'll ask him his name" you started kicking your feet "and he'll fall in love with me."

dina and your bursted out laughing and spent the whole morning planning your future life with someone you saw once.

maybe you've been talking too loud or maybe she doesn't like you, but the girl next to you has been glancing at you and dina and she seemed a little too much interested in your conversation.

ellie. you've been classmates for almost a year but you two never spoke. she's like any other girl at school. she wears the same uniform as you, a white shirt and a gray skirt. she also wears these square glasses and she has her headphones on most of the time.

she seems like one of those nerds but one that doesn't participate that much in class. she comes to class, listens to the professors and goes home. you've never seen her talking to any other classmates but she seems comfortable only drawing on her notebook and listening to something on her headphones, it's not that you don't like her, but you haven't had the opportunity to get to know her.

but today she seemed quite distracted and instead of focusing on the class, she was focused on you. she seemed nervous, maybe she wanted to join the conversation and make some friends?

however, the bell rang. you were too busy talking about your new guy to try to figure out why ellie's been looking at you more than usual. you began to pack up your belongings; notebook, pencil case, some other books and, are you forgetting something?

the moment you're getting up from your seat, you can feel ellie's presence approaching you. you stare up at her for a few seconds and before you can say something, her hand reached your ear and put on one of your earbuds.

"you dropped this" your eyebrows furrowed, did she always had those pretty green eyes?

the song that you'd been listening on loop nothing at all was playing on your earbuds loud enough for her to listen to it "that song rocks, doesn't it?" and just like that she walked out the door leaving you completely confused. you're sure you've seen those eyes before, you think that maybe for a split second you stopped looking at ellie as your classmate and maybe... someone else.

on the other hand, ellie has been walking in silence staring at her feet while her mind is about to explode because the girl who sits next to her, her classmate and one of the most popular girls at school, has met and is interested in a guy who works at the record store. but no guy works there, just ellie.

she got a part time job and she's been working there for a few months but that was the first time she saw you there. you didn't recognize her though, since the style she has at her job is the opposite of the one she has at school.

probably the best option is to tell you the truth, the guy you're interested in isn't a guy and is actually the boring, nerdy girl from school, the girl you'd never talk to because that would only ruin your reputation, or at least that's what ellie thinks.

ellie thought that her job should be boring and only boring, she didn't want to have to deal with something else than that. and now that girl has a crush on her, or she has a crush on the person she thinks ellie is.

fortunately, ellie's job is calm. not many people visit the store so she spends her first hours of work tidying the place, not paying much attention to the store itself.

while cleaning at the back of the store, ellie heard the ring of the little bell on the door warning the presence of a client. she sighed and fixed her clothes before getting into the store again but got surprised when she noticed that the client was actually you.

if it weren't for the music playing at the store, the place would have been in complete silence. no one was on sight when you walked in so the sound coming from the back of the store scared you and you jumped. "you scared me, i didn't know you were here" you giggled nervously.

"have you been looking forward to it that much?" you were starting to stutter when the green eyed spoke in what seemed a flirty way. "no- i mean! the new foo fighters album" she interrupted herself "you were looking forward to it because you wanted to buy it, right?" she tried to hide her shaky voice, did she just accidentally flirt with you?

"i swear it's so good, you can hear it a thousand times and it'll still sound amazing. also, i know you like nirvana too because you bought the vinyl. you'll love it, i totally recommend it."

you were in a dream, did you just exchange more than two words with that guy? and he was showing a lot of interest it seemed unreal. you'd be a fool if you mess this up.

"i really want to buy it but uhm..." your pockets were empty, you spent all your money in that vinyl and being an unemployed student is not helpful to your situation "i'm a bit short of money right now" not to say that you're dry.

"i'm sorry but i-" yet she didn't let you finish your sentence "i bought this one for myself. you can have it and tell me your opinion when you return it."

he couldn't be more charming to you. only 5 minutes talking and you had already fell down on your knees. "thank you. you can give me your number so that i can bring it back." your hand sweating for you've finally made a move on who you thought was the guy from your dreams.

"no," no? he rejected you just like that, he didn't even a think a second to answer your question "it's just... i can't use my phone at work."

laying on the counter in front of you was a black ink pen which you quickly grabbed and started writing your phone number on his wrist next to his tattoo.

ellie looked at you stunned, she was glad she was wearing a mask because her cheeks had turned crimson. she noticed your hand shaking and that was the moment she realized the trouble she'd gotten into.

"i thought that if i wrote it on a paper, you'd lose it." the music playing in the background just made the atmosphere between you two dreamlike. you waved and smiled at him as you left the store hoping your burning cheeks would go unnoticed. not only did you have someone to share your interests with but also it was someone who you were crushing on really hard.

the first person on the taglist will be my editor/manager/first person who read this @ohnopoteito thank uuu 💋💋

[obaex]

the blind date - rafe cameron

summary: your friends set you and rafe up on a blind date, but it doesn't go quite as you'd expected.

words: 1.7k

a/n: based on this request ♡♡ the way this has me giggling and kicking my feet in the air - ahhhh!

“Alright lemme make sure I have this straight: unlimited access to your jet skis for the rest of the summer, your season tickets to the first two Panthers home games, and two cases of whatever beer I want?” Rafe confirmed, looking over to the driver’s seat at his friend Dylan who huffed in reply and rubbed a hand over his face.

“Yes, dude, that’s what we agreed on. Christ, it’s a blind date, not a death sentence. I swear to God if Maddie didn’t put me up to this, I would’ve left your ass to wallow at home alone.”

“I’m doing you a favor” Rafe replied, “It’s the least you could do.”

“I’m telling you she’s hot, you know you might actually be into her, did you even consider that?”

Rafe looked at him completely perplexed. “What makes you think I’m even looking for a girl? I do just fine as it is, thank you very much, plus you and I have very different tastes.” A pause. “Can I please see her insta?”

“We’ve been over this. No. Maddie said it would defeat the purpose of the ‘blind’ part of a blind date.”

“So fucking stupid” Rafe said as he shook his head and looked out the passenger side window.

You had gotten to the restaurant early; your best friend Maddie wanted to make sure every little thing was perfect and she was practically bubbling over with excited energy at the prospect of your blind date.

“This is going to be amazing, I just know it!!!” she said enthusiastically. “He is so your type, I will be at your wedding, babes, I swear it! Ahhh!” She had pulled you into the bathroom and was fluffing up your hair, touching up your lip gloss and tugging at your dress.

“So happy you went with this one, like yes you will thank me later, you look so damn hot.”

For all her flustered energy, you appreciated her hype and as you looked in the mirror you kinda had to agree with her. She had helped with your hair and makeup and the result was truly stunning; you had just the right amount of makeup on to make your natural beauty pop. Your dress was a little more revealing than you were used to, but it did make you feel confident and who knows, the way she talked about this guy, maybe it would all work out?

“Okay, okay, enough fussing, I’m already nervous enough. Can we please get a drink? I need a drink” you said, moving to walk out of the bathroom as she checked her own appearance in the mirror one last time before following you.

“Yes, good idea, you go loosen up, I’m going to make sure they got us that table by the window.”

You sidled up to the bar and leaned your arms on it, happy to have a moment’s reprieve from Maddie’s frenetic energy as you looked around in an attempt to distract yourself. The restaurant was really cute, coastal and modern and there was a sizable crowd between the bar and dining area. The steady thump of tropical house music played softly in the background which calmed your nerves and lifted your mood.

Within moments the bartender spotted you and made his way over. He was just about to greet you when he glanced over your shoulder. “Rafe! What’s up!” he said enthusiastically. “So sorry m’am, just one moment” he apologized as he clapped hands with the tall stranger that had walked up beside you. “What can I get you, bro?”

Rafe was smiling at the bartender and glanced at you briefly when he realized you’d been snubbed. It was a quick glance but he did a double take before he could control himself. You were… simply perfect. Your face held an expression of amusement and surprise with a clear smile that rested on perfectly glossed lips. You had an effortless air about you like you woke up every morning looking that good and then immediately every part of him wanted to know what you’d really look like in the morning… in his bed… at Tanneyhill… the sun reaching through the blinds…

What the fuck is the matter with me? he thought suddenly. And then, Fuck. Was I staring?

The bartender was looking at him expectantly with an eyebrow raised. He asked me something. Drink. A drink. What do I want to drink?

“Yeah man, I’ll have a bourbon, neat, and uh, whatever she wants” he replied, nodding his head towards you.

You smirked at him before glancing at the bartender, “Spicy margarita please, and since he’s paying, I’ll take it with Patrón.”

“Oof” Rafe said, grabbing his chest with his hand like you’d delivered a physical blow to him, “Way to take advantage.”

You laughed and tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. “Yeah, well, I don’t believe in coincidences, and it just so happens I need some liquid courage. If a handsome stranger is offering, I’m taking top shelf.”

Rafe pursed his lips and nodded, trying to tamp down the feeling in his heart that you'd called him handsome. He glanced back towards the door to see if he could see Dylan and couldn’t find him. Good he thought, allowing himself to feel guilty for half a second until he refocused on the sight of you in front of him.

He cleared his throat. “So, uh, liquid courage?” he asked.

“I’m meeting a date here actually” you said, shaking your head, your blushed cheeks turning slightly rosier. “It’s a whole thing…” you trailed off, waving your hand dismissively.

Rafe couldn’t reason with himself why he felt so angry that you were here for someone else. Thankfully the drinks arrived which gave him a moment to process as he watched you take a deep sip of your drink.

‘What asshole doesn’t pick a girl up and take her on the date himself?’ he thought. Well, he thought he thought before he realized he’d said it out loud as you nearly choked on your drink in laughter.

You shook your head again, smiling and laughing “It’s not like that, it’s –”

“—Nah, I’m sorry, it’s not my business, I shouldn’t have said that” he interrupted, mortified that he'd let that slip.

“You’re fine” you reassured him. “It was sweet. It’s nice to know there are still decent men out there willing to keep things chivalrous.”

I would’ve picked you up he thought. On time. Walked to your front door. Flowers in hand.

His head was spinning. What the fuck is going on with me. He looked down at his drink and then drank it in one swig. When he set the glass down, he caught your look of amusement as he coughed.

“You good?” you asked, giggling.

He grimaced, “I will be” he said, holding up his empty to signal the bartender for another.

“Is my company that bad?” you joked.

His eyes darted to yours, “Quite the opposite, sweetheart” he said in a low voice that you felt from your beating heart to your fingertips to your belly and shaky knees. Shit you thought as you registered the effect this man had on you.

You blushed and met his warm gaze, realizing for the first time how deeply blue his eyes were, like sapphires. The two of you stood there, an arms-length away and it was like time stood still. You could feel your pulse in your throat, feel your body tingling like it was physically reacting to his proximity. Was he stepping closer to you or were you imagining it? His eyes left yours for only an instant to look at your lips and in that moment he had you hook line and sinker.

Suddenly, your phone buzzed on the bar in front of you and you jumped. He took an imperceptible step back, clearing his throat.

“S-sorry” you mumbled, quickly swiping open a text from Maddie: ‘Where r u?!!!!”

Shit.

“I-I’ve got to…” you waved your phone by way of excuse and nodded your head towards the tables, literally unable to string a sentence together at this point.

“Yeah, no problem” Rafe said, as casually as he could muster as you moved to leave. “Try to have a good time. And, hey” he said, capturing your attention one more time “Tell this guy he better give you a ride next time, okay? None of this high school ‘I’ll meet you there’ shit, okay?”

You laughed at your little inside joke and met his gaze one more time before turning and disappearing into the crowd.

Rafe’s next drink arrived and he slammed it back instantly before settling the tab, leaving a hefty cash tip and making his way towards the dining room.

Dylan fucking owes me he thought through gritted teeth, grimacing all the way through the crowded room, replaying your smile, the way you'd looked at him through thick eyelashes, even the way you’d smelled: like vanilla and coconut.

He was clenching and unclenching his fists as he searched the crowd, willing this godawful date to be over before it had even started. Finally he caught a glimpse of Maddie’s bright hair and Dylan’s frame at a table by the window; he moved to shift around several people when his eyes met yours, seated next to Maddie, across from an empty seat.

“Oh my god” you said, covering your mouth with your hand, stifling a fit of laughter and joy when you caught his eye.

He began to laugh too, the tension in his body immediately dissipating as he rubbed a hand over his face in an attempt to wipe away the goofy grin he felt there as he took his seat.

“What is going on, do you two know each other, what am I missing?” Maddie demanded.

“Nothing, it’s nothing, Mads” you said, giggling as your eyes danced and twinkled at Rafe.

She narrowed her eyes as they darted between the two of you. “Okaayyyyy, well YN, this is Rafe!”

“So, so nice to meet you” you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm, though you were thrilled to actually know his name.

“The pleasure is truly mine, sweetheart” he played back, a knowing smile resting on his lips that had you bursting at the seams as you two ogled each other.

Maddie and Dylan looked at you both like you were crazy as you just stared and giggled at one another before they gave up and settled back into their own conversation and you and Rafe picked up your menus.

“Tomorrow at 7:00” Rafe said just quietly enough for you to hear him as he pretended to eye the menu.

“What?” you whispered in reply.

“Be ready tomorrow at 7:00. I’m taking you out. And I’ll be picking you up this time” he said as he shot you a smirk over his menu.

taglist: @ietss, @gillybear17, @palmwinemami, @moremaybank, @one-sweet-gubler, @m-indkiller, @diary-of-jj, @crlsummer

[ipostwhatiwant1202]

Headcanons for all 4 TMNT:

• they all love kids but they collectively agree that babies aged 0-2 are the best

• can any of them handle spice? absolutely not. does it stop them? no.

• the only thing can all collectively agree on without much arguing is music

• all are surprisingly pretty good dancers

• they have all said "suck my dick" at some point (raph uses it the most)

• they all manspread

• nothing triggers any of them more than a spider

-raph won't go anywhere near the spider and refuses to be in the same room with it

-mikey's okay with the spider but doesn't want it touching him

-donnie will move the spider without killing it but won't touch the web

-leo will touch the spider to take it outside but the feeling freaks him out

• don't say the words "i bet you won't" cause boom there they all go

• at some point they have all referred to april as mom just to piss her off

• they all agree smores poptarts are superior

• they play with april's hair if she's sitting in front of them on the ground

• shark week is a whole thing

• thanksgiving and christmas are the turtle's favorite times of year

• they will all devour the deviled eggs and cranberry sauce

• mikey and raph will shamelessly walk in the bathroom when their brothers are showering

• leo and donnie are very guilty of leaving cupboards open in the middle of the night

• raph and leo have similar facial expressions when shit hits the fan

• mikey and donnie freak out if wet food touches them when they do the dishes

• leo and mikey both really like dr phil

• donnie and raph can't stand the taste of bananas

• do any of them truly enjoy horror? no. do they suffer through the movie anyway? yes.

• april has sat on their laps when there's been no seats

-leo is the most calm and just settles his hands where she directs

-raph is a bit more timid and keeps one hand on her waist

-donnie tries to keep his hands off her because he's awkward

-mikey just wraps his arms around her like it's a normal thing

• splinter still tells the boys stories when they can't sleep after a tough patrol

• splinter also checks on the boys every night when they go to bed

• the guys can all shotgun like it's no ones business

• they're all very protective of april and casey's child(ren)

-one time one of the kids came home crying saying another kid pushed them down and all 4 of them were fully prepared to go to war

-if the kid is taking a guy to homecoming or prom, the dude gets threatening texts and blocked phone calls

• when april and casey's child(ren) was born, all the guys cried

-leo very reluctantly let someone else have a turn holding the child(ren)

-raph has made the child(ren) a blanket as a gift when they're born

-donnie handles all the medical care for the child(ren) and april during and after birth

-mikey decorated the child(ren)'s nursery and baby shower(s)

• april gets random texts to settle dumb arguments between the brothers

• they all love adele

• they all sing in the shower

• don't bring nerf guns into the lair for the sake of splinter's sanity

• vine references are frequently thrown around the lair

• they've all watched 90 day fiancé and they all hate ed

• mikey is the only one who can get any of his brothers to cry from laughing

• leo may suck at comforting his brothers but they all seek him out for comfort anyway

• donnie's sleep schedule is the worst so when he falls asleep in his lab his brothers have each carried him to bed

• raph can't sleep properly unless he knows that his brothers are close by and he's seen them go to bed

• splinter will still sometimes tuck the boys into bed if he knows they've had a rough time

• all of them have cussed out casey and vern for saying the wrong thing about a brother

• they all hardly swear around april

• splinter has banned legos in the lair because the boys were using them as revenge against each other

[leovaldezluvr]

"my honeybee, come and get this pollen!"

synopsis : hc's of leo valdez and his gf !!

pairing : leo valdez x daughter of apollo!reader

warnings : swearing / cursing, intentional lower case writing, kissing, nothing crazy tho!

requested ? yes! by the amazing @sunnitheapollokid 😚

masterlist : coming soon!

nai yapps : HI BABIES 🤭 first time writing hcs, hope ya like!! it turned out longer than expected so yeah haha, not proofread so please don't mind the grammatical errors 😭

on the radio . . . "espresso" by sabrina carpenter

in my opinion, leo is kinda insecure (just like percy) so it took him a while to realize that you liked him back !!

in the meanwhile, he would fangirl about you to his friends

oh and trust me, they were SICK AND TIRED of that boy

"guys, did you see the way she looked at me at dinner??"

(which he told them like for the 1293858th time that week)

#delusionalking

and don't act like you didn't do the same thing as well, because we all know damn well you did

yapping about leo to annabeth, silena and piper at the cabin 10 sleepovers is a weekly (almost daily) occurrence

like i've mentioned in the beginning, leo's probably really insecure, so he uses his flirty and cheeky personality to cover it up!

which has you giggling and kicking your feet

because that boy flirts with you more than anyone else

oh and when he found out that you work at the infirmary with will solace?

it was his most visited place other than bunker 9

leo is naturally a really clumy person (me too lmao) so he injures himself on accident quite often when working on something in bunker 9, but one way or another he'll find an excuse to come visit you there (even if he's not hurt) and say shit like

"you come here often?" or "can you kiss it better?"

with a shit-eating grin as you heal one of his injuries

since you're a child of the music god, you have AMAZING taste in music

so every once in a while you'd come over at bunker 9 and play some of your music while leo works on his projects

you'd be on his bed, painting away or even working on poems

speaking of poems!

you once wrote a poem about leo and after building up courage (with the help of your girlfriends) you read it out to leo!!

and let me tell you, that boy turned as red as a tomato

and he couldn't stop thinking about that poem FOR DAYS.

like girl you had that boy wrapped around your finger 😭 (hence the song i choose for this blog)

after that, he decided it's time to ask you to be his gf!! (screaming)

him and his friends (percy, jason and frank) have been planning and scheming on the best way leo can ask you out

since percy has a big mouth, he told the news to his girlfriend, annabeth.

your and leo's friends were pretty much one big friend group, so you guys hung out quite often

soon enough, piper and silena found out about leo's plan too

SOO HERE'S HOW I IMAGINE HOW'D LEO WOULD ASK YOU TO BE HIS GF!!

basically, the group decided to hang out at the beach is Montauk

"LAST ONE IN THE SEA IS A ROTTEN EGG!"

percy yelled, all the boys racing to the sea, except for leo.

"boys." annabeth muttered, rolling her eyes, causing piper, silena and you to giggle.

you had your beach towel spread out onto the sand, your tote bag to your left and a book in your hands.

leo sat at your right hand side, applying sunscreen onto his arms and upper body as he watched the boys splash and attempt to drown each other.

"could you please apply sunscreen on my back, y/n?"

you look up from your book you're reading and place your bookmark between the pages. a smile grew on your face as you nod, signaling leo to turn so his back faces you. he obliged and did as you said, he pulled his knees closer to his chest leaned his head onto his arms. (kinda like this I'm bad at explaining haha 😭)

hours pass by, the group has all been at the sea having a splash fight, then also played volleyball. now they wanted to have some snacks and drinks

and of course the group decided to pick you and leo to go get the snacks

you, oblivious to their intentions, started putting your flip flops on. as you weren't looking, leo shot a look at the smirking teenagers he calls his friends. piper and frank were showing thumbs up for support. while jason and percy gave him a knowing look. leo saw annabeth mouthing "now or never" to him.

"lee, you ready to go?"

he put his attention back on to you and nodded, heading to the corner shop with you next to him. he glanced back to his friends one last time, seeing them look at the pair walking off and cheering for leo, but silently of course, so you wouldn't suspect anything.

after you two have bought the snacks and drinks the friendgroup wanted, you head back to the beach.

leo noticed the group playing volleyball again, and used to opportunity to confess now. He stopped walking, standing at this area.

"hey, y/n. could we talk for a sec?"

you didn't think much of it and nodded, walking closer to where leo was standing.

then, his nervousness got the best of him and that boy just started rambling.

"so i just wanted to say that Iive liked you for REALLY long time. like a i like you A LOT and I really want to be together with you but i'm not sure if you feel the same and i really don't want to ruin this friendship. but i've never felt this way about anyone and–"

then he got interrupted with kiss!! (by you of course)

he froze, definitely not expecting that. but quickly kissed you back. his hands on your waist, pulling you closer as your hands wrapped behind his neck.

you soon pulled away, both of you catching your breaths.

"i like you too, leo."

a bright smile appeared on leo's face, him leaning his forehead onto yours.

"can i be your boyfriend, y/n?"

you act like you're thinking about, rubbing your chin jokingly, but ultimately day yes.

he kisses you again, but pulled away quickly as you two heard screaming and cheering from the back.

the pair turn around to see their friendgroup being the cause of this loud noise.

piper, annabeth and silena were the ones screaming, holding each other's hands as they jump up and down like little girls. While the boys were cheering and clapping, Percy even started jumping up and down with the girls. (LMFOAOA DON'T TELL ME HE WOULDN'T DO THAT)

anyhow! that's how i imagine it'd happen

leo and you are both you clingy mfs, even before dating. but now you two are glued to the hip.

he definitely calls you cute nicknames in spanish (#latinoking)

"mi amor" , "cariño" , "mi vida" , "hermosa" , "mi corazón" , "mi sol", "mami/mamas"

he loves, and i mean LOVES when you help him with his projects (cough this fic cough)

whenever a piece of your jewelry (earrings, necklaces, ect..) breaks, you already know your boyfriend is there to fix it for you.

despite being the daughter of the sun god, your hands were always FREEZING. that's why you had your fire boy to warm you up

that boy is basically your human heater. while you two would cuddle in the summer, you would get so hot while being in his embrace, but you just suffered, because his grip is strong as steel.

your guys' dynamic is sunshine x sunshine protecter!! (the protecter being you because leo doesn't do shit to stand up for himself)

#1 princess treatment giver!!

"baby, i can get out of the car myself–"

"shh, don't worry about it mami."

wow this is getting way too long woopsie

in conclusion, leo valdez is the best boyfriend ever and you two are the power couple of chb!!!

THE END!!

— 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄, 𝐍𝐀𝐈.

taglist (pls tell me if I should remove / add you!!) : @thesnshinee @graceslcver @gentlehue @ssparksflyy @coolestgirlintheworld112 @ghostlyloversworld @percyslcver @lovely-calypso @woodlandwrites @brainsofseaweed @mershellscape @hopelesslyromanticshark @canonfeminine

[sc0tters]

Buttons | Mark Estapa

summary: when you get frustrated and do some pretty ballsy things at a party, Mark realises that it’s about time he lets you that he wants more than just a fuckbuddy out of you.

request: yes/no

warnings: mature themes, p in v, swearing, underaged drinking.

word count: 2.44k

authors note: I was in a rut trying to write yesterday, thinking it’s doing better today but who knows? Realised that this is the first thing I’ve written for Mark on here and I’m not upset. This request has been sitting in the works for a while so let’s hope good things have come from that.

You knew it was going to end badly for you.

Mark had been ignoring you since you arrived at the party because some little blonde girl found herself by his arm the entire time.

Whilst you knew Mark could do it because you weren’t dating him, you were merely his fuck buddy. You couldn’t help but feel a bit neglected.

The boy hadn’t slept with you in over two weeks, part of that was because you had your period during week one and week two was all about this girl.

As much as you wanted to ignore it, knowing that a guy is thinking about someone else whilst he is fucking you into oblivion is not attractive.

So instead you stood against a wall deep in conversation with Mackie and Ethan as your eyes never left the Michigan native “I’m going to go get another drink.” Mackie announced leaving you alone with the Canadian.

Ethan was always attractive to you but you never made a move because Mark made one on you before you had the chance “looking real nice today princess,” Ethan leaned forward so you could hear him over the sound of the music.

His hand wrapped around your waist when you smiled “you don’t look too bad yourself Edwards.” You took the beer from his hand letting your lips wrap around the bottle as you took a sip.

If he didn’t have as much self restraint Ethan would have groaned at the sight “gonna get me in trouble,” by now you had realised that Mark was staring at the two of you as the blonde he was with was busy kissing his neck.

You couldn’t help but giggle “we aren’t dating,” you reminding him as you felt like this was Mark getting a taste of his own medicine.

Sure you probably should have felt bad using Ethan for this but the moment he hooked his fingers under your jaw you knew it was no longer your fault “you’re gonna need to stop me if you don’t want this.” Ethan mumbled as his lips hovered over yours.

It made your heart thump as you nodded giving the boy the green light as he kissed you, Ethan wasn’t a bad kisser by any means but you mind knew he wasn’t your favourite, that was a position for Mark.

Mackie was unaware of what was going on as he came back to you two “you will not believe what I saw!” The boy cut himself off when you pulled away from Ethan “sorry,” the younger boy apologised as his cheeks turned red.

You sent Mackie a smile “don’t be,” you squeezed Ethan’s hand “I’m going to the bathroom.” You announced trying your best to hide your smirk as you walked past Mark who sent a glare in the direction of the boys.

Just like usual the selection of bathrooms at the senior parties that were free were slim “perfect,” you mumbled to yourself finding one that was unlocked and free.

The mirror stared back at you as you ran your fingers through your hair letting you see how your swollen lips looked without a fresh coat of lipgloss.

Mark was stood in the kitchen when you came back down, he was busy trying to make himself a drink “hey Markie,” you cooed as a devilish grin formed on your face.

That only ever meant trouble when it came to you “what can I do for you pretty girl?” He smiled seeing you stop standing next to him.

Your hand grabbed his “got a present for you,” you explained grabbing it out of your shorts pocket.

He would have had to have been an idiot to not notice the lacey material against his hand “what-” his eyes went wide as he saw the dark shade of red, that was his favourite set of yours.

It was like he forgot how to speak English “when you remember what’s waiting for you, you know where to find me.” Your voice was soft as you kissed the lobe of his ear before you went back to Ethan who pulled you onto his lap on the couch.

The Michigan native swore that smoke was coming out of his ears when his teammate wrapped his arm around your waist. Mark didn’t know if it was the panties in his hand or the fact that he knew you weren’t wearing any that made him was to blow a fuse.

Mark 🛑: meet me in Nicks room now

y/n 🩷: got an Uber outside, I’m not fucking you in your teammates room.

It actually made him laugh how you knew what was going to happen, he was always so predictable to you “I’ll see you later E,” you mumbled as you pressed a kiss to his temple before you got up letting Mark wrap his arm around your shoulders as the two of you walked out of there.

That was the thing, despite all the other people that came into your lives none of them ever made it into your beds. That was a space simply for the two of you “been a bad girl for me princess.” Marks words sent shivers down your spine.

Your thighs squeezed together as you smiled “only do it for you baby,” you mumbled running your fingers along the hem of his shirt.

Mark wanted to take you there and then “get in the car,” he muttered as he opened the door letting you slide across the leather seats “busy night huh?” The driver asked with a smile looking into the rear view mirror totally obvious to the desire that practically oozed out of your and Marks ears.

Whilst the boy tried to focus on making small conversations with the driver you only had one thing in mind. Your hand ran up Mark’s thigh as your lips went to his neck “Markie,” you whimpered as the boys eyes continued to ignore you “just here will do thanks,” Mark announced as he saw the sophomore house that sat on the hill.

Before the car came to a stop you were already hopping out of it “have a good night,” the driver smiled as he finally realised what was going on.

Marks hand wrapped around your waist pulling you close to him “you too dude,” with the slam of the car door Marks lips were on yours.

It was a messy kiss as the tastes of your drinks mixed together letting the beer on his tongue practically make you drunk all over again “house,” was all you could get out as you were growing impatient.

He laughed as your comment made him hold out his hand as he pulled you in the direction of the house. Thankfully everyone on campus was at the party so nobody noticed the way Mark had to carry you into the house and up the stairs because all you wanted was to kiss him “Mark please,” you begged as your foot shut the door behind him leaving you in his room alone.

You gasped when your back hit the mattress “shouldn’t even touch you with the way you’ve been acting.” Mark muttered to himself as he joined you on his bed letting his lips nip at your neck.

The comment made you scoff “not my fault you were with her.” You shot back running your fingers through his hair.

Mark laughed as he looked up with a grin “you jealous of her princess?” He smirked kissing up your jaw until his lips hovered over yours.

His eyes only seemed to look at yours as he waited for your answer “I’m not,” you pouted as your eyebrows furrowed “you sure?” He teased letting his lips fall to the sides of your own rather than on your lips how you wanted it.

You knew you were going send yourself into some hot water “why would I be when I had Ethan.” That was the killer line with the same level of delivery.

The boy pushed his lips into a fine line “that mouth is going get you into some trouble.” He tapped his fingers on your lips as he laughed.

It made you smirk “what are you going to do about it?” Your voice ran through his ears as his eyes turned dark “gonna wish you didn’t say that.” Mark mumbled as he leaned down finally giving you what you wanted.

Teeth clashed against each other as his hand went down your waist “shit,” you groaned as you felt the denim of your shorts hit your clit.

The hockey player smirked as he pulled away letting his lips pull at your lower one “I need you so much right now, fuck.” Mark groaned as you were two usually into foreplay but some nights you simply needed a good fuck that meant in order for you to last long enough there was next to no foreplay, this was one of those nights.

His boner was hard as his shorts felt like they were sucking the life out of his cock “what are you waiting for then?” Your eyebrows wriggled as he pulled his shirt over his head leaving you to do the same thing with your own.

Mark knew he’d never get over the sight of you in that red bra “you knew I was gonna fuck you tonight didn’t ya?” He smiled as his knees fell between your legs as he pecked your lips making sure to kiss each part of you. From your neck, to the valley of your breasts “there were made for me,” Mark mumbled as he let his hands cup your bra before he continued to make his way down to the waistband of your shorts.

He smiled as he undid the buttons helping you slide out of them “gotta hear you scream tonight,” the hockey player confessed placing a kiss on your thigh “what are you waiting for then?” Your voice bounced off of the walls as you reached up to untie the string on his shorts “you poor boy,” you cooed seeing his boner in the boxers that you began to palm.

Mark threw his head back feeling your hand against him “don’t make me wait,” he grumbled wrapping his hand around your wrist as he forced you to stop.

Deciding that it was best to avoid irritating him further you listened pulled his boxers down as he handed up a condom. Marks big secret in life was that watching you roll that condom over his cock was his favourite thing to see “always do it so well,” Mark groaned as your cold hand with flush his his lower torso “come here.” You mumbled motioning for him to come down and kiss you again.

His hand guided his cock to your pussy as he teased your clit “fuck,” you groaned trying to force your hips up to meet his “never gets old.” Marks voice was rough agreeing with yours as he guided his cock inside of your pussy.

Like normal his forehead rested on yours as he ran his hands down your thighs as he brought your legs over his shoulders “fuck!” You gasped as you clenched around him “you think Ethan could fuck you like this?” Mark asked smiling as he continued to kiss your lips feeling like the cherry lipgloss that you had reapplied in the bathroom was like a drug to him.

When you didn’t answer the hockey player let his teeth softly sink into your lip as he let out a grunt “no Mark.” Your face scrunched up “this pussy is yours.” You added making him practically want to come on the spot.

The idea of the you being his and his only warmed his heart. What had started off as a drunken meetings between you two that morphed into hookups when you needed them, now had left both of you with feelings. You had found yourself growing jealous when girls tried to flirt with him and as much as you tried to act like it wasn’t important. Because you weren’t with him, but with each girl who tried her luck it was harder to ignore how you felt about him.

Mark was in a similar position to you, each moment of his free time he wanted to spend it with you. All of the boys had warned him about you catching feelings but he never thought that it would last twelve months and that he’d be the one catching them “all mine?” Mark asked as he nipped at your jaw making sure that the bruises would show up in the morning.

You nodded as his hand found it’s place between you two resting his thumb on your clit “made for you,”you groaned using all of your strength to pepper kisses against his jaw.

Moans mixed with the sound of skin slapping bounced off of the walls “you’re gonna make me come,” you announced letting him know it as he increased his pace “right behind you baby.” Mark let his head fall to your shoulder as he kissed the bare skin.

His breath warmed up your skin causing your hand to wrap into his hair “so good baby,” he cooed as he looked up to see your eyes rolling back into your head.

That was the thing, sex with Mark was always so soft. Even if you two were pissed of before hand, always ended softly “let go baby, you don’t gotta ask tonight.” The hockey players confession was enough to get you off.

Your eyes screwed shut as your body shuddered with pleasure “right there shit!” You almost forgot how to breathe as you kept on repeating profanities.

When your pussy clenched around his cock in bursts it caused his orgasm to follow shortly behind your own “so good princess.” Mark helped you through your high as your chest raised trying to steady your breathing.

Marks cock slid out of your pussy as he let your legs fall down to your sides “you ready for round two?” You smiled getting the upper body strength to push yourself up.

The comment made him laugh “I gotta ask you something first though princess.” Mark pulled you onto him as he pushed your hair out of your face “yeah?” You tried to ignore the mushy feeling that came through your chest.

Just as you were ready to sink back down onto his cock he dropped one the question he had been trying to decide on for months “let’s do something tomorrow that’s off campus.” He offered groaning as you stopped yourself halfway hearing the news.

“Fuck me like you mean it and then you can take me wherever you want baby.”

[gabgabwrites]

MISS ME? | ex!Anakin Skywalker

Summary ⇝ your ex boyfriend is irresistible at a party, so much that you have to go back to his dorm with him. (MODERN AU) maybe ooc anakin

Warnings ⇝ reader is called ‘baby’ like a lot, and ‘darling’, Anakin is referred to as ‘Ani’, swearing, alcohol use, smut, p in v, hair pulling, degrading, kind of switch ani?, face orgasm, unprotected sex, mdni

You're at a college dorm party, with your best friend Norra, both of you dancing on the makeshift dance floor. There's booze in your system and a little bit of weed in your veins.  Suddenly, Norra grabs your wrist. "Girl, Anakin is staring at you." She yells over the music. And indeed he was. Anakin Skywalker, your ex, and the campus's biggest frat boy and player, staring at you like you were prey, and my god did he look insanely good.

A smirk tugs at his lips, before he makes his way over to you. "Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes." He yells, placing a hand on your hip, pulling you a bit closer. "Having fun? I'm having a blast, especially cause my favourite girl is here."

You gasp. "Ani, you can't just do that."

"I can't?" Anakin teases, placing his other hand on your other hip, pulling you flushed against him. The music seems to fade out into the background as he leans in close, his warm breath tickling your skin, making goosebumps erupt all over your body. "Are you sure you don't want me to?" He asks, his mouth so close to yours, you can practically taste the alcohol and cigarrete smoke on his breath.

"We broke up, remember?" You scold him.

"How can I forget when you're right here in front of me, looking so pretty." Anakin whispers, his hand snaking up your body, his fingers stroking the back of your neck. "You know..." He continues, his face inching closer. "I bet I could make you forget all about the breakup, I can show you tonight how good we can be..." He purrs in your ear, placing a soft kiss right below it. A shiver runs down your spine at his touch and the sinful promises he's making. His grip is steady, holding you in place, not letting you escape as his lips gently slide down your neck, as if he already knows how you'll taste and what will make you crumble.

"No...Ani, we shouldn't."

"Why not?" Anakin murmurs, pulling away to look at you. "We're both adults in college...We're both single..." He pauses, his gaze dropping to your lips, the intensity of his stare making your breath catch. "We can do whatever we want..." His tongue swipes across his bottom lip, before he tugs it into his mouth, biting down on it as he looks at you with a heated gaze.

It's tempting, the way he looks at you is so irresistibly tempting.

You nibble on your lip. "You know how bad this would look? Me getting back with my ex?"

Anakin laughs, pulling you closer again, leaving barely an inch between your body and his. You could feel the heat radiating off him, and the way his breath washes over your face makes your knees buckle.

"Maybe." He concedes lowly, his eyes full of a dark promise. "But do all those idiots really matter?" Anakin's body presses further against you, his voice dripping with seductive intent. "Just think about right now. How good it feels to be in my arms again."

You look over at Norra, Norra is standing off to the side, chatting with a guy, the sight of you still dancing with Anakin making her roll her eyes but she gives you a small, encouraging smile, as if she's telling you to do whatever you want. You look back at Anakin. "Thought you were seeing whats-her-name?"

"The thing with her is over..." He shrugs, leaning down to kiss along your neck, each gentle press of his lips making your heart race. "You know why it started in the first place?" He mumbles, his mouth moving to nibble at your earlobe, his hot breaths against it making tingles erupt all over your body. "She wasn't you, and she never will be."

"I'm glad you've come to your senses."

"We all make mistakes, baby," Anakin purrs, his lips grazing your jawline as his hands explore your body, his touches searing your skin through your clothes. Even the thin layer of sweat doesn't dampen the heat radiating off his body. "The real question is..." He whispers, his lips ghosting over yours, pulling a whimper from your throat. "What do you want?"

"I want to...to dance, Ani." You let your eye lids stoop down, gently giving him a flutter of your lashes, one hand pressing against his chest. You allow for that hand to skate up his pecs and across his shoulder where it rests on his shoulder blade.

"You want to dance?" Anakin grins against your neck, before standing straight, his hands wrapping around your waist, pulling you closer till your chests are pressed flush against each other. "Okay, then..." The music is back in full swing, blaring through the speakers. Anakin doesn't miss a beat, his hands sliding down your hips, his eyes never leaving yours. He starts to sway his body, bringing you with him. "I'll dance with you..." He murmurs.

"Good." You giggle, spinning around so your back is against his chest. Anakin lets out a low groan as you push your body back against his, his hands going to your hips, pressing you against him as you move.

"You're playing a dangerous game." He growls lowly, burying his face in your hair, nuzzling his nose into the crook of your neck.

The way he molds against your body, it's like your bodies fit together like puzzle pieces. "Am I?" Your arms raise so they can loop around his neck, playing with the tufts of blonde hair at the nape. "Touching me where everyone can see?"

"Let them look," Anakin responds, his lips brushing your neck, placing a kiss on your pulse point, making your breath catch in your throat. "If they're so interested..." Another kiss lands on the other side of your neck. "Tell them to watch," His hands slowly inch their way up your stomach. "I want everyone to know that you're mine."

"Even after you broke my heart?"

"Especially after that," He mumbles against your throat, placing a series of soft kisses along the side of your neck, up towards your jaw, his fingers slowly reaching your ribs. "Being apart from you has been hell," He admits, his grip on your hips tightening. "All I think about is making you mine again."

"Then do it, Ani," You whisper breathlessly.

"As you wish" Anakin swiftly spins you round to face him, tugging you in, his mouth meeting yours in a searing kiss. It's deep and full of emotion, the weeks you've spent apart, and all the pain that came with it. His lips press hungrily against yours, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips, his body pressed flushed against yours, all of his muscles taut with need. You could feel the effect you had on him.

You melt against him, your arms wrapping around his neck, your lips moving fervently against his. It's as if the world around you no longer exists, the only thing that matters right now is the feel of his body pressed against yours. You could feel his lips form a smile against yours, the kiss turning more passionate by the second. His tongue swipes across your lower lip, coaxing your mouth open to allow him entrance. You feel his tongue delve into your mouth and moan loudly, your fingers finding their way into his hair.

"Ani..." you moan against his lips, he tasted like cheap beer and mint, yet you were fucking drowning in the taste. Lavishing and licking it all up. Anakin groans as his tongue plunges into your mouth, tangling with yours, claiming you in the most intimate way possible. He sucks on your lower lip, biting down on it ever so slightly, a gasp escaping you.

His kisses are needy and hungry, his hands roaming your body, pulling you even closer, not leaving even an inch of space between the two of you. As if on instinct, your tongue meets his, dancing with its familiar rhythm. Anakin's hands grip your waist with an almost possessive need, pulling you impossibly closer, his body pressed against yours, the heat from his skin seeping through your clothes. His fingers dig into your hips, his tongue exploring your mouth with an fervor and desire that takes your breath away. You could feel his muscles taut beneath your hands, his need for you is palpable, every touch speaking of the depth of his craving.

You gasp against his lips, allowing yourself to sink further into his touch. Anakin takes advantage of your gasp, sliding his tongue into your mouth, tasting you with a hunger that borders on primal. He deepens the kiss, his body melding against yours as his hands rove over your back, memorizing every curve and contour. You feel his teeth graze your lower lip, a subtle sting of pain mingling with the intoxicating pleasure of his touch. You lean into him, your body surrendering to the intoxicating feel of his embrace.

Anakin's kisses are intoxicating and consuming, leaving you dizzy with need. His tongue explores the familiar corners of your mouth as his hands slowly inch to the hem of your shirt, his fingers sending bolts of electricity wherever they touch. As his palms meet your skin, an intense heat ignites between you, like a flame that burns away everything else but the two of you. You can feel the erratic beating of his heart against yours, his breath intermingling with yours. It's messy and desperate, a passionate dance of longing and desire.

You break the kiss, like all your senses came back. Anakin groans slightly, his fingers tracing mindless shapes on your lower back, the heat of his touch leaving a scorching trail in its wake. He rests his forehead against yours, his breaths coming out in short pants, his eyes darkened with desire. A small smirk graces his mouth, the sight of it making your breath hitch in your throat. "We shouldn't have done that," You whisper, lips slightly grazing his

"Probably not..." Anakin admits lowly, his breath washing over your parted lips, his lips hovering over yours. His fingers gently pull away from the small of your back, trailing his thumb along your jawline, his touch sending shivers down your spine. "But I don't regret it," He murmurs, his thumb flicking over your lower lip, his eyes filled with heated promises. "Do you?"

"No," You shake your head, morally you knew it was wrong, but under the influence, you could not bring yourself to care. A low growl escapes him, his eyes darkening again. In a split second, his lips are on yours again, his tongue immediately plunging into your mouth, claiming you in a fierce kiss. His body presses hard against yours, leaving no space between the two of you, his fingers tangling in your hair, pulling you closer. He kissed you hungrily, passionately, pouring all of his pent up desire and craving into the kiss. "I think we should...get out...of here."

"Good idea..." He responds, the huskiness in his voice sending a wave of heat straight between your legs. His hands slide around your waist, pulling you flush against him, the heat from his body seeping into you. One arm stays wrapped around your waist, his fingers tracing along the bare skin of your hip, while the other goes up to your chin, tilting your head back. "I have a dorm to myself, and the room is closer," He whispers in your ear, his breaths fanning your earlobe.

"Let's go," Anakin immediately takes you by the hand and leads you out of the party. The cool night air nips at your heated skin, but his grip on your hand is reassuring. You walk in silence and reach his dorm in what seems like seconds.

As soon as the door shuts behind you, Anakin wastes no time, tugging you close and sealing his lips to yours. The kiss is even more urgent than the one at the party, his desire and need palpable in the way his body presses against yours.

"You miss me this much, Ani?" You slyly ask, the boy in front of you was like putty in your hands.

"You have no idea..." He groans, pressing his mouth hungrily against your throat. One hand comes up to tangle in your hair, tugging it slightly, while the other remains on your hip, his fingers digging into your flesh. "You have no fucking idea," His mouth is relentless as he kisses and sucks at your skin, leaving a series of hot, open mouthed kisses along your neck. "Gods...I need you..."

"Tell me, what do you need?" Your fingers always find his hair somehow, playing with the loose curls, twirling the strands around your finger.

"I need your touch..." He whispers between kisses. "I need your taste..." You feel the heat of his breath washing over your skin."And I need your body...so badly it hurts, baby. It hurts so bad" His teeth graze your pulse point, a shiver racking your body at the feel of it. His hand finds yours and brings it to brush his crotch. Hard cock straining his pants.

"Let me make it better, m'kay?" His mouth goes straight back to your neck, his hands pulling you flush against him, his body pressing hard against yours. You feel his hands go under the fabric of your shirt, his fingers caressing the sensitive skin of your abdomen, leaving goosebumps in their wake. "Sit," You instruct.

Without a second thought, his mouth leaves your skin as he obeys, sitting back on the edge of the bed, looking up at you expectantly. You slink down on your knees. Your actions make Anakin's breath hitch in his throat. His eyes rake up and down your body, stopping at your face, a smirk teasing his mouth.

"Now...What will you be doing down there, baby?" He purrs, his words slightly shaky as he speaks.

"You tell me?" You tilt your head to the side. At this, Anakin places a hand on the side of your head, his fingers threading through your hair, his grip on you firm yet gentle.

"I want..." His breathing is shaky, his words coming out as a groan. "I need-" He cuts off as you rest your hand on his knee, your nails digging into the material of his jeans, the feel of it making his eyes darkens once more.

"Need what Ani-baby?" You coo. You feel his legs tense beneath your touch, his hand in your hair clenching slightly.

"Gods, you're going to kill me..." He groans, watching you intently, his breath hitching in his throat.

Something in him snaps. Like a switch is pressed and in a blink of an eye, his hands are gripping your hair, it harshly tugs on your scalp, so hard you wince.

"I wouldn't act so fucking mighty if I were you,” He growls.

His other hand roughly is tugging his pants down, boxers half way going with, exposing the base of his cock that is pushing against the waistband. He digs his thumb inside the waistband to tuck it underneath his balls.

"You wanna act like a fucking tease? A brat? Fine," he huffs, bringing his thick fingers to your mouth. "Open," he demanded, you immediately open your mouth, head still aching from his grip. He shoved four fingers, as far as they can go, into your mouth, gathering your spit on his fingers.

He takes them out and wraps his hand around his cock, spitting on his own cock for extra measures. His fist beats his cock at a fast pace, while all you do is stare. "Let me, Ani," you pout, eyes strained on the white bead that grows on his flush pink tip, and dribbles down.

"Yeah, I don't think so. You think you can get away with teasing me?" He wets his bottom lip, pearly white teeth baring as his pace quickens. "Think again."

"But please? I'll be so good?" You beg.

"Begging for my cock? Your exes cock?" He smirks, when did he become so vile? "No, baby. You're just gonna watch."

You can't help how his actions, how the sounds of his slicked cock sounds as he jerks it, how he tries to hold back moans, shoot straight to your core that's dripping in your underwear.

He bites down on his teeth, jaw clenching. A moan letting lose from his chest as his hot cum lands directly on your cheek making you gasp, then another spurt lands from the bridge of your nose to the left of your lips, then another, he's using your face like a canvas. His name tumbles from your lips as he finishes, hand slowing its movements.

"You're so mean," you frown, letting your tongue poke out to lick some of his cum that was on your bottom lip. His hand releases your hair and comes down to land on your jaw, this thumb collecting some of his cum that was above your lip and on your cheek, now touching your lips, commanding quietly for you to open your mouth. His thumb being encased by your lips as your tongue swirled around the digit, lapping up the salty white.

"Don't act like you didn't fucking enjoy it," he grins, like actually gives you a cocky grin. "Come on baby, stand up," you do. Anakin's hand slides under the fabric of your shirt, his fingers gliding over your stomach, feeling the warmth of your skin on his palm, as his mouth explores the exposed skin above your collar bone.His lips land on your collar bone and burn a trail of hot kisses up your throat, his teeth scraping the sensitive skin of your neck.

His hands gently guide the straps of your dress down your shoulders, his calloused fingers tracing over your arms. His mouth never leaves your skin, his kisses growing increasingly impatient as the dress pool at your feet. Your exposed breasts elicits a growl from the depths of Anakin's chest. He presses his mouth to the valley between your breasts, his breaths coming out in hot, uneven pants. He guides you back towards the bed, his mouth remaining on your skin, his tongue tracing along the underside of your breast. He pushes you back against the sheets, crawling on top of you, looking down at you, his eyes dark with arousal.

"Gods..." He whispers, leaning down to press his mouth hungrily against yours. His hand comes up to tangle itself in your hair, the other tracing along your naked skin, caressing the curve of your hip bone.

"Please, Ani?" You mewl meekly.

"Please what, baby?" He murmurs against your skin, his mouth coming to your throat, pressing open mouthed kisses against your pulse point. His hands continue to roam, running along your sides, his fingernails leaving goosebumps in their wake.

"Fuck me," you say softly, eyes fluttering shut to enjoy the feeling of his warm, wet tongue glide over your skin.

A shiver racks his body at your words, a growl working itself up his throat. He places a gentle biting kiss on your shoulder. "As you wish, darling," He purrs lowly, moving to press his mouth against yours hungrily.

Anakin pushes your thighs apart, making room for himself between them. He looks down at you, his gaze dark as his fingers lightly trace along your inner thigh. His touch is teasing, the pads of his fingers gentle against your skin. It takes nearly every inch of his self-control to stop himself from moving any further. "Don't stop," You complain.

"Patience, sweetheart..." His fingers brush higher up your inner thighs, goosebumps forming in their wake. "Good things come to those who wait..." He purrs, leaving a biting kiss on your hip bone.

"Well then, give me your worst," You challenge.

Anakin grins down at you, his eyes locking onto yours, a dark gleam in them. "Now that, I can do," He whispers, leaning in to press a biting kiss to the crook of your neck. Anakin did not care, in this moment, for any further foreplay. Anakin groans against your skin as he takes his cock and slides it past your slippery walls, deep in your cunt, his body stiffening at the pleasure. His hips jerk involuntarily, a gasp escaping his parted lips. He whispers out your name, his breaths coming out in short pants, his fingers digging into your hips tight enough to leave bruises behind. "Baby-" His words get cut off as he moans out.

His head dropping down to your shoulder. He sets a hard and relentless pace, his hands gripping your hips, his movements uncoordinated as he loses himself to the pleasure. "A-Ani!" You moan, your manicured nails digging red stripes along his back.

"Gods..." He groans, his voice strained and heavy with desire. His hips stutter, becoming slightly uncoordinated from the overwhelming onslaught of pleasure.  His grip tightens on your hips, his teeth sinking into the skin of your shoulder, leaving behind a deep bite mark.

His breaths come out in pants against your skin, the feel of you overwhelming him completely, his senses consumed by you and only you. The noises leaving his mouth are unabashed and completely wanton, his usual composure completely out of control. "Feels so good," You babble out almost incoherently.

He groans your name against your throat, his voice shaky and strained with need, the way he says the word sounding completely wrecked. You're driving him mad, each little syllable he utters a declaration of what you are doing to him.

He lifts his head to look down at you, his eyes completely darkened, his breathing heavy. He wants to say something, but all that comes out are shaky breaths and wanton moans, your touch around his cock, as he thrusts like his life depended on this moment (maybe it does), completely consuming him. His hand slips under your cheek, his thumb trailing over your lower lip, his gaze dark with desire. He's completely enamored by you, the way your skin feels under his touch, the sound of your voice, the way you make him feel. He's losing himself in the heat and the passion you give him, his soul completely surrendered to you. 

"'M so close, Ani." You moan, your head tucked into the crook of his neck. You could smell his sweat, which was unexpectedly not off-putting. Under your palms, you could feel every ripple of muscle.

"F-Fuck-" He gasps, his words getting caught on a moan. He's nearing the edge, every nerve in his body on fire, his senses clouded with pleasure. He needs to hear the sound of your pleasure, needs to see you completely undone by his touch, needs to feel you fall apart around him. He's a needy and greedy mess of wants and needs, completely intoxicated by you. 

Anakin allows for his fingers to slip between the two of you. Anakin's fingers work, rubbing, swirling your clit, pushing you towards the edge, his mouth coming to your shoulder, panting against your skin. You can hear the needy noises escaping his throat, the words and praises spilling from his mouth, all in a tangle of incoherent mumble.

"Gods, baby-" He gasps, his fingers never ceasing in their ministrations, driven purely by need and desire. He's falling, the edge closing in around him. He's completely consumed by you, his every sense focused solely on the feeling of you under him, the way your body fits against his, the feel of your skin on his. "Oh baby-" He moans lowly, his voice broken, his orgasm just within reach.

"Don't st...op..." you manage to squeak out.

"Gods, no, baby, I won't-" His words are broken by a groan, a shudder wracking his frame. He's right on the edge, his body nearly shaking from the need to fall over it. His touch on you is feverish, his breathing labored as he pushes you further towards the edge. His hand between your legs is relentless, his ministrations firm and needy, his body hovering over you taut with need and desire. "Fuck-" He whispers, his words broken as he moans, falling closer to the edge, his control slipping. "Baby..." He nearly growls, biting down on your shoulder.

You feel the coil in your stomach snap, goosebumps and pins and needles rack through your body. "Anakin!" You moan, feeling your release flood out of you. At the sound of your pleasure, the feel of you falling apart under his touch, all control leaves Anakin's body, his mind completely consumed by you. He buries his face in your shoulder, his moans of pleasure being muffled by your skin, his body shuddering against you as he finds his release, completely and utterly undone.

Anakin's entire body shudders, his frame taut for a moment before falling limply against you, the last of his release leaving him in a breathy moan, his hands clinging to you desperately. He's boneless and utterly spent, his breathing uneven, his eyes dark with pleasured exhaustion as he looks up at you. He's completely enamored by you, the sight of you a messy and wrecked mess of bliss.

You lay there, sweaty baby hairs sticking to your forehead. "Missed me that much, huh Ani?"

A weak groan leaves him, his breathing shaky and labored, his body still shivering slightly. He looks at you from where his head lays on your shoulder, his eyes dark with exhaustion, his fingers gently tracing patterns on your skin with a touch that betrays just how thoroughly spent he is. "You have no idea..." He whispers, leaning in to capture your lips in a deep kiss.

"I think I just got the idea."

Anakin laughs weakly at your words, unable to come up with a response. He turns his head to bury his face in your neck, his breath still coming out in uneven pants, his body still tense from the onslaught of pleasure that just consumed him.

You went silent, fingers gently playing with his hair. "So, do we go back to being exes after this?"

Anakin sighs, lifting his head to look up at you, his expression conflicted. He's quiet for a moment, his thoughts warring within him. Finally, he lets out a sigh, his hand coming up to caress your cheek with a touch that's both gentle and filled with unspoken words. "I don't know," He whispers. "Do you want us to?"

"Not really." You sighed. "Just don't break my heart again because of something Obi-Wan said, okay?"

Anakin's eyes soften at your words, his expression filled with sincerity. He lifts his hand to cup your cheek, thumb tracing over your cheekbone, his touch gentle. "I promise, I won't..." He whispers, his words filled with unspoken regret and remorse for the pain he caused you before. "No more listening to Obi-Wan....ever..." He says softly, an almost playful grin tugging at his lips.

"Good," You crane your neck to kiss him, again. Anakin's mouth curves up into a smile against yours, his lips moving gently against yours in a sweet kiss filled with unspoken words. It's slow and tender, the kiss speaking volumes more than words themselves ever could. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, his touch gentle and loving, his thumb tracing over your skin with a tenderness that betrays the depth of his affection for you.

The kiss unfortunately breaks when you yawn. A small, fond smile curves up Anakin's lips at the sight of your yawn, his eyes filled with warmth and affection. "Tired?" He asks quietly, his arm wrapping around your waist and pulling you closer to him.

You're just able to nod.

He smiles, a faint chuckle leaving his lips as he presses a soft kiss to your shoulder. "Let's get some rest then..." He whispers, pulling the blankets up over your bodies, his arms wrapping around you and pulling you close against his chest.

[snowyquokka]

Hiiii how are you

I have e a request for han or seungmin that their enemies and they have to go to a party that their friends are going to and the reader gets really drunk so they help them and they both confess to liking each other and it's just really fluffy

I hope I explained that the right way

Ps love your work

Lots of love A<3

BUTTERFLIES

frat boy han jisung x fem reader

cw: mature themes MDNI, mentions of sex, alcohol consumption (both above age), swearing, angst EVEN THOUGH IT WAS SUPPOSED TO ONLY BE FLUFF, second chance lovers, college au, blah blah blah

wc: 1.2k

a.n - i apologize for this taking me so long but i really wanted to get it right and do the prompt justice. i absolutely loved writing this and i appreciate the request !! (thank you ina for letting me blow up your dms over this <3)

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧

“You are so fucking lucky I love you,” you mutter as you walk into a frat party with your best friend, Mina. She wouldn’t stop pestering you about ‘coming out of your shell’ and ‘loosening up.’

“Yeah, yeah. You’ll thank me later, babe. And don’t worry, I’m the DD tonight. Have fun, seriously.” she smiles. You’d be lying if you said that deep down - very deep, like in the abyss of your soul - you weren’t grateful for her making you leave your room, where she thought you’d live forever if she didn’t have a say.

“Oo, lookie!” Mina exclaims as she points out two guys leaning against the kitchen island. Lee Minho and you’ve gotta be kidding me,

“Mina, no. You’ve got me fifty shades of fucked up if you think I’m gonna go talk to Han,” you make a face at the bitter taste of his name.

“You haven’t even spoken to him in what,” she counts on her fingers, “…8 months?

“Mina, I don’t think getting coffee at the same shop counts as talking.” you roll your eyes, “He’s a complete dickhead who has absolutely no consideration for others,” Mina shrugs and grabs your arm before dragging you over towards the two men despite your protests.

You immediately catch Jisung’s attention, watching as a small smirk tugs on his lips.

“Ah, Mina! How are you?” Minho beams at your best friend.

While they get caught up in their conversation you look around and spot a tray of Jell-O shots sitting on the counter unattended. Shrugging your shoulders, you pick one up and down it with zero hesitation.

Without even registering it, you consume three in less than two minutes. At least you’re enjoying yourself, right?

“I’d be careful if I were you, nabi.” You cringe at the nickname as Jisung’s voice cuts through the music playing in the background. You turn around to face him with a groan.

“I’m not in the mood, Han.” you grab another shot.

“Ouch. Back to last names, are we?” Jisung clutches his chest in mock pain, earning an eye roll from you. You glance over at Mina - or rather, where she was standing five minutes ago.

“Where’d they go?” You nod towards the now empty space.

“Probably going to fuck,” he shrugs, “Who knows?”

You huff and cross your arms over your chest.

“Oh come on, nabi. You can’t avoid me forever.” Your cheeks redden in annoyance.

“I can and I will actually. Also, stop calling me that.”

He scoffs as you walk away with yet another shot in your hand.

After a few moments of hesitation, he reluctantly follows you. “Wait. Can we ta-“

Jisung cuts himself off at the sight of you dancing with some guy from his fraternity, his hands on your hips as you sway them to the beat. Something in Jisung’s chest twists and a pit forms in his stomach. Shaking his head and pushing down his feelings, he turns to walk away.

Not worth it, Ji.

That is until he hears your laugh. Your sweet, gentle, angelic laugh. Sparked by someone who looks like they’d forget your name before he even gets what he wants from you.

Fuck. All. That.

Jisung downs the rest of his beer and stalks towards the two of you.

“Get your fucking hands off my girl.” he glares at the other man.

Jisung ignores him and snatches your wrist and drags you away, careful not to let you fall.

“J - Han get off of me,” you sputter as you attempt to set yourself free as he guides you upstairs to a vacant bedroom.

“I am not yours, asshole.” you wipe your palms down your dress in order to try to make it stretch a little more past your thighs. The movement doesn’t go unnoticed by Jisung who has to force himself to tear his eyes away from your curves. Curves that he’s dreamt of holding underneath his fingertips for years.

“Why won’t you have one conversation with me? You’re acting like we weren’t inseparable two years ago,” Jisung runs a hand through his already disheveled hair. He’s not sure if it’s the alcohol giving him confidence or if it’s his physical need to be as close as he can to you.

“You left, what did you expect to happen?” you let out once your mind starts to uncloud.

Jisung advances towards you, the beat of the music downstairs matching your racing pulse. With each step he takes, your heart knots tighter and tighter. Once he reaches you he places his hand on the wall beside you, caging you in.

Your senses heighten and the intensity of his gaze forces you to shrink yet you carry on, “You didn’t even care about what I had to say about it. In fact, I didn’t even know you were going until three hours before your flight took off.”

Your words are like a knife to his abdomen.

He searches your eyes for something - anything - other than pain.

Nothing.

The knife twists in his gut.

You don’t realize you’re crying until Jisung’s hand comes up to brush your tears off of your cheeks.

“I’ve hated myself everyday for the past two years, nabi. I thought of coming back to you but..” he trails off.

“Ji, don’t do this to me. I can’t. Please.” your voice shakes more than you would like it to as you try to warrant off more tears. You’ve always been an emotional drunk, but this? This is next level.

“You know, the moment I found out where you were going to college I immediately applied there? And then I applied to every college in the area, just in case I didn’t get accepted,” his voice drops to a mere whisper, “I did it because I wanted to fix us. I want to fix us.”

Your mouth falls slightly agape as you attempt to process the absolute bomb he just threw at you,

“It would’ve been easier if I hadn’t..” you cut off and wipe your mascara-stained cheeks, tilting your head back against the wall and closing your eyes. You’re too afraid to acknowledge the truth.

You’ve always been too afraid.

Though, you aren’t very sure what the truth is, exactly.

Jisung leans in and speaks softly into your ear, “I fell in love, too.”

Your eyes flutter open to see him nose-to-nose with you.

Warmth that has nothing to do with the amount of alcohol you’ve consumed spreads throughout you, head to toe, and something velvety skates along your soul.

“Butterflies,” you mumble unwittingly.

Jisung smiles softly and leans his forehead against yours.

“Can you find somewhere in that big, beautiful heart for me?” he looks down and threads his fingers with yours.

“No need,” you smile, “it was all yours to begin with.”

tags: @godslino @skzstarnet @anakin-sweetheart

divider: @chaeneuu

[eiightysixbaby]

magic man

‘you don’t have to love me yet, let’s get high a while’

word count: 3.8k

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

warnings: 18+ ONLY, smut smut smut!!! minors DNI. swearing, mention of drinking and drug usage (weed), oral (f receiving), slight edging, unprotected p in v, creampie, reader and eddie get high and reader drinks a little but everything is consensual - none of that shady shit, spanking, slight degradation/name calling, reader has a shitty ex (brief mention of manipulative tendencies), reader gets hit on by a creepy perv, eddie makes you watch yourself while he fucks you, overall filth (if I forgot anything pls let me know!)

summary: after moving to a new town to get away from a shitty ex-boyfriend and leave your past behind, you find yourself having even more guy troubles. it’s best to just give up on men entirely - right?

Your empty glass clinks against the top of the bar as you set it down, motioning to the bartender to bring you another drink. You exhale deeply through your nose, grounding yourself, holding back the frustrated tears. You really thought moving out of the city and into a small town, into Hawkins, would be good for you. Thought it would let you escape the shitty men of your past and start fresh. But here you were, sitting on a sticky barstool where your date was supposed to be resting beside you, instead completely alone. This was your third date with this guy, things had been going so well - or so you thought. He decided not to show, and clearly must’ve, y’know, forgotten to tell you. Ha. You sneered to yourself, fuck this.

Electric guitar and drums blared from the tiny stage crammed at the back wall of the even tinier bar. Some local band played, gathering a crowd of about fifteen intoxicated people who whooped and hollered as they played. You take a long sip of your second drink before turning your attention onto the band fully. Their music was loud, a little sloppy, but honestly they had potential. You hop down from the stool you sat on and stand at the back of the crowd, drink in hand. You bob along lightly to the heavy sounds coming from the stage, letting yourself get immersed in the passion and anger the music radiated. You catch the singer’s eye as he performs and you’re enamored for a moment, the liquor rushing to your brain as you get lost in the man’s deep brown eyes. He all but stares you down as the song lyrics tumble from his mouth. Brown curly hair falls in his face, and his ringed fingers work at his guitar. Ripped black skinny jeans hug his legs, chains dangling from the pockets, and on his torso he wears a dark grey Dio shirt, holes cut into the neckline. You chew on your lip as you gaze up at him, watch him as he gets almost intimate with the microphone. Your heart thuds in your chest, and you suddenly feel warm. Blame it on the alcohol, yeah, sure. The song comes to a close and the unnamed singer speaks into the microphone.

“Thank you all so much for listening tonight, we love to see people enjoying our music! We are Corroded Coffin, and we’ve got one last song for you guys,” his eyes are drawn to you as he talks, and you feel unsteady on your feet.

The final song starts, the drummer tapping his sticks together to count the band in, and you rip your gaze from the beautiful man seducing the audience. You remember the reason you’re at this bar in the first place, and a sour taste fills your mouth. No more guys. Not right now. You don’t think you could handle another round of getting your hopes up, just to be inevitably let down by yet another man with too much audacity. You turn on your heels and return to the seat you’d been at before, trying your best to drown out the remainder of Corroded Coffin’s set.

Maybe 20 minutes go by before you feel a hand on your shoulder. You turn, and once again meet the same dark brown eyes that held you before. The singer from the band stands inches away from you, a kind smile on his face.

“This seat taken?” he asks, sticking his thumb out towards the stool next to you.

You shake your head, and he sits.

“I’m Eddie,” he extends his hand for you to shake. “I uh- I saw you watching the set from the crowd. What’d ya think?” his voice is kind, almost shy.

“Y/N,” you introduce yourself before continuing, “listen Eddie, your set was great and you’re very talented, but I really better be going..” you shift in your seat.

His eyes haven’t left you this whole time and you feel like you’re suffocating. You can’t handle another disappointment, it’s best to cut this one off before it even starts.

“Woah, hey, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I’m sorry,” he grabs your arm gently to stop your movement, the metal of his rings cold on your skin.

“Please don’t touch me,” you jerk yourself out of his grip, grabbing your purse to leave.

You shuffle out of your seat, leaving cash for the bartender and turning around quickly to exit the bar. As you turn though, a larger man bumps into you, spilling his drink down the front of your shirt.

“Shit, baby, didn’t see you there…” he purrs at you, his breath reeks of whiskey.

He puts his hands on your waist in an effort to pull you closer to him. You attempt to shove him away and see Eddie rise from his seat out of your peripheral vision.

“Get the fuck off of me,” you spit, but the man is simply too big and too strong for you to break out of his grip completely.

“Come on, baby, don’t be like that,” he laughs.

“She said get the fuck off,” Eddie’s voice is firm, loud. Completely different than the tone he had just used with you.

Eddie grabs the man from behind and shoves him, yelling at him to keep his hands to himself. You don’t stay to see what happens next, fleeing out the front door and collapsing against the outside wall of the building. The fresh air fills your lungs, a stark contrast from the sweaty, musty air of the bar. Your chest heaves, the now sticky fabric of your shirt clinging to your skin. Your face is hot and flushed with anger, and your eyes are shut tight as you hear the door to the bar open beside you.

“Hey, Y/N, fuck… are you okay?” You hear Eddie’s voice.

When you don’t respond, Eddie comes to lean on the wall beside you. He sparks a cigarette, offering it to you when he sees your breathing has slowed. Hesitantly, you reach for it, taking a long drag.

“Thank you. For doing that for me,” you say finally, turning to look at the boy next to you as you pass the cigarette back to him.

“Shit, you don’t have to thank me, sweetheart. Christ knows what that fucker would’ve done if given the chance,” Eddie scoffs, kicking at the gravel beneath his feet.

“Yeah,” you laugh, a bitter and cold sound. “I thought tonight couldn’t get any worse… and then it did,” you shake your head.

“Wanna talk about it?” He asks plainly, blowing smoke out of his mouth as he speaks.

“I was supposed to have a date tonight… son of a bitch didn’t show, didn’t even call,” you scoff. “Not to mention I moved here to escape my asshole of an ex-..” you cut yourself off, embarrassed. “I’m sorry, you don’t wanna hear all of this.”

“You can tell me whatever you’re comfortable telling me, sweetheart. I’ve got all night.” He meets your stare and the look in his eyes is genuine, soft.

“I don’t really wanna get into it all- I just need a distraction,” you say finally.

“Wanna come back to my place? Get high for a while?” Eddie asks you, and he catches the hesitance in your face. “I promise I’m not like, a psycho killer or anything like that,” he raises his hands in mock defense.

“I don’t know, Eddie, I-,” you start, chewing on your lip as you talk.

You’re hesitant to agree, not sure what you’re getting into. Not sure if you’re ready to fall for someone again. Not sure if you like the way your heart pounds when he looks at you.

“Relax, we don’t have to fall in love or anything, sweetheart. I just think we could get to know each other better,” he says as if reading your mind.

And, fuck, there’s something so electric about him. He’s drawing you to him and he’s not even trying. Something in you is telling you to just go home, get in bed with some ice cream and forget about guys for the next century - and the other part of you is urging you to go with him, screaming ‘Go, you dumbass, he’s hot!’

“Yeah, okay, sure. I walked here so, can I hitch a ride with you?” You hear yourself ask him, mind racing as you do it.

“Of course, sweetheart. No way I’d let you walk. Let’s go,” and he’s stomping out his cigarette, urging you to follow him.

The ride to the trailer park is short, and you don’t do much talking on the way there. Eddie opens the door of his van for you, and you hop out into the warm July air. The night seems to buzz with anticipation.

“Welcome to my palace,” he extends his arm theatrically, opening the trailer door for you. “I live here with my uncle but, uh, he works nights.” Eddie explains, as you look around at all the knick knacks littering the trailer walls. “Oh shit, hey, let’s get you out of that shirt, yeah?” He motions to the stain on your shirt from the spilled drink.

You nod, and he jogs down the hall to what you presume to be his bedroom, returning with a clean shirt for you.

“Bathroom’s down the hall on the right,” he smiles.

You change into the clothing he gave you - a black Def Leppard ‘88 Tour t-shirt - and meet him back in the living room. His eyes widen when he sees you and he clears his throat awkwardly. You raise an eyebrow at him.

“Shit- sorry, you uh, you look nice. In that.” His voice comes out almost squeaky, strained.

“No falling in love, remember?” You tease, sitting down on the couch beside him where he’s already rolling a joint for you to share.

The two of you pass the joint back and forth, talking about anything and everything. You relax more and more the longer you talk. Eddie tells you more about his band, you tell him about your life in the city before moving here. You end up telling him more about your ex-boyfriend, the manipulation and lies, all of the heartache he put you through. Eddie listens to the whole thing, resting a gentle hand on your knee, easing your nerves. Eddie tells you about his ex, too, a girl named Chrissy. Says they dated for a few months before they realized it just wasn’t gonna work for them, they wanted different things. You pretend not to notice the way he’s shifted closer to you slowly over the course of the last hour. He pretends not to notice the way you get caught up and stare at his lips while he talks.

The two of you fall silent eventually, simply enjoying each others company. Eddie’s hand rests on your thigh, his shoulder touching yours with how close he is to you. Your mind feels like it’s coated in honey, everything around you feels so sweet as you sink further into your high. Eddie’s watching you, his chocolate brown eyes never leaving your pretty face. He allows himself to rub soft circles into the fabric of your jeans where his hand rests, and you shiver at the touch.

“You okay, sweet thing?” He asks.

“Mhmmm,” you hum, leaning your head on his shoulder.

Eddie’s presence is comforting. You feel safe around him, secure. It doesn’t feel the way it did to be around other guys, like you’re simply waiting for them to destroy the nice vibe you have going. No, being around Eddie feels different. And you’re letting yourself sink into it.

You brave a glance up at him, and he’s staring down the bridge of his nose at you. “You’re really pretty,” you say, giggling.

“Hey, now, sweetheart. I thought we said no falling in love,” Eddie retorts, but his smile completely shatters his mock-serious tone.

You laugh, and he revels in it. He cups your chin in his hand, and lifts your head up so you’re eye-level with him. Your heart is beating a mile a minute, and you lick your lips as a nervous habit. His gaze gets darker as your tongue pokes out of your mouth, his fingers still gently holding your chin. He smells like smoke and vanilla and booze and it somehow mixes together in the most delicious way.

“Kiss me, Eddie, please,” you breathe, your head spinning and your senses filled with nothing but Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

He doesn’t say anything, just pulls you into him. His lips are soft, but demanding in the way they work against yours. You tangle your fingers in his hair, tugging softly as his tongue slips into your mouth. His hands are all over you, on your thighs, your hips, your ass, searching every inch of your body.

“Fuck, baby, I need more of you. Can I have more of you?” he asks, breathless as he pulls away from your mouth.

“Yes, Eddie, please,” and with that, he’s lifting you bridal-style off of his sofa and carrying you to his bedroom.

He sets you down on the bed and immediately you’re pulling your shirt over your head and then grabbing at the hem of his. You don’t know what came over you but you know that you need him. Kissing you, licking you, filling you with him. His energy is addictive and fuck, you’re hooked. Once the two of you are down to your underwear, Eddie’s mouth is on you again. Claiming your lips, your neck, your collarbone, your breasts. You’re a moaning mess beneath him, and honestly if it weren’t for the weed in your system, you’d probably be embarrassed at the sounds leaving you.

Eddie kisses all the way down your body before settling himself between your thighs. He lets out an amused hum at the wet patch that’s stained your underwear.

“Fuck, sweetheart, this wet for me already?” he teases, raising an eyebrow at you.

“Shut up and get your mouth on me right now,” you say, but it comes out sounding like more of a beg than a demand.

Eddie smirks and shimmies your panties down your legs, trailing kisses on the insides of your thighs, biting at the plush skin. Without warning his mouth is on your dripping cunt, his tongue plunging into you like it’s his lifeline. You’re squirming and writhing beneath him, gripping his sheets so hard you’re surprised they haven’t torn. He’s a master with his tongue, like some sensual wizard, working all of his magic on you. His tongue laps at you hungrily, collecting the wetness that’s seeping out of you. He sucks on your clit, eliciting pornographic sounds from your mouth. He laughs against you, the vibrations sending delicious waves of electricity straight to your core.

“Eddie, shit- I’m so fucking close,” you breathe out, desperate beneath him.

But as soon as you get the words out, he removes himself from the spot between your thighs that weeps for him. His chin is glistening with your slick, and he’s got a devilish grin on his face.

“W-why did you stop?” You ask, not even caring about how pitiful you sound.

“Gonna make you wait til I’m inside you sweetheart, I’m gonna get you cumming so hard around my dick,” he purrs, suddenly right next to you, speaking right into your ear.

You feel yourself clench around nothing at his words, and his voice sends chills through your body. He stands up, slipping out of his boxers and letting his cock spring free. You feel like your eyes are going to pop out of your head like a cartoon as you survey his entire frame in front of you. His cock is big, maybe 8 inches, with a leaking pink tip staring you right in the face. His balls hang heavy between his thighs and you fantasize about having them in your mouth.

“Let me just grab a condom, pretty girl,” Eddie starts to open the drawer to his bedside table, but you reach over to grab his wrist.

“N-no, please. I’m on the pill. N-need you to fuck me raw, Eddie, please,” you’re fully begging him, looking up at him with wide, lust blown eyes.

Eddie’s cock twitches as he looks at your already too-fucked-out face, and he swallows the lump in his throat.

“You sure, baby?” he asks, climbing over top of you and kissing you softly.

“Yeah, fuck, need to feel all of you,” you’re breathless beneath him and your cunt is leaking a mess onto his sheets.

“Alright sweetheart, c’mon, on your hands and knees for me baby,” Eddie commands you, and you oblige immediately.

He has you facing the mirror on his wall, and he lines himself up behind you.

“I want you to watch while I fuck the shit out of you..” Eddie whispers into your ear, “-can you do that for me? Gonna watch yourself get fucked, baby?”

You’re nodding way too hard, way too fast. “Yes, Eddie, wanna watch you fuck me..”

Eddie presses a few kisses to your shoulders as he starts to spread you open with his cock. His tip pushes past your entrance, getting sucked into your velvety walls. He inhales sharply, digging his fingertips into your hips. He pushes further into you, spreading you wider for him, going deeper deeper deeper. Your insides burn deliciously at the size of him, wanting all of him and then some.

“Fuck, Eddie. Oh my god, you’re so big,” you moan beneath him, pleasure washing over you as you accommodate to the stretch to fit him.

“Look at you, taking all of me like a good girl,” he praises, rubbing a hand over your ass before leaving a swift smack on the soft skin.

You groan at the sudden sting, pushing your ass further back into him, silently pleading for more. He spanks you again - once, twice, three times, the skin turning pink. You ache for him, every slap sending shockwaves through your entire body. All you want in this moment is for him to fuck you dumb.

“Please move, Eddie, need you to move,” you whimper, watching his face twist into a sick grin in the mirror.

“So desperate for me, sweetheart,” he coos, but ultimately gives in to your request.

He doesn’t start slow, either. He pulls all the way out of you before ramming himself back in, a wet squelching sound filling the room. He keeps his thrusts at a steady pace, gripping your hips so hard you’re sure the skin will be purple and blue tomorrow. You watch the whole scene in the mirror, taking note of the way your tits bounce with his thrusts, the way he’s biting his lip in concentration. You reach one hand down to your clit and start rubbing quick circles on the sensitive bud. Eddie catches this in your reflection.

“Such a good fucking girl, touch yourself for me sweet thing,” his voice is low and thick, full of lust, and it makes your stomach flip.

He continues pounding into you from behind, a fistful of your hair in one hand, a fistful of your ass in the other. You can’t tear your eyes from the mirror, suddenly wondering why the fuck you ever thought you weren’t gonna go home with this man tonight. His balls slap-slap-slap against your skin, the noise mingling with the wet sounds from your sopping heat. Your orgasm is creeping up on you quickly, and you increase your pace on your clit, your eyes rolling back in your head. Meanwhile Eddie’s groaning behind you, so blissed out on your pussy, loving the way you squeeze around his cock. He talks you through the whole thing, degrading you in between praises, ‘Feel s’fucking good, sweetheart’ ‘Like to watch me ruin you, huh? Such a fucking whore for me’ ‘Wanna fuck you forever, baby, shit’.

“E-Eddie,” you choke out, his thick cock unrelenting in its assault on your pussy. “Don’t f-fucking stop… gonna cum,”

You’re practically sobbing beneath him, his grip on your hair and his moans filling your ears and his cock stuffing you so, so full are all sensations that become near overwhelming in the most enticing way possible. Before you can even process it, you’re clenching around his length, orgasm washing heavily over you. Eddie’s pulling on your hair roughly, keeping your head upright, ensuring that you’re watching yourself come undone.

“That’s it, baby, soak my cock,” he coos, easing you through your high.

He loosens his grip on your hair as you start to come down, your arms giving out beneath you as you slump slightly into his mattress. He holds you up with one hand under your belly, though, picking up his pace once again. You might as well be screaming beneath him and you’re positive the whole damn trailer park is getting a show, but you don’t have it in you to give a shit. He feels so good inside you and your body is practically vibrating with pleasure.

Eddie’s thrusts start to get sloppier and his breathing grows heavier than before.

“Need to cum in this pussy baby, gonna let me cum in your tight little cunt?” he’s bent over you, growling in your ear, making you tremble.

“Yes- god, Eddie! Want to be full of your cum,” you squeak back, your voice almost knocked out of you.

A few more sloppy thrusts and Eddie’s spilling inside of you, coating your walls with him. You’re really appreciating the mirror in front of you as you watch his face while he pumps you full of his cum, his head thrown back, messy curls falling around his shoulders.

He finally pulls out of you, and you completely deflate onto his mattress, body spent. You can feel his release leaking out of you, sticky and warm between your thighs. Eddie collapses beside you and immediately pulls you into him, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

“You okay, sweet thing?” he murmurs, rubbing your back gently with one hand.

“Mhm, you’re insanely good, what kind of spell did you put on me? I wasn’t even gonna speak to you at the bar and now I’m hooked,” you look up at him, giggling.

“I would never tell my secrets, sweetheart,” he teases. “I think you just liked me from the moment you saw me on stage,” he pokes your nose with his index finger, making you laugh.

“Yeah, okay, fine. Maybe.”

“Wanna stay the night? I can think of a few good ways I could wake you up tomorrow morning..” Eddie’s smirking at you, but his eyes are so kind, almost pleading for you to stay with him.

You think maybe, just maybe, this guy’s worth taking a chance on for the long haul.

A half hour later and the two of you are cleaned up, wrapped up in each other under the blankets on Eddie’s bed, him snoring softly with his head resting on yours. Your last thought before falling asleep, is that you should really thank your date for not showing up tonight.

[simp4wom3n]

The Quiet One Pt III

Pairing: Tara Carpenter x fem!reader

Summary: After moving to New York with Tara to escape their past, y/n finds themselves desperate to keep her girlfriend safe, especially when a new killer is on the loose. ~ Word Count: 7.526k ~ Warnings: Scream VI spoilers, graphic descriptions of blood and gore, swearing (I think that's everything)

A/N: Hi!!! part 3 is finally here!! i'm sorry it took so long I have actually been so fkn busy its a lil painful I won't lie. This one also took a while to write so hopefully you guys like it - and yes there will be a pt 4 coming soon. &lt;3

Pt1 ~ Pt2 ~ Pt3 ~ Pt4 ~ Pt5

A packed frat party with dizzying lights and deafening music wasn't the typical place you chose to reflect, yet here you were, sitting on an old couch, drink in hand, dressed in a pirate costume with your fellow crewmate nowhere to be found.

Moving to New York was easily one of the better decisions you had ever made. Escaping the small town of Woodsboro that provided you with nothing but nightmares felt like a breath of fresh air. As a matter of fact, the only thing you were glad that Woodsboro gave you was Tara.

You had been dating since your shared 3-day nightmare over 6 months ago, and your relationship grew stronger every day. That was at least until something shifted. Something in the way Tara looked at you had changed. The usual squeal of happiness at the sight of you was replaced with an almost irritated sigh. Your presence becoming more of a burden for the girl than a blessing.

Sure, you were overprotective. How couldn't you be? She was quite literally all that you had left. Sam, Mindy, Chad. They were all there, but none of them knew you like Tara did. None of them loved you like Tara did.

After the two of you were Richie and Amber's 'pin cushions', you ultimately decided you were sick of being the loner that everybody could take advantage of. The small, insignificant girl that everyone laughed at and made fun of. The weak punching bag that gets stabbed and shot on repeat.

Instead of relishing every opportunity to be alone, you now practically hate to be alone, the horror of the attacks leaving deep and permanent wounds. You rarely distanced yourself from Tara. When being with her was impossible, going to the gym with Chad was your next best option.

Although you didn't see the point at first, you quickly realised that the extra muscle would not only help you regain the strength you'd lost due to your extensive wounds, but it would also improve your ability to protect Tara, or more specifically, beat the shit out of anyone who tried to touch her.

Unfortunately, your overbearing need to protect Tara landed you in this position. Painfully reminded of what should be by Mindy and Anika's cuddling less than a few metres away from you, you blankly stare at the array of drunk teens in front of you, singing and swaying to the music whilst probably eyeing up their next hook-up.

"You alright there, y/n?" Anika's sweet voice breaks you out of your drunken haze, your sour mood and distant stare evidently not as concealed as you thought. "Yeah, fine... I'm getting another drink" You chug the rest of your drink, the poorly mixed liquid burning the back of your throat as your face scrunches at the taste, before you push yourself up off the couch, not particularly interested in a drunk heart-to-heart conversation.

Stumbling your way through the crowd, mumbling "excuse me"s and "sorry"s to every person you bump into, you make your way towards the kitchen to steal what was left of the cheap liquor.

Your muffled apologies were cut off when a strong shoulder barged into you, almost knocking you off your feet. Your drunken gaze quickly turns towards the inconsiderate asshole who ran into you, your face scrunched in annoyance until your eyes catch a glimpse of a familiar bandana.

"Tara?" Her clearly intoxicated eyes met yours briefly as she was dragged through the crowds, her arm being pulled by a dude you presumed to be an egotistical frat boy. Every ounce of alcohol left your system as you sobered up instantly, your feet quickly following their trail despite having to shove past a few unhappy partygoers.

"Tara!" you exclaim as you catch up to them on the stairs, where Tara walks in front of the jackass, willingly leading herself into an inevitable death trap. Her head turns to face you, a look of disappointment on her face that you try to brush off. "She's good down here." You sarcastically smile at the boy, grabbing Taras's arm as you gently try to pull her back down the stairs.

"Come on, let's go" "No, y/n... It's fine, I want to" "Wha-" "See y/n... she wants to" The douchebag smirks as he firmly grabs ahold of Tara's other arm, forcibly dragging her up the stairs as she loses her footing. Her grunts of pain cause every last bit of your patience to evaporate as you run up the stairs after her.

"Get your fucking hands off her!" you yell violently, yanking him down the steps by the shirt. His back collides with the wall, forcing him to stumble before regaining his footing and charging towards you. "Get the fuck off of me!" he yells, but you hold your ground. "You want to go motherfucker? Ok." Tara's protests from behind you go unheard as you uppercut him hard in the chin, his head jerking backwards as he falls to the ground in agony, blood spilling from his lips.

"Touch her again, and I'll send you to the hospital next time", You threaten him, your eyes catching a glimpse of Sam appearing out of the crowd, a slight smirk on her lips at the scene in front of her - she loved the new you.

"Y/n?!" Your focus is stolen from your moment of victory as you turn around and are met with a furious Tara. "Are you fucking kidding me?!" She scoffed in disbelief, shaking her head before she carelessly pushed past you, her shoulder bumping into you.

"Dammit"

"Tara! Will you stop?" you called after her as she continued walking quickly away from you, the rest of the group following behind you. Was the punch a little overboard? Maybe, but at the end of the day, that dude had it coming.

"I cannot believe you did that.", she yelled at you, her tone laced with irritation. "That guy was a dick. He was going to take advantage of you!" "So?!". Your jaw dropped as she finally faced you, her face purely showing frustration. No sarcasm, no guilt, nothing. You couldn't believe what you had just heard. The thought of Tara consciously allowing herself to be dragged away by some guy that would undoubtedly take advantage of her, or worse, infuriated you.

"So?! What the fuck do you mean so?!" "Maybe I didn't care because at least I would finally get away from you!... I mean, look, y/n... you're looking out for me, I get that, I appreciate that, but you never leave me alone unless it is physically fucking impossible for you to be there... you have to let me go." Her harsh tone softened the more she spoke, perhaps realising the words that were falling from her mouth as she stared into your tear-ridden eyes.

"Let you go?" you grinned wryly as tears streamed down your cheeks. "How do you expect me to do that, Tara? I love you... You are literally all that I have left. You are all that I care about. I-I moved to fucking New York because of you, like... I-I can't."

Despite Tara's gaze softening at your cries, your heart cracked as you realised that you were hanging onto her by a thread. Uncontrollable sobs began to escape you as your hand attempted to keep them in. A mixture of embarrassment and guilt washed over you as you turned on your heels and ran off towards the apartment you, unfortunately, shared with the gorgeous girl you were running away from.

In times like these, you resented the fact that you shared a bedroom with Tara.

Before you ran away, you thought you saw a flash of guilt in Tara's eyes, a thought which helped somewhat soothe your racing thoughts as you verged on the edge of a breakdown.

She was right. She always was. You never left her alone, that was true, but you couldn't let her go. You just couldn't. It had been months since Dewey was brutally taken from you, and you still have nightmares about it. She knew that. She was the one who used to comfort you when you would wake up in a cold sweat, the pictures of Dewey lying dead on the floor fresh in your mind.

You used to think you had no love to give, but now it seemed you had too much.

The rest of the group had returned to the apartment shortly after you barged down the door with tears streaming down your face. You had taken cover in Sam's room, knowing that Tara would similarly seek the comfort of your shared bedroom once she got home.

When you heard the front door slam shut and the shuffling of footsteps outside the closed bedroom door, you shot to your feet as you checked over yourself in Sam's mirror, hoping to wipe away the remnants of your recent meltdown, the weight of Tara's words still pulling on you.

With one last deep breath, you turned the door handle slowly and softly, a slight creak escaping its worn hinges. When you poked your head around the corner, you noticed your bedroom light was on, and the door was wide open, which you took as a sign of Tara's presence.

Slowly padding softly across the wooden floor into the living room, you spot Mindy sitting on the couch as Chad and Sam move around the kitchen. Mindy's kind eyes land on your dishevelled figure as you sluggishly approach her, falling back into the sofa next to her with a distant look on your face.

"You alright there, matey?". Your brows furrowed slightly at Mindy's odd choice of wording before realising you were still in your pirate costume. You chuckled slightly as you wiped at your eyes, your head nodding subtly as you gave the girl a small smile.

You sat silently for a moment, the sound of cupboards opening and closing echoing from the kitchen as Chad appeared to be searching for something. "Go talk to her.". Your eyes shifted back to the girl sitting next to you, a knowing look on her face as she smiled at you gently. You glanced toward your bedroom, watching Quinn exit the room before Chad entered, closing the door behind him.

Your jaw clenched slightly as your gaze returned to Mindy, a hesitant look on your face. "I don't think that's a good idea." You spoke softly, knowing she was upset because you wouldn't leave her alone, so there was no point. "Oh, come on, you know you want to. Just go. Go, go, go." Mindy shooed you off the couch and towards your room, your eyes landing on the door as if you were about to enter your worst nightmare.

Your hesitancy to enter caused Quinn to beat you to it, opening the door suddenly, mumbling something about her phone. You stood back, waiting for her to leave so you could try and talk to Tara. Or at least that was your plan until you heard Quinrn say something that made your heart sink.

"Did I cockblock you?"

The rest of the conversation from the room didn't help as your eyes were welled with tears. What the fuck was Chad doing with Tara in your bedroom for Quinn to say that. You harshly bit your lip in an attempt to calm yourself, an attempt which failed miserably as Chad exited the room and saw you, his face immediately stricken with guilt.

"Fuck this"

Before he could put together some fake apology, you were already turning around and bolting towards the front door. Grabbing your jumper and keys from the nearby hooks, you slid your shoes on as you shakily undid the many locks keeping you trapped inside this godforsaken apartment.

Ignoring the worried look from Mindy, when you finally got the door open, you practically jumped out of the apartment and slammed the door behind you.

Sobs wracked your body as you ran down the decrepit stairs and out the door onto the dark street. You knew it was prime time for a Ghostface attack, but at this point, you were happy to be the live bait.

Dragging your heavy feet up the winding stairs, your energy has completely depleted after your last hour of wandering through New York's streets. You didn't even have the power to think coherently, your mind completely blank as you scaled the stairs towards your apartment.

After aimlessly staring at your feet as you trek towards your door, you only pick your head up once you reach the top of the staircase. The front door was wide open. An unfamiliar figure stood in the doorway watching the TV whilst what appeared to be your entire friend group watched with them.

Sniffling and wiping away the tear tracks from your cheeks as you stalked towards your door, you entered slowly and rounded the male figure, a person you now recognised as 'the hot guy next door'. You looked at him queryingly before your eyes scanned the rest of the room, everyone looking glaringly concerned.

When your gaze finally lands on the TV, your heart sinks as you read the headline. Another ghostface attack. "What the fuck is going on?" your voice causes everyone's heads to turn towards you, some of them unaware of your presence until now. Your posture shrunk even further as everyone glared at you - some were soft, whilst others were deadly.

"Where were you?" Tara asked, a mixture of anger and concern laced in her tone. You hesitated. You didn't feel like voicing to the whole room how you had walked around aimlessly whilst sobbing and attracting weird and worried stares from random people.

"Just on a walk. Needed some fresh air." Your voice was quiet as you spoke, your eyes never leaving Tara's. She noticed how red and puffy yours were, how tears had stained your cheeks despite your blatant attempt at hiding it.

"Impeccable timing", you heard Chad mutter quietly, probably thinking you wouldn't hear it. Your gaze shifted to him as you looked at him insulted. The fact that he was even insinuating that you could have had something to do with it made your blood boil.

"Pack a bag. We leave in ten." "Sam, wait, Sam!". Sam walked quickly into the kitchen, Tara hot on her tail. You were too focused on the idea that now, because of your sulking, everyone in this room no longer trusts you. Tara might not trust you.

With a blank stare, you drag yourself further into the living room before collapsing on the couch Tara had previously occupied. You instantly brought your knees to your chest and buried your head in them, tears beginning to resurface as it appeared the world hated you more than ever.

Surrounded by Tara's perfume, you tried and failed to wrap your head around the returning nightmare that was brewing. Not only were you losing your grip on your beloved girlfriend, but you were now likely about to face up against another psycho who wanted nothing more than to see your and your friends' bodies dead in the ground.

As Tara and Sam's argument migrated back into the living room whilst Quinn phoned her dad, the sound of Sam's phone ringing echoing through the room caused you to flinch, your body beginning to involuntarily shake.

When she hung up on the caller, you breathed a sigh of relief. Unfortunately, your relief was short-lived, as you noticed Sam's face drop after she talked to Quinn's dad. She hung up the phone with a sorrowful yet determined look on her face, "I have to go to the station", she spoke as she moved to leave the apartment.

Before anyone could stop her, she was out the door, yet your eyes shifted towards Tara's sporadic movements as she searched for her jacket. "I'm going with her", she finally spoke after noticing everyone's questioning eyes.

As she reached the apartment door, she looked over her shoulder at you expectantly, almost anticipating that you would follow her. On any other day, you would, but at that moment, you selfishly decided that you were too hurt to follow after her.

After all, she didn't want your protection. Right?

You missed the look of disappointment on her face as you averted your eyes from her, instead choosing to focus on the TV. Clenching her jaw and nodding subtly, Tara turned back around and ran down the stairs after her sister.

You soon realised that letting her go was one of the worst decisions you had made to date.

They had been attacked. Of course, they had been attacked. The one time you let your emotions get the better of you, Tara almost ended up dead.

You knew the world hated you.

When you had gotten the call from Quinn's dad about the attack, you had never run so fast. You sprinted straight down to the station, desperate to see your girlfriend and make sure she was ok, even if she didn't want to see you.

When detective Bailey finally released them, you sat anxiously in an old and uncomfortable chair at the entrance to the station, your leg bouncing vigorously as your teeth dug into your bottom lip.

The sound of approaching footsteps caused your head to whip upwards, your eyes landing on Tara and Sam, visible injuries nowhere to be found on either of them.

You got to your feet quickly, standing impossibly straight as the girls finally reached you. You took a second to scan Tara, double and even triple checking that she was ok. That she wasn't hurt.

You wouldn't forgive yourself if she was.

Releasing a shaky sigh of relief, you softly nodded, whispering, "I'm glad you're ok", before turning on your heels and heading towards the door. Tara's face scrunched slightly at your behaviour, unsure why your usually confident and over-the-top personality was so... dull?

She kept her gaze on you as she followed you out the door, only to be surrounded by a bunch of reporters. Microphones and cameras were shoved in your face, and questions were hurled left and right.

You had to fight the urge to put your arm around Tara's shoulders, your head and heart at war as you still failed to comprehend how Tara felt. Whether she still loved you or not. Whether she would welcome your touch or not. You had no idea.

With the end of the sea of paparazzi finally in sight, you were seconds away from escaping until a familiar voice filled your ears.

"Gale Weathers. Channel 4."

The three of you simultaneously spun around with shock and disgust on your faces. "Do you ladies think you're the reason the Ghostface killer has come to the big apple?". You scoffed at her words, earning a raised brow from the woman.

Sam humourlessly chuckled in disbelief before you watched her swing a punch at Gale. The crowd of press gasped as Gale somehow dodged the hit altogether, a smug smirk making its way onto her face. "Nice try, sweetie, but I've done this dance before."

Your want to wipe that smug smile off her face was satisfyingly fulfilled as Tara punched her straight in the face, knocking her back as another gasp filled the air. You couldn't help but smile as Gale turned around, her mouth agape while holding her cheek.

"Stay away from us.". Regardless of your current problems, you had never felt more in love with Tara as she walked away without another glance in Gale's direction. The smile still lingered on your lips as you moved to follow the girls away from the cameras. To your dissatisfaction, Gale followed.

Listening to Gale try to justify herself for writing about what happened in Woodsboro all those months ago just made you more infuriated. 'Those fuckers can die in anonymity' is what she had said.

Yet look at her now.

When Sam mentioned what Dewey would think, you immediately tensed up, your gaze dropping to your feet as you sucked in a breath. Knowing that any mention of Dewey's name triggered you, Tara's gaze momentarily lingered on you before she returned to the conversation.

You zoned out of the rest of said conversation, only picking your head back up when Sam and Tara started to walk away. You watched as they headed towards a taxi while you began to walk back to the apartment.

"Y/n? Where are you going?" Tara's soft voice caused you to turn back, her eyes questioning you as her brows frowned slightly. "I-I was just gonna walk home... you kn-" "Get in." Tara interjected, earning a surprised look from you. "I-" "Y/n, get in the damn taxi." "Ok."

Just like before, she still had complete control over you. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn't say no to her. You watched as the two sisters entered the taxi before you rounded the car and followed on the other side. With the three of you in the back seat and Tara in the dreaded middle seat, avoiding physical contact with Tara was impossible as your shoulders and thighs brushed against each other.

Nothing but the faint hum of the radio filled the backseat as the vehicle drove away from the station. This distance, or lack of it, between you and Tara, was both comfortable and unsettling. You hadn't taken your eyes away from her hand, conveniently situated on her thigh, barely inches from yours.

The need to grasp her hand grew too strong for you to resist, so you gently brushed her pinky finger with yours before proceeding to intertwine your fingers. You mentally sighed at the softness of her delicate hand as soon as it was within your grasp.

Holy shit, you had missed her touch.

With the back of her hand facing upwards, your fingers gently moving against her knuckles, you studied her scar, which had served as a daily reminder of what the two of you had gone through together.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there... I should've -" "It's ok." Your eyes finally met hers as she gave you a warm smile, reassuringly squeezing your hand. "But what if you got hurt?" "I didn't... that's all that matters." Your eyes had begun to water slightly, the guilt of letting her go resurfacing as you looked her dead in the eyes. She gently leaned in and kissed your cheek sweetly before allowing you to rest your head on her shoulder.

Maybe everything was going to be alright after all.

"Ok nerds, listen up."

Mindy's monologue. A staple of the so-called 'franchise' you were tied up in. The whole friend group gathered on the grounds of your college, preparing to hear the numerous rules that undoubtedly come with the new title of this fucked up nightmare you were all living.

"Rule one! Everything is bigger than last time."

Great. Already off to a fantastic start. As Mindy began to explain what that meant, you grew increasingly concerned, not for your own safety, but for Tara's.

"Rule two! Whatever happened last time, expect the opposite."

Even better. Now, It apparently made no difference whether you had gone through this once before or not. To be honest, the idea of a serial killer following the conventions of a movie was still absurd and utterly terrifying to you, knowing full well what kind of fucked up shit happens in horror movies.

"And Rule three, no one is safe."

If your heart wasn't already racing, it was now hammering out of your chest as the gravity of the situation became clear. Tara shifted next to you at Mindy's comments, evidently similarly disturbed by the new rules.

But what frightened you the most was what Mindy said next. "Any of us could go at any time... especially Sam and Tara.". You had never felt so sick. You could feel beads of sweat dripping down the back of your neck as you nervously turned towards your girlfriend, fear overtaking your features.

Her eyes met yours briefly with a matching look of concern as Mindy started listing out the suspects. You had to admit Mindy was really good at this whole monologue thing, naming all the apparent suspects and their motives with ease.

That was until she looked in your direction.

"And finally, y/n.". You looked at her with wide eyes before your head rapidly scanned everyone else to see if you were the only one who didn't expect this. "The jealous girlfriend of the Tara Carpenter... who is also now, apparently, jacked.". You shook your head in denial. There was no way this was happening.

"Mindy, w-what? How come I'm a suspect? I mean, I was there for Woodsboro like you guys were... w-why?" you said, gesturing to the so-called 'core four' completely confused. A sense of betrayal was beginning to rise within you as Mindy continued to look at you with an almost sympathetic smile.

"Never trust the love interest," she said, shrugging her shoulders. "And besides, you have literally nothing to lose." Your mouth fell open. You inhaled sharply to keep your tears at bay, the comment being a ridiculously low blow from someone who typically looked out for you. "No parents, no Dewey. Even before the Woodsboro attack, you had no friends."

"Mindy!?" you heard Tara protest from next to you, clearly upset by her words. You sat in silence for a moment, processing what Mindy had said, and as much as you hated to admit it, she was right.

"No... she's right," you spoke sadly as you nodded your head, "But that's also why it wouldn't be me. I love Tara. I couldn't do anything to hurt her... ever.". You could feel Tara's eyes on you as you stared at Mindy, practically begging her to believe you, not that it mattered, seeing you weren't the killer.

But as far as everyone else was concerned, it very well could be you.

You were still slightly shaken from the group conversation a few hours ago, the realisation that you had nothing to lose playing on your mind as you sat on the couch with Anika. The 'core four' were too busy laughing whilst preparing dinner in the kitchen, whilst you spoke drearily with Anika.

"Have you guys talked about it?" Anika spoke, referring to your fight with Tara the other night. She did her best to comfort and guide you through your suffocating thoughts, your heavy bags under your eyes speaking volumes after another sleepless night. "Not really, no." "Why not?" "I don't know... We haven't really had the time, but I'm also just scared to bring it up."

Despite your new tough(er) exterior, you were still just as soft on the inside as you were before your meek existence got flipped on its head. "Well, I know for a fact that she loves you, and you love her. Your Y/n and Tara, you'll power through." Anika speaks softly, a playful smile playing on her lips as your head bobs gently, letting her words soak in.

"Yeah, well. I sure hope so." You finally move your gaze away from the girl sitting across from you, your tired eyes now landing on the TV screen as the news plays. Just as you begin to relax and enjoy the rest of your night, a new headline flashes across the bottom of the screen, erasing any traces of joy from your face.

'Sam Carpenter Named as Prime Suspect'

"Um, guys?" you shouted from your seat, loud enough to reach the others in the kitchen, whilst leaning forward to grab the remote. Turning the volume up as you hear footsteps enter the room behind you, your face scrunched in confusion as a video of Sam plays whilst the reporter's words make her out to be a psycho.

You risk a glance behind you. Sam's expression was completely blank as the light from the TV flickered on her face. You felt bad for her. You truly did. You struggle to grasp the fact that your friends didn't entirely trust you, and here she was with the entirety of New York being told she was the killer.

You were so preoccupied with the idea that the news dared to make this a story that you didn't notice Tara's eyes shifting to you. Her gaze has been drawn to your worn face. Your ordinarily bright eyes were heavy and unfocused as you stared in bewilderment at the television. She felt terrible about what she said to you a few nights before, and her heart only broke when she discovered how much damage her words had caused.

When Sam hastily turned the TV off and left the room, Tara's eyes left your figure briefly as she watched her sister move to sit solemnly at the dining table. She sighed defeatedly, the effects of Ghostface on the two of you shining brighter than they ever had before. Tara spared you one last worried glance before she followed her sister out of the room.

Chad and Mindy ultimately followed the girls, leaving you and Anika in stunned silence. The air in the room became unusually silent, the old pleasant chat between the two of you suffocated by the apartment's new tension and terror.

You sunk deeper into the couch as you pulled your legs up to your chest, the thick air ultimately releasing slightly as the sound of laughter flowed through the living room from the dining area. Tara's laughter rang in your ears, a sound you had so desperately missed.

You thought you felt her stare on you earlier, but you were too terrified to face it, your conversation with Anika still fresh in your memory. You leant your head against your knees and slowly closed your eyes, the general sound of genuine joy filling your ears as your breathing slowed and your body relaxed for the first time in ages.

You take a moment, revelling in your newfound tranquillity, to think on the emotional rollercoaster you had been sentenced to ride. Tara's love for you had never been questioned, and it wasn't her you didn't trust the night you stormed out. You knew she'd never cheat on you (or so you hoped), but you were unable to avoid what was staring you in the face.

Both at the party and in the comfort of your own home, someone you trusted and some random frat boy had come disturbingly close to finally severing the thread on which you dangled from the end of. You were holding on to Tara with your life, completely and totally unwilling to let go.

You heard the laughter slowly die before a harmony of notifications dinged throughout the apartment. You felt your phone vibrate in your pocket as you and Anika exchanged a confused glance. Hesitantly pulling your phone out of your pocket, you blinked in numbed horror as a photo of Quinn being attacked by Ghostface opened on your screen.

With the previously unheard sound of groans and bangs filling the apartment, you and Anika bolt up from the couch as the others run into the room, eyes focused on Quinn's door. Tara runs towards the door, but you instinctively grab her arm and pull her back towards you.

The feeling of her skin on yours makes your heart skip a rapid beat. You attempted to hide how her touch had affected you as you stepped in front of her, happily offering yourself up to essentially be her meat shield.

Despite your scars burning at the thought, you would much rather be the one to get stabbed if it meant Tara would be ok.

The noises of a struggle ceased as you all stood frozen, your eyes locked on the bedroom door. The silence was deafening. Your dry lips parted in silent terror, unsure whether to breathe or to scream. A single drop of sweat slowly crept its way down your forehead, the suspense reaching an all-time high.

"Run."

You recoiled in horror as the door burst open, Quinn's mangled and bloodied body being thrown out. Anika let out a piercing scream as the body collided with her, taking her to the ground with it. You try to ignore the gruesome sight in front of you as you focus on helping Anika up off the floor.

"Y/n!" Your head whipped around at the sound of Tara's distressed scream. "Wait, Y/n! Come on!" You watched in horror as Chad dragged her out the front door, leaving the rest of you to try and fight off the killer that was standing in front of you.

"Shit. Tara!" When you had Anika back on her feet, you instantly tried to follow your girlfriend. If Chad were to have learnt anything from what you had gone through, you would think it would be to not split up. That is the number one rule in legitimately every horror movie.

"Rookie."

You made the fatal mistake of assuming they were foolish enough to allow another person to escape while scrambling towards the door in a rush to avoid the killer's gaze. The others in the room watched in horror as the masked assailant slashed their knife upward, slicing directly through your left eye.

A grotesque scream erupted from your chest as you fell back onto the floor. The left side of your face felt like it erupted in flames, a powerful throbbing, making it impossible for you to think as the world spun around you. With your good eye, you watched as a steady stream of blood poured out of your gaping wound, which spanned from your jaw and through your eyebrow.

The left side of your face was paralysed with pain unlike any you had felt before. You tried to apply pressure to it with your shaky hands, but the moment your cold fingers touched your split flesh, another broken scream escaped your lips as a wave of nausea washed over you.

Mindy and Anika's screams flew straight over your head as you kneeled on the floor, the taste of blood flooding your senses as the pool of blood underneath you grew wider by the second. You didn't notice Sam's arms hauling you up off the floor until her face came into your now-restricted field of vision.

"S-Sam," you sobbed, her eyes widening and her face turning pale as she saw your profusely bleeding wound. She didn't say anything as she carried your broken form into Quinn's blood-splattered room with Mindy and Anika. She let you go the moment you walked into the room, closing and locking the door behind her to keep Ghostface from following you.

The banging on the door shook the entire room as you worked hard to slow your breathing. As you stood up, the adrenaline in your system began to kick in, and the banging at the door ceased as Sam's troubled gaze met yours.

"Y/n! Bathroom door! Hurry!" Sam whispered desperately towards you as she maintained her iron grip on the bedroom door handle. Turning your head too hastily towards the door, your vision blurred from blood loss and genuine blood falling into your eye as you lurched towards it as swiftly as you could.

As you passed through the bathroom, your hands left bloody handprints on the walls, your journey delayed by the disgustingly disfigured body of one of Quinn's many lovers - you could never tell the difference. With tears dripping from one eye and blood from the other, you returned your focus to the open doorway.

As your eyes left the mangled body, the sight of the infamous Ghostface mask made you jump as yet another scream left your lips. Your reflexes were quick as you reached for the door, trying to close it before the killer got in, but in your weakened state, they easily pushed the door back open, knocking you back as you stumbled into Sam.

They took another swing at you, thankfully missing as Sam pulled you away before you lost another eye. The two of you quickly retreated into the bedroom before you successfully slammed the door shut. Mindy joined you in trying to keep the door shut by fiddling with the lock while Ghostface proceeded to kick it down.

The room shook violently as you and Sam pushed a dresser towards the door, hoping it would serve as a better barricade. Finally getting it in front of the door, you and Mindy stood firm as you continued to resist Ghostface's merciless attempts to tear the door down.

You could feel your adrenaline beginning to wear off as the paralysing pain returned to your face. Peering down, you noticed how your blood had stained a large amount of your skin a dark crimson colour. 'That's a lot of blood.'.

Scrunching your face in pain only caused another wave to hit you as you whimpered. "What are we gonna do, f-fuck." You whispered to yourself brokenly, closing your eye as you tried to ignore the fact you were being violently shaken by someone who wanted nothing more than to kill all of you.

With your only good eye shut, you failed to notice as Sam opened the window and pulled a ladder across from her boyfriend's apartment until she yelled, "You guys go first!". Your eye snapped open at her words as you took in what was happening.

You stayed silent as Mindy argued with Sam, eventually leading to Sam crossing the ladder first whilst you continued holding your makeshift barricade. Once Sam had crossed, Mindy looked towards you. "Go, Mindy.", you spoke assertively. She tried to argue with you, but you were having none of it. "Mindy, go! I've got the door. Just get across the fucking ladder!".

Despite your vision being impaired by your own warm blood, you watched with a ghost of a smile as Mindy and Anika exchanged a sweet kiss before Mindy climbed out the window. You suppose that was one positive about everything that was happening. As far as you knew, Tara was safe, and that was all you needed.

The banging at the door grew louder as Mindy cautiously climbed the ladder. Your frail body was being pushed around by the shaky door as you yelled furiously, "Mindy! "Please hurry!" When she finally made it to the other side, you groaned and turned your attention to Anika, who was bleeding out on the end of the bed.

"Anika, go.". Her wet eyes shot up to yours, looking at you as if you were insane. "Go, Anika. Please.". A few extra tears slipped from her eyes at your words, your complacency at being left alone to die hitting her harder than she expected. You gave her one final nod before she started climbing out the window.

Your grip on the door was slipping with each passing second, the constant banging and rattling eventually leading your feet to slip on the pool of blood that had accumulated beneath you - whose blood? Nobody knows. As you plummeted to the floor, the door shattered behind you, your gaze immediately moving to Anika, who was still less than halfway across the ladder.

"Shit. Shit. Shit." you mumbled desperately as you watched Ghostface finally stalk through the doorway with you in his sight. That was at least until he heard Anika's whimpers from outside the window, causing their masked face to follow her cries. Their head tilted menacingly as their path changed, no longer walking towards you but stalking up behind Anika.

You could hear her panicked cries from your place on the floor, and despite your natural relief that you weren't the chosen target, there was no way in hell you were letting them touch Anika.

You scramble to your feet as Ghostface stabs their knife into the window sill, grabbing the back of their robe and pulling them away from the window with every ounce of strength. As you swing your arm at them, missing their head and instead hitting the headboard, they stumble back into the bed with a grunt.

You didn't quite calculate how you would fight them, seeing you were basically blind, but that probably would have been a good idea.

"Dammit," you mutter worriedly as you trip backwards, your bruised knuckles doing no good as Ghostface stands back up and elbows you directly in your fresh, gaping wound. A hoarse scream escapes your throat as you collapse onto the ground in agony.

Your agonising screams could be heard across the ladder, forcing those on the other side to panic even more. When they saw Ghostface reappearing at the window, their shouts and pleading grew louder as they tried to urge Anika to come across.

Waves of pain shot through your entire body as you curled up on the floor, sobbing hysterically as you couldn't move no matter how hard you tried, absolutely paralysed by the pain.

As you tried to lift yourself off the floor, the sound of Anika's screams resonated in your ears, combined with the violent shaking of the ladder. At this stage, you were crying violently, knowing that if you didn't hurry up and get your shit together, Anika would be their next victim.

All because you couldn't handle the pain.

You leapt off the ground in a final fit of rage, lunging at Ghostface to throw them off-balance until they eventually backed away from the ladder.

It wasn't until now that you noticed the lack of Anika's screams.

Your face paled as you briefly looked out the window. Your blurry vision was met with a glaringly empty ladder and a completely distraught Mindy. Your lips began to quiver as your eyes met Mindy's, the tears that fell down her cheeks telling you everything you needed to know.

Your heartbreak quickly turned into pure rage at yourself and Ghostface.

Your breathing grew thin and ragged as you turned back to the tall black figure, your body shaking with rage. You could almost feel their arrogance from where you stood, evidently relishing seeing you distressed.

They ripped their knife from the window sill before tossing it playfully in their hand. You, on the other hand, remained unfazed, solely concerned with the idea that this mother fucker was going to suffer for what he had just done. You rapidly ducked as their knife swung towards your head before smashing your fist into their masked jaw, their shrouded form staggering backwards at the impact.

"You. Fucking. Asshole." You spoke as you continued to throw punches at them, your rage fuelling every last bit of energy you had left. Ghostface appeared to be taken aback by your sudden outburst, at a complete loss as to what to do with their knife remaining useless in their hand as they try to protect themselves from your furious blows.

With one final punch to the face, their body crashed into the wall behind them, as they fell unconscious. With tears falling consistently down your face, you gave the killer one last look as you stood up and backed away towards the window (you never trusted them to actually be unconscious). The others began yelling your name in relief and desperation when they saw you, assuming you were dead after single-handedly defeating the madman.

Their calls broke you out of your rage-filled trance as you sucked in a large breath before looking across the ladder towards them. The pain was beginning to resurface as you felt your knees start to buckle underneath you.

"Y/n! let's go, come on!" Sam called out to you, desperation laced in her voice. You climbed out the window with one last glance at the body before you. As Anika's body came into view, you felt yourself holding back a gag. The sight of her body, combined with your weakened state, almost made you pass out and share a similar fate.

Your gentle whimpers accompanied you as you carefully climbed the shaking ladder, Sam and Mindy's beautiful voices promising you that everything would be OK - you had no option but to trust them. As blood flows from your agonising wound onto the ladder's rungs, you crawl with as much focus as possible.

Closing in on Sam's boyfriend's window, the girls both reach their arms out to you as they grab onto you and pull you into the apartment. The three of you collapse to the ground in a heap, clutching each other tightly as if one of you might slip away if the others let go.

"Tara and Chad are on their way", you heard Sam's boyfriend say as you continued to sob into her shoulder, her hands carefully avoiding your face. You remained in that position as you felt your body begin to go numb as your blood and adrenaline continued seeping from your body.

Feeling your body go weak, Sam pulls your head back gently as she goes to help you lie down. Mindy and Sam gently place you on the floor, lying on your back, your bloodied and distraught face facing the empty ceiling.

"Holy shit, y/n!"

Your girlfriend's distraught voice did not affect you as your single eye started drifting shut slowly. As blackness starts to encroach, you catch a final glimpse of Tara as she appears next to you, her face stricken with worry as her hands hover near your disfigured face.

"Y/n!?"

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