Latest Posts by shewantsvengeance - Page 2

it's cool, we're just friends? - cl16

pairing: college!charles leclerc x fem!reader (friends with benefits!) summary: in which you and a guy in your class are friends with benefits OR you and your friends with benefits might be more? warnings: smut under the cut! thigh-riding, throat-fucking, p in v sex!, no condoms (bad!), badly translated french (pls correct me), angst, pining, NOT PROOFREAD!!!! word count: 4.8k! author's note: so i ALMOST scrapped this entire thing because i wasn't sure how i felt about it so if it sucks, i understand LOL. i had a lot of fun writing this and can see myself writing a lot of scenarios for them like before there was this many feelings involved? like maybe a spring break one shot for them, when they hooked up for first time ;) PLEASE let me hear your thoughts and any comments you have. I love hearing from you guys xoxo

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THE WEIGHT OF his eyes bore into the back of your skull, a palpable presence as you immerse yourself in the lecture before you. It’s almost become a ritual at this point: a magnetic pull compels you to glance his way, and there he is, a smirk stretching wide across his face, as if he holds the upper hand.

In that fleeting moment where your eyes meet his verdant gaze, a fierce intensity ignites within you. It’s as if a wildfire unleashes, consuming you with an unbridled mix of desire and exasperation. Your stomach tightens with a fervent ache, betraying the absolute irritation you feel at his ability to rile you up with one look.

Internally, Charles wrestles with the urge to gaze at you as though you’ve strung the stars and moon just for him. Yet, outwardly, he remains steadfast, unwilling to reveal his vulnerability when it comes to you. Instead, he masks his emotions behind a practiced smirk—a façade. And the blushing reaction you give him almost every time, only enthuses him more.

“Arrête!” You half-shout, though it emerges more as a whispered urgency amidst the large lecture hall.

Charles leans in over his desk, his lips hovering dangerously close to the shell of your ear, a proximity that sets your heart racing with a rapid intensity.

“Est-ce que je te verra ice soir?” Will I see you tonight?

You kept your head straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge the warmth of him being so close, resisting the allure of his voice. 

“Peut-être.” Maybe.

At the front of the lecture hall, Professor Bernard stands tall, his expression grave as he prepares his common ‘you guys are smarter than this’ speech about the recent exam grades. He highlights the alarming fact that more than half of the class received a 70% or lower. And true to his reputation as the kindest professor, he extends an olive branch by offering retakes to those who seek improvement before dismissing the lecture.

You gather your belongings, ready to make your exit, when suddenly, a heavy arm wraps around your shoulder just as you cross the threshold of the door.

You? Aced it. Charles? Not so aced it.

Which you knew meant you were helping him study as usual.

-

You watch as Charles runs his fingers through his disheveled locks, each movement betraying a hint of frustration and determination. His lips form a subtle pout as he fixates on the study material you laid out before him, his furrowed brows highlighting the depth of his concentration.

“Mon chou, je ne pensais pas que tu m’avais invite pour ça.” I didn’t think you invited me over for this.

With a gleam in his eyes, he wiggles his eyebrows playfully as he collapses on the many pillows of your bed behind him. The papers scattered across the bed threaten to take flight, but your swift reflexes saved them from soaring away into chaos.

You narrow your eyes in mock annoyance, but the small smile tugging at the corners of your lips betrays your amusement at the situation.

“Tu dois étudier.” You need to study.

Charles stares at the corners of your lips, his eyes not straying once from them even as you spoke. 

“Embrasse-moi d’abord.” Kiss me first. He nearly begs; his face almost completely covered by the hood of his sweatshirt as he laid on his back beside your cross-legged figure.

“Étudie.” Study. Your words were firm, yet you could feel your resolve slipping under the intensity of his gaze, as it traces a path from your lips to your eyes, igniting a warmth that stirred whenever he was near.

His arm reaches up behind your neck in a swift motion, too quick for you to even see it coming. His fingers grabbing the nape of your neck in a tight grip as he brings your face down to his, your body toppling over his in an unnatural position from his force. His lips collide with yours instantly, and the squeal you elicit gives him easy access to slip his tongue into your mouth. 

He groans softly against your mouth, something about how sweet your mouth tastes. The moan that escapes your lips and melded into his mouth drove him absolutely crazy. The grip on the back of your neck didn’t loosen as he held you to him, giving you no opportunity to pull away from him.

Your tank top cladded chest was pressed against the side of his body, embracing you in his warmth. You press a hand to his chest, attempting to push yourself up, but he groans against your lips in detest before loosening his grip on your neck. 

“Est-ce vraiment necessaire.” Do we have to? He begins to pepper kisses all around your face, his fingers dipping under the straps of your tank top, tracing intricate patterns of the soft skin beneath.

You slip your hand under the warmth of his hoodie, his toned muscles flexing under your cold fingertips as you trail your hand up his chest and slip one leg over him, straddling his thigh. His skin was so warm. Almost like a furnace.

He sucks in a breath, as if your touch hurt him, but really, he craved it. He wanted you everywhere. The tight leggings that adorned your body did little to prevent Charles from feeling the heat and arousal of your pussy against his thigh. A smirk widened on his lips almost instantly. He knew he had you right where he wanted you.

He could sense your contemplative thoughts by one glance at your eyes. As if you knew he needed to study, but you needed this more.

 You could barely concentrate the minute Charles sprawled onto your bed earlier, his legs spread and shorts riding up to expose the muscles of his thighs. It was even harder to think with the way his soft green eyes look up at you, and the way his fingers felt on you.

His hand trails from beneath the strap of your tank top, your hardened nipples more than visible through the thin fabric of it, to the front of your breasts.

“No bra?” His thumb rolled a nipple between his thumb and forefinger above the fabric of your shirt. “Planning on getting fucked, hm?” 

Your hips rut against his thigh almost instantly in response to his words. The feeling of his thigh against your clit, causing a soft moan to slip. It was then, that Charles seemed to lose all restraint as his hand grasped the side of your neck and squeezed lightly, his thumb resting in the center of your neck. He flexed his thigh, his eyes gleaming at the sight of your blown out pupils.

“Regarde-toi,” Look at you. He edged you on. “Just wanna ride m’thigh, yeah?” 

Your hips move in their own rhythm, unable to stop. It just feels too good. You nodded repeatedly as you lean over, pressing your chest to his, as he claims your lips once again. His hot, tongue sliding against yours as the stubble of his facial hair scratches your chin.

You struggle, losing the rhythm of your hips until Charles slid his hands down to your waist, guiding your movements. “C’mon mon chou, tu dois travailler pour ça.” You have to work for it.

“We should study.” You mention, the pace of your hips not stopping. As if your body has a mind of its own.

“Nous sommes.” We are. He argues, his fingertips squeezing into the skin of your hips even more. “Now, keep rubbing that pretty little pussy on me.”

-

“Oh, what about her?” You point to the pretty brunette that was currently leaned against the wall, a red solo cup in her manicured hand, as she was deep in conversation with a few other girls that you haven’t seen before.

Charles sighs heavily, rolling his eyes just slightly. “Why are you pawning me off?” He cracks a smile, his elbows gently hitting your side.

You let out a small laugh before bringing your own cup to your lips. The liquid of your drink resting on the top of your lip as you finished a sip and turned to look at Charles. “M’not!” You shrug your shoulders. “Elle est jolie and keeps looking at you thinkin’ no one’s noticed.” She’s pretty.

He wouldn’t know about the ‘pretty brunette’ you claimed was there. He didn’t know about any other girl that was here. His eyes haven’t left your figure the entire night. Since you stepped in the entrance of the house he was by your side, it was like his body knew you arrived.

“Peu importe ça, m’gonna go dance.” Whatever. You stick your tongue out at him, earning a deep laugh, and saunter off to find one of your friends already on the makeshift dance floor in the living room of the house. 

Charles leans casually against the wall, his eyes tracing the contours of your radiant smile from afar. Despite himself, a soft grin tugs at the corners of his lips as he takes in the sight of you.

“Are you sure you’re not together?” One of his friends, Alex, teases, leaning in close to Charles and handing him a red solo cup, its contents mostly frothy beer foam from an evidently lazy pour. “I was thinking of asking her out.”

Charles’s gaze drift from the frothy mess in his cup to Alex’s expectant face, a furrow forming on his brow. It wasn’t the foam that troubled him, rather, it was Alex’s words that unsettled him. How was he supposed to respond? We aren’t together but I think I’m in love with her?

Charles clenches his jaw, fighting back the urge to speak his truth, as the words “have at it” slip past his lips with a forced nonchalance. With a hollow smile, he raises the cup to his lips, swallowing the acrid liquid with a newfound eagerness that masked the bitter taste of envy and longing festering in his chest. As Alex made his way towards you, Charles couldn’t help but feel a pang of anguish, knowing that he was relinquishing his chance to confess his feelings, drowning them instead in the depths of a cheap beer.

-

“Mmm, tu es tellement douée.” You’re so good.

You weren’t quite sure how you ended up in this scenario. All you remember is being dragged away from a game of beer-pong with Alex, his fingers gripping your wrist so tightly it could’ve left marks, and shoving you onto your knees as soon as he shut the bathroom door. 

Dwelling on the how’s and why’s seemed inconsequential now. Especially with his cock buried deep down your throat like it is right now, and especially with the praises that slip past his lips.

Charles lulls his head back with a loud groan as he flexes his hips into your mouth, giving you little to no opportunity to breathe. No opportunity to speak. But you didn’t care. You would do anything to please him.

“Tellement putain de jolie, mon dieu.” So fucking pretty, my God.

“Bet you’re soaked under that dress, hm?” His grip on your hair tightens. “Got you all wet without even touching you.” His laugh is deep and mocking. You feel your thighs clench, like it was an automatic response. “Only I get you like this, yeah?”

You press your face forward, not even needing his force as you take full enjoyment in the feeling of him in your mouth.

“So eager, mon chou.”

You moan at the feeling of his smooth cock against the walls of your throat. The vibrations of your moan, immediately sending him over the edge. His white, hot cum spills down your throat, filling you up, before he pulls out. A long string of saliva follows, your eyes completely teary. 

He lifts you from your knees, the cool tile of the bathroom floor no longer your support, his thumb gently resting on your chin as he studies you for a mere second. Taking in the streaky tears under your eyes and your swollen lips. He could already feel the blood rushing back to his cock.

“Bet you’re leaking all over yourself, yeah?” You catch the smirk that pulls onto his lips before his lips crash down onto yours. His teeth nibbling on your bottom lip for a brief second before he’s pulling away, pushing you up onto the bathroom sink counter as he stands in between your spread legs. “All achy?” He cocked his head to the side a little, like he knew something you didn’t.

It was so fast, you weren’t even able to ask questions before he leaned forward, his fingers slipping into the lace of your underwear, pushing them aside, and pressing his hot tongue to your soaked core.

You swore you’ve never moaned so loud in your life as you just did in this moment.  At the feeling of the kitten licks on your clit, at the feeling of him shoving two fingers into you, finding that spot he knew you loved most almost instantly.

Your fingers franticly reached into his tousled locks, pulling his hair probably harder than necessary, but he didn’t mind. In fact, he moaned right into your pussy. Like he couldn’t ever get enough of you. Like he would stay licking you for forever if he could.

“Mon dieu,” My god. You squeal as your head lulls back against the cool mirror behind you and bite your lip trying to conceal the moans.

You look down at Charles, his eyes already staring at you, his green eyes completely darkened now. It makes your stomach do a multitude of flips. Your attempt to squeeze your legs shut from the pressure building in your stomach, but Charles grips his fingers into the soft flesh of your thigh, holding them open.

A series of knocks are heard on the bathroom door which sends you into a total panic to which Charles yells “Va te faire foutre!” Fuck off!

 Your body squirms against Charles’ mouth and the granite of the countertop, but he holds you in place as if to say you’re not going anywhere until you soak my mouth.

He ate you out like a possessed man. Your chest is flushed red as the speed of his tongue picks up, sending you into overdrive. It wasn’t until he sucks harshly on your clit, the pressure of it, has you leaping over the edge into your orgasm. You came hard enough that your body arched, your fingers clenching his hair, pulling hard.

Charles doesn’t come up right away, he licks and licks until you’re pushing him off you. Both of your chests rose and fell in rhythm with each heavy breath, the lingering echoes of the lively party beyond the door gradually seeping back into your consciousness. It felt as though you had just descended from a faraway realm, returning to the bustling reality surrounding you.

His lips glistened, coated in you, as he stares at you completely fucked out on the bathroom counter. An unmistakable smugness in his expression.

His heart clenches as he drinks in the sight of you, so many emotions swirling in his chest. As you stretch your lips into that smile he loves so much, he feels a swell of warmth flood his senses, a tender ache stirring in the depths of his soul.

“Qu’est-ce qui te prend?” What’s gotten into you?

Not that you were complaining at what just happened. If anything, you wouldn’t mind if he wanted a repeat right now.

He nonchalantly shrugged his shoulders, one hand leisurely slipping into his pocket, while the other moved to grasp the door handle. With a patient stance, he awaited your readiness before even considering opening the door. “J’avais juste besoin de toi,” Just needed you. He whispers, his voice carrying a tender resonance, emphasizing the depth of longing.

And then he’s swinging the door open, guiding you both back to the party.

-

“Je pense que nous devrions arrêter.” I think we should stop.

The words felt heavy in your throat as you said them, your hand clasped in Charles’ hand as you sat across from one another in the campus coffee shop.

Charles chuckled softly, taking a leisurely sip of his drink, but when be caught the seriousness in your expression, his laughter faded. His eyebrows knitted together, a pang of pain igniting in his chest and spreading like wildfire.

You watched as he leaned his head back against the booth, his gaze fixed on the ceiling as if unable to meet your eyes.

“Que veux-tu dire?” What do you mean? He met your eyes again, and you noticed a subtle shift in their hue—they were slightly darker than their usual shade of green.

“Je ne pense pas que ç ava marcher.” I don’t think this is going to work out. As you uttered the words, a queasy sensation churned in your stomach, making you feel like you were going to be sick. Similarly, Charles felt a wave of nausea wash over him upon hearing your words, his own stomach in knots.

Just looking at him had your eyes burning, but you refused to let the tears fall. Despite the overwhelming love you felt for this man, you couldn’t ignore the reality that it was unlikely to progress beyond the messy situation you found yourselves in. What were you supposed to do? Be friends that fuck for the rest of your lives?

You couldn’t do that. You wouldn’t do that. It wasn’t a spur of the moment decision. No, you’ve been thinking about this for so long, but cutting it off was just too hard. Cutting him off was too hard.

As you watched him slowly retract his fingers from yours, his hand moving to pinch the bridge of his nose while he blinked, a fiery ache within your chest grew.

“We’re friends, always, right?” You asked, offering him a soft smile, though inside, your heart felt like it was about to burst from your chest. You reminded yourself that this was necessary. You needed to go on dates. Not that he was exactly holding you back. It just felt wrong to go on dates while sleeping with another.

“Right,” he responded, his expression devoid of a smile. “Friends.” He nodded slowly, as if carefully considering the weight of the situation before him.

“Est-ce que je peux demander ce qui a déclencé cela?” Can I ask what brought this up? His fingers tapped restlessly along the edge of the table, betraying his impatience as he awaited your answer.

Meanwhile, you sat twiddling your thumbs in your lap, occasionally stealing glances at them. Why did this conversation feel so unbearably difficult?

“Quoi?” What?

“Est-ce que j’ai fait quelque chose?” Did I do something?

You shook your head instantly, a small blush forming on your cheeks. “I just,” You began, but felt flustered as you took a pause to look back down at your fingers and then him again. His eyes made you feel hot all over, the way they never strayed from your face whenever you spoke to him, the way they dropped to your lips every so often as if he couldn’t stop thinking about kissing you. He couldn’t.

“I just think I need to go on dates.” You nervously smiled.

“You think?” He scoffed, throwing one arm over the top of the booth, and resting it there as he fell into a relaxed position. His eye twitched slightly, as he flexed his hand and clenched it like he was holding himself back.

You’re not sure how to respond. You had anticipated this conversation to be brief, perhaps along the lines of “I think we should end this,” followed by his immediate agreement. But apparently, that wasn’t the case. You could feel yourself growing flustered the longer you sat here. Why couldn’t he just simply agree, no questions asked.

You nodded, with slight hesitance. Did you really want to end it with him? No.

He shrugged his shoulders, pulling a little smirk on his face as he usually did. “Très bien.” Fine.

And that was that.

-

Charles decided that he had it up to here when you strolled into the house party, lips shiny with gloss, and you hand held in none other than Alex’s. It was as if you were trying to torture him. Like you knew that he loved you and you just wanted to hurt him a little more.

He’s watching, you can feel his eyes burn into you as you turn your head, pretending to listen to Alex as he rambles on about some story. You don’t let yourself glance over to Charles until later in the night, when he’s leaned up against the kitchen counter, a half-empty beer bottle gripped in his hand, eyes already on you.

You felt your stomach do a multitude of flips from the eye-contact, that you even almost pulled your hand from Alex’s. Like you were caught doing something wrong.

You quickly realized that you had little to no self-control, especially when it came to Charles. With his hair pushed back and the linen shirt half-unbuttoned, allowing the toned and taut muscles of his stomach to peek through, it almost seemed as though he wanted to make it even harder for you to resist. Like he wanted to punish you for not choosing him.

He had you right where he wanted you, sort of.

“Shh,” Charles nips at your earlobe, eliciting a mewl from you as he presses you against the mattress of his bed. “You want everyone to hear what a whore you are, hm?”

Another string of moans leaves your lips as he thrusts into you, the pads of his fingers gripping the front of your neck tightly. His eyes fixed on yours, the pace of his hips was slow, but so deep. 

“Tell me,” Charles began, his tongue trailing along your collarbones and up your neck until his mouth hovered over yours. “Still wanna play stupid games with me, jolie fille?” Pretty girl.

You whined as his hips picked up in pace. “Ouvrir.” Open. You did so without a second thought, only to be met with a string of saliva meeting your tongue. Charles groaned as you swallowed his spit, eagerly.

“Still wanna pretend we’re just friends?” He could feel your walls trembling as her hand snaked its way to the back of his neck, pulling his lips down to meet hers. It was a tangle of tongues and moans.

“Does he fuck you as good as me?” You couldn’t handle the way he was talking to you, staring at you, touching you. “Gripping me like you’re gonna come.”

You shook your head repeatedly. 

“That’s it,” His voice was gentle in your ear. “So good, mon chou.” 

Your breaths were jagged and heavy as he took you harder and harder. “Rub your pretty little clit for me, yeah?” 

Your body was shaking as you trailed your fingers down, fingers playing with your clit. Charles rested on his knees, his eyes staring at his cock being swallowed by your pussy, and the way your fingers toyed with your sensitive clit. He groaned at the sight of his cock coated in you. 

It wasn’t long before you careening forward with a cry, your body arching off the bed, as you came around his cock. Charles fell forward over you, an arm on each side of your head, as he cocooned you. His hips didn’t let up as you sobbed out, your toes curling.

Charles could feel his resolve slipping at the feeling of your soaked walls clenching him. He threw his head into the crevice of your neck, the rhythm of his hips faltering as you wrapped your legs around his waist, allowing him to thrust even deeper than before. He rolled his hips, pumping into you with such a fervent rush. 

“Mon dieu,” His groans were soft in your ear. “You feel so good.”

It wasn’t until you moaned in his ear, begging for him to come in you, that he lost all control. A deep moan, pressing his hips down against yours as he held you down, pumping his cum deep into you.

For a few moments, it was silent. Just the sound of your heavy breaths as Charles collapsed to the side of you. You both felt oddly at peace, even with the thumping of the house party music heard from the other side of his bedroom door.

Charles stood up, grabbing a towel from his bathroom, before bringing it to you to help clean you up. Something primal filled his chest as he stared at you sprawled on his bed, his cum dripping out of you. 

It was the last swipe of the towel when he finally spoke.

“We’re not friends.” He stated. He was sick of teetering around the topic. He was sick of seeing you with other guys at his house.

You opened your mouth to retort, but he held his hand up, essentially silencing you. 

“Stop pretending you want any other guy’s cock.” He stood before you as you sat up on the edge of the bed still naked, hands clenched at his sides in a fist. You began to stand up, your face turning red with anger, not because of his words but because he was right.

You grabbed your dress that was in a pile on the floor, slipping it on in a hurry. “Je dois partir.” I need to go. You began, “Alex me cherche probablement.” Alex is probably looking for me.

It was then that Charles raised his voice, if it weren’t for the loud music, you could’ve sworn the entire house would’ve heard.

“J’en ai tellement marre de ça!” I’m so sick of this! He runs his fingers through his hair, pacing the room back and forth. You felt your words caught in your throat as you stood still, your eyes following his every movement until he stood before you, his hands gripping your waist.. “Je t’aime!” I love you! He laughs after he says it, like he’s so pathetically in love with you and you have no care in the world for it.

“I cannot handle seeing you with another man.” He rambles off. “I cannot handle seeing you showing up here, to my home, holding another man’s hand.” He seethes, bringing his thumb and pointer finger to pinch the bridge of his nose as he breathes in, attempting to calm himself down.

“I know you love me.” His fingers grab your hand, pulling it up to his chest and holding it where his heart beats. Tears welled up in your eyes as you gazed at him, his eyes reflecting a wild intensity, his hair disheveled hair adding to his untamed allure. Sensing your vulnerability, he gently cupped your face with his other hand, offering you a tender touch. You leaned into his comforting embrace, as if seeking solace in his presence. With a silent nod, you pressed your head against his hand, a single tear escaping down your cheek, bearing witness to the depth of your emotions.

“I’m so sick of seeing people with what is mine.” He urged. “You can’t be someone else’s, not when you are already mine.”

“Charlie,” You drew in a deep breath, locking eyes with him, drowning in the depths of his green gaze. Every fiber of your being resonated with love for this man, an unshakeable devotion that consumed your soul.

“S’il te plait.” Please. His voice was a whispered hush as he begged. “Put me out of my misery.” 

He opened his mouth to continue, but you didn’t let him. You stood on the tips of your toes, leaning forward to press your chest against his as you pressed your lips to him. His arms immediately wrapping around your waist as you slipped your tongue into his mouth. He groaned at the taste of you in his mouth again, his cock already hardening for you.

You pulled off him, “Really?” He let a small laugh escape his lips as he pulled your mouth back onto his for a small peck.

“I’m a man in love.” He grins, like he has nothing to be ashamed about.

“Je t’aime.” I love you.

Charles tenderly pressed his lips to the side of your neck, his tongue tracing delicate patterns along the velvety skin, sending shivers down your spine. “Répète-le.” Say it again. He whispers, his voice husky with desire. As his lips continue down their intoxicating dance on your neck, his fingers trail the straps of your dress, gradually easing them down your shoulders with a tantalizing touch.

“Je t’aime.” I love you. He placed a small nip to your neck, eliciting a small squeal, as he lifted you up and carried you back to his bed.

“M’so in love with you,” He presses a kiss to your lips. “Don’t think I’ll ever stop.”

why are there almost no fics about theo james or any of his characters omg I AM DYING for this man and I cannot find anything about him x reader?????? lord have mercy

piano lessons - cl16

Pairing: charles leclerc x femstudent!reader Summary: in which the tension between you and your music teacher finally breaks Warnings: smut, oral (f-receiving), 18+, not proofread, bad French! Word Count: 1474 Author's Note: idk I really just felt the need to write this. please correct my french if you can

EVER SINCE YOU were a little girl and your parents placed you into piano lessons, you knew you were destined to play and write music. It became your sanctuary, a place to escape from the demands of reality and a medium through which you could mold reality into art. Now, it propels you into a university music course, where your path intertwines with that of one of the most attractive professors you’ve ever encountered. Scratch that, one of the most attractive men you’ve ever encountered.

You weren’t oblivious to his stares. The way his green eyes sometimes lingered on you much too long as he spoke in front of the class. Today, for instance, his gaze seemed fixated on the end of your short skirt, where your fingers fumbled with the fabric. He tended to single you out frequently, using you as a shining example to illustrate correct procedures for everyone. His praise for your efforts seemed never-ending. It would send you leaving the class all blushed and flustered constantly.

You weren’t completely innocent either though, and it didn’t help that he was so fucking hot. His hair perpetually tousled from running his hands through it, and the veins in his fingers pronounced whenever he played the piano. You found yourself often fixating on his hands, imagining what they might feel like on your body. It was a tantalizing thought, wondering if he could play you as skillfully as he played the piano.

His hands were artwork in themselves.

At times, you sensed the mutual attraction, a subtle dance of connection that left you questioning whether it was real or a product of your imagination. Doubts lingered until today, when Adam, the person seated beside you, relentlessly pressed to take you out. His persistent advances bothering not just you, but apparently your professor as well.

“Adam, Je te suggère de te concentrer sur ton devoir.” I suggest you focus on your assignment. Towards the end of class, it appeared that your teacher had reached a point of exasperation. “Elle ne te veur pas.” She doesn’t want you. “Arrête de perturber tout le monde.” Stop disrupting everyone. You could sense the annoyance in his tone and the way his body tensed when Adam first asked you out.

What he really meant was:

You don’t deserve her

You couldn’t give her an ounce of what she really needs

Stop pissing me off

The class responded with snickers, accompanied by a round of “Oooo burn” echoing throughout the room. You felt your cheeks turn red of embarrassment for yourself but more so for Adam.

“C’est assez aujourd’hui!” That’s enough for today! He dismissed the class. “Profitez bien du week-end!” Enjoy the weekend!

While the other students hurriedly exited the classroom, you hesitated, lingering behind. Restlessly tapping your foot, you watched as your music teacher casually leaned against the desk. His arms, robust and defined, stretched the seams of his t-shirt sleeves as he folded them across his chest, fixing you with a curious gaze.

“Est-ce que je peux vous aider?” Can I help you? His lips tugged up into a sheepish smile. 

You felt yourself fidget with the bottom of your skirt as your eyes met with his. “Oui, besoin d’aide avec ma chanson Mr. Leclerc,” Yes, I need help with my song. “Je n’arrive pas à trouver la fin correcte.” I can’t get the ending right.

It wasn’t a complete lie. You genuinely needed help with your ongoing composition. Each conclusion you attempted just didn’t carry the sense of completeness you were aiming for. But you also just wanted to be around him more. 

“Joue pour moi.” Play for me. As he extended his arm, gesturing towards the piano, you couldn’t resist the pull, finding yourself moving towards the piano and taking a seat. His attentive eyes tracking your every movement stirred a nervous excitement within you, simultaneously igniting a passionate fire. The shared moment at the piano became more than help; it became a dance of anticipation and unspoken connection.

He found himself utterly captivated by you – the way your bottom lip caught between your teeth in intense focus, the moments when you lost yourself to the music. The cascade of your hair falling behind you revealed the delicate curve of your neck. He wanted to ravish you. 

As you were engrossed in playing your song, you felt him slowly edging closer until he was standing directly behind you. The sensation of his front against your back sent goosebumps racing across your exposed skin. The contact led to one of your fingers slipping, hitting an incorrect key.

You couldn’t see, but a smirk played on his lips as he noticed the small mistake. It was subtle and almost imperceptible. Yet, the knowledge that he, someone aware of your exceptional talent on the piano, induced even a minor slip, fueled his ego. 

You were aware he had heard the mistake, but he didn’t interrupt you. Consequently, you carried on playing, immersed in the fragrance of his cologne, losing yourself in the music until you struck the very last note. The moment your fingers left the keys, you slid off the piano bench and directed your gaze towards him. You leaned against the side of the piano, your elbow propped up on it. 

“Tu es magnifique,” You’re magnificent. The words alone caused a visceral reaction in your stomach, a tightening with need. You couldn’t pinpoint when or how he had gotten so close to you again, but in that moment, you didn’t care. 

In that moment, you forgot that you even needed help with the song. All you could do is stare at his eyes, noticing how they would occasionally drop to glance at your lips.

“Oh merde, embrasse-moi, s’il te plait,” Oh shit, please kiss me. You whispered it so softly, it was barely audible. You didn’t care if you put yourself out on a limb. The constant back and forth had worn you out; it felt like an endless game of cat and mouse.

You could barely finish your sentence as his lips crashed down on yours and his tongue slipped inside of your mouth. He was gentle, but also demanding with it. Your fingers graze his hair, something you have always wanted to do, pulling him closer as his hands find a place on your hips, lifting you onto the piano.

The fingers of his right-hand sneak under the hem of your skirt, his fingers fumbling with the same spot of the skirt yours did moments ago. 

“Puis-je?” Can I? You eagerly nodded, allowing him to push your skirt up and pull your underwear to the side. He paused for a moment, just staring at your heated center. His eyes darkening in hunger at the sight of you. 

“Merde,” Shit.  He groaned. Literally groaned at the sight of your bare pussy on display for him. You were already wet before he placed the pad of his thumb directly onto your clit, rubbing tiny circles before he brought his lips to you.

“Je rêve de ça constamment,” I dream about this constantly. He moaned into your pussy, the vibration and confession pushing a needy cry from your mouth.

He wrapped his lips around your clit, immediately moaning at the taste of you. You let out a sharp cry as your back arched in response to the suction on your clit. One hand held your body up-right while the other fisted his hair in a tight grip. 

He lifted his head for a mere second just to look at you, locking his eyes with you as he pushed two fingers into your heated center. His eyes were dark, and his lips were so glossy, coated with you. You almost came at the sight of him right there.

You were moaning so loud as he curled his fingers, rubbing the spot you ached the most just right. “Tu es tellement putain de belle,” You’re so fucking pretty. He moaned before bringing his lips down you your center and pressing kitten licks to your clit. His fingers still pumping in and out of you rapidly.

It was too much. His fingers, the kitten licks, and the pressure of his nose on you was becoming overwhelming.

“Please don’t stop sir,” you moaned repeatedly. Your legs wrapped tightly over his shoulder, suffocating him into your pussy.  “Ça fait tellement du bien.” Feels so good.

You came unexpectedly with a loud cry, your thighs squeezed tightly against his head as he didn’t let up on the assault of your pussy. He took every drop of your orgasm like it was his source of oxygen. 

Your body fell limp on top of the piano as Charles placed gentle kisses to the inside of your thighs. 

“Puis-je le refaire?” Can I do it again? “Tu as un gout délicieux.” You taste so good.

Yes. Yes you can do it again.

lucifer - cl16

Pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader Summary: you purposely try to make Charles jealous at a party which ultimately leads to some dirty consequences Warnings: SMUT, bad writing, curse words, 18+, choking, slapping, spitting Word Count: 1,657 Author's Note: this was a request from an anon 'Charles jealous and possessive please' that I wanted to make halloween related. Feel free to send more requests!!! Also I apologize for how dirty this might be. I was in a moooood.

"You are so in for it tonight," your best friend spoke into your ear with a small laugh. "You look hot. Charles' palm will be twitching once he see's you."

It was funny. How irrational the both of you became when the mixture of alcohol and other people were involved. 

You and Charles were not a couple, and the mere thought of dating him was utterly inconceivable at most times. He exuded an air of insufferable arrogance that grated on your every nerve. His incessant self-assuredness and overconfidence were more than enough to drive you to the brink of frustration.

But, the sex. Oh boy, the sex. It was as if pushing each other’s buttons was your own secret form of foreplay.

Your outfit was minimal to say the least. An angel. The innocence of your appearance was almost complete, aside from the subtle hint of revealed skin that added a touch of allure. A tiny white dress graced your form, its delicate lace fabric clinging to your figure. Attached were a pair of feathered wings that extended from your back, imparting an air of ethereal elegance. Completing the ensemble, a fluffy white halo, nestled on your head by a dainty headband, bestowed an angelic aura to your attire.

It was an outfit that sent looks your way for sure. Looks that you didn’t care about. There was only one pair of eyes you truly wanted to capture. But you wouldn’t let it be known. There’s no fun in that, right?

Though the night was still relatively young, your friend’s apartment was already deemed a mess. Plastic red cups and glass bottles scattered across most surfaces. The ever-shifting multicolored lights transitioning from crimson to rich purples cast a unique and enchanting ambiance throughout the room. 

You felt your thighs press together as the mere memory of the rough fuck from a few weeks ago slips into your mind. It was a pestering memory that reminded you just how much his jealousy ate at him. You wanted it. You needed it. 

You could feel him before you saw him. The burning gaze of his eyes lingering on you as you leaned against a wall talking to another guy. A guy, whose name you don’t quite remember, was cute. His humor had you in stitches, keeping you fully engrossed in his presence. The music reverberating against the walls made it hard to hear, resulting in the need to stand closer to one another. From an outsider, his proximity appeared intimate. Almost too intimate for Charles to bare the sight of. 

You weren’t flirting at first. At least you weren’t until that memory popped into your head a few minutes ago. You were merely testing the waters, curious to gauge how long it would take for him to crack.

“Do you want another drink?” The guy, who might’ve been named Daniel, leaned in closer so you could hear him over the music. His lips nearly brushing against your ear as he raised his voice. 

That seemingly was the last straw. Because before you could even answer, you felt a presence slightly to the left behind you. There was no need to even turn your head; the identity was unmistakable. The firm grip of his hands on your waist, pulling your back to his front, left no doubt on who it was.

“I got it from here,” He was short with his words, so assertive. Leaving little to no room for Daniel, you think that’s his name, to argue. There was no space for Daniel, or whatever his name might be, to push back. You couldn’t see the expression Charles wore, but it must have been far from pleasant, judging by Daniel’s hasty retreat. 

You still hadn’t gotten the chance to look at him. Or his costume. He was already guiding you down the apartment hallway, weaving through the crowds of people, and pushed you into the nearest bathroom. You heard a quick sound of the lock on the door. Much like the rest of the apartment, the bathroom was decked out for the occasion. Instead of its typical white-yellow lighting, crimson hues filled the space, casting an eerie sensuous glow. 

“It seems I still have to remind you who you belong to,” his voice was a low sultry murmur as his lips grazed your ear, sending shivers down your spine. In front of the mirror by the sink, his towering figure dwarfed yours. Finally, your eyes locked with his in the reflection, the intensity of the moment palpable. 

The irony of his outfit threatened to draw an unintended moan from your lips. A devil – the symbolism was anything but planned, completely coincidental. It was as if some silent alarm was blaring, one that everyone else seemed to hear, except for the two of you who were right in the thick of it. The connection between you was undeniable, transcending mere physical attraction, and it was clear as day to all the observers. 

His hands were relentless, firmly gripping your ass and thighs until you were panting. His touch was so tantalizing that even the lightest brush of his fingers left you dripping and needy for more.

“I didn’t know you were here,” you lied through your teeth. Charles elicited a mockery of laughter, his lips brushing your skin, as he pressed you firmly against the cool granite countertop. Goosebumps arose on your skin from the contrasting temperatures. Your skin burned with an intense heat, in stark contrast of the cold granite countertops. 

“You were too busy acting like a fucking slut to notice.” He sneered as he lifted the ends of your dress above your waist, revealing that you had been bare underneath all along.

You smirked back at him through the mirror, “couldn’t have panty lines now, could I?” A sharp slap echoed off the walls of the tiny bathroom as his hand collided with the skin of your ass. You were soaked already. Full of anticipation. You both were so full of need; Charles couldn’t even wait to pull his pants all the way off. 

“Such a fucking tease,” were the last words he said before slamming his cock into your entrance. A yelp of surprise escaped your lips as a powerful and sudden thrust rocked through you, causing you to place your trembling hands on the countertop to steady yourself. 

“Oh my fucking god.”

“Fucking hell. You’re so fucking tight ma petite,” He sounded like he was in pain. “Squeezing my cock like the whore you are.” His hands gripped your hair as his hips snapped at a rapid pace into you.

“Who’s got you so hot and bothered tonight? Hm?” He starts. It seems as if you just can’t shut the fuck up tonight though. 

“Daniel.” You mutter the words with a smirk on your lips. Testing his patience, pushing the boundaries to see just how far you could go, a playful and daring challenge in the heat of the moment. 

He offered no words back. Just another hard slap to your skin. You shrieked from the burn of the slap, no doubt leaving your skin red. 

You gazed into the mirror, determined to etch this exact moment into your memory. One hand fisted your hair tightly as he pulled it back, the other groping your breast harshly. He continued to roll your nipples between his thumb and middle finger, pinching them just how you liked. The shadows of your feathered wings were visibly shaking with each thrust. It was so fucking hot to see.

“God, do you ever just shut the fuck up?” He muttered between each thrust. If it wasn’t for the loud music in the background, the whole apartment would’ve heard you. The room smelt of sweat as he worked into you harder. You could see his skin start to glisten under the red hues in the mirror. It was so erotic; you almost came right then and there.

"We all know its only my cock you want."

Charles was on the brink of insanity from the way you squeezed around him. Just relentlessly pounding into you that your hips will no doubt have bruises on them from the bathroom countertop.

With an intense, forceful pull on your hair, he tugged you upright, your back arching as your head tilted back, allowing you to gaze up at him, your eyes locking almost instantly.

“Please,” you begged. You were so close. Your pussy was growing sensitive with each thrust.

“Open,” He was so assertive. You surrendered. He spat directly into your mouth, and you swallowed without hesitation. His arm moved around, and his hand settled on the front of your neck, much like a piece of intimate jewelry. He applied just the right amount of pressure, sending you over the edge. 

“Look at you, hm?” Charles edged you on through your orgasm. “Such a fucking slut for my spit.” 

“Yes.” You couldn’t even deny it. You literally were. He pressed your face back down into the sink as he moved in quick pulses. It was as if each pump of his cock was claiming you.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

You swore you blacked out. You barely acknowledged the feeling of him pulling out and spilling himself all over your backside, rubbing the tip of himself around your skin. His strength held you in place, leaving you panting against the cool of the granite. 

He quickly cleaned you up, pressing a light kiss to your ass before pulling your dress back down. He gave two small pats to your butt as you stood up and faced him.

His thumbs slowly pressed under your eyes, wiping the dried tears and smudged mascara from under them away. 

“Beautiful,” he whispered lightly as you leaned the full weight of your head in the palms of his hands.

You felt a tug on your heart as your stomach did somersaults. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was supposed to be no strings. 

You were completely wiped out. Almost limp in his arms from being freshly fucked. 

“Wanna get out of here?” He zipped his pants back up while you tried to manage your hair back to a semi-decent look. 

“Yes.”

——————————

soooo what do you guys think? please feel free to leave requests!!! I love new ideas xoxo

Right Timing | Charles Leclerc

Notes: 11k words of Charles and y/n pinning for each other…your all (hopefully) going to love it xx

this is my first post in about 6 months and I'm so happy to be back! thank you all for the continuous love and support I fucking love this app. this fic hasn't been proof read but oh well, ignore some spelling mistakes, sorry. anyways... ENJOY!!!

Blurb: One where you have a huge crush on your best friend's brother, the one and only charles leclerc, since you were a teenager, with him continuously telling you he was too old for you and you had no chance. You eventually gave up hope and moved on. But did charles? (Best friends brother troop/ slight enemy’s to lovers troop/ Older boy and younger girl)

Warnings: lots of angst, crying, sad y/n and sad Charles. lots of arguments and slight nsfw? but not really. Small age gap.

11.1k words

Arthur leclerc, your best friend since nursery… Your favourite partner in crime, your favourite laugh on a bad day, your favourite person in the whole wide world. Best to be described as home, your comfort person. He was the voice within reason, all that was right in the world. 

He's your best friend.

Y/n y/l/n, she was truly and utterly his favourite thing about the world. He counts his lucky stars he has her to help him carry his weight. Y/n was the only person Arthur let visit him when his dad died, and in his books, that made her alright. Sure she would make him want to scream and cry and punch walls, especially with her choice in men. But Arthur was always there for her, when she needed to laugh or to cry he knew what it was she needed at any given moment, he could read her like she was his favourite book. 

She was his best friend. 

—

How it started:

A little girl with puffy red cheeks sat at the bottom of the nursery playground. Her legs crossed on the green summer time grass as she sniffled again, gently plucking a daisy for the ground before adding it to the daisy chain she was making. She liked to say she enjoyed her own presence, but truly she was distracting herself from the lack of company. With the other young girls teasing her for her wild curly hair, she willingly chose to be sat on the grass of the playground alone.

“Hey! Can you teach me how you did that? I wanna make one for my mum!”

And with no regard for her personal space he sat down next to her on the grass, squashing half of her daisy chain, but she didn't tell him that.

He didn't care that she was crying or that she had poofy hair or that she was even a girl, he was eager to learn her talents and carry on with his lunch break.

But when Arthur noticed the signs that the girl was rather shy and sad he thought he would stay with her for the rest of lunch, keep her company.

Little did she know this company wasn't going anywhere any time soon.

And at age five, the pair promised to be friends for life.

It didn't take long for them to get their mothers talking, and after that it was set in stone, playdate after playdate. Arthur's mum became your mum's hairdresser, so there were many nostalgic memories for the two in the salon, especially when y/n would accompany her mother to her appointments. The pair's best memory is y/n letting Arthur cut her hair in the storage cupboard of his mum's shop. The horror on both parents' faces when one of y/n's pig tails were held in the hand of the young boy.

Their friendship only bloomed from there…

After spending almost every weekend watching Arthur and his older brother race in karts in the rain, to spending most afternoons around the leclerc residence playing with Arthur on his xbox, the girl felt like family.

When she was young she always found herself drawn to the middle leclerc. He was away a lot of the time, karting. He was slightly older so no doubt he found the pair childish and would always moan when he was made to spend time with them.

Charles' mother was the first to figure out your little crush on the boy. She first noticed it when you joined the family on a winter skiing trip, you were around thirteen. It was your first time up in the mountains, so when your arms started to wave and you felt your body lean way too far back Charles did the only morally right thing, dropping the glove he was putting on and outstretching his body to catch you in time.

He didn't catch you in time. 

Instead his heroic act to save you turned into humiliation when he realised you had taken him down with you.

Pascal carefully watched as you turned around, her eyes glued to yours that were glued to her sons. She watched your tinted red cheeks as Charles scoffed and begged you to get off of him as his bare hands were now engulfed in the thick snow, causing him to suffer with a cold for the rest of the holiday.

Your eyes widened and sparked at the sight of him. You would gaze up at him like he hung the moon and the stars, an expression his mother would soon get used to as she watched you fall for her son over the next few years. 

Charles was older, and very uninterested. He didn't find your little crush as cute as everyone else did, the thought it made him look uncool. He would roll his eyes when you would grab his arm or duck when you would try to kiss his cheek. He hated when your families would go out for meals and you would sit next to him, or how you would call him after a race to congratulate him, no matter his result.

Charles always saw you as his little brother's best friend, nothing more and nothing less.

That was until your first boyfriend. A three year age gap wasn't that big of a deal as they all grew older. Charles found himself having mutual friends with his brother and would occasionally bump into Arthur and you at a party.

You were 16, you thought you had met the love of your life, an older boy, he was 18, around charles age who was now 19 and worming his way into f2. 

Arthur didn't approve of Joao. He knew you were trying to prove to charles that the age gap isn't that big of a deal after his brother had repetitively told you you were to young for him, but somewhere down the line you found yourself mesmerised by Joaos eyes and that was it for you, charles no longer rented the forefront of your mind.

Joao was great, at first. You knew he wasn't the love of your life, but for the moment he looked to play the role quite well, and you were happy. You just didn't expect it to end like it did, maybe age gaps do matter?

You were at some house party in the hills of monaco, some friend of Joaos. You were downstairs in the kitchen with Arthur as he watched you drink your body weight in alcohol. He could tell something was bothering you but he chose not to mention it. In all your years of friendship he knew you would come to him eventually. 

“Where is the lover boy anyway?” he spoke up.

Your lack of response is when Arthur clocked onto your boyfriend being the reason for your excessive drinking. Him ditching you, yet again.

You slammed down your empty red cup, wiping the dribble from your chin as you decided enough was enough and you looked for the presence of your boyfriend. 

Arthur bid you good luck on your travels as his attention was now turned to the girl he had been eyeing up across the room.

And with your liquid courage you stumbled around the party. The house was huge. Gigantic windows that draped around the whole house. Everywhere you looked was so picturesque, making you fall in love with Monaco more and more. From the kitchen window you could see the river of lights leading down to the beach front. From the other end you could see continuous hills leading up into the stary sky, tiny specs of light from homes probably just as big and fancy as the one you were currently standing in swarmed your vision, a far cry from the apartment you and your mother shared where your view was a brick wall to another apartment complex.

Your heels were rubbing the back of your ankles as your hands gripped the bottom of your dress pulling it down as it was miles too short as you made your way out to the garden.

And there he sat, on the steps leading to the lit up outdoor pool, your boyfriend. A skinny little blonde girl sat on his knee. She was older than you, clearly. She took the cigarette from his lips and placed it on her own as her other arm draped over his shoulder. It was like this week after week, it was like you were a ghost.

This isn't the young love you put out for, and you decided enough was enough.

You always forgave him, but tonight was different. This night changed everything.

Tears welled in your eyes as you turned back into the house, you were going home. Joao caught a glimpse of this as he jumped up and followed you back into the house, why he would always chase after you you still don't know.

“Y/n, baby stop.” you ignored the sound of his voice as you pushed through the crowds of people to get back to the kitchen in hopes that Arthur was still there. He wasn't.

You made it to the kitchen before he grabbed the back of your arm pushing you against the kitchen island. His hand came up to wipe away a fallen strand of hair as he tucked it behind your ear.

“Come on y/n i didn't even do anything-”

“She was on your lap.” your voice crooked, you so desperately didn't want to be the little girl everyone thought you was and cry, not in front of everyone anyway. 

“It's not that big of a deal-”

“It is that big of a deal! I'm humiliated!” you shouted back, creating a scene you so desperately wanted to avoid.

“I just- I just want to go home.” you said in between sniffles.

“Baby, don't cry, let's just go back to mine, okay? I'll call a taxi-”

“No, I want to go home, my home.” you begged, the tears were falling now.

His grip tightened around your arm as you tried to wriggle out of his grasp.

“I need to find Arthur, and I need to go home.” you said, pushing his arm as he still had you pinned against the counter.

“Oh come on y/n, drop the act you know you want to come back to mine.”

You threw your head back dodging his fingers that were trying to touch your hair again, avoiding his eyes.

“Joao let go, you're hurting me.”

That only made his grip tighten around your arms, pushing you against the counter even harder than before. As he leant down to your ear-

“She said let go mate.”

Your vision was too blurry to focus on what happened next, but you felt joao grip loosen as he stood back.

“Yeah and what are you gonna do about it, leclerc?”

That's when punches were thrown and Joao was hunched over holding his busted lip. Joao was grabbed by another person before he could lunge back at who you assumed was Arthur, but as you turned your head you saw a different leclerc shaking his hand. His knuckles were red, and his eyes were darker than the ones you were used to, charles.

“y/n get in the car.” he said, you stood up, sniffing and nodding your head. But then you remembered your missing friend.

“Arthur-”

“I'll get him. Get in the car.” his tone was strong, not what you were used to from the middle leclerc. 

You waited by his car in the cold for a few moments just before Charles came out the house, a stumbling tipsy Arthur under his arm. There was pink lip gloss smeared over his cheeks and lips, and at that moment you felt a small smile creep on your face. 

However, the car ride home was silent, you sat in the front with Charles, as Arthur passed out in the back seat. Faint french music played from the radio as charles eyes were firmly gripped on the road.

As you rounded the street to your home Charles finally spoke up, “You really know how to pick them.”

You sniffled again, unable to reply to him mainly because he was right and you were embarrassed. As the car came to a stop Charles undid his seat belt mumbling that he would walk you to your door.

He balanced on the back of his heels as he watched the moonlight highlight your tear stained cheeks. Charles thought you looked beautiful that night even though you had been crying for the last half an hour, your hair hadn't been brushed and you were rummaging through your purse like a mad woman, he still thought you were pretty. He would never tell you that though.

“Don't tell me you've lost-”

“Got them!” You giggled, shaking your keys in the air before whipping your nose for what felt like the fifth time that night. You stalled as you pushed the key in the door, turning to look Charles in his eye for the first time since the party.

“Thank you-” but he cut you off, not wanting to hear it. You were his brother's best friend, Arthur wouldn't forgive him if he ever watched you in a position like the one that night and didn't do anything.

“Dont.”

“No really, thank you, charles.” You smiled, Charles smiled too, mainly because it was probably the first time you had called him Charles and not charlie.

After a moment you dropped your bag on the floor and wrapped your arms around the boy's waist, your head rested on his chest as he hastily moved his hand and rubbed your back.

“Just make sure the next one isn't a total dick, okay?” he whispered, his chin placed on the top of your head.

He didn't know how much that sentence broke your little 16 year old heart.

You smiled and entered the house, Charles didn’t drive off that street before you waved at him out your window.

On the drive home we looked back at his younger brother, drooling on the back seat of his car. 

It was that night where he realised the both of you weren't all that different, but so far apart.

The first time Charles saw you after that night was a couple months later, a family day at the beach. You had turned seventeen in that time and joao was old news. But charles eyes were stuck on your body as he watched you sat in the sand on your own. Sipping from a bottle of beer that you most likely stole from his crate, your toes were dipped in the wet sand as you watched the sun set on your own.

Arthur had brought his new girlfriend with him and even though you were still as close as ever, Arthur's attention was stuck on the pretty blonde that was talking to his nan.

The rest of your families were distracted too, or so Charles thought. His mum watched him intently as he walked back to the car park, grabbing a spare jumper from his car before making way down the beach front to join you.

He spent so much of his life avoiding you, but after the night of the party he just wanted to make sure you were okay. 

He crouched down in the sand next to you, aware of how your eyes were on him. He placed the jumper on your legs,

“You're going to get a cold.”

You scoffed but complied. Putting the jumper over your head and pulling at the sleeves, it smelled like him.

“How are you?” you asked charles, he could feel your eyes staring into his side profile, but he stared at the sun setting over the monegasque sea.

“I'm okay.”

The boys lost their dad a little under a year ago now, you hadn't really seen Charles since. But he knew you hadn't left Arthur's side for them few months.

“How you holding up, really?” you nudged his shoulder with yours, he did his little signature smile before looking down at his lap. Avoiding the question.

“Thank you. For looking after Arthur I mean, he's lucky to have you.” 

“Charlie…”

He looked in your eyes this time, he looked so sad, so broken. So desperate for a hug. You didn't pressure him to answer your question, insted you gently placed your head on his shoulder looking along the coastline in silence.

Charles appreciated the silence and the way you didn't push him, moments like these he understood why Arthur loved you so much.

“It will be alright you know.” you hummed on his shoulder.

“I know.” Charles whispered back.

“Really, i can already see Charles leclerc, ferrari formula one driver. Your face will be all over Monaco, and we're all so proud. He'll be so proud.” 

Charles hated how much you believed him, because in that moment a nineteen year old boy with dreams bigger than the world itself everything felt impossible. 

“Don't forget about me when you're all big and famous, yeah?” you smiled up at him.

Charles looked down at you, his eyes were glossy but the smile on his lips was enough to melt your heart, he threw his head back in a laugh. 

“I dont think I'm ever getting rid of you.”

Now it was your turn to laugh, “at least your self aware charlie.”

After all the laughing he noticed how your eyes shifted from his own to his lips, and then he remembered why he was avoiding you in the first place.

“y/n..” he whispered, oh how he whispered your name in his little broken accent, your heart melted as he backed away.

“I know, I know.”

You smiled and placed your head back on his shoulders looking at the sun that was nearly gone.

“You know I'm too old for you, right?” Charles whispered as he leaned his head on yours that was resting on his arm.

“I'm in it for the long game leclerc.” Charles giggled as he let his cheek get comfy on your head, pushing his side into you as you fully watched the sun disappear over the sea.

On the night of your 18th birthday Arthur had taken you out to your first club, you drank, alot…

Charles happened to be at the same club, so when your drunk body collided with his you couldn't help but wrap your arm around his torso, clinging onto him.

He gently placed hand on the small of your back smiling as you leaned on him.

Charles was 20 now, soon to turn 21 and had just signed a contract with alfa romeo, he was officially in formula one. Even Though you were proud of him you missed having him around. 

You stood on your heels, leaning up to his ear as Charles met your movements and bent down to hear you better in the loud club and your heart fluttered at the small action of his ear hovering near your face.

“I'm eighteen now charlie.” he could hear the smile in your voice.

“I know, happy birthday mon amour.” kissing your forehead, this was the closest you had ever been to him before, and you craved more. He had never called you the nickname before, he was teasing you.

“I'm officially an adult nowwwww.” you longed out his ear before you hand palmed his cheek. You so desperately wanted to kiss him.

“Y/n.” His tone was serious as he caught onto your intentions.

“Y/nnn.” You teased him back, imitating his serious tone and rolling your eyes as you do so.

“I know you want to Charlie, come on…” you giggled at him, but you were drunk and a mess, so the arm around your waist was to stop you from falling flat on your arse not because he just wanted to touch you, you thought. You pushed his hand off you and stood up straight, Charles sighed as he placed his hand back on the small of your back, you looked up at him. The stupid little puppy dog eyes that he refused to listen to.

“I'm too old for you, love.” Charles' hand once again held you close as you started to lose your balance again, “and you're too drunk.”

“Drunk on love.” you exclaimed, Charles laughed, like really laughed and you couldn't help but admire the creases around his eyes. He moved your arm over his shoulder so he could hold you up.

“Let's find Arthur and get you home, okay?” but as Charles pulled away you pulled him back.

“I've waited eighteen years, Charlie, I'm sure I have the patience to wait a bit longer.”

Charles thought maybe you had forgotten that night, but you remembered the way his hand was filmy stuck to the small of your back most of the night, and how he lent down to hear you and how his stubble felt in the palm of your hand, and the butterflies only got worse. 

You were falling harder everyday and you hated yourself for it, he didn't like you back.

Charles carried on with his f1 career with alfa romeo that year and you took up a journalism degree, following around arthur as he navigated the world of f3. You would occasionally bump into Charles when the boys had races at the same circuit. 

But with his first Monaco race you obviously had to be there to support him.

Charles hated how his heart beat boomed in his ear when he saw you standing in his garage with your old ferrari cap on and an alfa romeo shirt with the number 16 on the back hugging your chest. 

You truly had blossomed into a beautiful young woman and Charles found it harder to stay away. Your hair isn't frizzy anymore and you had for sure gone through puberty, he didn't like to stare but he found it hard not to sometimes. Especially on family boat trips when you would wear a bikini in front of him.

The worst part is you hadn't even openly flirted with him in a while, and he couldn't seem to figure out why, and that bothered him so much more than he liked. 

The small little y/n that used to follow him everywhere, always latched to his arm, looking up at him with heart eyes. I mean, you weren't sixteen anymore that was sure, but Charles couldn't help but feel a sense of abandonment that you weren't head over heels for him anymore. 

Charles needed to snake off that weird feelling in his stomach.

You were now 19 about to turn 20, it was the off season and you couldn't wait to soak up some sun on the leclerc yacht. Your favourite summer getaway.

You drove up to the small paddock on a little beach and climbed onto the grey boat, it was charles’, of course. The whole family was there, you were talking to pascal as arthur pulled you around the side of the boat, nearly causing you to break an ankle.

“Erm hello? Watch it.” you scolded him for pulling you so ruffly.

“You're over the whole in love with my older brother thing, right?” he asked, his hand running through his hair.

“I- i why?” you said, clocking your head to the side at Arthurs panicked manor. He knew you had been doing great this year, and he also knew why you declined every single boy that had attempted to ask you out on a date this year. 

“Okay, erm,'' Arthur stood up straight and scratched the back of his head.

“Forget your stuff, let's just get off this boat. And er, don't turn around okay?” he tried to nonchalantly say, his hands gripping your shoulders were a dead give away something was wrong though.

You nodded your head and followed Arthur down the steps of the boat before stopping in your tracks.

“Since when have I ever listened to you? I going to read my book on the sun-”

Your mouth fell open as you turned around to be met with Charles, your Charles with a girl.

A pretty girl, beautiful actually, she was slim and perfect and her smile was enough to make you want to crumble in a ball. 

She was leaning on him, grabbing his bicep as her hand brushed through his hair, he was laughing like really and truly laughing at whatever it was she had to say and you had never felt emotions like the ones you felt in that moment.

You felt like he had personally ripped your heart out himself, no remorse, and had just served it back to you on a silver platter.

He really didn't want you. 

“y/n, i didn't even know he was bringing her i-”

“You knew?”

Arthur sighed before running his hands through his hair, “it's been around four months, mum really likes her, she's nice. I mean she's not you, but he's happy so i can't complain.'' Arthur shrugged his shoulders, not sure how to console you in that moment.

You turned away from the happy couple and sat on the small steps that lead down to the bottom of the yacht. Arthur sat down next to you, pulling your body into his as he wrapped his arm around you.

“What about me? When will I be happy?”

You hadn't realised you were crying until Arthur grabbed your arm and pulled you straight off the boat.

That was your wake up call, you had spent too much of your life waiting for someone that never wanted you. 19 years to be exact, a sad sad story to anyone that knew you. You were embarrassed and angry at yourself. 

You needed to actually move on. 

So that's what you did.

And that's when you met him, a young british boy, he was around your age and drove for a papaya team that shared the f1 grid with charles.

Lando norris.

He was 20, awkward, way too cocky for only his second year, and when you bumped into him in Bahrain of 2020 you chose him to be the one to make you move on.

He asked for your number a few races later and the two of you used to text all the time. He took you on cute picnic dates, asked if he could kiss you before he did, and overall was the kindest most respectful boyfriend a girl could ask for. You were actually happy, and it only took nineteen years.

It was imola when you bumped into Charles in the paddock, his brother wasn't here so he was confused as to why you were here, but then he saw the McLaren hat on your head and his eyebrows furred evenmore.

“y/n?”

“Hello, charles.” you gave him a tight lip smile before moving past him but he chased after you why you walked down the paddock strip. Past the ferrari garage.

“You're a McLaren fan now, huh?” 

“Yep.”

Charles' heart hurt at your bluntness, he grabbed your arm so you would stop walking and talk to him. 

“y/n.” serious charles. That stupid tone that usually made you freeze and obey whatever he had to say.

But this time you rolled your eyes and pulled your arm from his grip.

“Charles, I really have to be somewhere.” you lied, checking your watch.

“Like a journalism thing? Why didn't you tell me you were going to be here, you could have flown with me and Joris?” and Charlotte, but he didn't mention that.

You really tried to pull your eyes from the red drivers suit that was wrapped around his hips, he was a ferrari driver now and you had never been more happy for him. You just wanted to wrap your arms around him and tell him how proud you were of him. 

But right at this moment, you had never wanted to create more distance between you both.

“y/n?” 

Both of your heads snapped as Lando ran up to you, you coughed and took a step back from charles.

Landos arm wrapped around your shoulder as he put out a fist for Charles to spud. Charles' eyes were glued to landos arm resting on your shoulder and he could feel the blood pumping in his heart speeding up.

Lando kissed your temple and Charles' eyes were glued to yours. 

“Charles.” Lando smiled nodding his head.

“Lando.'' Charles' voice was laced with venom, not that Lando noticed. 

“So you guys are?” Charles' eyebrows furred pointing between you both.

“We havent you know, labelled it yet. It's still kind of new” you smiled, it had been months.

“But I'm happy, really happy.” Charles knew that was a message to him, you were happy and he needed to leave you be. But with Lando of all people, Charles couldn't seem to shake this one off.

Charles mumbled something about needing to be somewhere and walked away from you both. Lando again oblivious to the interaction as his arm stayed secured around you and he balabbed on about the race as you walked to the McLaren motorhome.

Charles hated him. 

Charles hated himself for his feelings.

He didn't know why he was so bothered, he had never been this bothered, nothing gotten to him like you and Lando just did. Joris told him maybe it was because he had a soft spot for you deep down, he joked that maybe Charles liked you back and Charles ignored him for the rest of the weekend at that accusation. But that didn't mean he didnt ignore his words. 

It was over, you grew up and he should feel relieved you've moved on, right?

He broke up with Charlotte a month later.

Charles scoffed when you first bought lando along to family night, he hated how your mum loved his accent and how arthur laughed at all his jokes. He hated that he hadn't caught your eye all night, instead your eyes were glued on the stupid little british boys. Charles hated it, he sat there like a toddler that hadn't gotten their own way all night. He knew it was wrong but he hated his feelings more than he hated lando being sat at his table.

Charles was in the kitchen, he was picking at the leftover pie on the table top as everyone else was outside fawning over one of landos stories, he had really charmed the family.

His mother walked into the kitchen as he was taking a bite of cherry pie looking like a caught child, she laughed at the cherry stains in the corner of his mouth and passed him a tissue.

The pair stood in silence for a moment before Pascal spoke up.

“That's definitely not allowed in your diet, my sweet.” she smirked knowing the driver's strict diet.

“But you won't tell on me maman.” Charles flashed his puppy dog eyes as his mum laughed at his actions. She sighed and moved closer to him as he stood up straight. 

“You have a lot on your mind my boy, and don't tell me you don't because I gave birth to you, I know you better than you know yourself.”

“Maman.” Charles sighed.

“This is about her isn't it?” Charles' eyes refused to look at his mother at her words.

“I don't even need to say her name, it's her, it will always be her.” she smiled as she walked over to her son and placed a hand on his cheek.

“She's happy, Charles.'' he heard the sternness in his mothers voice.

“So everyone keeps telling me.” Charles scoffed again.

“So then you know you're being an ass, right?”

Charles' eyes widened at his mothers language but she just laughed and waved him off.

“After all the years she spent pining after you, Charles, it would be cruel for you to not let her be happy.”

“But what if I'm not happy?” he asked his mum, she just sent him a sympathetic smile and grazed his cheek once more.

“Do you love her?”

“I dont know.” Charles shrugged.

“See, it would be cruel to break her heart over this kind of uncertainty. Either you love her or you're just jealous. You have a lot of thinking to do my boy, but don't do anything until you're really sure. She's fragile when it comes to you.”

Charles nodded his head.

His mum was right, he really did have a lot of thinking to do. 

And as if on queue there she was, walking into the kitchen, the widest smile on her face as she grabbed another beer from the fridge. She had started to let her curls rome free recently and it was sending charles’ heart into a spiral, with her stupid little shorts and crocs and no doubt she had conned lando into giving her his jumper. 

She used to do that to him, Charles thought, remembering all the times you had tricked him into stealing his hoodies. 

She smiled at Charles mum and told her again that the food was lovely, nodding at Charles, and she left just as quick as she came in.

“Maman, I'm so in love with her it physically hurts me.”

And there it was, the words you had so desperately wanted to hear your whole life, but you didn't hear a sound as Charles vowed to never say it again out loud. Your happiness came before his.

Charle suffered for a year, he knew he loved you, he had said it out loud once and the vulnerability he felt in that moment knowing you were stood just 15 feet away with the boy you were in love with was enough to make him swear to never voice his feelings again, he was embarrassed and wanted the world to swallow him whole. The worst part was the guilt, he could only feel like he had let one of the best things go, slip straight from his grasp all for a bit of pride. He didn't want to be seen with the young naive girl that had a crush on him, but now he just felt stupid. Stupid that he didn't recognise your love for him sooner, he had always thought you were one of the most amazing humans he had ever met, he found himself looking for you in other people when he didn't even know it. He was stupid, and he knew that for sure.

Charles dedicated the rest of the year to focusing on his f1 seat, with ferrari fucking him and sebastian over and over and after his wins at spa and monza he felt hungry for more and felt that the true love of his life should be formula one.

But his heart hurt when he didn't hear from you after his win in spa, and then it crushed him again when you didn't contact him after his result at monza.

No call.

Not even a text.

He had fully let you slip from his grasp.

It was a long year for Charles that year, and as summer break quickly approached he found girls and training were his favourite pastime. He stopped turning up to family events when he knew lando would be there and you were in love and happy. After a while it was a rarity he would even stay at an event for an hour.

He was 22 and as a new season started the only thing he was talking from lando was his teammate, not that charles was complaining. He liked Carlos, and he was ready to step up and take that 1st driver's seat. He was ready to make everyone proud just like you had promised him that night on the beach.

After a while charles mothers birthday rolled around, one he would definitely not miss as his mother requested a small family meal. Everyone was sitting, looking over the menu when Charles undoubtedly noticed the missing presence of you.

“Where's y/n?” Charles asked Lorenzo, who was sitting next to him.

Lorenzo just shrugged and turned his attention back to his menu, was it normal for you to not attend family outings? Charles hadn't been around for so long he didn't even think to consider that maybe she didn't turn up to these things anymore either.

“With Lando I suppose.” Charles murmured, he tried not to sound jealous but the older brother just laughed.

“Lando?” as he turned to his younger brother.

“Why would she- you really haven't spoken to her have you?” Lorenzo asked, his eyes widening at the thought of his brother being so dumb.

Charles just shrugged his shoulders as he urged his brother to continue.

“They broke up, a while ago actually.”

Charles didnt know why his shoulders felt lighter but he chose to ignore it and try to press some more information out of his brother.

“So? First break up, we've all been there, doesn't mean she can't be here for mamans birthday.'' Charles rolled his eyes as he tried to act like he didn't care.

“She's not even in the country charles.”

Charles' head snapped towards his brothers, “She's taking a gap year, last I heard she was staying in Australia for a while.”

Lorenzo could see the gears turning in charles’ head; he knew he wanted to ask more so he answered for him.

“Hey Arthur, where's y/n these days?” Lorenzo asked his other brother who was at the other end of the table with his girlfriend.

Arthur shrugged before answering, “Still in australia at the moment, she really likes it there, but i told her she cant like it to much because there's no way i'm sitting on a plane for twelve hours every time i want to actually see her face and not on a phone screen.” arthur joked, everyone else laughed along with him for a moment until charles countered up the courage to speak up.

“Why didn't she just travel with formula one? She wanted to be an F1 journalist anyway.”

Arthur's eyes narrowed at his brother. 

You definitely hadn't meant to cause it, but there was a small crack in between the brothers' relationship within the last year. Arthur definitely blamed Charles and his stupid effects on you for you running away.

“She wanted to be away from f1 for a while.'' Arthur told his brother like it wasn't the most obvious thing in the world, hoping to squash this table subject, not really wanting to talk about his run away best friend.

“I mean I don't blame her, especially when her Lando ended like it did. She's living her best life.” Carla, Arthurs girlfriend chimed in. Arthur slightly winced at his girlfriend's words not wanting this to be the dinner conversation tonight, especially when Charles clearly knew nothing about y/n's life within the last year.

“What?'' Charles asked the table, but no one answered him, instead everyone's heads were down dead planted down at the table, everyone except for Carla who had no idea what she had just started.

“Why did no one tell me what's been going on?” charles raised his voice slightly, catching the attention from everyone else on the table.

Charles mother intervened knowing where this was going, “charles, not right now-”

“No, she's been going through something and no one even thought to mention it? What the fuck.”

Arthur was visibly turning red, Charles noticed as Lorenzo's head was shaking telling his little brother now wasn't the time, pleading Arthur to just bite his tongue.

“Say it arthur.”

The flame was lit.

“And who do you think upset her in the first place, charles?” Arthur tutted, picking up his menu pretending to scan it so he didn't have to pay attention to the conversation anymore.

“Drop it, arthur.” Lorenzo sternly interrupted.

“Considering no ones told me anything how the fuck am i supposed to answer that question?” Charles spat back at his brother.

Arthurs cheeks were a visible red now, he was about to blow up. Something he had been holding in for a while. He slammed his menu down and turned to look at his older brother.

“You know what Charles, you have no right! No fucking right, sorry maman for the language-” charles mum just put her hands up in defence as she let her youngest son get it all off his chest. 

“She loved you, and you constantly broke her heart and told her no and then when she was finally happy in a relationship you had to go tell the world you love her so much that ‘it physically hurts you!” Arthur mugged his brother's words.

Charles was shocked, he had no idea what was happening. 

No one knew of his feelings towards you, no one except- charles head snapped towards his mother who pulled a tight lip smile and just shaked her head in a no. Charles was about to deny deny deny when-

“Yeah, she heard it. And it fucking broke her charles. It was mean and it was selfish, and I've never despised someone more than you for what you did to MY best friend.”

“Arthur-”

“I'm not finished. Then you have the decency to finally come to a family meal for the first time in nearly a year, nearly a year charles! And ask about her like you didn't completely cut her and us out of your life? You're selfish, completely and utterly selfish charles.”

Charles sat at the table pale, he felt the colour drain from his face as he scrambled to find the words to say but his mouth didn't open.

“You really do pick and choose your moments brother, I don't know why I even came tonight, I'm sorry maman but I told you I wouldn't be able to sit in a room with him.”

Arthur stood up, he grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair and took Carla's hand in the other.

“I'm really sorry maman, and everyone else, happy birthday, i guess.” Arthur gave his mother a hug and walked out of the restaurant with carla. Leaving everyone else at the table in pure shock.

Especially Charles, he had know idea what to say, he looked up at his mother opposite him who looked at him with sympathy.

“My sweet boy, I'm sorry to say it but there was some truth to your brother's words. I told you she was fragile.”

Charles felt awful.

Charles felt like he was going to cry at the table.

It had been a long year for Charles, he had groveld for the most of it, thinking you were happy somewhere while Lando flew you anywhere and everywhere around the world. Now he came to think of it, maybe there was a better reason for the young mclaren driver avoiding him.

He wasn't really friends with Lando, but his teammate, Carlos was close with the boy and whenever there was an offer for the three of them to hang out Lando magically had something come up and couldn't attend. 

It all made sense now. Even the fact he hadn't seen you in the paddock, he thought maybe you were caught up in your studies, oh how he was wrong.

He sat at the table for the rest of the meal, and with every passing comment he didn't think he could sink more into his chair.

He was an awful person, he thought.

When the family were leaving the restaurant Charles hugged his family members, swallowing the anxiety and embarrassment down.

He looked over at Lorenzo who sent him a sympathetic smile, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Tonight wasn't supposed to go like that, i told arthur to just drop it i-”

“No, it's okay. I deserved it.”

“I dont know, you fucked up, but you didnt need to run, nether did she.'' Lorenzo, his older brother shrugged.

“What happened? With her and lando." Charles pushed.

“alot .” lorezono chucked.

“I don't know if it's my place to-” enzo sighed at that stupid little puppy dog face his younger brother was pulling.

“I'm pretty sure she cheated on him, Arthur said as she fell into a bit of a hole. So the only thing she really could do was just leave Monaco for a while. She seems good, Charles, healthy and happy." Lorenzo shrugged, watching as Charles' eyes widened and he latched onto every word. 

“If it's any closure she's not mad at you, Arthur, well I'm sure he would be he loves y/n like a twin sister, but she's not mad at you. She was just confused and hurt.”

“If i call her-'' Charles started but his voice flattened as he realised it would ne dumb to contact you.

“Call her Charles, I'm sure she would be happy to hear from you.”

You knew what today was, arthur's molthers birthday. You had called her in the morning sending her your love and wishes, she told you that Charles was attending the meal and Arthur would be on his best behaviour, little did you know.

You wondered if Charles knew what you were up to, if pascal or lorenzo had been keeping him in the loop.

You were at the beach, cocktail in hand and book in the other, your earphones were in as you hummed to the faint sound of the music and read, but you were disturbed when the rigging was a call from your phone echoing through your earphones, charles.

Pick it up.

Pick it up.

You couldn't do it.

Your body froze in place, you pulled your airpods out, throwing down your book, not caring that you lost the page you were on. You took in a deep breath and picked up your phone, and just as your thumb hovered over the answer button, the ringing stopped.

He had called you?

You needed a moment to think about what you were going to say to him, what he would say.

You so desperately wanted to hear his voice, it had been a year, and you wondered if that was enough time for feelings to vanish.

You looked out at the calm seas for a moment, did you really want to fall back into a loop of pining for him like a puppy. You loved him, loved, past tense. You were a grown woman now, so you opened your phone and called him back.

Ringing.

“Hello?” his voice echoed through the phone.

“Charles?”

You heard his sigh of relief over the phone, and your heart melted all over again, he hadn't even spoken yet, but the closeness of his presence made it all too real.

“I'm sorry.”

He's sorry?

“Charles-”

“I'm sorry, okay. Arthurs right, I was mean and I was selfish and you deserved so much more than what I did to you. From the bottom of my heart y/n/n, I'm so so incredibly sorry.”

“It's- it's okay.” 

You forgave him.

“It's not.”

There was a silence that lingered for a moment.

“What I said, what you heard, it wasn't supposed to happen like that. I really didn't want it to happen that way.” he pleaded over the phone, his breathy voice echoing through the speaker.

“I want to see you.”

More silence.

“Please, y/n.”

“Okay.”

More silence.

“Soon, okay.” There was promise to your words.

“Soon.” he repeated, as though it was something for him to hold onto. 

Soon.

“When I'm ready Charles I'll come home, I'm just not ready yet.” you winced at your own words because you so desperately wanted to see him too.

“Then don't come home- i'll come to you, i'll catch the next plane if i have too just tell me where you are-”

“Charles, I'm not ready yet.” you interrupted him. 

Silence.

Charles wanted to cry, hearing your voice and knowing you were just within reach he wanted to see you, hold you, apologise as much as you would allow him to. He wanted to kiss you and hug you and love you forever, but you weren't ready.

“I'll wait for you, okay? Soon or not.” his voice cracked, and god did it melt your heart.

“I'll see you soon charlie.”

This was feeling a little too much like a goodbye for charles.

“y/n?”

“Yeah?”

“Am I too late?’

“Time doesn't apply when it comes to you.” and Charles had hope. He hadn't fully let you slip, yet.

Charles would now spend every waking moment wondering how soon was soon?

But after a while he figured ‘soon’ was a little long, three more months to be precise.

You had left Australia, travelled around more like you wanted to, and you came back to Monaco just before the end of the f1 season.

Charles was already in Abu Dhabi by the time you landed back in monaco.You had asked everyone to not tell him of your arrival.

You were sitting with Arthur in his mothers living room, just like the old days. You told him about your travels while he updated you on his love life and gossip in the paddock.

You had missed this.

And it wasn't until pascal passed you a warm cup of tea and sat with the two of you, sharing her own gossip from the hair salon you realised how much you were ready to be home again.

Arthur had run to his room quickly to grab his trophies to show you and as he walked out of the room your eyes lingered on the suitcases by the door.

“You're going to Abu dhabi?” you asked pascal.

“Tomorrow.” she smiled at you.

Pascal could visibly see the gears turning in your head, she placed a hand on your knee and smiled up at you.

“I don't want to pressure you y/n, and i know you just got back but you should consider it.”

You knew what she meant and you nodded at her with a small smile, and Arthur came back.

You went home a few hours later and sat in your room, if you go you'll see him, but you're going to see him at some point regardless. 

You felt vulnerable.

So completely scared, but that didn't stop you from texting Arthur that night telling him you were going to join him and his family tomorrow.

You were going to see him.

Your time was up.

You were ready.

You meet up with the leclerc family at the airport in the early hours of the morning, your suitcase gripped in your hand as you were mentally preparing yourself to sit on the plane and go over any and every possible outcome this weekend could have.

Arthur sat with Carla at the front, and Pascal was fast asleep. But the chair next to you suddenly became occupied when you looked up and saw the eldest leclerc.

“You look well, y/n.” he smiled down at you.

“Thank you.” you smiled back at lorenzo.

“I think the time away did you good, no?”

“yeah, i really needed some space, but now i'm back and just feeling a little..” you stumbled on your words, struggling to describe your emotions.

“Overwhelmed?”

“Yeah, exactly that.”

“Does he know you're coming?” you knew the ‘he’ lorenzo was referring too.

“I dont think so.”

“He's going to be happy to see you.” lorenzo nudged your shoulder.

“I hope so.” you nervously chucked.

You took in a deep breath and looked back at the eldest leclerc brother, “I'm just anxious, I have no idea how this weekend will pan out. The next time I'll be back on this plane going home I could be happy, sad, crying or planning to run away again. I just feel so lost.”

“Lost isn't a bad thing.'' Lorenzo shrugged.

“He's just as lost as you y/n, trust me. I just hope you both figure it out, you both deserve the peace of mind. And if this all goes to shit, you still got on this plane today and tried.”

“I just don't want to get my hopes up.”

“Then don't, sometimes things aren't just meant to be.”

That's what was worrying, you had loved this man for years, and now was the deciding day if he loved you back or not and you don't know if you were ready to give up the fantasy of him

being the love of your life up yet.

You weren't mentally prepared for the shit outcome of this story, you didn't know if you could handle Charles breaking your heart another time.

When the plane landed and the warm air hit your skin you took in a deep breath. Time to face the music.

You went straight to your hotel, it was a Friday so Charles was about to participate in fp1 by the time you turned up to the track.

The smell of burnt rubber and the sound of happy fans filled your ears, you had missed being in the paddock more than you knew. This place was your home.

You were walking with Arthur and Carla when your name was called, judging by the accent you knew it wasn't the monegasque, it was the papaya coloured boy running up to you.

You told Arthur and Carla you would catch up with them as you stopped and smiled at lando who had now reached you. 

“Hey.” he smiled.

“Hey.” you smiled back awkwardly.

“Listen lando, you deserve an explanation-”

“It's okay y/n, we were young, it was a while ago you’re forgiven.” Lando chuckled as he poked your shoulder.

“But that doesn't mean what I did was okay, you deserve more than what I gave you.” 

Lando gave you a sympathetic smile.

“Consider it done with, okay? No hard feelings.”

You smiled up at the British boy, he looked good, he seemed well and that made your guilt feel a little less painful.

“I erm, I have a girlfriend actually, she's great, her names luisa.”

You watched as he lips upturned at the mention of his girlfriend, he was smitten.

“I'm happy for you landini.”

You both laughed for a moment, the free air was nice. Seeing lando meant there was a weight lifted off your shoulders.

“I just wanted to see how you were doing, I didn't want things to be awkward.” he said.

“I don't think I could ever be awkward around you.” Lando smiled at your words.

“Are you still thinking about becoming an F1 journalist?” he asked, remembering how it was your dream, he had also hoped your disappearance in the paddock for the last year wasn't his doing, stopping you from reaching your dream.

You smiled as he remembered, “I'm working on it.”

“Well i hope i see you around more often then, you deserve it y/n, really.”

Lando was getting called from the other end of the paddock as he had to be in his car within the next 10 minutes, you both shared a hug and it felt nice to feel comfortable with him.

His hands squeezed your back before saying a quick bye and skipping down the paddock. 

As he pulled away and walked past, your eyes connected with them all to familiar grey ones you were so nervous to see.

Charles.

He didn't seem too happy though.

He had just watched you smile and laugh with your ex in the middle of the paddock and then hug him bye, even though you thought nothing of it, Charles' mind was spinning.

There he was, a tight lipped smile right opposite you. He had grown out his stubble and he looked tired. You knew he hadn't had the best of seasons with Ferrari, you didn't keep up with it too much, it upset you that his childhood team had failed him massively. 

He nodded his head and followed his press officer in the opposite direction, but you weren't going to let him go just yet.

“Charles, wait!”

And before you could process it you were running, sprinting down the paddock after him, but he had already disappeared into ferrari hospitality.

“Shit.” you mumbled as you jogged down to the garages in hopes of catching up with him.

You scanned your pass and walked into the back of the garage Pascal had walked up to you and grabbed your hand.

“You need to put some headphones on dear, it gets loud in -”

“Pascal, where did he go?” you asked her frantically, like a mad woman out of breath.

“Charles?”

“yes!”

A slight smile just appeared on her face as she turned around, “Be quick dear, I think I can see him putting his balaclava on.” She pushed your shoulder and you walked around the red barrer that clearly said ‘no public entry’.

“You can't be back here, ma'am.” a security officer grabbed the back of your bicep.

“No, I need to get through, it's an emergency.” you whined, pulling your arm from his grip.

“I'm sorry ma’am, it's a safety hazard.” the man's grip tightened on your arm as he pulled you away from the back of the garage. You pushed off him but his grip only improved as he swept you off the floor, lifting you up at your attempt to run. You kicked your legs like a child learning to swim and kicked arms that trapped you.

“If you refuse to cooperate, I'll have no choice but to remove you from the garage.” he said, trying to dodge your feisty little kicks.

“And If you don't get your slimy huge hands off me right now i'm going to-”

“y/n?!”

Your head snapped at the sound of your name, Jorris, Charles' best friend.

“Jorris, oh thank god!”

“She's okay, she can come in.” Jorris grabbed your other hand and wiggled you away from the huge security man's grip as he dropped you back to the floor. You brushed off your dress and gave the security man a dirty look before turning to Charles' best mate.

“Jorris, where is he?” your breathing was rapid and your heart beat feeling like it was thumping out your chest.

“y/n you really shouldn't.” he sent you a sympathetic smile.

“Please.” you pleaded with him. After seeing you try to fight a six foot five security man Joris really didn't want to feel the wrath of you right now, so he complied.

“You have five minutes, follow me.” he led you through the back of the garage.

Whenever Charles got in the car he liked to be left alone to his own devices, it was his switch off time, but you knew on some occasions he didn't mind the company, you just needed to talk to him, tell him you were here for him. You didn't want him getting in the car overthinking that you were here for lando.

And before you knew it, there he was, standing in front of you, you were painting out of breath with your hands on your knees as you looked up at him.

Charles giggled as you held up a finger to let him know you were still getting your breath back. He pulled his ear pieces out of his ear and zipped up the rest of his race suit.

“I hate to rush you, but I have to be in the car in four minutes.” Charles frowned, “and four minutes aren't enough for what I have to say to you, y/n.”

“Let's keep it short and sweet then.” you stood up straight and smiled at the boy.

“Im sor-” he started but you cut him off.

“That's not what I meant by sweet.”

Charles squeezed his eyes and winced at his name being called behind him, he opened his eyes and saw you beaming up at him and he knew he was in love, he just wasn't going to tell you yet, especially not if he had just witnessed you make up with lando. Lando made you happy, Lando didn't break your heart on multiple occasions like he had. Charles wouldn't blame you if you went back to the British driver.

You tilted your head to the left and smiled at Chris, Charles' manager. He was pointing at his watch and tapping his foot.

You looked back at Charles and took in a deep breath, you stood on your tip toes and placed your arms on his shoulders, gently placing a kiss to his cheek.

Your soft lips connecting with his ruff stubble is something Charles cherished, he couldn't wipe the Cheshire cat grin off his face.

“I know it's only a practice session, but good luck out there charlie.”

“Thank you.” he smiled, trying to hide his blush. He couldn't believe he was blushing and how the roles had reversed between the two of you.

“What about lando?” he had to ask, it was on his mind.

“I'm not standing next to Lando wishing him good luck right now, am i?” you smirked at him.

Charles smiled before looking back at his manager, he bent down and kissed your forehead like he had done a thousand times, but this time it felt different, electric, it felt like love. It was love.

“I'll be waiting for you, okay?” you told him.

Charles smiled to himself, he wasn't too late.

If anything was on Charles' side that day it wasnt timing. Charles finished fp2 with a few flying laps and a heavy heart, his first plan was to find you but his press officer had forced him to do interviews, and then he had a meeting and then he had checked his watch and it was way past nine and he knew you were probably back at the hotel by now.

He huffeed as he left his meeting, grabbing his jumper and keys and saying goodbye to the engineers that were going to work on the car overnight.

He had it all planned in his head, he was going to get some flowers on the way home, knock on your hotel door and ask you on a date.

“Charles!” called out his manager, he really hoped he didn't have to stay in this hell hole any longer, he just wanted to leave the track and get his girl.

“What?” he huffed.

“She waited.”

“What?” Charles repeated, his manager now having his full attention. 

Charles caught the way his manager's lips turned into a devilish smirk, but he wasn't looking at Charles, yet something behind him. When he whipped his head around there you were, his heart thumped at the massively oversized ferrari jacket one of the staff must have given you to keep you warm while you waited.

You just smiled at him and waited for him to walk to you, but charles sprinted, he was a man on a mission and when he got to you his hands slipped around your waist, pulling you up in the air for a moment before he dropped you back down, his hands still remaining tightly wrapped around your torso.

He tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear before placing his forehead on yours.

“Take what's yours charlie.” you smiled. 

Charles' thumb gently traced over your plump bottom lip before he placed his hand on your cheek, smiling like an idiot. 

He slowly grazed his lips on your before gently adding pressure and connecting your soft lips with his in a quick kiss. A kiss that was full of smiles as Charles pulled you as close to him as possible. Towering over you as he kissed you unlike he had kissed anyone ever. The way your lips moved in sync with his was magic to him, it had never felt like this before.

He pulled back letting you get some air, before using that as leverage to stick his tongue in your mouth, he put all his power and passion into the kiss and it was just as you imagined him to be with you. Sensual and passionate. 

Your hands ran along his shoulders and up to his head where you gently tucked on his hair. Charles groned on your lips and eventually pulled back, he giggled as he placed his forehead on yours again. 

“All mine, finally.” He said through a wide smile.

“I've always been yours…”

Thank you for reading!! Here’s a gif of baby Charles because this is how i imagined him when y/n had her teenage crush. Bare faced and spiky hair🥹

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 :)

everything is totally okay i just need to get hit by a car

im still young i still have time im still young i still have time im still young i still have time [lays on the floor wasting my time]

Just finished this movie and Tangerine is the sluttiest slut to ever slut in the history of sluts. I want to give him head.

A violent man calling me a good girl would fix me

BACK UP PLAN • TANGERINE x FEM!READER

they think you’re the diesel, but you know who took the case. too bad for you that tangerine, a guy from your past, likes to shoot first and ask questions later. as fun as that is, you quickly team up to figure out who took the case and what terrible fate they’ll meet... and of course, rehash your complicated past.

rating ✷ r (18+ only, minors dni!)

tropes ✷ enemies to lovers (but still enemies), pwp, cheeky banter, loud gf/quiet bf, butchered british slang, kind of mr. and mrs. smith energy, two idiots with one task

warnings ✷ cursing, violence being the answer, guns & knives, switch!tan x switch!reader, bathroom sex, fingering, quick p in v, lots of begging, exhibitionism, mention of hands/rings (my kink lmao)

word count ✷ 3.7k

a/n ✷ my first tangerine fic :D just feeding into my fixation and going down the aaron johnson rabbit hole again. wasn't expecting to do some bullet train writing, but..... here it is. there will be no part 2! hope y'all like it and feedback is always welcomed!

Shit was going down and surprisingly, it was not by your doing.

With your back pressed against the wall of the luggage holding, you could only hope the short but thick curtain covered your figure enough that anyone who passed wouldn’t see you. As you attempt to keep your breathing low and quiet, it hitches when you hear the sudden sound of automatic door opening.

“We need to find the cheeky fucker who took our case. Swear to God, I’ll bash his head in when I find him.”

That’s a thick accent you don’t forget. You don’t want to peak, but you can see the West Ham sticker on the back of his phone. 

It can’t be him. No, no…

“Lemon, I’ve gone up and down this train for the umpteenth time. I’m ‘bout ready to shoot any sleazy bellend who looks at me funny.”

Tangerine?

He was the only person you’ve been able to outrun yet here he was, only a few inches away and knowing damn well he would know how to tear into you for what happened in Copenhagen. Long story short, it ended with you tossing his favorite gun into the river and it’s made an even bigger target on your back.

While you do wear a mask that seals your identity during your heists, you prayed he didn’t remember eyes since you lost your only form of disguise when fighting the Prince. Just like you, she uses her looks to her gains, able to manipulate anyone by batting her eyelashes. She was the one with the case, and knowing her past, she’d blame it on someone else and you were most likely high up on the list.

“Alright, then. Let’s keep lookin’ for the bastard.” He said before hanging up.

You cover your mouth, your glare remaining steady on him before he takes a pause. His blue eyes search around the cart, huffing until you hear the other automatic door open. You fully step out of the small luggage spot and catching your breath, “I have to get off here.”

As the next stop was coming to a halt, a force pulled you back into the bathroom from an arm snaking around your waist. You couldn’t even gather your thoughts before feeling a cool metal pressing against your temple.

“Now I can only think of two reasons a girl like yourself is hiding behind a bunch of suitcases. One, she’s got a bit of a dickhead of a boyfriend or two, she’s got my fuckin’ case.”

You smirked, “If I had it, I would have hid better, don’t you think?” You hoped to fool him.

“Oh, darling. You think I’m that stupid, why don’t you just–” He turned you around to look into your eyes, and unfortunately, he had seen them somewhere, “Oi, where have I seen you before?”

“I’ve never met you before in my life, now if you’ll excuse me…” You trailed before he shifted to stand in front of the doorway, placing his gun on the sink counter.

“As much as I’d like to believe that, darling... you’re not going’ anywhere until I get my answer.” He said with an assertive tone, his jaw obviously clenched and his eyes piercing blue.

With his one hand on the trim of the sink and the other against the wall, he towered over you with his tall stance. He acted intimidating but you knew deep down there was hidden softness to his personality. ‘Warmer the closer you got’ type of shit.

Your eyes shifted from his eyes to his chest, hard to not stare with his first button undone and gold chain disappearing into his shirt. Able to display a poker face, Tangerine was still racking his brain around where he had seen those eyes before. He couldn’t place the last time he saw such a color.

I guess what you failed to mention is that something else happened in Copenhagen. To summarize, it involved a skin tight dress, a hotel key card and a getaway plan by dawn. What threw him off now was that you weren’t sporting the same short, auburn wig you sported that night you tried to get his attention.

“How am I supposed to give you an answer that I don’t have? You’re in my way.” You protest.

“And you’re not a very good liar, are ya?” He huffed, “Now, if you don’t have my case then who does?”

Not giving a second more, you pulled out your own gun tucked in the waist of your skirt, pushing it against his bare chest, “I think you better stay out of the way before you really get hurt.”

He didn’t bat an eye, but his eyes took a second glance at the tattoos drawn on the side of your middle finger and the top of your knuckles. Suddenly, he placed those hands from memory and the image of them running down his chest struck his mind. He looked back into your eyes and remembered how they kept steady contact as your tongue glided down his body.

“It’s been a while since Copenhagen, yeah?” He said, clenching his jaw once more.

Shit. Maybe you shouldn’t have doubted him so much.

“Well you’re not fooling me this time.” He grunted, quickly taking your gun while your guard was down for a split second, “I’ll give you one last chance, love. Tell me where the case is and maybe, I’ll be and gentleman and just escort you off at the next stop.”

“So cute how you’re trying to threaten me yet use a pet name. Guess I just know how to get to your soft spot, Tan.” You grinned, placing your hand on his cheek.

Mesmerized, a gloss smooths over his eyes before his phone vibrates in his pants pocket.

“Do you wanna get that or have me reach in there?” You taunted.

He replied with an eye roll, but quickly answered. “Yeah, what?” Tangerine answered, his eyebrow cocked.

A low voice told him that they needed to see proof of the case at the next stop or things could go south. Tangerine quickly hangs up during mid-threat, and you twist your lips.

“Since you can’t find your case, I assume you’re the one getting off at the next station.” You smirked, “Glad we got to catch up.”

“No, no, you little pain in my ass. You’re gonna put on a nice smile for these massive dickheads and stall with me…” He tilted his head a bit, “As far as I know, you know where the case is so I’ll be attached by the hip to you for the rest of the lovely ride to Kyoto.” Tangerine yammered on.

You rolled your eyes but he held your chin, making you look him in the eyes, “I’m sorry, does that bother you now?”

“Hmm, no. Just kind of sweet to know you haven’t forgotten about me.” You purposefully teased, your palm running down his chest before opening another button of his shirt with your one hand. It was a tactic to get under his skin, hoping to get some sort of reaction.

“You’re some tease who left me in Copenhagen, I’ve dealt with shots to the fuckin’ chest. You really think highly of yourself, don't ya.” He deflects but glances at your soft lips. 

You grinned, placing your hand on his cheek, “I don’t think I have to remind you of how low I’ll stoop to get a job done… or kneel.”

Tangerine felt your hand moving through the back of his hair, carding his loose curls before pressing your foreheads together. The tip of your nose brushed against his, your lips barely touching until the train came to a slow stop.

“Well, I guess it’s time to put on a good fucking act.” You huffed, pulling away and Tangerine didn’t realize he forgot to take a breath.

♡ ♡ ♡

He turned around, opening the bathroom door in one swift motion and the two of you stood by the exit. After quickly texting Lemon that he was going to stall, he gives you a look again– this time, his eyes shifting up and down your body, noticing the tear in your stockings. He knew you were up to something, but resisting the urge to press you up against a wall was making him ache a bit.

As the train door opened, Tangerine took a step toward you, “If anything goes down, you get behind me and get back on. Other than that, follow my lead.”

You nodded, “I have limited options… how generous of you.”

The two of you step off the train, and looking around for the men you’re asked to meet. As passengers got on and off, there was a small group that came your way and you stood next to Tangerine as they got closer.

“Where’s the case?” The tall one asked, standing center of the three other men.

“Lemon is keeping it safe right now.”

“Then who’s this?” 

Tangerine glanced at you, shrugging, “I’m a professional, I’ve got my back up… Peach.”

You wanted to narrow your eyes at him with a burning stare, but you maintained your composure to convince them. It was one step closer to getting the case, and it wasn’t the worse operative name.

The four men chuckle at it, and you cross your arms from the reaction, “So, are we done here?” You asked, “We’ve obviously got places to be now since your boss is up our asses about his case.” 

At first, they replied with scowls until Tangerine took a step in front of you, your chest basically touching his back.

“‘Cuse her attitude, it’s been a long night.” Tangerine acted as if he were in charge of you, “But, we’re all good now. The plan is still Kyoto, ta-ra now.” He faked a grin, pushing you toward the door as the alert sounded for boarding.

Before you knew it, the train was moving and the both of you plopped into two empty seats in the quiet car. As you watched Tangerine type out a text to Lemon, you scoffed, crossing your arms as you faced the window out to the city life of Japan.

♡ ♡ ♡

“Well, Lemon still hasn’t found the person with the case… fucker could have gotten off without us knowing.” 

You turned your head, “So, that’s means I’m off the list of the accused?”

“...I just don’t trust you.” He trailed, slipping his phone back into his pants pocket.

“Aw, still a little hurt from our last encounter?” You pouted, “Didn’t take you for such a softie, Tan.”

Tangerine clenched his jaw. He had little patience for your sass, but it was fun to fuck with him. You gently placed your hand on the top of his thigh, hidden under the table, and refused to lose eye contact with him. There were four stops left so, it was time to put a spontaneous plan B into motion: make him let his guard down for you.

You batted your eyelashes, “Tell me, do you still think about our night together? I didn’t mean to leave so quickly, but we had something… yeah?” You taunted him, your hand moving up his thigh. Just as your fingers were going to unbutton his pants, Tangerine quickly grabbed your wrist and put it back on his knee.

“You wanna play games, darling?” He grunted, “Then, I’ll play your game.”

You couldn’t help but admit that your heart beat against your chest, like the air in the cart had been sucked away and before you knew it, his right hand was running up your thigh until he ripped the rest of your stocking. You almost gasped, not wanting to attract attention, but he pulled it enough where your panties were exposed.

“Don’t get shy on me now, love.” Tangerine said under his breath as his hand entering between your legs. Once he pushed the black lace to the side, his two thick fingers entered your slit. The hand you had on his thigh suddenly met the wrist of his hand working your pussy.

His blue eyes softened, feeling how wet you already were and how you tried to restrain from arching your back against the seat. Being in plain light, you bit your bottom lip and concentrated on the scene passing by– obviously, not easy to focus on when Tangerine is gliding his fingers in and out of your wet slit. You could scream, knowing how deep they were from feeling his cool rings against your skin.

“I’d rub your clit, but I’d hate to make you cum right here… in front of everyone.” He looked around, as if he weren’t edging you, “You don’t really deserve to anyways.”

You took one big gulp, your hand gripping the arm rest now and you let him keep going. For as long as he wanted to and however fast he wanted to. As big of a talk you made, you were suddenly puddy in his hands– quite literally– and God, you didn’t want him to stop.

He pressed his lips against your ear, “Are you close?”

“Hmm.” You could barely let out a word, “N-no.”

“Don’t lie to me now so you can cum.” He chuckled.

Just like that, he quickly pulled his hand away and he saw how his fingers were coated in your glistening cum. As he went to place them in his mouth, you pulled his wrist and tasted your own cum on your tongue. 

All he could think was, “Fuck, her tongue is soft…” and reminisce the memory of his dick pushing down your throat.

You kissed his fingers before setting his hand back on his lap, and he watched you pant. Such a beautiful mess, he thought again.

Pushing your skirt back down, you crossed your legs as you ran your fingers through your hair. “You fucking ripped my nice tights…” You huffed, pulling the band from the waist and pulling them down your legs. You balled them up as you put your shoes back on, and stuffed them between the wall of the train and the seat.

You blew a breath past your lips, “Alright, that was fun but I gotta go.” You gulped, attempting to get up but he pushed your leg back down so you basically say back down.

“You’re stayin’ right here.” He said, not looking at you but around the cart, “Because the next stop, you’re gettin’ off… not like how you did right now but-”

You cut him off, “What?” You scoffed, your cheeks feeling heated, “No, I’m not getting off this train until I have the case!”

You didn’t mean to spill your own secret, but your guard had been put down. Shit.

He smirked, “See, I knew you had somethin’ to do with the case. Now you’re definitely gettin’ off at the next stop or I’ll-”

Cut off again, he sees Lemon walking down, also without the case in hand, and Tangerine quickly gets up. He met him halfway in the aisle, so you got up to see what was going on and if it was about the case.

“Who’s this? Looks familiar…” Lemon trailed as he pointed at you, then back at Tangerine.

“She’s no one-”

“Actually we passed each other in Copenhagen. You called me an Emily.” You grinned, tilting your head.

“Ah, yes. Emily, very kind but a tad bossy…” Lemon nodded but then narrowed his eyes, “Lookin’ for the case too, yeah?... unless you have it and we’re runnin’ around like headless chickens.” You could see his hand reaching into his jacket.

“I wish. Trust me…” You crossed your arms.

“Yeah, and she was just leaving on the next stop. No business being around here, muckin’ about.” Tangerine said without looking at you again, just making eye contact with Lemon.

“You treat me like I’m incompetent yet I beat both your asses back in Copenhagen and managed to steal the getaway car. Why don’t you two leave and let me handle whoever has the case.” You shoved past Tangerine, “Fucking amateurs.” You muttered under your breath.

Lemon turned around, Tangerine behind him, “She’s definitely is an Emily.”

Tangerine rolled his eyes, “I’ll go get take care of her. You check back down that way.” He clenched his jaw, pushing back his rolled sleeves.

♡ ♡ ♡

The door opened to the first class cart, already imagining your hands wrapped around the Prince’s neck once you had an eye on her. Dim orange lights lit your way, a few people asleep with blankets on top of them. 

Just as you came close to the lounge toward the end, a hand gripped your wrist. Before asking any questions, your other hand quickly swung down on the other’s wrist, thinking it was the Prince, but you were met with another set of bright eyes.

“Let go of me.” You muttered under your breath, not trying to get anyone’s attention.

Like deja vu, Tangerine pulled you into the bathroom and locked the door. It wasn’t as tight as the other passenger bathroom, but still had little room to move around with two people.

“Do I gotta tell you again?” Tan practically growled.

“You can’t tell me what to do. What do you want from me that you keep cornering me like this?” Your tone matched his.

He took a deep breath through his nostrils, and suddenly felt the tension. He couldn’t take his eyes from you, never admitting that he had been thinning about you since Copenhagen, so instead his lips met yours.

You weren’t surprised, but you missed his lips. You bit his bottom lip, your body relaxing as you fell into his arms. Your noses brushed together, foreheads close before you unbuttoned his shirt, your hands meeting his soft skin. It slipped past his toned arms, and he pressed your hips against the sink counter.

As you lifted your leg by his side, he put his hand underneath your knee to keep it high. Tangerine kissed and nipped at your neck after taking your shirt off, tossing it on top of the closed toilet seat. You ran your fingers through his messy curls, gripping them as you shared hungry kisses. His hard pressed against his slacks, rubbing against your inner thigh.

“You’ve got about four minutes, Tan.” You said between kisses, “I don’t know if you’re that fast.”

“You underestimate me, love.” He grunted, “It’s gettin’ a bit old.”

Suddenly, he hiked your skirt and you played along, spreading your legs enough for his body to move between them. He quickly unzipped his pants while his right hand rubbed your wet clit and the left hand against your neck. 

You giggled, biting your bottom lip before slipping the tip of his cock into your pussy. You held back your gasp, giggling instead to get a rise out of him, but it just made him squeeze your neck a bit.

“Almost forgot how big you were.” You pouted, but he thrusted inside of you. You audibly gasped, and kissed his thumb pressed against your bottom lip.

At first he was slow-paced, purposefully making you beg for it. He knew your weak spots yet his head fell against your shoulder, a light whimper escaping his throat remembering how tight your cunt was. He held your leg up again, giving him an angle to work with and his cock bottomed out inside your pussy.

“Fuck!” You croaked, “God, you’re so… big. Stretching me out so good, baby.” You whined.

“Fuckin’ Christ.” Tan cursed, his hips bucking as your skins slapped together. He was eager to make you cum, shattering in his arms and falling apart like he adored. His hand slapped against your ass cheek, kneading it the closer he got. 

You leaned your head back, rolling your eyes back and could see stars, Tangerine practically lifting you off your feet as your walls began to tighten around his hard cock.

“Please… please let me cum.” You begged, your eyes barely open, “I wanna cum. Please.”

“Gotta beg a little more, darling.” He gulped as his pace got faster, not realizing how strong he was, “Keep those pretty eyes lookin’ at me.”

You arched your back, “Ah, please!… I want your fucking cum filling me up. Make me cum all over your cock, baby.” Your pitch elevated, “Fuck, I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna fucking cum!”

He grunted against your shoulder, giving it a small bite before saying, “Cum, cum for me, love.” He lighty gasped but tried to mask it by kissing your shoulder.

Your fingers pulled his messy curls, not able to explain the complete bliss running throughout every vein and nerve in your body. His hand covered your mouth just as yours covered his, muffing your defeated moans when the two of your released inside your pussy.

As you came down from your highs, the two of you let out tired chuckles. His cock was still inside you, feeling your warm walls as he shared one last sloppy kiss. 

Your thumb ran across his cheek, “Better than Copenhagen?”

He half-smiled, “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

♡ ♡ ♡

Ultimately, you agreed to let them take it from there. It was two more stops, and the train was coming to it’s next destination. You and Tangerine stood by the door, watching it slowly open and your stubbornness was eating you up. Although it was a risk to get off the train, seemed there was more than the two of you looking for the case. If anything, you loss some pay.

“You better get off now.” Tangerine told you, the two of you watching people pass.

You hummed, “I know… hope you can tell me how it goes if we ever meet again.” You sighed, placing your hands on his chest. Your eyes met with his, and he furrowed his brows. You twisted your hips, taking a deep breath before quickly meeting your lips with his again. Tender and slow.

 As you pulled your face from his, you nodded, “Bye, Tangerine.”

He expected for you to pass, and he actually thought he was going to miss you.

Instead, you forcefully pushed him out the door and it closed him out from coming back in. You rolled your eyes, walking up to the window as you watched the train pull from the station.

“I really am good.” You smirked.

My biggest addiction

bathroom b!tch; tangerine/fem!reader (smut; 18+)

part two | part three | part four

playlist: train quickie with tangerine

Tangerine meets you in one of the bathrooms on the bullet train. He just wants to clean up after his tussle with Ladybug and get rid of the blood, but he could use you to blow off some steam as well. You know: he has to take it if he sees it.

word count: 5,9k

warnings: mirror sex, bathroom sex, semi public, fingering, oral (female receiving), blood (it's tangerine's), squirting, dry humping, rather rough sex, unprotected sex, light choking, confined spaces, dirty talk, name calling, kinda a quickie?, tangerine's a little rude but surprisingly gentle too idk he's just like that, he just needs to fuck the adrenaline outta himself, i have very strong feelings about this angry man

title is from the song of the same name, bathroom bitch by holychild

also thank you v for a) helping me out with Japanese and b) by telling me what being a passenger on a bullet train feels like

You knew it was a bad idea.

Starring at yourself in the impressively clean mirror of the small bathroom, you try your best to hold back any fresh tears.

You knew that a long-distance relationship wouldn't work. You fucking knew it and yet you accepted your fiancés pleas to Just try it. Maybe, it indeed would've worked out if he wasn't fucking his bloody secretary.

You regret leaving London. You miss your home.

You're not even that heartbroken, you just feel exhausted, like you wasted an awful lot of time.

You take a long, good look at yourself. Bloodshot eyes and a sad hue resting over your pupils, turning the colour dark and deep. The dress, that you bought for your anniversary brunch – a surprise, quite as much as the one he gave you, when you walked in on him, balls deep in his secretary – now looks oddly strange, out of place on you. You feel overdressed and ashamed, foolish.

But there’s something else, too: the loneliness that followed suite after your screaming, after fighting with him - after breaking up with him. It's been there since you boarded the train to Nagoya but now it rolls over you like a wave of-

Thump, thump.

"What the fuck", you mutter, taking a ragged breath, before yelling out, "Occupied!"

You just want to be left at fucking peace, not being watched by other passengers as you're bawling your eyes out. All you want is to get off that train and burn some of that fucker’s money on a spontaneous vacation. All you want is for the remaining days in Japan to be good ones.

Another sharp knock follows. This one rattles the door.

It takes a moment for you to scramble for the right words, the ones you have picked up when visiting your fiancé before. "Shiyouchu!"

Another knock. And another.

Motherfucker.

You clench your teeth - saying goodbye to the precious moments of crying in silence for the year you've lost to the most useless relationship of all fucking mankind - and wipe away the wetness below your eyes to open the door. "I said-"

Oh.

Oh shit.

There's a very handsome man waiting outside the door. He is towering over you, impatience plastered on his face and seeping through his every movement, with the way he's leaning against the door frame.

He's hot.

Also, he's dripping in blood.

His light blue shirt, once crisp and clean, is now disshelved and just as stained as his expensive looking dark-blue vest.

"Jesus, fuck, are you alright?", you blurt out.

The man's raising an eyebrow. "Could be asking you the same, love. Now, would you please get the fuck outta there."

He's moving towards you, closing in the last few inches separating the two of you. Your gaze is focused on the nasty cut on his arm.

"You're bleeding", you say dumbly.

His eyes shoot up at you and for a split-second you feel like you are face to face with a predator. The anxiety, that the blood and his rude behaviour sparked in your chest, sends adrenaline pumping through your veins and has the muscles your legs preparing for fight or flight. He blinks.

"I know", he says and his lips curl up to something, that you're convinced is supposed to be a smile, "Now, if ya'd be so kind?"

He gestures behind you, towards the empty bathroom.

"No?", you say, voice shooting up a little, which immediately has him cautiously throwing a glance down the hall to his right, "No, I won't! You need help, how the fuck -- what the fuck happened?"

"You're starting to really get on my fuckin’ tits, pretty thing. Would y'just let me the fuck inside?", he growls, tilting his head towards you. His tone has the hairs on your arms rising, as he is starring you into the ground.

You back up, colliding unpleasantly with the doorframe, that nearly drills itself into your left shoulder.

"Thank you, Lady", he's squeezing past you and then turns around again, giving you a quick one-over. You are unable to move, mesmerized by the way he's looking at you.

The corners of his mouth tilt up again and one of his hands, a little sticky and red with his own blood, comes up to his face, straightening his moustache, as his gaze runs over your body once more. You should leave, you should run - clearly, something is awfully and so not right but you just can't, being glued to the spot by his eyes.

It shouldn't make your loins grow hot, but you can't help it. You feel your belly tingle, shooting sparks down down down between your legs. He is very attractive and the aura of pure fucking danger that wafts around him doesn’t do what it normally should do – instead, it pulls you in. Oh, aren’t you just fucked.

"What were y'saying about help, again?", the man murmurs, gaze locking with yours.

"Uuuh", it's a very stupid sound you make and his eyes spark up at that, lips giving room to flash some teeth, "I-I just said you look like you might need some help?"

"Well, maybe I do."

He licks his lower lip and you blink, gaze following the movement.

This is very stupid. This is risky, dangerous, and most likely something you are going to regret.

It's not only the situation, it's him, too. He seems dangerous. It's not only the blood, mind you. It’s the way he moves, how his eyes dart through the room, over your body. It’s the aggression in his voice that he’s trying to hide, cover up but ultimately fails, something that seeps through every pore of him.

But he's also just ridiculously hot, walking with his crotch first, heavy northern British accent swirling the words around his tongue and, fuck, it's mostly the way he's looking at you.

And you're just so fucking full of anger and grief and your life feels strangely directed and determined by your shitty-ass fiancé and there's so much rage and sadness -

You take a step into the bathroom and the door slides shut behind you.

"Good", he hums, "Because you do look, like you could also use some help."

The door locks behind you and take another step forward, approaching him. "You have no fucking idea", revenge sex is a very stupid concept but now, it seems very tempting. It's exciting and makes you feel oddly alive.

"Did'ya get dumped?", and you don't know why you trust him with that information but you can hear yourself say: "Cheated on. Fiancé of twelve months." There is a hand sneaking around your waist, pulling you in closer. You can smell him now, the blood on his skin and clothes, the heavy scent of his perfume – it’s warm and thick, vanilla and fruit, like an orange grove.

"Allow me the comment - that's one bloody stupid bastard."

You look up at him and blink. That man's insanely pretty and you swallow as he pulls you in even closer, your hand connecting with his chest. It is firm and warm and your fingers get a little sticky with the fresh blood on his shirt. They splay out, feeling the firm muscle flex beneath the expensive fabric.

"How much time d'we have, sugar?", he hums, runs his thumb across your lower lip.

"I have to get off in Nagoya."

"Gonna get you off alright now, sweetie", you roll your eyes at that and he chuckles, "Bit more than half'n hour I'd say. Think we can manage that?"

You nod while biting your lip, adrenaline thick and heavy in your veins, pumping your blood down south and making you wet wet wet, and he laughs at that, runs his tongue along his bright, bright teeth.

It's sheer excitement that has your belly tingle and you lock your eyes with his, the darkening blueish green pulling you in and then he leans down, locks his lips with yours.

They are soft and warm and his moustache tingles a little. You hum against his lips, one hand fisting his vest as the other sneaks up his muscular arm, runs over and through the blood, up up up next to the cut and comes a halt on his neck. The hand on your waist holds you close, fingers spread out delicately as he starts to feel you up.

His tongue darts out and licks over your lips and you gladly give him more room, parting your lips slightly. He's pushing in, licking into your mouth. You hum deep in your throat, pressing against him, tasting the cigarette smoke on his lips.

You can feel the bulge in his pants, his dick pressing hotly against your lower belly. It ignites your loins, pleasure shooting through your abdomen.

You moan into his mouth and he responds by pushing you back, heaving you up the small sink, deepening the kiss. Your back presses against the mirror as you clutch onto him, hand running up his neck and into his hair, slick with product and a little sticky with sweat. Your knees hit his hipbones and the man starts to roll his hips into yours, having his hard dick rubbing against your crotch and your eyelids flutter with the feeling. He's rock-hard and so so hot through his dress pants and you can't fucking wait to get to it.

He eventually breaks the kiss, breath ragged as his eyes roam over your face, hands feeling your thighs up. You decide that you need more of him and thus, your free hand roams over his chest, fingers making quick work of his vest. As soon as you pop the last button, he hastily tears it off of himself, throws it to the ground where it lands with a quiet thud.

"C'mon sweetheart, I know you clammin' to touch me", he says, voice deep and raspy and you do - like you're on fucking autopilot. Your hands dart out, roaming over his defined chest. He feels nice and firm and makes you want him more, want to feel all of him, all at once.

He hums quietly, as you open a few buttons of his shirt and run your hands over the sweaty, warm skin, through the dust of fine chest hair, making his chain rustle. He feels nice and it makes you want him.

The man looks up from your hands and you don't know what has come over you as your hand glides up further, cupping his neck, thumb on his jawline. "Fuck me", you breathe, "Fuck me 'til I can't walk."

He grins and leans in even closer, his clothed and hard dick pressing against your wet panties, as he's kissing a wet trail from your jaw to your ear. "Who would've thought - such a naugh'y lil'mouth on such a pretty woman."

You hook one leg around his waist, tugging lightly at the hair that's curling in his neck as he starts to suck on your neck. The slight pain ignites your lust, has arousal blooming and wetness pooling between your legs. You want to tell him to stop, before he marks you up for good as --

"Name's Tangerine", he suddenly rasps, as his tongue rubs over the spot he has been sucking on and you're pretty damn sure that he just gave you a hickey.

"Like the-"

"The fucking fruit, yeah. 'M gonna burst you more like something of a cherry, though", he rumbles, quietly laughing to himself with his fingers digging into your hips.

Your breath hitches in your throat as he presses himself flush against you - all firm muscles, perfume, and hot skin - tongue licking over your throat like the hot blade of a knife, dancing over your jaw.

It's most likely not his real name and that should really, really alert you. But it doesn't - instead you surrender yourself to him, letting your head fall back and parting your legs, inviting him in.

And the man -Tangerine - follows suite and shoves your dress up up up, runs his hands over your now exposed thighs. You lean forward a little, until your lips brush over his. "Name's Y/N", you whisper and his eyes glint a little at that, "Pleasure to meet you."

"Oh, you gon' be a fun one", he grins and you do too, before leaning in and kissing him again. He is less gentle now, keen on getting you hot, his kisses turn sloppy quickly, biting your lower lip and licking into your mouth until you lack air. The thumbs on your legs dive in deeper, until they connect with your crotch. And then, one of them gently runs over your soaked panties.

Tangerine breaks the kiss, wet lips brushing over the corner of your mouth, only to inhale sharply - keeps his cheeks puffed theatrically for a short moment, then exhales just as sharply, eyeing you up and down. "Jesus Christ, that pussy of yours s'fucking wet, innit?", he rumbles and two of his fingers run over the wet fabric once more, slowly starting to rub your clit.

You gasp, hips bucking a little and you watch the way his hand vanishes under the hem of your dress. "Fuck", you moan quietly as he quickly finds the spot that makes your thighs clench. He rubs you through your panties, soft lace turning wet wet wet and dampening his skin. Your mouth falls agape seeing his wrist twitching between your legs and the way he's looking down at it, a little mesmerized, makes your head swim. Then, he stops.

"Yeah, let's get those off", he mutters, more to himself than to you and then he's tugging at the straps of your panties, riiips the lace and tears them apart. "Oh-", you gasp unintelligently as he carelessly drops them to the ground and you really don't fucking mind at all.

It's the first time in a long time that you feel wanted, like someone's actually hungry, greedy for you. And it turns you on. A lot. It is like Tangerine has flipped a switch and you want him just as much as he seems to want you. And you want it now.

You blink at him through your lashes. "You gonna touch me now?"

"Easy, love", he chuckles, genuinely amused and then his fingers are slooowly creeping back over your legs, until his index finger finally touches your exposed cunt. The touch is cold, but not unpleasant and you suck in a sharp breath, one that hitches in your throat.

He watches you, as he runs it over your pussy, quickly joined by a second, digits running up and down, spreading your slick. You hum, pleasure building up in your abdomen and then, finally, his fingers return to your clit.

Slow, wide circles spread your lips apart, making you moan and throwing your head back in pleasure. His bracelet clinks as he quickly picks up a faster rhythm, keen on seeing you coming loose, circles growing smaller.

"Oh shit, yes that's fucking it", you can feel arousal building in your stomach, shooting through your body. Tangerine laughs under his breath and his lips are onto you again, licking and sucking over your straightened neck. You don't give a fuck anymore, the slight pain of him bruising your skin makes your hips buck and rolling against his digits.

"Such a good girl, ain't ya?, he groans against your neck and it sends shivers down your spine as you're moaning and gasping, nodding frantically.

Your body feels like it has been ignited, with the way his fingers rub your clit, teasing your pussy and then there's one finger circling your hole and fuck, you really fucking need it. You spread your legs farther and Tangerine puuushes in, sinks one rather cold finger in your hole, your hot hot skin meeting the cold gold of his ring.

Tangerine starts to fuck you slowly, finger pushing in and out of you, until you're loose enough to take a second one. His rings thrust against your hole every time he pushes them back inside and the sensation has you whining, his lips still glued to your neck, occasionally moving down down down to you cleavage, licking fat stripes over your warm, sweaty skin.

A flood of very good, very dangerous emotions has one of your hands abandoning the sink, instead running up his arm, splaying across his shoulder. You can feel the muscles working slightly beneath the light blue fabric, a little dampened by his sweat. "Fuck, you make me so hot, shit, that feels so good", you whimper quietly, gasping as his fingers push even deeper. It seems to kick Tangerine off, moustache grazing your skin as he’s picking up an even faster rhythm - rubbing, circling your clit faster, adding more pressure - obscene squelching sounds filling the air of the small bathroom. You moan as pleasure shoots up your spine, has you rocking on and against his fingers.

You can feel your walls clenching around his fingers, hole fluttering against the cold, golden rings and then --

He breaks from your throat and whistles lowly as fresh wetness pools around his fingers, your squirt dampening his golden bracelet and the cuff of his shirt.

Tangerine pulls his fingers out of you slowly, slick with your juices and looks at them for a few seconds, the way your wetness is glistening on his skin in the dim lights. He brings them up up up, gaze connecting with yours and then -

They go past his lips, as his tongue darts out and licks them clean. You blink - once, twice. "Fuck", you breathe, and he chuckles.

"You taste like a fuckin' dream, love", his hands push your legs further apart and before you know it, he sinks down to his knees. You blink at him, as he lifts the hem of your dress up, "Might wanna hold that f'me", and you do, pulling the fabric as high up as you can, exposing yourself to him further.

Tangerine tsks as he takes the sight in and you can feel your cheeks growing hot, burning red, as his fingers dance over your pussy.

"Don't ya just have the prettiest cunt?", he hums, running his fingers through your folds, "'M gonna fuck ya so good."

"Jesus, Tangerine", you huff out, legs shaking a little as his thumb carefully rubs over your clit.

Tangerine looks up at you, smirking a little and then he's leaning in, hands coming to rest on your thighs, forcing your legs apart. He's not breaking eye contact, keeps your gazes chained together, as he dives in and licks a long, fat stripe from your hole upwards to your clit.

You fucking mewl, as his moustache rubs over your sensitive skin, tongue circling your clit for a short moment. His eyes gleam up at you, watching your reaction as his tongue swipes down, over your folds to your hole, teasing it. It has your legs kicking a little and you grab the sink with both your hands, as your thighs give a quick shake.

You can hear him chuckle deep in his throat and it makes you hot hot hot all over, with the way his tongue crawls back up, lips grazing your cunt and then he's onto your clit once more, gently lapping at it, placing soft kisses on the sensitive skin.

A strangled noise escapes your throat as arousal rushes through your abdomen and up up up your whole body, has your chest heaving with a ragged breath and rolling your hips forward. It's so so good, but not enough - you just need more.

"Don't ya move, love", Tangerine rasps and one of his hands grabs your hips forcefully, dress sliding up to your navel as he's holding you in place. The other crawls up your lower leg and thigh, teasing your folds and then one finger presses against your hole, pushes in roughly.

You moan as he immediately starts to fuck you with it, pumping your wetness in and out of you with a rather merciless rhythm, keen on having you come for him, having you squirt once more.

His eyelids flutter, long and dark lashes against his pale skin as his tongue licks over your folds, tasting your wetness and taking your scent in. You're tasting so so sweet to him, like a fucking forbidden fruit that he's going to devour anyways, because he can and he will and because fuck the rules he had set himself for this job.

He closes his eyes as he pushes a second finger into you, pumping them in and out of you, while his tongue laps at your cunt, lips closing in around your folds, gently sucking. His fingers are fucking you fast now, pushing you further and further.

"Oh god", you gasp, one hand still holding your own weight, the other now fisting his hair, pulling it. It seems to spur him on, hooking one of your legs over his shoulder and placing wet, open-mouthed kisses on your cunt, gently nibbling at the soft skin as his finger pumps into you. It's even better than before, with his beard scratching you and his tongue and lips gliding over your cunt as if it were a riddle he's going to solve without his hands. The heel of your shoe digs into his back - desperate for any leverage, to just feel him - as you are nearing your release.

"Shit, fuck fuck fuck", your voice sounds strange in your ears, high-pitched and far far away, between the squelching sounds that his rapidly moving fingers pull out of your pussy, "I'm gonna-"

He hums and then, after a short moment, pulls his digits out of you and grabs your hips hard, holding you in place, not stopping his tongue from rubbing over your cunt hard.

It tips you over the edge, has you breaking loose. You gasp loudly, throwing your head back against the mirror, incoherent rambling leaving your lips as you come - riding your orgasm out on his face as he licks you through your orgasm, your hips bucking wildly with it.

As your orgasm rolls over you, you already know that this isn't over. Usually, you would be spent for now, calm and a little tired but right now - you're not at all, lust still rolling over you, fresh wetness pooling between your legs again. "Mhm, shit", you breathe, feet kicking a little as Tangerine's tongue continues to flick over your clit. You are still wet, already desperate for more, more of him.

All you can think about is his hard dick, that you've felt earlier pressing against your crotch and pure want tingles in your stomach. Tangerine's lips close in around your throbbing clit, overstimulation making your head swim.

"Please, fuck, please", your hip bucks against his iron grip that holds you steadily against the sink. Tangerine looks up at you again and let’s go of your clit with an obscene pop. His moustache is dampened by your wetness as he grins up at you. "Please please", he mocks your high-pitched whines and then smirks, "Wan'it that bad, love?"

"Need you - ah, fuck - inside me. Oh, shit", you whine, as your hole clenches around nothing, desperate for more than his fingers. You are so turned on by this stranger, lust crashing over your body like waves - you can feel its tingle in your chest, your legs, feeling your pussy desperate for another touch.

Tangerine blinks for a moment and you're sure, that you saw his eye twitch and then he, very dramatically, takes a deep breath, closes his eyes. "Shit, love, you make me feel all sorts o'things", he says quietly and then quickly gets up, wipes his lips with the back of his hand.

He leans in and his lips lock with yours again and you can taste yourself on his tongue, as he licks into your mouth, grinning against your lips, damp stache rubbing over your upper lip. He licks over it, groans deep in his throat, while his hands brush over your legs, before he commands, whispers against your lips: "Bend over the sink f'me.”

"What?", you blink, words not really reaching you through the lustful haze that has wrapped your brain in like cotton candy. All you can do is look at him, at this very handsome stranger with the very fake name and he has your head swimming, brain giving in and surrendering to lust once more.

You take the hand he offers you as he helps you down the sink, your legs a little wobbly. "Alright c'mon now, girl, don't keep me waitin'", Tangerine gives you a light pat on the cheek, rings barely connecting with your skin - a patronizing gesture that has your knees going ever weaker for a moment as you try to turn around, hands gripping the edges of the sink.

You watch him in the mirror, as he makes quick work of his belt and the fly of his trousers. As he pulls his dick out, your mouth waters. It's long and big and has just the right girth, a drop of precum glistening on its tip. You'd really like to suck that cock, like right motherfucking now.

Tangerine looks at you. "Got all hungry fo'it?", and you nod - breathing out Fuck yeah - arching your back for him, "Alright love, just a minute."

He spits in his hand and rubs the saliva over his dick, giving himself one, two strokes. You arch your back, keeping your eyes on him as he grabs your hips hard, lines himself up, head of his dick resting against your hole - all hot and hard - and then he finally, finally pushes himself in. The stretch is nice and has you squirming a little with the dull pain, excitement lighting your nerves up.

"Jesus Christ", his head falls forward a little, "You're so fuckin' tight."

He bottoms out, forcing himself in deep, holding still. You can feel his dick twitching inside of you, but he doesn't move and you can see his chest heaving, hear him grunt. His hand roams over your bare ass, shoving the dress even higher, until your back is partly exposed and his hand creeps around your body, over your stomach and under the dress, slips beneath your bra and cups one of your tits.

Tangerine squeezes it, feels you up and then pulls his dick back out only to quickly push himself back in. The sound that leaves your throat is nothing but desperate and your hand grips the sink harder, knuckles slowly turning white. His jaw is going a little slack as he rolls his hips into you, fucking you slowly.

"Ah shit", he groans, a deep and coarse sound, that makes you shiver, "Doesn't that just feel lovely?"

He watches the way his dick pumps into your pussy, eyebrows drawn together, lips slightly agape - until his gaze meets yours in the mirror once more and there it is - a shadow that dances over his eyes, turning the mesmerizing blue and green dark dark dark. One of his hands suddenly darts forward, rings glimmering in the dim light, only to roughly grab your chin, forcefully holding your head in place. It hurts a little, but the pain feels good, the way it stretches your back and intensifies the arch of it, forces you to look at him and yourself. Your mascara is pooling beneath your eyes, pupils blown wide and cheeks reddened.

"Would'ya just look at yourself", Tangerine groans, "Ya might be the hottest fucking thing I've seen in a long fuckin' time --" He groans again, thumb catching your lower lip and you moan as you watch his face coming a little loose with pleasure.

Tangerine picks up a faster rhythm, thrusting into you and you push your hips back, meeting him - desperate for more more more. He grins at you in the mirror and his hand creeps a little lower, until it rest riiight below your jawline and then -

Then he squeezes.

It has you gasping, choking a little at the sudden loss of air and the feeling of your windpipe being closed. Your hip bucks against his and he licks his lips.

The lack of air has adrenaline rushing through your veins once more, as his dick pushes against your spongy hot walls and you feel your body surrendering to him fully, the small voice in the back of your head remembering you that You are at his mercy has you growing even wetter.

The hand lets go off your throat, now gently holding your head in place and you suck in a few deep breaths, gasping, greedily sucking in the air, as --

There must be a bump on the rails, as the wagon suddenly lifts a little and has you thrown forward towards the mirror, shoves his dick deeper into you. You moan, instinctively catching his eyes in the mirror.

His lips are slightly parted, eyes darkened by lust and his fingers dig into the flesh of your hips. The train speeds up just as he leans forward, throws his chest against your back. His body is so so hot against yours and your walls flutter around his dick, as his scent wraps you in once more.

Tangerine lowers his head, until his forehead rests on your shoulder, cock twitching inside of you. "Ya have no bloody idea what'cha doin' to me, Lady", he says, voice coarse and dark and your eyelids flutter, "'M gonna ruin ya."

He lifts his head a little and your gazes connect in the mirror once more. A shiver runs down your spine - he means it.

And you feel it, too, as he thrusts into you once, knocks the air out of your lungs with the sheer force of it. The tip of his dick hits the spot perfectly and you nearly cry out in pleasure, hands gripping the sink tightly. There are small lines forming around his eyes as he's grinning against your shoulder, pulls out a little only to force himself back in, even deeper this time. The hand that was toying with your tit leaves, crawls back down and his arm wraps itself around your waist, holds you close.

Your legs shake as Tangerine picks up a faster rhythm, starts pounding in to you like a starved man, like an animal gone wild. It's in his eyes, hunger hunger hunger and you feel pleasure shooting through your body, pooling in your abdomen. You squirt against his dick, wetting the trimmed pubic hair as his balls slap against your wet skin.

You suck in a sharp breath, a strangled high pitched whiny moan escaping your lips, as he hits your walls again, tip of his dick brushing over your g-spot, having you seeing stars. Your eyelids flutter, gasps escaping your mouth with every one of his thrusts.  

"Be fuckin' loud, you lil'slut, I don't care - one - bit", he says through gritted teeth, each word one thrust, "If they come knockin'. I’ll kill’em."

It shouldn’t – really, it shouldn’t – but it has your head swimming, rocking back against him, obscene sounds filling the small bathroom and you moan loudly. His jewellery rustles and clinks as he ruts into you, huffing against your shoulder. The force of his thrusts has your body moving back and forth like a ragdoll, hipbones bouncing against the sink, one of your hands coming loose and pressing flat against the mirror, desperate for any sort of leverage.

You can feel yourself clenching around him, white hot pleasure building on the edges of your brain, until there's nothing left but him him him.

"Fuck", you cry out, "I'm gonna fucking cum, shit shit shit", lips falling agape with pure pleasure. It’s too much and you can feel your muscles tensing.  

The hand around your throat tightens a bit more and that’s all you need – has your eyes falling shut, your second orgasm rolling over you. It knocks the air straight out of your lungs, has you going limp, while the muscles in your thighs and abdomen clench, holding and squeezing his dick inside of you.

You can hear him moan deeply, sounding far far away and then his cum hits your walls, paints it as he buries himself deep deep inside of you. You gasp, desperate for air and he lets go off your throat.

You suck in a few breaths and feel him doing the same, chest heaving against your back. "Fuck", he says and slowly straightens back up, looking at you in the mirror.

"Y'good over there, love?"

"Uh-huh", you hum, unable to speak, and blink at him. His hair's a mess and his cheeks are a little reddened, glistening with sweat.

Tangerine fucking winks at you and then slooowly, very carefully pulls out of you. You inhale sharply as you feel some of his cum following suite, dripping down your legs. You want to straighten up, too, clean it up, but he's quicker, taking one of the disposable towels and gently sweeps along your cunt.

"'S good, I can do that too, y'know", you say and take it from him, cleaning yourself up. For a long moment, while you can hear him putting himself back in his pants, there's silence between the two of you. Only, as you carefully put your dress back in place, does he look at you again.

"Be careful tonight, sweetheart", he says nonchalantly while tugging his shirt back into his slacks. He says it like it's nothing but it has the hairs on your body standing up.

I’ll kill’em. I’ll kill’em. I’ll kill’em. You look on the slight stains that his blood left on your fingers, that soaked his shirt.

"Make you sure you get out of that train in Nagoya, y'hear me?", his gaze is soft as it lands upon you. Your brain goes numb with anxiety.

"Y-yeah, yeah sure. I'm meeting a friend there, wouldn't miss her for the world."

He smiles at that. A genuine, warm smile. It does something funny to your stomach. "Alright love, gotta dash", he's straightening his vest and giving himself a glance in the mirror, running his hands through his hair, "There's this chap I gotta get rid of. Gimme a call, when you're in London, would'ya?"

You just nod and take the slim, white card he hands you. The numbers on it are orange.

"Very fucking funny", you huff and he grins, leans down towards you, and places his lips on your cheek. The kiss is feather-light but it'll haunt you late at night in the weeks, months to come after the story of the crashed bullet train breaks the international news. But right now, it makes your chest tingle in all the right ways.

"Tis'a good girl, eh?", Tangerine whispers and then, throwing one last look at you, struts out of the door.

Pretty When You Cry

Tangerine x f!reader

cross-posted on ao3

summary: Tangerine has a tendency of dropping back into your life at the most unexpected times. An incredibly frustrating habit, considering your efforts to forget him after you woke up to find him gone the first time you slept with him. No matter how hard you try to let him go - and how hard he tries to avoid his own feelings - something always brings the two of you back to each other.

word count: 6.3k

warnings: canon-typical violence, no use of y/n, smut (minors DNI), p in v sex, vaginal fingering, unprotected sex, dirty talk, excessive use of the word fuck, porn with a little plot

a/n: this started out as an idea I had been sitting on for a while, but I gave up fighting the itch in my brain to write for Tangerine. I may take the concept and expand on the story with a series, but for now enjoy some good ol' smut.

You step into the warm night air, the loud music of the club becoming muted by the walls. Your head spins as you lean against the brick. You’re burning up and the fresh air is a pleasant change from the thick, hot air inside. Sighing, you pull out a box of cigarettes and place one between your lips. You fumble with the lighter for a moment before you light the cigarette. You don’t usually smoke, but fuck you were feeling stressed. You’d finally agreed to go out with your coworker Carter, who’d been pestering you for a date for a while now. You thought it might be a good way to get your mind off of someone else. Unfortunately, you hadn’t expected him to bring you to a loud-ass club for a first date.

As you take a drag, the smoke swirls inside your lungs, making you feel light and dizzy. You tilt your head back against the wall and close your eyes as you exhale the musty cloud of smoke. You could feel the edge melting away from your nerves.

“Those things will kill you, ya know.” A familiar voice appears beside you.

“Fuck!” you jump, dropping the cigarette on the ground. You look up to see an even more familiar pair of eyes. Tangerine stands before you, arms crossed as he fixes you with a look that you don't recognize. He’s uncharacteristically dressed down tonight, wearing only dark gray slacks with a white button-up, the sleeves already rolled up. You try not to let your gaze linger on his tattooed arms. Why is he here? You were doing your absolute best to get him off your fucking mind, and yet here he is.

“What the fuck brings you here?” He slurs. The smell of alcohol on his breath is strong and it catches you by surprise. You’ve never really seen him drunk. Not like this, at least. 

“I could ask you the same fucking thing,” you shoot back. He has a lot of audacity to show up here. You would be shocked at his ability to track you down had you not known just who he was. He has his ways, not to mention an incredibly frustrating tendency to end up in the same places as you. 

“I thought you didn’t smoke,” he asks with a quirk of his brow.

“I don’t,” you reply flatly.

“Then what was that?” He points to the still-smoking cigarette you dropped.

“A distraction, maybe,” you mumble, leaning your head back against the wall. “You’re drunk, Tan, drunker than me.”

Tangerine laughs and runs a hand through his slick curls. “What are you runnin’ from, love?” His demeanor softens and he turns to lean on the wall beside you. Even now you still feel so small under his gaze.

“Oh fuck off,” you groan back. He chuckles again and you feel agitation stir within you.

“Where’s your boyfriend?” He really is drunker than you.

“Why do you have so many fucking questions?” you snap. “And he’s not my boyfriend.”

“Got another?” He motions to the cigarette on the ground.

“What happened to ‘those things will kill you’,” you mock his words from earlier as you pull another from the box for him.

“You might not smoke, love,” He says in a low voice as he places the cigarette between his lips, “but you know that isn’t the case for me.” He dips down slightly so you can light it for him, something you’ve done many times before. The close proximity of his face to yours sets off alarms in your brain. As you flick the lighter, his eyes shift up to yours and his cerulean gaze bores into you, making your skin prickle as you stand under his large frame. When the cigarette is finally lit, he straightens back up to lean on the wall. You watch as he takes a long drag before taking the cigarette between his ring-clad fingers and exhaling the smoke. Silence fills the space between you, only the sound of the music thumping inside can be heard. After a moment, you push yourself off of the wall and turn to walk back inside, trying not to stumble as you make your way to the door.

 “Where are you going?” you feel his large hand wrap around your wrist and pull you back towards him.

“Well, you made me drop my cigarette, Tangerine. I don’t have any reason to be out here now,” you tell him, refusing to look at him. “Carter is probably wondering where I am anyway.”

“Don’t.” The tone of his voice causes you to falter. It’s unfamiliar, something you can't place. Not quite demanding, but not quite begging. 

“I’m just going inside,” you huff and pull your wrist from his grip. Just as you turn to walk away again, his arm wraps around you and pulls you to his chest. You reach for his biceps to steady yourself. “Tan. You’re drunk,” you whispered.

“So are you.” His voice is raspy in your ear. You hesitate for a moment as you search his face. You couldn’t do this again, but god damn was it difficult to pull yourself away. Ultimately, you follow your better judgment as your hands come up to his chest and gently push him from you. He stays silent, watching as you turn back towards the door and head inside. The blaring music takes over once again as you push through the bodies and to the bar. Tangerine’s words echo in your mind as you take a seat. You sigh.

“Can I get you anything?” The bartender asks, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“Double vodka cran.” He nods and busies himself with your drink.

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” Tangerine’s voice comes from behind you. You roll your eyes.

“You think you can go five minutes without questioning my decisions?” you retort. Tangerine chuckles again, taking the seat next to you. “I’m trying to fucking enjoy myself.” He doesn’t reply, instead ordering himself a drink when the bartender brings yours over.

“Hey!” Oh fuck. You hear Carter’s voice and look up to see him getting up from a table and heading in your direction. Running into Tangerine on your little smoke break has caused you to nearly forget that you even came here with him and you feel a bit guilty as he approaches the bar. “I thought I’d lost you for a moment th-” He stops when he notices Tangerine. “Is he bothering you?”

“No, we were just talking. I know him. It’s fine.” you wave your hand dismissively and take a sip of your drink, feeling the alcohol burn your throat.

“Yeah I know you do, he’s the fuckin’ asshole from the party.” Of course he remembers, Tangerine wasn’t even supposed to be there that night. He and Lemon had barged back into your life again, asking you to help sneak them into some fancy party that your job was catering for. You’d dressed them up as waiters and gotten them inside to do god knows what. Carter was none the wiser, assuming they were simply extra hands hired for the event. Until, of course, Tangerine’s inability to keep his mouth shut nearly started a fight with Carter. 

“C’mon, let’s go,” Carter says, putting a hand on your back. The gesture sends icicles up your spine and you fight the urge to recoil under his touch.

“What? No, I said it was fine.” You look up at him, furrowing your brow a bit.

“And I said let’s go, don’t make this difficult.” He says harshly. What the fuck.

“Excuse me?” you set your drink down.

“She doesn’t want to go,” By now Tangerine is standing up and putting himself between the two of you. Carter scoffs and rolls his eyes, taking your wrist in his hand.

“Fuck off,” he hisses at Tangerine. You try to snatch your wrist back, but his grip is stronger than you expected.

“I don’t have to go anywhere with you!” You’re raising your voice now. You can feel Tangerine’s anger brewing without even looking at him. He’s practicing excellent restraint right now, but you know him well enough to feel the anger rolling off of him. 

“Listen,” Carter starts, “I’m not going to sit here and let you whore around with every dude at this bar.” Before you can even fully register what he said, Tangerine’s fist is colliding with his jaw, knocking him back.

You stand up, your barstool falling over as you back away from the two men. Carter puts a hand to his jaw, looking up angrily at Tangerine before rushing forward and slamming him against the bar. Tangerine’s arm hits the drinks and sends them to shatter on the floor.

Carter draws back and punches Tangerine in the face, his other hand holding onto Tangerine’s collar. Tangerine grabs Carter’s shoulders, slamming his forehead into the other man’s nose. The sudden impact causes Carter to stumble back and Tangerine takes the opportunity to shift their position so that he’s the one holding Carter against the bar. His knuckles are white as he grips Carter’s shirt, his curls breaking loose from their slicked-back position and falling in his face as he rears back and punches him again. He punches him a third time, and a fourth, and a fifth…

“Tangerine! Stop, that’s enough!” you yell. By now people had noticed the fight. Two men quickly approach the three of you. Shit. One of them reaches Tangerine, who was now on his seventh punch, and pulls him off of Carter. The other one grabs Carter off the bar, his face bruised and bloody. You follow them as they drag the angry, panting men to the door.

“God dammit!” Carter yells as he recovers from being thrown outside. He lunges for Tangerine, who’s already prepared to catch Carter’s weight. He pivots them around, pinning Carter against the brick, his forearm pressing into his neck.

“Unless you’re not particularly fond of havin’ your arms attached to the rest of ya, I’d fuck right off if I were you,” he threatens in a low voice. He holds him there silently for a moment more, eyes wide and burning, waiting for a chance to make good on his threat. Carter finally nods, shoving Tangerine off of him and gathering himself up. 

“He’s fuckin’ crazy,” he says looking at you. “Fuck both of you.” He throws his hands up as he backs away for a moment, then turns to leave.

Tangerine watches him round the corner, waiting until he’s completely out of sight before turning back to you. 

You aren’t even sure how to process what just happened and you fight the tears threatening to well up in your eyes because you’re drunk and this isn’t how your night was supposed to go. 

“Are you alright, love?” Tangerine asks, hands grabbing your face gently. His thumb strokes over your cheekbone as he searches your eyes and gives you a slight once-over. You close your eyes and nod. “Let’s get out of here.” He wraps his arm around your shoulder, pulling you close to him as he leads you off toward his car without a glance back.

“I’m not mad,” you break the silence as you sit in the passenger seat of his car. He clenches his fists around the thin steering wheel, sobered by the fight and rush of adrenaline.

“I wasn’t going to let him get away with sayin’ some shit like that to you,” he says, not taking his eyes off the road.

“I know,” you say softly. 

“Why’d you even agree to go out with that prick anyway?” 

“I’d never heard him say anything like that before. He’s always so nice at work, or at least he seemed like it. He’d been interested for a while, but I kept brushing him off. I don’t know, it didn’t seem smart to go out with my coworker.” You know that part is a lie and you’re not sure if Tangerine sees through it because he doesn’t respond. “I finally just agreed because…” you pause, not wanting to tell him that the reason you agreed to go out with Carter was because you would have done anything to get Tangerine out of your brain, “it doesn’t matter.”

He looks over at you, an unreadable expression on his face. “Well darling, you have absolutely awful taste in men,” he finally says in a playful tone that makes you laugh for the first time tonight.

“Do you think you could stop at a gas station? I need a drink or something,” You feel the fog beginning to clear from your head and you really don’t want to face the impending headache.

“Yeah, of course. Could use a pack of smokes anyway, rather than bummin’ ‘em off of you,” He says as he searches for a place to stop.

The hum of the engine comes to an abrupt stop and Tangerine pulls the keys from the ignition. He looks over at you. “You comin’?” He asks. You nod and give him a small smile before he exits the vehicle. Neon lights dance across the damp pavement and draw your attention to the flickering sign above the convenience store as you step out. You're surprised at the number of people at the store at such a late hour, and the way they lean against their cars and eye Tangerine suspiciously gives you an unsettled feeling. He looks rather disheveled and it doesn’t help that his knuckles are bloody and busted. You look like a mess as well you’re sure and there’s a bruise forming on your arm where Carter grabbed you. The jingle of a tiny bell snaps you out of your thoughts and you see that Tangerine is holding the door for you. You mumble a low “sorry” and he continues inside. The cool air hits you as you follow him quietly.

You head for the drinks in the back and swing open the cooler door. The chill air feels good on your flushed face and you take it in for a moment, taking a deep breath in your attempt to gather yourself. You settle on some flavored water. Closing the door, you make your way through the fluorescently lit aisles, back to Tangerine’s side. Your head is still swimming from the drinks but you can feel sobriety reaching through. You stand silently beside him in line until you hear someone clear their throat behind you. When you turn to look, a man is looking Tangerine up and down with a suspicious look. You know he’s noticed the bruise on your arm and the way your makeup has started to run.

“Are you good?” He asks quietly, trying not to draw Tangerine’s attention. He hears him anyway, but before he can open his mouth with a snarky reply, you answer.

“Yeah, I am now,” you say softly, leaning a bit closer to Tangerine as you shift your gaze up to him and offer a smile. He feels a swell of pride in his chest at your words, thankful that you beat him to speaking, since he would’ve just told the guy to fuck off and mind his business.

The two of you reach the front of the line and Tangerine takes your water from you, placing it on the counter. You observe the way he moves as he talks to the cashier, his gold pendant glinting against his chest almost obscenely, the way his muscles shift under his buttoned shirt as he reaches into his pocket for his wallet, how the lines around his eyes crinkle when he smiles and -

“You coming, love?” He asks you, pocketing a pack of Marlboro Reds and handing you your water as he reaches for the door handle. 

“Yeah, sorry,” you say and follow him out, hoping you don't appear as flustered as you feel. You don't see the beginnings of a smirk playing on his lips. You are once again greeted by the humid air but you don’t mind. There’s a lack of words between the two of you after what happened tonight and you can’t seem to tell if it’s good or bad. It frustrates you that you struggle so much to read him. What’s even more frustrating than that is how much it seems to get under your skin that you can’t. Since when did you care about trying to read people? Since you ended up in sketchy gas stations at almost four in the morning with a contract killer, you remind yourself.

“You’re being awfully quiet, darling.” Tangerine’s words catch you off guard as he starts the car again.

“I just… don’t have anything to say,” you shrug, watching him fumble with the radio. It’s true. You were desperate to get your mind off of him, but the night took an unexpected turn and now you're here. With him. He doesn’t say anything, instead opting to switch off the radio and turn around to back out of the parking space.

The city lights pass by in blurry gleams of color. There is truly no calm here, you think as life still bustles about despite the time of night. Your mind wanders back to Tangerine. The way he found his way to you still tonight. You know that none of it would have happened if he hadn't shown up, but you're glad nonetheless. Carter wasn't someone you wanted around, and truthfully you were never interested in him. You know, that despite being unwilling to actually admit it to yourself, a part of you hoped Tangerine would be jealous. You also know that given the circumstances, whatever it was you felt for Tangerine, wasn't realistic. It was stupid and you knew it. 

“Shit,” Tangerine’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts and you look away from the window, "missed the bloody exit." The green of the exit sign illuminates his face as you pass under it, almost taunting him.

“Maybe you should pay more attention when you're driving,” you tease. He looks at you but doesn’t speak. It’s quiet the rest of the way back to your apartment. 

Tangerine pulls into a parking spot and turns off the car. You begin to thank him for the ride, expecting him to simply drop you off, but he gets out and heads towards the stairs.

“Walking me to the door? How sweet,” you say teasingly as you step out of the car.

“Jus' wanna make sure you're safe,” he mutters, looking past you. You only nod, understanding what he doesn't say. 

When you unlock the door, you stand quietly for a moment, not sure if he intends to leave or come inside. He looks at you with an unreadable expression before speaking.

“I guess I should be off then, I’m sure Lemon’s probably wonderin’ where the fuck I am right now.” You feel a twinge of disappointment but you nod, knowing it's best if he leaves.

“Thank you, for, well, you know. You didn’t have to do that.”

“It’s always a pleasure havin’ the opportunity to rough some bastard up a bit,” he jests.

“Of course it is. Goodnight Tangerine, thanks for getting me home.” You smile and shut the door the moment he turns to walk away, not wanting to watch him leave for another time.

You stand there with your hands on the door for a minute, your mind reeling with the events of the night as a flood of emotion hits you. First, a wave of affection for Tangerine, the way he leapt to your defense without a second thought. A pang of sadness follows, knowing you have fallen for a man with walls so high you’d never manage to scale them, a dangerously unhinged man that fell out of the fucking sky and right into your life. Then finally, anger washes over you. Anger for showing up tonight, when you just wanted to move on. Anger for leaving you to wake up alone after you fucked him, for making you fall in love with him all while knowing he’d keep you an arm’s length away. Anger that despite all of this, he just keeps showing back up in your life. In your heated frenzy, you reach for the door handle, hoping to catch him before he drives away, fully prepared to tell him off. You swing the door open but are taken completely by surprise to see Tangerine standing on the other side. He seems surprised too, not expecting you to fling open the door while he stood there still. 

“You been standing there like a fucking dickhead this entire time?” You ask, crossing your arms. He gives you a defeated look.

“Couldn’t bring myself to fuckin’ knock. Couldn’t bring myself to just fuckin’ walk away either.” You watch him for a moment before deciding he’s being sincere and step aside to usher him in.

“Why’d you even fucking show up tonight, Tan?” You demand, closing the door behind him. He exhales deeply, his back still to you. 

“I had no intention of showin’ up. I knew you were out with that tosser and the fuckin’ bottle got the best of me, darling. Next thing I know I’m gettin’ in the fuckin’ car because I couldn’t stand to think about you with that prick for one more fuckin’ second.” He finally turns to face you. His raw honesty is something new to you, usually, you’re left trying to piece what little bit he gives you together like some fucked up emotional jigsaw. 

“I should’ve never agreed to go out with him,” you admit, meeting his eyes. “I just,” you draw in a breath, “I couldn’t get you off of my goddamn mind. I thought if I went out with him, then it’d take my mind off of you.” Tangerine’s lips press into a thin line, the crease between his brows deepening as they knit together.

“And,” you say, taking a step forward, “there was a part of me that thought maybe,” you swallow thickly, embarrassment creeping up on you, “that maybe you’d be jealous, even.”

“Oh you’re playing a very dangerous game, sweetheart,” Tangerine murmurs, his demeanor shifting. “You’d be smart to move on, forget me and find someone perfectly ordinary bloke instead.” You stare up at him as he moves in closer to you. “But you’re too fuckin’ stubborn, you’d rather nearly get your coworker killed to try and fuckin’ get at me.” There’s a sinister edge to his voice that sends a shiver up your spine and you wonder if you should’ve even admitted that to him.

He grabs your chin with one hand and looks at you through half-lidded eyes. Your pulse quickens, but your anger hasn’t completely dissipated. 

“You’re the one who fuckin’ left in the middle of the night after you fucked me,” you spit back. His grip tightens and you swear you see the end of his mustache twitch.

“I did you a fuckin’ favor,” he hisses and lets you go. “You’ve got no business gettin’ tangled up with some fucked up bastard like me.” 

“So why do you keep showing back up? Why haven’t you fucked off for good then? You said I’m stubborn but you won’t let me move on.” You’re starting to raise your voice now, your emotions running hot. Everything you’ve felt since he walked into the little cafe you work at on that ordinary fucking Wednesday afternoon is now bubbling up to the surface. You turn from him, walking away toward the living area of your apartment but he catches your wrist, gently. 

“Because it turns out I just can’t get you the fuck off my mind either, love.” Your stomach is in knots, somehow both fluttering and sinking at the same time. “And maybe the thought of some fuckin’ arsehole takin’ you home ate me the fuck up.” You stare at him, feeling weak under his burning stare. Emotion flashes across his face and he looks down in contemplation.

“I fuckin’ love you, alright?” He chokes out. You step closer to him again to close the distance. “Is that what you wanted to hear? That you’ve fucked right with my head? Got me showin’ up to clubs off my fuckin’ face because the thought of anyone else havin’ ya makes me wanna put a bullet right through their skull.”

Your mouth is on his the second he stops speaking. His surprise fades quickly as his lips start to move against yours and you take him in. He tastes like vodka and cigarettes. He drops your wrist and wraps his arm around your waist. Your thoughts are consumed by him as you feel his tongue glide across your lower lip. Without a second thought, you let him in and your hands reach up to tangle in his curls. You run your tongue along the back of his teeth and he groans into your mouth. You wince slightly when he pulls away and trails his lips down your jaw.

“You make me fuckin’ insane, you know that?” He says between kisses.

“Show me,” you say breathlessly, biting back a moan when he nips the skin of your neck. 

He doesn’t waste a second backing you up to the couch. You collapse onto the cushiony fabric below the moment you feel it hit the back of your calves, pulling Tangerine down with you. He’s still leaving marks along your neck so you grab his face and redirect him to kiss you again, his mustache tickling your nose. Your hand ghosts over the bulge in his trousers and his hips buck into the palm of your hand. The sound he makes is so pretty it sends a flood of arousal straight between your legs.

He pulls away again and looks at you, lips wet and glistening. His hand reaches the waistband of your pants and he meets your gaze in search of approval. You give him his answer by grinding your hips against his hand.

“You’re eager, darling,” he says as he slips his hand below the elastic, “but I’m taking my time with you.” He runs a ringed finger through your folds. “Fuckin’ hell you’re already so wet for me baby.” You bite your lip and lift your hips in an attempt to remove your pants. He swats your hands away and pulls them down for you, followed by your panties, tossing them both aside. He sits back on the couch, drinking in the sight of you. 

“Fuckin’ gorgeous thing you are,” he swears as he returns his attention to your cunt, gliding his fingers through your slick and gathering the wetness on them. His thumb rubs a tight circle around your clit and you instinctively try to press your thighs together. He grabs one of your thighs with his free hand and forces them apart, holding them in place with his forearm. His ring and middle fingers plunge into you, the sudden intrusion making you gasp. 

“Ah- Fuck, Tan-” You whimper as he curls his fingers inside of you, feeling the pleasure beginning to pool inside of you. He lowers himself so that he’s kneeling on the floor in front of the couch. He bites at the inside of your thigh, working his way down to your soaked heat as his fingers still pump deliciously in and out of you.

“You look so fuckin’ divine with my fingers inside you, love, need to taste you,” he mutters against your skin. Your hand flies to tangle in his curls when you feel his breath against your exposed cunt. He licks a single, flat-tongued stripe up your entrance stopping to swirl his tongue around the sensitive bundle of nerves. His fingers are still working your pussy and you tighten your grip in his hair. He grunts when you tug on his curls, the vibration sending a shiver through you and causing you to buck your hips in response. His fingers dig into your thighs as he holds them apart still, fighting against your efforts to squeeze them shut. 

You feel your orgasm building up, chasing the sensation as you fuck yourself on his thick fingers. 

“Feels so good baby, gonna cum,” you manage between breaths, his fingers repeatedly pressing into your g-spot. He hums against your clit and the coil snaps. Your orgasm washes over you and you feel your walls spasm and tighten around his fingers. He doesn’t relent, still sucking and swirling his tongue around your clit, his fingers working you through the orgasm until you’re twitching from overstimulation. 

He pulls away, lips still glistening as he sits back and brings his fingers to his mouth to lick your juices off of them. You watch him, mesmerized at the sight. Then, he moves back to the couch, caging you underneath him as he shoves his fingers into your mouth. He watches you through lidded eyes as you swirl your tongue around them, tasting the metal of his rings.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he pants, removing his fingers. His pupils are blown and his hair is a tousled mess of curls, he looks so goddamn beautiful that it sends a sudden wave of affection through you, causing you to reach up to touch his cheek. He leans into your touch, dipping back down to catch your lips. His tongue slips back into your mouth and you feel his cock press against your thigh. You grind your hips up, reaching for his belt at the same time.

“Want you to fuck me,” you whisper as you break the kiss. He curses and pulls away to finish the job for you, discarding his belt and kicking off his trousers. He works at the buttons of his shirt languidly before shrugging it off and tossing it aside as well. You take the chance to pull your shirt over your head and unclasp your bra, letting it fall to the floor as Tangerine looks back up at you. He’s left in his briefs, his cock straining against the fabric as he moves to you once again. You reach for the elastic, freeing his cock and wrapping your fingers around him. He’s hot and heavy in your hand as you pump the velvety skin. 

“Thought you wanted me inside, darlin’,” he grunts as your hands glide over him. 

“Yes, need you.” You lean back onto the couch cushions, your legs spread. He kicks off his briefs and hovers over you, propping himself up on one elbow, the other hand taking his cock to line up with your entrance. He drops his head down to your ear, a growl vibrating through his chest as he bottoms out inside of you. The mild sting of him stretching you sends a surge of pleasure through you.

“Fuck, missed how you felt around my cock, love,” he huffs out. 

“So good, baby,” you moan, throwing your head back. The feeling of being filled by him is almost overwhelming. It doesn’t take long for him to find a steady pace, dragging his cock along your slick walls. You hook your legs around his waist and pull him to you. He growls when you dig your heels into his back, needing to feel him deeper. 

His rhythm picks up and he sinks back down, taking your nipple into his mouth. You gasp as he nips the sensitive skin, then swirls his tongue around it soothingly. Your hand finds purchase once more in his hair, the other clawing at his back as he splits you open on his cock, sinking into you repeatedly. He releases your nipple and licks a stripe between your breasts. 

“Tangerine,” you cry out his name when the blunt head of his cock hits your g-spot. “Fuck right there.”

“Look at you, my little fuckin’ cock-drunk slut,” he groans between thrusts. Suddenly you feel something cold hitting you in the face and you see his pendant dangling in front of you. It slaps obscenely against your cheek with every rut of his hips. You tilt your chin up, looking at Tangerine through your lashes as you take the gold charm between your teeth with a gentle tug on the chain. The gesture alone is enough to send him into a frenzy and he reaches a brutal pace, pistoning into you as he chases his own orgasm.

“You gonna come for me again, sweetheart?” He rasps, “I’m close.” He adds, reaching between the two of you to massage your clit. You choke back a moan, writhing beneath him. You manage to nod and he hits your g-spot again. Your back arches up from the cushions, your chest pressed to his. 

“That’s it, pretty, come on my cock. Wanna feel you squeezin’ me.” His words send you over the edge, your orgasm crashing into you blindingly. Your pussy clenches around his length and his name spills from your lips like a prayer as your walls flutter around him. His hips still rut into you at an unrelenting pace through your orgasm. 

You feel his cock twitch and know he’s not far behind you.

“Want you to cum inside me,” you breathe. His head snaps up to look at you, eyes wide and pupils blown with pleasure.

“Bloody hell,” he pants, “you’re fuckin’ filthy. Wantin’ me to fill you up, love.” His hips falter. “Anything you want. Anything for you.” He thrusts again, reaching even deeper this time. His mouth finds your shoulder and he bites down hard as he cums. You feel his cock twitching, painting your insides with his cum.

He collapses onto your chest after he empties himself, panting heavy breaths. You feel his heart hammering in his chest against your own. You lay in silence, your mind reeling as your breaths echo inside the room. After a moment he peels himself away from you, his gaze devotional as he takes in the state of you. Breath ragged, your chest heaving as his cum leaks from you.

“Why don’t we move to the bed, yeah?” He says, getting up and slipping his briefs back on. You hum in agreement, feeling completely blissed out. He disappears into the bathroom and you sit up, spotting his discarded shirt laying across the coffee table. You reach for it, pulling it over your shoulders and buttoning it halfway before heading into your bedroom.

Tangerine returns from the bathroom, coming into your room and stopping when he sees you sitting in his shirt. You smile at him from the bed, still feeling a bit like a tingly pile of jello. Affection blooms in his chest, a feeling that terrifies him each time it creeps up. He knows you deserve better than this, his entire lifestyle posing a risk to you. He really should just fuck off for good.

You watch Tangerine move to the bed, scooting over to him as he flops down beside you. He turns his head to look at you, and you take his hand, kissing his busted knuckles.

“You know, I didn’t tell you earlier,” you start. “I mean, you probably already knew.” He looks at you quizzically. “That I love you, too,” you finish.

“Yeah, I know, love.” He smiles, closing his eyes and pulling you to him.

Excessive amounts of sweat on your body wake you up but a weight on your torso stops you from sitting up. You look down, just able to make out Tangerine’s head on your stomach and his arm draped across your body. You feel a wave of relief to find that he’s still here with you. It’s barely light outside but you can’t go back to sleep so you slide out from under Tangerine’s grip. He stirs slightly, grabs a pillow, and rolls onto his stomach with his brow furrowed and curls flying wildly about. You’re still soaked in sweat from the heat of Tangerine’s body pressed up against you all night and your hair is a filthy mess so you decide to take a shower.

You start the water and peek out of the bathroom to make sure he’s still asleep. You’re relieved to see he hasn’t moved so you close the door and step into the small shower. The hot water erases the grimy feeling of sweat and oil but you’re annoyed as thoughts from the previous night creep into your mind. You should probably be angry but you’re only slightly annoyed, which comes as no surprise. How can you be angry thinking about how he kissed his way down your body, how his teeth grazed the skin of your neck as he sank his cock into you, your name pouring from his lips as he spilled into you. Then you remember what he said before.

He loved you. You didn’t even know if he meant it. He didn’t leave this time, so that had to mean something, right? You couldn’t have expected the night to turn out the way it did, but it was certainly full of surprises.

You stay in the shower until the water runs cold and forces you out. You wrap a towel around yourself and exit the bathroom. When you step back into your room, Tangerine is nowhere to be found, and your heart plummets. But before you can dwell on it too much, you hear a loud noise in the kitchen. Startled, you quickly head to investigate.

“Mornin’ sweetheart,” Tangerine greets you, standing at the stove with a frying pan in his hand. “How do you like your eggs?” The scene before you feels very domestic. His pants hang low on his hips, and he is very noticeably without a shirt. The sight of him in your kitchen, with messy curls and a dumb grin spreading across his face, makes your stomach flip.

You can’t help the smile that creeps onto your own face. Maybe, just maybe, he meant it after all.

The sluttiest thing a man can do is put on a racing suit and wear it unzipped to his slutty little waist

at least we got this gem on friday <3

reblog to send three ghosts after elon musk

Me reading enemies to lovers fics in 2012

Me reading enemies to lovers fics in 2021

I'm at a point in my life

i was not built for college but unfortunately i was also not built for anything else

Shout out to everyone who is just so tired So so exhausted So very very tired so very fatigued so sleepy and tired So

as above (insane in the head) so below (insane in the pussy)

what buffy did..... wearing halter tops to kill vampires..... sequins.... that very specific pink glittery jacket when willow exorcised those demons..... 90's mini skirt top jacket ensemble.... She was Right.... That is how you dress to kill vampires and other supernatural beings..... She was Right, those are the Correct Fashion Choices.... Pink leather pants when killing Count Dracula YES

traumatized fictional man with dubious morals I'd like to fuck

if i was in nope and angel torres took me back to his shitty apartment after we narrowly escaped a cosmic horror together i would’ve fucked him

WTTTFFFFFFFFF omg

Focus (Professor Quinn x Fem!Reader)

Masterlist

Summary: Professor Quinn asks you to meet him after school to discuss your failing grade.

TW/CW: SMUT. 18+ ONLY, minors DNI. Soft!Dom!Quinn, teacher/student sexual relationship, PIV unprotected, slapping, choking, oral (f&m receiving), facefucking, praise!kink

A/N: I've seen this image floating around and I immediately had to write something like this to go with it. If anyone knows the original editor of this, please let me know so I can credit them 🖤 Enjoy.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" you asked timidly, pushing open the door to Professor Quinn's classroom.

He had his large hands stretched across the binding of a history book, snapping it shut as he took his glasses off and set the frames down on his desk with a smile.

"Yes. Please, come in," he said, his voice ever smooth and baritone as it reverberated through the distance between you.

You took a few steps toward your usual seat when he cleared his throat, your eyes following his to the door you'd left open.

"Shut that for me, would you?"

You did as he said, carefully shutting it and walking toward your desk that sat directly in front of his. You took a seat, crossing your legs out in the aisle as he rose from his chair.

You felt heat rising to your chest, your face, basically everywhere as he walked around his long mahogany table, leaning against the front of it as he folded his arms over his chest, clutching a paper in one hand.

"Do you know why I've asked you here this evening?" He asked, a deep but kind tone to his voice.

You already knew the reason. It was your horribly graded history exam. You'd tanked it. But you hoped he would just fail you and save you the embarrassment of going over it with you.

You dropped your face toward your desk.

"I didn't do well, did I?" You asked, glancing up at him with weary eyes.

He smiled, forcing you to look away again. He was devilishly handsome, the kind of attractive that made you ache and throb in places you knew you shouldn't, not when it came to your teacher.

Everyone fancied Professor Quinn. He was charming, friendly, witty, with a sense of humor that could win anyone over. And his looks only added to his appeal; long curls the color of brunette and honey, neatly trimmed facial hair save for the few patches of scruff down his strong neck. Eyes of pure dark chocolate that burned straight through you anytime he made eye contact, much like they were doing now as he stepped closer to your desk, his shoes drawing your attention as your gaze rose from the floor again.

"It's not good," he smiled. "But I think I can help."

You took a deep breath as he sat your test down in front of you, his palms moving to rest on the sides of your desk as he braced himself there. His scent was strong as it intoxicated your senses, faded cologne mixed with cigarettes and a hint of manly musk from a long day of work. It was well after 5 now.

You glanced at the large, red F atop your paper before looking up at him, feeling flustered as he towered over you now.

"It's not good, is it?" You laughed nervously as a deep chuckle resonated in his chest.

"Did you study at all?" He asked as he stood up straight for a moment, before taking the paper in his hands again, and taking a seat on top of the desk. You leaned back in your seat on instinct, feeling like your thoughts were way too inappropriate as his close proximity had you squeezing your thighs together even tighter now.

"I won't lie. I didn't," you sigh. "I fell behind weeks ago, and I guess- I didn't think it mattered this close to the end of the year."

Professor Quinn nodded at you, rolling the test into a scroll in his hands.

"You're very smart, Y/N. I've seen your grades in your other classes."

Your stomach was full of butterflies as your first name rolled off his tongue. He had never called you that before, and it lit something inside of you as he continued talking about your potential.

"So why is it that you can't pass my class?" He asked suddenly, raising an eyebrow.

You couldn't really think straight as he waited for an answer. You shifted in your seat, looking up at him with soft eyes as he reached up to rub his beard.

"I don't know."

He let out a soft laugh through his nose.

"Well, how can I help? What's had you so distracted?"

You swallowed what felt like a thick lump of cement as he rattled off a few normal circumstances that any other student would have: family troubles, insomnia, boy problems, too much partying?

But you couldn't tell him the real trouble, could you? You couldn't tell him that you spent the majority of class time staring at his hands as they gripped the edge of his desk whilst he rambled on about dead world leaders and the wars they started.

Or how you couldn't keep your eyes off his tight ass and the way his khaki pants hugged it as he wrote the book assignment pages feverently on the chalk board.

You definitely couldn't utter the words 'because your voice and your eyes make my heart stutter and my panties wet all at the same time.'

"Are you even listening to me now?" He laughed, cocking his head to the side as his creamy voice pulled you from your thoughts again, your eyes snapping up to meet his with enthusiasm.

"Yes! Yes, sorry," you said frantically.

"So you daydream. You zone out. That's pretty common," he said with encouragement, crossing those arms again as they threatened to burst through his tight button up. "Where do you go? What do you think about?"

His question stunned you as your eyes dropped to your desk, no true sanctuary since your teacher's large thigh was pressed against it now.

"You can tell me. I don't bite," he said softly, his finger brushing your chin before gently hooking beneath your jaw, lifting your gaze back to his. "I'd really like to know."

You couldn't take it anymore. You didn't know if he was doing this on purpose, but you couldn't find it in you to care as his physical touch sent an involuntary shudder through your chest.

"You," you admitted shyly, eyes pleading with him as you watched his perfectly plump lips turn up slowly into a smirk.

"There she is," he praised, rubbing his thumb across your jawline. You thought you'd faint if he wasn't holding you up by your face right now.

And then he leaned closer, lowering his voice even more as he let you in on a little secret to match yours.

"You make it hard to focus too," he said in a hushed tone, face turning more serious as his hand shifted slightly, his thumb carefully drifting to your bottom lip as he brushed the pad of his digit across it. "Open."

Your breath caught in your throat at his sudden instruction, but you only hesitated for a second as his lustful gaze fixed to your mouth. You dropped your jaw, allowing him access as he slid his thumb past your teeth and swiped it across the flesh of your tongue. You instinctively closed your lips around it, looking up at him to see his reaction as you applied just the right amount of suction, swirling your tongue around his knuckle as he let out a soft groan, clenching his jaw as he watched.

"Good girl," he whispered as he lifted your face slightly, his eyes falling down the length of your neck. "I'm going to lock the door now. And when I get back, I want you in front of my desk. Understand?"

You took a deep breath at the absence of his thumb from your mouth, watching as he took powerfully long strides to the door to lock it. You realized you'd been too entranced to move, hurrying out of your seat and over to his long, neatly organized table.

You slid a few papers and pencil cups out of the way, paying close attention to the name plate that read Professor Quinn as you carefully set it aside. This felt like a fucking fever dream.

You gasped softly as you felt arms around your waist, sliding up the length of your body as his hands gathered your hair to one side, his breath hot against your neck as he spoke.

"I've thought about this a lot, you know."

He said it as his hands brushed down your back, falling once more to your hips as he reached around to unbutton your jeans.

"Wondered if you were thinking about me in the same way, wasting precious class time with your thoughts in naughty places..."

You let out a small moan as his hand slipped down into your panties, the pads of his fingers plunging gently into your wet folds.

"You're already so wet for me, aren't you?" He chuckled as he pressed a kiss to the skin where your neck meets your shoulder. His fingers gathered your slick, bringing it up over your clit as he began to stroke you there in slow, agonizing circles. You braced yourself on his desk as he pressed his hips against you, leaning down toward his desk as you felt the imprint of his thick, throbbing cock pressing into your ass through your clothes.

"Professor, I-" you breathed, feeling dizzy as you struggled to form anything coherent. He already had you on the verge of cumming and your pants weren't even down yet. This only encouraged him as he sped up his fingers before sliding them lower, pressing one long digit inside of you as you gasped loudly from the pleasure.

"I've got you, darling," he cooed as he retracted his hand from your jeans before sliding them down around your ankles, his own trousers dropping to the floor after a few seconds. You stared at the black board in front of you with anticipation before feeling yourself being forced down onto the desk face-first.

You felt his large hands grip your thighs, spreading them open further as he sank down behind you, his breath ghosting over your wetness. His tongue was hot as it licked a long stripe from your clit to your entrance, his hands firmly holding your thighs still as he tested the waters.

You let a shuddering breath out against the cool surface of his desk, fogging up the glossy wood as you felt him press his face into your cunt, eagerly lapping at you as he groaned. The vibrations sent a chill up your spine as you tensed, grabbing for the edges of his desk to hold onto something, anything.

He shook his head slightly, his nose nudging your entrance as his tongue delicately flicked over your clit repeatedly, causing you to jerk against his hold. You felt your orgasm building, barrelling toward you as you laid spread open across your teacher's desk.

You were panting as he brought a hand up to continue the teasing on your bundle of nerves, his tongue sliding through your folds to plunge inside of you as you yelped at the sudden burst of pleasure.

"Oh my god, oh fuck, professor," You whined as he devoured you, your legs starting to shake as he only sped up the pace, moaning into you as he coaxed you to finish.

Your sounds went silent as he buried his face in your pussy, his fingers adding perfect pressure to your clit as you felt something snap inside of you. Your legs threatened to buckle as his strong hands held you still against the desk, lapping at your slick as you came harder than you could've anticipated.

He hummed as he rose to his feet again, his hands stroking your ass as he pushed your shirt up and pressed wet kisses down your back.

"So good for me, hm?" He whispered between kisses, running his large hand up the length of your spine and back down again, his warm cock pressed against your slick as you took deep, labored breaths, still coming down from your first high.

His hand travelled to your head now, taking a fist full of hair as he guided you up off the desk, making your back arch as you whimpered.

"You've got such a pretty mouth, love..." He cooed against the shell of your ear, a new wave of arousal dripping down into your core from his sudden dominance.

"I bet it would be even prettier around my cock."

You barely had time to let the thought float through your hazy mind before he was pulling you back by your hair, spinning you to face him and taking your lips in a long, dizzying kiss.

You moaned into his mouth as he greedily explored yours, filling you with the taste of yourself as his free hand pressed you impossibly close to his body.

He pulled your head back firmly, breaking the kiss as he studied your face with a smile. "You're doing so well, pretty girl."

His praise only amplified your arousal as you gazed up at his gorgeous face, his brown eyes full of lust as he admired you right back.

"On your knees," he instructed as you did just what he said, holding his muscular thighs for leverage as you admired his thick, visibly heavy cock. It was big, which you never doubted, light red from engorgement and the tip was already weeping with pre cum.

You licked your lips as your mouth began to salivate, leaning forward to take him as he yanked your head back abruptly.

"Ah ah," he scolded with soft eyes, a direct contrast to the hold he had on your hair. "Open."

You looked up at him as your mouth gaped, your tongue coming out to show him just how good you could be as he inhaled a sharp breath at the sight.

"Good girl," he growled lowly as he held his cock at the base, pressing the tip onto your tongue with a short hiss. He pressed himself in further, gliding over your tongue as the salty taste formed even more spit in the back of your throat. He loosened his grip on your hair as he moved both hands to the back of your head now, his eyes fluttering closed at the overwhelming warmth your mouth was providing.

You took it as a sign to close your lips around him, sucking gently as you pushed him further into your mouth. He was so big, you knew you'd be in tears before long, but you could hardly wait.

You swirled your tongue over his tip as he groaned softly, his jaw dropping open as you watched his face for encouragement. You pushed him as far back as you could, taking a deep breath before using the extra saliva you'd gathered to force him into the back of your throat.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered as his hands gripped your hair to force himself further inside. You felt tears pricking at your eyes as your lungs burned from the air supply being cut off, but you didn't care. You couldn't, not when he was making such filthy sounds and expressions above you.

He took control, pulling himself out just long enough for you to gasp for air, sputtering around his cock as a string of saliva connected your lips to his bright red tip.

"Fuck, you're gorgeous like this," he praised as he brushed his knuckles across your cheek before landing a light smack to your face. You gasped, looking up at him with teary eyes as your cheek stung.

"Too much?" He asked with a cocked brow, but you shook your head quickly, squeezing your thighs together. It had you aching for more.

"No sir. More... Please," you begged as he smiled, leaning down to press a kiss to your swollen lips, before smacking you a little harder.

"Such a good girl... taking me so well. Open," he said again as he didn't wait for you to oblige for long, thrusting himself in past your throat in no time. You choked as he fucked your face relentlessly, his curses and moans filling you with so much pleasure you thought you'd cum again as your pussy clenched around nothing.

"Yes, god, yes," he groaned loudly as tears streamed down your blushing cheeks, your nails digging into his legs as your chest burned. You wanted him to use you like this for as long as he felt like it.

He tightened his grip, your scalp stinging as he forced his cock as far as it would go, your nose buried into his dark bush of pubic hair.

He pulled out quickly as you coughed, gasping for air as he pulled you to your feet and spun you so you were bracing yourself on his desk yet again. He pushed your shoulders down so your chest was pressed into the cool wood, a haven for your hot face as he lined himself up with your dripping pussy.

He pushed in slowly as you squeezed your eyes shut. He stretched you open deliciously, your walls quivering around his length as the girth filled you so perfectly you could cry.

He bottomed out, stilling his hips against your ass as he gave you a few seconds to adjust to his size, rubbing his palms over your backside with a squeeze to each cheek.

"Look at the board," he said as he leaned over you, his hand moving underneath your chin to help you look up at the chalk scrawled across the black surface.

You read the writing, miscellaneous dates were scribbled with different historical events next to them.

"Are any of those written incorrectly?" He asked as he retracted his hips slowly, the glide of his cock making it hard for you to concentrate on what he was asking. You struggled to think, your eyes darting around the board in search of the mistake as he sank back into you slowly.

"I.. I think number 3 is wrong," you muttered, recalling that The Cold War did not begin in the 60s.

He ran his free hand down your back soothingly as his other hand remained around your throat.

"That's correct," he said before ramming into you one good time. You whimpered as your thighs slammed into the edge of the desk.

"When did the Cold War begin?" He asked, pumping in and out of you at a mind-numbing pace. You searched your brain for the answer, stuttering as you tried to think of it.

"Is it... Is it 1945?" You asked as he let out a tsk between his teeth. He pulled himself from you, leaving you devastatingly empty as you whimpered at the loss of contact. This was your punishment for being wrong, you guessed.

Only, you were wrong again.

You cried out as he landed a sharp blow against your ass, grabbing the flesh hard with his palm.

"Try again," he said firmly as he rubbed the sore spot. You took a deep breath, preparing for another slap as you muttered 1947, unsure if it was right or not.

"There she is," he praised as he slid back inside of you, filling you deliciously as you moaned out against the desk. "Now tell me how long it lasted."

"I... I can't..." You whimpered as he fucked into you so deep it had you going cross eyed beneath him. He bottomed out as he leaned down over you on the desk, his hands bracing himself against the wood as he leaned down over your face.

"You don't know?" He asked sweetly, pressing a kiss to your cheekbone.

"I can't concentrate like this, Professor Quinn," you said softly, feeling a little bit of drool threatening to leak out of the side of your mouth.

"Oh, so you want me to stop, then..."

You felt him lift himself off of you, beginning to pull out when you tensed, reaching back to grab his hip.

"No! No, please don't!"

He chuckled as he peeled your hand from his hip, securing it behind your back with the other one as he slowly dragged his cock against your walls.

"Then answer the question, babydoll."

"45 years," you choked out as he slammed into you again, humming deeply as he began thrusting in and out in the perfect rhythm.

"So you do know the material," he said as he brushed over your g-spot, groaning as you squeezed around his cock. "Did you purposely fail so you'd get extra attention from me?"

You had no time to answer before he pulled out, lifting you by the back of your neck and turning you to face him. He lifted your leg and hooked it over his hip with a firm grasp on your thigh as he sank back into you, pushing you back against his desk once again.

You wrapped your arms around his neck as he hit you at a new angle, being able to see his face was a whole new experience as his brows furrowed, his jaw muscles clenching as he pounded into you.

"If you wanted my attention," he groaned, punctuating the words with harsh thrusts, "all you had to do was tell me, darling."

You wrapped your fingers in his thick curls, your jaw falling open as he railed you against his table so hard that the legs began to scrape against the hardwood floor beneath it.

You nodded at him, a silent agreement as his dark brown eyes burned into yours.

He placed a hand on your chest, squeezing at your breasts and nipples before pushing you down onto the desk. He lifted your other leg now, hooking his arms beneath your knees and pulling you against his relentless thrusts.

"So tell me now," he demanded, barring his teeth as he fucked you down into the table. "Tell me or I'll stop again."

You couldn't take any more edging. He'd already pulled you to the brink of release over and over, ripping you from the cusp at the last second each time.

You grasped his shirt as you looked up at him through heavy-lidded eyes.

He grinded against your clit now as he fucked you, sending a burning sensation to your core that let you know you were about to cum and you didn't want it to stop. You wrapped your arms around his neck again as he slipped a hand down to massage your clit, resting his forehead against yours as his hips began to stutter.

"I've wanted this for so long," you breathed as he leaned closer to you, giving you access to rip open the buttons of his shirt and finally smooth your hands over his chest. "God, just like this, I've wanted this."

"Yes.. oh god!" You moaned as he thrusted deeper, sending you over the edge as your thighs squeezed around his hips. He was moving your whole body against the desk as he rocked you through your release, his own sounds and heavy breathing letting you know he was right behind you.

"Fuuucking hell," he groaned as he slammed his hips into you a final time, his head falling against your chest as he let out a few final curses, spilling his hot seed inside of you.

After he caught his breath, he rose to his full height again, carefully pulling out with a soft moan. He helped you sit up, carefully supporting your back with his strong arm as he grabbed your clothes for you.

"Does this mean I pass?" You asked with a cheeky grin as he let out a chuckle, reaching around you to grab his glasses. He put them on his nose, pushing them back and running his fingers through his hair before buttoning his pants. He looked like your polite teacher again, not the man that had just fucked you 3 ways to Sunday over his desk.

"No, it most certainly does not. It means you get to retake your final next week."

You felt relief flood you as you realized you'd get to study and hopefully manage a C.

His finger lifted your chin to make you look up at him again as he gave you a more stern look now.

"But you'd better pass this time. My praise is much better than my punishment," he said as he leaned forward to capture your lips in a heated kiss, wrapping his hand around the back of your neck.

He broke the kiss, helping you hop off his desk and onto the floor.

"Now get out of here before I give you extra homework," he teased, tapping you on the ass as you turned to leave.

"But what if I want homework, Professor Quinn?" You asked with seduction in your voice, looking at him through your lashes from the doorway of the classroom.

He leaned against the desk with his fists, his signature teacher stance that always made you weak in the knees.

"You've got my email," he said with a wink.

---

End 🖤

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'i could fix him' 'i could make him worse' well i could RAIL HIM !!!!!!!!!

u think i am joking but this is genuinely how i look while writing: “god, you’re so fucking wet” and “such a good girl” for the hundreth time in my miserable existence

Summer Daze | J.M.

Pairing: JJ Maybank x fem!Pogue Reader

Warning(s): 18+ due to explicit unprotected sexual intercourse (p in v sex), oral (f receiving), language, drug use (marijuana), underage alcohol consumption. Minors, do NOT interact.

Summary: JJ overhears the reader reveal a secret about herself to the girls in their friend group. He can’t let it go and decides not only to confront her about it, but to rectify the situation.

(GIF credit to @henrens)

Each year, the small costal town of Kildare hosted a series of movies in the park during the summer months as a way to entertain both locals and tourist alike. Somehow, it became an unspoken tradition for the Pogues to attend together.

Upon arriving, the girls decided to claim their spot for the evening and handle the setup, tasking the boys to obtain snacks from the designated concession stand.

JJ was the first to head back after securing drinks for the group, while Pope and John Bwaited behind for the rest of their order. He found Kiara, Sarah and Y/N sitting on a blanket they had spread out with three collapse-able chairs set up directly behind them. He took purchase in the chair behind Kie, leaning forward to pass out the drinks in his hand. “M’ladies,” he said in his best British accent, cheesy-grin on display. “Thank you, kind sir,” Y/N replied in the same half-assed accent, tying her best not to laugh as she passed the beverages to the other girls. “What movie is it this year anyway?” John B inquired, arriving with popcorn in hand as Pope trailed, holding an assortment of other junk food. Before the girls had a chance to respond, the opening credits for the movie started to roll, indicating the movie’s title. Titanic. All three boys groaned in unison, while Sarah literally squealed with excitement.

JJ would never admit it to a single soul but he actually didn’t mind the movie one bit. He found himself enthralled by the story, although he could have gone without the girls swooning over Jack every ten seconds. A nudge to his side caught his attention, making him turn his head. “Got take a piss,” Pope announced in a whisper. The blonde nodded, leaning back and smacking John B’s shoulder in an attempt to get his attention. When the brunette turned his head, JJ lifted his fingers to his lips as if he were holding an imaginary joint, lifting his brows in silent question. He watched as his friend leaned forward, whispering something to Sarah and without another word, the three boys snuck off.

While Pope headed towards the restrooms, the other two found a secluded spot behind the large screen to smoke. JJ retrieved the conspicuous joint from behind his ear, placed it between his lips and lit the end with his trusty Zippo like he’d done a hundred times before. As he inhaled, John B spoke. “This isn’t as lame as I thought it’d be,” he admitted, running a hand through his dark hair as the blonde passed the joint, casually shrugging his shoulders, exhaling the smoke with expert ease. “Yeah. Leo’s the fuckin’ man.” They continued their established rotation while discussing DiCaprio’s best roles until the bud was gone, only a roach remaining by the time Pope caught up with them. “I’m going to get another water. You want anything?” He asked, only for JJ to shake his head. “I’m good. I’ll meet you back at spot. Gotta drain the snake,” JB said, while the blonde was already walking back in the direction their seats.

With his hands in the pockets of his shorts, his cerulean blue eyes scanned the crowd as he walked, which consisted mostly of tourons and Pogues with the occasional Kook mixed in. By the time he got close to the girls, he realized what scene was taking place. The infamous car sex scene, which results in the iconic shot of Rose’s hand sliding down the foggy window. He smirked, perverted comment locked, loaded and at the ready on the tip of his tongue as he approached the girls until the sound of Y/N’s voice caught his attention. “Oh, bullshit,” she scoffed quietly, although loud enough for him to hear. “What?” Kie asked in a whisper. He watched as Y/N gestured to the screen as she spoke, “That.” His eyes flickered to the screen at the exact moment Rose’s palm met the glass. “This scene is unbelievable. I’ve never had sex that good,” she admitted, making both the other girls turn towards her with widened eyes. Sarah was the next to speak. “Wait. You mean to tell me that you’ve never..” She trailed off, gesturing to the screen. He watched as Y/N shook her head from side to side. “No, I’ve faked it,” he heard her say. “Every single time.” In unison, their jaws dropped at her admission. She simply shrugged without another word. JJ couldn’t believe what he had heard. Although he wasn’t purposefully eavesdropping, part of him felt guilty for overhearing such a personal conversation. He cleared his throat before taking his seat, announcing his arrival, so they weren’t spooked or taken off guard. Y/N was the only one to acknowledge him, giving him a sweet smile over her shoulder before turning her attention back to the movie. Meanwhile, the other girls were staring at each other, silently communicating the same thought in JJ’s mind: What the fuck.

He couldn’t concentrate throughout the rest of the movie. Instead, a million thoughts ran through his brain. What the fuck kind of guys had she been dating? Obviously, they were self-centered, selfish assholes but that was obvious well before he learned about her.. predicament. JJ never approved of any other male she hung out with. They were never good enough, simply because they weren’t him. He’d been harboring a crush on her since fourth grade but no one knew that. Not even John B. He couldn’t stop himself as his eyes fell to her. Thankfully, from where he was sitting, he had the perfect view. Not only could he appreciate her side profile or catch a glimpse of her smile while she laughed at the movie but thanks the height of his chair, he could see directly down her shirt, perky tits on full display. His mind continued to run wild. Did her previous partners even try? Because he would be willing to spend hours, days even, making her cum. Nothing would make him happier than knowing he made her feel so good, she came all over his cock. Or his fingers. His tongue. Fuck, he wanted her so bad before. With this new information available to him, his crush on her now taking on a new life of its own. His eyes raked down her body, appreciating every inch of her as he drank in the sight before him. Fuck, she’s pretty, he thought. He wouldn’t even know where to begin with a girl like her. Between her crop top and shorts, the amount of exposed skin was driving him absolutely crazy and caused him to shift in his seat due to his growing discomfort. At some point during the night, she has pulled her hair on top of her head and into a messy bun, a look that JJ was an absolute sucker for. He loved it when her hair was up. In fact, it was his favorite look of hers because he got to admire her neck without any obstruction. God, the things that he would do if he had a chance to mark her pretty neck up. JJ reached for a bottle of water, chugging the entirety of its contents in a matter of seconds before the sound of crinkling, cheap plastic caught Kie’s attention. She gave him the ultimate ‘eat shit’ look, although he wasn’t sure if it was for causing a disruption or for using plastic. Either way, he held his hands up in surrender, rasping a quick and quiet apology before blaming his sudden parchedness on the thick humidity.

Someway, somehow, JJ kept his shit together and the rest of the evening went off without a hitch. The next morning, however, was a different story.

Everyone, with the exception of Kie, stayed the night at the chateau. Which is why JJ was surprised to find the living room empty upon stumbling out, still half-asleep, from his room as the sun filtered in through the blinds. Once his eyes finally adjusted to the brightness, he walked out the front door, searching for his two missing friends before his attention was brought to the dock.

His timing couldn’t have been more perfect. There she stood, shimmying out of her tiny shorts until the only piece of fabric that remained on her body was her barely there bikini. JJ was convinced that he was dreaming as he headed in her direction, silently praying that his eyes weren’t deceiving him. As he strolled down the dock, he watched her lie down on the towel she had previously rolled out. He drank her in from head to toe, gnawing on his bottom lip as his blood started rushing throughout his body.

“Good morning, sunshine,” she said in a sing-song voice, looking up at him through the dark lenses of her sunglasses, which disguised the way she shamelessly checked him out. His hair was wild and all over the place, shirtless with his shorts sitting dangerously low on his hips, mouth watering as she appreciated his defined abs and pelvic lines. She noticed the button of his shorts was completely undone, the only thing keeping the fabric up was the zipper. Between his carefree attitude and his good looks, JJ Maybank oozed sex appeal. It was no wonder how every girl he set his sights on ended up in his bed. All he had to do was flash his pearly whites and they were goners, Y/N included. “G’mornin’, mama,” he beamed, voice raspy from sleep, the sound instantly turning her on. “Where’s Pope?” He combed his fingers through his hair, attempting to calm his bed head but failing miserably. She had to tear her eyes away from him before she risked drooling or foaming at the mouth. “Headed out this morning. Said he had to do some deliveries for his dad,” she noted, recalling the boy’s words before he dashed out the front door of the chateau. He simply hummed in response as he begrudgingly tore his eyes away from her, looking over the marshy water when a thought popped into his head. “Wanna go for a ride?” Y/N pushed herself up and onto her elbows, looking over the HMS Pogue. “There’s no telling when the lovebirds are gonna wake up,” she deadpanned. He smiled, shaking his head from side to side before he chuckled. “I’m talking’ jus’ the two of us.” His mischievous grin told her everything she needed to know. He was up to something and she couldn’t wait to find out. He watched her face light up as she grinned from ear to ear and he felt his heart skip a beat as he turned and ran back to the house.

He managed to swipe the boat keys in record time, while she snagged the last remaining beers from the fridge and tossed them into the cooler, which thankfully still had ice from the day before. “God bless, Big John and his investment in quality products,” she laughed, waiting on the porch as JJ emerged from the house, sporting the same look from earlier, except now wearing his bulky boots and trademarked red hat. It was a look that was signature JJ and little did he know, it drove her absolutely crazy. He grabbed the cooler with ease, despite its weight and lead the way to the boat. He climbed in first, sitting the cooler down and offering her his hand, which she gladly took. “Welcome aboard the HMS Pogue,” he announced with a smile as he helped her into the boat. Once on the vessel, she perched herself on the seat directly in front of the helm as he untied the boat from the dock. “My name’s JJ, I’ll be your Captain today,” he continued with his theatrics as he took seat at the helm, starting the engine and guiding the boat down the marsh. “What brings you out today, miss?” She was unable to stop herself from laughing, which she noticed was a common theme every time she was around the handsome boy. “An adventure,” she murmured, locking eyes with his. He bit his bottom lip, unable to take his eyes off of her, despite the fact that he was driving. By the grace of god, he knew knew the marsh like the back of his hand. He nodded, his mind and heart racing, although disguised by his calm demeanor. With his knee keeping the boat straight, he leaned over to the cooler, where he grabbed two beers. He opened them both with ease, handing one to her and lifting his in the air, tilted in her direction. “To an adventure?” He watched her smile even brighter as she clinked her amber colored bottle against his. “To an adventure!”

The mid-morning sun felt incredible beaming down onto her exposed skin as she lied on her back at the bow of the boat, while JJ flipped through the radio in search of a decent station. Aside from the occasional music or static from the radio and the shuffle from his heavy boots, the only other sound was that of the ocean breeze. While others were trying to get off the Cut, Y/N couldn’t think of anywhere better to be. JJ sighed, finally killing the radio without any luck of finding a decent station. “Of course, the damn thing is too old for a freakin’ auxiliary port,” he complained before downing the rest of his beer and opening another before sitting in front of the hull. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees as he looked at her, bottom lip caught caught between his teeth. “I have to admit something to you.” His words sparked her curiosity. She sat up quickly, hand splayed against her chest. “Holy shit. Have you brought me out here to murder me?” She asked, voice dripping with faux fear, making JJ laugh. “In cold blood,” he responded, taking another swig of his beer before sitting it in an assigned cup holder. “I overheard you last night,” he said, lifting his hat off his head, running a nervous hand through his blonde locks before readjusting the hat back on his head. She made a mental note of such because it was usually a habit of his whenever he was anxious. She sat straighter, crossing her legs as she looked at him, giving him her full attention. With her brows knitted, she tilted her head to the side. “What?” He signed. “Here goes nothing,” he thought to himself. “You’ve really never had an orgasm?”

There was a pregnant pause. He not-so-patiently waited for her to answer his question, although he sat perfectly still, giving her all the time she needed. After the initial shock wore off, Y/N’s laugh echoed throughout the marsh. “Of course, I’ve had an orgasm before,” she clarified. It was his turn to be confused. “But last night.. I thought you said that..” he trailed off. Realization appeared on her face as she shook her head from side to side, the slightest brush appearing on her cheeks. “I can take care of myself,” she said softly, the brush deepening. JJ thought she was the cutest thing, despite their very provocative topic of conversation. His tongue darted out, wetting his lips as he watched her lips wrap around her beer bottle, taking a quick sip. Never in his life had he been jealous of an inanimate object until now. He would give anything for that bottle to be his dick. “Did they even try?” The question fell from his lips before he had a chance to stop it.

“Why do you care? Do you think you could make me cum, JJ?”

“Think?” He scoffed. “I know I can.” He said, very matter-of-fact, cocky smile proudly on display. It was her turn to scoff, pretending as though his words didn’t phase her. Secretly, she loved playing this game with him.

“Yeah? What would you do?” She challenged, uncrossing her legs as she removed her sunglasses from her head and tossed them to the side before leaning back, elbows resting on the edge of the fiberglass as she checked him out from head to toe.

He learned forward, seizing her ankle in his hand before slowly ghosting his palm up the length of her leg, leaving a trail of fire behind him. He leaned further until his lips were positioned directly by her ear as he spoke. “I’d start by teasing the fuck outta you.” With his hand by her hip, he played with the thin strings of her bikini bottoms, sliding his fingers underneath, massaging her hip. “I wouldn’t stop until you were soaking wet,” his breath hit her ear, making her shudder. Moving his hand as slowly as he could manage, he slid his fingertips a few inches, still under the thin material as he ghosted over the top of her pussy. “Then..” he paused for dramatic effect as his lips found her neck. He placed a chaste kiss to her skin before whispering, “I’d eat your pussy like it was my last goddamn meal.” She arched into him, silently pleading for more. He smiled, removing his hand from her bottoms and snatching his hat from his head, throwing it carelessly over his shoulder. He took her face in his hands, hovering over her as he made her look at him. She locked eyes with him and instantly, melted. “Are you going to be a good girl for me?” She whimpered in response. Fucking whimpered before nodding frantically. She’d never been this turned on in her entire life. “Words, baby,” he encouraged, thumb playing with her bottom lip as he physically ached, wanting to kiss her. “Yes,” she said, completely breathless already. He smiled so big that his cheeks hurt before finally connecting his lips with hers.

Neither of them had been kissed the way they kissed each other in that moment. There was so much meaning behind the action. I need you, I’ve wanted you for so long, I ache for you. All being communicated without a single word being used. Fireworks. It was the hottest thing either of them had experienced. When his tongue slipped inside her mouth, Y/N moaned at his taste. He reminded of her summer as the taste of Natty Light (or was it Miller Lite? Not that she cared), coconut and the faintest remnant of marijuana dominated her senses. She was in utter disbelief this was actually happening. Finally.

JJ dropped to his knees, his lips slowly pulling away from her as he spread her legs. With his eyes locked with hers, he grabbed her bikini bottoms and slowly pulled them down her legs. She watched him through nodded eyes. She leaned back, assuming her previous position by propping herself up on her elbows and lifting her legs one-by-one so he could completely remove the fabric from her ankles with ease. He smiled, licking his lips as he finally took in the sight before him. Her pussy glistened in the sweltering sun, completely soaked with her arousal. His jaw went slack as he reached forward, spreading the wetness from her opening to her clit. Her head fell back and he lifted his head, taking in the sight before him with a wicked grin before focusing on her exposed core. “Prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen,” he drawled, inching closer until his mouth was on her, completely engulfing her clit. She moaned out loud, her body immediately reacting to JJ as her hips bucked beyond her control. “Fuck,” she gasped. Within a matter of seconds, it was evident to her that he knew exactly what the fuck he was doing. He roughly sucked her clit before licking her core with broad stripes, her sweet taste dominating all his senses as he lost his mind. “So fucking sweet,” he mumbled against her, the vibrations sending shockwaves throughout her body. When she looked down and saw his vibrant blue eyes locked on her as he ate her pussy like his life depended upon it, a loud moan escaped her open mouth, echoing throughout the marsh. With his eyes still locked with hers, he reached up and roughly pulled the fabric of her top to the side until her breasts were revealed to him.

She was a sight for fucking sore eyes, looking so incredibly sinful with her legs spread wide and tits on full display. She looked so goddamn beautiful like this and her taste? He was a total a goner. Her hands tangled in his messy blonde locks, tugging at the roots when he started playing with her nipples. “Fuck. Yes!” She hissed as she pushed his face further into her. He continued his assault on her cunt by using his free hand to slip his middle finger deep into her cunt. “So good, JJ!” She cried out, smiling at the feeling of being so full. He pulled back, removing his mouth from her momentarily and watched as his finger disappeared inside of her before pulling out and pushing right back in. This time, adding a second finger that stretched her out even more. “Don’t stop,” she begged, making him smile. He went back to work, focusing on her clit as he pumped his fingers deep inside of her. He lapped her up, moving his tongue at a blissful pace, while the sounds of his fingers fucking her greedy cunt filled the boat. With his free hand, he flicked her sensitive nipple, making her moan out even more as she clenched around his fingers, signaling to him that she was close. He curled his fingers upwards, pushing deep into her and massaging a spot that was so deep, Y/N didn’t even know it existed. “Fuck! Fuck!” She groaned, hips moving against his fingers as he pressed his face further into her, shaking his head from side to side. “JJ! Please, don’t stop,” she begged, feeling that she was on the precipice of her finish. With a palm full of her tit in his free hand, he squeezed roughly, teasing her nipple with the pad of his thumb and sending her over the edge. The blonde never stopped fucking her with his fingers or tongue through her high, ensuring the feeling of pure ecstasy lasted as long as possible for her. He only stopped when he felt her nails digging into his scalp as she attempted to pull him away.

Sitting back on his haunches, he took in her post-orgasm appearance. Her chest was rising and falling as she tried to calm her breathing with a blissed our smile on her face. She was drop dead gorgeous as it was but after she came? She looked so good that his chest ached for her, almost as much as his cock, which was incredibly hard and straining against his zipper. “That’s my pretty girl,” he cooed, messaging her thighs as he crashed his lips to hers, sharing the taste of her on his tongue. Y/N wrapped her arms around his neck as she kissed him back with everything she had.

Grasping her thighs, JJ lifted her as he got to his feet, clumsily stumbling backwards until he felt the seat in front of the helm hit the back of his knees. He laughed as he sat down, bringing her with him only for him to moan when her exposed core met his clothed erection as she sat on his lap, straddling him. “Shit,” he muttered, his hands finding her hips, holding her in place so he didn’t lose his mind too early. She bit her bottom lip, hiding a smile before she busied herself by littering his neck with wet kisses. “Baby,” he moaned as she explored his neck, only to find his most sensitive patch and sucking. “If you don’t stop, I’m going to fuck you right here,” he warned, his hands falling to her ass, giving it a harsh squeeze. “Do it. Fuck me, Maybank,” She replied, rocking her hips and grinding down on his cock as she pulled back to look at him. “Don’t make me beg.” He smiled at her empty threat, while snaking one hand up her body until he wrapped it around her neck. “Mmm. Don’t tempt me,” he teased, leaning forward and biting her neck before licking and sucking the same spot, sending shockwaves of pleasure down her naked spine. He reached behind her back, untying her bikini top and ripping it away from her body before his mouth found her tits. He wasted no time, kneading her breasts before taking two fist-fulls. He guided one of her nipples to his mouth, where he happily wrapped his lips around the hardened bud and sucked before flicking his tongue against it, eliciting a wrecked moan from the back of her throat. “JJ,” she whined, head falling back as he released her nipple with an pop before repeating the same action on the other, giving her perky tits equal attention.

“I need you.” Her made his stomach flip and his dick twitch at the same time. Although he loved teasing her and seeing exactly how desperate she was for him, he needed her just as badly. “I got you, mama,” he rasped, lips finding hers as he reached for his shorts. She held his face in her hands, shifting her weight onto her knees, which were pressed against leather seat on either side of him, lifting her weight, so he could remove the only pieces of clothing that separated them. In one swift movement, JJ shoved both his shorts and boxers down his legs with ease, releasing his hard cock, which stood at attention. As her tongue explored his mouth, she reached between them, taking his cock into her hand and pumping slowly, finally giving it a fraction of the attention he needs. “F-fuck,” he hissed, breaking apart to look down, watching her tiny hand at work as his red, swollen tip leaked pre-cum onto her thumb. He knew if she continued, he wouldn’t last long and he was desperate to be inside of her. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand away from him, lifting it to his lips and kissing the back of it before placing it flat against his chest, directly above his heart, which was beating at an alarming rate. JJ grasped his cock with one hand and guided her down on him with the other, angling himself at her center before locking eyes with her, silently asking if it was okay to continue. There was no going back after this. They both knew it and neither of them cared. It was only a matter of time before this happened. Here it was. He ran the head of his cock against her slit, collecting her arousal before he slowly pushed in with ease.

“JJ, fuck,” she gasped as he slid into home. Once every inch was buried deep inside of her, he watched her as her head fell backwards, appreciating exactly how beautiful she was, despite her wrecked appearance. He beamed with pride, knowing it was all because of him. Giving her time to adjust, the blonde’s hands were all over her, worshiping her smooth skin and sinful curves. “Can’t believe those assholes didn’t treat you right,” he spoke, barely over a whisper. “Gonna make you cum so fucking hard that you forget them, baby. I’ll treat you right. I fucking promise.” He babbled until he felt her move. She rocked her hips against his and JJ moaned. It was his turn to throw his head back in pleasure. “Fuck yeah,” he hissed, gripping her hips tight but allowing her to set the pace. He glimpsed down to where their bodies connected before gazing at her through hooded eyes. “Ride my cock, baby.”

Something inside of her snapped, although she couldn’t tell if it was because of his dirty words, the depth of his dick inside of her or JJ in genersl. She quickened her pace before alternating between rocking her hips and circling them before bouncing on his cock. “Oh,” she moaned, finding the best angle as the head of his cock pounded a spot deep inside of her that no one else had come close to finding. “My God,” she cried out, struggling to keep her eyes open and trained on his face as he watched her. She looked so goddamn gorgeous, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her as she used his body to chase her high. He slid further down into the chair and gripped her hips, planting his feet firmly against the bottom of the boat, thrusting his hips upwards, fucking up into her. With his brows furrowed and his bottom lip nestled between his teeth, JJ focused on giving her the ride of her life, using every ounce of energy he had left in his tank. Lewd sounds filled the boat as the combination of skin hitting skin, her wetness, his grunts and the sexiest moans he’d ever heard became his favorite symphony. “Fuck, Y/N,” he groaned, feeling her pussy clench around him as she braced herself with her hands on his defined stomach, loving the way his muscles flexed under her palms with each thrust. “You feel so good, J,” she sighed as he slowed his hips, moving his cock in and out of her at a painfully slow pace, teasing the hell out of her. “Yes,” she drawled out the last letter, smiling before biting her bottom lip. He reached up and grabbed her neck, bringing her down to meet his lips in a desperate kiss.

“You gonna cum for me?” He asked, lips still pressed against hers as he spoke, his hand tightening ever so slightly around her throat. A moan escaped as she nodded, struggling to keep her eyes open. “Not yet. Hold it for me,” he demanded, releasing her throat and wrapping both of his strong arms around her as he sat up straight. He held her to his chest tightly, one hand caressing the back of her head, while the other guided her hips to move in perfect unison with his. “J, I can’t,” she whined, her head falling forward, forehead resting against his as she struggled to hold off her finish. “Yes, you can. You’re doing so good, baby,” he encouraged, digging his fingertips roughly into her hip. “When you cum, you keep your eyes open and on me, ‘kay?” He watched her nod in understanding before diving in and kissing her swollen lips, swallowing her sounds as his tongue entered her mouth. He grabbed her hips with both hands, guiding her up and down on his cock, while he thrusted upward, his hips meeting hers roughly, sending him as deep as their bodies would allow. Y/N held on to JJ for dear life, her hands tangled in his hair at the nape of his neck as she finally gave in to her orgasm, allowing it to take over every inch of her body. Feeling her clench around him one final time, JJ followed her, allowing his own release, his eyes never leaving hers as he coated her walls with his cum. He continued pumping his cock in and out of her until they both came down from their highs, clinging to one another and gasping for air. JJ’s hands slid from her waist to her back, keeping her body pressed to his, both covered in sweat from their actions and the summer sun.

A giggle escaped her lips as he brushed her hair out of her face, while she pushed hairs that were stuck to his forehead away from his, watching as the handsome blonde smiled brightly, beaming up at her. “Holy fucking shit,” she exclaimed, not bothering to move from his lap, although they were out in the open water. They both knew they could be spotted at any given second but fuck, neither of them could care any less. “What’s the verdict?” He asked, voice dripping with sincerity as he traced her spine with his fingertips in a soothing manner. She hummed, peppering kisses all over his face. “I now understand why people have sex addictions,” she exclaimed before they both erupted in laughter. “What about the whole,” she rolled her eyes, lifting her hands, “No Pogue on Pogue macking?” She said, using air quotes, making him laugh harder as he shrugged. “Fuck that. I’ll tell John B that shit went out the window when Kie stuck her tongue down his and Pope’s throat.” He gently caressed her face in his hands, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip as he stared at her lips. “Which I wanna do to you so bad for at least the next hour.” Before he could reach her mouth, she stopped him with her hands against his bare chest. “Take me home, so I can give you the best head of your life and then, you can kiss me all night long.” JJ’s wicked smile returned as he gave her a playful salute, followed by a wink.