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imaginaryf1shots · 7 months

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Who is he? | Charles Leclerc

Charles Leclerc x reader

WC: 3.1K

Warnings: goggle translated French, unedited?

AN:This could have been longer but I don't like my one shots to be too long. so here you go, I hope you like it!

Based of THIS request

Masterlist

The music was so loud it was hard for anyone to talk, but who’s at a club to talk anyway? You have a few drinks in you, not drunk but tipsy. Your best friend had a disastrous date last night and as a way to get her out of the mood she was in, your group of friends decided to hit the club to just have a girl’s night out, but here you are now, a few hours in and your best friends is dancing with some random guy and the rest are all doing their own thing. You for one was on the dance floor having the time of your life, you don’t know how, but in the low light of the club and in between the sweaty bodies of people on the dance floor, your eyes meet a pair of green ones. His eyes are on you and hold his gaze, it’s clear he’s been watching you, and now you’ve seen him you can’t take your eyes off him. So with a smile his way you continue dancing while maintaining eye contact.

The guy moves through the crowd and he’s suddenly right in front of you, it didn’t take any encouragement from either of you to start dancing. His hands were placed on your waist as you moved left to right swaying with the music. One song in, two songs in, three songs in and his hands have wandered to your lower back. Your hands moved from his chest to his shoulders to around his neck, bodies flushed against each other.

“Wanna get out of here?” You whisper in his ear and lean back to his dimples poking as he nods.

“Yeah, my hotel is close.” He says and pulls you away from the dance floor and waits until you grab your clutch and tell your friend at the table where you’re going before you’re out of the club and into a cab. “I’m charles by the way.”

“(y/n).”

Both you and Charles were sober enough for you to remember him but too drunk to think about safety of any kind, but it was a night to remember that’s for sure. And that’s not because of the amazing sex they had, which it was, no but because of the two pink lines she’s staring at.

“What does it say?” Your best friend asks coming into the bathroom, she sees you standing there in shock, looking over your shoulder at the pregnancy test, there it is. Your life is changed forever, from that moment on, your life went from revolving around yourself to revolving around the little human you’re growing inside of you. You knew instantly that you’ll be keeping the baby, no doubt about it.

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

“Seriously, how hard is it to find someone in the age of the internet?” Your friend asked, like on the day you all went out, you’re all now gathered again, your friends hand wine while you drank juice/water. All in your PJs with your latest craving all on the table, phones and laptops out. All looking for every possible Charles in your area, and then moving outwards. Looking for your oblivious baby daddy. Yes the clear possibility of him being from a different country is prominent especially since you went back to his hotel room not his house, but for the sake of being hopeful that’s a possibility you’re trying to ignore, for now.

Your friend’s words were proven wrong seeing as all your attempts of finding Charles were hard, you knew absolutely nothing about him besides his first name. You did spend long hours crying, because how foolish are you to go sleep with a random person you know nothing about but his first name, if it was even his real one. But alas, you’re going to have a baby, that you found out is a boy on one of your scans, which you were never alone to, because you best believe one of your friends was there with you.

one thing that came out of this for sure is, how amazing your friend group is, you’ve all grown closer, forming a bond that you knew will withstand time. all your schedules were synced and organised for someone to be always with you, for all your cravings to be met for you to just never feel alone, and the moment you gave up on finding Charles you knew that you’ll be okay and that your baby will be loved.

And he is, now at two months old, he’s the most spoiled kid there is, new clothes every week, new toys always being carried and dotted on. He needed nothing.

You were spending the day at one of your friend’s house that she had with her boyfriend, sitting on the sofa and just lounging around since baby Noah was down for his nap time. you and your friend were gossiping while her friend had his TV on to watch his favourite sport. You really weren’t paying attention, engrossed in the latest gossip happening, but his voice caught your ear, your eyes strayed to the TV for a split second, before you went back for a second look.

“What? what happened?” Your friend asked, confused as she looked at the TV then at you.

“That’s him.” You whisper but she picks it up, she doesn’t have to ask who you’re talking about. at the bottom of the screen Charles Leclerc is written.

“What are you talking about?” Her boyfriend asks, confused.

“That’s Charles.” You say almost breathless.

“Yeah, that’s charles Lec- wait Charles as in your charles, your baby daddy charles?” He puts it together, he really looks at charles.

“Yeah, that’s him.” You want to cry and scream at the same time, you found him, you finally found him, but how in hell are you going to be able to reach him. He's an F1 driver, he;s an athlete.

“I see it.” Your friend says and holds your hand giving it a squeeze. The eyes, the nose, the colour of the hair, they're all things your son and his dad share. no doubt that the older he gets the more he’ll resemble his dad.

“You better assemble the troops, we’ll need all the help to get to charles.” Your friend's boyfriend said and sighs.

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

Truer words were never spoken, because why is it so hard to reach a single person on Ferrari’s F1 team? you found out so much about Charles the moment you knew his name, one google search and you found out that he’s from Monaco, found out everything about his family and who his friends are. But you still had no way of reaching him.

So what would any sane person do, is book a trip with your friends and their SOs to Nice where you’ll be staying while venturing into Monaco. Was this the most practicable thing? no. but you all took time off from your jobs/school scraped all your money together and enter; mission: find Charles Leclerc. supposedly now is the start of the month-long summer break, so he was in Monaco spending some time with his family.

You had fun the first two days, visiting all the new places, Noah was having fun, you took all the cute pictures while venturing around Monaco and Nice. Every single person in your group had a picture of you on the night at the club and another of Noah to confront Charles and tell him if they somehow stumbled upon him or any of his family members.

On the third day your friend group split up, you and your best friend were going to a salon where it’s supposedly managed/owned by Charles’ mother, so you found it on the internet. To keep appearances and spend a bit more time there your friend was getting a trim and her hair done.

You sat with Noah in your lap on a sofa near where your friend was getting her hair done. Noah was babbling and talking all sorts of nonsense, at six months he’s starting to sit up with little help, so he’s having the time of his life with this new point of view.

“How old is he?” an accented voice asks, you look up from Noah to meet the woman you were looking for.

“Uh- he’s - he’s six months.” You tell her glancing at your friend, who gives you a discreet thumbs up. This is in fact Pascale.

“He’s super cute.” She tells you and looks at Noah who is now fascinated with her. Being a baby that is constantly surrounded with so many people has made him a social baby, he’s always happy to meet new people.

“Thank you.” Taking a deep breath as you think of ways to bring up that he’s in fact her grandson.

“Are you on vacation here?” Pascale asks warmly, you find her a very loving person, her dimples are ones your son shares, it takes everything in you not to tear up. Finally, you’re just one tiny step away from Charles.

“Not really… it’s a little complicated.” You tell the older woman, she looks intrigued. To Pascale she doesn’t know why, she can’t really place it, but your son reminds her of something, of someone and it’s on the tip of her tongue it’s so close. “My son’s dad doesn’t know about him, we had… we had a one night stand.” You don’t see any judgement in her eyes, which gives you comfort to continue. “And I just found out that he lives in Monaco, and my friends and I are trying to find him, a bit silly but I feel like he deserves to know.”

“Not silly at all, that’s really admirable of you to come to Monaco to look for him.” Pascals gives you a comforting smile and once again she asks you a question that saves you from asking you about Charles. “Do you know the dad’s name?”

“Yeah, it’s Charles.” It clicked, who your son reminds her of, how she wasn’t able to see it will remain a mystery for her. Her second son. Charles, no doubt in her mind that sitting on your lap is her grandson.

“I-I think we should go somewhere more private.” Pascale says and she’s unable to look away from Noah, her first grandson. grandchild period.

“Yes, please.”

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

Pascale took you, your best friend ,Sohpia, and Noah(ofc) to her house, she called Charles and told him to come over. So here you are in your son’s grandma’s house looking at all those baby pictures of Charles and his brothers, and you just can’t get over how much Noah looks like him. Pascale and Sophia were playing with Noah while you were having a moment in the bathroom, in desperate need to hype yourself up and to calm your nerves. yes you wanted Charles to know but all the fears of rejection of this all being for nothing came crashing hard on you, so many women were forced into being single mothers and you don’t know Charles, Pascale did say that she wants to a part of Noah’s life but it could all change when Charles finds out. it didn’t take long for the front door to open, and a very familiar voice called.

“maman, je suis là.”(mum, I’m here.) all eyes in the room snapped up to the figure that just rounded the corner into the living room. Charles stopped in his tracks, he saw an unfamiliar woman and a baby with his mother all sitting on the floor, he frowned a little before giving a polite smile. “Bonjour, je ne savais pas que nous avions de la compagnie.” (Hello, I didn’t know we had company)

“English Charles.” Pascale informed her son.

“Ah, sorry, I didn’t know maman had company.” He told Sophia and she understood now why you went with him that night, he seemed so kind and had this calming and trusting aura about him.

“It’s okay, this wasn’t planned.” Sophia said with a timid smile.

“Why did you call me, maman?” Charles turned to his mother confused, just then Noah started babbling away, he barely started to learn how to crawl but everyone could see that he was trying to reach someone, Charles turned to see where the baby wanted to go and he saw you. It did take him a second, he knew you from somewhere, but it came to him, that night at the club. his confusion reached a new high, what are you doing here? How do you know his mother? Why are you here?

You passed Charles and went to the baby scooping him up in your arms, in practised moves, like it was second nature. Charles took a look at you and Noah, your eyes met his and you gave him a nervous smile.

“Sophia, could you help me with the tea?”

“Certainly.”

That left the three of you together, mother, father, and son.

“Hi.” You said timidly. “I don’t know if you remember but we met last year-“

“Yeah, yeah I remember.” Charles cuts you off, you nod and take a deep breath.

“Look, I don't know how to say this but…” You fidget staying silent for a moment before you regain your courage to tell him. “I got pregnant after that night, and I tried to find out who you are and where to find you, but it was hard.” Charles says nothing, his eyes are on the boy in your arms, he takes him in, the eyes, the nose, the hair, the dimples, everything. “I know it’s hard to take in, and I can understand if you don’t believe me, but-“

“I believe you.” Charles breathed out, like his mum he knows this is his son, he took almost nothing from you and is all Charles. “can I- can I hold him.”

“Yeah.” You breathed out as Charles moved closer gaining his son’s attention, Noah went right to Charles, who held him securely and just smiled at the baby, both father and son were looking at each other intently. “What’s his name?”

“Noah.”

“Noah.” Charles tried out the name before he smiled, it was all a shock, he has a son, he has a son, he’s a father now, a father, his mind tried to compute this new information as fast as it could, but his heart, his heart fully accepted it, a new type of love that is completely foreign to him started to form and take shape. You let Charles have this moment in silence watching them, Noah placed his hands on Charles’ cheeks feeling his stubble and being fascinated with him, charles smiled making Noah smile and then giggle. This just warmed your heart and every single thought that ever doubted coming here went away.

“Do you want me to take him? I’m guessing there’s a lot of talking that you need to do?” Sophia came in after a few minutes and you gave her a thankful and grateful look. Once you were left alone, Charles turned to focus on you. You don’t know why you got so emotional but you did, you were wiping your sweaty hand on your trousers all while fighting your tears away.

Being the kind and loving soul that he is, Charles couldn’t fight pulling you in for a hug. your arms wrapped around him, a few tears slipped from your eyes but you managed to stop the rest.

“It must’ve been hard to do this alone.” Charles said, running his hand up and down your back in a comforting motion.

“It was hard, but I had my friends with me.” You said and pulled back,wiping your tears away, you gave him a teary smile before you both sat down next to each other angled so you’re facing the other, knees barely touching. “Finding you however is somewhat harder, all I knew was your name, and I never realised how many Charleses are out there.”

You went on to tell Charles about when you found out you were pregnant, a short summary of your pregnancy, how your friends helped you during and after the berth of Noah, how you found who he was and what you did to reach him and all that. Charles listened and asked questions, he wanted to know everything, as much as this was all a shock you’ve had it harder, you lived it, you’ve been living not knowing if your son will ever know his dad or not, not knowing what the future will hold and not knowing is so much harder than anything.

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

You extend your stay in Monaco, even after your friends all went back you stayed, this is Charles’ summer break after all. He cancelled all his plans out of Monaco, and practically turned one of the guest rooms in his apartment into a nursery. You moved from your hotel in Nice to one of the rooms in his house. You did meet the rest of the Leclerc family and safe to say Noah has some amazing and loving uncles.

Noah is just the centre of attention in every room he’s in, he’s taken to Charles so fast, you’re sure he somehow knows that this is his dad. He'd sleep in his arms on his chest and just lean away from you while you’re holding him to get into his dad’s. Noah had so many ferrari and cars themed toys and clothes in the span of a couple weeks it was hilarious.

On a serious note, Charles wants to be a part of Noah’s life and you want him to be too, and one of the things you agreed on and came to is that finding a job in Monaco is the best plan at the moment and just moving there. With the help of Charles you were able to find a job, you knew that Noah will forever be taken care of by Charles, but you had to find a job for yourself, even if you and Charles are now a couple, I mean did you see him with Noah? Did you see him, period? It’s no secret you’re attracted to him. Noah is a big testament to that, but it wasn’t just his looks, once you got to know Charles you couldn’t help but like him a bit more everyday. So when he asked you to just stay in his apartment you couldn’t say no. He's out of the country a lot anyways so most of the time the apartment was for yourself and Noah with the constant visits from and to the rest of the Leclercs.

#f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 scenario #charles lecrelc #charles leclerc one shot #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #dad!charles leclerc

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corroded-hellfire · 1 year

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Eddie x bookworm!Reader angst-to-fluff, where Eddie is always picking on Reader because he has a crush on her, but she thinks he’s just being mean. Like he’ll say “read anything good lately, bookworm?” because he genuinely wants to talk to her about what she’s reading, but she assumes he’s teasing her like everyone else. And then a fluffy ending where he actually has a real conversation and admits that he likes her? Love you, bb! @munson-blurbs 💚

Eddie would love bookish girls like us, Bug! We’d be his favorites and everyone else would be jealous hehehe. I loved this request and I hope you enjoy!

Words: 2k

The library is supposed to be your sanctuary. It’s supposed to be where you can go and be with the books, spending time picking out the perfect one before settling down in a chair to see what new adventure awaits you within the pages. But he’s here again. The metal head who thinks it’s fun to pick on you. It’s no secret that people at school are constantly calling him a freak, so he obviously knows what it’s like to be teased and picked on. So why does he do it to you?

The paperback in your hands is pretty small, but that doesn’t stop you from trying to hide your face behind it, hoping Eddie doesn’t notice you. But you know it didn’t work when you hear the chair on the opposite side of the table from you being pulled back and someone drops down into it.

“Hey, bookworm.”

Taking a moment to close your eyes and take a deep breath behind the cover of the book, you lower it and give Eddie the most unfriendly smile you can manage.

“Edward.”

“Don’t call me that,” he says, wrinkling up his nose.

“Don’t call me bookworm,” you retort.

“It’s not a bad thing,” Eddie says.

You ignore him and go back to reading. Well, pretending to read anyway, but really waiting for him to get up and leave.

“Whatcha reading?”

Slowly, you lower the book down enough where you can peer over the side of it where it clearly shows the title.

“Little Women,” you answer anyway.

“So, like, girls?”

“Sure.”

“What’s it about?”

“Eddie,” you say with a sigh. You lower the book down and slide your bookmark into the page you left off on. “What do you want?”

He leans back in his seat and frowns at you as he laces his fingers behind his head.

“To know what your book is about,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“No,” you say with a shake of your head. “What do you really want?”

The bell rings and you don’t give him time to answer your question before your things are back in your backpack and you’re out the door.

Luckily, you don’t see Eddie the rest of the day. The next day, you’re not as lucky. As you're getting the books you need out of your locker, you see Eddie coming down the hall out of the corner of your eye. Hurrying so he doesn’t have the chance to come and tease you, you swap out your things and clutch what you need to your chest. You hardly make sure your locker is properly closed before you’re turning away and walking quickly down the hallway, hoping he won’t spot you.

When you step into your French class, you finally release the breath you’ve been holding in your chest. Head down so no one else will notice you, you open your French notebook and turn it to a clean page for the start of class.

Someone drops down in the seat next to you, but you don’t look their way until you feel them leaning into your personal space. You’re shocked when Billy Hargrove is there, so close to you, an easy smile on his lips.

“Hey, smart girl.”

You’d bet good money he’s calling you that because he doesn’t know your real name.

“Um, hi,” you say. There’s a group of girls on the other side of the classroom who are whispering to each other as they watch the two of you.

Billy’s tongue pokes out against his top lip as he looks at you through his thick eyelashes. It’s a look you’ve seen him give dozens of girls around school. He wants something. And you know it’s not you, so that leaves only one other option.

“You’re really good at this French stuff, yeah? Well, to tell you the truth, I’m struggling a little bit. Do you think there’s any way you could help me out with that? I’d really appreciate it.” It’s a good thing you’re sitting because his smile is enough to make your knees give out.

“I’m not really a tutor,” you tell him, shrugging your shoulders. It’s the truth, but you’re also pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to understand your French because he’d make you a stuttering mess just by looking at you.

“Anything I can do to change your mind?” Billy asks, tilting his head. His voice is so sultry it should be illegal.

“I-I don’t think so.”

Billy tsks and shakes his head.

“Well, damn. Let me know if you change your mind, sweetheart.” He knocks his fist against your desk before going back to his own seat.

The teacher walks in and everyone takes their seats, one of the girls who was whispering about you taking her seat right behind you.

“You’re not as smart as everyone says you are,” she leans forward to whisper in your ear.

Mrs. Shay has her back to the class so you take the opportunity to turn around to face the girl.

“What?”

“For a nerd, you’re pretty dumb. Billy Hargrove was willing to spend time with you and you said no. Tell me, how many guys actually want to be around you? Let alone ones that look like Billy.”

You quickly spin back around so she can’t see the tears forming in your eyes. She’ll only be meaner if she sees she gets a reaction out of you. It’s hard to concentrate for the rest of the class, both interactions replaying in your head the whole period.

Lunch is next and you can’t bring yourself to go into the cafeteria full of students. It’s a nice day out so you decide to go sit outside and eat your sandwich in peace. You’re looking forward to picking up your spot in Little Women as you settle on the grass, back resting against the brick building, but come up empty after looking in your bag.

“No,” you whine to yourself as you double check for the book. Still not there. You must’ve left it in your locker. Alone with just your thoughts and your sandwich, the lunch period seems to go on forever. You get up a few moments before it’s over and go to your locker to grab your novel in case you get a chance to read it in any of your afternoon classes. But it’s not there either. You slam your locker door closed and knock your forehead against it. Where the hell did your book go?

“Hey! Bookworm!”

You don’t need to look up to know who’s calling for you. There have been many times in the past you’ve been grateful your locker is right next to the girl’s room, and this is another one, as you slip in, acting like you didn’t hear Eddie.

Once the bell rings, you wait a minute for the halls to fill with students before joining the sea of teenagers. A quick glance around and there’s no sign of Eddie. You don’t press your luck though and make a beeline straight for your biology class.

The end of the school day can’t come fast enough. Heading to the library after the final bell is like being a salmon swimming upstream as everyone makes for the exits. A sigh leaves your lips once you’re safely inside and find a table in the corner to hide yourself at. Unfortunately, you’re only allowed a few peaceful moments.

“There you are, bookworm.”

It feels like the last straw. You groan and drop your head down to the table, but Eddie still pulls out the seat across from you and plops down in it.

“I’ve been trying to give this back you.” There’s a slide across the table and you pick your head up to see your tattered paperback of Little Women. “You dropped it in the hallway this morning. I tried calling for you but I guess you didn’t hear me.”

“Oh,” you say, stomach sinking with guilt. “Thank you.” You’d just come to expect the worst from people, so Eddie’s act of kindness comes as a surprise.

“No problem,” Eddie says. He leans forward on his forearms and smiles at you. It’s such an open and kind smile that it makes your head feel a little fuzzy. You’d never noticed how pretty Eddie is before. His dark eyes watch you and your cheeks heat up under his gaze.

“You know,” Eddie says. “I don’t think I could’ve forgiven Amy.”

“What?” you ask, face scrunching in confusion.

Eddie nods his head towards the book on the table between the two of you.

“Amy. She burnt Jo’s manuscript. That’s pretty shitty. And I’m pretty sure Laurie is in love with Jo.”

“Oh.” You look down at the cover of Little Women, your fingers coming up to ghost over the edges. “You’ve read it?”

“I started to,” Eddie says with a shrug. “Just don’t tell O’Donnell I was reading that in class today instead of listening to her drone on and on.”

“You were reading it today?” you ask.

“Yeah,” Eddie says. He looks down at the table in front of him and knocks his shiny silver rings a few times on the wood. “You didn’t tell me what it was about yesterday, so I decided to find out.”

Thinking back to Eddie finding you in the library yesterday, you remember him asking about what you were reading. You’d assumed it was some ploy to make fun of you, but it seems he was genuinely curious. The guilt tightens your stomach even further. You’re not sure how to apologize without admitting to him you’d assumed he was being an asshole.

“Um, do you want to finish the book? See how it ends?” You extend it to him and Eddie’s head snaps up to look at you.

“Really?” he asks, sounding more excited than you’d expect.

“Sure,” you say. “I’ve read it three times already so I’m in no hurry to finish it. Go ahead.”

Eddie’s face lights up in a grin and you mentally shake yourself for never noticing how absolutely adorable he is before.

“Thanks,” he says. He takes it from you and holds it in his hands like it’s precious and made of glass, not a book that looks like it’s weathered many storms. “Maybe when I’m done we could talk about it?”

Now it’s your turn to be surprised.

“Wait, really?”

“Yeah,” he says, avoiding your eyes. “Maybe we could get coffee or something? Or, pizza if you don’t like coffee.”

You stare at him for a moment before responding.

“You want to hang out with me? Voluntarily?”

His face pinches into a frown as he meets your eyes again.

“Why do you sound so surprised?” he asks.

“I just…” You sigh. “You’re always calling me a bookworm. I figured you were picking on me like everyone else does.”

“Oh.” His face falls and he quickly shakes his head. “Shit, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know that bothered you so much.” He sets the book down and rubs his hands over his face. “I guess I was just teasing. I’m not good with emotions and feelings.” He shrugs his shoulders.

“What do you mean?” you ask.

“Ugh,” he groans, but there’s a shy smile on his face. “You know how in, like, third grade, how boys will sometimes pick on girls they like?”

“Yeah,” you say with a nod, clearly missing the hidden message in the question.

He huffs a laugh and gestures to himself.

“Guess I’m about as mature as a third grader.”

Your eyes widen and Eddie can’t help but chuckle in amusement at the look.

“You’re saying you like me? Is…is that what you’re saying?”

“You’re supposed to be the clever one here,” Eddie says with a smirk.

“And you’re…you’re serious?”

He frowns at this and leans in closer towards you.

“I would never joke like that. I know what it’s like to be picked on. It fucking sucks. I’m not about to inflict that on someone else. Especially someone as cute as you.”

Heat blooms on your face, so warm you’re sure you must look like a tomato. Eddie sits up, straightening in pride that he had that effect on you.

“Um, okay,” you say quietly. “Well, finish that book and we’ll go talk about it over pizza.”

“Like…a date?” Eddie asks in a hopeful voice.

“Yeah, a date.” You can’t help the giddy smile that comes to your face.

“Shit, I better get started then.” Eddie opens the book and leans back in his seat. You giggle, thinking he’s joking, but you see his eyes start to actually scan the pages as he reads. Taking advantage of his distraction, you let yourself look over him. His frizzy hair hangs at his shoulders, bangs pushed to the left side of his forehead. His long body reclines in the chair as he reads, his tongue poking out of his pretty lips. He’s beautiful.

You can’t wait until he’s finished with the book. Then he’ll understand what you mean when you say you’d love to be the Jo March to his Friedrich Bhaer.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fanfic #request

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minkyungseokie · 1 month

Text

Three's A Crowd | Pierre Gasly + Kika Gomes

synopsis; y/n meets Kika and Pierre and they're immediately smitten. They try to express their interest, but it seems everyone except Y/n sees that

warnings; polyamory, controversial age gaps, implied homophobic family, implied religious ideology, random Portuguese and French pet names

note; requested

note2; I don't really like Kika, but it's that type where you don't dislike someone, but you don't like them either. I'm neutral about her ig

reader is African American with 3B hair

Autosports Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Pierre Masterlist

I do not give anyone permission to change, copy, or put my work on any other platform. It will only be on top, so if you see it, please report it. Or let me know.

Although the relationship was new, Kika and Pierre were secure in their relationship. They trusted each other even though the the relationship was so new for them. They didn't think they'd be attracted to anyone other than each other. Kika never could've seen herself with someone of the same gender or anything.

Until they saw her.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Kika was standing with Pierre in front of the Alpine garage, listening and looking around as Pierre talked to Charles about god knows what. She looked around the paddock until something caught her attention. It was an incoming group of people that included a bunch of visitors, engineers, Zhou, and a gorgeous woman who she had never seen before.

"Pierre. Pierre. Look." Kika tapped on her boyfriend's shoulder to greet his attention, "What is it?" Pierre asked, turning and putting an arm around the nineteen-year-old. "Who's that?" Kika questioned, pointing to the girl she had seen, "I don't know." Pierre answered breathily, "She's so pretty." Kika muttered and Pierre couldn't help but to agree, "But not as pretty as you." Pierre quickly added, kissing the top of her head.

"Shut up, Pierre." Kika joked, playfully slapping his chest while not taking her eyes off of the girl, "Charles, do you know who she is?" Pierre asked, pointing towards the girl who was in a pair of patchwork jeans, a yellow crop top with a weird pattern on it, and brown Prada platform shoes(if you don’t like the outfit, or you’re plus size, or you don’t wear immodest clothing, feel free to change it. I want to be inclusive!)

"Oh, she’s a friend I’ve known since her birth. She grew up with Arthur. " Charles said, "Is she single?" Another voice chimed in playfully. Lando popped up with a huge smile, showing that he was just joking, “She is single and in need of other friends or even a boyfriend. She third wheels with my girlfriend and I way too often.” Charles joked. “Introduce us to her.” Pierre blurted, eyes widening when his friends and girlfriend turned to him with questioning looks, “What? You said she needed more friends.” Pierre defended.

“She does, but preferably single friends. And not you.” Charles jested causing Pierre to clutch his pearls, “I’ll have you know, I’m a great friend, Charles.” Pierre gasped. Lando and Kika tittered at the duo, “I don’t see why I couldn’t introduce you to her. Are you coming with Lando?” Charles asked, looking to the Brit, “As much as I’d love to, I’m being called to the garage. I’ll meet her later though.” Lando offered, turning and walking off.

Charles led the way to the Ferrari garage with the couple trailing behind, “Hey, Y/n!” Charles greeted, giving the girl a tight hug, “Charlie! I’m so glad you invited me to come watch you race. I’ve missed you.” The girl said, returning the hug. “I’ve missed you too. There’s some people I want to introduce you to. This is my best friend and his girlfriend.” Charles let go of you and gestured to the couple behind him.

Pierre and Kika stepped forward with welcoming smiles, “Hello, I’m Pierre Gasly. It’s wonderful to meet you.” Pierre greeted, shaking her hand, “I’m Francisca Gomes, but you can call me Kika.” Kika introduced also holding out her hand. The beautiful woman gave them a smile and clasped their outstretched hand in both of her, shaking it in greeting starting with Pierre, “My name is Y/n L/n. It’s lovely to meet you, Mr. Gasly and Ms. Gomes.” Y/n said.

“Oh? You don’t have to call us Ms and Mr. We can’t be that much older than you.” Pierre waved off the formalities, “I’m eighteen.” Y/n spoke.

“Oh.”

After a moment of still silence, Kika spoke up, “Well, I’m only a year older. Just call me Kika and him, Pierre. No need to be formal with us.” Kika said, “Oui, any friends of Charles is a friend of ours.” Pierre added.

“Well, I hope to become good friends with you.”

It's been four long and beautiful years of friendship for the three since then, or, Y/n thought it was friendship. Kika and Pierre had fallen for the charm of the curly-haired beauty only a few months into the friendship. It took a bit of denial and acceptance for both, mostly on Kika's part since she's never been interested in another woman ever in her life, but the two eventually agreed that they would pursue the girl, but only after they tested out the waters.

After they were sure that they really wanted to be with her as more than friends, they began to fully pursue her. They flirted, they gifted her things, they joked, they laughed, they invited her on dates (that she didn't know were dates), and they were touchy. They were sure that Y/n would catch the hint and let them know whether she was comfortable with what they were doing or not, but there's one thing they didn't account for.

Y/n being completely unaware and oblivious of their intentions.

The girl knew so much about a lot of things, but not when people were flirting with her. And now it's been going on for three and a half years. They've given so many hints that literally everyone except Y/n knew that the couple were into her the way they were.

"Pierre, why don't you just tell her that you're into her?" Esteban asked, putting an arm around his girlfriend's shoulders, "I'm not sure, but we agreed to not just spring it on her like that. We wanted to ease her into it, but does not getting the hint." Pierre sighed. "She's not going to get it unless you tell her. She's been like this all her life, which is why she never had a relationship before." Charles explained, "She's never been in a relationship? How? She's gorgeous." Pierre scoffed.

"Didn't you hear him, mate? It's because she's oblivious." Lando spoke up, joining the group who were standing in front of McLaren garage like a bunch of gossiping high schoolers. "What are we talking about?" Lewis asked as he and Carlos joined the group, "You know how Pierre and Kika are into Y/n? We were just asking him any they didn't just ask her out." Charles explained. Lewis and Carlos looked at Pierre, "So why don't you?" Carlos questioned, Pierre groaned, "Kika and I felt like we shouldn't just outright ask her. We didn't want to force it on her." Pierre said.

"She's never going to get it off you don't tell her." Lewis said, "That's what I said!" Charles exclaimed, fist bumping his future teammate. "We're planting to take her out after this weekend. We're going to spend time together in Italy and maybe vacation together of the girls aren't busy." Pierre sighed, rubbing the back of his head.

"Oooh, that's a great idea. Maybe get an accommodation with only one room and one bed so you all have to share." Lando offered teasingly, "That's not a bad idea actually." Pierre muttered. "Where are you thinking of going?" Oscar spoke up, "Probably Bali. Maybe we'll stay in Italy. We're not sure yet." Pierre answered.

Soon, the group dispersed to go to their drivers rooms to get ready for the race.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Y/n was honestly scared. She had always been openly {your sexuality} and proud about what she was into, but falling for two people at the same time? And two people who were happily together? She felt like a villain. She didn't want to accidentally break up a happy couple because she assumed that they'd be as interested in her as she is to them.

She distanced herself from Pierre and Kika, afraid she would get too attached to couple and accidentally make them uncomfortable with her attraction to them. She still went to the grand prix because she had friends she wanted to support, but instead of going to the Alpine garage like she usually would, she went to the Williams garage to support her favorite British Thai driver and give comfort to her favorite American while she was there. "I know this really isn't my place to ask, but why are you here?" Logan asked, putting the headphones over Y/n's ears for her.

"What do you mean? I'm here for you and Alex. Plus, Lily is here and I do love Lily." Y/n answered, "Love you too!" Lily called back walking up to the duo, "No, I mean, why are you here when you want to be with Kika in the Alpine garage?" Logan reiterated. Y/n sighed, "Because I feel like I'm getting too attached to them. They're a couple who are obviously in love." Y/n said, crossing her arms, "And? They love having you around them. You make them so happy and everyone sees it. I don't think that you being attached to them is a problem." Lily spoke up. "They have something great between them. I feel like if I stay around, I'll reveal how I feel and they'll get disgusted and force me stay away." Y/n ranted, playing with one of her bouncy curls.

Lily and Logan shared a wide-eyed look. They were glad that they had a bit of time before theso they could fully talk, "Y/n, are you...in love with them? Both of them?" Logan asked. Y/n began to sniffle, "Yes! I know it's disgusting and greedy of me to not only want both of them, but to want people who are already happily in love. I know I'm a disgusting creature who doesn't deserve to live for loving someone that I was not intended to love." Y/n cried softly. Lily pulled Y/n into their arms, wrapping her arms around the taller girl's neck, "Oh, honey. It's not disgusting at all. I don't know who told you any of that, but no one has any right to tell you that you're disgusting for loving who you want to love." Lily cooed, wiping away your tears.

"Are things alright over here? Are you alright, Y/n?" James questioned, "Did you hear what we were talking about?" Logan questioned, "Admittedly, I did and I'm here to say Lily is right. Your family cannot may be your blood, but if they do not accept you for who you are and love you despite what you love, they cannot be considered family. No one has any right to tell you that you are going to die and go to hell for loving who you want to love." James comforted. "Plus, you don't need them. You have us. Logan, me, Alex, and even James. You have the Leclerc family and Kika and Pierre. We all love you for you." James reassured, "Don't push Kika and Pierre away. They care for you deeply. If you really are worried, maybe you should talk to them about it." Logan suggested.

Y/n dried their eyes off completely and took off her headphones, "I'm going to the bathroom." Y/n muttered, gently pushing past them and made her way to the Alpine garage. They were right. She can't let her family and their ideology keep her from loving who she wanted to love. She wouldn't be telling the couple about her feelings, but she would no longer be pushing them away like she was. Taking a deep breath, Y/n entered the garage and stopped next to the couple who were engrossed in a conversation, "Uh, hey." Y/n spoke up.

The couple practically break their necks turning to look the girl, "Minha linda! We were just talking about you." Kika gasped happily, throwing her arms around Y/n's neck, "We were afraid that you were running away from us. We missed you, mon bijou." Pierre joined the pseudo hug and planting a kiss on the top of her head. Esteban and Flavy watched from the sidelines, wondering how in the world Y/n just thought that these actions were nothing but platonic when it was clear that they were utterly down bad for the girl with sepia skin and thick ringlets of curls just as she was for them, "I wish they would just get together." Flavy whispered, "For real. It was cute at first, but now it's kind of sad." Esteban agreed.

"I'm sorry. I just needed some time to take care of something and now I'm here to wish you good luck." Y/n smiled up at the Frenchman, "Help me put on my helmet?" Pierre asked the girls. Kika helped him put on his balaclava before stepping back so Y/n could put the helmet on Pierre's head. "Good luck." Y/n said, patting the part of the helmet where his cheek would be and turning to walk, but before she could exit the garage, Kika pulled her back, "No good luck kiss?" Pierre asked, which confused Y/n as they had never asked for one before. Y/n shrugged, thinking nothing of it as she had kissed the cheeks of her other friends before.

Y/n saddled up next to Pierre and planted a kiss on his helmet where his cheek would be, "Good luck out there. Do your best." Y/n repeated before turning to Kika and planting a kiss on her cheek while she had the moment of bravery. "See you guys later." Y/n turned away, walking out of the garage before she busted into a ball of flames from the amount of embarrassment she was feeling.

Kika and Pierre were just watching the girl as she left with love-struck gazes, "We have to make her ours or I'll die." Kika dramatically sighed, "I agree. She drives me crazy and she doesn't even know what's she's doing." Pierre agreed with Kika nodding in agreement

Y/n was confused and conflicted.

Y/n had been offered to come to Italy by Kika and Pierre after the GP was over as they had rented a little place on the beach for them to stay at while on vacation. She, of course, accepted the invite because she had never really been to Italy despite being all over the world. She wanted to take some time to relax and spend time with the ones she really cared for. What better way to spend the next week and a half or so before she gets gray hair during the next race.

But one thing she had not expected was the beach hut thing to have only one bed, “So we’re all sharing this one bed? Are you sure that you’re comfortable with this?” Y/n asked, looking at the bed. “Yeah, it was this or our house and we weren’t sure whether you were comfortable with that or not.” Kika explained, putting her bag down. “Where’s Pierre?” Y/n asked, “He has a couple things to do, so for right now, it’s just you and me for right now. Exciting, yeah?” Kika asked excitedly.

“Yeah, that’s great!” Y/n agreed,

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Pierre arrived at the little beach house and entered with a sigh. He had so much to do that day, he missed spending time with his girls, but at least he’d have the next day with them. Kika had posted photos of them playing in the water and Pierre couldn’t help but feel pride at how many people were asking whether he could fight and whining about how he could pull two baddies while they couldn’t even get a text back.

Pierre unlocked the door and put his suitcase to the side and walked into the room to see Kika curled up in Y/n’s arms. Pierre’s heart raced at the sight of the two people he loved being so close together and he couldn’t wait for Y/n to actually be theirs. Pierre took a quick shower and changed into his pajamas, climbing into the bed behind Y/n and cuddling up to her.

It was the best night’s sleep the three of them had ever gotten.

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ikinremu · 9 months

Text

|| Nsfw || R U mine? || Tommy Shelby

Tommy Shelby x Fem!Reader

A jealous Tommy smut oneshot! Please feel free to request oneshots/drabbles/blurbs on my page :)

The glare of Tommy's eyes punctured your chest, shooting through you like the spear of a dart. Usually this gaze you'd been subjected to would set your heart racing - but today was rather different. You peered across the well-lit hall, an idea suddenly sparking in your mind. Your relationship with Thomas Shelby was exceptionally complicated - that was no secret, though earlier that morning, said relationship had crossed a bump in the road. It was a simple situation - he'd pissed you off. And in this moment, you knew exactly how to return the favour.

If there was one thing to note about Thomas Shelby - it was that with a substantial amount of provoking, his jealousy could defy the scale. You knew that like the back of your hand, and had no shame in using it for your own petty games.

You ambled through the throngs of people, passing figures adorning silk dresses, waistcoats and suits as you approached the bar. To your delight, a familiar face loomed behind the polished, wooden island, bottles arranged on the collection of shelves behind the man. You took it upon yourself to perch atop one of the vacant bar stools, swivelling the copper plating slightly as you adjusted yourself to a suitable position.

"Frankie?!" You lifted your lips into a graceful smile, the barman flickering his gaze away from the stained cloth bunched between the hooking of his knuckles - looking to inspect who had called for him.

"Oh, hello!" He chuckled, his thick, untamed brows raising ever so slightly, "Fancy seeing you 'ere"

"Tommy brought me." You spoke, the mention of his name prompting you to send a swift glance in his direction. And as you'd suspected - more so planned - his focus was completely set on you. "And.. you too, I thought you strictly worked at the Garrison?"

As Frankie began spluttering out a rather tedious monologue about how he 'wouldn't miss an event like this..', you allowed a wave of smugness to wash over you.

Tommy hated Frankie, he utterly detested the man. You were unsure as to why, always had been, but you certainly knew it was a long lasting affair. You'd never cared to get involved in what you viewed as such a minor situation - this very moment finding you particularly grateful for your lack of interest.

"But anyway, can I get you somethin?" The barman's voice suddenly snapped you back into the room, dark eyes briskly wandering across your person.

"I'll just have a French seventy-five please." You requested, sporting a sweet smile as Frankie nodded in response.

"Coming right up."

As your view alternated from the front of his waistcoat to the back, you turned your head to scan for Tommy's whereabouts - though this time it wasn't so simple. All you could truly see was some rather eloquent looking groups making small talk beneath the hall's chandelier.

Before you knew it, the man responsible for completely baffling you was stood directly to your right.

"Tommy." You beamed, presenting a weak attempt at concealing your self-acclaimed victory.

"We best be off." He spoke, the low tones of his voice snaking into your ear, "Something needs takin care of at the Garrison."

Internally, you called very obvious bullshit - however, externally you found yourself willingly demounting the copper plated stool.

"Bye Frankie, we've gotta leave!" You exclaimed, briefly eyeing the sight of the man turning to face you - looking somewhat disheartened. He offered a rather idle wave, granting himself a sip of what would've been your beverage.

The sound of Tommy's muffled disapproval lingered aside your ear as the two of you exited the hall - his fingers still tightly clutching your lower arm. The pair of you took a sharp turn, a sleek door swinging open, soon clanking against the doorframe as it trapped you inside.

It wasn't so much a room you'd arrived in, more so an ill-lit cupboard.

"Garrisons had a redo, has it?" You mimicked curiosity, apparently nowhere close to amusing the man stood before you.

Tommy's piercing eyes returned to you, shooting a warm buzz down your body.

Mere seconds passed of you awaiting the gruff tone of his voice, but instead you met a significantly different form of response from his lips.

His callous hands went to cup your jaw, lips intertwining with your own in a deep, messy kiss. In a rather instinctive sense, you melted into the embrace, his tongue snaking a path between your lips.

Without breaking contact, Tommy stepped forward, surrendering you to a fairly harsh bump against the wall. His left palm weaved it's way down your silk-clad stomach, sneaking it beneath the gentle ruffles of the dress he'd treated you to. He reached the now sodden fabric of your underwear as his lips pressed further against your own, his nimble fingers beginning to trace supple circles around your pulsing clit.

"This what you wanted, eh?" He grunted, softly nibbling the skin of your ear.

You nodded, an arch hollowing out between your back and the wall supporting it. A whimper escaped your throat as you helplessly sank into the feeling of your panties being dragged down your legs.

"Off." Tommy huffed, pitch pupils sending a clear signal in the direction of your black dress.

Before you knew it, any previous cover of yours had been wholly discarded, leaving your body shamelessly bare - Tommy being a single garment away from matching your state. His underwear was shortly hauled down and tossed away, releasing the sight of his erect cock.

"On your fuckin knees." He grumbled, gently tilting his chin towards the polished flooring.

His words alone had the power to intoxicate you - and weren't afraid to do precisely that. A roaring flame couldn't help but ignite in your lower abdomen, tantalising your growing arousal as you kneeled before him.

The intense wetness of the earlier kiss transferred from the plumpness of your lips to Tommy's tip with a single connection. Pushing your lips further, his cock slid down your throat with one swift motion, the sweet warmth of your mouth wrapping his length.

"Such a good cocksucker, int' that right?" He taunted, words parted by the vibrations of his low groans.

You began sliding your now dripping mouth up and down his shaft, finding the perfect rhythm as his throbbing tip slapped the damp surface of your tongue. Now presented with enough slickness, your soft hands began trailing teasing strokes over his erection.

"Get up." He instructed, watching as your brows contorted into a rather notable furrow. "Up."

At the repetition, you complied - taking a puzzled stand.

The familiarity of Tommy's large hands gripped your behind, beginning to grope the smooth flesh as the two of you took a collective fall against one of the chipping walls.

"Spread your legs for me." The heat of his breath tickled your neck, his mouth trailing sloppy, open-mouth kisses down your clavicle. The split second of your legs parting, Tommy somehow bridged the minute gap between you.

His cock pushed into you, your own drool serving as a lubricant as he filled your tight hole in the most pleasing way - the pair of you slipping sharp moans at the sensation.

As he marked his first thrust, a burning desire seeping through you, Tommy suddenly buried his now reddened face between your exposed breasts. His hips began relentlessly bucking, increasing in several factors as his hot tongue flicked at your hardening, left nipple.

"Fuck!" A breathy whine fled your mouth. It took no longer than a second for his leaking tip to locate the importance of your sweet spots, hard length slamming deeper into the mess of your dripping arousal. His moistened lips nibbled at your pebbling nipple, licking tender circles around the areola.

"Frankie couldn't have you like this, could he? Eh?" Tommy grumbled, detaching his assault on your left nipple.

And there was the jealousy.

"He couldn't fuck you like I do." He punctuated his words with a gloriously deep buck of his hips. "You're mine, mm?"

"Shit!" You moaned, the next words reducing to the simplicity of panting. "I'm yours, only yours. I only want you Tommy.."

A familiar sensation possessed the very pit of your stomach, the beginning of a euphoric release winding itself up.

"I'm getting close." You whimpered, pearly teeth digging into the thin layer coating your bottom lip. Your tight hole pulsed at a rigorous pace, soaking walls clenching around him.

"Fuck, with the way you're squeezing me, so am I." Tommy groaned, pounding deeper into your sopping cunt.

The alluring knot within your stomach expanded, winding tighter and tighter until you felt your arousal peak. The orgasm tore through you, the heavenly sensations transporting you to a whole different realm as you called out - the volume of it taking yourself aback.

"You gonna let everyone know how good i'm fuckin you?" Tommy's pinkish lips curved into that ever so familiar cocky smirk, delivering one final thrust as you felt a warm inflation spread within you.

Your head lolloped atop Tommy's shoulder, strands of your now completely disgruntled hair flopping over with a sense of accompaniment. Placing a gentle peck on your lips, Tommy slid out of you - a rare smile on his face.

You return the soft nature of his expression, "Oh and I think everyone got the message."

Thank you for reading and hope you enjoyed! As I said, please feel free to use the requests/asks feature on my page - it’d be greatly appreciated <3

#tommy shelby #thomas shelby #peaky blinders #peaky blinders smut #tommy shelby smut #smutty #tommy shelby x you #thomas shelby smut

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icallhimjoey · 8 months

Note

when is Tupperwear Joe™ dropping his new leftovers recipe for us? 😊

right nooooooooooow baby Wordcount: 4.2K

---

More Than This

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

Joe'd seen you.

You'd not seen Joe.

You know how sometimes you can just be going about your day when suddenly, a feeling of uneasiness takes you in a chokehold? The unsettling and deeply uncomfortable feeling that triggers the fight or flight response your mother installed within you when speaking of dangerous men who would try to lure you into their vans with empty promises?

The self-checkout voice was screaming at you about an unexpected item in the bagging area – there wasn’t one, you’d only just placed one item down – when you felt it. Only for a second.

The feeling of eyes on you sort of touched you on the arm and made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

You were quick to look around, to scan the area, to see if you were being delusional or not.

Who was watching you right now?

There were plenty of people about, all seemingly doing what you were doing – picking up some quick food, anything easy and quick to make, quick to put together, because it was the end of the week, and it was late, and the weather had been unforgiving and–... you were lazy.

Simple as. Just very lazy.

You always pretended to be a classy French lady going to the market to just pick up the ingredients for a one-person meal for the evening, but in reality, you were just a lazy sad excuse of an adult who was about to microwave mash and not complain about how fucking bland it tasted.

You couldn’t see anyone paying attention to you... but you still felt it.

“Unexpected item in bagging area, remove this item before continuing,”

“For fuck’s sake, there’s nothing–” you took the item off the bagging area, plonked it back down and picked it back up again when the self-checkout bitch wouldn’t stop.

Someone was watching you. You felt it. Knew it. There were eyes on you. You became hyper-vigilant, looking around once again to confirm you weren’t crazy. You ducked into your shoulders when you glanced at the sliding doors of the entrance and saw a figure stood there, staring directly at you, making you jump.

You clutched your chest and felt how the adrenaline-rush shot down into your feet, hurting your toes.

What the fuck was Joe doing here?

He smirked at little at your reaction, the way you closed your eyes to seemingly collect yourself from the scare you got of unexpectedly seeing him just outside the shop.

Before you could even raise up a middle finger, a spotty teenager came up beside you and used the card on his lanyard to reset whatever was wrong and shut up the machine.

“Thanks,” you said after it’d been sorted, and you went on to scan all your embarrassing processed foods whilst doing your best to ignore Joe outside the sliding doors. You could see him from the corners of your eyes now and knew he wasn’t going to just wave at you and leave. He was waiting for you there.

After paying, getting the receipt, and collecting everything, you turned to walk towards him.

Joe looked at his wrist like he was checking the time – there was no watch there – and then looked back up at you like he was in a hurry and you’d taken ages. Made you smile and shake your head at him because he was being an idiot.

In the couple of steps it took to get to him, he raised his eyebrows up at you in question and gave a quick nod sideways.

In the direction of where he lived.

Joe’d spotted you buying dinner and waited to ask you if you wanted to go over to his place right now.

Was that what was happening?

“You’re such a creep,” were the first things out of your mouth when the sliding doors opened to let you out.

“I was on my way out when I saw you walk in,” Joe explained, and you saw he was also holding a plastic bag, main difference being his held fresh produce, leeks sticking out the top and everything.

“Still, that fucking scared me,” you laughed, and like it was second nature, when Joe held out an arm for you to link yours through, you just... did. Fell into step together. On the way over to his flat.

When you realised what you must’ve looked like to outsiders’ eyes, you were quick to unlink your arm from his. Pretended to need to check your phone to not make it seem weird.

“Nice to see you don’t just save the scolding for me,” Joe joked, and you rolled your eyes all annoyed, mocked the unexpected item in bagging area under your breath and made Joe huff out a laugh.

“Serves you right for buying ready-made mash,” Joe winced as he said it, mouthed ‘what the fuck’ at the bag in your hands straight after.

“Oi, piss off. Mind your business.”

You shoved him slightly, making him smile before stepping back and trying to get a peek of your shopping.

“What other atrocious shit you got in there?”

“Mind your business. I can buy whatever I want.” You moved the bag slightly more away from him, then said, “I can do whatever I want.” which got a hearty laugh from Joe. One people on the other side of the street could hear and made them look in your direction.

“Yea, no, I know. You’ve made that very clear.”

Ew. You didn’t like how Joe said that. You steered the conversation back to the food in your bag.

“If I want buy microwavable meals exclusively and spend the night sat on my sofa instead of cutting leeks in the kitchen for over an hour, that’s just what I’ll do.” You shot a judgmental look at Joe’s shopping when you said leeks. Like that was something you could be making fun of.

Joe frowned as a chuckle escaped him. “Cutting leeks for over an hour? Darling, where did you learn to cook?”

You held up your bag a little, ignored the way he called you darling.

“I didn’t.”

When you finally made it to Joe’s flat, everything felt a little different than it usually did. You never really made your way up to his flat together. It was always you making your way up by yourself after some spicy texting and then you’d just... get straight down to it.

Now, you were both carrying shopping and were having conversation, sort of, and even though the implications of why you’d even gone with Joe in the first place were clear from the start, this was different.

Neither of you seemed horny yet.

So now what?

Think fast.

Joe let you into his flat, put his bag down on the floor as he took his jacket off and you knew you only had a small window of time. If you’d wait too long, Joe’d get you into his kitchen with him to cook a whole ass meal together or whatever.

Like, he’d put some music on and make you wash your hands and wear an apron before he’d teach you things about how to peel a potato. He would curl himself around you to help as you’d be terrible at it and very nearly would peel your own hands in tandem.

Couldn’t have that.

None of the soft shit.

So, before Joe could pick his shopping back up and take it over to the kitchen, you stepped in close and placed your palm over him just below his belt.

Joe froze, and you heard how his breath got caught in his throat. For a second, neither of you moved. Then, you squeezed a little. Pressed down a little.

“I thought we’d get some dinner in first,”

See? You fucking knew it. Knew Joe was going to try some sappy shit.

“But I’m hungry,” you whined a little, tried to make it sound a little breathy to get him hard faster as you pressed your body into his side.

“Yea, that’s why–”

“Hungry.”

You saw realisation hit Joe in real time. Got to see how quick he was to catch on, and when he did, he dropped his head forward. Let you touch him over his jeans a little longer as he just stood there, focussing on what your hand was doing.

“Yea,” he then said softly, followed by a more determined, “Yea, all right,” before reaching for your face and ducking down to kiss you.

Amazing.

Little touching of his dick and tits pressed up against his arm was all it fucking took.

Buttons were undone quickly, hands frantically pulling at fabric, jeans getting caught around shoes, and whilst each of you was quick to undo yourself of clothes, neither of you could withhold from helping the other where you saw fit.

You helped Joe yank his T-shirt down his arms after he pulled the back of it over his head. Joe yanked up one of your legs to undo the foot of a shoe as you were trying work your jeans down.

And talented as you were, whilst all of this was going on, you were also moving towards Joe’s bedroom leaving a trail of clothing from two bags of shopping that desperately needed the fridge all the way to Joe’s bed.

You continued to try your best at non-intimate sex. Have the intimacy just be of two bodies being close, but have it end there. Significant emotional disconnection worked a lot better if you weren’t facing him, so when flopping down onto the bed, you were quick to mount Joe in reverse.

Held onto his legs just above his knees. Heard him fumble himself into a condom behind you and only took a quick glance over your shoulder, then down between your legs to check before you helped and guided him inside.

Primarily focussing on the physical aspect of it all, you made sure that this was nothing more than fulfilling a biological need. Just a release. Just the way you liked it.

No deep emotional connection.

Minimal communication.

No soft shit.

You needed it all to go fast, and to go hard, and you knew if you left it up to Joe, you’d get neither. Being op top and faced away from him was crucial, and you felt weirdly proud for getting your way without it having been an awkward scuffle across his sheets.

It was good like this.

Felt good like this.

But then Joe’s fingertips started trailing up your back, stroking and caressing before they went all the way up beyond your shoulder blades. Softly squeezed your neck where they massaged and disappeared up into your hair a little and scratched your scalp and, fucking hell, why was Joe always trying to make everything all romantic?

You whined a little, more out of annoyance than anything else, but you knew Joe could’ve easily contributed it to pleasure. When he moved his hands back down your spine, you were quick to grab them as they rounded out to hold you by the hips.

“Yea, yea,” you breathed, your grip on his fingers strengthening in an example of you needing him to squeeze you harder right there. Really hold onto you right there. Bruise you right there.

The second you let go of them, though, Joe’s hands lost their strength on you immediately because they wanted to roam. There was all this skin Joe got to look at, and his fingers itched to touch all over, but you were fast. Grabbed back onto his hands to place them back onto your hips.

Joe pushed an impatient puff of air from his lungs.

To silence him, you rolled your hips to get him extra deep before resorting to short little bounces.

It worked. Got guttural groans out of him instantly. You heard how Joe let his head fall back into his pillow.

God, men were so fucking easy, weren’t they?

But then Joe’s fingers, still held in place, started twisting to intertwine with yours, and he was being a little forceful about it. You really had to use strength to pull your hands away from him.

It granted another annoyed little sound from Joe, and before you knew it, there was a little shifting below you. You got pushed forward slightly as Joe sat up. Got his arms around your waist, pulled you close against his chest and started mouthing at your back which turned into kisses when you slowed down into a grind.

“Hey,” Joe whispered, chin hooking over the outer edge of your shoulder.

This motherfucker was trying for eye-contact.

In retaliation, you let your head slump the other way, exposing your neck for Joe to get his mouth onto. Distract him with the skin there. You knew Joe knew you fucking loved your neck being loved upon, and Joe was a man who liked to please.

But it didn’t work.

“Hey,” he repeated, still a soft whisper, and snuck an arm up to take hold of your chin so he could turn your head towards him.

You worked against him, fought his grip on your jaw and sped up your movements to increase the tempo of your bounces on Joe’s lap. Tried to make him feel good to distract from the connection he was trying to make.

But that’s not what Joe wanted.

It was good – don’t get him wrong. You made him sigh into your skin, press his forehead against your shoulder.

It was good.

Very good.

But Joe knew how to make it better, and if you just– if you just moved with him for a second, you’d see that he was right.

So Joe’s grip on your waist suddenly became a trap as he pulled you down and stilled you in his lap where he held you in place. He had his hand on your chin still, and tugged at it again. Joe said, “Hey,” once more, but this time in his speaking voice, all assertive and demanding.

When you finally gave in and turned your head to make eye-contact, you immediately wanted to go in for a kiss. Get your mouth on him with your eyes closed, but Joe moved his head back a little to avoid your attempt entirely which scared you a little. Made you instantly feel vulnerable.

Had you done something wrong?

Was Joe mad at you?

You saw two confused and... sort of worried eyes scan your face for a second, his brow slightly furrowed. You didn’t know exactly what Joe was searching for, but you knew he wasn’t going to find it.

“Joe, I–”

You didn’t know how to finish that sentence, and thank fuck you didn’t need to, because before you could, Joe leant in and kissed you. Wasn’t nice about it like you were used from him. Instead it was pushing, and vigorous, and only short.

The second you started kissing back, he broke away from you.

You didn’t understand what the fuck he was trying to do. He pulled back and looked at your mouth before he looked you in the eye, and then did the same thing again. Made you clash with him all fiery, his hand on your chin still, keeping you in place with a strong grip and, fuck off, this was the type of kissing that really got under your skin.

Joe knew how to kiss you.

Knew how you wanted it and then just handed it over without you having to ask for it.

The shorter rough clashes naturally turned into a longer kiss that felt like Joe was trying to eat you whole. He was devouring you with a sense of hunger you hadn’t ever felt from him before.

Was nice.

Real nice.

You kind of wanted to turn in his lap and just kiss for the rest of this exchange if you were being honest. But then Joe’s hand moved from your chin down to where he knew how to touch you to make you orgasm quickly and you had to break the kiss to gasp for air. To throw your head back. To loudly moan Joe’s name.

Joe took the opportunity to latch his mouth onto your neck, which only upped the volume of all your noises.

When Joe finally felt you sag your entire body against him, he knew he had you.

“There you go, that took a minute,”

He took over. Repositioned his legs, but kept you in his lap. Held your hips in place as he started thrusting up into you, setting his own pace and taking full control.

With your brain fogged-up, all attempts at trying to keep everything distant and void of emotion were out of the window.

Joe made you come on his lap, his hand working on pressure from the outside as the underside of his tip hit you just right on the inside.

You barely got a second to yourself, because as soon as Joe felt your twitching and squeezing slow down, his hands guided you off of him and turned you around to face him. Taking one look at you, the glassy eyes, the shiny skin, the kiss bitten lips– yea, he needed to be on top of you right that fucking second.

Joe expertly flipped you onto your back, rolled on top of you immediately and did what he loved doing most.

Forehead fucking.

You never really allowed it much, for obvious reasons, but Joe would kiss you and you’d forget about everything for a second.

Joe took his time, made sure you felt really good once more, decided he didn’t need to force eye-contact again, your foreheads connecting was enough, and let you gasp and moan for him with your eyes closed until he eventually filled up the condom with soft grunting pants.

Oh, fuck.

That was good.

Sort of, dared you even think it, the best you’d had in a little while.

But then Joe had to fucking ruin it by trying to cuddle up to you when he jumped back into bed after disposing of the condom in the bathroom bin.

You groaned a little and pushed an elbow into his side to stop him from snuggling up to you.

“No, come here,” Joe tried to pull you in with both hands, but you were already trying to sit up.

“Lay with me for just a second,”

You turned your head to look at him, sort of dazed, and it took you a little while to decide to not tell Joe you had an early morning the next day. You didn’t have an early morning the next day, and it wasn’t even late, but mostly, you didn’t want to lie to Joe.

So instead, you said nothing. Turned back and slowly got up and out of bed.

Joe sighed deeply and made his exhale as loud as he possibly could.

Annoyed, capital A.

“Don’t... don’t ruin it.” You requested, voice sort of small and tired.

“It’s not– this isn’t normal, I’m not apathetic.”

Getting up and out, you let your eyes scan the floor to find your underwear, your clothes, and you saw how getting dressed would lead you right back to Joe’s front door which was perfect. The excuse to leave was hidden in getting your clothes back on your body.

“I’ve got actual feelings. I’m a person.”

In the broad sense. Joe meant feelings in the broad sense. Not feelings for you. Obviously not.

“Mhmm,” your underwear was twisted in a weird way.

“I can’t only get to hold you close when you’re absolutely off your face,”

You paused, hunched over whilst stepping into your knickers, one leg in, one leg out still.

“You... you cuddled with me when I was practically unconscious?”

You made that sound like it was the most awful thing Joe could’ve ever done to you.

“Of course I did,” Joe huffed. “I got to spoon you for hours. Uninterrupted. T'was amazing.”

You narrowed your eyes at Joe and felt a lot of things. None of them positive. Joe scoffed a laugh at your facial expression and said, “You think you can come to my home, pass out in my bed without me laying with you a second?”

Joe minimized the time frame quickly; went from hours to a second in one sentence.

“I was drunk.”

“I didn’t touch you.” inappropriately, he meant.

“Yea, well...”

You weren’t going to say it, but you thought it.

I would’ve preferred that.

You didn’t say it.

Instead you let the silence that followed your loud well be whatever Joe thought it was and got back to getting dressed. Grabbed your jeans that were turned completely inside out.

“You like art?”

“I... what?”

“Art. Do you like art?”

You glanced at Joe who seemed a little non fussed, one arm slung behind his head as he relaxed in bed. All casual. Cool even, a little.

Art was a broad term, so sure. You liked art, and gave a small shrug as an answer.

“Come with me to this exhibition tomorrow, there’s this–”

“Joe... no. Please, don’t.”

Rejection. Joe didn’t hold back on showing what it did to him in his face. Just in your bra and jeans that you were doing up now, you sighed and let your shoulder slump.

“Why do you always want to hang out with me?”

“I... what?”

“I’m not a nice person. I’m mean to you.”

“You’re not mean to me, it’s...” Joe searched for the words. “It’s just banter, isn’t it?”

Sure, it was banter. But every single arrow was pointing towards Joe wanting more than what you had going together, and you were doing your very best to keep all of that at an arm’s length. You looked down Joe’s hallway and saw your top. Went to grab it, and heard Joe say, “I like you.”

When you took a step back to look at him like he’d just told a bad joke, Joe raised his eyebrows.

“What, is that such a surprise?”

Honestly, it kind of was. You wouldn't like you if you were him.

“I think...” you started, and thought for a second if you should continue with what you were going to say. You looked back down the hall, at the scattered clothes and the two bags of shopping at the end that illustrated perfectly how different from each other the two of you were.

“I think maybe you should have sex with someone else,”

“Wha–” Joe’s voice came out impossibly soft as he slowly sat up.

“Yea, no, two other people. It can’t just be me and one other girl. There’s got to be at least two others. And I can’t know them. Find– you’ve got to find two people, two people who I do not know and who do not know me that will sleep with you,”

“I don’t...” Joe moved his head to look at you from the side of his slightly narrowed eyes. “I don’t know if you’re being serious or not.”

“And then text me after. Text. Don’t call.”

“I’m going to go with not,”

“It’ll be good.” You pulled your top over your head. “It’ll be good for you.” And then realised that you’d picked up Joe’s white T-shirt instead of your own. You only noticed it once you’d pulled the hem down at the front, and you quickly checked the sleeves to know for sure this wasn’t your top. Your throat made an irritated little noise, shoulders dropping in annoyance and defeat before you were about to take it off again.

Joe stopped you.

“Wear it.”

“Where’s my–” you looked back into the hallway.

“It looks good on you. Wear the T-shirt.”

Joe challenged you and sounded a little stern as he did so. It made you freeze to look at him a second.

“Have sex with other people.” You challenged back.

Suddenly you were caught in a stand-off.

“Wear my T-shirt.” Joe spoke through clenched teeth and didn’t relax his shoulder until you slowly lowered the T-shirt back into place where you smoothed it out across your stomach.

“All right.”

A weird moment followed where you didn’t really know what to say. It passed, and you sort of snapped out of it with a sharp intake of air. Breathe, woman. Jesus.

Another glance around the room let you know that everything else that belonged to you was out in Joe’s hallway, so you turned on your heel and walked out. Made your way to find socks and shoes, your jacket, your phone, your white top, until you made it to Joe’s front door.

Picking up your plastic shopping bag full of food and stuffing your top into it, you heard footsteps behind you and saw Joe step into the doorway of his bedroom where he leant against the frame.

“I’m not joking.” you warned.

“Neither am I.” he didn't seem that affected.

In a small awkward moment of sincerity – you were in his T-shirt for fuck’s sake – you sighed, hand on Joe's door handle, ready to leave at any second.

“I hope that,” you started, then turned to look at him at the other end of the hallway. “I hope that if you meet someone who treats you like I do, that you choose to walk away.”

You didn’t wait to see Joe’s reaction, didn't wait to see the feelings in Joe’s eyes and opened the front door to quickly slip out.

If Joe wanted more, he kind of deserved more. You just weren’t the person made for more. Didn’t know how to do more. Weren’t good at feelings, so you made sure there never really were any.

Well then.

One little problem.

If there weren’t any feelings... why did they hurt?

---

The Taglisted

@a-time-for-wolvess, @adoreyouusugar, @alana4610, @ali-in-w0nderland, @alwayslindie, @babybluebex, @barfightzanddiscolightz, @bettyfrommars, @cancankiki, @capricornrisingsstuff, @chaoticgood-munson, @choke-me-eddie, @demonsanddemogorgons, @did-it-work, @dirtyeddietini, @dylanmunson, @eddie-joe-munson, @eddies-puppet, @electricmunson, @emma77645, @emmamooney, @everythinghasafacee, @figmentofquinn, @frogers, @frootvelvet, @ghost-proofbaby, @ghostinthebackofyourhead, @harringtonfan4, @haylaansmi, @jasminearondottir, @jewellethief, @joesquinns, @kellyxo1, @kennedy-brooke, @lovelyblueness, @miserybeans, @nadixq, @ohmeg, @paola-carter, @pepperstories, @phyllosilicate-s, @roosterisdaddy36, @sherrylyn628, @sidthedollface2, @thebellenouvelle, @thefemininemystiquee, @thewondernanazombie, @tlclick73, @werepartnersnow, @yelyahcardella

taglist currently full, sorry

#Joe Quinn #Joseph Quinn #Joe Quinn x You #Joseph Quinn x You #Joe Quinn x Reader #Joseph Quinn x Reader #Joe Quinn Fanfic #Joe Quinn fanfiction #Joseph Quinn Fanfic #Joseph Quinn Fanfiction #joe quinn x y/n #joseph quinn x y/n #rpf #18+#more than this

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poppy-metal · 5 months

Note

"trust me to always feed into fem!jordans delusion that the strap is real. knock me up daddy"

No because for real, she asks you things like "I'm gonna cum, you want it, baby, want me to cum inside your pretty little princess cunt ?" and they want you to beg for it.

Alternatively, Jordan fucking in female form for the first time, this being only the second time you actually have sex with them. And you're not ready for how much they want you to beg them to fuck you. You get used to it pretty quickly, though. Hearing her moans and groans of pleasure, cut by "You wanna cum, baby ? Want me to knock you up ? Cum inside that freshie cunt ?"

And you can only say yes, because, how the fuck could you say no ?

(also, I don't know which ones are taken, so I'm gonna start signing my requests with this emoji (solely because I feed into the French cliché of the bread addict [it's true, people, baguette is a part of every of my French girl's meal, every day]) . Do tell me if it's already taken. Love you, and take care ❤️)

- 🥖

they enter demon mode fr. they're fucking awful for your little pussy regardless but when you validate their gender fuckery? make them feel strong and fucking powerful in their fem!form? its over for you, i fear.

knees folded to your chest, toes curling in the air, feet swaying, bed rocking, chain dangling in your face over for you. "fuck - this fucking - " the rough slap of their strap pounding into the wet flesh between your legs you almost miss the filth spilling from their lips, just barely registering, "you love this dont you? love my fat fucking dick beating up this pussy?"

but you do hear it, and you encourage it, nodding your head widly on your pillow, eyes filling with overwhelmed tears of pleasure. "y-yes, daddy fuck. fuck my pussy please - oh - oh! its so good, daddy fucks my pussy so good-"

"gonna cum in you." they pant, black hair fanning around their pretty face in contrast to the pained - almost angry way they're looking down between youd bodies to watch the black silicone cock plunge in and out of your slick hole. "daddy's gonna give you his fucking load - fuck it right into this tight." thrust. "little." thrust. "cunt."

your hands slide along the flexing muscles of their back, moaning at how the tendons there move and jerk under your fingers - somehow knowing that - feeling the strength - the work they're putting into fucking railing you never fails to blank your brain. such a strong supe, one of the strongest ever. and you're the one they take to bed every night. you're the one getting your little pussy destroyed. no one else.

you spread your legs wider at the thought, inviting the pounding cock to pound even deeper into your silken wet depths. cunt slicking and clutching and fucking gurgling shes so fucking turned on by jordans strap - by jordans fucking.

"uuhhhh, yeahhhh daddy - y- yeah. want your cum, want daddies cum in my - in me, please, please, please-"

"fuck, baby -"

"daddy!"

"yeah - "

"shit. oh fuck, im coming. oh fuck - you're so good. you feel so fucking good, jesus christ - milk my dick, baby. just like that - milk daddys dick -"

even if its just their strap, the orgasm they have against it from the constant pressure of it pressing into their clit from fucking you makes them feel like they're filling you up. it helps a fuckton that they actually know what it feels like to have your warm walls milking their real cock. makes it that much hotter.

they kiss you open mouthed and downright filthy ad you both come down. your sweat cooling, their necklace pooling between your tits as they brush kisses over your face.

you squeeze their waist with your thighs.

"im feeling triplets with that deposit."

"fuck that."

#ask #dk what came over me it was the demon of jordan li #jordan li x reader #jordan li smut #🥖 anon

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dnsbarbie · 2 months

Text

DEAR READER | C.L 16 (FOUR)

Pairings: Charles Leclerc X Intern!OC

Warnings: Google translated French, degrading headline, people who don’t mind their own business

Note: There’s a reason I’m dragging the fuck out of this story. It’s gonna be worth it, I promise !!!!

❝Dear reader,

If it feels like a trap, you’re

already in one ❞

THE BRILLIANT ILLUMINATED ELEVATOR cradled through the rapidly infectious tension in Natalia’s bloodstream. The gap between her and the equally as anxious Monegasque caused the ongoing brawl in their heads to amplify. She glanced down at the carpeted flooring, casually shifting her gaze to the shuffling feet of her company.

She let her thoughts wonder somewhere else, opting to think about the disastrous path they had to conquer in order to acquire the tranquility they have at the moment. Although, her trembling hands and the intensive battering of her chest generated the thought that perhaps road raging in Charles’ Ferrari to avoid the prying eyes of the general public provided a greater deal of enjoyment than this.

“I was thinking,” Charles spoke, moistening his drought lips. “Since it’s your first time here in Netherlands, I’d like you to try authentic Dutch dishes from the restaurant the team took me to last year.”

Natalia nodded, half of her mind floating into a dreamless space. “That sound great,” She faced him, hoping to defy the rising tide of her anxiety. “I honestly didn’t know anything about Dutch culture until I did a quick research about their food.”

Charles didn’t contain his smile, finally looking at the brunette. His gaze journeyed to her luscious naturally straight chestnut locks, previously tied into a neat ponytail but was now released from the gathered style, falling graciously passed her shoulders.

He snapped back into his regular self as he reached the line of her eyes. Immediately saving himself as he followed up on her statement. “Oh? And what did you find?”

Charles despised the way she’d tuck her bottom lip in her every time she needed a second to gather her thoughts. Couldn’t she just think like a normal person?

“Apparently, there’s this food called Profferjes?” She struggled pronouncing the supposed name given to the delicacy she was referring to.

Charles’ face brightened in amusement at her confused appearance but he nevertheless, nodded, having an idea of what she was talking about.

“The mini pancakes?”

Rhapsody laved across her once perplexed expression, pointing a finger at his direction before confirming his guess.

“Yes! That one— but I think they only serve them in the morning,” She sighed, eyes lingering at Charles. A sudden concept bubbled in her mind, showing in her face as a small simper.

The judgement was also beginning to bloom on Charles’ face as he took note of the naught sparkle in Natalia’s orbs.

“Unless— you know—” She drawled her words, making the smile on the receiver of her antics widen. “Charles Leclerc were to call in—”

He disintegrated into a pile of frenzy at that. Clutching his stomach as his laughter, joined in by Natalia’s own, bounced uncontrollably against the four walls of the enclosed space.

“I’m not sure they’d do their beloved Max Verstappen’s rival a favor.” He acknowledged.

“Oh—right.” Natalia had completely forgotten that Max was Dutch. She knew Charles meant it as a joke but the harsh reality seemed to have overtaken its intended merits.

Then again, she was quick to dispel the impending depressive state. “You know, according to my research, Dutch people are very friendly even if they like speak their mind . . .”

An appreciative hum sounded at the back of Charles’ throat, thankful for her efforts of comfort and the ding of the elevator that indicated their arrival to his floor.

In an unconscious move, he reached for Natalia’s hand, grasping it gently in his. To which the latter responded by gawking at him while they both stalked through the nicely lit corridor.

Charles’ room was two doors away from the very last one, and when they arrived, he tapped in his key card, never seeming to have the intention of releasing the chilling palm that rested in his hold.

As the door opened, along with the grating creak of the door was the heightening of Natalia’s senses. The fresh scent of lavender infiltrated the previous musing scouring at her wits.

She inhaled the saving grace of her sanity, finding the soothing aroma also matched the overall aesthetic of his room.

The fuzzy brown carpet at the center of the room adorned the flooring, to which an oval glass coffee table was placed

“Sit wherever you want,” He said, freeing her hand. “Make yourself feel comfortable.”

As he started to walk away, Natalia bent down balancing her weight with her hand on the doorframe as she untied the laces of her boots.

Charles turned to her, hearing the sudden rustling. “You don’t have to take your shoes off,”

She immediately halted her actions, eyebrows wrinkled at the absurdity of all that. “There’s no way I’m stepping my shoes on a carpet,”

The crease in her eyebrows worsen at that thought of her mother. She could almost see the utter disgust on her face when she finds out Europeans don’t particularly care for what she called “unknown bacteria” spreading through their home.

She set her boots aside, plopping on the pearl colored seating. “My mom would’ve strangled you if she heard you say that,”

Her remark made Charles chuckle, shaking his head on his way to the kitchen. “Would you like something to drink?”

“Depends.” She thought, reaching for a magazine on the coffee table. “What are you having?”

Natalia heard a series of cabinet creaking followed by clinks of what she assumed was glass.

“Well, of you’re craving something sweet, I have orange juice and iced tea,” He replied, peaking his head on the doorframe.

Charles took in the sight of Natalia’s wandering eyes on his apartment, ignoring the sudden pang of nervousness creeping up on him.

The curious girl whipped her head towards his waiting figure, lips pursing with a uncaring shrug. “I’m good with that. But if you want to drink something. . . stronger, I wouldn’t judge.”

She watched the chuckle bloom out of Charles’ relaxed features, before disappearing back into the kitchen.

While he was arranging beverages, Natalia reviewed what he had observed from his apartment.

Firstly, she found it surprising that he owned a living space in this country. Him always hopping on a jet to different countries every week, defeats the purpose of buying one. It didn’t look like he used it often either.

It had one of those minimal modern designs. Like the ones she’d see whenever she was at Summit Furniture, a furniture store she frequented at in Monaco. She currently sat on a white polyester loveseat with tapered rosewood legs that angled outwards. It all seemed like they’ve just been bought yesterday. No scratches on the wooden legs nor flaws in the fabric seating. Same goes for the rest of his furniture that she had seen so far.

The television looked like it had yet to serve its purpose and the tables be marked with any stain or evidences of usage.

Her deep observation caused a barricading and tension within her sense. The unbelievable tidiness and perfection of her surroundings made her more conscious of her actions.

“Here we are!” Charles’ unforeseen appearance rattled her core, prompting her to sit up straighter. He had brought a tray of various drinks.

Natalia eyed the colorful liquids in different types of glasses. Some in one in a high ball, champagne and cocktail glass. Beside those were a bottle of Heineken and Jenever.

She bit the inside of her cheek, trapping the laughter threatening to pull through, settling for a supportive nod.

“I’m guessing this is the orange juice?” She plucked the high ball glass from the tray, a teasing smile adorning her face.

“Yes, it is,” Charles took out his phone, the unwavering nerves still present in his veins. “I know I said I’ll order for you, but here’s the menu, you might see something you like—”

She raised his hands, shaking her head. “Trust me, the only food I’m sure are gonna be are Stroopwafel and those ball shaped snack I ate at the paddock. Besides, I’m not picky with food, I’ll swallow anything you give me.”

Charles’ thumbs stopped their typing, his lips thinning at the intrusive thought in his head.

Anything, huh?

“You’re disgusting—”

“I didn’t say—”

“That’s not what I meant!”

“I didn’t say anything!”

“You didn’t have to! It’s written all over your face!” Natalia growled, motioning to the idiotic smirk hanging of his face across her.

“Think what you want,” Charles chimed, resuming his attention to his device. “That’s what I’m doing anyway hmpf—”

A soft object suddenly collided at his face, laughing as he realized that Natalia had thrown a pillow at him.

He removes it from obstructing his view, glancing up at the glowering figure in front of him, now bringing her lips close to the tall glass of juice.

“Give the phone. . .” She said, extending her arm forwards for Charles to pass her the device.

He hands it to her, inclining his body towards her. “I personally love Hachee, it’s meat with mash potatoes and gravy—”

“Frog legs!”

Charles stopped talking, staring stupidly at her exclamation. A wide smile plastered on her face as she turned the phone towards him and pointed to the certain dish.

“You eat frogs?” Charles didn’t mean for it to sound condescending, but the overpowering shock at this discovery halted all sense of thinking.

“Yeah? And?” At her defensive tone, Charles quickly held his hands up, waving them at her.

“No! That’s not what I mean!” He scratched the back of his head, hoping to ward away the embarrassment of his mistake. “I-I just mean, you’re the first girl I’ve met who’s actually excited to eating frogs,”

Natalia raised an eyebrow at Charles. “That can’t be true, frogs are eaten a lot in Manaco,”

“Doesn’t mean everybody likes them,” Charles remarked, taking the bottle opener from the table before twisting it on a Heineken beer.

Natalia watched him take a sip, crossing her arms at his statement. “You mean to say— of all the Monegasque girls you’ve dated— not a single one ate frogs?”

Charles felt amusement trickling at his through as he spotted the doubt on her face. “Well, I did let them try it.” He restored. “But they either pretended to like it or just straight up told me, quite frankly that they’d rather eat dirt.”

Natalia lights up at that, bringing her hands together in an mirthful clap. “At least some were honest about it,”

Charles nodded, glancing up at her as he began to wonder wether or not he should consume more alcohol to gain the courage to ask her questions that may be deemed too personal. Threading lightly on the subject, he reached for the Daquiri, giving in to its undeniable seductive calling.

“Is it a common food in the Philippines?” He asked, eyes traveling to the curvature of her expression.

Natalia’s lips disconnected from the cold glass rim, licking away the numbness spreading through her mouth. “Not exactly all over the country, but in my province, we do eat it a lot,” A mirror of nostalgia passes by her eyes, slotting in the depths of her memories.

Charles observed as she spaced out, blankly staring at the wooden coffee table. Instead of snapping her out of her trans, he waited patiently for her to regain her train of thought.

Blinking rapidly, the fog of her brain slowly disappeared, a large intake of breath released from her lungs before she cleared her throat.

As she craned her neck back to the person she was talking to, her heart lurched at her throat at the intensity of his stare. His eyes were drowned in unbelievable intent, as if she’d disappear if he was to look away.

“Let’s play that game again,” He said, softly.

“What?”

“That game in the car. 20 questions,” He clarified, tilting his head at her, “I want to play it again.”

Dread filled her mind, mouth beginning to ache, along with the slight tremble of her voice. “Why?”

“We’re going to spend a lot of time together,” He pointed out. “I’ve know you for quite a while but I don’t know anything about you. . .”

“There’s nothing to know,” She huffed, eyebrows coming together in a pinch. “My life isn’t interesting in the slightest.”

Charles narrowed his eyes at her, careful not to overstep. “I’ll ask basic questions then,”

She scrunched her face up at him. “Like what?”

With his eyes on her, he shrugged. “How did you end up in Monaco?”

“That’s not—” She sighed, pulsing her palms into an alternating clench. Her hands came up to snatch the beer off the table, taking a large gulp of it.

This was not a good idea from the start but then again, she made no complaints about it either.

Setting the bottle down with a loud clank, she tuts at his waiting figure. “I applied for the scholarship grant, almost failed the final interview, found out I didn’t, and— lo and behold, I’m here.”

The vagueness of her answer made Charles roll his eyes. “You almost failed? Why?” He questioned.

Natalia frowned at him, wagging her finger up at his line of vision. “No—no, it’s my turn,”

Charles sighed, defeated, downing a shot of tequila as the former thought of her first question. “Who’s your favorite sibling?”

Taken aback, he smiled at her random choice of words. “I don’t have one,”

His answer was met by a judgmental glance. “Boo! Everybody has one. Come on!”

Hesitation reeled him in with the desire to end thos query immediately. So, with all the shame warped into a giant ball in his heart. Je all but murmured a name.

“Sorry, say that again?” He could practically feel the teasing smirk on her face as she neared her ear on his mouth.

His eyes fluttered close, amusement and annoyance dancing at his veins. “I said, Arthur—”

She laughed, finding his imminent torture to have soothe her pounding heart. “Don’t feel bad, it’s pretty obvious anyway,”

At that, Charles didn’t indulge in her usual provocative style. Instead, thwacking her back with another personal question.

“What do your parents to for a living?”

She coughed, the sharp taste of alcohol pricking at her throat as it violently drew back to her nose.

“Are you okay?” The concern etched visible at the lines of Charles’ face as he stood up to hand her a tissue. He sat next to her, plucking more out of the box as she attempted to stop the liquid pouring out from her nostrils.

She gratefully took the tissue from him, blowing her nose into it. She would’ve found it embarrassing as she heard the disgusting noise it made as she emptied her now stinging nose of the culprit if it weren’t for her spinning mind.

She wiped her jeans, trying to play it cool as she responded. “My parents— My mom was an accountant and my dad— he. . . used to trade oil.”

Charles peaked onto her face, wiping of the remnants of beer on her cheek. “What’s wrong with that?”

Natalia swallowed the painful block of her throat, hand coming up to where he had his on her face. “Nothing. . . I-it’s not their jobs. I just wasn’t expecting you to ask about my parents.”

“We—”

The loud ringing of a phone interrupted their conversation. Natalia felt the vibration in her bag before she realized it was hers.

This dispelled the heavy ambiance of the atmosphere, waking the occupants from their trance.

Oh shit, Natalia thought as she saw the caller’s name flash on her phone.

Nicolas Todt

As soon as she pressed the green button signifying her death, the device was gone, only to be taken by the tutting Monegasque beside her.

She immediate shuffled up, desperately trying to get the phone out of his grip. It was too late, however, as he stood up at the sound of his manager’s voice.

Deflating in defeat, Natalia hopelessly smothered her head on the soft cushion’s of the couch.

“Hello?”

“What are yo— Hello? Charles? Is that you?”

Natalia winced at the pure hostility in Nicolas’ tone. Even after figuring out that the taker of the call was indeed his well-loved client, it didn’t quell the scorching heat of his flaming outrage.

“Oui c'est moi. Quoi de neuf?” Yes, it’s me. What’s up?

In contrast to Charles’ collected attitude, Natalia could feel her insides churning slowly into a blob of mush. Her only wish was for Charles not to ruin this job for her was beggining to whither away with the his careless actions.

“Quoi de neuf?” What’s up? Nicolas echoed, his sharp scoff going through the phone’s speaker and stabbing Natalia directly in the deepest part of her chest.

“Vous n'avez pas vérifié votre téléphone?” He spat, as it were acid poured on his tongue.

At the word phone, Natalia’s head shot up from the condoling compressor of her resting place, panicking as she searched for her phone.

The cumulus fog accumulating her head, clouded the clarity of her thinking, making her forget that someone else had possessed the thing she was looking for.

Charles nodded along to the string of profanities Nicolas kept rambling through his ear, shifting her attention to the frightened girl on his couch. Her heightened vigilance evident as trembling her hands patted wildly along his furniture.

He aided her frantic movements with a soft brush of his hand on her cheek, tapping his thumb on her paled skin.

Natalia whipped her head around to face him, breathing out of sigh of relief as she followed his finger pointing to his phone.

Wasting no time, she snagged it off the table, nearly shoving it on Charles’ face when it demanded a passcode after failing the face recognition system.

Charles careened his head backwards to avoid the object barreling into his face.

Natalia waited, anxiously fiddling with the stitchings of her clothing, as the daunting atmosphere worsened every second that passed by.

She almost tore Charles’ entire arm from his body by the vast amount of force she exerted at him. Quickly tapping on Google app, her hands shook as they hovered over the keys, thoughts failing to conjure words she needed.

“Charles Leclerc girlfriend. . .” A whisper came next to her.

She gritted her teeth at the awful joke. Perhaps as knew it wasn’t an impossible headline. It dawned to her the severity of their offense as she typed his name on the search bar.

It appears that her groan of indignation was loud enough for Nicolas’ ears as Natalia heard his mocked version of it despite being on Charles’ space.

“Did you see it?” Nicolas queried, his tone unreadable.

Natalia turned the screen to Charles’ vision. And the idiot had the audacity to laugh.

Merely hacking into his balled fist, the presence of his teeth behind his lips irritated both Nicolas and Natalia.

In disgustingly big letters, the headline read:

Natalia swiped at the screen, ticking her brow in victory as the smile drained visibly off his face at what she had shown.

“Now, that’s not funny. . .”

You don’t say. . .” She gritted, padding a hand on her chest to feign shock.

Charles offered her an apologetic pat on the head of the sneering girl. The latter slapped his hand away, force firm but not enough to do any harm.

Natalia could hear the faint murmurs of Nicolas before his voice was amplified by Charles’ simple tap of the speaker phone.

“Listen, both of you,” He commended. “Gossip magazines aren’t exactly fond of what ever it is you’re doing.”

“I am so sorry—”

“You are not.” The dripping venom in his tone made Natalia flinch back, leaning away from the source of his voice as if he were to pop out of the screen. “I don’t know what you were both thinking but luckily social media loved your little rendezvous.”

Silence fell between the scolded individuals, eyes creeping up to see the other’s reaction. Like staring directly at a mirror, they alined body language that could only be read as confusion.

“So. . . That means?” Natalia trailed, leveling her vocals in light of steering clear of another possible volcanic eruption from Nicolas.

“It means. . .” Nicolas pressed, annoyance still present. “You have to continue your. . . what you call it?”

Natalia listen intently as Nicolas asked someone for the word he was searching for. “The what? Oh— yes that. . . Your situationship.”

“Ew no!” Natalia’s extreme protest was met with sheer bewilderment on Charles’ part, struggling to process the meaning of the foreign term.

“What is that? What’s a situationship?”

At his question, Natalia stirred back to him, giving him a look of disbelief. Nicolas on the other hand simply clicked his tongue, sighing brfore supplying the answer to his client.

“They’re two people who have no sense of direction regarding their relationship.” He explained, and though he cannot see the expression on Charles’ face, he knew very well what it was.

“Is that a bad thing?”

Natalia’s jaw slackened, palm slapping on his forehead. And although she knew Nicolas’ explanation of situationship was a fairly watered down version of the real deal, she didn’t have the strength to further Charles’ knowledge on the subject.

Nicolas ignored his question. “We’ll talk more about this tomorrow. I advise you to not step out of that building until daylight.”

Natalia’s eyes widened at that. “What? You want me to stay here?”

“Certainly.” He concluded.

Sensation drained completely from her body. The electric feeling of lacking blood, slowly spread in an infectious manner. With it, the chill of reality came to set in.

“I’ve already informed Toto of the situation.”

As if it wasn’t enough, after hearing that, the lavender scent of the atmosphere that was thought to have the a calming effect seemed impotent, in comparison to the vigorous hold this ghastly chain of anxiety had on her.

Of all the things she feared, the idea of disappointing Toto Wolff and Susie Wolff was an absolute nightmare. How could she face the people who gave her the opportunity of a life time if she were to do dim-witted things like this?

In the midst of her internal battle, her head stirred to the cause of her misbehavior. He just so happened to be looking at her as well.

Unlike the pointed glare she blatantly jabbed into his face, Charles offered her a worried glance that could bloom flowers on his pretty little head.

Despite her scornful demeanor, she couldn’t shake away the guilt of being in this position. She was aware that it wasn’t Charles’ fault alone but perhaps putting all the blame in him would ease her desire to simply jump on a boat and abandon everything she ever dreamed in her life.

Natalia recoiled at the sudden warmth on her arm. Look towards the source, she relaxed at the sight of Charles’ hand on her skin.

He had ended the call, sitting back down on his previous place. “How do you want to do this?”

Natalia heaved a heavy sigh, afraid that the force might collapse her lungs. “I honestly can’t think of anything else but being fired. . .”

Charles took her hand in a grip that he could only hope held the comfort he was trying to induce. “You won’t. I’m the reason you’re here. I’ll talk to them.”

“You better. . .” She huffed, shoving a strong palm at his shoulder. “I don’t think I’ll be able to look my classmates in the eye when I have to go back to University, though.”

“When do you have to go back?” He asked.

“In three days. We have to submit a report every two weeks regarding our performance.” She expounded, thinking about the sour look on her headmaster’s face at the sight of his achingly popular student walking in her office.

“Well, in that case, you can say that you helped me increase my fanbase by 2% in just three weeks.” Charles tried to provide a consolation.

Natalia hummed, lips curling as she was reminded of that information. “You make it sound like I’m a one-man team. . .” She shook her head.

She was sure that Charles’ PR team wouldn’t appreciate her taking all the credit for the improvements in the Ferrari driver’s personal accounts.

“Probably not. But most of it was your idea.”

It was intended to aid the boisterous voices crowding the little space left in her brain that wasn’t consumed by the nauseating noise of failure but alas proved to be ineffective as she abruptly stood up and took her phone from Charles’ lap.

Tapping the number she knew would cover the gaping hole of fear continuously scraping at her brain.

She watched as her phone started ringing, the name of her partner in crime flashing on the screen.

Lissie

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc #charles leclerc fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 #charlos #ferrari #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x oc #charles leclerc x y/n #landoscar #charles leclerc smut

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raeyamour · 3 days

Text

IN GOLD AND FRENCH PERFUME.

pairing: daddy's associate toji x shiu's (legal) daughter reader minors please dni !

Toji's breath hitches, his chest rising raggedly when you place a small kiss on the crook of his throat, leaving a pretty red mark from your lipstick in its wake. Your wide eyes meet his wild, green ones and he feels like the worst man alive.

He was wearing a gentlemanly dress shirt, seemingly putting to rest his Lothario-esque persona just for tonight. Though even that shirt stretched tight against the weighty expanse of his muscled chest, as you reached your hands up and allowed your deep red nails to trail gently over where his nipple would be on its black fabric. His own hands, veiny and thick and coarse as they were, reached the curve of your waist and dragged heavily along your hips. His soft hair brushed against the skin of your neck as he dipped his head to kiss down on your shoulder — but that was just him being a little friendly, surely?

He spoke up now, voice more gravelly and softer than usual.

“Yer daddy’s gonna be home soon.”

He mutters it, turning his head a little to not catch the amber scent of your sensual French perfume when you place slender arms around his thick neck. If you had leaned back just slightly, you'd have observed the way his Adam’s apple conjured a small, dipping motion when your gaze met his, the shade of his eyes altering themselves from a light green to stormy hues of grey viridescence when you flash a gentle grin at his breathlessness.

Those thin, dark brows of his were as furrowed as they could be — and he'd resorted to cuss words, brain muddled almost entirely thanks to you.

According to him, you were “bein’ a fuckin’ minx” and for heaven’s sake, you seemed to take no pity on his poor heart.

("'M gettin' older y'know," he'd mumble into your neck sometime that night.)

After all, Toji was only just a man and could only handle so much temptation before he'd resort to committing unspeakable sins within the comfort of your white silk-encased mattress.

He’d newly escaped the clutches of the Zenin Clan — he didn’t need any more trouble coming into his way so soon. But here you were — trouble — packaged with a dainty, pretty little necklace falling between the swells of your breasts, which looked plumper under the silk of your black nightgown. That, combined with the dim warmth of Shiu's office lighting, set an atmosphere neither of you two commented on verbally.

Unfortunately, or fortunately — depending on how you looked at it, your bodies communicated volumes on how the moody lighting and the sex eyes were affecting you down between your thighs.

Mind, Toji would’ve had his way with you ages ago — if you hadn't been his employer’s daughter. Before you, he'd almost accepted his womaniser reputation, regardless of how terribly mischaracterised it made him out to be.

If anything, the womanizing that he had later adapted helped him gain some sort of company, albeit of sexual nature, during lonely nights in the isolation of his minimalistic bedroom.

(Not that he was into minimalism — he just didn't give a fuck about decorating)

The soft moans filled the high ceilings of his apartment to replace music he'd play on nights when silence rang especially louder without someone special in his life, and the warmth of a stranger woman's body against his brought his emotionally-constipated ass some level of consolation.

But he'd bury himself six feet underground if anyone asked him why on earth he'd pictured every woman in his bed to be you.

If Shiu got even a whiff of this shit, he’d beat Toji’s not-so-sorry ass — (metaphorically, of course, the man could never actually take him) — and fling him out into some fiery volcano that constituted as the closest earthly experience to Hell. Mind, it was probably where he was going in his afterlife, what with the hundreds of people he’d murdered in his twenty-seven years of life — and the fact that the coarseness of his hands now grasped desperately at places on your body that only Satan could applaud.

"Do me a favour, baby?" He mumbles, a deep breathy sound that hits the curve of your neck and brushes against the tip of your ear. His resolve had completely cracked by the time he finished his plead.

"Don't kiss 'n tell on me? Please?"

And it was hard to not comply — not as he'd let out a soft, sexy huff to match your gasp when his hands cupped your tits and his thumbs brushed over the thin fabric of your silky black nightgown, right over the hardened buds of your areola. Certainly not when he pulled you closer, mumbling a soft "'m so sorry, 'm terrible" as he's pushing you between himself and your father's office table to kiss down your body. His plump, pink lips kiss and lick and bite along your neck, nipples, stomach, hips —

("I-I know, sweetheart." He'd mutter against your navel as your trembling hands reach for his hair gently)

Toji now feels like a shell of his former pride, kneeling in front of you, with his face level with the wetness between your thighs. Here, sex eyes became more pronounced, green eyes growing darker, stormier, as he proceeded to look up at you and almost, almost, beg to have his way with you.

Contrary to popular belief, though, he'd always been a sweetheart to you — this was, regardless of the fact that you were a young woman now, his employer's 'little' girl, after all.

But now, that you'd reached manicured hands behind you, back arching on the deep brown wood of Shiu's office desk as Toji's nose brushed against the hood of your clit, his hands groped at the soft skin of your thighs, pulling you closer when you let out the softest sound.

And he almost moans.

Somewhere in the distance, you had smoke-velvet vocals playing, your own moans melding into the gentle music that floated indistinctly into the room.

This was his doing and he took a possessed level of pride in that, all shame utterly abandoned the moment you'd pressed a chaste, innocent kiss into the crook of his neck. He let your stuttering hips rock your body onto his face, huffing softly against the crevices of your pussy as he pushed his tongue a little deeper because, God, you had to make that sound again.

The caresses of the night would bleed into day and Toji would have been in your bed, breathing in the scent of you and both of your lovemaking from the prior night as he pulled you closer into the crevices of his tough muscles. The two of you must have somehow reached your room during your indulgences in one another the night before, and Toji didn't feel like leaving... not with the warmth of your soft breasts against his chest, your arm stretched over his chest as your hand runs up the expanse of his neck.

He'd hum in love and in delight, though he'd never admit to caring for you as much as he did — not when expressing love felt so alien to him.

And if Shiu does ever realise the existence of this little affair, one that had his little girl doing things he'd prayed she'd do in the security of marriage and not with some thuggish, morally-grey hitman, Toji would consider grinning a sleazy grin and childishly responding with a gruff "but she started it!"

rae says: hey, baby, ignore the tags bc they're so embarrassing lol. if you think you've read this work before, you probably have. i uploaded this a little while ago but chickened out and deleted my old account — but i think i'm ok with posting it now that i did a little rebrand, ykwim? that's all, love u ! x

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astermath · 11 months

Text

sweet like you🍓pt. 2

pairing: carmen berzatto x fem!reader

summary: carmen helps you out with perfecting your pastries to present them to your boss. you spend time getting to know each other in the place he knows best; the kitchen. things take a slight turn when you get back to your apartment.

word count: 3.1K

PART 1

notes: I really enjoy writing carmen tbh, I guess writing him is my way to giving his character some peace outside of his usually extremely stressful life. this got suuuper long im so sorry sdfgshj i got kinda carried away. let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list for further carmen berzatto related content!

warnings: mentions of suicide/death, addiction, use of alcohol, cursing

Carmen hated nights.

At least during the day, he was forced to do things, be productive, talk to people, keep his mind occupied. But at night, it was just him. Alone with his thoughts. The only thing keeping him company his cynical mind and deranged dreams.

That night was no different.

Carmen woke up in a cold sweat, hand clutching at his chest as he sat up. He nearly gasped for air, and upon noticing how shaky he was, got up to splash his face with cold water. That didn’t help much either, so he went to his balcony (if one could even call it that), and lit a cigarette. The sun was already coming up, and he knew he wasn’t getting much sleep again feeling like this.

He sighed, smoke emitting from his nose as he pulled out his phone. You’d replied already, even given a time. Reading your words made him feel slightly more at ease, slightly more... Real. A reminder of his obligations to the people around him, but also, and he’d never admit this, something to look forward to.

[carmen]: absolutely, see you then

Your next shift went by smoothly, as per usual. The French themed café you worked at had become such a big part of your life, not that you minded, you were in love with it. And as much as she’d deny it, you could tell the owner had taken a liking to you. You heard from the barista that most waitresses would get fired within a month or so, but you’d stuck around for three now.

“She said you have a certain ‘je ne sais quoi’... I think you remind her of her younger self.” Your colleague said while pouring out a cup of coffee.

“Right,” you took a tray and readied another order. “You sure you didn’t imagine that? I don’t remember Odette ever saying something nice to me before.”

“Not to your face, no.” She grinned, putting the cup on your tray. “I’m sure you’ll get her to put some of your stuff on the menu, she just has to warm up to it.”

“Yeah, just,” you grabbed the tray, balancing it with ease. “Give me a few decades to work her through that.” You both chuckled as you walked off to continue your work.

Carmen stood across the street, looking through the window of the café. Shit, he was way too early, and that wasn’t even usually like him. He’d left the Beef over to Sydney while he was gone, telling her he had something important to take care of. And although that wasn’t entirely untrue, he wasn’t sure she’d agree if she found out he was hanging out at some café.

He slipped into the place rather sneakily, deciding that if he was gonna have to wait, he might as well do it in there. It had been a while since he’d been inside, usually just to get a quick coffee or something, and he’d never paid much attention to the décor before. He was kind of impressed, despite being smack dab in the middle of Chicago, the café had a true Parisian feel too it. Sure, he’d never been to Paris, but he could imagine this was pretty close.

He sat down at a booth near a window and stared outside. He felt a bit uneasy just... waiting. There were so many things he still had to do, so many debts to pay off, things to consider, to change--

“Carmen? Is that you?”

Your voice snapped him out his train of thoughts, it almost felt like a ray of sunshine breaking through a dark cloud. He turned and saw you holding a menu, dressed in a cute dress and an apron.

“Yeah, I uh... Got here a bit too early, my bad.” He gave an apologetic, halfhearted smile.

“It’s no worries,” you handed him the menu. “You can just enjoy a coffee or something while you wait! What would you like?” You pulled out a notepad and a pen.

“Oh, uh... Christ...” His eyes squinted as he scanned the laminated menu. “Am I goin’ crazy or is this all in French?”

“Nope,” You chuckled. “It is. When I told you the menu hadn’t changed, I meant really, nothing has changed.”

“Fuck, alright, uhm... Just a regular coffee then.” He handed the menu back. “Please.”

“Comin’ right up!” You chirped, and he watched you make your merry way back into the kitchen. He could’ve sworn you damn near floated by how excited you seemed. He didn’t really understand it. You worked a waitress job where you weren’t allowed to change anything, you had to work early on Saturdays to help your family out and he could have guessed you probably still had time to maintain a healthy social life. It almost annoyed him how well balanced you seemed.

But someone as cute as you couldn’t possibly annoy him.

He received his coffee not long after, thanking you and admiring the porcelain for a moment. The more he noticed about this place, the more... Uneasy he felt. He didn’t realize why, and he kept mulling it over until long after he’d finished his drink.

Ah.

Because the Beef looked like a garbage dump compared to this.

And he owned that garbage dump.

He hated himself a little for comparing the two, they weren’t comparable at all besides both serving food and drinks, but the fact that you were only two blocks away didn’t help. And he was about to be helping you too, his competition.

The crew would kill him if they knew where he was at.

You worked on closing up, cleaning a few last cups and arranging them neatly before walking back to Carmen’s table. “Hope you enjoyed your coffee my good sir, but I must request you to join me in the kitchen, for I have prepared a mighty array of desserts for thou.” You grinned.

“Alright, alright, I get it.” He got up, ready to follow. “Don’t I gotta pay for that coffee?”

“S’on the house. Come on, we’ve got pastries to try!”

The kitchen closely resembled the rest of the establishment, although much more homely. It was small, doable, but just a little cramped.

You pulled out two stools for the two of you to sit on, before going to the fridge and taking out a tray. “Alright, so...” You put it down on the counter. “Here we’ve got classic cheesecake with a cinnamon cookie crust,” you pointed at each dessert, “a cream strawberry tart, and last but not least,” your fingers fluttered in a ‘jazz hands’ way, “tiramisu topped with fresh strawberries.”

Carmen scanned the tray before him. The presentation was immaculate, but he found that often with these types of desserts the looks were better than the taste. He hoped that wasn’t the case.

You sat across him, more nervous than you initially expected to be, as he tried each of the desserts. He had some notes about each one, as expected, you were just an amateur cook, but you could tell his eyes lit up a little when he tried the tiramisu.

“Mm,” He hummed, putting his spoon back in for another bite. “Shit, that’s fire chef...”

“Chef?” You raised an eyebrow. No one had ever called you that before.

“Sorry,” He swallowed, “Freudian slip, my bad.”

You chuckled. “No, no, I don’t mind... The tiramisu is a family recipe, actually. My nana used to make it all the time.” A nostalgic smile graced your face.

“Those are usually the best.” He thinks back at the food him and Mikey used to make when they were younger, and somehow, it makes the tiramisu taste even better. “So, anything else you wanna add?”

“Oh!” You were a little caught off guard by his question. “Uhm, well... Now that you mention it, I’d love to add macarons, to play into the French theme of the café. I’ve just never been able to get them right, and trust me, I’ve tried.”

Carmen puts away the empty glass cup. “Do you want me to teach you?”

“Huh?” You were sure you misunderstood at first, but the look he gave you was telling you he was at least expecting an answer. “Uh... Sure, yeah! I’d love to! I think we still have all the ingredients here from my last attempt too.”

“Great.” He got up, clasping his hands together. “Let’s get to bakin’, chef.”

The two of you stood next to each other at the counter. His jacket was off, now replaced with a baby pink frilly apron, supposedly the only one you had. You’d been relatively quiet, mostly focusing on taking his advice and following instructions. But as he was sifting almond powder, and you were beating egg whites, he had this strange urge to fill the silence. It was weird, usually he preferred working quietly, but it was almost strange to hear you not talking when you were there.

“So... You’re not from Chicago, are you?” He kept his eyes on the sifter.

You grinned, still whisking away. “What gave it away?”

“You smile a lot,” he took the bowl from you and held it upside down to check the consistency of the egg whites, “and I haven’t seen you light a single cigarette.” He put the bowl back and started weighing off some sugar. “So either you’re not from here, or I want whatever drugs you’re taking.”

You chuckled at his remark, finding his self deprecating humor quite amusing. “No, you’re right. I grew up on my parents’ farm, though it’s not too far from here, I never really came close to the city. Moved here about three months ago, so I haven’t explored much.” You took the sugar from him and gradually started adding it to the egg whites. “What about you? Born and raised?”

“What gave it away?” He joked back. “Born, raised, moved away for culinary school, worked in New York, now I’m back.” He sighed. Being back in Chicago was... Strange. Because after not having seen his brother for literal years, he was now constantly confronted with everything that reminded him of Mikey. Including his business.

“Interesting.” You started working together the mixture, sneaking glances at his face every now and then to gage his reaction. “So... What brought you back?”

A longer silence followed your question, and you could tell his hands even stopped moving for a moment. Suddenly he seemed tense, and you worried if your question had struck a cord.

He swallowed, eyes fixated on the ingredients before him. “My brother.”

“Oh! Well, I’m sure he’s happy to see you back.” You offered a kind smile.

“Yeah, I uh... I’m not sure he would be.” He glanced at you, eyes quickly darting back to the vanilla extract he was measuring out, uncomfortable with eye contact when he talked about Mikey. “He died.” His eyebrow twitched slightly. “Suicide.”

You stop whisking for a moment to look at him, and you can tell his face had reddened. You feel awful for pressing him on such a sensitive subject, but you had no idea.

The two of you continue to prepare the batter in complete silence for a good minute. Both of you feel bad. Him, for dumping this information on you, and you, for even asking about it.

“I’m sorry,” you speak up, filling up a piping bag with batter, “I had no idea.”

“S’okay,” He runs his hand through his hair, a nervous tic, almost. “I’ve been trying to talk more about it. Especially since I kinda run his business now.”

“Well, if it counts for anything,” You give him another sweet smile, and this time, it does actually make him feel a little better. Silently, he wished they could put the feeling your smiles gave in pills, so he could take those instead. “I think he’d be proud of you.”

He doesn’t reply. Not because he doesn’t want to, but because he doesn’t know if he agrees. He doesn’t know what Mikey would think, and from what he’s heard from Richie, he’s not even sure if he would recognize the person his brother had become through his addiction. But the possibility is there, and you reminding him of it was enough. For now, at least.

He noticed you struggling with the piping bag and got behind you, hands sneaking over yours to help you hold it correctly. “There we go.”

Carmen doesn’t seem to notice how close he is to you. Or how warm your face had gotten. Or how the way he smelled was distracting you from listening to what he was saying. Cigarettes, coffee and sandalwood... A strange, but not unappealing mix of scents.

You turn your head just a slight bit and catch a glimpse of his blue eyes. They were so bright, piercing almost, but they held such a profound sadness behind them. You wondered what else they held, what other stories he struggled to talk about.

Carmen noticed you weren’t watching what you were doing and looked up, accidentally meeting your eyes now. And then he realized how close he was, cheeks growing flushed like a teenage boy as he let go of your hands and took a step back, clearing his throat. “Shit, uh... My bad.”

You chuckled nervously. “It’s fine, I appreciate the help.” You leaned down to preheat the oven.

“Yeah… Anytime.”

A while after, the two of you were presented with perfect, pink tinted macarons. You smile proudly, hands on your hips as you admire the final product in front of you. “Man, we really nailed those, huh?”

Carmen smiles, a little sleepily. It was starting to get dark outside and he hadn’t even had dinner yet, but he felt bad about having to interrupt your baking session. Usually when he was in the kitchen he was focused, collected, he was making a product that he had to be proud of. But he’d been open to you, he’d laughed, he almost felt… Relaxed. Maybe that’s why he was feeling sleepy.

That, or the insane lack of sleep was catching up to him once more.

You looked outside and noticed that the sun was going down. “Shit, how long have we been here?” You checked the time on your phone. “Fuck, I’m so sorry, I had no idea it already got this late... Uh, if you want I’ll drive you home?”

“Yeah, that would be--” His sentence got cut off by the sound of his stomach growling loudly. The two of you stayed quiet for a moment as Carmen put a hand over his abdomen, clearing his throat, a little embarrassed. “Sorry, I uh... I haven’t eaten anything today besides those desserts earlier.”

Now you really felt guilty. Not only had you kept him at the café for way longer than you should have, but you were nearly making the poor guy starve. “Tell ya what,” You handed him his jacket and took off your apron. “How ‘bout you come back to my apartment and I’ll make us both dinner. I’m no expert chef like you, but I can cook a mean pasta!”

He hesitated for a moment. He hadn’t been to someone else’s apartment in so long, let alone someone he was interested in. But he supposed it was better than being alone in his apartment again, probably heating up a shitty frozen meal because he was too tired to cook.

Your apartment was nice. Well, nicer than his at least, although that probably didn’t mean much. For only having lived there for three months, he could tell you’d really added your own touch to the place.

“Welcome to mi casa!” You playfully bowed, allowing him to enter and closing the door behind you two. You tossed your keys onto the counter and took off your coat, ready to get to cooking. “You can settle on the couch, put something on, I got Netflix if you want. I’ll have dinner made in just a sec!”

Carmen moved with caution. This was... Unknown territory. He knew you were probably just being friendly, but this was a pretty big step for him. He had his boundaries, his walls firmly set, and you were jumping over them like it was nothing. It was just... Easier with you, somehow. To open up, to talk.

Not long after he’d chosen something to watch, you arrived with two deep plates of pesto pasta with mozzarella and diced tomatoes. “There we go, I always make this when I don’t feel like cooking.” You handed him a plate and a fork, before settling down next to him. Your couch wasn’t that big, so your shoulders were touching the entire time.

The two of you were watching a cooking competition, something you didn’t realize would revitalize Carmen so much. Not because he liked it so much, but because he was so focused on the mistakes the contestants were making, and felt the need to point every single one of them out to you. Your two plates stood empty on the coffee table, along with a bottle of red wine and two, very empty glasses.

“Now, see this,” he pointed at the TV, “can’t believe they’re even allowed to air this, this is a disgrace to cooking. The fuckin’ idiot hasn’t touched a single spice this entire episode!”

The both of you were both kind of tipsy, and you were leaning against him now, smiling to yourself as you tried to withhold laughter from every serious comment he made.

“And now--” He looked at you and realized you were hanging on for dear life not to break out in giggles. “What’s so funny?” He asked with a grin.

“N-Nothing, nothing!” You chuckled, leaning away from him so he wouldn’t see your expression.

“Ah, so now we’re shy!” He poked your side, the wine doing wonders for his confidence. “Come on, let’s hear those laughs then!” He continued poking you, and you couldn’t take it anymore, the ticklish sensation making you squirm. You grabbed his arm and pulled it away from your abdomen, making him fall forward onto the couch. He caught himself, hand resting on the armrest, now leaning over you.

You looked up at him, and god, maybe it was the alcohol speaking, but you swore he’d never looked hotter. Leaned over you, curls framing his face, strong arms surrounding you. His gorgeous blue eyes staring down into yours, tension growing between the two of you.

So you couldn’t help yourself.

You leaned up, capturing his lips in yours, a hand coming up to rest on the back of his head to pull him in further.

He froze, eyes only fluttering shut after a few seconds, melting into the kiss as his hand came down to rest on your waist. His mind ran blank, nothing plaguing his mind anymore, all besides one thought;

“Damn. She tastes even sweeter than those strawberries.”

tag list <3

@beebslebobs @thatone-brightstar @spr3id @deadandstill

#aster writes the bear #carmenmath #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto fic #carmen berzatto imagine #carmen berzatto the bear #the bear #the bear fic #the bear imagine #jeremy allen white #jeremy allen white imagine

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nohoney · 3 months

Note

watched the lost boys recently and all i could think abt was 80s goth vampire dabi

if we're talking 80s goth vampire dabi, this song just sets the vibe for me. creature au isn’t a big strong suit of mine but this was fun!

♪ i think i want you / i think you’re bad ♪

you and your boyfriend are new to the town you've moved into, making a new home after deciding that dealing with your family's toxic dynamics was not worth anymore of your time. you needed a new start, a better home, and a different life. a cute two bedroom house is all yours, a little garden in the back along with a pristine picket fence that you adore.

the neighbors are quite nice but give you and your boyfriend a jarring piece of advice: stay away from dabi and do not invite him into your house under any circumstances.

upon asking who dabi is, your neighbors hush up and tell you that it's best to not ask any questions. just listen and obey it if you want to live peacefully, it's best since you're the new folks in town. to you, it feels like the people are probably bullying whoever this dabi person is if they can't provide a valid reason why he's not to be interacted with.

five weeks since you've settled into your new home, you walk at night to the video store to rent a few tapes to watch for the weekend. you debate between some french film and a clint eastwood movie, wondering if maybe a foreign film would be a nice change of pace or if maybe sticking to a famed movie star would be a guarantee for a good movie. someone happens to be in the same aisle as you and just to make small talk, you ask them to pick between the two. the french film is chosen but you also decide that clint eastwood could also be a good back up just in case.

"if my movie night stinks, i'm gonna go around town looking for you to blame." you crack a small joke.

"well if i'm gonna get my ass kicked by you, it'll be easier to find me by name: i'm dabi."

you shake his hand, your touch lingering for just a few seconds longer than you should be doing when you withdraw. his hands are a little cold but then again, so are yours since the night is fairly chilly. so the infamous dabi is right there with you, and he’s not quite what you thought he would look like. he dresses the part of a punk, his heavy boots and the dark jacket he wears a little bit of a cliché and he’s got dyed black tips that contrast against the white of his hair, but the charming smile he’s sent your way is a foil to the stereotype you had in your head. he’s pretty even, you can’t help but be drawn to his eyes that are a lovely shade of blue. it’s almost hypnotizing how gorgeous he is—

“gonna make me shy sweetheart if you keep on staring like that.”

jolted awake, you sputter out an apology. dabi is gracious enough to wave off the moment, reaching a hand out to gently pinch your cheek. his fingers are cold along your skin, a tingle running up your spine and a nervous laugh leaves your mouth. butterflies flutter in your tummy as you clutch the video tapes to your chest, shifting your weight from one leg to the other. the dingy lights of the video store must make you look unflattering, especially in comparison to the handsome man in front of you.

it's wrong to think but you hope that you look pretty in his eyes.

“hey uh, if you don’t mind me asking… people around town said that you can’t be invited over. why is that? are you, like, a terrible houseguest or something?” you take a chance on uncovering the mystery of your neighbor’s advice. he seems polite enough and you like to believe that you had good judgement as well when it comes to people. dabi didn’t set off any alarm bells in your head.

dabi chuckles, like he’s amused by your question, unsurprised even. “i happen to be a lovely houseguest, the best even. i never enter a house without being invited in.”

“that’s a given, isn’t it?”

“oh doll, it’s the most important rule for me.”

you smile at him, feeling a little excited as he sends a wink your way and turns to leave the store. he says he'll see you around, his boots heavy on the carpeted floor until he's out of the premises. rooted to your spot, it takes you a few seconds to collect yourself. how could one conversation make you so flustered? how could one guy make you feel so giddy?

deciding it was just nerves, you chalk it up to being surprised of meeting this infamous dabi.

walking out into the brisk night, you make your way home with the rented video tapes. since the move, you’ve already taken a few walks at night on your in your own neighborhood. it was safe since the other residents were just families with little kids. there wasn’t any danger you had felt before when you walked past the houses with the neatly maintained lawns. it’s not necessarily danger you feel as you walk home, but something makes you feel as if you should look over your shoulder.

no one around, not a car moved out of place or even any of the tree branches rustling.

completely still, and yet you feel the need to hurry home.

dinner is eaten first along with washing the dishes, the movie night can begin then. you wash at the sink and your boyfriend does the drying. “i met dabi, the one the neighbors told us to never invite over. he was at the video store,” you tell him as you run a glass cup under the warm water from the faucet, “he actually helped in choosing our movies tonight.”

"oh? how kind. was he scary like the neighbors insinuate he is?"

you go over your impression of dabi in the video store, speaking on his demeanor and how he seemed polite enough. nothing from the brief interaction with him really warranted for you to be on alert. if anything, it made you curious. the last dish is washed clean by you and it's held out for your boyfriend to take, but you're left hanging onto it for a few seconds longer than it should take.

when you look over to your boyfriend, he's got this strange look on his face that has you confused on why he's giving you a look. "what is it?"

"nothing, just... why were you talking about dabi like that?"

like what? there wasn't anything you were saying that was special about the encounter itself. it was brief and polite, save for the little flirty actions that you chose to omit so that your boyfriend didn't get the wrong idea of what the meeting was like.

"sorry it's just... you seemed really dazzled by him. almost like you're hypnotized."

had you actually gushed about him that much? embarrassed doesn't even begin to describe how you feel. you sputter an apology to your boyfriend, reassuring him that meeting dabi was really nothing of note and that there was nothing to worry about. there had never been any instances of jealousy between the two of you during the relationship so it was a first for you to give reassurance that another man hadn't swept you off your feet.

an uneasy smile is given to you, like he's trying to be okay with it and you feel guilty. you hadn't really spoken like you were gushing over dabi, right? you could have sworn you were being very normal about him.

it sits on your mind as you curl up on the couch, your boyfriend's warm fingers idly massaging the back of your neck as clint eastwood stars as "the man with no name" and delivers his lines smoothly, "shoot to kill, you better hit the heart. aim for the heart or you'll never stop me."

the movie hardly gets your attention, still feeling your mind drift off to dabi. his fingers were cold against your cheek when he had playfully pinched your earlier at the video store. normally the little neck massage that your boyfriend gives you is a comfort, so it's another first when you politely tell him that he can stop. like all of a sudden his touch is making you uncomfortably warm.

"did i do something wrong?"

"no, no, you didn't. i swear it, i'm just..." you search your mind for an excuse to give, "fussy today i guess."

you can't shake off the bit of guilt in your stomach even as you lay in bed later that evening. an extra apology was given to soothe your own conscience and it was accepted before being given a good night kiss. turning over to lay on your side, you hope that you'll feel better tomorrow. but you don't have an easy sleep either, waking up only just two hours after putting yourself to bed.

careful to leave the bed so that you don't wake your boyfriend, you quietly press your feet onto the floor and leave the warm blankets. the curtains are drawn over the windows, the sheer fabric of it not really keeping out the moonlight that's pouring in. the curtain is pulled aside slightly so that you can peer through the window and glance into the street. street lights illuminate the sidewalks of the neighborhood, the artificial glow a comfort in a way to you as you gaze out the window.

you blink and dabi appears under the light.

he gazes at you first before giving you a little wave, which you reluctantly returned.

next thing you know, you're opening the front door and stepping out into the night to join him. you sense no danger or harm as you approach dabi, the usual cautiousness that you practice completely absent in the moment. in fact, you don't even register that you're meeting him in the street in your little nightie. the only thought you had cross your mind was to meet him where he was. there may be a chill in the air but it doesn't deter you from standing a respectable distance away from him.

"it's late, shouldn't you be in bed?" you ask dabi, the gravel of the street digging into your feet since you hadn't bothered to even put on house slippers when you left your bed.

in fact, you don't even question how he knows where you live.

"could say the same to you. don't want a pretty doll like you to feel all fatigued in the morning. just go back to sleep, okay?" dabi gestures back to your home with the front door left wide open.

the glow of the porch light looks inviting, the warmth of your home does call to you. but you would be remiss to not offer dabi to come in, that it would be rude to leave him behind in this chilly night and perhaps offer him some tea. "do you want to-"

dabi holds up his hand to interrupt you, "not yet, but believe me, i really do."

"so why not?" there's something in you that's making you antsy, that's making you eager to pull dabi into your home. you can't explain it, only that his presence in your house would fulfill this weird void that you didn't even know that you had.

he chuckles at you, making you feel like you're missing out on something that you should be aware of. "well for one thing, i didn't even bring you a housewarming gift. plus, i'd like to meet the man of the house."

"do you want me to wake him too?" you offer, once again not thinking of the unusual nature of this meeting.

dabi sucks air between his teeth, gazing at you once more as he steps towards you. just like at the video store, he pinches your cheek playfully. blue eyes peer at you and then he moves his hand to gently pet your hair. "god, you are the easiest little target i've had the pleasure of meeting. you're making this too easy, you know?" he tells you with what sounds like is supposed to be disappointment but instead feels like amused disbelief.

making what too easy?

"you were so quick to fall for me, i've never worked this fast before."

suddenly the edges of your vision begin to blur and your mind feels fuzzy. your legs weaken and dabi catches you as you fall towards him, his body cold against yours but his hand comfortingly massaging the back of your neck. goosebumps rise along your skin but you bury your nose into his chest, smelling the rich leather of his jacket and letting out a dreamy sigh. "dabi?" you call out softly, your eyes fluttering as you try to clutch onto him, "what's going on?"

he presses you tightly against him, leaning down to breathe deeply along where your neck and shoulder meet. the strap to your nightie falls off your shoulder and you don't know how that invites him even more to keep you longer with him.

"go back to sleep, doll. i'm sure you're all tuckered out from your movie night."

movie? oh yeah, he made the choices for you in the video store...

"shame that you looked so bored though, i wanted to go in there and rescue you."

you wake to sunlight pouring in the bedroom, taking a few seconds to orient yourself to your own space. the blankets feel cozy like they usually do and the light coming through curtains is pretty, just like you knew they would be. still, you can’t help but feel a little strange after the dream you had last night.

did you really go out to meet dabi last night? the dream felt very real but there’s no way you’d do something so silly like that. he’s a stranger, someone you’d only met for a few short seconds and didn’t exchange any personal info with. so there’s no reason for you to have had a dream about him. maybe you were just enthralled from meeting someone new and that’s why.

yeah, that should be it.

after all, you were restless the first two weeks moving into town and had dreams about the neighbors delivering bug casseroles or throwing flaming newspapers through the windows.

the bed is made up, the pillows fluffed, and you neatly tuck the blankets exactly how you like them. glancing at the window, you approach to pull aside the curtain. the crisp night air from last night comes to mind as well as dabi standing right underneath the street light. the gravel underneath your feet, the smell of his leather jacket, and his fingers pinching your cheek last night…

wow, you really must have had a really vivid dream. usually most of them you forget within a few minutes of waking up.

your stomach rumbles and you hope that your boyfriend has started making breakfast. but as you reach the corner of the hallway, you hear him speaking to someone at the front door. you hide around the corner and do your best to listen in.

“he walked her to the gate of your home, i swear it! i was almost scared that she had invited him in!” it sounds like the elderly lady that lives with her eldest son who is a widower, she was a kind little thing that gave you a basket of oranges, “we told you! stay away from him! he’s evil!”

so you had walked out last night? it wasn’t just a dream?

“ma’am, i’m sure you thought you saw (name) but i would know if my own girlfriend left our bed in the middle of the night. i happen to be a very light sleeper.” your boyfriend speaks lightly and seems as if he’s trying to find an out to the conversation, “and for your information, she did meet dabi and she said that he was quite kind to her.”

the reveal of this information sends the elderly woman into some type of tizzy, “no, no! she should have stayed away like you were warned to! dabi could have already put his spell on her. if he chose her then she’ll speak like she’s in love with him already! and she’ll talk of dreams with him!”

at the sign of her agitation, your boyfriend decides to shut the door on her coupled with an attempt to politely disengage. her shouts are still heard through the wood and even from where you stand hidden.

“you need to protect her! dabi took away my daughter-in-law! don’t let her out of your sigh—especially at night!”

your boyfriend heaves a heavy sigh, “christ, this lady… get her some meds!”

his footsteps start to march towards the kitchen but you retreat back into the hallway so that you’re out of sight when he passes by. the familiar sounds of pots and pans clang against one another but now you have no appetite to eat. instead you go back to the bedroom to stand in the spot at the window.

standing behind the sheer curtain, you’re able to make out your elderly neighbor walk past the gate. her widowed son is meeting her and offering his arm for assistance, but she points a hand to the house. when the son does look to the house, you pull back the curtain and attempt to give a friendly wave.

it’s met with a grim look instead, leaving you awkwardly lowering your hand. the elderly woman and her son make their way back to their house, and you stand in your spot for just a little longer. you can still visualize dabi standing under the street lamp.

“you're making this too easy, you know?"

making what too easy? what did dabi mean by that? why are you even questioning words from a dream anyway?

chalking it up to just a strange morning, you decide that it’s best to freshen up before presenting yourself to your boyfriend for breakfast. in the bathroom, you cup your palms under the running water and then splash it on your face. you repeat a few more times until you feel clean, reaching for the nearby face towel to dry you off.

“doll… i wanna see you.”

you freeze for a few seconds, dabi’s voice so clear and crisp in your mind it was as if he were with you right now.

“… dabi?” you speak quietly but you’re unsure why you’re even calling for him in the first place.

you sit at the breakfast nook, looking over the newspaper s you stir your spoon around in the coffee mug aimlessly. the pan is sizzling loudly as it cooks eggs and bacon on the oiled surface.

“so hon… any dreams last night?” your boyfriend makes conversation, which you’re quick to say that you didn’t remember which was a common answer from you. and you didn’t want to worry him if you talked of dreaming about dabi; you still felt bad from the conversation last night.

“wanna see you… come see me at the beach tonight.”

“hey, you’re not going anywhere tonight are you?” you ask and your boyfriend tells you that he’s not. “could i take the truck out tonight and drive by the beach? i’ve always wanted to sit on the sand and watch the waves when it’s nighttime.”

he says it’s fine but to not be out too long, and to bring a beach blanket too. he trusts that you’ll be fine on your own because you’d never given him any reason too. giddiness rises up in your chest, bringing a smile onto your face as breakfast is set in front of you.

“i’m so excited for the beach tonight! i can’t wait!”

dabi’s voice croons in your head, “good girl.”

#dabi x reader #todoroki touya x reader #i liked this ask nonny and enjoyed it more than i thought!

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creabirds · 2 months

Note

mafia fic sneak peek 🥺

my children have decided. sneak under the cut

Max has not seen this many people in one place in months. Perhaps that is why he feels off— ever since his father’s death, he has been ushered from the backs of limousines to steel-inforced doors, head down and guns with their safety off.

A handover of power was always a brittle thing, a plane of bullet-proof glass with hairline fractures tracing from its very center. One more shot, and it would burst. Even more so when it concerned the syndicates.

Max does not consider himself a fearful person. His mother had always called him brave, and as any son would, he believed her, as sure as if it was law; stamped, and wax-sealed. Still, he has gotten used to looking over his shoulder, prefers to feel the knobs of his spine touching a wall, a glock strapped into a holster.

Not today, though. Security controls at the Ritz were as strict as ever. Which in turn means that no one else will carry a gun. At least it is highly unlikely. Max feels the drop of sweat reach the waistband of his slacks.

His thoughts have drifted off, and so he only barely stops himself from flinching when a voice pipes up, slithering like the honeyed tongue of a snake into his left ear.

“May I ease your nerves with another glass of elixir, monsieur?”

Max lets the man take his empty glass from him, wincing at the marks of moisture on the polished crystal, and replace it with a tumbler of clear liquid. He raises it to his face and breathes it in. It is a gin and tonic, he recognizes.

“Do I look nervous?” he asks and turns to take his new companion in fully. He falters as he notices that it is the same person he had seen earlier, slinking through the room with ease, smooth skin glowing in the yellow lights, his nose so straight it looks royal; carefully chiseled, either by a grand master of the renaissance or a top-notch plastic surgeon.

Up close he takes in the artfully messed up curls on his head, chestnut brown and draped with purpose over a high forehead, bordered by full brows. He is smiling, his eyes squeezed almost shut, the skin at their corners scrunching happily in their familiar position.

“Non, but I am good at reading people,” he says. Max is unable to place his accent, though it must be French. It does not sound like that of other French people he knows, however. As the man’s expression calms, his eyes open to catch the sparkling light of the chandeliers, reflected over and over in flutes of champagne and bulbous shaped glasses of white wine.

With a start, Max realizes they are green. The brilliant, ever-shifting bluegreengold of a canopy of leaves, broken through by sun rays. Max raises his glass to clink it against the man’s own, filled with red wine, the color of the ancient ocean.

“So that is how you knew that gin and tonic is my favorite, ja?”

“German?”

Max raises his brows in amusement, his mouth twisting into a half-smile.

“Dutch. And Belgian,” he concedes. It is so obvious that he does not bother hiding it, usually. “French?” he retorts.

The man gasps, theatrically offended, clutching a hand to his chest, wrinkling the expensive looking fabric. Max cannot help but notice his elegant fingers, long and masculine, but with a certain dainty prettiness hidden in their strong shape. He wears silver rings, adorned with dazzling stones.

“Monegasque. Mon dieu, I cannot imagine how you could misjudge me like this,” he sighs.

“Toutes mes excuses,” Max says. The man’s brows disappear into his fringe before he smirks at Max knowingly, shaking his finger at him.

“A true gentleman from the old European elite, I see. It is a pleasure to meet you…?” he answers, drawing out the end of the phrase into a question. His mouth curls just so around the consonants and vowels, the phrasing slighty arhythmic and his words washed soft by his mother tongue, turning it into a lulling, seductive thing.

“Max,” he replies, frowning, tonguing for a second at the mole on his lip, biting it between his teeth as he hesitates. His name is on the guest-list anyway. “Verstappen.” Besides, it is not his real name that usually instills recognition.

The man leans in, the V-neck cut of his pullover revealing the carved bones of his sternum, a hint of his toned chest, even through the high-necked white mesh that is underneath. It has to be designer, Max considers.

“Charles,” he offers, waiting for a moment with an impish glim in his eyes before adding, “Leclerc.”

His hips are cocked as he shifts closer to Max, so subtle it is barely noticeable, his gaze never leaving his eyes. He is bent forward ever so slightly, chin tucked so he can look up at Max through his dark lashes, even though they are almost the same height. His lips are rose-pink and Max thinks he is wearing the faintest bit of make-up.

He eyes Charles warily. His lips twitch into a frown.

“You know, I can spot a hooker from a mile away,” he says. Raising his gin and tonic to his lips to take a sip, he halts. “Thank you for the drink, though.”

With that, he turns to walk away.

#asks #my fic #mafia au

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lovejosephquinn · 1 year

Text

Part 1 > Part 2

Angst to fluff. Break up to Make up.

Summary of Part 1: Joe and reader break up due to a drunken kiss Joe had at a party one night, she tells him to come over to collect his stuff but ends up sleeping with him one last time, both now sharing a broken heart, he tries to beg for forgiveness but she tells him to leave. He blocks her number and it's time to move on...

Summary of Part 2: It's four years later and Joe and reader bump into one another in the street, catching up she invites him over but instead he gets a surprise that is deemed life changing...

Tag list: @joeschains @munsons-mayhem28 @theoneandlaurie @aysheashea @itsfreakingbats @live-love-be-unique @josephfakingquinn @paranoidmunson @kayleeelena97 @figmentofquinn @choke-me-eddie @etherealglimmer @ches-86 @ali-r3n @daleyeahson @queengirl56 @sadbitchfangirl @purplerain85 @whoscamila @joe-quinn-loving-queer @freakymunson @idkjoequinn @astridflowers @evansgal

Word Count: 4k

Life was never the same again after that one afternoon that you said goodbye to someone you thought you'd love forever for the last time. It was not goodbye in the respect you'd never see his face again, plastered all over social media and various new movies you'd see him, reaching new levels of fame and soaring high in his career, that was the only way to see the man you once adored, yet it was a farewell all the same and a chapter you'd now closed in your life.

Four years had passed and everything had changed, you no longer cried yourself to sleep at night, you were in a job you didn't necessarily mind, you'd moved into a house, had a few dates here and there that didn't really last long for one reason or another yet above all that; you had the greatest gift of all. You were comfortable to say the least.

You wandered around the streets of Soho, London one sunny morning, not somewhere you went too often but your free day saw you in the mood for exploring your own city. Finding a quaint little café on a secluded part of town, the smell of fresh pastries and patisseries, coffee and the chatter of friends and people minding their own business were scattered around, you entered the glass door with the ring of a bell above it with the hope of a decent breakfast. You smiled at the scents around you, the warmth of the sunlight shining brightly through the big windows behind you, the queue was slightly long but you had all the time in the world, not an often occurrence in this day and age but you'd make the most of it.

Ordering a large coffee and pain au chocolat to go, you stood by the side of the counter before the barista called your name to collect your order, your stomach rumbled as you watched others devour their breakfast just as you were about to. Heading outside to bask in the sun and people watch, another of your favourite past times, you bit into the oozing French pastry, your eyes almost rolling to the back of your head when the first bite hit your tastebuds.

Finishing it off quickly, you took the lid off of your coffee and began to walk back along the streets, your phone buzzed and you were too preoccupied staring down at it when you came to a sudden holt, stumbling and slamming into the lower chest of a person before you, your coffee spilled all over you and the stranger in question.

"Shit I'm so sorry!" You began to wipe yourself down, your chest burning from the clutch of the hot beverage, stains seeping down your summer dress.

"No, please I didn't look where I was-" The voice broke through your ear drums like a curse, a familiar sound if ever you'd heard one but you weren't quite sure where you'd heard it or why, scared to look up due to the pause of the low male voice, you instead sauntered to a nearby bin, throwing away the coffee cup, only to hear the voice catch up with you once again.

"Y/N? Is that you?"

You turned around and finally brought yourself to look a few inches up. Your ex boyfriend also known as Joseph more formally.

"Jos- Joe. Hi, oh my goodness. I didn't recognise you in-"

"This hat? No it's a disguise." He smirked playfully, god had you missed that look. You had to do a mental shake of your head, though it was years on you still needn't forget what he'd left you with.

"A pretty rubbish disguise if I ever saw one." You chuckled a small laugh his way, earning one back in return. Joe rubbed the back of his neck in an awkwardly shy remark.

"So what're you doing round my end?" He asked.

"Didn't realise Soho belonged to you." Your sarcasm showed and Joe noticed it right away, watching you glance around the area.

"You haven't changed a bit." He laughed again.

"I didn't intend to, good or bad?"

"Good. Always good." Joe smiled. It was like you were old friends, everything fell into place like something you'd never lost. But you had lost him, you'd lost him all those years ago and you were willing to forgive but you'd certainly not forget.

"So what're you doing here?" He was trying his best to keep the conversation alive, just awaiting the next sarcastic move.

"Well I was enjoying my coffee but apparently it had other ideas."

"Can I get you another, you know to make up for the one you lost?" Joe offered that smile that made you melt, the one you'd see on social media a lot of the time, the one that you couldn't ever say no to, a free coffee though? What's there to lose.

"Sure. It's the least you can do." You walked over to a different cafe, as much as to save the embarrassment of going back to the previous one to show off your stained clothing. Joe remembered your order, which was surprising due to the amount of time that'd passed, but it was sweet nevertheless.

Sitting down at the nearest table, you gazed out of the window once more, feeling not just the warmth of the sun anymore, but the burning of your blushing cheeks from the brown eyes that burnt into you, staring intently.

"So what's new with you?" Joe asked.

"Life's life. Decent job, new house-"

"Love life?" Wow. He had to drop the L bomb.

"Non existent." He looked somewhat relieved and surprised at the same time. That was clearly the one answer he wanted.

"Honestly, the same."

You talked for hours, catching up and bringing up old memories and times when you were happy together, teasing one another about silly little things, you'd not smiled like this in a long time, yet little did you know, in the same respect; neither had Joe.

He took a glance at his phone, whispering under a short breath shit, looking back up to you with sad eyes. "I gotta go, got a photoshoot to get to at the other side of town in 15 minutes."

"Duty calls." You smiled miserably, anyone could see through that smile, you were sad the short and surprising meet was coming to an end so quickly.

"C-could I maybe get your number? You know so we can maybe see each other again?" He dared ask the question that made your heart beat through your chest, the whole phone situation was a delicate one with you and him, especially because the last time you tried to contact him in desperation, he'd blocked you.

"Of course." You tapped your number in his phone and he quickly sent you a little smiley emoji so you had his in return.

"You're looking great by the way, I've missed you love."

"You too." You meant that in both ways, but keeping it short and sweet as a way to not get the wrong message from one another, you just agreed. Joe left swiftly, looking back once to offer you that beautiful yet reluctant smile.

Your head was in sub space for a while after, you couldn't quite believe what'd happened and it felt so right. After all this time, there was something you couldn't quite put your finger on, a coincidence, the universe sending you a message maybe? The second chance could've been there but you weren't rushing too quickly into it, you would only go as slow as your heart was telling you to but still your mind was racing ten to the dozen.

You'd just finished your house chores when your phone buzzed and you ran over to it like an excited child. It was exactly who you wanted to be on your notifications when your phone lit up.

Joe: Hey, it was so good to see you again x

You: Wasn't so bad to see you again either x

Joe: Maybe you could come over tonight? x

You: Let me check my schedule... x

Joe: Okay miss popular x

You: Appears I have space to fit you in, send me your address and I'll be there x

Joe: *Joseph shared location on maps*

Joe: See you at about 6pm? x

You: Looking forward to it x

A quick invite lead to you losing your mind, again, what had you got to lose? There was nothing wrong with hanging out with your ex from years ago, plus other secrets that you held, it was just something that maybe was meant to happen, something you'd silently dreamed of for a little while, gotten out of your head and then it reappeared again like a hidden surprise.

You turned up dead on 6pm, checking your phone to make sure you'd got the right address and knocked at the door. You didn't knock a third time before the door swung open and there stood him. Looking slightly more casual than earlier, glasses firmly a top his head, a warm and welcoming smile as he gestured for you to come in.

You don't know quite where the moment started or where it ceased to end, but a lovely meal cooked by the man himself, followed by a few glasses of wine ended in you getting a little too comfortable with Joe, maybe it was the liquid courage or maybe it was the feeling telling you to go with it. A what will be will be kind of situation. You were unsure how you'd managed to find Joe's lips plastered to yours, moulded perfectly as they moved in unison. It hadn't even been 24 hours since you met again for the first time and already sparks were flying between you. They say you never truly get over your first love and it showed in the situation you'd found yourself in.

Joe had caged you beneath him and the sofa and you were in full make out mode, tongues dancing and gliding around each other, hands roaming over each others bodies, the most intimate and beautiful moment you'd felt yourself getting into in such a long time, butterflies flipped in your stomach and your heart was racing in full panic attack mode, but you were happy and to your knowledge so was the man kissing you, you could almost tell by the smile you felt in the midst of the passionate encounter.

Joe pulled away, scanning your features, stroking his fingers down your cheek, enjoying the softness of your skin against his digits. "Maybe I didn't realise how much I'd truly missed you darling."

"Me either." You took a short sigh, content nonetheless but still a little scared. Focusing on the present and the most handsome man you'd ever laid your eyes on, you stroked your fingers along his jaw, he relaxed in your touch and closed his eyes, coming down immediately to plant sweet sloppy kisses along your own jaw and down to your neck. A small whimper erupted from your throat, which egged Joe on further, his hands now pressed firmly to your clothed breasts.

A crashing reality hit you when your phone rang, the vibration running along the coffee table next to you, you tried to ignore it but then the vibrations came again, and then again.

"Maybe I should answer that."

"Just ignore it."

It rang again. You moved up as a sign for Joe to get off of you. Moment ruined. It was your mum, you swiped your phone off of the table quickly and ran into the kitchen so Joe couldn't hear the other end. He tried his hardest to listen to the conversation and the tension rising, he swore he heard the sound of a faint cry coming from the receiving line, making his brow furrow.

"Yes mum, I'll come right away." You ended the call, rushing back into the living room standing a couple of metres away from the area where you had just been underneath Joe minutes before.

"I have to go, I'm so sorry, I'll text you though. Tonight's been amazing Joe. Thank you." Joe noticed the apprehension in your voice, tilting his head to the side in a worried manner.

"Everything ok?" He said in a concerned tone.

"Yeah, absolutely. Just need to get to my mums."

"I can take you if you-"

"No, it's fine. See you soon." You ran out the door with nothing but a blunt reply, slamming the door and rushing to the tube station to get to your mum's house. Luckily she didn't live far from Joe's so it made the journey all the more shorter.

Your phone had buzzed a couple of times upon your return home, it took you some time to look at it this time around, not being able to reply as quickly as you wanted too, your head full of stupid thoughts on what Joe could've been thinking about your quick exit.

Sitting on your bed, exhausted and with full intent to go to sleep, first you read through the messages.

Joe: I hope everything's ok? I hope I didn't take it too far. I know we have history and all that but I was really happy to see you again, even in that way... x

Joe: Let me know you're good. It's been a while and you haven't replied x

Joe: Y/N. Regardless of you not replying, just let me know when you're ready, if everything's ok at least, I'm worried about you x

You tapped your fingers fast, feeling quite apologetic in your reply.

You: I'm sorry I had to just leave like that. It wasn't you and I'm fine. Reality called and I had to answer it. There is one thing you really do need to know and if you're certain you want to be in my life, it now comes with a package deal... x

Your hesitation to press send almost made you want to vomit, now you were the one who was worried.

Joe: Package deal? What're you talking about... Of course I want to be in your life, friends or maybe more again someday, we can take things slow x

You: Come over tomorrow. I'll send you my address, please don't be scared but there's something you need to see x

Joe: I'll be there. I'm not scared of anything, I'd just be scared of losing you again. There's no worse feeling than that x

Tomorrow would come too soon, you were the one who was scared, scared of his reaction to what you needed to show him. Something that belonged to him, not the sweater of his you'd kept all of these years in the back of your wardrobe, something a lot more close to home. It was your own decision to bring this up too quickly, but he needed to know the truth as soon as possible.

Your phone buzzed and your hands shook in its grasp.

Joe: I'm on my way, I'll be 15 minutes if I don't hit traffic x

You: Ok x

You put your phone back on the kitchen counter top and bent with your elbows firmly pressed against it, rubbing your hands over your face and taking a huge inhale of oxygen, it was almost time.

You didn't hear it at the time when you were upstairs in the bathroom, but there was a knock at the front door. Behind it stood a slightly nerved Joe. The front door slowly opened and where your face should've been stood all he could see was through into your home. He double took when he looked down to see a little girl staring back at him.

"Hello are you mummy's friend?"

Joe's jaw dropped, his hands became clammy and his mouth filled with saliva, the type that you feel when you're about to throw up.

"I-I am. I'm Joe." You had literally gotten to the doorway and watched the love of your life meet the other love of your life, your eyes grew as wide as Joe's in that second and you felt paralyzed from head to toe.

"You can come in if you want" she said politely, totally oblivious and innocent to the tension between yourself and him. Joe couldn't take his eyes off of her, he was stunned, practically the last thing he could've imagined.

Your daughter ran over to you and you swooped her up in your arms, carefully watching Joe's every reaction. "Joe, I'd like you to meet my darling girl, Madison."

For the first time in his own life, he was speechless yet full of questions, not necessarily questions he could be asking in front of the little girl, but there was enough time for that.

You gave her a quick peck on the cheek and set her feet to the ground. "Why don't you go and watch some tv whilst I talk to my friend Mads?" She nodded and took a brief wave at Joe before skipping off to the living room.

You felt so close but yet so far away from him in this mere moment, waiting for his response; whether it be good or bad something had to come of it.

"So you had a baby?" Joe asked, his eyes firmly pressed to the ground.

"I did. She's amazing, the best thing in my life." You smiled sympathetically, you knew this was going to be a lot for him to take in.

"How old is she?"

"She's four going on fourteen. Sassy little madam at times."

It didn't take a genius to work out the timings, but Joe was still taken back and couldn't get the hint.

"She's definitely a cutie."

"Just like her dad." Joe glanced at you, his eyes filling with water, tears clung to his eye lids like his life depended on it.

"Wait what?" Joe whispered. You took his hand and lead him into the kitchen/dining area, sitting him down and making a drink of water for the both of you, god knows he needed it.

"Just shy of five years ago, we ended things for the last time Joe. We did what we did and then about a month later, I found out I was pregnant. She's yours Joe." He ran his fingers through his curls, his eyes boring into you like daggers.

"How do you know-"

"Can't you see it? She literally looks just like you. The eyes, the smile, the curls, her mannerisms. Everything about Madison is you. Whether you want to be a part of her life is up to you, we will tell her in good time, but please make the decision quickly because I don't want you to change your mind and break her heart like you did mine."

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" He looked like he was gasping for air. Your hands that were laid flat on your dining table were now clutched by his, a small part of his lips and a single tear rolling down his cheek.

"I was scared Joe. But fate brought me to you yesterday and you needed to know the truth even if it is four years too late."

"All this time, after all this time..." Joe sniffled, tears of your own now matched the ones staining his cheeks.

"So you will?"

"Of course I will. I've never wanted anything more. It's a god damn shock don't get me wrong, but a surprise of the best kind and quite the relief that she's mine." Joe snorted a shy laugh and you returned it.

"You'd be blind not to notice that she wasn't yours."

"Madison..."

"Quinn, I gave her your last name. It was only right, even if you weren't there through it all. You're still her father."

"Has she never questioned it?"

"I think she's a little young to notice right now, but in time she would have and I would of told her the truth. But all in good time now, just get to know her at your own pace, she's very forthcoming with people, she'll love you."

Joe gave your hands a reassuring squeeze and a swift nod, getting up from the table and taking a head start into the living room. You took a long gulp of your water and a sharp sigh, smiling to yourself at the positive vibe you got from him, that he was willing to step up, that he was able to go through with this even though it was a shock to his system, for now it gave you such hope.

You tiptoed to the doorway of the living room, setting your sights upon Joe and Madison sat on the floor in front of the tv, she was showing him her favourite teddy bear, one she'd had since she was born, telling Joe all about it's backstory and that she took it everywhere.

"You can hold it if you want" she passed the bear over to Joe and he put it on his lap, cross legged they both turned their attention to the tv screen.

"This is my favourite, mummy watches it with me all the time. Will you stay and watch it with me Joe?"

"Of course I will." Joe smiled, feeling the presence of you behind him, turning his head round to shoot a smile your way, the softest most purest smile you'd ever seen.

You mouthed at him a thank you with a sweet grin in return, wiping a tear from your eyes as Maddie reached for the blanket at the side of her, offering Joe the corner of the small sheet. He gladly took it, their shared mannerisms shining through, you shook your head when you watched them tilt their head to the side in unison as if it were some form of telepathy. She was definitely her father's daughter.

Nothing could be certain of where you and Joe would head in the next chapter of your lives, whether it be a good friendship, or something that would go further, but sticking to your guns and focusing on the present was the best idea and the view of it was perfect from where you were standing.

#joseph quinn fluff #joseph quinn smut #joseph quinn imagine #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn x y/n

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prostolita · 5 days

Text

Sweet and dark

Kevin/Jean won the poll. It came out a little short and blurry, but considering my mood today, it's fine.

[Summary: Kevin is a professional athlete, and Jean is his manager. They had just moved in together and Jean decided to cook breakfast for them.

P.S. Kevin is taking care of Jean. ]

Kevin gently squeezes his hands and strokes his icy knuckles with his thumb. Jean winces at the awkwardness and silence that hangs between them.

Kevin is wearing a gray oversized T-shirt and black shorts, his hair is tousled, and his face is still swollen from sleep. They are standing near the stove, where the water is still boiling in the pot. Kevin gives him a stern look and reaches for the temperature switch. The stove turns off. Dan rolls his eyes in displeasure, but one of his hands is still in Day's palm.

— You shouldn't have done it alone.

Kevin pulls Jean towards him. His velvety voice caresses the ear, and Moreau succumbs to this temptation.

— It's not that bad, it's okay.

Jean is moving, but Kevin catches his movements and holds him in one place.

Jean's hands are pale, but the places where the hot water got into are red. Kevin touches the burns, and Jean flinches slightly. They go to the medicine cabinet, Moreau frowns as Kevin takes out the ointment for burns. He's not used to it, he's not ready. His hands are shaking, either from pain or excitement. Jean sits straight, not moving. He looks at Kevin, who is standing unusually close.

Jean is his manager, they have known each other for many years. However, now he's also Kevin's boyfriend. Now they live together.

— Next time, wake me up, I'll help.

— I can make breakfast myself.

Jean gets angry and mutters French obscenities under his breath.

— I'm not saying you're helpless, I just want to be there for you. I want to spend this morning with you.

For Jean, who had been used for most of his life, these words were unusual. He didn't know what caring was, he didn't know what it was like to live and not think you were a thing. Kevin clings to Jean's arms. He gently kisses his knuckles and hides his face in the Frenchman's hands.

— I'm here for you.

Jean looks into his emerald eyes. He swallows all his inner resentments and shoves them as deep as possible. He was tired of Kevin taking care of him. He thinks he doesn't deserve it.

- I know.

Jean answers in a hoarse voice, turning his face away. He knows that if he looks too long into the green abyss of other people's eyes, he will soon drown. - I know. — He repeats again.

Kevin gets up and sits down next to Jean. This time his hands are clutching the Frenchman's cheeks. Jean is his personal gray-eyed savior, and Kevin wishes him well. He leans forward and leaves a light kiss on Moreau's forehead.

—I shouldn't have left you there.

Kevin says it softly, but he knows Jean can hear him. — I should have taken you with me."

The Frenchman's voice is trembling, and his eyes are still wet with salt.

He berates himself for his weakness and snuggles up to Kevin, just like in the good old days. He is looking for support and is afraid that nk will get it.

Kevin puts his arm around Jean's shoulders and rests his chin on top of his head.

— You shouldn't have gone through all this. I'm sorry.

- I know.

Jean whispers back again. — I've forgiven you.

— No, you don't have to. Don't say goodbye.

Kevin is shaking. Guilt overwhelms him in a huge wave. — I should have stayed with you.

He is rudely interrupted. Jean pushes him away and puts her hands on his chest. Their gazes cross, and Kevin sees tears streaming down Moro's cheeks. Day opens his mouth again, but this time Jean shuts it up.

Their lips touch, and Jean completely leans on Kevin, lowering him onto the couch. He's lying on top, and Kevin's arms are wrapped around his waist. Jean can feel his heart beating, and the ringing in his ears tells him that Kevin's heart is beating in the same rhythm. Jean puts his hands on Kevin's soft chest, and Kevin laughs.

Day kisses Jean on the nose, on the cheek, on the chin. He kisses his neck and squeezes his hands, touching Moreau. Jean smiles. Kevin is to blame for this.

It's always Kevin's fault that Moreau gets happier. He gives him care and time, he gives him something that won't go away. It won't slip out of your hands. Jean kisses him again. He puts all his feelings into the kiss, and Kevin accepts them.

They kiss, long and gently. Kevin wraps him in warmth and comfort. Their apartment is not yet equipped, but in one morning it becomes their home. Warm and dear.

When they pull away from each other, Kevin makes breakfast and promises Jean that this will be the best day in the world. The space is instantly filled with the enchanting aroma of coffee. Jean picks up a hot cup and takes a sip. He never drank coffee, he didn't even have an opinion about taste. However, he knows for sure that this coffee is his favorite.

Kevin puts his arm around his waist and pulls him onto his lap. Jean feels softness and sweetness. For the first time, he's glad he's awake.

Jean Moreau was a raven, he did not know what love, friendship and home were. No one has ever needed him. He was broken.

He was loved now. Now he was on his way to work and thought he wanted to go home.

To where he was finally expected.

#all for the game #sketch #aftg #kevin day #kevjean #jean moreau

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violetarks · 2 years

Text

and it went bang! bang! bang! straight through my heart!

anime: ouran high school host club

characters: suoh tamaki, ootori kyoya, morinozuka 'mori' takashi

summary: giving the hosts a valentine's gift

a/n: g/n! reader, they/them pronouns and Mx used, second person pov, it's nowhere near valentine's day ❤️

↣ suoh tamaki:

"Oh? For me?" Tamaki chimes, voice dipping as he raises a brow towards you and lifts a leg over his knee. You stand in front of him, watching while he sips from his teacup. "My, my, sweetheart, I never would've guessed that you would go out of your way to buy me something."

You could smack that shit-eating grin off of his face. And something in your head says that it was a mistake to even show the present to him. "Well, you did help me with my French class, Tamaki." You exhale, placing the box on the small circle table that he sits at. It shifts with a quiet clap against the wood before you cross your arms over your chest. "It's a 'thank you'."

French might not have been your strongest class, but thanks to Tamaki's 'chivalrous' heart, you managed to pass with flying colours. You seriously didn't know what you would've done if it weren't for that moron.

Tamaki holds his chin in his palm, smiling up at his classmate. "Is that so?" He hums out, "And it's just a coincidence that you decided to hand it to me today of all days?"

"It's Valentine's Day, isn't that right?" You huff back, tilting your head at him, "Make what you will of this, I just came by to drop this off." Turning around, you wave your hand at the blonde and make your way to the exit. "If it's not up to your liking, feel free to give it to Kyoya."

The way you look at him over your shoulder is all that he needs in order to know that you were hoping he'd keep it. Whatever it was. You were slightly smiling, eyes softening once you see his blush on his face. He could be embarrassed by the fact that you've caught him, as if you knew his heart was racing all that much. But the way you close the door and sigh to yourself, makes him turn his head away with furrowed brows.

The first to speak on the strange behaviour is Kyoya. "Oh? Is our prince falling for the gifts given by a 'mysterious' stranger?" He hums, hand on his hip as he watches Tamaki had the gift under the table, "And what did Mx L/N give to you?"

"C'mon Boss, you gotta' open it in front of us!" Hikaru calls, leaning on one side of Tamaki's shoulders as his brother does to the other, "Maybe it's something frisky...? Is that you don't want to show us?"

Before he can react, Kaoru chuckles out, "Oh no, Hikaru, don't tease him too much! He's gone all red, look!"

The twins poke at Tamaki's cheeks in unison. "Our prince has fallen for his knight in shining armour!"

Tamaki almost couldn't believe what he was hearing. How stupid could these twins be? No way would Tamaki be falling for someone else... In fact, he had people fall for him.

It didn't matter what this present was. He was not falling for you just because of some gift. A gift on Valentine's Day. A day of love and appreciation.

And he was, in fact, feeling loved and appreciated.

Haruhi raises a brow. "Wouldn't Tamaki be the knight since he helped them with their homework?" She questions.

Honey jumps up, holding his bunny high in the air, "Yeah, but Tama-chan likes thinking about Y/N-chan saving him!" Mori agrees eith a nod of his head, picking up Honey and setting him on his shoulders.

"That's not true!" Tamaki shouts in retaliation, standing up and stalking to the changerooms to get some privacy. He hears the Twins' laughter die down as soon as he closes the door, present clutched in his hand. The slender box is violet, the same shade as his eyes. He wonders if you chose this colour specifically because of that.

His chest pumps as he opens the pretty present, revealing a beautiful silver watch. The time was already set correctly. Which meant you had gone through the trouble of getting it exact before handing it to him.

Not only that, but the name of the watch. He notices it's the same brand of jewellery as he wears in casual. You must've seen it.

"Oh wow..." He mutters to himself, slipping the watch out of the box and holding it up. "It's magnificent..."

"Yes, the only brand of jewellry that you accept to wear out." Kyoya is heard from the other side of the door. Tamaki almost jumps. "I always wondered why L/N was so invested in why I purchased different sets of earings for you."

Tamaki hums to himself, trying on the watch for size, "It fits."

"I may help slipped out some measurements while I was speaking to them." Kyoya cheekily replies, fixing his glasses, "Now, we open for business soon. Gather yourself, put the watch on and get out here."

With his disappearing footsteps, Tamaki finds himself smiling. He doesn't try to stop, only clicking the watch on and holding his hand close to his chest.

"What a sweetheart." He chuckles to himself, reminding himself to buy you something in return, "Trying to trick me on Valentine's day, no less..."

He really would need to thank you, in some way.

↣ ootori kyoya:

"Ah, Mx L/N. What a pleasant surprise." Kyoya says, tilting his head with a hand in his pocket. You freeze in your spot before standing up straight and holding your hands behind your back. He notices, of course, with what an observant guy he was. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"K—Kyoya, I... um..." You stammer, the collar of your uniform feeling just a bit too tight at the moment. He raises a brow at you, moving around to place his school bag on the hook of his desk. "Nothing. I'm sorry, I just... mixed up the seating plan, I thought this was mine."

He doesn't buy it one bit. Not with how you're shifting on your feet and looking around. "Is that so? But from what I know, you've got Biology with Haruhi." The way he says it, with such confidence, has you questioning your made-up excuse. "And that would be on Level 4, not here on Level 2. I don't believe your father would appreciate you skipping on that class, being the excellent doctor he is."

You blink at him as Kyoya plants a hand on his desk, leaning in your direction with a small smirk. "Is there, perhaps, something you need from me?" He hums.

A deep breath in and out is all you need to gather yourself. You pull out the box from behind you, looking back to him. He raises his brows. You huff out, "Happy Valentine's Day, Kyoya."

For the first time, he has no witty comeback. He stares at you and the small present in your palm. You've always been so kind to him, no matter what cocky front he'd put up in front of you. While you didn't visit the Host Club for the same reason all the other students did, you always managed to make it more fun for Kyoya to turn in for the day.

But he knows the look of someone who is in love. He's seen it on countless people who come to visit Tamaki and Haruhi, mostly. And you have the same look. Has he never noticed it before?

"Well, I... truly don't know what to say." He chuckles, taking the velvet box from your hands, "Thank you. May I open it now?"

The students that file into the classroom stop to stare at the both of you. Whispers spill out amongst them, making you a bit antsy. What would the Host Club come to if their brains was mixed in some scandal? Maybe you really shouldn't have done it now.

The look on his face, a warm smile and calm demeanour. You know he doesn't really mind right now. So a smile sets on your lips.

You let out a short laugh, "What? You can't wait to see what it is?"

Kyoya rolls his eyes.

"You can open it now, if you'd like." You respond, playing with the cuffs of your sleeves.

It would be an understatement to say you were nervous. What if he ended up not liking what you bought him? You took your time choosing it out. Okay, you really shouldn't have let him open the present now, the disappointment could be too much.

Too late, he's opening the box. Kyoya's eyes land on the silver circle lodged in the cushion of the box. There is a slanted, thick line on the front of it, embedded with black diamonds. Needless to say, it was a simple design, but it was still so beautiful to him.

The silence that overtakes the two of you only allows for the gasps to be heard. A bunch of 'no way's and 'is that a proposal's come out. While some believe it to be surprising, others awed at the cuteness of its romance.

It makes you nervous. "So, uh, you told me once that you lost that ring you were on casual days..." You begin, awkwardly filling the silence, "And you haven't had time to replace it so I, y'know, thought I would... get you... one. Is all."

Kyoya finally looks back up to you. The anxious expression on your face is cute to him. His glasses slip down his nose a little, resulting in him clearing his throat and pushing it back in its place. He sighs out, "That's very reasonable. And kind of you, Mx L/N."

You feel a proud smile roll onto your face. "Ah, I'm glad you like it, Kyoya." You chime, standing with joy, "And you can just call me Y/N. No need to be so formal now, right?"

He closes the box, putting it on his desk. Kyoya supposes you were right. You'd gone to the same Middle School and now High School. And you've crossed paths multiple times, even spending school activities and events side by side. It should be natural to call friends, or whatever, by their first names.

"Thank you, then... Y/N." He hums out. You nod your head in return, and he notices you playing with your now empty hands. A thought strikes him and Kyoya rubs the back of his neck. "Oh, I apologise." He says, upturning his brows with a sad smile, "I didn't buy you anything for this Valentine's Day."

You widen your eyes and shake your head. "You don't need to give me anything, Kyoya." You explain to him, "But I appreciate the thought, really. It's sweet of you." You pick up your bag from the floor beside his desk, turning to leave. "I should get going before class starts. See you later, yeah?"

A hand gently takes yours before you can get too far away. Kyoya wears a smile and slightly pink-dusted cheeks. "I can't allow myself to not repay you." He claims, brushing a thumb over your knuckles, "I think a date would suffice, hm?"

And how could you say 'no'?

↣ morinozuka 'mori' takashi:

He's a quiet man. Everyone knows that. The only person who hears the most out of him is Honey, and even that is only a handful of words. It's not really like he has to, anyway. Honey is there already. He talks enough for the both of them. But that didn't mean he could escape certain situations.

So, you could imagine the surprise on his face when you take the giant by the hand and drag him off just before the Club opens for business today.

"I need to borrow Mori for a moment, is that alright?" You ask, poking your head around the guy to look at Tamaki and Kyoya.

The two share a look between each other and turn to the tall Third Year. Mori is blinking at you and then at the Second Years, helpless. Kyoya hums, checking his clipboard, "Well, considering the line-up we have today with him—"

"Go ahead, Y/N!" Tamaki yells, covering Kyoya's mouth as he waves the both of you off, "Take all the time you need on this fine day! Good luck!"

You could punch that blonde in the face for how obvious he is. But screw yourself for accidentally spilling your Valentine's Day plans to him during Classic Literature class.

"But Honey—" Mori begins, looking towards his cousin who was sitting with some clients. Usa-chan sat on his lap as he ate his strawberry cake happily, girls gushing over his cuteness.

"Do not worry, I will take care of him." Kyoya speaks up, sending a supporting glance towards the both of you. Tamaki places his hands on his hips, nodding his head.

The doors close behind you as you drag Mori towards an empty area. Most people would be attending the Host Club during this time period, so it was good that the courtyard was empty. When you let go of Mori's hand, he stops walking and sees you do the same.

At first, he believes that he's done something wrong. You've never asked to speak in private to him before, and you have always been really patient and nice to him. The only time he has seen you upset was when Honey ate the piece of cake the Host Club (specifically Mori) had saved for you. You were really excited to have it, but felt your spirits drop a little when Honey admitted to have eaten it. He apologise profusely to you, and you forgave him.

But Mori knew deep down you were a bit disappointed. No matter how childish it felt, you kept it inside. Plus, you were even more excited when Mori presented you with a mini shortcake the day after.

You see the confusion on his face and chuckle, "It's okay, Mori, I just wanted to give you this." From your school bag, you pull out a wrapped box. It's in a deep blue colour with a tag reading 'To: MORINOZUKA' on it. The kind smile on your face eases his nervousness. "Happy Valentine's Day, Mori."

His fingers brush against the material of the wrapping before holding it in his palms. He looks down at it, as if it were the most delicate thing in the world. Maybe it was, since you had wrapped it so nicely. "You got me a Valentine's Day present?" He mumbles quietly.

"Yeah." You respond, closing you school bag and holding it at your side. He looks back at you and blinks cluelessly. "You want to open it now?"

He gives a slow nod of his head before sitting down on the bench close by. You follow behind after a few steps, setting beside him with your gaze locked on him. He seemed so small in times like these, where he didn't know what to say or do. It was cute in some sense. You always found yourself wanting to take a picture of him. Maybe that was weird...

He wouldn't think you were weird for this present, right?

The present is already uncovered. He raises his brows and stares at it. You disrupt his silence, an awkward mutter, "Just in case you're in... kendo training... or something, and you want to listen to something." You poke the box of headphones, the latest model. "You told me once that you don't play music since you wouldn't want to play it out loud. So... this way, you can compromise."

Mori could almost pass out by how kind you were being right now. He can't even suppress the smile on his lips. When you notice him, Mori rubs his cheek and sighs, "Thank you, L/N."

Oh god. Your heart feels like it's going to jump out of your chest. You lean back against the bench, looking across the yard to the fountain presented to you. "You can call me 'Y/N', if you want. We've been friends for a while now."

He doesn't really talk much, but it's pretty telling that you want him to go out of his way to speak out your first name. On top of that, your Valentine's Day present? Were you being too forward?

"Call me 'Takashi'." He huffs back, standing up with his new present tucked under his arm securely. You stare up at his figure and the pink hue dusting over his cheeks. He looks back to you, extending his other hand. "We should head back now, Y/N."

As your heart flutters, you take his hand and stand up, making your way back to the Host Club. You couldn't miss Tamaki's face pressed up against the window of the music room that could oversee the courtyard. Nor Honey and the Hitachiin Twins spectating expressively too.

"Hey Takashi?" You say, feeling Mori squeeze your hand a little tighter at his name, "Do you want to go out for dinner tomorrow?"

He knows what you mean when you say 'dinner'. You meant 'date'. And while he was used to the Host Club type of 'date', he could feels his chest twist with nerves at your type. He didn't want to mess up, and how should he even act?

Nevertheless, he responds quickly, "Yes, I do."

883 notes · View notes

nikethestatue · 11 months

Text

Chapter 1

London, England

1890

Elain Archeron

London’s Victoria Station greeted its new visitor with a cacophony of noise, chaos and excitement. Clutching the instructions and the address that she received from the stern and cold Mrs. Amren, who was the organiser of this wild scheme, Elain Archeron attempted to follow the directions inside the clamour of the train station, though it was proving to be difficult.

She’s never been to London before and now, the place terrified her. She was pushed and shoved without consideration for her gentler sex, those around her were shrieking, yelling, and shouting something all the time. There were people, whole families, whose skin tones were different from her own, whose fashions and outfits were odd and contradictory. There were people of different religions as well–she could tell Jews and Hindus and Muslims. She was educated and well-read, so she was not surprised to see those who came from Africa, and India, or even the Chinese, and scarf-clad women from Poland, or maybe Russia–but seeing them all in the flesh was overwhelming. She never imagined that people of so many various colours, sizes and shapes existed.

She continued her walk through the station, jerked off her feet by the blaring claxons from the train, clutching her travel satchel close to her chest. It had her only possessions inside–her two dresses, her unmentionables, stockings, another pair of boots, hair ribbons and pins, her spare corset, and toiletries.

Her walk was interrupted constantly, men offering rides and calling out “Miss! Miss!” to her. But she kept her eyes down and shouldered her way to the massive doors of the station.

She must be mad.

Mad.

It had to be that!

To be doing this, she couldn’t be normal.

She was here, in London of all places, alone, to meet with some mysterious man.

What if he was Jack the Ripper?

She’s read the papers–Jack the Ripper was rampaging on the streets of Whitechapel and what if Mrs. Amren was his co-conspirator? What if she lured unsuspecting country girls to London, and into the clutches of Jack the Ripper?

Elain’s read and enjoyed the tales of Sherlock Holmes, that wiley intriguing detective, who solved crimes–but if she thought about it more, why was there so much crime in London? People stole and abused and murdered others. It was horrifying.

Where she was from, St. Margaret’s Bay, the biggest crime last year was Ollie Oswald stealing Mr. Clarence’s goat, and Maggie May becoming pregnant out of wedlock. That thought sobered her right up, though still, Maggie’s out-of-wedlock babe was hardly the same thing as a mad serial killer running around the streets of London and slaughtering women of ill repute.

Elain finally existed the station and stood on the street, all her senses assaulted by even more noise, the stench of manure, hordes of jostling people who were all rushing somewhere, paper boys who were announcing the latest headlines – another Ripper murder, apparently – vendors peddling food and all sorts of items, handsome soldiers, and every spoken language imaginable. Elain recognised everything from French and Italian, to some dialects that she was unfamiliar with, Slavic, German and even Scandinavian speech. She had a knack for languages, and having spent time in Dover, with her father’s ships, she’d seen sailors, merchants and visitors from every part of the world. Stupidly, she thought that Dover was a busy city. It had nothing on this monstrosity.

She walked over to where the cabs were parked awaiting passengers.

“Good mornin’ Miss, in need of a ride?” one of the drivers asked.

“Yes, this is the address,” she handed him the paper that Mrs. Amren had given her, which had the address and all the instructions. Mrs. Amren had also given her ten pounds, which was more money than Elain’s seen in a long, long time.

She could buy so much for ten pounds! Dresses and a pair of shoes, meat pies, maybe even a pastry, tea, lodging…Her whole family survived on four-five pounds a month, and here she was, with ten pounds, six shillings and 3 pence in her pocket. Mrs. Amren told her that the tenner had come from the gentleman who took care of her travel accommodations and spending money.

Once she was situated in the carriage, they took off, the driver navigating the streets and the chaos of other cabs and pedestrians with expert precisions. Elain knew that they were going to Westminster, and she wished to see the cathedral, and the abbey, but she did not, though she was pleased that they’d be staying far away from Whitechapel.

“Dog and Hound, Miss,” the driver announced and then opened the door for her.

It was a public house and also offered lodgings and once Elain exited the cab, she thought that it looked presentable and clean. The facade of the building was well-kept, brick, with garlands of wisteria wrapping around the lower part of the building and the very large bay window. Once she paid for the ride, she walked inside–she’s been to public houses and taverns before–but this one looked very well kept, with a beautiful walnut bar, all sorts of hunting pictures and engravings on the walls, and burgundy and green seats. There were not many patrons milling around, but it was also only 10:30 am.

Elain approached the proprietor, just like Mrs. Amren told her to do and said, “Good morning. I am here to see Mr. Arthur Johnson.”

The man straightened at the mention of the name, and then quickly and accommodatingly told her, “Follow me, Miss.”

“Where are we going?” Elain whispered, baulking at the invitation.

“Mr. Johnson is waiting for you Miss. My understanding is that he wished to have a conversation with you in private.”

Elain’s never been with a man in private, let alone in an unfamiliar city, but what choice did she have? She already felt like she signed her life away, when she was meeting with Mrs. Amren. The woman had a heap of papers and documents for Elain to sign, mostly about confidentiality and non-disclosure of any information that she was to learn. There were financial papers as well, but Mrs. Amren told her that they would be finalised should the contract be signed.

They stopped at one of the doors and the proprietor knocked. A man’s voice answered promptly.

“Enter.”

“You may proceed, Miss,” he told Elain and then stepped aside.

This is where I die, was her only thought.

It was definitely Jack the Ripper. There have been whispers that he came from the upper classes, maybe even nobility, and she was going to meet him right now and he was going to skin her alive. And then her body would be baked into meat pies, just like Sweeney Todd did it. They said that the mad barber did not exist, but Elain begged to differ. Stories like that didn’t just happen to be written due to someone’s fevered imagination. He must have existed.

So she would be abused, killed and then will end up in a pie.

He sat in a wingback chair.

That’s all she saw when she finally dared to enter the room. The man. The gentleman.

A very tall man by the looks of it, considering how far his long legs stretched. He was dressed in all black, elegantly, in a way Elain wasn’t used to seeing men dressed on a Thursday morning. His jacket was stylishly tailored and his boots were perfectly polished. However, it was the man’s face that gave Elain pause. He was handsome to an unusual degree, the panes of his face sharp and sensual at once. Large, slightly slanted eyes of a peculiar colour regarded her with detachment and mild scrutiny. When he licked his full lower lip, Elain couldn't help but notice the movement and she balled her hands at her sides, suddenly feeling tense and hot. He had the look of a foreigner about him–dark bronze skin, thick black hair cut unusually long on top, and those strange light hazel eyes.

“Elain Archeron, I presume,” he asked at last, and his voice was deep, low and just as sensual as the rest of him. Like a whisper of black silk in the wind. The accent was unfailingly upper crust.

“I am, my lord,” she confirmed and curtsied.

“Please sit,” he gestured to the sofa across from his chair.

She did as she was told and noticed that he held a photograph of her in his fingers. His hands were large, with long, strong fingers, but surprisingly, the hands were covered in thick scars–burn scars from what Elain could gauge. Mrs. Amren said that the photograph was a requirement and Elain was forced to travel to Dover to have her photograph taken. It was expensive, and she needed to sit in the same position, unmoving and silent, for almost seven minutes. In the end, she didn’t even think that the photograph looked like her. But following her handing the photograph off to Mrs. Amren, she received an invitation to travel to London–-she supposed that it did the trick.

“How was your journey?” he asked politely.

“Very nice, thank you, my lord.”

“I wished to have our conversation first, if you don’t mind, and then you may rest.”

“Of course,” she agreed. Her fingers were shaking and she attempted to hide them in the folds of her skirt, though she was sure that he noticed it.

His tone was light when he assured her, “there is no need to be nervous. I believe we ought to have a talk first and you aren’t obligated to anything, and neither am I.”

She nodded and allowed him to talk, because it was just easier. Her throat was tight and her mouth dry. Her dress felt itchy against her skin and the collar borderline was suffocating.

He stood up and she had to crane her neck to take in his full height–he was probably six and a half feet tall, and when he moved to pour water into a glass, she definitely noticed how thickly muscled his arms and shoulders were, and how slender he was otherwise, trim and lean and strong. He handed her the glass and then leaned against the desk, crossing his legs at the ankles and drumming his fingers on the surface.

“I am Azriel, Lord Night, the Duke of Velaris,” he announced simply.

Elain’s hand stopped mid-way to her lips, as she stared at him wordlessly.

She’d assumed that he would be a nobleman, perhaps a baron, maybe a count, but a duke? The Velaris family was well-known: it was said that they came to Britain all the way back with William the Conqueror. It couldn’t possibly be the same Velaris? Could it?

“I am sorry, my lord,” Elain said softly. “You are the Duke of Velaris?”

He nodded, “the very same”.

“But…” she bit her lip, “I was under the impression that you were married, my lord? To Lady Morrigan?”

The lovely Lady Morrigan, Countess of Hewn, was renowned for her beauty. Elain had seen her in newspapers and other publications. The Velaris-Hewn nuptials was the society wedding of the year just a couple of years back.

“I am,” he confirmed calmly. “And since you are bound by our confidentiality agreement, I will disclose that my lady wife had suffered a grave incident last year. She was thrown by her horse, and had broken her spine. Unfortunately, she suffered a brain bleed from her injuries as well. She is my wife and will remain so until she or I die. But alas, she is bed-bound and without sense or consciousness. Now, you must understand that her condition is not known to anyone, other than my most trusted servants and her nurses. It must remain so until I produce an heir. The child must be mine, and upon the birth, we shall announce that Lady Morrigan suffered compilation in labour.”

Elain sighed and murmured, “I am sorry, my lord. For you and your lady wife. It is truly tragic and I am…just sorry.”

He cocked his head and regarded her quietly for a while.

She’d only known him for about fifteen minutes, but she could already see how observant he was, methodical even. There was a calmness about him, an almost predatory stillness, and she sensed that he dwelled in some dark places inside his head. Perhaps it was the sorrow resulting from his wife’s condition, or maybe something in his past, but this was a man of secrets and unanswered questions.

“May I ask some questions of you?” he inquired at last.

Elain sipped her water and nodded once.

He didn't use any props, not notes or correspondence, when he said,

“Elain Archeron, twenty-one years old, the middle of three sisters. Tell me, why are you, of all people, responded to my advertisement?”

“We need the money, my lord,” she admitted plainly.

“There are other ways to get money,” he noted, his dark brow raised. “You are a maid of gentle breeding based on your family’s history–a merchant father, a mother who was from a well-to-do family. Surely you can think of other ways to…” he stopped and scrubbed his scarred hand over his chin, before continuing, “tell me, why?”

“My father has lost his fortune,” Elain explained, her voice quiet. “My younger sister has a disease of the stomach that makes her vomit and she is frail and weak. She needs medicines, which we cannot afford. My older sister is a proud woman and…” her voice trailed. How could she explain Nesta? She couldn’t. Nesta was smart, even cunning, but she was better suited for running an estate or even a business. Haughty, proud and demanding is what Nesta was. But she was not one for sacrifices. “And that leaves me. I…well, I answered the advertisement in The Times, and was contacted by Mrs. Amren. We met and discussed the offer…and,” she swallowed, “I am interested.”

“What do you understand of the offer and the proposal?” he asked seriously.

She tugged on her skirt and peered down, looking at the floor.

Quietly, she answered,

“A gentleman requires the services of a female to produce a child, an heir. The gentleman is willing to pay ten thousand pounds for the child and…well, would pay all throughout the pregnancy…That is all.”

He sighed and turned, his movements measured and languid, as he walked to the window and clasped his hands behind his back, as he looked out on the busy Vincent Street.

“I fear, Miss Archeron, that you are underestimating the commitment that this ordeal would require of you,” he said, almost to himself.

Elain’s heart dropped.

He wasn’t interested.

He did ot find her comely or appealing or satisfactory. Perhaps he liked her photograph, but seeing her in person made him change his mind.

Ten thousand pounds was an astronomical amount of money.

It was enormous. At the height of their success, the Archeron family wealth was estimated at about fifteen thousand pounds, which made Elain and her sisters very appealing on the marriage market. To have a large portion of that fortune come back to them would guarantee a bright future for all–they could all marry well, they could cure Feyre’s illness, they could operate on their father’s mangled leg and send him to Italy or France to recuperate. They could have fine homes and wardrobes and servants.

Currently, they existed on about four pounds a month, for the four of them. If they were lucky.

“I don’t think that I am, my lord,” Elain found it in herself to answer boldly and firmly. “I understand what is required.”

“You understand that you must lie with me,” he was still not looking at her, and therefore couldn’t see her flaming cheeks, “and have relations with me as if I were your husband. You would be required to do so at my beckoning and pleasure, for at least six months,”

“What happens after six months?” she interrupted him, confused.

He turned his head and explained,

“I am willing to allot six months for the conception to take place. Children are usually not made in a day…it may take time, and I realise that. I feel that six months is an adequate amount of time for you to conceive. If you don’t, then we will part ways, since clearly we would not be compatible enough to create a child together.”

She chewed the inside of her cheek and then asked,

“And if I don't…conceive that is? What happens then?”

He shrugged,

“You will be paid five hundred pounds for your troubles and you will leave. Naturally, you will be bound by the non-disclosure agreement for the rest of your life. That extends to me as well, Miss Archeron. If we proceed with this…arrangement…whatever the outcome is, your name will not be mentioned or besmirched, so that you have a chance at a successful marriage with a man of your choosing.”

“I appreciate that, my lord,” she said sincerely.

He went back to the desk and gathered a stack of papers in his hands, though he did not give them to her yet. He was clearly still deciding on something, his brow furrowed. At last, he said,

“These are the financial terms of the arrangement, Miss Archeron. If we proceed, you will sign and retain a copy for yourself.

“Again, I urge you to consider everything with utmost seriousness,” he pressed. “This is not a trivial matter. Your involvement with me may last up to a year and a half. It is quite a long time for a woman of your age to dedicate to a…male. One who will not marry you in the end, and whom you shan’t see again.

“Furthermore, if there is a child, it will be wholly mine.”

A shudder ran through Elain and she suddenly became cold. When he put it like that, it did give her pause. Because in exchange for the money, she would be required to give up her baby. Theoretically she understood that–when she began corresponding with Mrs. Amren, and when they finally met, this was thoroughly discussed. But seeing this man in the flesh, even briefly imagining that there would be…coital relations involved, though Elain wasn’t quite sure precisely what it all entailed, and then there would potentially be a pregnancy, which was something that was often fraught with dangers, only to end in a painful labour, and then…the separation. Permanent separation from a baby that she’d give birth to. From the man too. Yes, he was strikingly handsome–to her great relief–but she knew that she was in danger of developing feelings for him, which he surely would never reciprocate. He had his poor wife and was devoted to her, and was only after an heir to carry his name and his legacy. Elain would be left without love, without companionship, without her babe, but with money. She supposed that she could have more children, but the idea of giving up her son or daughter seemed terrifying. Her firstborn.

Azriel looked up at her and watched the warring emotions that danced on her face.

“Would you like me to read out the terms?” he asked at last, his expression slightly softened, even kinder.

She swallowed and nodded.

He glanced at the first page and began reading.

“The female in the arrangement is expected to be an unmarried and unbetrothed maid, of good moral standing and a virgin. She is to be free of diseases and for the duration of the arrangement she may not be seen with a male or engage in any manner of relations with a male other than the Requestor.

She would enter into the arrangement willingly and would be required to have sexual intercourse with the Requestor at his bidding. The Requestor shall not physically hurt, slap, hit, abuse or force the female, and will not verbally insult or berate her. If the female is unwilling or unable to have sexual relations with the Requestor, she is to notify him immediately and provide an explanation as to the cause. Relations are not required from the female when she has her monthly flow.

The female is expected to live on premises of the Requestor’s abode and accompany him upon his travels. She shall have her private room(s) at the dwellings. She is not expected to sleep with the Requestor or share his private quarters. The female is required to maintain her decorum at all times, and may not fraternise with the help. The female is not to divulge any part of the agreement to anyone, including her family. The female will not occupy a place at the servants’ quarters and will not partake in meals with them. The female will have a maid of her own to assist her with personal matters.

Upon conception, the female is to remain at the Requestor’s home, under the care of his physicians. She is to maintain a healthy lifestyle, to ensure a successful pregnancy. She will be assisted during her labour by a midwife, a doula, nurses and physicians. Upon delivery of the child, the female will be allowed to bond and nurse the infant for up to one week (if she wishes to do so). After one week of recovery, the child will be removed from the female’s care and presence. At that time, the arrangement would be considered fulfilled and would be terminated.

The Requestor guarantees the following payments:

£1000 for taking the female’s virginity

£50 weekly stipend, for up to six months of service

£50 weekly stipend for the duration of the pregnancy

£1000 for labour and delivery

£10,000 for the birth of a live child

All legal fees, room and board, wardrobe allowance, personal and beauty treatments, transportation, et cetera would be provided by the Requestor.

The female may be allowed to spend Christmas with her family (up to one week), as well as one week of her choosing as a personal holiday.”

He did not ask whether she was agreeable to the contract, but simply handed it to her and said,

“Read this over and be thorough. Any questions, you should ask me.”

Elain didn't answer for a while, but he didn’t seem impatient, and wasn’t put off by the awkward silence between them. Instead, he went over to a sideboard upon which stood a decanter and some glasses and poured himself a drink of whatever it was.

She finally broke the silence and said,

“This is much more than ten thousand.”

It seemed that she took him by surprise with her comment and he looked at her with expectation.

“The contract was for ten…this is closer to twenty,” she pushed.

“Is that a problem?” he queried.

“I just…” she blushed, “I don’t want to be unfair. I was fine with ten. Why a thousand for the virginity?”

He sat back in the wing chair and sipped his drink, before saying,

“Seems only fair. I would be taking something that doesn’t belong to me and isn’t intended for me to take. You ought to be compensated for that.”

Theoretically, what he was saying made sense to her, but it seemed so…transactional. And, of course, it was a transaction. There were no feelings involved.

Craning his head side to side, he added after a pause,

“The pleasure is free, if that makes you feel better. I won’t be charging for it, and I won’t be paying for it either. You can enjoy it free and clear.”

If that meant to be a lighthearted comment of some sort, it didn’t land, because Elain looked at him, perplexed and said. “What pleasure?”

He chuckled softly, “Sexual pleasure, Miss Archeron.”

“There is no pleasure in relations such as those,” she argued primly.

He leaned back in his chair, relaxing into the leather and smiled at her, though the curve of his beautiful mouth was both challenging and sinister.

“And you are an expert then?”

Her heart was beating wildly in her chest, and she couldn’t even believe that she was discussing this with a man she didn’t know.

“I am no expert, my lord,” she told him, “but what pleasure could there be? It is an act designed to propagate the species.”

He propped his head on his fist, crossing his long, muscular legs and swaying his boot-clad foot casually. A lock of his silky black hair fell on his forehead and Elain had the insane urge to go and fix it for him. His handsomeness didn’t help. Elain had feared that the man would be old and paunchy, sweaty and balding. Why else would one need to contract for a woman to give him a child? She figured maybe he was missing limbs, or had distorted features, or perhaps some unappealing trait…but she definitely, definitely did not expect Lord Night. She had some parameters that she had set for herself in regards to the arrangement–if the gentleman seemed brutish, if his looks made her squeamish, if he had a visible disease or if his visage repelled her, she would not have gone along with the scheme. As much as she needed the money, she also knew that she wouldn’t have a child with someone cruel or unappealing. She wanted her baby to live in a loving environment and with a parent who’d want them and care for them.

The problem was that Lord Night’s appearance quickly overrode her good sense. It wasn’t something that she ever considered–that he would be so handsome and so titled that she’d forget all her common sense and all the expectations that she had prior to meeting him.

Stumbling a bit over her own tongue, she asked at last,

“What sort of pleasure is there?”

“Ahhmm Miss Archeron,” he smiled at her, “why do you think people have lost their minds and morals through the centuries over love?”

It was an excellent question, to which Elain did not have an answer. Why indeed?

“Well, perhaps, you will have the chance to find out,” he got up and straightened his jacket.

“I do not want love, my lord,” Elain insisted brusquely.

He nodded slowly,

“Yes, yes. I know. You need the money.”

“I do.”

“Then don’t fall in love, Miss Archeron,” he suggested.

But why did it sound like a challenge.

“Take the rest of the day to think about everything,” he told her. “These rooms are yours for the night. You may order food and drink. St. John’s Gardens are not far–should you wish to take a stroll.

“I will call upon you tomorrow, at 10 am, and I expect an answer.”

* UK £10,000.00 in 1890 would be equivalent to £1,644,035.82 in 2023, an absolute change of £1,634,035.82 and a cumulative change of 16,340.36%.

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