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forteafy · 8 months

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You Think, You Know | CL16 & CS55

Summary: Some bridges are due to burn, whilst others are destined to mend. Charles wants to lead you into a traditional happily-ever-after, whilst Carlos is still adamant that he can always treat you better. Part 3 of ‘A House, A Home.’

Word Count: 11.3k

Warnings: angst, shouting, a lot of swearing, mentions of cheating and divorce. SMUT. Non-protected sex, oral (M&F receiving,) squirting, degradation, aftercare always.

Note: Thank you all so, SO much for being so patient with me. I really wanted this to be something special and I hope you all enjoy it. Please don't get mad at me because this one is emotional. A massive thank you to my biggest cheerleaders, @oconso, @formulaforza, @a-distantdreamer & @silverstonesainz - I love you all so much.

PART 1: A House, A Home | PART 2: Where Do We Go? | PART 3: 'You Think, You Know'

You loved your sleep.

There was never too much that could wake you from your slumber. Currently, with the combined sensations of crisp sheets tucked across your frame, soft sunlight drawing through the transparent curtains of the bedroom and snug, strapping arms encircling your waist, it would have to be some form of miracle to awaken you.

The form of this came in the body pressed tightly into your back; smoothly, a pair of lips are drawn to your cheekbone, satin kisses being dropped against your skin. Was it possible to awaken to such a soothing interaction? Your face is drawn to the feeling, turning in his interlocked arms, the side of your face nuzzling into the cushion as your eyes meet the deep, dark pools of his.

“Good morning.” Carlos whispers, joyful at your rise from shuteye. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been lying there himself, simply basking in the pleasure of holding the girl of his dreams against his firm body. The man was constantly on a lifeline; each time you interacted with him, he’s certain it would be his last, that one day, you’ll be violently ripped from his arms and his heart.

Suspended in thought, the Spainard is drawn back to reality with the glowing touch of your palm on his skin. Immediately, one of his arms draws away from your waist, resting his own larger hand atop of yours. You look alluring like this; sleep still decorates your eyes, hair tangled from the deep sleep, yet perfect in every sense of the word.

“Morning.” You respond, allowing yourself to set your gaze upon his face for a little longer. It’s a sin, settling in your stomach at how that same face had lifted from between your leg’s mere hours ago, the remanence of your arousal ever-present atop his stubble. You were certain he had a mouth crafted by the angels, the way his lips had toyed with your most sensitive parts and the way they currently pulled into an enticing smile in the present.

Two bodies, two souls were entwined in that bed; you weren’t too sure how long you lay there alongside him, reveling in one another’s morning appearances. All you know in that moment is Carlos is overtaking your mind, sprinting through every vein in your body. Every unanswered question from the previous night rendered numb as the man leant forward in your touch, his lips gaining space on your own.

There’s a sudden, sharp buzz from the other room, causing you both to retract from one another, bodies deep in the king-size mattress. A chuckle leaves his own mouth, running a heavy hand across his face, heart still pounding from the sudden jump of sound in the silent apartment. Something in your heart told you that buzz was for you. Whining from the sudden loss of warmth, you remove yourself from the bundle of blankets and body heat, bare feet padding into his living room, aware of your mobile phone, resting atop of the counter.

The device gave a heavy buzz once more before you had the realization to pick it up, the battery barely there. You absent-mindedly call out to the man in the bedroom, asking if he had a phone charger you could borrow for a little while. There's clutter from the other room, clearly trying to find a space for your own phone. Whilst that incurred, your eyes flickered across the darkening screen, skin turning cold upon reading the text notifications.

02:51: Charles Leclerc

I’m in love with you.

02:53: Charles Leclerc

I’m so sorry she was there – I had no idea. She’s gone now, can I come and collect you? Where are you?

03:25: Charles Leclerc

Please let me know you’re safe as soon as you can. Can I come and see you in the morning, please?

08:47: Charles Leclerc

Good morning, my love. How are you feeling today?

Guilt washed through your stomach, not for the interaction you had shared with Carlos; Charles had done substantially worse to you for the past twelve months. No, you knew what it felt like to have no response from somebody you cared for, terrified for their well-being. Even when Charles hadn’t cared for you, you had still nursed him, waiting up for his return in the early hours of the morning.

With the remainder of your phone battery, fingers fly over the keyboard. Did you want your husband to come and collect you, specifically from his teammates home? He was aware of your building friendship with the Spainard, even if it wasn’t entirely platonic. There wasn’t a huge choice; you especially didn’t want to demand or pry a lift off Carlos, especially after he had come to collect you so late the previous night.

08:58: You

Good morning, I’m at Carlos’ place. I’d really appreciate a lift back to the house, if that’s okay.

The message barely had time to send before it’s marked as ‘read’. Immediately, the blue speech bubble pops to the lower corner of your phone, signaling a response was being formed.

09:00: Charles Leclerc

You don’t need to even ask. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.

Fifteen minutes was not enough time to conceal everything which had happened in the previous hours. Feet now cold, legs now littered in goosebumps, you’d scrambled back into his bedroom, the man now on his own feet, those damn gray jogging bottoms hanging on his hips, a visible outline ever-present. It took your entire soul to remain strong, knowing how tempting this man could become in a matter of moments.

“Charles is on the way.” You state, suspecting that it would cease all his movements, and allow yourself to get ready for your husband’s arrival. Instead, he’d stepped closer to your frame, leaning his toned torso towards you, locking you in his muscled arms, hiding his face in the skin he’d licked and bitten across the previous night. His mumbles are incoherent, littering across your neck in broken Spanish. He’s saying something. Something you can’t understand but is undeniably a plea for you to stay in his arms.

Carlos stays pretty much attached to you the entire time you’re preparing for your departure; his body is pressed against yours, littering kisses to the crown of your head whilst you brush your teeth. His scent is so dominating on the hoodie he insists you borrow, slipping that atop of your frame whilst pulling on the bottoms you had wiggled out of the previous evening. The man’s heart explodes upon seeing you bundled into his clothing, a possessive streak striking through his body and soul.

When your bag is packed, face washed and phone charging, now on the counter of his kitchen, you spend the last few minutes waiting for your husband’s adamant arrival by bundling into Carlos’ side on his plush sofa. It feels entirely natural by this point; his arms encircle your waist, letting you lie against his sternum, soothing yourself to his naturally steady heartbeat. A snippet of your heart desires to take this sole moment and capture it for a lifetime. Safe. Warm. Happy.

The moment is wafted away from you both with the sudden rapping of knuckles on the front door. Whining, your eyes trail on the Spaniard, focused as he presses a final, fleeting kiss to your temple, pulls himself up from the couch and paces towards the hallway. Your own ears strain to hear the latch lift of the front door, Charles praises for looking after you the previous evening falling over his lips, two pairs of footsteps drawing into the front room.

Your husband, despite his usual god-like appearance, looked terrible. His hair pushed to the front, clearly in need of a wash and brush. His skin was rubbed raw, face bloodshot; clearly, he hadn’t got a single moment of sleep the previous night, still dressed in the clothes he’d traveled home in the previous night. Despite the heavy lids of his eyes, they still light up when falling onto you.

“Good morning.” He gives you a smile, only you. You can feel Carlos’ disappointment, even if you can’t see his eyesight at that moment. A pocket-sized smile from your own lips is offered in return, pulling yourself up in that moment, reaching for your bag which remained on the floor, slipping into your soft sneakers.

“Are you ready?” You’d asked softly. Charles’ mouth opened, hesitating before he spoke. He was thinking clearly.

“I just need to speak to Carlos quickly. Something…private.” He tries to explain his standings, tries to make you feel less awkward as he reaches for the car keys resting in his hoodie pocket. “Are you okay to wait in the car?” He asks softly. He feels in no power to demand your movements, yet he requires one private word with his teammate.

Your eyes don’t bother to meet Charles, instead immediately flying to meet the dark ones of your unofficial lover. What on god’s earth was your husband about to ask, and why did he want to do it out of your earshot? The look that you give the man says a thousand words, asking if he needs you to stay, hold your ground against Charles. The warm eyes of him give everything you need, silently promising he could handle this man. An entire conversation through looks alone, a skill the two of you had developed so naturally.

Silently, you take the keys from Charles’ outstretched hand, skin flinching when being pressed against the cool metal. You don’t so much as glance in his direction when you’re walking to the counter, picking up your phone and stuffing it into the pouch of your borrowed hoodie. When turning on your heel, you pace back to Carlos, pressing a surprising kiss to his right cheek, murmuring a ‘Thank You,’ just for his hospitality, of course. You had done all the thanking for the number of orgasms you were granted the previous night.

The walk towards your husband’s car, the SUV rather than his identifiable Pista, your mind clouded, clotted with an array of questions. Why did Charles need to speak to Carlos alone? Was he aware of the relationship the two had been sharing for an undefinable amount of time? Who on earth was the blonde woman giving you a death stare as she walked up the pathway to the complex, red lips practically hissing at your appearance, storming past you within half a second?

When you turn back to take in her appearance from behind, a sense of sickness settles into your stomach. You’d seen the back of that blonde head before; not in person, but rather on a phone screen. Your phone screen, held between white knuckles as you’d watched the man you had begun to fall for wrap his arms around another woman's lips meshed in a private nightclub, unaware of the multiple cameras capturing their searing moment.

That was the same woman, identical in her mannerisms. You felt your tummy curdle into pain, into your vague realization that the only reason Carlos had offered you a place in his home, and subsequently his bed that evening, was because he was trying to fill a void until she returned to the scene. Your stomach wanted nothing more than to empty its remaining content in sheer shock. Instead, you breathe deeply, unlocking the door to the car, climbing into the passenger seat and closing your eyes, relaxing into the plush leather of the upholstery.

You’re not sure how long your husband takes, eyes growing heavy as you await his return. It’s only realized when the driver’s door clicks open, rolling in your seat to watch as Charles climbs into his own, a frown resting at the bottom of his face. However, it’s immediately vanquished when his eyes latch onto your own, grinning at your presence, so close to him. A warm hand reaches out, brushing over the back of your head, sheerly enjoying the comfort you radiated. He'd been lost without you for the past twelve hours.

Your eyes begin to feel heavy again, though you’re determined to get through the car ride alert, even if the soft scent of his cologne and the gentle lulling tunes from the morning radio are drawing you back to your previous state. Instead, you think of that woman. No, not the mistress you had grown numb to; the blonde woman, the one pressed against Carlos’ chest and lips mere hours after you had been. The glint in your husband’s eye is telling as you go through your endless thoughts, he knows something.

“The blonde lady going into Carlos’ apartment.” Your voice is completely out of pocket, echoing through the front of the SUV. “Who was she?” There’s no beating around with the question you had asked; there’s no trying to sugar coat what you needed to know. Charles knows it, too. He knows he can’t hide the truth from you, you’re too smart for lies and manipulation, a year married with a mistress had taught him that.

Instead, he emits a deep sigh from his lips, knuckles tightening on the steering wheel as he focuses on the road. “Natasha.” The name falls from his lips, he can’t meet your gaze, not when speaking about another woman to his wife. “She used to work for Ferrari’s PR but left just under a year ago. Carlos and her used to-“

“Date?” You’d cut him off without realizing, eyes widening when he’d shaken his head.

“No, not date.” He responds. “They just had…a thing. Something.” He finished his train of thought, still not mentally ready to turn to you. In a comforting way, you were glad he hadn’t; Charles was unable to see the tears pooling at your lower lash line, the desire to rip off the hoodie now suffocating your body. You learnt in your heart that moment, you were apparently nothing special to Carlos. No, he had a thing. Something, with any woman who passed his way was as a wandering fancy.

The tears decorating your eyes and desire to relax into the leather seat eventually overpowers your emotionally drained body, pulling you back into a slumber.

You loved the sound of music.

A faint tune, one you were certain you’d never heard before lured through your ears, drawing you back to consciousness. You couldn’t remember getting home, let alone getting out of the car and tucking yourself into the comfort of your own bed. Groaning, you’d sat yourself up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes and stretching the twinge in your back simultaneously.

The music wasn’t coming from your room; the sound was beautiful, you just needed to locate its source. Your feet twinge when they touch the floor, cool floorboards easing the temperature of your socks. Opening the ajar door to your bedroom, the music grows louder, sound clearly emitting from downstairs, your feet carry you to the staircase with no hesitation. However, when reaching the top of the staircase, eyebrows crease together in confusion, taking in your once-ragged appearance in the crystal mirror.

Your hair had been braided, albeit not elegantly, but at least out of your face, something you did almost religiously before sleeping. Your attire had changed, too, once you were dressed in Carlos’ sage hoodie. Now, your body was engulfed by Charles’ charcoal jumper, sleeves too long but an entire comfort for your drained mind. Is this what it felt like, to be nurtured and cared for by your husband? The pit of your stomach felt airy; this had been everything you desired for so long. And yet, now you had experienced somebody else, despite the heartbreak, your mind was utterly torn.

Music grows louder, your mind is suddenly focused back on its original target. With no hesitation now, you began to walk down the flight of stairs, noting your bag and phone resting by the front door. Even with as many notifications as you’d missed in your time asleep, priorities overtook, making your way towards the lounge, eyes transfixed on the figure by the French windows.

Charles Leclerc sat, comfortably and quietly, gentle fingers dancing over the keys of his piano. The soft lights of the room illuminated the figure, a tune you had never heard was fluttering around the open space.

Of course, you had heard him play the instrument multiple times; during his time spent at the house rather than on the track, he remained transfixed, creating new songs, finding some way to pour every emotion into some kind of melody. You’d lost track of the times you’d come downstairs to get a drink, put the washing into the machine and had instead pushed your body into the doorframe, eyes fixed upon your husband as he created the most beautiful sounds.

The last time you’d done that, his mistress had been present, leaving over the piano as Charles played her an elegant tune. When she had gone to lean over him, her own fingers wanting to press down against the keys, he’d rested a firm hand on her arm, insisting that she sit on the sofa and listen, instead. The sweet moments of silently viewing your husband had turned sour; you’d silently vowed that day you would never enter the room when he was playing again.

You’d broken that promise mere seconds ago, eyes transfixed upon your husband. You can feel the tension beneath his fingers, as if he’s trying to take the sheer thoughts of everything that had been embedded into his mind in the past twenty-four hours and mesh them into some kind of audible release. Underneath the layers of music, your footsteps can’t be heard as you hesitantly walk towards the end of the living space. His tune reaches a climax, but before the piano can take any more notes, you cough lightly, Charles’ hands ceasing in mid-air. Arching his body weight, he sees your frame standing next to his piano, eyes still sleepy from awakening mere moments ago. The breath catches in the back of his throat; did you always look so perfect in his soft jumpers?

“I’m sorry.” He eventually offers, taking in your sweet, soft appearance. “Did I wake you?”

“No, no.” The reply tumbles from your lips before you even realize. “It was…beautiful, actually. Is it a new piece?” You ask, entranced by the music which had been flowing freely.

“I’m not sure yet.” He can’t help but smile at the end of his sentence. “I just sort of started playing and this is what came of it.” The explanation is valid; like many creatives, sometimes a free flow form was the simplest way to go. His next movement is almost a shock to your system. “Why don’t you come and help me?” The offer is completed when he shuffles up on the piano stool, patting on hand on the available gap. There’s hesitation in your movement, before his hand trails upwards, leaning to clasp one of your own, guiding you towards the stool.

There’s an overpowering smell of his cologne, a scent you were slowly drawing yourself towards. The body heat from his frame radiates into your own. Shyly, you reach out, pressing down on one of the piano keys, a tone spouting from the instrument. Charles can’t help but smile upon your interaction, eyes questioning as you analyze the instrument.

“Do you know how to play?” He asks gingerly, watching as you shake your head in response. His actions exchange, resting one of his warm palms over your own. The next moments are filled with your husband guiding your hands over the piano, teaching you the tune to old nursery rhymes. When you reach the end of the piece, he cheers in delight at the achievement.

“Play me something now.” You ask carefully, head becoming heavy, heavy enough to rest on your husband’s shoulder. When you feel his body tense, you immediately sit back up, convinced you’ve overstepped a line. That thought is soon relinquished when Charles’ hand flies out, wrapping around the back of your head and pulling you back down to his shoulder, your breath hot on his neck, it’s enough for him, hesitant to overstep the boundaries you were adamant upon currently.

His fingers move back, continuing the song he had been conducting earlier. The piece had started out slowly, almost sad-like, before building, building towards a romantic counterpart. In his mind, it was the perfect song to punctuate the relationship he maintained with his wife. They both sat there, barely any moment as the music was the only sound present in their house.

When the song finishes, neither of you move, relishing in the soft touch you’re both sharing. Charles’ own head falls atop of your own, letting his cheek rest against your hair. There’s no form of time between you both, simply enjoying being alive, alive with one another. It’s interrupted when you feel Charles’ take an exaggerated breath, removing his keys from the piano. One of his hands rests upon his side, the other slides between the minute gap between you both, wrapping a toned arm around your waist. The movement causes you to lift yourself from his firm shoulder, catching those beautiful eyes from your glance.

“I’m traveling to Monaco tomorrow.” He says it so casually, as if it’s as normal as entering or leaving the building. You can feel his heart race in anticipation of what he was due to say, his body temperature raising dramatically, radiating through his hoodie. You offer him a warming smile. You really didn’t want him to leave, not when you were growing so unnaturally fond of his presence.

“Oh really, what for?” Is the eventual reply. In this moment, you simply can’t hold his eye contact, he’s staring into your soul, it’s as if he can sense every thought which is currently trekking through your mind; does he know how much of a hold he has on you, even if your marriage was entirely staged, at least in his eyes.

“I’m off to see my mother” He clarifies. “It’s been a while and I just want to check in.” It’s a lie. You can tell from the way his body language changes; his hands are suddenly clenching tighter, his grip on your waist firm as if he’s terrified, you’ll run away. He can’t admit it, he’s not strong enough. If you step away, he will fall back to the way he was the previous night; eyes bloodshot, unable to sleep unless he knows you’re safe.

“Give her my best.” The response is blunt, short. You’re on entirely different wavelengths, different planets. He never told you of his reasoning for things; a golden rule you had learnt at the beginning of this era. Just…you’d never question him; you would simply co-exist. What he says next makes your blood run cold.

“Why don’t you come with me? I’d really appreciate it.” Why on earth would your estranged husband want you to come on his travels, presumably when the entire point was to spend the entirety of it wrapped in the arms of another woman. Yet, a feeling in your stomach settled. Did you actually want to spend hours in this empty house alone? Now that Carlos was no longer a welcome distraction, anything would be better than wallowing in your silence.

“I will.” You eventually respond. “On one condition.”

“Anything.” His eyes are wide, so willing. He’d scooted tighter towards you, as if he could hold together this entire conversation, stopping the whole world from crumbling around you. You must be the one to take a deep breath this time. You had to remain firm with your choices, with what you needed to know.

“What was in the white envelope that your mistress gave you yesterday?”

You loved the glow of candlelight.

Having never entered Charles’ study, his fingers interlocked with your own as he guided you through the heavy door, you didn’t realize how many candles he had resting around his office. They laid upon his windowsill, on his desk, he even had a mulberry-scented candle resting next to his racing simulator.

There was only one candle which was lit, he had obviously forgotten to extinguish it whilst you were deep in your slumber. Despite the fact you hadn’t ever been given access to this room, you’d have to make a mental note in order to check for any fire hazards the next time you were in the building alone.

The envelope resting upon the desk stuck out like a sore thumb; his computer, stationary, it was all a cool gray tone whereas the envelope stuck out in a bright white glow.

“I need you to know before you look at this, it’s a lot worse than it comes across.” Even in the candlelight, his face had turned pale, barely able to keep his fear from dancing across his emotions. You need to remain strong. You need to see what was left in the envelope.

Staying firm, your grasp reaches out towards the desk, taking the card into your own hands. “I want to see it.” You clarified, letting your finger trace under the flap of the envelope.

You don’t let your husband’s words overpower you, distract you in any way. Instead, your hand reaches into the envelope and grasps around a stack of…something. It feels like multiple pieces of paper pressed together, though one side remains glossy, as if printed onto a special sheet. Hesitantly, your hand pulls from the envelope, eyes immediately widening upon seeing the content in question.

It's photographs. Multiple photographs of Charles and his mistress. Some of them are casual, taken from her phone, smiling selfies and dinner dates. Others are…compromising, verging on pornographic. You can feel the lump in your throat tightening, tears are forming on your lower lash line, but you must keep strong. You cannot show any weakness when you ask to see this.

“That’s her, isn’t it?” Your voice betrays you, weakening as your words continue. “Your…girlfriend.” You don’t want to use the other word; it’s clear from these photographs it was more than sex, it was more than just an escapade.

“She’s- she’s not anymore.” Charles pauses, his eyes don’t focus on the photographs, only on you. His wife, who he has hurt so badly and now must see the pain littered across her face. “She hasn’t been since your mother passed away.”

Your heart stops at the mention of your mother, a sharp spike of longing for the woman suddenly danced through your chest. Then, you were angry. How dare he pity you, you didn’t want it, not from him. But…you still wanted him. He’d clouded your emotions, nothing was black-and-white with your husband, just a cacophony of colors.

“That was your reason for dumping her. Sympathy?” You don’t care how harsh your voice comes across, instead just aggravated you were growing to care about his reasoning. Life had been simpler weeks ago, when you simply stayed at home, minding your own business whilst he got on with his. By the look on Charles’ face, he wasn’t expecting the hostility, either.

“No! I dumped her because it was wrong, because I have a loving wife who I would give anything for.” The room goes silent, giving you time to process the words that had come from his lips. You had been so certain for so long that he didn’t care about you; that everything he did was for his own gain and pleasure. Yet…he had given up his mistress for you. He’d given up something that made him happy because you were not.

Stressing, you run a hand through your hair, placing the photographs back into the envelope, speaking to your husband as you place the card back onto his desk. You feel sick. These photographs exist and it was a perfect way to destroy the two of you, it was perfect ammunition to a metaphorical pistol. “So, what does she want you to do with these photographs?”

“Nothing.” Charles leans over your own body, reaching for a second stack of papers resting upon the desk, one you had considered would simply be notes from Scuderia Ferrari. Warm seeps through your body at his close contact, one hand almost trailing against your back as he grasps to the stack of crisp sheets, barely touched. “She’s threatened to publish them if I don’t sign…this.”

You took the stack of ivory papers into your palms. It was sprawled with a size twelve font, you were uncertain of where to begin until two words in bold took your attention, printed formally across the top of the page.

“Divorce Papers.” Your voice is barely a whisper, heart dropping to your stomach.

“That’s the other reason I’m going to Monaco.” He’s explaining his own status now, eyes glassy with the fear of you walking straight out of the office. He wouldn’t blame you, of course. He couldn’t blame you for anything anymore. Charles reaches out to your grasp, wiggling the paper from your fingers and placing them back against the desk. “I’m filing for a lawsuit against her, a restraining order for manipulation and stalking.”

A scoff falls from your lips; the mere contrast of the events from a few weeks ago compared to now. He truly intended to file a lawsuit against a woman who he’d happily let warm his bed whilst you went to bed each night with nothing but regret and bloodshot eyes. “Do you…do you want a divorce?” You can feel your voice cracking. “I mean, if she’s sent you these, you must have mentioned wanting one-”

“I did.” Charles doesn’t miss a beat. “I mentioned how I didn’t want a divorce because despite everything…I do care for you.” The room goes silent, not even the flickering of the candle or the soft wind from the French windows can pierce the tone of the room.

A huff escapes your lips, arms resting by your side as you formulate a response; “You had a really weird way of showing it.” Your response is blunt, it clearly warrants the sad look on your husband’s face.

“I know. That’s why I’m going to make it right. Please come to Monaco with me. She won’t be there; you don’t have to come to the lawyer with me. But…I need to be able to come back to my wife.” His hand reaches out, cradling your own in this moment. Gently, he lifts your palm to his cheek, resting it upon his stubble and letting his lips trace a kiss across the soft skin.

He truly does know how to make your heart flutter, despite everything.

“Okay.” You eventually respond, focused on his gaze when his eyes turn wide in anticipation.

“Yeah?” His heart is picking up in happiness, reaching to hold you in his own grasp, but instead falling short when you raise a finger, ceasing his movements towards your body.

“But…you need to give me tonight, alone. To process that.” Gently, you take a step forward, leaning gently towards him. You can’t leave him, not before you gently press a kiss to his cheek, turning on your heel, your figure illuminated in the corridor by the soft candlelight. “Goodnight, Charles.”

“Goodnight, beautiful.”

You loved the feeling of warm water.

There is only a slender picking of moments in your life where you have felt truly relaxed; sitting by the lake in the rolling fields your family had owned for generations, lounging in the bed of the Madrid-Based apartment your friends had hired for a holiday in the early spring morning.

You had never thought one of those relaxing moments would be as your mother-in-law massaged her hands through your locks, lathering an expensive shampoo into the roots of your hair. She was gentle; no tangles fell through her fingers as her rhythm stayed perfectly relaxing, hitting all the spots which would send a flood of relief through your scalp.

You’d arrived in Monaco early that morning, immediately being transported to the luxurious hotel your husband had booked you into. Most of the trips he’d book you wouldn’t attend, and when you did would be ignored by him altogether. This time, he’d remained present, willing. Your hands had entwined the moment you had left the privacy of the jet, nestling into the back of the car, eyes heavy from the early rise.

Not much is remembered after you’d arrived outside the opulent building; bags were removed and transported to your room by the bellhop, both you and your husband were given hotel cards, an older lady at the desk explaining the functions dotted around the high-end establishment. All you could remember was the door to the room opening, your tired body making a beeline towards the emperor bed, nuzzling into the soft furnishings with sleep overtaking you in a matter of moments.

Charles hadn’t been able to help the tug on his heartstrings as he’d seen you tumble into the mattress. You’d been so thoughtful; dropping everything back at your house and accompanying him to Monaco, promising to be there for him as he promised to fix the wounds from his previous mistakes. He’d give anything to crawl into the bed alongside you, wrap his frame around your own and fall back into his own slumber, one he had despised the night before simply because he wasn’t able to hold you in his arms. He was learning to respect your wishes; after all, he had a lot of repairing to do-so. Even after recent conversations with his Ferrari counterpart, he could never bring himself to hate you.

His phone buzzes from his back pocket and upon inspection he sees the reminder, he’s due with his lawyer in less than forty-five minutes, but he doesn’t want to leave you, not alone. A thought sparks into his head, fingers flying through his contacts and dropping a message to one, asking if they could take you over to his mother’s salon later in the afternoon. By the time he’s returned from changing in the en-suite and brushing a comb through his hair, the responses from both Joris and his mother had lit up his screen, confirming his plans for later in the afternoon.

Your husband had allowed himself one more look at you, so peaceful wrapped up in the comfort of the bed. Silently, he leans over your frame, running a gentle hand across the back of your head, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your forehead, murmuring his sweet words to your sleeping form.

When you’d awoken, there was a message clarifying that Joris would be taking you to his mother’s salon a little later and he would come to collect you once he was finished with his lawyer. That’s how you had ended up walking into her salon earlier that afternoon, her delighted smile present after seeing her daughter-in-law.

Pascale wasn’t stupid, that much was clear. She was aware of the strain in her middle son’s marriage, just not to the extent that he had been toying with a mistress for the better part of a year. However, she had grown to adore you; your mannerisms, laughter and the fact that you clearly held a candle for Charles, despite the dwindling flame of the marriage. If she had a daughter, she’d want her to be just like you.

“Are you and Charles up to anything this evening?” Her voice is gentle, motioning for you to stand up from the basin chair and walk towards the mirrors, resting yourself in one of the seats. Your reflection bores back into you, focused as Pascale adjusts your head slightly, brushing the tendrils of hair through her comb.

“I’m not sure.” You respond. “I know he has some business this morning.” It’s an understatement. When Joris had collected you from the hotel, he’d tried to give you what information he could – Charles had arrived at his Lawyer’s office, ready to file the case against his mistress. He wasn’t too sure how long it was going to take, though he had told Joris to be on hand for anything you needed when he couldn’t.

“You make him happy; you know?” Pascale mentions, tilting your head to angle your hair correctly. “I know he hasn’t always been…the greatest.” You’re not sure if she’s aware of everything, but her tone seems to stand where you need it to do so, “but you make…such an impact in his life.”

Not much else is said whilst the woman continues to trim your hair, adjusting your face as she does so. It was nice, not to be cooped up into a hotel room for the entirety of the day, nor to be sitting in Charles’ driver room whilst he walked around, finger entwined with his mistress. You’re so engrossed in Pascale drying your hair, setting the locks into soft rollers that you don’t realize when the door chimes open, another figure entering the quiet salon. The woman’s eyes brighten, and you hear her cooing before your own face turns, taking in the figure of your husband in the doorway.

Charles looks breath-taking. He’d clearly showered and changed since you had last seen him bundled in his travel gear that morning. Your deduction would be correct; the man had hastily returned to the hotel to jump into the shower, changing into a power blue shirt and white trousers. His hair, free of styling products curled in an unruly way, one that made his whole face structure elevate.

In his hands, he held both a soft white dress over his arm, one you had packed in your case fleetingly the evening before; it had been steamed and washed, the fabric clear and petticoats of the skirt floating gently. In his other hand, a vibrant bouquet of roses. His smile never faded, walking over to his mother and pressing a kiss to each of his mother’s cheeks. Once his attention turns towards you, his eyes only brighten.

“Hello, beautiful.” You can’t tell whether he’s playing up the affection in front of his mother, or whether it’s genuine. However, when one hand comes to rest on your cheek, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. He’s being respectful; making sure not to cross a boundary.

“Hello, handsome.” The response falls from your lips without realizing, the grin on your husband's face only rising. Fuck. Did you mean to say that? Regardless, you had done, and by the look on his face he not only didn’t expect it but had instantly grown to love it. Charles had completely forgone the flowers in his grasp, only remembering them after your eyes had darted down towards his palms.

“Oh-“ His mind finally catches up with the present situation, raising his hand to present you with the flowers. They’re colors are soft, delicate, as if etched by crayon. You can’t help but smile at the gesture, even if it was entirely a false pretense in front of his mother. You can’t see her face, but you know she’s smiling, seeing her son present to his wife in such a sweet manner. Now, your gaze isn’t fixed against the flowers in your grasp, but the dress from your suitcase.

“Something tells me that won’t fit you, Charles.” You tease the garment laying over his forearm, only to cause a smile to appear on his lips again.

“I want to take you out for the afternoon. If that’s okay with you.” His voice is low now, hoping to avoid any prying of the conversation from his mother, though her attention was now turned to locating the hair dryer, still needing to complete your own treatment. “Would that be…okay?” He’s nervous. Fearful that after everything, you could now reject him and feel no remorse.

You’re not a cruel person, it has never been in your nature. Instead, you match his own smile, nodding as you take the garment from his grasp, Charles’ eyes widening in confirmation.

“Trust you to pick out my favorite dress, too.” You mumbled.

You loved the sound of the ocean.

You loved everything about the sea, truly. The reflections from the moonlight caused shards to reflect over Charles’ boat; the new yacht had barely had time to stretch the waters, though it seemed to float as if it had been nurtured its entire existence.

The afternoon of a late lunch had expanded into expensive, late-night wine on the boat as your husband had guided you into deeper waters. He knew what he was doing, after all; the waters of Monaco were a comfort to him, a lifetime had stretched out from jumping into the ocean as a child to yacht parties during the Grand Prix.

You’d seemed entirely at home, and it made his heart warm. Charles wasn’t a stupid man; he saw how you kept yourself small, your setup at the house barely spanning over two rooms. He’d wanted nothing more than to break the walls you had put up for oh-so-long and entwine your lives together.

Then he would reprimand himself, remind himself he was the sole reason those walls existed.

Conversation had spanned naturally into the events of the day; you thanked him for thinking of you, he’d responded with a mention of you deserving that form of treatment every single day. Your mind can’t take the anticipation; when your lips lift from the glass of wine, you can’t help but ask what his lawyer had recommended about his mistress. Your husband’s grin had fallen a little, running a hand through his dark curls.

“It’s a difficult one.” He explains. “There’s enough there for a case, considering we haven’t had contact in a while. But…” He doesn’t need to finish his sentence; you do for him.

“The photographs are counted as evidence.” You finish, and he can only nod. He’s created such a mess, something he could never forgive himself for doing so. A web of lies and mistreatment surrounded you both; he so wanted to break each thread and simply cradle you, be in a bubble for the rest of eternity.

He’s expecting you to stay silent, then. Maybe that’s where the evening should have ended, with silence upon the realization that this case will not be easily solved. Instead, you place the glass of wine down on the ledge of the stairs, easing his own glass from his grasp. Charles is confused, even more so when you walk back towards him, wrapping your arms to close around his neck.

“What are you doing?” He whispers. His hands raise hesitantly, as if touching you would break you into a million pieces. His grasp only falls to your waist when you press closer towards the man, resting your gaze on his own eyes. He’s hurt you, broken you to such an extent, and yet you can’t help but draw closer to his touch, to his eyes.

“Being your wife.” You respond, before pressing your lips to his own. This is the first time, the first time in so long that you had been the one to initiate a kiss. Naturally, Charles’ hands wrap tighter around your waist, pulling you into his chest, deepening your touch, your kiss. This. This is the moment he wishes to bottle forever, to live in the comfort of his wife’s touch, no outside means, no other commitments being hung over his head.

You’re not sure how long you both stand there, wrapped in one another, hands fleeting over each other, desperate to find some touch, some form of skin. It isn’t until your fingers reach to unbutton the top of his powder-blue shirt, that his own come to rest atop of yours. He knows he’s made a mistake when he sees the look you shoot him, immediately assuming the worst.

“No, no.” He promises, both hands flying from where they had grasped yours, cradling each side of your face. It feels…warm. It feels so similar to the way Carlos had cradled your head once, when you were both on a boat, much like this. You think of those dark eyes, the whispers drawn into your ear as he had sharply thrusted into you that evening. Then, you think of the blonde appearing outside his apartment mere hours after you had been tangled in his arms.

“I want to.” Charles’ words draw you from your endless train of thoughts. “Sweetheart, I want to more than anything, but I need you to know how much it means-“

You don’t let him finish; instead, you press your mouths back together, forcefully. There are whispers from your own lips, pleading that he take you, that you want nothing more than to feel your bodies atop of one another.

And who is he to deny his wife?

You’re not sure when he scoops you up into his arms, guides you inside of the boat and to the soft bed that had been freshly made mere hours ago, but he never lets your lips leave one another for less than a moment.

He’s everywhere; he’s pressing into you in the most delicious way, he’s drawing your body of the most intense sounds, and then you’re coming, harder than you ever thought was possible, it hits you in the most delicious way.

Your fingernails pressed crescents into his skin as he continued to push into you with that perfect rhythm. Feeling your hot breath dance against the shell of his neck, the sweet whimpers of your overstimulated orgasm falling from your lips. Charles feels you clench around him, dragging you into him deeper, and it's all over.

His head immediately falls into the joint of your neck and shoulder, his pants getting heavier, thrusts rougher as he chases his own release. Teeth escape from his lips, biting down atop of the red marks he'd left earlier in a passion; the gasp you let-out, the roll of your hips against his own pushes him over the edge, a moan falling out from his own lips, hands flying to grip at your forearms pinned above him. You can feel every inch of him buried inside of you, warmth spilling into you.

Heavy hips press into yours, your thighs still pressed around his waist when he lifts his head from the warmth of your skin, pressing one final deep kiss to your lips, a profanity of words escaping from his mouth.

He kisses you again. And again. He keeps doing it whilst slowly rocking his hips, still jittering from his own orgasm. Senses come through, those eyes you had been entranced in so many times fixing to your own, drinking you in, looking so beautiful underneath his own frame.

"You still want somebody else?" The teasing is natural, almost, inflicting you to roll your eyes and playfully push his arm. God, your laugh is the most adoring sound in the world to him, it had been so long since he'd heard it, even then, it had never been due to his own actions until recently. The adorned look in his eye is soon replace with confusion when he feels you wiggle underneath him, soft blankets rubbing against your back.

"Are you going somewhere?" He questions, one hand coming up to trace against your jawline. You want to lean into his touch, it's something you'd been attracted to recently, though the mess between your legs and sweat trailing down your skin seemed to tell you something different.

"I need to clean up." You whine, pressing your body into the plush mattress. "I'm all gooey, Charles."

"I've got it." He murmurs, pressing one soft kiss to your cheek, another to your neck. You expect the weight from above to release you, but the warmth radiating from his body remains. You feel lips trace against your chest, his untamed curls tickle your stomach as he traces down a direct line.

"What are you doi-" You never get to finish you question, the fourth word cut off with a soft gasp, those lips which had pressed to yours, now pressing down against your clit, a soft praise towards your body whilst his tongue traced around the sensitive bud, drawing a slice through your wet lips, pressing deeper and deeper into your entrance.

The room is illuminated with your whines, hips bucking against his stubble as he fulfills his promise of cleaning you up.

You loved the feeling of being held.

You’d been unfathomably happy to walk into the paddock that evening, fingers interlaced with Charles’ as he guided the two of you through the fans and photographers alike, buzzing to be starting on Pole Position when his wife would be watching in awe of his achievement.

You hadn’t been there on qualifying day; you were still trying to keep your distance where you could, to prove to your husband he couldn’t instantly win you back overnight. It had only been when he’d come into the en-suite of your room the evening before, hands wrapped around your waist as he pressed a soft kiss to your cheek, pleading you came to watch him race the following night.

“I’ll win.” He promises, voice quiet as he rests his chin on your shoulder. “I’ll win it for you.”

His sweet words had not only lured you to the race track the following day but had also drawn you to sleep in his bed that evening, curled up into his toned chest as he murmured words of appreciation in French; only a few you were able to pick up and understand the meaning of as you drifted into a comfortable sleep, arms cradling your body underneath the bed sheets.

There was a collective, loving aura that evening when the two of you had stepped into his garage, the team in awe of seeing that their Prince of Monaco and his beloved Princess had been reunited, here to support one another. However, one figure remained quiet, eyes transfixed on your every movement. He felt his knuckles turn white when Charles had changed into his race suit, placing his cap atop of your own head and had lovingly pressed two kisses to either of your cheeks.

Carlos Sainz was a jealous man; he’d been infuriated when his blonde fling had appeared on his doorstep, instantly realizing the kind of man he must have been made out to be when you’d seen her appear on your departure. He’d hoped and prayed you hadn’t seen her, but from the radio silence he received over messages and calls, to the way you had purposely avoided speaking to him when arriving in the paddock, he could tell you were not that naive.

Emotions had played a heavy part on both of the Ferrari Pilots during the start of the race. One, determined to keep his promise and win whilst his wife was present. The other was so clouded with sadness and rage that all he wanted to do was push his counterpart off the track. The lights snapped off, 20 engines revving in unison as the cars blitzed down the first straight.

It doesn’t take long for emotion to overcome; Charles’ P6 soon creeps towards a P3, whilst Carlos begins to drop. A violent turn into Oscar Piastri not only takes the young rookie out of the race, but the Ferrari driver, too. Nobody misses the swears as he switches the engine off, nor the scowl on his face as he removes the steering wheel, ready to be escorted back to the garage.

When the blur of red comes through the paddock, you can’t help but feel guilty, telling yourself that if you had spoken to him, he would have been able to keep a cool head. Silently, you slip the headphones from your temple, murmuring about going to the bathroom before taking a direct beeline towards Carlos’ room, catching the door just before it’s due to slam closed.

He was seething. Pure rage flicked across his eyes; the warm smile reserved for you replaced with a harsh scowl. This may have been a mistake.

“What do you want?” His words are venom, spit towards you. He cannot stand to see you right now.

“I just-“You pause, clearing your throat. “I wanted to check if you were okay.” It’s a pathetic answer, really. One that didn’t sit right in your mouth, even after you had spoken.

“I’m alright?” He scoffs, shaking his head. “You ignore my calls, go away and fuck that pathetic man and then come back to me?” He’s pissed, undoubtedly so. “You whore. I understand it all now.” He shakes his head, missing the fire which had begun to burn in your own stomach.

“You have no right!” You’d shrieked so loudly you’d startled yourself; one finger was still pointed into his infuriated face, your finger mere millimeters from the bridge of his nose. Hot air engulfed both of your bodies, the only sound present was the deep and heavy breathing flaring from your nostrils.

Without a thought, Carlos had slapped your finger away from his face, lunging forward dramatically to seize your face into his rough palms. His lips are on yours, roughly seeking the wet trace of your tongue. You can’t fight him; not when his lips feel so flawless against your own. A rough palm encases the back of your neck, the other wrapping around your waist as he holds your frame tighter against his own.

Your breath barely had a moment to catch when he forcefully pulled his lips from you, emitting a white from your breath. That innocent sound is soon replaced by a sharp gasp, his fingers tightening against your scalp, pulling on your locks.

“Don’t fucking whine.” He spits, ghosting his lips over your own, never letting them touch yours. Warm breath tickles the shell of your ear when his grip pulls tighter onto your hair, tiling your ear to meet his mouth. “I’m sick of your whining, about your horrible excuse for a husband. I will treat you how you should be treated.”

There’s no time to react as his pink tongue pokes from his lips, a stripe tracing from the corner of your ear, across the sweetest spot of your neck. You’re reveling in the wetness, the sinful way his words litter through the air before teeth sink into your skin. He doesn’t bother to cover your mouth, mute the sweet sounds falling from your lips. There’s no decency anymore, Carlos doesn’t care who sees the marks he engraves into your skin. The ring on your left hand means nothing more than a reminder that he could be better.

“Carlos-“ You struggle to connect the two syllables together, hands gripping through his hair, pulling at the brown locks in your fingers. “Fuck-“

“What did I just say?” He grunts from the valley of your neck, one hand sliding from your waist and flying out, smacking on your clothed butt. The shock simply causes you to gasp out loud, pushing your own throbbing crotch into his hard one. A smirk forms against your neck, clear as day when the man pulls himself from your neck. His lips are wet, saliva from his own mouth tracing around your lips.

One hand finds your face again, grasping at your chin tilting your head backwards to hover below his own. A single finger taps at your lips, signaling for you to open wide for him. He’s sinful as he lets his spit fall across your lips, eyebrows raised as he wraps a hand around your throat, clearly overpowering your stance in this moment.

“Swallow.” He commands, hand resting on your cheek firmly. The tone of his voice sends a shock of energy down your chest and between your legs, cunt throbbing at his words. Of course, you comply, swallowing the remanence he had given you. “Good girl.”

The sweet nicknames in this moment have evaporated; Carlos is nothing short of animalistic, his presence all too understanding as one hand takes its place around your neck, the other grabbing firmly onto your wrist as he guides you backwards, softly falling onto the sofa of his driver’s room. The pitying looks the man gives you sends a thousand messages through your brain.

“No, no. Dirty little girls don’t get to sit on my sofa.” He teases, both hands clasping your waist, sliding you off the plush furnishings and resting on the cold floor, kneeling for the Spaniard. “You need to be on your knees, you need to be taught how to behave.”

Eyes widen as his tanned fingers pull at the knotted arms of the fireproofs resting on his waist. Even through his underclothes, the shape of his hard length is clearly visible, even more so as he removes his underlayers and briefs, letting himself spring freely, one hand rubbing his shaft a few times, the other knotting in the back of your hair.

He loves this; cock in his hand as he taps the tip against each of your cheeks, trailing himself against the parting of your lips, having to hide the shiver from his own body when the wetness of your mouth. His eyes are sparkling when he uses his firm cock to press through your mouth, relishing in the warmth of your lips wrapping around his length.

“That’s it, be a good girl. Take it.” He coos as you struggle to take more of his length, attempting to give small, tentative licks to his cock whilst he slides between your lips. It sends him feral, wild. He thinks of nothing else as both hands grip tightly in your hair, shoving your face into his crotch, your gags music to his ears as he continues to take control of the situation.

When your eyes adjust, look up from his groin, he almost feels sorry for you. They’re wide, glassy, snuffles falling from your lips as he continues his forceful attack. One hand slowly removes itself from the strain on your locks, tracing over your cheek, thumb rubbing underneath your eye, removing the salty tears as your breath remains heavy through your nose.

“Oh, poor baby.” He teases, pace never relenting. “This is what you need, someone to put you in your place, remind you what you deserve for teasing me, making me jealous.” He can’t help but chuckle at the pathetic sound coming from your lips. He can feel his stomach tightening, the warmth drawing an imminent release from his cock. This isn’t how he wants to finish, he can’t yet.

Your mouth feels empty when he pulls out, giving you no warning, the gasps falling from your lips at the sudden gain of air. He doesn’t give you time to respond, a heavy hand pushing your front to the floor, lifting your hips, ass straight back in the air. No warning, the skirt of your dress is lifted, the wetness of your cunt seeping through your panties. The anticipation kills you, until a warm finger slides into your folds with no warning. Your body can’t help but react, clenching around the warmness without even realizing. You also don’t realize the sounds you’re making, until the finger removes itself, a palm harshly smacking on your behind.

“What did I say about noises?” He grunts, leaning around to push the wet finger into your own mouth. “Do you like it? Taste what I do to you?” Hurriedly, he presses his finger in and out of your lips a few times before returning it to your wet hole, wiggling in the air. This time there’s two; stretching you out, your palms trying to find anything to grip, to hold on to as he carelessly thrusted, tickling a sweet, sweet spot deep in your stomach.

“I- Carlos I can’t-“ You whine through raspy breaths. He can feel you clenching, swelling around his fingers, and is rewarded when he hastily pulls them out of you, a long moan and a squirt of arousal pushing from your cunt. A sheer shock of arousal floods between his own legs, rubbing his fingers against your wet folds, letting your wetness trail onto the tips of his hand.

“Oh, your husband can’t make you do that, can he?” He’s proud; proud he’s able to draw such a reaction from your body. “Come on, baby, up we get.” His arms are suddenly firm, present around your waist as he pulls you to stand on two shaky legs, still reveling in the feeling he had granted you moments ago.

Hands retract from your waist and come to hold your face, pressing kisses to your scarlet lips as he guides you from a standing position towards his couch, finally allowing himself to sink into the cushions. You want nothing more than to join him, feel his warmth and aura around your own body, but by the finger he’s raised as he situates himself into the sofa, you can tell you’ll have to wait.

The moment he sits down, a tanned hand comes to his crotch to rub his length a few times, your eyes widening as you plead for it; mind clouded by lust, all you want is for something warm to fill you up, make you feel as good as he had done so many times before. Carlos’ finger beckons for you to join him, and you know what he’s insinuating.

Your movements are commanded by the Spaniard; immediately, there are two firm hands on your body, pulling you into his touch and sinking you down onto his cock. You don’t miss the way his lips quirk into a grin, oh-so-happy to see your reaction to the pleasure he had granted you. It’s no match for when he starts moving, bouncing you up and down on his lap, fallen gasps from your lips as your faces draw closer and closer.

You were sinking into one another’s skin; he wanted nothing more than to entwine your bodies for eternity. One hand was firm around your waist, guiding your movement with the strength only he could. The other guided a gentle trace across your face, pulling you closer, closer to his own face as his thrusts got faster, erratic.

“You’re mine.” He grunts, never once breaking eye contact as his hips grew tighter, his cock making your cunt squeeze in a way you didn’t know was physically possible. “You’ve always been mine, tell me you’re mine.”

His eyes go soft, thrusts pausing for a second as he notes the tears pooling in your eyes from the sheer euphoria running through your body. A whine falls from your lips as you feel his strong hand tug at your neck, pressing your foreheads towards one another, hips slowing for just a moment, letting your breath catch up to your aching body.

“I’m yours.” You’d whisper, mind clouded. You were his. There could be a thousand cars, an ocean or a wedding band between the two of you and you would still always find your way back to Carlos. Whatever that relationship would form, you would always be a part of him.

The murmured confirmation was enough to send a shot of energy through his spine, his thrusting becoming deeper, passionate. It barely takes five thrusts before he’s groaning, throwing his head back and letting out a low moan as he spills himself into you. The warmth is enough to send your cunt into flutters, clenching so tightly as your body falls into his chest, whining as you feel a gush of wetness drip onto his crotch.

Undoubtedly, Carlos Sainz is now a part of you. Time seems to flicker between seconds and minutes, at some point you’ve shifted your weight, turning around to fix your eyes onto the television screen of his room, eyes wide as you watch your husband continue to battle out on the track. It felt almost sinful; watching Charles battle for his podium whilst his teammate stayed buried inside of you.

His touch goes soft; one hand remains tight around your waist, though your back is warmed by the way you’re pulled back into his skin. Feather-Light kisses dance across your shoulder, he’s never been this soft, cradling you as if the world would be held together by your content. If the universe was to implode, he would be happy with the fact you were pressed into him in that very moment.

The laps of the race begin to dwindle; a promising second-place is looking pretty much secured for Charles. You’re certain that your silver trophy will be sitting proudly in the hotel room later that evening, until Max Verstappen suddenly begins to slow down, commentators beginning to roar as an unexpected engine issue splutters into the RB19.

“Holy shit.” Carlos murmurs, sitting up from his relaxed position, both arms now tightly around your waist as he shifts the balance of your bodies. “What happened to Max?” His voice becomes a murmur, your attention drifts, focused on the cars beginning to pick up their speed against the current world champion.

Goosebumps litter your skin, you immediately pull away from the warmth of Carlos, eyes wide as you see the scarlet red car glide into view. He’s going to overtake Max. Not only that, but your husband is about to win the entire race.

An audible groan comes from both of you when you slip yourself off his length, searching around for the panties which had been discarded oh-so-long ago; the man rests a hand on your shoulder, one hand tracing across your jawline as the other reaches down, gently smoothing the skirt of your long dress.

“We’ll find them later. We need to go and congratulate your husband, after all.” You can’t miss the cockiness in his voice, still content with the fact his cum is buried deep inside your pussy, panties are left in his driver’s room as a sheer prize for being able to make you feel euphoric. A tinted blush decorates your cheeks as he slips into his old jeans and a Ferrari polo shirt, one hand resting on the small of your back as he guides you out of his driver’s room, never once bothering to fix his hair when you had been the one to grab onto it so tightly.

People wouldn’t think that of him, after all.

You love to be loved.

Your eyes are brimming with tears as you reach Parc Fermé, Carlos finally catching up with you, standing right behind you at the barrier, eyes transfixed onto his teammate, standing atop of his livery, cheering towards the endless roars of the crowd, passing a congratulatory message towards his fellow drivers, Lewis patting his back, Lando cheering on his behalf.

He’s already removed his helmet when he sprints towards his team; the losses don’t matter, not when he can celebrate the win he had been craving for so, so long. There are praises passed, pats on the back as he works his way down the winding line of his team, red in their clothes and their cheeks, it means the world to everybody.

And then, Charles is facing you, his wife. He’s so transfixed upon your gaze, the sheer elation you have for his victory that he doesn’t stop to think when he takes two of his hands on either side of your face, cradling your cheeks as he presses his lips to yours, grinning into such a sweet kiss that you can’t help but kiss him back.

“I told you.” He whispers when he pulls away from you, resting a gentle hand on your cheek for just a moment. His eyes finally turned to where his teammate was standing. Both of them have to forge a smile as they reach out to clasp hands, a firm grip in celebration of scoring points for their team.

You don’t see him again, not until he’s left the cool-down room and is bounding towards the podium. Carlos, having not been called to his post-race interview yet, still stood behind you, though one hand had snaked its way around your waist, as if it had to be there. Nobody notices, of course. The team is too focused upon their driver lifting his golden trophy, in awe of the achievement they had built for seemingly the entire season.

Charles doesn’t miss it, of course. Maybe that’s why his gaze is so fixed on you when he releases a splash of champagne, purposely aiming his bottle towards the man behind you, his heart only crushing further when he sees the Spaniard pull your frame behind his own in protection.

And then, it’s all over. Both Carlos and Charles are rushed away to complete their post-race interviews. You’re left alone, simply taking a slow walk towards the Ferrari Hospitality. Even as you pace through the crowds, you can’t help but feel…sick. Dizzy. Out-of-body.

You cared for your husband greatly, and somewhere during it all, you believed his apology was genuine, that he truly wanted to fix the previous mistakes of the year. But how long would his tether last until his mistress came trailing back, regardless of a court ruling?

And Carlos. The sweet man who had proved to you time and time again, you were worth more than a simple name on a piece of paper. He’d been your soul, you truly were set to drop an entire marriage to live in his arms until his blonde counterpart came along, a knife to the chest after one of the most intimate nights you could fathom.

Your breathing gets faster, the world begins to turn on an axis. From somewhere, you hear a voice asking if you’re okay, if you need help getting back to the hospitality. And then, the world goes black, your body slumps to the floor of the paddock, with only one sentence drifting through your unconscious mind.

Who do you love?

This is everyone who asked to be tagged! @Mac-daddy-210 @aundercover @barnestatic @omgsuperstarg @chimchimjiminie16 @caelum-the-part-time-nihilist @magicalcowboyarbiter @gaslasysblog @junetto @beatrizmel-472 @motorsp0rt @crowdthena @screemqueen @lewislvr @styles-sunflower @itspaddockprincess @adeptustemptations @amalialeclerc @meetmyblondemuffins @formulanando @lorarri @christianpulisic10 @gaypoetsblog @thisbitxhs-blog @goldsainz @ru-kru @magical-spit @hrlzy @nooshytushie @gaslysainz @marvel-at-stucky @sugarvibez @adeptustemptations @roseseraj @leclercdream @pjofics @hecatesfavoritechild @poseforme @thisbitxhs-blog @adalynneva @meganlikes2purr @sabrinaselina55 @laneyspaulding19 @heavenlyiecreature @pink-teddy-bear @nooshytushie @strawberries-and-racing @milasexutoire @ohthemisssery @florkt @obsessedwiththeideaofyou @ru-kru @myhomeworksnotdone @ineedafictionalman @bregarc @allywthsr @summerslike11 @wildcupcake @willowpains @marlenamallowan @leclercloml @katzenwahnsinn @be-your-coffee-pot

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infoactionratio7 · 9 months

Text

call it fate, call it carmen - c. berzatto

summary: after carmy runs into a pretty stranger in a coffee shop that morning, he never thinks he will see her again... until she walks into his restaurant.

pairing: carmen berzatto x fem! teacher! reader

word count: 2,506

note: kinda set during season one when the bear is still the beef. no warnings really, some cursing, that's it! :)

read part two here! and part 3 here!

sunday morning -

The bells of the little cafe on West Erie St chimed as you glanced up from your book, you were waiting for your name to be called by the friendly barista who had just taken your order. You were new in town, and wanted to explore all the different things Chicago had to offer. A man walked into the shop, inhaling the sweet scent of freshly brewed coffee as he went up to the counter and read an order from his phone,

"Can I get a small iced dirty chai latte and a triple shot iced espresso to go? Please, thank you " His voice was soft, as he ran his hand through his messy curls.

He glanced over to where you were standing, bundled up in a winter coat, scarf, and hat (Chicago winters got cold fast). He gave you a once over, taking note of your book, 'Chicago: A Food Biography'. You seemed to be completely enthralled in the page you were reading, captivated by every word. He was not one to ever go up to a stranger, but he felt that he had to take a chance. The barista gave him his receipt and a small smile, telling him to wait over near the pickup counter.

"You ever been to Chicago before?" You look up, wide eyed, not expecting the man to be speaking to you.

"Oh," you exclaim, flustered. "Once or twice with my family when I was a kid, but not that I can really remember."

He smiles and glances at your book, you realize this was the reason he is asking you. It was a very touristy book to be reading. Especially because the cafe you were currently standing in, was highlighted in the book. You had made a list of all the places you wanted to visit that day before you had to arrive at the elementary school down the street to start your new job. "I love trying all the foods that are in the cities I visit, it's like an obligatory tradition when I move in to find places near my new apartment." You spit put your words, not even thinking that you are telling a random stranger in Chicago that you live near this cafe and just moved in. Blushing and looking down at your feet, you hear your name called from behind the counter, rushing to grab your drink and chocolate croissant before the conversation could get uncomfortable. You put the pastry in your bag and quickly wave at him.

"Have a good day, hope you find some nice restaurants" He waves back as you open the door and walk into the blistering wind that had taken over the streets that cold winter morning.

You arrived at your apartment building, it was not the nicest apartment you had ever stayed in but it was not the worst either. You walked up the stairs to your door and unlocked it with the hand that was not holding the coffee you just purchased. Rushing into the apartment, you put all of your things on the kitchen table and just took a breath of the cozy air of the room. As you stood there and took off your winter layers, you could not help but think of the man who had approached you in the cafe, realizing how attractive he was, his tattooed hands running through his hair, and biceps anyone could see just from glancing at his bundled up figure. You took a sip from your coffee, thinking how could he get two iced drinks in the middle of winter was beyond you.

You went into your room to grab some of your papers from the desk you had just built from Ikea the night before. You had to do some lesson plans before you did anything else, you had not even started any for that week. It was sunday and all you could think of was when you were in high school, and using your sundays to finish all the work you had neglected to do the week before.

Deciding to just get your work done you opened the package with the croissant, and took a bite. Tasting the buttery and chocolatey pastry seemed to bring a jolt to your brain and body, motivating you to get started.

Carmen could not stop thinking about you, he had wished he had formally introduced himself and told her that he was in fact, the owner of a restaurant that was a block away and it would be great if she wanted to visit and try something to commemorate her moving into the city. But no he just waved and let her go, watching her leave into the bitter cold.

"Jeff, you need to focus, you almost cut your finger off," Tina pulled him out of his thoughts with her concerned tone. "What's going on Carmen, you gotta be more careful than that, take a break if you need one."

"Fuck, sorry Chef, sorry" He put the knife down and put the carrots he had finished cutting into the giardiniera container for service later that night.

"You seem more distracted than usual, I can finish the cutting, just go to the office to cool off." Tina glanced over at him as he nodded, cleaning off his knife and putting it away. Right as he walked away, Richie walked into the kitchen.

"Cousi- Where is he going Tina?" He looked from Carmy to his empty station next to Tina, still chopping vegetables.

"He's distracted or something, just let him be Richie, don't bother the poor kid," She turned around to go into the walk-in, grabbing more fresh veggies to prepare for service later. Richie, as he does, ignores Tina completely, beelining to the office, where Carmy is running his hand down his face and pacing around like a madman.

"Cousin, what's your deal? You look like you're goin' fuckin crazy" He grilled, leaning on the door. Carmy shot him a glare, sitting down in the swivel chair that squeaked every time he actually tried to swivel in it.

" There isn't a fucking problem Richie, leave me alone." Carmy pushed himself into the desk so he could look at some paperwork he had been putting off for the past week. "I gotta finish this paperwork."

Richie raised his eyebrows, looking down at the younger man, he wasn't going to push Carmy any further, because the whole kitchen knew what would happen if the chef got mad before a service.

"Fine cousin, just don't take that shit out on the rest of the kitchen." He walked out of the office dorway as the rest of the kitchen crew started to file in to prepare for dinner service.

Carmy blankly stared at his paperwork, thinking about the interaction at the cafe this morning he just couldn't stop thinking about.

sunday night -

You walked down the stairs to your apartment complex, having finished your lesson plans just in time for dinner. Before you left, you had read of a few classic dinner joints in the neighborhood, one of them was called 'The Beef', known for their italian beef sandwiches and spaghetti with meatballs. After looking at some reviews online, you decided that it was necessary to visit this local staple. The reviews talking about how some days it was as calm as anything in the restaurant, but others the employees were screaming at eachother while getting the orders out.

You approached the building, right next to a big parking lot where many people were just standing around with sandwiches. Someone pushed the door open, smells and noise leaked out of the warm dining room. You could hear the screams from in the kitchen,

"We are down five italian beef, sweet and hot dipped, two ravioli, and one spaghetti meatball, Lets go Chefs" A tall man yelled into the kitchen.

The swinging door to the kitchen opened and a woman with a blue apron and white chef's coat replied "We are only down all those things because YOU never fired them Richie, why the fuck are you not firing the orders?"

"Calm down Chefs, just fire the orders, we can catch up if you both shut up and work, okay?" A voice you had heard before cut between the two arguing, they both got quite and looked at the man who had just exited the kitchen with five sandwiches in his hands. They nodded and went back to their respective tasks, "Okay, thank you chefs. I have 5 italian beef, sweet and hot dipped for Chelsea."

You were looking at all options on the menu and had not noticed the man calling out the order was someone you had met before. Carmy scanned the room, trying to find the woman who had ordered the five sandwiches he was about to drop. His eyes stopped on a familiar figure, the same he had been distracted thinking about all day. He didn't even notice when a woman came up asking for her order, scrambling to put the sandwiches in a to go bag and giving it to the woman.

"Excuse me, you're next sweetheart, What'll you have?" A rough voice pulled you out of your focus on the menu as you stepped up to the register. You looked up at the tall man who was smiling down at you like he had never seen a woman before, when he was pushed aside and a familiar face entered your field if vision.

"Cousin what the fuc-"

A woman's threatening voice came out of the kitchen "Richie I swear to god if you don't shut up, I'm going to stab you again."

He stalked into the kitchen, mumbling something about how unappreciated he was in this restaurant. You brought your focus back to the man standing in front of you, beet red as he watched the taller man walk into the kitchen. He turned back to face you and awkwardly smiled,

"Nice to see you again, what'll you be having today?"

You scanned the menu one more time and decided to have a little fun with the man, "Can you surprise me?, I heard that this restaurant is pretty big with the locals."

He looked at you with a pointed look, "Okay," he softly said your name, "What do you want?" After a long pause he wrote down the order, then looked back up at you with his foggy blue eyes. You were flattered he had remembered your name, did he really care that much about a stranger he had spoken to for less than two minutes earlier that morning? You didn't even know his name, but his warm gaze softened you like butter.

"It's on the house okay, I promise it'll be the best meal you've had in the city since you moved here. Be ready in 10 minutes" You were quick to reply,

"No, I can't let you do that, how muc-" He cut you off,

"This one time, I'll cover it, and if you like it, next time I'll let you pay, deal?" He held out his tattooed hand for you to shake,

"Fine..." You smiled, slipping your hand into his rough palm, he shook your hand firmly, then letting it go, gestured for you to wait at one of the tables near the door. You smiled and walked over to the table sitting down. He walked into the kitchen and you could hear his faint yells through the wall, telling the kitchen your order.

"God damn Cousin, you just took my job for no reason what's your problem?" The tall man, who you remembered was named Richie stalked back out of the kitchen to get to the line that had formed. You realized you hadn't even asked the name of the man who had just offered you a free dinner. Richie stopped in his tracks when he saw you, realizing that this might have been the reason his boss had been distracted all day. Thinking about the pretty girl that he had met, and clearly liked her enough to give her a free dinner. He laughed to himself, taking a mental note to make fun of Carmy after service for getting distracted because of a girl.

The blue eyed chef burst out of the kitchen door with a to go bag, and made his way to the table you were sitting, waiting for the food. He placed the bag in front of you as you looked up to meet his eyes,

"So what are you serving me chef?" You tease, "Well that it a surprise you will just have to wait to find out" He grins as you stand up to meet his height.

"Well thank you..."

"Carmen, Carmen Berzatto"

"Thank you Carmen, I'm sure I will enjoy this, and if I don't, I'm afraid I'll have to come back and try something new." Placing your hand on his shoulder and squeezing lightly as you started walking toward the door. "I'll see you Carmen"

You turn around and start walking out of the door when you hear a yell from Richie, "Cousin has got a little sweetheart don't you"

"RICHIE I swear to God-" The door closed behind you before you could hear what the woman who just barged out of the kitchen had to say to the pompous cashier.

You silently laughed as you walked through the street, it was around the time for sunset and the sky had turned a beautiful blend of orange and purple. You reached your apartment in around ten minutes, getting out of the cold and eager to see what Carmen had packed you for dinner.

Putting the bag of food onto your coffee table, you grabbed a plate from the kitchen and started to unpack the meal. The first thing you pulled out was an italian beef, 'sweet + dipped' written on the side, then you pulled out a small side of fries, and lastly there was a plastic container of spaghetti and meatballs, with a piece of chocolate cake. You unpacked everything in front of you and the scent of the food engulfed you. It was a heavenly smell, so you dug in.

When you finished all you could possibly eat you noticed something at the bottom of the bag. A small piece of lined paper, that looked like it was ripped out of a notebook, it said your name on one side in messy handwriting and on the other it had a phone number and more of the messy chicken scratch,

hope you like dinner, would love to show you around the city sometime. call me x

carmy

You immediately opened your phone, putting his number into your contacts, then opening your message app to send him a text.

to: carmen

loved dinner, too bad i won't have to come back and get something else. i guess you'll have to show me around to see if any spots can top this one. let me know when you're free ♡

#the bear #carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x you #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you #the bear fx #x reader #female reader #x you #the bear hulu #jeremy allen white #jeremy allen white x reader #the bear season 1 #the bear season 2

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silv3rswirls · 3 months

Text

taking care of their drunk girlfriend

Anon asks: Seventeen when they have to take care of their drunk gf? Maybe they're sick, or need a ride home, lost something? However you want to write it!

Note: Thank you for requesting, I hope you enjoy :)

Warnings: Drinking/being drunk, throwing up in Vernon's, some light mentions of creepy men in Hoshi's

♡Seungcheol♡

Normally you wouldn’t go out much without Seungcheol, especially when you planned on drinking and having a carefree time, but your coworkers insisted. Everything was fine initially, until they all ditched you and you were left alone at the table. Your tipsy fun ending, and leaving you sitting there with a new bout of nerves sitting in your stomach as you looked around. So you text your boyfriend, complaining how they left suddenly, how you felt uncomfortable on your own and would be heading home soon.

Cheol on the other hand feels his face heat up in anger when he gets your messages. He can practically feel your sadness through the texts. He picks you up instead of letting you catch a car home. He fully plans to give your coworkers an earful if he sees them. For the rest of the night, he sighs in frustration and comments about how rude or angry he feels about it, how could they leave you like that? He stays in the rest of the night with you, cuddling and talking until you start to drift off to sleep.

♡Jeonghan♡

You went out for a friend's birthday, leaving Jeonghan with a warning that you wanted to really party with her tonight. He gave you the go-ahead, so long as you checked in now and again with him and kept your location on so he didn’t have to worry. So there he was, comfy in bed watching his show, enjoying an evening alone when he got about a dozen texts from an unknown number; you had lost your phone, your keys, you wanted to come home, etc., etc. etc. He’s out of bed to get you in an instant, but he’s complaining the whole time. How could you be so careless? What do you mean you can’t find your purse? Was no one in their right mind over there?

He’s bothering everyone around you for your lost items, looking everywhere he can think of. While you're clinging to him, feeling emotional over the whole ordeal as he drags you about the club. You’re very lucky that he found your items being held behind the bar. He takes you home and puts you to bed, still (lovingly) teasing you over your drunken mishaps, you won’t be forgetting this anytime soon.

♡Joshua♡

Oh no, you’re not feeling well? Joshua’s taking you home the instant you complain about a stomach ache and the drinks just not agreeing with you. You had gone out with him and some of the other members for dinner and then some drinks afterward, but it seemed your body just didn’t want to partake that night. He grabs your coats and makes sure you’re bundled up for the cold outside and then you go straight back to your place. You get comfy, he makes you drink some water and just take it easy- he doesn’t care if you think he’s overreacting, he’s in sweetest boyfriend in the world mode and doesn’t plan on stopping.

♡Jun♡

He got home after you, shockingly enough. You had gone out to celebrate a big promotion at work, while he had been stuck late at the company. He felt bad not going out with you but had promised you to celebrate tomorrow. He even picked up a little cake for you on his way back, leaving it on the counter with some flowers. And when he went into the bedroom to greet and suffocate you in a big hug- you had already passed out. The sweetest boyfriend in the world mode activated instantly. When you refuse to get up he starts making you comfy. He takes your shoes off, tries his best to wipe your makeup away, and brushes your hair. He moves you under the covers, tucks you in and leaves a bottle of water and some medicine at your bedside table. He snuggles next to you, ready to celebrate a slow morning with you.

♡Hoshi♡

You were hiding in the bathroom. The stall locked and your eyes glued to your phone as you tried to focus on texting Hoshi, trying to ignore how the room felt like it was spinning. You had gone out with friends- you hardly ever went out, let alone drink much, but they had pestered and pushed for you to let loose for once. Of course, the night you finally decide to go out, they’re creeps crawling all over the place, and your friends have all wandered off. It was becoming too much, you didn’t want to go back out there, let alone wait outside for a car home. With nothing else to do, you texted your boyfriend pleading for advice on how to handle the man outside waiting for you.

Hoshi tells you to stay put and comes to the club, pushing through the crowd of people and bee-lining for the bathroom. He knocks repeatedly, telling you to come out so he could take you home. And when the creep from earlier tries to stop you, grab at your arm and say something about you coming to dance with him- Hoshi argues with him instantly. He holds your hand on the car ride back to his apartment, he makes you lie down and rest until your tipsiness starts to calm down. He clings to you all night and morning, promises to never let you go out alone and be harassed like that, apologies, and is extra sweet on you.

♡Wonwoo♡

Lost? What do you mean you’re lost?? Wonwoo keeps texting you, but all he gets are messy, misspelled messages about how you’re lost, your friend left you, you want to go home, etc. Luckily, you still had your location on so he ventures out to find you. He hadn’t expected your big night out to end like this, lost? He can’t wrap his mind around the situation; especially when your location is down the street from the club where you met your friends. He’s pretty worried though, but hopes you found safety in the cafe it seemed your phone was at.

And there you are, sitting in the cafe and frowning as you wait for him; drunk and feeling far too silly to get up on your own. He smiles and lets you cling to him as he guides you and home. He’s laughing and shaking his head the whole time you stumble and babble on about nothing in particular. He makes you drink some water and settle into bed, and he sits up well after you fall asleep to watch over you.

♡Jihoon♡

If he didn’t love you so much, he would tell you off the moment you mentioned walking home alone that night. You went out with coworkers and called it a night when you started feeling tipsy. You tried getting a car home but failed. You missed the bus and the next wasn’t scheduled any time soon. So you walked home, it wasn’t that far. The next morning you off-handedly mention it to Jihoon, who nearly drops the plate in his hand. He repeated what you said with a question, nose scrunching a bit as he took it in. He’s mad and spends all morning telling you how dangerous it was, how you should’ve called him and he would’ve left the studio to get you or got you some kind of safe way home.

♡Dokyeom♡

The two of you went out together to celebrate a friend's birthday. He decided not to drink, not really in the mood for it while you were happy to drink alongside the birthday girl all night. He takes care of you the whole time. He doesn’t let you wonder, holds your drinks, and watches your drink when you leave for the restroom. He even sneaks in glasses of water whenever he can. He takes you home with him, makes sure to help you get your coat and shoes off, and lets you flop onto the sofa with a happy sigh.

You both had a pretty fun night, or so he thought until he noticed tears shining in your eyes. You throw yourself onto him, crying and rambling about how much of a good boyfriend he was, how much you loved him, and how he always took such good care of you. He’s about to start crying alongside you. Hushing your tears, and carrying you off to bed. You fall asleep cuddled together.

♡Mingyu♡

You went out with an old group of friends you haven't seen since graduating. You hadn’t been keen on the idea but decided to give it a chance. Unfortunately, old drama was brought up and you were caught in the middle. Nonstop arguing and jabbing at one another, the drinks weren’t helping so you decided to leave and let them hash the rest out on their own. Mingyu hadn’t expected you home for another few hours. But when you come home early, tipsy, and red with anger? He’s at your side in an instant. When you start to recite all the drama between your friends that happened? He’s listening intently, taking mental notes, and gasping at every twist in the story. He’s agreeing with you 100%, he’s so entertained hearing your drunken rants, and sides with you completely.

♡Minghao♡

Minghao had advised you not to drink too much when you mentioned going out with your sibling for their birthday. You kept his warning in mind the moment you began to feel the room spin a little too fast and a nagging pain in the back of your head started to pound. You called it an early night and caught a cab to his place. He was a bit surprised to see you, as you had planned on staying with them for the night. But he can’t turn you down. You’re complaining about your head, how you’re not feeling well and just want to be around him. The sweetest boyfriend in the world mode activated. He gets you water and some medicine, offers to make you some tea, and maybe even tries to get you to eat something small. He lets you cuddle and lay on him all evening, rubs your back, and massages your head to try and help. If you’re still not feeling well the next morning, the sweet treatment continues.

♡Seungkwan♡

Honestly, he’s not above scolding you in your drunk state over how unsafe it was for you to drink so much tonight. He’s not truly mad at you, he just wants to make sure you’re taking good care of yourself and being safe. He doesn’t care if it's going in one ear and out the other, but the moment he notices your eyes well up with tears he’s lowering his tone and asking what’s wrong. He feels bad, holding your hand and apologizing if he sounded too harsh. He lets you cry all you want on his shoulder, cuddling into the crook of his neck and drunkenly ranting about any little thing that stuck in your mind.

He decides to put you to bed, urging you not to worry anymore and just to rest now that you’re emotionally drained, drunk, and getting sleepier every minute. He will properly pester you about your recklessness tomorrow, and for now, he’ll let you cling to his arm and drift off to sleep- eagerly of course.

♡Vernon♡

He’s trying his best, really he is, but his words offer little comfort in the moment. You’re drunk, hunched over in the bathroom throwing up everything that was in your stomach after a rowdy night out. He’s just standing in the doorway asking if you’re good at first. Eventually, when everything begins to calm down he’s kneeling beside you, rubbing your back and asking if you’re okay again. While you brush your teeth and rinse your face he gets some water and waits for you to crawl into bed and curl up next to him. He rubs your back and tells you it’s okay, he’s not upset with you for getting sick or drinking too much. He tries to stay up with you until you can fall asleep, and if he passes out before you he makes you promise to try and wake him up if you need him.

♡Dino♡

You both went out drinking to celebrate a friend’s promotion. Laughing and enjoying the cheery atmosphere until it was time to head back to his apartment. You flop in the living room, both silent as you soak up the alcohol and comfy vibes; until you mention that you’re hungry. He sits up instantly because no way- he’s starving and takeout sounds amazing right now. He orders nearly the whole menu for you, not even caring what he ends up getting for himself as long as you’re happy with what he gets. You stay up late, trying and failing to finish your feast before going to bed. Giggling between bites and poking fun at each other.

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musicforastylesrestaurant · 2 months

Note

You do realise your gonna have to do an uncle Harry fic now x

Uncle Harry.

masterlist || ask me anything <3

my blurb masterlist is here !!

authors note - gemmas a mum, i feel so emotional for a some reason 🥹🥹

word count - 1.1k

in which, after the birth of her baby, you and harry decided to stop by the hospital to see her, where tears fall and memories are created.

“Can you please tell us what room Gemma Styles is in, please?”

In the early hours of the morning Harry’s phone rang, it was his sisters boyfriend announcing that Gemma had gone into labour and that the baby would be here any hours now.

The two of you were unable to sleep for the rest of the evening, harry was bouncing his foot on the floor in anticipation as he patiently waited for his phone to ring once more.

And when it did, you had never seen him cry so much, not even the day he proposed to you.

Harry gives you a reassuring smile before turning to the nurse behind the counter, waiting for her answer.

The nurse looks up from her computer screen and studies the two of you for a moment before asking, "And what's your relationship to her?"

Harry's grip on your hand tightens as he responds, "She's m’sister, and this is m’fiancée."

The nurse sighs softly and taps away at the keyboard in front of her before answering, "She's on the maternity ward, room 9. When you get to the ward, you'll need to press the intercoms and wait to be let in."

“Thank you.” You nod, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves as you follow Harry down the hallway towards the maternity ward. The anticipation of meeting your future niece or nephew fills you with a sense of joy unlike any other.

As you and Harry make your way down the hallway towards the maternity ward, you feel his hand slightly sweaty in yours, a telltale sign of his nervousness. You give his hand a gentle squeeze, offering him a reassuring smile as you approach the entrance.

Standing in front of the door to the ward, Harry takes a deep breath, his eyes flickering with a mix of excitement and apprehension.

"I hope she's doing alright," he murmurs, his voice tinged with worry.

You nod in understanding, your own heart racing with anticipation.

"She'll be absolutely fine," you assure him, giving his hand another squeeze before reaching out to press the intercom button. “She’s a Styles after all.”

A moment later, a voice crackles through the speaker, "Can I help you?"

You glance at Harry, sharing a soft smile before leaning towards the intercom.

"Yes, we're here to see Gemma Styles," you say, your voice calm and steady despite the butterflies in your stomach.

The nurse on the intercom asks a few more questions and shortly after, the door to the ward clicks open. You and Harry exchange a glance before stepping inside, the sterile smell of the hospital filling your senses as you make your way down the corridor towards room 9.

As you reach the door, Harry hesitates for a moment, his hand tightening around yours.

"M’nervous," he admits quietly, his eyes darting towards the closed door.

You reach up, cupping his cheeks in your hands and meeting his gaze with reassurance.

"It's okay to be nervous, Harry," you say softly, your voice filled with warmth and understanding. "After all, your sister just had a baby."

Harry nods, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he leans into your touch.

"Thank you," he murmurs, his eyes reflecting his gratitude as he squeezes your hand.

With a deep breath, you knock on the door, hearing a soft murmur of an ‘come in’ before you softly push open the door to room 9, stepping inside with Harry by your side.

The sight that greets you warms your heart - Gemma resting in the hospital bed, a tiny bundle nestled in her arms, her face glowing with love and exhaustion.

You stand back, giving Harry space as he approaches Gemma's bedside. Anne smiles warmly at him, her eyes filled with pride as she watches her son greet his sister and the newest member of their family.

Michal stands by Gemma's side, a look of pure adoration on his face as he gazes at the tiny bundle in her arms.

"Hey Gem, how are you feeling?" Harry asks softly, his voice filled with concern as he takes in her tired but radiant appearance.

Gemma looks up at him, her eyes shining with emotion.

"I've never felt anything like it, H," she whispers, her voice filled with wonder. "She's perfect."

Harry's gaze shifts to the baby girl nestled on Gemma's chest, a soft smile spreading across his face.

"She's absolutely adorable," he says, his voice filled with awe. "I'm so proud of you, Gem."

Gemma looks up at Harry with a gentle smile, her eyes filled with affection.

"Would you like to hold her, H?" she asks, her voice soft but eager.

Harry's face lights up with excitement, nodding his head enthusiastically.

"Yes, absolutely," he replies, his voice filled with anticipation.

Gemma carefully passes the newborn to Michael, who holds her securely as he steps aside to give Harry room.

Harry takes a seat in a nearby chair, his hands trembling slightly with nerves and excitement.

As Michael slowly and carefully passes the newborn into Harry's awaiting arms,

Harry's heart swells with love and awe. He cradles her gently, his eyes fixed on her tiny face as he marvels at her delicate features.

"She's so tiny," Harry murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper as he gazes down at the precious bundle in his arms. "And so perfect."

Gemma watches with tears of joy in her eyes as Harry holds her daughter for the first time, her heart overflowing with love for her brother and her newborn baby. She reaches out, squeezing Harry's hand in silent gratitude for this special moment they are sharing together.

As Harry holds his newborn niece in his arms, silent tears stream down his cheeks, his emotions overwhelming him in the most beautiful way. He takes a deep breath, trying to compose himself before speaking.

"You are so precious," Harry whispers, his voice choked with emotion. "And I promise you, I will always love and protect you. You'll never have to doubt that."

Gemma and Anne exchange tearful smiles as they listen to Harry's heartfelt words, knowing that he means every single one of them.

"You're going to have the best uncle ever," Harry continues, his voice filled with determination. "I'll always be here for you, through every laugh and every tear. You can count on me."

He looks up at you, noticing that you also have tears in your eyes upon witnessing the sight in front of you, Harry’s a natural with children.

You smile at him softly, watching as love shines his eyes.

The baby stirs in Harry's arms, as if sensing the love and sincerity in his words. Harry smiles through his tears, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.

"I love you so much, little one," he whispers, his voice trembling with emotion. "Welcome to the world."

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adventuringblind · 9 months

Note

charles having a baby fever

Father Material

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Genre: fluff but also kinda smutty

Request: I saw this and my brain immediately went down the gutter. I appreciate you for this request 🙏 also my requests are open so send me things

Summary: Charles gets a case of baby fever and you're willing to indulge him ;)

Warnings: sexual themes ahead, not the whole thing but it's definitely in there. Talks of pregnancy.

Notes: I would be lying if I said I'm not a hoe for this man. Written in third person.

Masterlist

The following media is not intended for anyone below the age of 18. If your are under that, please do not interact with this post.

Charles had managed to take notice of every child in the paddock that day.

He'd recently been noticing small things. Things like baby clothes, small children, family interactions.

He'd watched Sergio and Kevin with their kids. Seb had brought his family around. It was starting to get to him.

He'd be lying if he said he didn't want kids. Starting a family was always a dream of his. Something him and his wife talked about often. They just hadn't really tried for a baby.

He knew she was at their house. Waiting for him to come home with groceries. It felt peaceful compared to the life they lived during race season.

As he walked, he could pick out every family. Kids bundled up in their winter clothes. Adults holding them upright so they don't slip and fall.

He could hardly take it. He's never walked home so fast in his life.

She was in the kitchen when he appeared behind her in the doorway. She was prepping to make dinner.

Charles looked disheveled, out of breath. She was concerned and yet simultaneously turned on by his appearance.

"Are you alright?" She asked. Charles quickly came back to his senses. Dropped the bass on the floor and wrapped her in a hug.

"We should have a baby." He was looking directly into her eyes. His face completely straight.

She was taken off guard for a moment. Then, realizing the proposal, she started excitedly shaking her head.

Charles was waiting no time. Vigorously kissing her lips. Heavy but passionate.

She was giggling at him. "What are you laughing at?" He asked as he swiftly picked her up and set her on the counter.

"Nothing, I just find you adorable."

He was mumbling French into her collarbone and Italian into her chest. Letting his hands roam her body freely.

"You are so beautiful. Soon, you will become a goddess. Pregnant with our child." He cradled her face in his hands.

"Charles I swear if you don't stop teasing-" She couldn't get any farther as Charles practically ripped her clothes off. Now left in only her underwear.

He ran his fingers lightly across her now bare skin. Memorizing the feeling. Paying attention to the way she reacted to his touch.

His shirt and jeans were next. His lips only breaking away from her for a second. Her fingers begin tracing every line on his body. The way his chest was rising and falling in rapid succession.

“Mon Amour, shall we start here, then maybe move to the couch, then into the bedroom.” He’s voice is dripping with need. He is going to take her on every piece of furniture even if it takes all night.

Her brain was already turned off. The act of thinking to much with the feeling of his fingers worshiping her. She practically fell into him, humming her approval.

Charles lifted her for a second, her only remaining garment now tossed aside.

Then he took her on the counter, then again on the chair, the dining room table and the couch. Finally they made it to the bed where Charles made love to her softly. Her body trembling with every ministration.

Charles is the ‘king of aftercare’ as she likes to call him. Something he occasionally gloated about. Much to Pierre's dismay.

He grabbed a wet rag and a cup of water. Using the rag to clean off the bodily fluids that covered both of them.

She curled her body into Charles. Her head rested on his chest.

"I think you'll make a great dad." She mumbles. Charles laughs at the notion.

"Why do you think that Mon chère?"

"You just seem like father material, ya know."

"Guess I should learn some dad joke then." The two were both laughing now.

Basking in eachothers presence. Fantasizing about what life will be like with a growing family.

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auggieblogs · 6 months

Text

"As snug as a bug in a rug" | LN4

Lando Norris x Reader Author's note: Hiii, everyone. I hope you all are having a good weekend!!! I am currently sick and very needy, hence, the sick fic. Also, I saw an Instagram reel where the boyfriend made a lunchbox for his girlfriend. Needless to say, I wanted to gouge my eyes (it was so fucking adorable). Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this one. Happy reading!❤️

―୨୧⋆ ˚masterlist

You woke up to the sound of your alarm blaring, a feeling of dread washing over you as you realized you'd overslept for your important math lecture. Your head was throbbing, your throat was sore, and the cold seemed to have settled in your bones. You knew you were in no condition to face a full day of classes, let alone an important lecture.

Frantically, you gathered your books, your nose still a little stuffy, and your eyes slightly teary from the cold. But as you were about to dash out of your room, a sweet aroma caught your attention. Following your nose, you walked into the kitchen to find Lando hard at work.

Lando was standing by the counter, wearing an apron that read "Kiss the Chef," his brows furrowed in concentration as he prepared your lunch. His culinary skills might not be top-notch, but he was determined to make a good lunchbox for you.

He glanced over at you, his face lighting up with a loving smile. "Hey there, sleepyhead," he said, his voice filled with warmth. "I thought I'd make you something to eat since you're not feeling well."

He presented you with a carefully prepared lunchbox. Inside, you found a delightful veggie chicken sandwich, your favourite double chocolate muffin, a peeled orange, freshly cut strawberries, your preferred crisps, and a bottle of apple juice. Lando had thought of everything you liked.

He even managed to draw a little, albeit a bit messy, a doodle of you two holding hands on the note he wrote, "I love you" written underneath.

You rushed into his arms, giving him a tight hug and planting a small, grateful peck on his cheek, being careful not to pass on your cold.

"Thank you, Lando," you whispered, your voice barely more than a whisper.

Lando gently brushed a strand of hair from your face and smiled softly. "You're welcome, love. Now, let's make sure you're feeling better." He handed you some medication and carefully spoon-fed you the cough syrup, making sure you didn't spill a drop.

Afterwards, he helped you into a warm jacket, tucking you in with care. "As snug as a bug in a rug," he said with a wink.

With your lunch packed, your cold medicine taken, and Lando by your side, you felt much better already. He took your hand and led you out the door, making sure you were bundled up warmly before driving you to university. During the car ride, he kept his hand on your thigh, occasionally squeezing it to reassure you.

Once you arrived on campus, Lando walked you to your math lecture, giving you another quick but sweet kiss before parting. "Take it easy and get well soon," he whispered.

You smiled, "I will, thanks to you. I love you, Lan."

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inuyashaluver · 4 months

Note

i love your lessi fics so much<3 could you do a j flex x non footballer reader where they are both really shy and r goes to a chelsea match and sees jessie after the match but the other tease them and they both get flustered or smthn? thank you!!!

a couple of shy guys - jessie fleming

jessie fleming x reader

description: in which being your girlfriend’s wag still makes her extremely shy

warnings: swearing, suggestive

a/n: hiya, lovely! thanks so much for the love request, enjoy!! ❤️

⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆

you and your girlfriend, jessie are both incredibly shy people. it wasn’t uncommon for both of you support pink cheeks around each other when the other merely glances your way. it took a long time for either of you to make a move.

—

in 2020, you were studying in a cafe. you were currently a medical student studying to be a doctor while working at a small pub. the icy chill in england prompting you to bundle up and stay in the warm cafe as you tiredly read over your notes.

this cafe was your second home, it was extremely close to your house, as well as your uni, comforting and convenient all at the same time.

“to go please” the cafe was mainly filled with locals, so you couldn’t help but lift your head when you heard the unfamiliar canadian accent filling the atmosphere.

she was gorgeous, dressed in a training kit as she waited near the counter for her drink, scrolling mindlessly on her phone. ironically, your name was called, you hesitate but walk over to the counter.

“excuse me” you say softly, moving past the brunette quickly to retrieve your warm drink. she lifts her head from her phone and moves over, looking at one of the most beautiful girls in front of her.

“oh, uh, y-you’re all good” jessie breathes out, internally cursing herself for stuttering. you look up at her and make eye contact, nearly dropping your drink in the process but smiling at her shyly nonetheless, taking in her pink cheeks and chelsea jacket adorning her body. “thanks” you smile, when you turn away from her, you scrunch up your face, why were you so awkward?

jessie glances at you longingly before she walks out, desperately wanting to go up to you but shutting herself down, she needs to go to training, she can’t afford to miss her first day. you watch as she leaves, shaking your head at yourself for not having the guts to even talk to her.

—

a few days go by and you’re returning to your flat from uni, struggling to hold all your textbooks in your arms as your bag was too full. your hands were fumbling with your keys when you hear footsteps approaching making you nervous and prompting you to speed up, you just couldn’t find the right key.

it was when you dropped one of the books from the top of the pile that you lost all your patience.

“oh for fucks sake” you groan, leaning down to pick up the book before dropping all of them in the process. you huff out in frustration, about to pick them up before two hands beat you to it.

you stare at the hands carefully collecting your books before looking up to see the girl from the cafe. you look at her absolutely starstruck.

“hi, (y/n)” she says nervously, holding the pile of books in her arms, you swallow the lump in your throat when she remembers your name from the cafe. “hello” you breathe out, fiddling with your keys for a second just looking at each other.

“you live here?” jessie questions, nodding her head to the door you were standing in front of. “oh, yeah! sorry” you laugh nervously, hands shakily unlocking the door before turning around to her with a bashful expression.

she smiles at you, her cheeks pink, she gently hands you the stack of books and you look at her appreciatively.

“thank you so much..” you pause, she smiles, “jessie” filling in the blank, you nod repeating her name in your head, “jessie, thank you, really” you say relieved, she smiles sympathetically, “rough day?” she guessed, you looked exhausted and you were. one of your final exams for your third year at uni was fast approaching and it was taking a huge toll on your body.

“yeah, you could say that” you say with a little laugh, “i’ll let you go” she says reluctantly, moving to unlock her door which was coincidentally across from yours. you smile and give her a little wave, closing your door and immediately thumping your head on the back of it. it was a perfect opportunity to ask for her number and you didn’t do it. little did you know, jessie was doing the same thing in the back of her door.

—

it was a saturday, you were working your regular shift at the local pub. you were pouring a beer for one of your regulars until you heard a loud chatter of female voices coming in. you look up from the tap to see none other than jessie with a couple of other girls behind her.

your eyes widen and the beer overflows, “fuck, sorry, george, i’ll pour you a new one” you say apologetically, quickly grabbing another glass and getting rid of the old one. “don’t stress, love” you were alone, as it was a usually a quiet pub but not anymore.

you give him the new one and he thanks you, moving to another table while you wipe down the bar.

that’s when a familiar brunette makes her way, laughing loudly with a taller girl. “excuse me?” jessie asks politely, eyes widening in shock when you turn around. she looks down at your work uniform, a tight pair of black shorts with a black shirt making her heart pound out of her chest.

the taller looks at her with a knowing smirk, nudging the girl forward when she ogles over you.

“hi, (y/n)? you work here?” she asked a little too excitedly, you nod shyly, “hey, jessie, can i get you girls anything?” you ask sweetly, jessie swears she melted into a puddle right there.

“i’m niamh” the taller girl points out, sticking her hand out for a handshake which you gladly take, “niamh, nice to meet you” you laugh, “nice to meet you too” she smiles, giving another shove to jessie when she looks at you bewildered.

“can i just have a beer, please?” niamh smirks, you nod and grab a glass to pour her one. “jess?” you question, her breath hitches at the nickname she’s heard thousands of times but never from your pretty voice. “oh! um, i’ll just get a beer too” she rushes out, “please” she adds, her cheeks crimson when you giggle.

you get them both their drinks and smile, telling them it was on the house despite the refusal from the two girls, you sent them on their way to the rest of their friends.

after a short time of you and jessie stealing glances at each other, you anxiously walk up to their table to clear the glasses, hearing little “thank you”’s as you clear each person’s glass. when you approach jessie, you smile shyly, pointing to her glass.

“can i get that for you?” she nods and smiles back at you, your eyes suddenly fall to a medal hanging on her neck that you didn’t see at the bar.

you mindlessly pick it up off her chest and look over it. you hear jessie stop breathing and you look up to see how close you were in proximity. “sorry!” you blurted, taking a little step back. jessie just shakes her head and looks at you, both of you have the pinkest cheeks, it was painfully obvious you had something there.

you suddenly feel a hand on your shoulder, looking up to see niamh smiling at you sweetly. “we just won a championship, we’re here to celebrate” niamh informed, quickly glancing at jessie, “this one over here got us the winning goal” you look at jessie impressed, trying not to laugh at the glare she sent to niamh.

“well, congratulations!” you emphasised, “you didn’t tell me you were a footballer?” you tease, jessie coughs, “it’s not a big deal” she shrugs, completely embarrassed for some reason. you shake your head, “of course it’s a big deal” you assure, taking her glass and throwing her another smile,

“you should come and watch us!” niamh teases, throwing you a wink that you laugh at. “maybe i will” you shrug before walking back to the bar. you didn’t miss the harsh slap jessie gave niamh as you walked away, chuckling to yourself in the process.

the bar was emptying, and you were close to closing. niamh waves at you before walking out with some other girls, leaving jessie alone at the table. she looks nervous but she walks up to you anyway. “did you want to walk home together?” she offers with a shy smile, you look at her surprised, “sure!” you say a little too excitedly, causing you to cringe when she giggles at you.

you close up and walk alongside jessie, sharing shy giggles and small talk to the short walks to both of your places. when you walk on the busy streets with cars zooming past, jessie subconsciously places a hand on your waist to move you to the inside of the sidewalk. your cheeks were burning and you tried to avoid eye contact as much as possible.

when you both got inside, you wave, sharing quick bye’s before heading inside. you both touch your warm cheeks behind closed doors, smiling at the thought of all the interactions you had with each other that night.

—

you and jessie continuously ran into each other almost everyday, both of you questioning whether it was truly coincidental or not.

it took another shift at the pub for jessie to finally ask you out, the newfound confidence coming from niamh teasing the girl that she would ask you out if jessie didn’t.

“hi” she says shakily as she approaches you, you smile lazily at the girl, absolutely exhausted but seeing her perks you up. “hello” you smile, “another one?” you question, she shakes her head and swallows. “no, uh, i wanted to ask you something” she says nervously, you smile and cross your arms on the bar, leaning forward to be closer to her.

she visibly tenses but shakes it off at seeing your encouraging smile.

“would you maybe want to go on a date with me sometime?” she fiddles with the rings on her fingers as she rests her hands on the bar, yours were close to hers. at seeing her fidgeting, you don’t know what happened but your hand moved on its own, moving to rest over the top of hers. “i’d love to jessie” you give her hand a reassuring squeeze, her face fills with relief, a big smile making way to her features.

“great!” she smiles, you smile shyly at her, “could i get your number to text you?” you ask, hand still tingling on top of hers. “yeah sure!” she expressed, fishing her phone out of her pocket and handing it over to hers, you take your hand off hers to get your own out, handing it over to her.

you exchange numbers and she grins happily at you, “i’ll wait for you?” jessie offered, you shake your head at her, she wanted to walk you home and you’re not sure if your heart could take it at the moment.

“no, no, you don’t have to” you promised but she didn’t care, “i want to,” she reassured, you smile sheepishly, moving to grab her hand again and giving it a thankful squeeze, you watch as the blood rushes to her cheeks when you part, awkwardly waving at you before walking away.

you watch as she walks away, niamh throws you a smirk, mouthing, “you’re welcome” as she sends you a big thumbs up, you nod and throw her one back, shaking your head amusingly as you clean up.

—

you and jessie met up for your date, going extremely well and turning into 4 dates until she finally asked you to be her girlfriend. the first time you came to jessie’s game, she had a heart attack seeing you in the bleachers in her jersey. running over and giving you a shy hug and a kiss to your cheek.

—

in present times, you and jessie moved into a whole new place with each other, dating for over 2.5 years. you’re both incredibly in love with each other, anything but shy in the privacy in your home. it was until you were in public that you and jessie returned to being a couple of shy guys. something you’re teased about relentlessly.

you’ve completed your 5 years of university and are now completing your foundational program. jessie was so proud of you, bragging about how her gorgeous girlfriend was a doctor. not saying that you didn’t have your fair share of bragging, frequently gushing over your extremely talented, footballer girlfriend to anyone who would listen.

—

one day, jessie was set to play a match for chelsea, you had time off work and uni, deciding to surprise your girlfriend at her match. you smile when she dozes on your chest, stirring when you card a hand through her hair to wake her up. “happy game day” you say softly, making the girl smile tiredly and bury her face into your chest, giving you a little kiss on your sternum as she nuzzles into you.

“wish you were coming” she mumbles into your shirt, lifting her face up and puckering her lips. you giggle and pull her down to you, kissing her lips tenderly as she squeezes your hips gently, her thumbs dipping under your shirt to graze your skin.

you hum into her mouth, making her smirk against your lips, she pulls away with a peck, peppering kisses on your cheeks before kissing you longingly one more time on the lips.

you smile as you watch her get changed into her kit, winking as she catches you shamelessly checking her out. “bye, baby” she whispers against your lips as she kisses you goodbye and goes to the grounds. as soon as she pulls out of the driveway, you rush off to get ready yourself.

putting on her jersey always has you pink in the cheeks, proud to be representing the name of the girl you loved so much.

once you were ready, you head over to the grounds and sit down, you were early but you didn’t mind, rocking up in the friends and family section with an excited smile.

when the girls come out for warm ups, jessie out of instinct looks at the section you were in, hoping you’d be there and being shocked when you were. her face lights up, waving at you excitedly when you wave at her shyly. you blow her a quick kiss and she smiles brightly, immediately getting teased for her pink cheeks.

“you’ve already got her and you’re still the same” niamh coos and laughs, getting a little shove from jessie before they warm up.

—

the game concludes, chelsea winning and jessie getting a goal. you smile as she bounds over to you, holding your arms out for a hug. she wraps you in her arms tightly, you let out a little yelp of surprise when she lifts you over the barrier, still hugging her tightly, your legs now around her waist.

“baby!” you say proudly, pulling back and cupping her face in between your hands, “my superstar” you kiss her cheek, “my goal scorer” another kiss, “my girl” you conclude, giving her a longer kiss on her cheek. her cheek grows warm at your contact, hands gripping you tightly.

“i’m so happy you’re here,” she says earnestly, placing you on the ground and tugging you into another tight hug.

she kisses you sweetly and briefly, immediately hearing the cheers and wolf whistling from her teammates around her. she rolls her eyes, tucking her head into the crook of your neck, her lips grazing your skin.

“you’re so cute” you coo, scratching the back of her neck gently and holding her close. she groans in embarrassment, walking you backwards towards the change rooms, her face still tucked away.

she sits you in her cubby, kissing your lips sweetly before running off to the shower, rushing to get you home.

“hello, doctor (y/n)” niamh teases, both of you small talking until your girlfriend comes back to you puffed out. “i’m ready, let’s go” she breathes out, you both bid goodbye to everyone and make your way to her car.

she opens your door for you and you kiss her quickly to show your appreciation. as soon as she gets in, her hand seeks refuge on her regular spot on your thigh, squeezing it gently when you hold it in your hands.

“thank you for coming today, baby” she says appreciatively, grabbing one of your hands and pulling it up to her mouth to place a kiss on the back of it. “of course, babe, gotta be a faithful wag” you say cheekily, making her laugh and look at you lovingly.

you both cuddled when you got home, she showed you her appreciation for you coming to the match and you were both extremely blissful.

⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆

liked by niamhcharles17 and 44,232 others

_jessflem: when she’s a doctor, absolutely gorgeous and is unbelievably a bonus as my girlfriend ❤️

view all comments

yourname: my pretty baby, absolute superstar

↳ _jessflem: my pretty wag

↳ yourname: better achievement than my degree honestly

niamhcharles17: you’re so welcome guys!!

↳ yourname: niamhy for the win

↳ niamhcharles17: never forget i’m here when your little girlfriend is gone

↳ _jessflem: watch it.

#woso #woso community #woso fanfics #woso one shot #woso x reader #woso imagine #jessie fleming x reader #jessie fleming

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sixosix · 4 months

Text

YOU MUST LIKE ME FOR ME | LYNEY

notes wc 3.5k, for readers keeping up with the updates as they come, it’s been a while since the last update! so for the sake of understanding this chapter, please reread the previous one !!

previous chapter | masterlist | next chapter

You were starting to regret ever opening your mouth and letting Aether blackmail you into helping him. Maybe if you had insisted on cooking dinner and Rosalie took over the counter, none of this would’ve happened. But what’s happened has happened—and you have a feeling that you would’ve ended up here regardless because fate hated you.

Lyney emerges from the shadows, sliding into the spotlight as if he was born for it. Meant to be there in the middle of the stage with all eyes on him and nowhere else. He has his arms spread wide open, fully welcoming the elated whispers of the audience.

“Welcome, one and all, to Lyney and Lynette’s magic show!”

His voice echoes throughout the opera house, nearly drowned out by the roaring cheers that follow after. Lyney then grins, bowing with half of his body.

The way he moves across the stage—it’s hard to imagine it’s the same guy who stumbled over his steps to make you notice him. It seems like the roles have reversed. Now, the audience is watching each move with bated breath, on the edge of their seats, watching him.

“Please, let me also welcome my sister and my assistant, Lynette!”

Lynette steps onto the stage, her tail flicking at the noises. You swear you heard a kid whisper wildly to his mother that it was a part-cat human, maman! Why is Mr. Lyney not also one if they are siblings, maman?

Lyney may not have the ears and tail, but you remember the way his eyes followed you around like a cat tracking its prey, seconds away from pouncing. He resembled a cat more than Lynette at times.

“Hello,” Lynette says to the crowd and leaves it at that. The crowd loves it anyway.

Lyney grins. Something about it feels so different. He was cute as a kid, but now, with all teeth and sparkling eyes, he’s like a dream far out of reach.

“Are you okay?” Aether whispers. You almost jump out of your seat, breaking from the trance. “If you keep digging your nails in like that, you might rip the dress.”

“Ah.” You haven’t even realized. “Don’t worry about it. First-show jitters or something.”

“You’re not the one performing?”

“Or something.” you insist. Aether laughs under his breath and, thankfully, leaves it.

Back when you were at the House, Lyney could only do simple tricks. Plucking cards from his sleeves or hiding them in between his fingers. He was clumsy with making cards float, revealing doves from his hat, and producing flowers in a snap.

It seems to come from second nature for him this time. He flicks his hand, and a beautiful Lumidouce Bell materializes on his palm. Lyney throws it to the crowd; it lands by your feet.

“Wow, that was so cool!” Paimon gasps as you move to pick it up.

You remember now. This was the only flower Lyney used for his tricks, as they come in bundles when found. Often after dinner, Lyney would perform to practice for the other orphans, and it ended with a mess of these flowers scattered across the ground or left unattended by their beds after presenting it to them.

“Hold on,” Paimon says, “Is he looking at us? Did we miss something?”

Lyney is definitely looking in your direction. He has fallen silent, frowning. You start wishing that he is staring, not because he recognizes you but because you’re drop-dead gorgeous or something.

“Y/N?” Lyney says, his soft voice loud in the pin-drop silent auditorium.

Well.

“Mr. Lyney?” One of his assistants on stage asks. “What’s wrong?”

The crowd starts to murmur; then their fervent whispers grow in volume until everyone is talking loudly. Another accident? Mr. Lyney looks terrified! Aghast! Meanwhile, Lyney stays frozen in his spot; he doesn’t look like he’s breathing. It was the same look he gave you that night. Maybe his face hasn’t changed that much, after all.

“Lyney?” Lynette asks from the side of the stage, her face poking out. Then she follows his gaze, and her eyes widen as well. That’s when you knew—

“Shit,” you mutter, clutching the flower and springing up from your seat. You can’t have this happen while an audience is watching. That would totally ruin the whole point of laying low.

It was definitely not because you’re drop-dead gorgeous, but the fact that he still recognizes you has to mean something, right? Something that you don’t want to think about at the moment. You hurry to the exit, ignoring the dirty looks you get as you brush past.

“Did that girl do something?”

“Where are the gardes?! She must have done something to make Mr. Lyney chase after her’”

Seriously? You cast a glance, and Lyney’s scrambling down the stage, his assistants yelling after him and demanding for an explanation.

“Wait, no!” Lyney exclaims in response to the audience reluctantly getting up from their seats and reaching out to you. “Ah— Not to worry, everyone! I just have personal matters to attend to. Please, just stay—”

Idiot, you want to scream, it’s not so personal if you’re chasing after me in front of all of them!

The Melusine guarding the entrance seems oblivious to the ruckus inside. She blinks up at your haste and asks, “Is the show over?”

You say, “I have an emergency. Uhm—I, uh.”

Her face turns serious. She nods. “I see.”

“What— what are you thinking? it’s—” Your ears pick up on Lyney’s steps, and you wisely decide that it is not the time to save face. You give the Melusine a wave. “Thank you!”

You take a swift, sharp turn once you’ve reached the end of the stairs, stumbling into a dead end, and you don’t get very far.

You wonder if Aether and Paimon chased after you or if they’d pretend not to know you for the sake of the mission. If you die, you hope they would at least still pay you for compensation, and the money would go to Rosalie. Or maybe she would be enraged when she finds out you’re a Fatuus and doesn’t take it. Maybe your story of deceiving Rosalie would make her customers flourish, buying flowers to disguise the intent of asking about the liar residing in her home for years.

“Caught you,” Lyney whispers, his firm grip around your waist. The rushing water is noisy, but his voice is clear to your ears.

Hearing his voice up close is a problem. “Whoever you think I am, you’re mistaken!”

“Then why did you run?”

“You—” You had that look on your face I didn’t want to see again “—I forgot to lock my door. I don’t want my house to be robbed. Which might be occurring at this moment the longer you have me like this.”

Lyney laughs. It sounds like music that has haunted you for years—and with a new one playing, it’ll torment you for years more. He loosens his grip but keeps you caged in, still. You’re twirled around to face him, and something about his expression has you swallowing thickly.

“You’re even more stunning than I remember, ma chérie.”

Your face burns. “Thanks, but I don’t even know who you… ugh, stop looking at me like that…” Lyney’s smile, looking so fond, doesn’t falter in the slightest as if he expects that you would say that word for word.

“You think I’d mistake someone else for you? You’re the only one who runs from me like this,” he murmurs. His gaze feels heavy.

“Mr. Lyney,” you sigh and turn away. You can’t bring yourself to look him in the eye when he says shit like that. “Please. I didn’t show my face around anymore for a reason. A good reason.”

“I don’t trust your judgment to believe that.”

“Don’t talk as if you know me. We’ve been apart longer than we’ve been together.”

“Still, your words are as hurtful as ever,” Lyney says with a sad smile. You stiffen when he cups your cheek and touches you, his gloves rough on your skin. “You’re alive.”

You scowl. “Have you such little faith in me? How many times have I beaten you again?”

Lyney laughs again. Somehow, this is much worse than him killing you on sight.

Lynette appears in your line of sight from behind Lyney, with Aether and Paimon trailing after her. Her steps are slow. Aether has that expression on his face that says, don’t react!

Luckily, Lyney takes your hitch of breath as embarrassment at having witnesses. He tears away but promptly reaches for your wrist as if a leash for a dog. You tug, but nothing happens. For someone who looks so delicate, he has quite the strength.

“Hello, Traveler, Paimon,” he says pleasantly. “Sorry to interrupt your show.”

Aether shakes his head. “I just wondered if something went wrong.”

Does this not look wrong enough for him? You hurl him a blank stare.

Lyney follows Aether’s gaze and glowers. He jerks you to his side and stares at Aether pointedly. Aether looks at you, confused. You don’t know what the fuck is going on either.

“I didn’t know you were familiar with Y/N,” Lyney observes coldly.

“I don’t,” Aether says easily. “I came out here to see if you were okay.”

Still, Lyney doesn’t loosen his grip.

“Y/N,” Lynette says. She interrupts whatever dick-measuring contest is brewing with a small smile on her face. “You’re here.”

“I am,” you wheeze out, still trapped in Lyney’s arms. It’s a little difficult to be anywhere else with your current predicament.

Lynette clears her throat, giving her brother a look. You recognize that one—it’s the one she uses when Lyney is embarrassing her and would give him a stern word about it later. Lyney grumbles and sets you free.

“Traveler, I have something to say to you,” Lyney says, his chin high and his stare cool.

“Alright,” Aether says, brows furrowed. He casts you a glance that Lyney watches carefully. “Come on, Paimon.”

Lynette fixes your sleeves as the boys leave for somewhere more secluded. You follow them until their silhouettes disappear. “How have you been?” she asks.

“I’ve just been in the low, but I’m doing fine,” you say, feeling a little shy. Lynette has grown up as nicely as her brother. Her hair is tied up now; you remember that Lyney used to beg for Lynette to use the hairclips he’s bought, but Lynette insists she doesn’t like them. You offered her a hair tie that day. “It’s been really stressful and all that. Sorry to ruin your show.”

“Don’t worry about that. Or them. You’re here—that’s the most important thing on Lyney’s mind at the moment,” she says, and at the face you’re making, she adds: “And you can’t tell me I’m wrong. You know I’m not.”

“Haha.” You don’t know what to say to that.

Lynette hums. “Are you carrying out missions?”

You start thinking about the danger of confessing to present-fatuis that you are no longer one. As much as you trust them, you don’t trust they hold you to the same level. They have complete faith and loyalty towards The Knave, which you abandoned long ago. The orphans’ trust ran deep, and no one—not even you—could fuck with it.

You nod. “Yes, which is why I’ve been too busy. I’m— you see, I work for Lord Tartaglia now.”

Lynette looks stunned, speechless. Lyney has words to say, though, coming back at the perfect time. You take a peek at Aether, but it seems that he hasn’t followed Lyney back.

Lyney hurries to your side. “Master Childe? Is that why you’re here? We saw him around yesterday… Was it yesterday?” He turns to his sister, who nods.

Just your luck. Of all the Harbingers you thought of, it’s the one currently in Fontaine.

You’re losing confidence, and you hope it doesn’t show on your face. You used to look at the orphans in the House of the Hearth and think that you can beat them easily, without a sweat—right now, it feels as if they’re miles from your reach.

“Is this where Mr. Lyney went?” you hear from afar. “Perhaps they went back to the city!”

Lyney and Lynette’s faces turn exasperated. Lyney drags you further to the corner of the wall, and Lynette has her eyes peeled, scanning the path that leads here.

“Listen, I have to go. I can’t stay here for long.” They report everything to her; you know that well enough. “The— ‘Father’ already knows I’m here, so there’s no need to talk about me.”

Lyney stares at you for a moment too long. “Why?”

You wrack your head for something the twins wouldn’t be able to push. “I’m ashamed to see Father while I’m like this. After our fight, she had to transfer me. My pride and all that, you know?” You put on a timid expression. “Please don’t push.”

It works seamlessly. Lyney’s face falls. “Are you going to run from us again?”

“She might make me leave if she finds out I was talking to you.”

Lyney looks angry. “I’ll make sure she won't.”

“Don’t push,” you remind him softly. You’re a little stunned that he’s going this far. “I thought you hated me.”

“I could never hate you to the point of letting you slip from my grasp again.”

Hmm. That’s a strange way of phrasing it.

Before you can look into it anymore, Lyney takes your hand. “You said to me my loyalty is my worth. Well, by that logic, I’m nothing but valuable to you.”

“…Right,” you murmur, facing away from him and turning to Lynette for help, but she’s looking off to the side as well, still watching out for any gardes, yet her ears are pointed here. “I know that.”

“Y/N?” Lyney’s smiling when he forces your attention on him once more.

“Hm? What?” You need to look for Aether fast. Maybe tell him of the events that transpired and convince him that this was a terrible idea and Aether can arrest Lyney for all you care.

You do care. That’s the whole reason you’re doing this in the first place.

“I’m happy to see you,” he says.

“...I’ll see you around, Miss Lynette and Mr. Lyney.”

It wasn’t difficult to look for Aether and Paimon. You found them easily because you wanted to go there yourself: Hotel Debord.

Paimon’s wolfing down a plate of cake while Aether idly sips on his drink. Aether notices you first, waving you over. You find it strange that as soon as you pad over, Aether gestures to the stairs. You three climb up and find a place at the furthest table in the far corner.

“Lyney performs here sometimes, I heard,” Aether says as you settle in on a seat.

“Let’s hope he doesn’t strike this place with a surprise one while we’re on the most conspicuous seat,” you grumble. Paimon hands you her drink as comfort.

“I’d say that was a success,” Aether says, grinning. “Heartfelt reunion and rekindled feelings— I’ve never seen Lyney like that.”

“Like what?” Remembering Aether’s fixation on insisting on a blossoming relationship between you and the man you can’t even look in the eye, you immediately say, “Never mind. I don’t care. I ruined the plan.”

Aether laughs. “You didn’t, trust me. I learned something valuable today.”

You sip on the teacup. It’s Fonta, and it’s as unbearably sweet as the look in Lyney’s eyes as he talked to you. You’ve had enough of that for today.

“You can never hide it in your face when you care for someone,” Aether continues.

“You have that look on your face,” you say suspiciously. “Don’t tell me you’re also going to blackmail Lyney?”

“What? Of course not. That’s what I blackmailed you for.”

You snort. “And the Outlander reveals his true colors. You seriously still don’t believe me?”

“I still don’t have the information I want to have,” Aether reminds, stealing a piece of Paimon’s cake. She grumbles but doesn’t say anything else. She’s surprisingly compliant when there’s a plate before her. “That’s what you’re also here for, remember?”

“I don’t know, Aether,” you lament, sinking into your seat. “It feels like I made everything harder for me. “Do you still not trust them?”

“I think I blew it, too,” Aether laughs sheepishly. “I don’t think Lyney trusts me anymore.”

Paimon snorts, then quiets down when Aether shoots her a look.

“What did you and Lyney talk about?”

“It was a bit weird,” Aether confesses, then blushes at his drink. “I think Lyney was threatening me. He told me he saw me with someone by an alley.” At your confused look, Aether clarifies, “Doing something scandalous, I mean.”

You never thought Aether was the type, but that’s none of your business.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Aether sighs. “Of course I wasn’t up to anything of that sort. I’m still figuring out what he meant by that.”

“Maybe it’s a metaphor,” you say.

But Lyney doesn’t go lying about things like that. He may have a roundabout way of talking when he’s feeling playful, but ruining someone’s reputation is far too serious for that. And Aether never told you that Lyney was hostile around him—none of this just makes sense.

“All I remember was…” Aether’s gaze cuts down to your waist, and then he falls silent.

You frown. “Aether?”

Aether sighs. “I blew it. It’s up to you now.”

“Do you still see them as a threat?” you ask.

“It’s not that I see them as a threat. It’s just that… if they’re an obstacle I have to overcome between me and my sister, then I will do what it takes.”

Of course, you’re still stuck handling a pair of identical siblings. You could never understand the bond between them, but you have to admit, it’s interesting to see two sides of twins. One still together and one apart.

“Oh, right. Hold on,” Aether mutters, swiping a hand in the air. You watch in fascination as a bag materializes on his lap. He draws out a letter. “Lyney wanted me to give this to you, too.”

You read the contents. Aether asks, “What is it? A love letter? Does it have hearts drawn on it?”

“Stop that,” you say. “It has an address, no hearts.”

Aether gasps. Even Paimon pauses from her feast. “An address,” they chorus.

“It says meet me tomorrow.”

Aether hums. “Maybe this isn’t turning out so bad.”

Lyney’s soft expression flashes in your mind—the flower, the arm around your waist, ma chérie— Seriously, who told him it was alright to go around seducing women like that? You groan, your face falling into your palms. You both blew it. Maybe Paimon has a better chance of retrieving information than either of you.

“You must’ve really liked the Fonta,” Aether says, gesturing to your empty cup. “Want another one?”

You don’t hesitate before saying yes.

The flower Lyney threw you has already wilted by the time you return to the flower shop. It’s past midnight, yet there is still a dim light washing over from outside. You spot Rosalie seated by the chair behind the counter, her posture straightening as the bell chimes.

“You’re back!” She grins, though her eyes look heavy and a little red. She must’ve been sleeping deeply.

“Rosalie,” you greet, a little fond, a little exasperated, “did you wait for me?”

“I told that Outlander boy to bring you home before ten,” she huffs, ambling over to you. She pats your dress and sighs dreamily. “Did you enjoy Mr. Lyney’s show?”

There was no show to begin with. “Yes. I did. It was splendid. Cut a bit too short, though.”

“Were you chosen as a participant?” she asks, hopeful.

“No,” you say, laughing a little. Although Mr. Lyney did chase after me. You wonder what kind of face Rosalie would make if you told her that. She wouldn’t be able to sleep if you did; you’re sparing her quite nicely.

Rosalie smiles. You like her smile; it’s all soft and fond, and she’s always smiling, leaving smile lines on her face. If you got caught earlier and she found out about your true past, would she still smile at you like that? “You should get some sleep. You look tired.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re so cute, mon ange. You look like you’re glowing!” Rosalie squeals, pulling you in for a hug that smothered your face on her neck. “You should go out more often!”

“Glowing?” Rosalie’s hug has your words come out all fucked up. “If anything, I’m drained— maman, your hair is getting on my mouth, please. And I still want to work here, okay? Don’t kick me out so suddenly.”

Rosalie’s frozen, her smile wiped off her face. You look up and blink at her curiously. “Rosalie?” you ask.

She stammers, “Oh—ah, it’s nothing. I just thought— Oh, you’re right. I’m tired, too. Don’t stay out so late next time if you don’t want my face having eyebags!”

As much as you hate to admit it, seeing Lyney and Lynette did feel a bit nice.

notes !!! new chapter yay :D lmk what u think !!

akagi back at it again with giving us bangers like its NOTHING. look at this scene of lyney recognizing reader in the audience!! the details... aughhh + THE EXTRA ART IS SO FUNNY

PLUS PLUS LOOK AT AKAGIS ART OF LITTLE LYNEY AND GROWN UP LYNEY AAAHHH

TAGLIST.

@thenyxsky @aeferkssr @1mewo1 @lacrimae-lotos @meigalaxy @hyacinth-daze @miwafei @popochakku @svasilios @heyhazelnut101 @kruinka @waveto-earth @superstar-ethereal @mxplesyrvp @achilleas-dream @episodecete @jellifizz @auranny @motherscrustytoenailclippings @iawaaaaaaa @rionah @cherryig @kzhwaif @mystiquemare @unknownlololol @sanluvssu @blvdmrcnry @kascar-chronicle @idontevenknow129 @tarathecogsci

#606: THAWED #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x you #genshin impact x you #genshin impact #x reader #lyney x reader #lyney x you #lyney x y/n

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ihavethedreamies · 28 days

Text

Banana | Jeno

Lee Jeno - NCT Dream

Rating: M (18+) MDNI

Word Count: ~1.9k

Pairing: Jeno x AFAB!Reader

Genre: Reader-Insert, Smut, Established Relationship, Porn without Plot

!!This is smut…if that much isn't clear you should probably leave now!! MDNI!

Warnings: She/Her Pronouns used, Swearing, Kissing, Oral (M! Receiving), Deep Throating/Face-Fucking, Daddy Kink (oopsie), Soft Dom! Jeno, Big Dick! Jeno, Sex on the Coffee Table, Sex on the Floor, Unprotected Sex (Don’t!!)

Summary: Bananas are already sexually viewed, let alone when you add some chocolate syrup…

Author's Note: This series was supposed to be of drabbles, but as you can see this is way too long to be considered that.

This is only vaguely based off of Smoothie…I say this because I got the idea for a fruit theme, but past that its unrelated.

🍉 Mark 🍉

🍇 Renjun 🍇

🍒 Haechan 🍒

🍑 Jaemin 🍑

🍓 Chenle 🍓

🍍 Jisung 🍍

I am cross-posting this on Archive. Please reblog! If you know anyone that would like this or future fics but they aren't on here my name and icon are exactly the same on the other site. Happy reading!

You almost never ate a banana. Even if you did, you preferred it cut up with some other fruits and berries. Eating a banana in a…normal way, often led to giggles and dirty thoughts. Mostly because all of your friends were men in their early-twenties but still acted like middle schoolers. So, in the privacy of your own home, you finally allowed yourself to eat the yellow fruit. When Jeno came over to spend the weekend, your boyfriend noticed the bundle on your kitchen counter. They were still a little green on the ends which meant you had gotten them recently. He sniggered a bit immediately, imagining you eating one. He laughed more because he could see your stern glare, aimed at him to warn him not to say anything. It was incredibly unlikely you would eat one like a "normal" person, which was good for him for two reasons. One, he wouldn't have to worry about making fun of your snack choice, and two he wouldn't have to deal with the consequence of your beating him up for said teasing.

"Princess?" He called out to you, you were probably in your room. Normally when he came over you would be waiting in the living room, but you were nowhere in sight.

"I'm in the bathroom!" He heard your reply in the distance, so he went down the hall, the door to said room open. When he peaked around the doorframe, you were sitting on the edge of the tub. There was a shallow pool of water filling the basin, both of your feet resting inside.

"You okay?" He sat next to you, just facing the other way. Jeno touched the water with his finger and cringed at the cold.

"I spilled my coffee…" You huffed sheepishly, your boyfriend cooed at you in pity.

"Oh, princess." He turned more toward you, so he was able to rest the side of his jaw on your shoulder. His soft black hair tickled your cheek as you rested it on the crown of his head.

"I think they soaked long enough. I don't think they're burned." You moved to pull your feet out and he stood so he could help you. Even the soles hurt since the hot liquid had puddled and you stepped in it while trying to recoil. When Jeno saw you wince he sneered at your feet, how dare they hurt you. You let out a soft yelp as his arms easily lifted you like the princess, he treated you as and he carried you to the living room. Gently letting you down on the couch he asked if you wanted a snack.

"I got some bananas, could you get me one and the bottle of chocolate syrup?" You motioned toward the kitchen, and he eagerly left to get it, trying to hide his expression. If he was too obvious about forcing himself not to watch you eat, you would notice, but at the same time, if he did watch, you would also notice. He was in a pickle…which then made him thinking about eating a pickle and his brain was unraveling in his skull. As he looked at the bundle of bananas to find the best looking one, he snickered to himself as he picked the biggest one out and then got the bottle of chocolate sauce out of the fridge. He came back with your requested snack as well as your box of Rice Krispie Treats. You had already put on some drama you had been casually rewatching and he tried to occupy himself with eating his snack. You peeled the yellow fruit about halfway, the peel flopping over your hand. Jeno watched out of the corner of his eye as you popped the lid of the bottle open and drizzled the syrup onto the fruit. He was insanely glad that at least the liquid was the color it was, it would be all over but the crying if it was white. A scene caught your attention, so you just held it in your hand, the chocolate dripping down over the pale yellow and your boyfriend's head started to swim. Were you planning this? Maybe not, because when you finally took a bite, it was aggressive, and it made him cringe. That helped at least. You made it worse again though because you halted your next bite midway through, just having your lips wrapped around it, enamored with the scene. He did not care, nor did he remember what was playing, his eyes too focused on your mouth. The chocolate had mixed some with your saliva and thinned to the point it dripped, missing the peel and landing on your hand. You grunted in realization, pulling the fruit out, light teeth marks left, and licked the chocolate off your hand. You must have felt his gaze because your eyes flicked up to meet his and he chuckled, trying to mask his smoldering gaze with humor.

"You're going to make a mess." He playfully scolded and you were fooled by his ruse. You sneered back in jest and made an annoyed noise as the syrup began to flow down the banana more. Jeno had to bite his tongue not to groan when your tongue left your mouth to lick up the banana, catching the chocolate so it didn't drip any further. You were going to kill him if you kept going. The final straw was when you put nearly half of the rest of the banana in your mouth, trying to eat it faster to prevent more mess. Before you could actually take the bite though, it was yanked from your grasp, landing on the coffee table with a splat. You shouted in despair at the loss, but your boyfriend's tongue soon replaced the banana. Your upset whine turned to a moan, falling back eagerly when Jeno climbed over you, pressing you into the couch. Worked perfectly. You thought to yourself. Jeno's tongue licked over every inch of your mouth, tasting your fruity snack. As he pulled back from the kiss, he sucked on your tongue, then propped himself up to loom over you.

"Floor." He ordered, his tone instantly going hard, making your cunt clench. You scrambled to follow the command, kneeling obediently at his feet as he stood at the end of the coffee table. You watched with great interest as he unbuttoned his jeans and pulled the zipper down, revealing his hard cock to you. You licked your lips, and he huffed as you eagerly opened your mouth wide, tongue out.

"You planned this, didn't you?" Your boyfriend groaned softly as he let the head of his cock rest on your tongue. You hummed in agreement as he slowly entered your mouth, your lips and tongue expertly stroking his cock. When the head met the back of your mouth, he waited to hear you suck in air through your nose, then continued. You sat like a good girl, just letting Jeno fuck your mouth, whining slightly when your nose finally touched the skin of his pelvis. You swallowed, fighting back gags, holding your breath as best you good. Your eyes flicked to his and he smirked, beginning to move his hips. Your purposefully let a great deal of drool pool in your mouth, strands of saliva coating his cock and dripping to the floor. He loved when you were messy. His gaze flicked to the discarded banana on the table and he much preferred seeing his dick in your mouth than the fruit. You took his thrusts like a champ, practice made perfect. You loved when he did that just as much as he did, the power and dominance he had over you through the act made your head swim as well as the lack of air. Jeno could hear your breathing getting ragged, trying desperately to suck in air whenever his cock was far enough out of your throat, but your eyes were watering, face getting red. Luckily, he was close. Your eyes met his again and he waited till you inhaled as much as possible, then buried his cock completely and came down your throat. You swallowed aggressively to get his load down but not gag at the same time. When he finally pulled back and out, your lungs wept in relief as you panted. Your throat was raw, spasming to compensate for the abuse it just took. So, you didn't have to get up, Jeno met you on the floor, helping you kneel differently so you could bend over and rest on the coffee table. Your breaths were still heavy as he pulled your shorts down just enough, the fat head of his still hard cock meeting your soaked cunt. You nearly came when he had, he could tell by the way your core was clenching around nothing.

"Fuck, princess~" Jeno groaned as he sunk inside of you, as hot, tight, and wet as always. He loved watching your little pussy take his big cock as your little body shook under his big one. Your finger nails tried to dig into the glass of the coffee table to no avail. As soon as he bottomed out, you came, he could feel the characteristic squeeze. Your boyfriend started as your orgasm faded, your hips knocking into the lip of the table, and it would have hurt a lot more if it wasn't rounded. The glass under you began to fog at the heat of your body and from your panting breaths. Your eyes lazily fixed on the discarded banana from earlier, a fallen soldier who performed it's job so well.

"Fuck!" You gasped when Jeno's hands pulled you back, even so much as to make you slide back on the floor and off the table. Your hands and cheek softly fell onto the rug, the new angle letting his cock hit you even deeper. Your fingers finally had something to grip as he railed you, sweat beading down his brow, his tongue stuck out of the side of his mouth in concentration. He knew he looked like a rutting dog fucking a bitch in heat, which is what you looked and sounded like too. He loved that you couldn't control yourself when he was balls deep in you. Jeno huffed when he saw your face, cock-drunk and red, eyes glazed over, mouth open.

"You're so good for me, pumpkin." He smirked when your shoulder's twitched, the word triggering your submissive mode.

"s'good daddy~" You whined and he full on laughed, head tilted back, his hard swallow bobbing his adam's apple. You could see most of him from the corner on your eye and you hadn't even realized he had taken his hoodie and shirt off, his delicious body on display. He was a sex deity or something, you were convinced. With the way he looked, the size of his cock and the way he moved his hips, either that or he was a sex-robot that got loose. His thrusts started to stutter, getting shallower but no less hard.

"Want daddy to cum inside, pumpkin?"

"Yessss~" You nearly cried and with three more pumps, your insides flooded with heat, and you fell over the edge too. Even awhile after your orgasms had faded, you both kneeled on the floor. Jeno panted, wondering if he should keep going for your sake, even though he knew he could get hard again. He wasn't even sure you were awake. Chuckling lightly, he looked up to the banana on the table.

"Thanks, little buddy."

🍉 Mark 🍉

🍇 Renjun 🍇

🍒 Haechan 🍒

🍑 Jaemin 🍑

🍓 Chenle 🍓

🍍 Jisung 🍍

Masterlist

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boydepartment · 4 months

Text

“your new hair is nice.” - jay park x reader

a/n: this is a one shot from this ask :3 i was really excited to write it here you goooooo <3

warnings: angst to comfort! nothing too insane!! reader is stressed and snaps. jay is pretty much an angel

WC- 500-700

MASTERLIST

when you got home you saw that the dishes still weren’t done and the blankets on the sofa weren’t folded. you sighed and walked to the kitchen- head in hands. all you asked was for jay to clean up just a little bit.

you had classes plus extra tutoring this day and just wanted a nice clean house to go home to.

your boyfriend clearly did not do that.

you sighed and leaned against the counter looking at the dishes, “fuck…” mumbling you rolled your sleeves up and started cleaning. your hands hurt from writing notes and typing but what needs to be done- needs to be done.

“hey baby welcome home!” jay walked into the kitchen, new hair, he looked good, great even. but you were upset.

“hi.” you said quickly and continued to do the dishes. jay frowned and walked closer to you, “don’t.” you interrupted him.

“i’m upset with you right now.” you put the dish under the now steaming sink water.

jay’s brows furrowed, “why?”

“why? i asked you to do the dishes and they’re still not done? usually you’re not like this so i don’t understand why they aren’t done.” you snapped looking at him now. jay looked at you astonished.

“i texted you saying i had work today and my hair appointment.” jay said, “i literally texted you that when i got home i would do it.”

you put the damp towel on your shoulder, “okay then how come i come home and you’re not doing shit?!”

jay tried not to raise his voice or get mad. he understood that school was stressing you out. he would never blame you for that.

“i just changed into my indoor clothes. i was about to walk into the kitchen to start the chores.” he spoke calmly.

“fine then you fucking do it im going to take a shower.” you snapped again and walked to your guys’ room. you felt tears weld in your eyes, you didn’t mean to snap at him. you didn’t know why you were like this right now.

sighing again you went to the bathroom to shower and you started to full on cry. jay was always a good boyfriend. calm, puts up with you, never hurts you, cooks, cleans, everything. you at some point even thought about marrying him.

the thought made you cry harder, he would never want to marry you after this.

when you got out of the shower you got dressed and went to the hall closet to grab and extra blanket. you could just sleep on the throw pillows.

your shared bedroom door was cracked open and jay was already in bed.

you frowned and went to the couch, it was almost an unspoken thing to punish yourself.

when you got to the couch you bundled yourself up and faced the cushion. your back facing the open end of the couch and you started crying again.

you felt so bad snapping at him. it wasn’t his fault at all, it really was just a misunderstanding.

you sniffled a bit and tried to fall asleep.

you were startled when a soft comforting hand was rubbing your back, you shot up and looked at him.

“jay?”

jay looked at you, your hair sticking out everywhere, eyes puffy and red from crying. jay still thought you looked beautiful.

“baby what’re you doing sleeping out here?” he asked softly, “it’s too cold to sleep on the couch.”

you shook your head no and started crying again, jay caught your tears instantly.

“y/n… it’s okay… stop crying.” your boyfriend wiped your tears away, “i know it’s stressful right now…”

“i didn’t mean to snap at you i’m so sorry.” you blubbered out, “you’re never going to want to marry me after this…”

jay felt himself chuckle, “i still want to baby.”

you shook your head still crying, “i’m sorry.”

jay nodded, “i forgive you baby…” he sleepily smiled and kissed your forehead, “next time i’ll call you and we won’t have any misunderstandings okay?”

you hummed in agreement and looked at him, “your new hair is nice…” you mumbled, you were starting to calm down. your drowsiness staring to take over

jay chuckled and scooped you up, “you can compliment it more in our bed.”

you hugged him close to you as he carried you back to bed.

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azsazz · 4 months

Text

A Snowy Starfall

Daddy!Azriel x Reader

Summary: Anon Req: Batbabies waging their OWN snowball fight imitating their dad & uncles. Some take it too seriously, others don't take it seriously at all, it's pure chaos that ends in cocoa.

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 2,003

Notes: Happy Holidays my loves 💙

_________________________________________

“Come on, you three,” you tut towards your mate and his friends. They’re standing before the large glass windows overlooking your backyard. The sun casts deep oranges and reds across the snow-ridden land, your children shrieking as they play in the snow. A valiant snowball fight is running its course, and Azriel, Cassian, and Rhysand stand, faces pressed to the windows as they watch, quietly cheering their children on. “They’re going to notice you staring.”

“Maybe they already have,” Feyre adds from her spot at your kitchen counter. She’s concentrating intently on decorating a cookie, adding swirls of black icing to the gingerbread woman’s hand, creeping up her extended arm. The cookie’s dress is provocative, bare dough legs showing between slats of laced icing. She hardly glances up as she continues, “They’re probably imitating them as we speak.”

Curious, you peek out the window, too. Indeed, Wren and Baz have built a fortress in the snow to protect themselves from the onslaught of snowballs being thrown their way. Gideon and Nyx have joined forces against the two brothers, the latter packing the fluffy snow into tight, white balls, while Gideon launches their ammo towards your sons.

Your eldest daughter, Zuzu, and Nyx’s younger sister, Asteria, had joined the competition early on. They’d been a formidable team too, but grew bored of their brothers and cousin who were taking the snowball fight a little too seriously. Now, they are in the snow with little Castor, who had cried until she’d been let outside by her protective father, bundled up in so many clothes her wings nearly disappeared into the fabric. The girls are making snow angels, though Castor’s looks very much like a circle on the lawn.

Dark streaks dart behind the wall your sons have built and you frown, watching as Baz’s shadows help roll clumps of snow closer, creating perfectly circular snowballs. From what you’d heard from your husband’s friends, using shadows was against any and all snowball fight rules.

You cut Azriel a glance but he’s conveniently occupied, watching the game outside.

“Well, at least they’re both on the same team,” you comment to your mate, who refuses to let his gaze stray from the little boys. Good, he can watch them while he does the dishes then, since there’s a window above the sink. You pat him on the ass, nodding towards the mess of dishes in the sink. He nods in response, loping quickly over to peer out the window again. “So they’ll either both lose or both win.”

“They’ll both win,” Az responds immediately, a quick but pointed look your way. “They do take after me.”

Cassian scoffs behind you and you turn to see a scowling Nesta shooting him a look as he tries to steal a cookie. Jax giggles in her lap at his uncle's antics, but when Cassian hands him part of the cookie and its head falls off, Jax’s smile wobbles. He’s not outside due to the nature of his powers. As an empath, sensing the competitive nature of his siblings and the sting of a snowball to the face, it had been in his best interest to be inside around the luscious scents of cookies and warmth, instead of out in the bitter snow.

Nesta coos, bouncing him, and Cassian is thankful for the distraction, slipping further down the counter to where the High Lord sits, trying—and failing—to gain his mate's attention. The commander slips an arm around Rhys’ shoulders and glares at the back of Azriel’s head, continuing his complaining. “The only reason you’ve won so many is because of those damn shadows, Az.”

Azriel throws over his shoulder, wincing as Baz takes a snowball to the face, his face going red with fury. “How was I supposed to know they were unaffected by the magic restrictions?” he claims, sending said shadows out into the yard once he sees Baz’s slipping through the snow, headed for the icicles hanging off the railings of the porch. His intercept his sons in a display of authority, spearing them into blackened mist. Baz glances up to the window, locking eyes with his father, who wears a look of warning on his face, brow raised. Azriel watches his son visibly huff and take his anger out on the snow, building a ball and launching it across the playing field in frustration.

His gaze cuts across the yard, narrowing his eyes. Gideon and Nyx are crouched low behind their own pile of snow, looking like they’re scheming. He wants to trail his shadows in their direction, listen in on their conversation, but he’s alerted to Malos’ whines from the other room. If one of his youngest is awake, they either both are, or will be soon.

“Malos is up,” Az tells you softly, shutting off the water to the sink. He wipes his hands on a towel and kisses you gently on the cheek. You’re mixing color into icing for the cookies, getting ready for when it’s too dark out for the children to play. They’ll get all cleaned up and have some hot chocolate to warm their bellies, and you, Feyre, and Nesta have baked cookies for all of the children to decorate. “I’ll get them.”

“I’ll join,” Cassian answers, stealing another cookie off of a platter. He dunks it into your icing to the neck, the cookie dripping with sugary goodness as he lifts it to his mouth, shoving it inside. He ducks under your glare. “Gotta go get my baby.”

Cassian and Nesta’s youngest daughter, Sif, had been put down for a nap with both Knox and Malos. She’s still a little too young to be outside without supervision, and the eldest children of the Inner Circle demanded time outside without their parents, probably because they knew their fathers would try and take over their snowball fight had they been outside. They didn’t want any tips or tricks, not even your children, even with Azriel’s hundred of wins beneath his belt.

Jax climbs from Nesta’s lap over Rhys who lets out a harsh exhale when his knee lands a little too close to his private area, and then over to Feyre, who finally sets her cookie down to scoop your middle son in her arms.

“Pretty,” Jax comments, pointing at her decorative cookie. It looks just like her, and there’s one next to it that looks a little like Rhysand. Purple dots for eyes stare up at him. “Uncle Rhysie?”

“Good job, Jax,” Feyre coos, pressing kisses to his cheeks. They pink with a blush and he settles into her arms, looking utterly at bliss. He revels in the warmth of her emotions, the pride surging through her. It feels like warm bubbles in his chest, and he noses at her collar.

“Look who’s ready to party,” Azriel announces, entering the room, arms full with your two youngest children, Malos and Knox. Knox still looks a little sleepy, head resting against Azriel’s shoulder, cuddling into his warmth. His tiny wings are droopy with sleep, and his twin sister, Malos, is already reaching for the cookies.

Nesta is quick to scoop her away from Azriel. She claims not to have a favorite niece, but Malos and her have an understanding. You see more of Nesta in Malos’ personality than any of the children of the Inner Circle, and you’re extremely happy that they have such a close connection.

“Hi baby,” you greet Knox, who is signing mommy to you. You ease him out of Azriel’s arms, who promptly returns to his position in front of the window, pressing exaggerated kisses to his chubby cheeks. It makes him smile wide, flaring those wings that he hasn’t quite figured out how to control. “Are you ready for some yummy cookies?”

His dark eyes light with excitement. Of course your children are ready for sweets, they always are. They picked that up from Azriel, who has the biggest sweet tooth you’ve ever seen.

Cassian reenters the room with his daughter in his arms and Rhys pouts. Almost everyone in the room is preoccupied with a child in their arms, except for him. Maybe he can convince Feyre to have one more. The youngest children in the family are two now and he misses having a tiny babe around.

By the heated look in her eyes, his mate seems to be considering the same, sneaking past those shadowy walls in his mind to catch a glimpse of his thoughts. The High Lord smirks. He sends her over some imagery to go with his thoughts, and her cheeks go red. That hot look turns into one of warning, and she’s speaking out loud now, “Why don’t you call the children inside so they can get warmed up and decorate some cookies?”

“Of course, darling,” Rhys sweeps from his seat in a wisp of darkness.

Breaking a cookie in half, you give part of it to Knox, who signs thank you, munching on the sweet. The other half is passed to Malos as you head towards where your mate is finishing up the dishes, leaning against him for a moment, reveling in all of your family happily together.

“I love you,” Azriel murmurs into your hair, leaning over to sneak a bite of Knox’s cookie. Your son stares up at his father with wide eyes, and like this, he looks just like Az. It makes your heart warm, and Jax squeals in happiness in response, your happiness radiating to him. It makes your grin wider, peeking over your shoulder to see him so content in his aunt's arms.

“I love you too, Az,” you whisper back to him, resting your forehead against his.

It’s a nice moment, until the children from outside are wrangled through the door by Rhys. The boys are arguing about who has won their snowball fight, while the girls are peeling away their winter gear, excited to decorate cookies with icing and sprinkles and the edible petals Elain had given you before her trip to the Summer Court with Lucien.

“Now, now, boys,” Rhys starts, but the diplomatic tone he’s using does nothing to deter the cousins from arguing. “I’m sure we can come to a consensus without yelling and acquiescing.”

“But Baz used his shadows,” Nyx complains, wringing his gloves between his hands in frustration. “We all saw it.”

“Nyxie, don’t be mean to Baz,” Wren counters, brows furrowed. He doesn’t like it when his family argues, especially over trivial things. His heart is so kind. “You can win the snowball fight if you want, but Baz and I are gonna win the cookie decorating contest, right Bazzy?”

“No,” Baz says flatly, dropping his gear onto the floor. You give him a look but he almost seems un-bothered by it, done with the debate his cousins are currently having. “We won the snowball fight and we’re going to win the cookie decorating contest.”

You share a look with your mate, watching the scene unfold. Baz is quite the Stubborn Suriel, no matter what it comes to.

“Dad,” Nyx groans, “Can’t you do something?”

Cassian is the one who comes to the rescue, Castor reaching up at him for her sister. He helps the little one down and the older one with her undressing, peeling her thermals off layer by layer. “It’s not about who won, right boys? It’s about spending time and having fun with the ones you love.”

Feyre, Nesta, and yourself awe at his words, but Azriel and Rhysand are rolling their eyes and muttering under their breath at Cassian’s cheesy words.

“What a kiss ass.”

“Smug fucker.”

“Azriel,” you hiss, turning your body away from him, like that will hide Knox from his vulgar words. “Language.”

He winces, “Sorry love.”

It’s your turn to roll your eyes now, bouncing Knox in your arms a little as you turn fully from your mate. You poke Knox’s belly playfully before addressing the rest of the room. “How about those cookies, then? They won’t decorate themselves!”

#daddy!az #daddy!azriel #acotar #azsazz #acomaf #acowar #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel fluff #azriel/reader

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bonnibuckets · 1 year

Text

— unwind | leon kennedy

pairings: Leon x gn! reader

warnings: sad fluff, domestic married life

synopsis: coming home late to your loving leon

wc: 380 (short drabble)

note: i love domestic life and also inspired by @tojigasm ‘s jake post

── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──

You sighed as you dropped your bag at the door and put your keys in the dish where they go right next to the door on the counter. You looked at the clock on the wall reading 11:30 PM.

Leon was asleep by now and you wanted nothing more than to be in his arms. You tiredly made it into your shared room and saw his sleeping figure illuminated by the moonlight. Your heart swelled and you got undressed quietly before slipping into bed.

He stirred and turned over and you hushed him telling him to go back to sleep. He mumbled something before opening his eyes and seeing you. He pulled you into his warm chest and you instantly relaxed, inhaling his scent.

You kissed the crook of his neck and he kissed your head, your eyes started to water and you buried your face into his chest. “What’s wrong?” Leon’s voice was groggy, you felt a wave of emotions come over you as you sobbed into him.

He immediately held you tighter and stroked your hair, “I’m here honey” he said softly as you tried to regain your breath and stop crying.

You pulled away and looked into his eyes, “I need you, I need you to tell me everything’s going to be okay” your voice cracked. “Oh my sweet girl” he whispered as he cupped your cheek. “Of course, everything’s going to be okay” he smiled “Ya wanna know why? Because you’re here and so am I, we’re here together and we’re going to be okay sweetheart” You immediately kissed his lips as your salty tears rolled down your face.

Leon pulled away “I love you, more than life itself,” he said before rolling on his back and pulling you to his side to rest your head on his chest. “I love you too” you smiled as Leon wiped away your tears before kissing your forehead.

You rested your hand and head on his broad chest listening to his heartbeat— giving you comfort, letting you know this was real. You both listened to the ambience of the cold night as you stayed warm bundled up with each other as Leon played with your hair as you both slowly drifted into sleep— forgetting all of your problems.

taglist 🏷️ @ghostkennedy @adaelines @konigbabe @rat-typewriter @meowsiee @dilucstruelover @antidesire @d34ng3l

#leon kennedy #fluff #leon kennedy x y/n #older leon kennedy #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy fluff #leon x reader #resident evil leon #leon kennedy imagine #leon #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy fanfic #domestic life #infinite darkness

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saekkas · 1 year

Text

𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐒? 𝐆𝐎 𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐘!

summary: in which you get sick and it's their job to take care of you.

includes: isagi, rin, kunigami, sae, reo, karasu, aiku, kaiser, bachira, nagi.

note: hi hellow i'm finally back from my week of tests! cheers to posting regularly (fingers crossed) <3

❥ HELICOPTER BOYFRIEND ALERT! he refuses to leave your side for anything. is hell-bent on smothering you in blankets and medicine! will also cook delicious homemade meals to help you get better.

which is what you've walked into this not-so-fine morning.

there are bundles of blankets on your shoulders, all in different colors, courtesy of your very sweet and very protective boyfriend. you're waddling from the bedroom, shoulders slumped under their weight and feet clad in hello panda socks, trying to reach the kitchen before he scolds you for leaving the bed.

he did that the last time you went to get a glass of water from the kitchen too.

the living room is a homey space that's been filled with pillows and a freshly scented humidifier that's been on 24/7 since you've caught the flu. peeking in, you see no signs of your boyfriend. shrugging to yourself at the lack of presence in the room, you continue your trek into the kitchen, stopping short when a familiar voice catches your ear.

leaning against the door that connects the kitchen to the living room, you listen with furrowed eyebrows as your boyfriend calmly speaks on his phone.

his voice is nothing short of sweet and respectful. you watch as he hums to himself, seemingly writing something on a piece of paper, before nodding to whoever's on the other side of the phone.

"yeah, i've bought that already." he hums as he continues scribbling with his pencil, "i've bought that too. is there anything else?"

"mushroom, salt, pepper, corn, chicken meat, eggs. is there anything else?"

the exchange lasts a few minutes at most, but you can't fight off the smile growing on your lips at the sight.

"no, mum. she doesn't have a fever. she has a cough and her nose is red from sniffling and blowing into a tissue all day but she's fine," he hums to his mother on the phone.

your eyes widen in surprise as you've finally realized who he's calling. your heart beats faster in your chest and a small giggle makes its way from your lips as you continue to listen in on their conversation.

"she's eating well. she should be better if-"

his eyes snap towards you at the sound of your giggle before he sends you a look of exasperation which has you giggling even more. he motions for you to come to his side with his fingers and when you do, he presses a quick kiss to your forehead.

"-sorry, mum. i caught a peeping tom," he says into the phone before quirking an eyebrow at you, a frown on his lips. "as i was saying, she'd be better already if she'd actually stay in bed and sleep like i told her to."

he says the last part with a gentle poke to your side and he smiles at the laugh it brings.

"yeah, she's right here."

you watch as he wraps a hand around your waist, pulling you into his arms. he looks at the guilty smile you send him, and chuckles with a shake of his head.

"mum wants to talk to you," he says after listening to his mother talk. he leans in to press another kiss onto your forehead before pressing speaker. "you can talk now, mum."

the smile on your face only grows when his mother wishes you a quick recovery, and to listen to her son's words. you say goodbye to her when he ends the call.

"your mum's so sweet," you say as he pockets his phone. giving him a smile, you lean forward to wrap your hands behind his neck. "what did you call her for?"

he focuses his attention back to you, placing the sheet of paper on the counter. "i needed a family recipe," he says as a hand stays around your waist, the other checking your temperature. "mum has a special soup for coughs and the flu."

"i can't believe you called your mum for me," you say with a teasing smile as you lay your head on his chest. "that's so sweet of you."

"now that you know," he quirks an eyebrow at you, looking at the multiple blankets around your shoulders. "what are you doing here? i told you to stay in bed. to sleep."

"i'm sorry," you say with a guilty smile, pressing a kiss on his cheek to smooth the frown on his lips. "i got thirsty."

it's silent for a few seconds before it's broken by the sound of your squeal moments later. he places one hand behind your feet and the other on your back, intent on carrying you back to the bedroom.

"hey!" you protest as you squirm in his arms. "i didn't even get to drink yet!"

he looks down at you with a frown, proving a point by handing you a two-litter water bottle for you to hold.

you watch with a pout as he makes his way back to the bedroom, softly placing you in the middle of the bed before standing back up with an expectant look on his face.

"anything else?" he asks with a quirked eyebrow and amusement clear on his features. "or will you finally go to sleep?"

"can i help you cook?" you ask with a hopeful grin.

he sends you a look, shaking his head with a chuckle before leaning down to rewrap the blankets around your body. "sleep," he mumbles as he presses a kiss to your forehead. "i'll be back with the soup, then we can do something fun."

he leans against the door, awaiting your answer with an expectant look on his face that you can't say no to.

"good girl," he nods in content at your answer, happy that you're finally listening to him. he sends you a sweet smile, his eyes softening as you continue to stare at him. "sweet dreams, precious."

it's hours later when you wake, head on his lap with his hand in your hair. and it's only then that he hand-feeds you his mother's special soup along with sweet kisses to make sure you have a speedy recovery.

isagi, rin, kunigami, seo, SAE (believe when i tell you that i would sacrifice anything for this to happen to me. because i would).

❥ TEASES YOU FOR CATCHING GERMS when in reality, he's dying on the inside from worrying over your state. is the type to not really know what to do, constantly in a state of panic. will call all over to ask for advice which results in him getting 91829272 brands of chicken soup and medicine from the convenient store.

the day has been nothing but brutal on you. a killer headache, scratchy throat, and a fever? this nightmare seems to be never-ending. to top it all off, your boyfriend's been teasing you all day long for catching a virus. you've had enough of him as you both stand under the same umbrella, waiting for the bus to arrive as it's raining cats and dogs.

"seriously," he says with cocky tone and a nudge to your shoulder. "if you don't start taking care of yourself, you'll be walking like a grandma by the time you're 25."

"gee, thanks." you roll your eyes at his teasing remarks, sniffling as the cold sends a shiver down your spine. "you sure know how to treat a sick person," your tone is dripping with sarcasm.

"no problem, babe," he chuckles as the bus comes to a stop in front of you. his grip on your wrist is warm and comforting, and he only moves to take your hand in his. "c'mon. this is our bus."

you let him lead you inside, swaying on your feet as your skull throbs from the headache. sniffling, you come to a stop behind him, staring at the elderly couple as they get off from their seats. you sit beside him, leaning your head on his shoulder as the bus starts to move.

"you can go home first," he says in a low tone, being considerate of your state. "i've got something i need to do first then i'll drop by."

your eyebrows furrow in confusion at his words. as far as you know, there isn't practice after school, and he's been intent on coming over to your apartment to study.

"okay," you shake away any other thoughts and nod limply against his shoulder. "i'll wait for you to come back before studying."

"how considerate of you," he chuckles as he pats your head, smoothing his thumb across your forehead to help soothe your discomfort.

the ride home isn't long. the bus is quiet; not many passengers are on, and their chatter is muted. you start to make your way into dreamland, his shoulder the perfect pillow and his warmth the coziest blanket.

"hey," he whispers as he nudges you awake. "you're almost at your stop. you need to get up, baby."

"right," you grumble as your eyes start to open, shaking off the sleepiness as a yawn tumbles out of your lips. "c'mon, we should wait by the door."

he sends you an apologetic look, shaking his head. "i'm not getting out just yet, babe. my stop's the next one." he still has your hand in his, thumb still rubbing gentle circles on the skin. "i'll wait with you by the door though."

still in the haze of sleep, you nod as you rub a hand across your eye. you wait until he stands before following him, your hands still intertwined. he leaves a kiss on the crown of your head, along with his umbrella, waving as you get off.

trudging against the rain, umbrella in hand, you walk the short path back to your apartment. pressing the code and sniffling as you do, you whisper a small i'm home into the empty space.

you've only finished preparing two cups of hot chocolate and a plethora of snacks when the doorbell rings, his image flashing on the monitor. opening the door, you're about to sniffle a small hey but all that comes out is a gasp.

"why the hell are you wet?!" you gasp at your boyfriend's appearance, sopping wet from top to bottom with his hair plastered onto his forehead.

"i gave you the umbrella, remember?" he chuckles with a teasing wink. "don't tell me your memory is starting to become like a grandma's too. besides, it isn't so bad."

frowning at his words, you're quick to run into the bathroom, taking along 2 towels with you. "i didn't think it was the only umbrella we had. you should've brought it with you." pausing for a second, you tilt your head with a question, "where did you go anyway?"

"and let you walk home in the rain?" he scoffs, ducking behind the door to pick up three paper bags. "not a chance, babe."

you eye the bags, recognizing the symbol from your local supermarket's. moving to the side, you try to take one of them but he's quick to dodge your advances.

"i- uh- i went to the supermarket." he nods down towards the bags, taking the towels from you to dry his hair. "went to buy you some medicine and soup. to kill the germs and all that."

he stops his movements at one point as he runs a hand on the back of his neck. "didn't know which one to get. everyone i called recommended different things so i bought all of 'em."

raising your eyebrows at the sweetness of his gesture, you chuckle before pushing him into the bathroom. "go shower. i made some hot chocolate before you got here, so we can have that after."

"with marshmallows and chocolate syrup?" he asks with wide eyes, smirking when you nod your head yes. "that's my girl."

you both didn't do any studying that night. intent on feeding each other soup and taking turns sipping the hot chocolate, you end up in his arms. "don't every get sick ever again, you hear me?" he threatens with a sleepy yawn as he presses you deeper into his chest, nuzzling into your hair. "i was about to die, thinking you were dying."

you roll your eyes at his dramatics.

karasu, aiku.

❥ A KISS A DAY KEEPS THE DOCTOR AWAY is what he says when you tell him that you're sick. is the type of boyfriend to become whinier and touchier, laying in bed all day asking you to cuddle him as if he's the who one who's sick and not the other way around.

"c'mon," he whines, tugging at your sweater as you head towards the soccer field. today's practice is a simple one; a match against the rival team to gauge each players' readiness for the real match. you're only here because he insisted you come watch. "we do this before every match. you can't deny me, my good luck charm."

"no." you groan for the umpteenth time that day, insistent on refusing him because of your cold. "i told you. i can't kiss you today. besides, your talent and hard work are enough to get you through this play. even without my kisses."

"i won't get sick," he scoffs with a roll of his eyes, ignoring your last statement. "one kiss won't get me sick."

"well, i don't care if it's one kiss or a hundred. i'm not kissing you because you have a big game next week, and i will not jeopardize your play by accidentally passing on the flu to you."

"fine," he huffs with an annoyed pout on his lips. one you are dying to kiss off, after you get better. "i'm blaming you if we lose this play."

you sigh as he grumpily stalks off to the field, leaving you to sit on the bleachers all on your lonesome.

"see, i told you. you don't need my kisses to win." after three rounds and a win, you finally get to say it to his face. with a smug smile on your face, you watch as your boyfriend packs his things, ready to go home after a day on the field.

"whatever," he grumbles, still pouty, and visibly upset. he swings his bag onto his shoulder, extending his hand for you to take. "please tell me that i still get my victory cuddles, at least."

taking his hand, you walk side by side.

he glances at you from the corner of his eyes before directly looking at you, placing his chin on your shoulder. "i still get them," he says with his cutest puppy eyes and pout, "right?"

biting your lip, you will yourself not to fall into his trap. "i'm sorry," you say as you shake your head. "no cuddles until i'm better too."

"evil." he shakes his head, lifting his chin off your shoulder to look at the street ahead. "you're plain evil. you know i can't survive without your kisses and cuddles."

"it's just for a few days." you sigh as you squeeze his hand, stopping to wait for the red light. "then you can have as many as you want. promise."

"you saw how draining practice was," he huffs, eyes stubbornly set on the ongoing traffic, showing his dislike at your current predicament. "i need to recharge with your cuddles."

he tugs your hand when the traffic light turns red, pushing you into the inner part of the sidewalk. "i want them now," he says with another pout before stopping altogether, pointing at your shoes. "your laces are untied."

"huh?" you look down but before you know it, your view's been blocked by the top of his head as he squats to re tie the laces.

"you're so clumsy," he admonishes with a grumble. "what if i'm not here, and you trip?" he then grins to himself as an idea comes to mind.

"that has never happened before and you know it."

tying your laces, he sighs dramatically before standing up, right in front of your face. he's quick in his movements, taking your chin in hand, he presses a peck on your lips.

his face is filled by beaming happiness. his eyes are squinted, his lips spread wide in a grin, and it takes everything in you to not pull him into another kiss because right now? you should be mad.

"you know what? whatever." you groan, lifting your hand in exasperation as you walk in the direction of your houses, intent on letting him walk alone. "you can only blame yourself if you get sick."

he's next to you in a second, his expression still joyful, as he practically walks with a skip in his step. he presses kisses onto every layer of your exposed skin, starting from your forehead and ending with the knuckles on your hand. you bite your lip at how adorable he is, content with his affection.

"just you wait and see," he says in a sing-song voice as he moves in to press another kiss on your lips. "i'll prove you wrong."

"whatever you say then," you mumble as you eye the convenient store right at the corner of the street. "can we stop by first? i need to buy-"

"there's no need." he interrupts your words, fishing his hand into his bag before pulling out a set of painkillers and medicine. "i've got them right here."

you say nothing as you tackle him into a hug, pressing kisses onto his face with a lovestruck smile on yours.

"heh," he says, face flushing at your sudden display of affection. "i should surprise you more often."

as a reward for buying you medicine, and for not kissing him before his match, you let him cuddle and kiss you for the rest of the day with no complaints.

the next day, you laugh in his face when he calls to tell you that he has a cold, snickering an i told you so when you go to take care of your big whiny baby.

KAISER, bachira, nagi (with less dramatics and energy).

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soapskneebrace · 1 year

Text

a break in the narrative

Pairing: John Price x f!Reader Rating: Mature (there are some suggestive themes but nothing explicit) Word Count: 3.2k Warnings: Descriptions of a man's nude upper body, smoking, overuse of italics as per usual Author's Notes: I have been absolutely overwhelmed by the support that has poured forth from people who have read and liked this little series. I'm so truly pleased that everyone has enjoyed it and I am so excited to continue this story. Thank you all very much! MASTERLIST Now on Ao3!

You learn John’s routine, at least as far as it overlaps with yours, fairly quickly.

He showers first thing in the morning, when normally you are still in bed trying to convince yourself out of it. In the limbo of fading sleep, it is a Herculean effort not to imagine it, not to picture steaming hot water flowing across broad shoulders, between and along full, plush pectorals, dripping along chiseled arms and down that narrow waist to…

You shake your head hard, and then wince when the action sends your toothbrush stabbing into the inside of your cheek. You are drowsily and unwillingly awake. The flow of water on the other side of the wall shuts off. You pretend, as you move on through your own routine, that you’re not thinking of long, strong legs, or anything else that lives below his abdomen.

It’s harder to hear the further away you get from your shared wall, but with a little time you’ve learned how to pick out the sounds of him working in his kitchen. There might be the thunk—never a harsh clang—of a pan on his stove, or the soft clicks of his fridge opening and closing. He doesn’t cook for very long, and washes his dishes in the sink rather than the washer.

You find that little detail endearing. From what little you know of him, it just seems appropriate.

There’s usually some quiet after that, and you’re pretty sure it’s because he’s eating. You picture him standing in his kitchen, leaning against the counter, plate balanced in one big hand. He hasn’t struck you yet as someone who would sit down alone to eat.

And he’s always alone. You have not heard anyone else in his flat. Not once.

You wonder at that as your own breakfast heats up. Does he have friends? Family?

A partner?

Your microwave beeps. You scowl at yourself. That’s none of your business. You don’t even know the man.

After he eats, you usually hear him step outside. You’ve peeked through your window, once, and have found him smoking a cigar, standing casually on his front doorstep. He’d been looking out into the street, his gaze moving evenly and methodically across the surrounding neighborhood, calm and attentive to the morning.

SAS. You’d known immediately what he was doing. An unexpected sense of safety had flooded you immediately, and continues to resonate in the here and now as you hear his door open and close.

Today, though, that safety is threaded with a little anxiety. You have to leave early, and it will be the first time you’ve faced him since that morning you’d spent trying to talk to him while ogling his bare chest.

He hadn’t been shirtless when you’d discovered his smoking habit. He probably is not now, either. You cannot decide if it’s a pity or a relief.

You check your hair a little nervously in the mirror hanging by your front door. Breakfast sits warm in a deep jacket pocket, a couple of English muffins wrapped in their plastic and bundled into a tea towel. Lunch is in your work bag, which sits ready and patiently waiting by your feet.

You’re just delaying. Your hair is fine. You breathe a little shakily, pick up your bag, scold yourself for a simpering idiot, and leave your flat.

“Morning, John,” you say as you step out, smiling, trying your best to sound casual.

His gaze comes to you immediately, and your knees feel very weak when those gorgeous blue eyes warm with a smile.

Goodness. Does he smile at everyone like that?

“Mornin’, love,” he replies, and you resolutely ignore how much love—which half your coworkers call you, too, stupid—makes your heart flutter. “Early start?”

“Yeah,” you say, locking your door, feeling your face already heating with a blush. “And a full day, too.”

He turns his head and exhales a puff of bluish smoke. “Wish I could say the same.”

You wrap both hands around the strap of your bag, lean against your door. You can’t help but surreptitiously look him up and down. House slippers, large. Long legs, hugged by worker’s denim, loose at the ankle and snug at the thigh and hip. A tight gray t-shirt providing an easy reminder of what you’d seen in all its glory only a few days ago. And—

“Mutton chops,” you say.

His brows raise. “Sorry?”

You slap a hand over your mouth. “That wasn’t meant to be out loud!”

John gives a laugh that sounds like it isn’t often used. The beard you’d first met him wearing is now trimmed neatly into two even swoops of dark auburn that make his smile look even fuller than before. “I suppose you haven’t seen ‘em, have you?”

You’ve often heard the buzz of his razor going as you’ve dragged yourself out of bed. At that point, of course, his shower is done.

Does he shave shirtless, with a towel around his waist?

You blink hard and shake that traitorous thought out of your head. “Sorry, I—don’t get me wrong, I mean, it suits you!”

The bristles of his mustache sound against the palm of his hand as he rubs his face. “You think so?”

Those gorgeous blue eyes are on you again, soft and appreciative, the same as they had been the morning you’d first met him. It makes your entire body feel a little warmer than it should.

“Anyway,” you say fretfully, scratching at the strap of your work bag, “I wanted to say, I imagine it’s hard to be home sometimes, isn’t it? With nothing to do, I mean.”

He gives a huff, but this time it’s a laugh that’s only trying to be amused. He looks out into the street. “Shouldn’t be, really.”

Most days, you hear him pacing. You think you’re able now to puzzle out his moods according to the tempo he beats against the hardwood floor. Slow, even, steps seem to be days that are better—those are days you don’t have to knock on the wall after he’s turned the TV up. When he blasts some sort of audio, it’s always following a stretch of agitated, arrhythmic circuits that travel the whole length of his flat.

You’ve noticed, though, that when you knock, and after he’s turned it down, the pacing does not resume.

You open your mouth to say something when your phone starts dinging furiously. You huff, dig it out, look at the screen—and roll your eyes.

“And I’ve kept you again, haven’t I?” John says ruefully.

“No!” you exclaim, clearing the notifications and looking up at him. “No, it’s just my coworker losing his bloody mind.” You suck on your cheek. “I should probably get going, though, sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, picking up an ash tray and stubbing out his cigar. The rueful quirk of his brow does not leave his face, and the smile he gives seems perfunctory. “Get there safe, will you?”

“Sure, John,” you reply. You want to say something back, tell him something that will make his day easier, but you don’t know what would help, or even be welcome. So you just say, “Thanks.”

You’ve only walked a little ways away when you look back at him, and see him standing with his hand on his open door, about to go inside.

As if he’s felt you gaze on him, he turns and looks at you. You stop in your tracks.

How are his eyes still so blue even this far away?

You lift one hand up. Wave a little hesitantly.

He waves back, easy and casual as you please.

You duck your head, and hurry away.

Your heart jumps to your throat the next morning as you hear him step outside.

You do not need to leave early today, but you’re at your mirror anyway, tidying up your bed head and frowning at yourself.

This is a terrible idea. You have no business doing what you’re about to do. You’re only opening yourself up to disappointment. He’s no one to you, why are you even thinking of doing this? So what if he’d been fucking disappointed when you’d had to leave? You’re just neighbors. It’s been what, a week since he’d come home? If he’s getting attached, it’s no responsibility of yours to deal with.

And really, had he even been disappointed? It’s not like you know him. Maybe that’s just his face. Maybe it’s just your overactive imagination.

Part of you knows you’re making excuses. You aren’t prone to that kind of stupidity. You’ve heard him pacing. You remember shouldn’t be, really.

You know what it’s like to be lonely.

So you get one big mug of coffee in hand, open your front door, and step outside.

John, as expected, is standing there with a lit cigar between his fingers. “Morning, love,” he says, brows lifted. Of course, he hasn’t expected to see you today.

“Morning,” you reply, smiling.

It’s a little colder today, and he’s in a fleece-lined jacket and dark beanie. This surprises you.

“I didn’t think you could get cold, John,” you say, indicating the gear with your mug. “Unless I really was dreaming the first time we met.”

You want to cringe at yourself immediately. Stupid. You have no intention to flirt. You're just being a good neighbor.

The mutton chops spread in a smile. “Bit different when there’s no heat at your back, isn’t it?”

“I suppose,” you reply. You bite the inside of your cheek. You hope you sound casual. “I hope you don’t mind if I join you this morning?”

The expression he gives is one that is going to live with you for a long, long time. He blinks at you, slowly, and fixes you with a gaze that goes from surprised to pleased. As it was before, it’s an expression that tells you that you have done something more meaningful than you can know.

“Be happy to have you,” he says, his tenor low and soft.

So, you leave your doorstep to stand with him at his own. He steps to the side, giving you space, and though there is a polite distance between you, something is humming in the empty air.

He surprises you by offering his cigar. Your brows shoot up, and you look from it up to him.

“Maduro,” he says. “Don’t worry—wouldn’t offer if it wasn’t good.”

“Oh,” you say, “thank you, but I don’t smoke.”

He shrugs and takes a drag. “Just came outside to stand with me, then?”

You sip your coffee. It’s the same question you’ve been agonizing over all morning. “Maybe I’m tired of my own company.”

He huffs at that. “Think I know how that feels.”

Silence falls between you, and it is surprisingly comfortable. You think it’s because the two of you are used to not actually speaking to each other—your days occur in parallel, intersecting only with knuckles on the wall. Conversation has not been necessary to be the kind of neighbors you are.

So why are you doing this? Why are you out here, if you’re not even going to speak to him? You’ve been content with the degrees of separation that have characterized your acquaintance with John Price.

Haven’t you?

You peek at him through your lashes. He is every bit as handsome in profile as he is straight on. The mutton chops make his face look fuller, incongruously younger, despite the crows’ feet at the corners of his eyes.

“Do you like to read?” you find yourself asking.

He turns back to you, brows raised. Somehow the cool morning has seeped into his eyes, sky blue tinted almost periwinkle, sharp and intense and yet still undeniably warm. “Read?”

You have to avert your gaze. Look at the pavement, a sign on the street. “I have plenty of books I wouldn’t mind loaning, is all. It would be something to do.”

His gaze is still on you. You can feel its weight, like hands on your arms, around your wrists. You bring the rim of your mug to your lips and pretend that nothing inside of you is thrumming with the awareness of it.

“Like what?” he asks.

You sip, insisting to yourself that it’s only the heat of your drink warming your ears. “Different things. A retrospective on the Battle of Actium, a Da Vinci biography, an Iranian professor’s memoirs. Those are nonfiction, but I have plenty of novels, too. Space operas. Westerns.” Romances, too, but you aren’t going to mention those.

“Sounds like you’ve got a big bookshelf,” says John, and you think he’s smiling at you.

“And too many books,” you agree. “Which you’re welcome to, if you like.”

You hear him exhale, see pale smoke bloom in front of you both. The scent is earthy and sweet, and a part of you regrets not taking his earlier offer.

The same part of you wonders if it’s what he tastes like.

You’re saved from having the throttle yourself for the thought when John replies, “Think I’ll read ‘em all.”

You blink, and look at him incredulously. “All of them?”

He grins. “You’ve offered a bored soldier on leave something to do, love. There’s a few men I know who’d propose on the spot for that.”

You go completely blank for a single heartbeat. Your brows are trying to make it into your hair. All of the blood in your body rushes to your face, and finally you sputter in protest, “That’s—I—really, now!”

John only adds fuel to that embarrassed flame when he laughs at your expression. It’s a good laugh, a real one, that comes from deep in his chest.

“That’s ridiculous, John, you’ve having me on!” you grouse, covering your mouth with your mug.

“You don’t know too many military men, then,” he chuckles. “They’d fall all over themselves for a pretty girl like you.”

You think your whole body might be hot enough to start steaming. You look at him petulantly. “It’s not nice to tease.”

He smiles and takes a drag. Paints the air translucent blue with his breath. “Haven’t been.”

It’s too much—you can’t string any sensible thoughts together to bring this conversation back under control. This is not how you’d expected the morning to go, is not what you would ever admit to having hoped for.

“I’ll just get those books, then,” you mutter, trying to ignore the smile he wears as you leave his doorstep.

You have a moment to breathe back inside your flat. You realize, as you search along one shelf, that your heart is pounding in your chest, and the scent of his cigar has trapped itself in your lungs. This not good. You should not be this easy.

John is just a bored soldier on leave. He said it himself. You have no business getting worked up over some flirting that likely, to him, means nothing.

If he was even flirting at all, you remind yourself to consider. He’d certainly been amused at your reaction. You don’t think he’d been making fun, but certainly he could’ve just been pushing your buttons.

Haven’t been rings low and purring in your ears.

You return with the three books you’d mentioned, and John takes them all into the crook of his elbow. The stack is dwarfed in his arm.

“Which one should I start with?” he asks, ashtray and cigar stub balanced in his other hand.

You give a surprised laugh. “Why should I care?”

He tilts his head, pins you with amused eyes. “‘M relyin’ on your expertise, I’m afraid. Been a while since I’ve read anything other than reports. Might not be smart enough for the real deal, anymore.”

SAS. “I doubt that.”

He shrugs, and looks at you expectantly.

“Da Vinci, then?” you suggest.

“He did that painting, didn’t he?” John asks. “Louvre. The woman. Uh…”

“Mona Lisa?” you supply, laughing and scandalized. “You have to be teasing now!”

“Well, maybe I’ll be smart enough to talk to you after I finish the book,” John says, accommodating with self-deprecation. “Da Vinci it is.”

You can’t help yourself. “Should I assign you comprehension questions, too? Name three things you remember and such?”

John smiles. “Be something else to do, anyway.”

Oh, this is dangerous. Every good sense in your head is pounding on the inside of your skull, warning you in one unified voice. Bored soldier, pretty girl, knocking on walls, books lent and borrowed. The story writes itself in your head, saccharine and heady—followed swiftly by ugly, mundane, inevitable denouement.

You are familiar now with the narrative of disappointment. You do not want John to wear its mantle.

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” you say lightly, taking a swallow of your coffee as casually as you can. “I need to get ready for work.”

“Sure,” says John. He looks at you too fondly to stomach. “Appreciated the company.”

“Anytime,” your dumb, traitorous, too-honest mouth gives away.

The next morning begins as the rest do. John’s shower wakes you up. You resolutely don’t think about hot water and hotter skin as you drag yourself out from beneath the covers.

You brush your teeth. His water shuts off. A pan thunks in his kitchen while your first cup of coffee brews.

Silence. You drink. He eats.

You make your second cup. He steps out for his cigar.

A decision hangs on the knob of your front door.

This routine has been comfortable. Safe in its predictability. Measurable in its contributions to your daily life. The previous morning does not have to be anything other than an interesting deviation, a graze up against something more exciting and infinitely more fraught. You can keep the memory of John’s smile, John’s laughter, John’s kind blue eyes sweet and harmless in its ephemerality.

You can ignore the disappointment that stretches hairline cracks across that facade.

Your mug is warm in your hands as you stand in your living room, still and unmoving. From the quiet, the sound of a book falling over on your shelf, lost now of the support of its fellows, captures your attention.

You realize he is going to have to return your books at some point, and relief suddenly floods you. The decision is already made, isn’t it?

He smiles at you when you step out into the morning chill, bundled like you were the first morning into two coats. “There she is! Was hoping you’d join me again.”

Does it show on your face? The warmth that blooms inside of you at that sentiment so openly expressed?

The corner of his eyes crinkle as you stand there, transfixed and unable to hide your pleasure at his words.

“Morning, John,” you finally say. “Finish Da Vinci yet?”

As before, he steps aside, makes room for you on his doorstep. As before, you take the space next to him.

He takes a drag, eyes still on you and creased with amusement. “Not quite,” he says, exhaling. “Always was a poor student. Might take some time.”

You sip from your mug to hide your smile. “At least it’s something to do.”

The smoke from his cigar lingers in the air, mingling with the steam of your coffee.

Bonus notes: the books I referenced here are The War That Made the Roman Empire by Barry Strauss, Leonardo Da Vinci by Walter Isaacson, and Reading Lolita in Tehran and Things I’ve Been Silent About by Azar Nafisi. I wholeheartedly recommend every single one.

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