#City of a Thousand Lights|Paris | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mapofthemazeinthemirror · 6 months

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warnings: Soobin and reader share a bath together but it’s just fluff note: I hope we’ve got some Swifties here! inspired by Paris by Taylor Swift. I've listened to it a thousand times but one day it prompted this idea.

☆ gender neutral reader

TXT member Choi Beomgyu spotted out and about with a date!

When the photos hit the internet, you weren't even in the country. Neither you or Soobin saw the articles, the tweets, messages from the band's management, or even teasing texts from the members. You were so far removed from it all, and blissfully happy.

It was the longest vacation you'd had together, with Soobin finally having the time off to travel out of Seoul. Sure, you'd gone with the boys for tours when allowed, but it was finally just you and your boyfriend – in a place where he wouldn't be recognised, and with no work schedules to squeeze time together around.

For the first couple of days, you didn't leave the hotel room, the 'Do Not Disturb' sign a blessing. No early calls, no waking up to knocks on the door or an empty bed. Just sleeping in, waking up and ordering lunch, then napping together or watching a movie. You didn't even mind the jet lag; it was a good excuse to stay in bed and cuddle.

On the fourth day of your stay, you explored the hotel, making it to the in-house restaurant for breakfast. The place was quiet – off season at this time of year, the waitress explained. There was a moment where you thought she recognised Soobin, with the way her eyes kept flicking up and between the two of you as she wrote down your order, but then, as she leant down to take your menus, she smiled and made a comment about how cute of couple you were. Soobin grinned, half shy and half proud, reaching for your hand and placing a kiss to the skin as you were left to yourselves again.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎☆

It's a change of pace to walk around the city and not have phones pointed at Soobin. To not hear screams or gasps or whispers at every turn. The two of you wander freely, sans masks or dark sunglasses, in the light of day. There's plenty of time to dawdle, enjoying the sights, going wherever you're drawn to go. The city is beautiful, and shopkeepers and cafe owners greet you with friendly smiles as you stop by.

The freedom Soobin feels is evident in the way he carries himself and how he keeps looking over to grin at you. You find an ice cream parlour and share the dessert on a bench, watching birds and clouds, the occasional person passing by with a cute dog that you both get excited over. When you move to get up, Soobin grabs your hand and tugs you back to his side, wrapping an arm around you with a chuckle. The sunlight and cool breeze lull you into a somewhat tranquil state. You don't think about home or what's to come after this retreat from real life. Meandering back to the hotel as the sun is setting, you catch a mesmerising sunset from the viewpoint of your room's balcony.

The bath tub in your hotel room is big enough for the both of you – two and a half, you tease at the way your boyfriend's feet stick out over the edge. Still, this was a luxury you never got at home; the tub at both of your addresses too small to fit the two of you at once. And, you point out, it's nice to enjoy a quiet bath without rambunctious maknaes playing doorbell dash in an otherwise quiet hotel. Maknes and Yeonjun, Soobin adds.

He plays quiet music on his phone to add to the atmosphere, humming along softly as he places his hands on your shoulders, applying gentle pressure until he feels the muscles relax. Then, he picks up one of your hands from the edge of the tub to trace with his finger, eyes following the lines of your palm. You watch, almost hypnotised, as his large fingers fold over yours, the rest of you encapsulated between his long arms and legs. Between the low lighting of the bathroom, the warmth of the bath, and his voice, you're sent into a light sleep, only waking when you're pulled from the water, which has turned lukewarm.

You mumble an appoplogy, eyes opening for only a moment before they droop to a close again, and he whispers something back, but you don't take it in; mind and body too relaxed. Feeling the mattress underneath you as he sets you down on your back, you sense something being wrapped around you and realise it's one of the hotel robes, but you can't find the will to help him get your arms into the sleeves. You hear yourself giggle and Soob's chuckle echo back, his forehead pressing against yours for a moment before it's gone, and you wonder why. Thoughts of how much you love this – feeling like you're in your own little world, where there's only the two of you – flood your mind, and you almost start to drift off again until you hear the sheets rustle beside you.

Soobin's hair tickles your jaw as he kisses your neck, arms finding your waist in the dark. His skin is warm and still damp, and this somehow adds to how sleepy you feel. Your arms are too heavy to reach for him. Soon, his movements still, his cheek resting against your collar bone, and you're both out.

It isn't until you're in the airport, full from breakfast at their swanky little restaurant, and having perused all the little shops to pass time, that Soobin finally sits down and opens his messaging app to flick his members a selfie of the two of you with your luggage and sad faces to say you're on your way back. His eyebrows draw together, lips moving wordlessly as he sees how many unread texts are in the group chat. But not just normal conversation that's been going on without him, as his eyes register your name multiple times. Scrolling back, he finds the first message he hasn't seen – a link to a popular tabloid. The first thing he sees is a candid photo, definitely Beomgyu, and definitely you, though thankfully most of your face is obscured by the shadows of night as you walk from the back door of a stadium to a waiting van. Then he sees the title. The members apparently find it hilarious, but as he backs out of the group chat and sees numerous messages from management and other staff, he knows the company isn't taking it as lightly.

He clicks his phone as you sit down beside him, and despite the storm that he knows is coming, he can't help but smile at how content and loved-up you still look. He decides he'll wait to fill you in, let you enjoy the end of the trip. He himself feels like he's on a love high, his heart warming up as you thread your arm through his and drop your head to his shoulder.

written by mapofthemazeinthemirror - do not repost my work in any form

#txt imagines #txt scenarios #boyfriend!txt #soobin x reader #soobin imagines #soobin scenarios #soobin fluff #kpop x reader #kpop fluff #kpop imagines #gender neutral reader #boyfriend soobin

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orshii · 3 days

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Did I cross the line?

➼Author: orshii

➼Pairing: Kim Hongjoong x female reader

➼Word count: 4 k

➼Summary: On Valentine's Day in Paris, a romantic trip with your boyfriend, takes a painful turn when unresolved feelings about his ex-girlfriend, who was once your best friend, resurface. Despite the love between you, the past threatens to tear you apart. Through heartfelt conversations, you confront your insecurities and reaffirm your commitment, realizing that to move forward, you must leave the past behind.

➼A/N: Well...here I am again with a Hongjoong drabble, and this little something was born because of Billie Eilish's new song. And it was completely inspired by it, so please please, listen to the song and pay attention to the lyrics so you will understand the story more. I just love it, it's such a beautiful song and I can't get it out of my mind...just as well Hongjoong haha...Anyway, I am not sure this is what I wanted, but this happened so enjoy! Byee...--also, sorry for any mistakes :'(... (divider)

Things fall apart, and time breaks your heart, but it also heals your soul, allowing you to feel like a normal human on this chaotic Earth. It's much harder when you're alone, but if you find someone who is always by your side and supports you unconditionally, you become unstoppable. Nothing can come your way when they are next to you and cheering for you on the side to chase your dreams. When you find the mate of your soul, you think nothing can stop you from now on.

Except... sometimes, despite everything, you grow farther apart because of a tiny reason, turning what was once promising into something that couldn’t bloom or burn with passion.

This is the reason why I am crying in a hotel room in Paris, the city of love on Valentine’s Day, with my heart broken into thousands of pieces. How ironic life can be. It's the day of love and I'm in the city of love, yet I never felt more disappointed in love ever. The broken pieces of my heart are cutting me from the inside, I want to scream from the pain, but I have never been quieter in my life, my voice got lost between the sharp pieces of my heart.

Our trip to the city of love started like a cliché straight from a romantic movie. We decided with my boyfriend, Hongjoong, that we were going to travel to Paris for a little break, as we both needed it, we were overwhelmed with work, and we barely saw each other. And Valentine's Day was a perfect excuse for both of us, to celebrate our love, that just started to bloom. Our relationship began six months ago, and it was a maze until we finally understood each other and found our way through the dark, complicated labyrinth of each other's hearts.

We wandered around the city with our hands interlaced, never letting go for even a minute. We felt locked together, forever. Throughout the day we visited a lot of museums and the typical sights of Paris, that being the Louvre and the Eiffel Tower. When the both of us were on top of the Eiffel Tower, the wind was so strong up there, that we could barely see the city down there. The air was chilly, as it was mid-winter. The clouds were gone, and the snow had already melted away, leaving behind only the cold.

I stared at Hongjoong, my hair in my face, giggling as he took pictures of me. The photos came out blurry but full of happiness. The sun that slowly approached its lowest spread an orange blanket over the city, lighting it with all shades of orange. I looked next to me, where Hongjoong was smiling. I saw him in slow-motion, as he was looking down at the orange city, the sun's beams lighting his beautifully shaped face, his jawline sharp, his cheekbones high, his eyes in the shape of a crescent moon as he was smiling. The wind blew very slightly on his brown hair alongside his elegant black clothes.

And his smile... that was why I fell in love with him so deeply that I couldn't escape. His smile was so perfect and wide, full of humanity, with sincerity that immediately caught me off-guard because I didn't believe in the fact, that perfect humans on this Earth existed. But as soon as I saw him, I knew it was just a lie, because with time every human being finds their perfect mate for their soul, no matter if someone sees them as imperfect. For you, they are always going to be perfect.

After coming down from the tower, we wanted to do one last thing: put a padlock on the famous bridge where people place padlocks to symbolize their love, as the saying goes, 'Lasts until forever'. And as it was Valentine's Day and we were in the city of love, to make it cheesier we bought a red padlock to put it on the bridge.

"So did you enjoy yourself today?" Hongjoong asked looking at me with his adoringly beautiful smile, as we were walking towards the bridge.

"This was the happiest day of my life Hongjoong." I looked at him with loving eyes, tears almost appearing in my eyes as I was very overwhelmed by the fact of how much I loved him. "Thank you."

"Come here, my little bun." He pulled me by my hand that was interlaced with his and hugged me strongly I felt like he might break my bones, as we were at the end of the bridge. He pecked the top of my head and slowly separated from me, leaving little distance between us, just to cup my face into his warm hand. Chills ran through my body as I felt his warm hand on my cold and red face, he immediately warmed me up with only one slight touch.

"I love to see you happy." He said his voice a little childish as he was saying it adorably. He tugged my hair behind my air. "I'm happy if you are too."

"You are too cheesy, what happened to you?" I looked at him suspiciously.

He chuckled at that. "You happened; I can't help it." He slowly leaned closer to me and slightly pecked my lips with his. Then he looked at me and smiled like I was the only human being on Earth.

"So, it's my fault?" I whispered onto his lips, that still hovered over mine.

"Yes, it is." His eyes were on my lips, as he whispered the words sweetly.

Then he closed the distance again between our lips and kissed me more passionately, putting his heart into the kiss, giving it to me so I could keep it safely in my imaginary safe made out of unbreakable metal, but sometimes that metal can get infected and it can crack and that hurts. As I kissed him back my lips slowly moving against his, the world was gone around us, and I did the same with my heart, giving it to him, so he could keep my heart wherever he wanted to. I hoped our hearts belonged to the other and no one else.

"Let's put that silly padlock on." He said as we separated from the kiss, caressing my cold cheeks.

I just nodded and took his hand to lead him through the bridge's middle.

"It's nice to be back in here." He said as we were looking around, observing the padlocks people already left there.

"Have you been here before?" I asked him surprised with a frown.

Suddenly his expression changed, as we stopped in the middle of the bridge, people around us walking and smiling, the sky had already gone dark, and only the street lights showed the way.

"Well…yes." He scratched the back of his head, averting my eyes.

"I didn't know, when?" He acted strange all of a sudden and I didn’t know why.

"Last year—with… Hana." He slowly looked up, to see my reaction.

I gulped and my heart started to race quickly as I heard her name. I really wanted to stay calm it wasn't the time to argue again as he knew it was an uncomfortable topic between us.

I nodded barely visible. "I see…" I looked down on my hands. "And did you like—were here?" My voice came out strange, it lost its power as I pointed at the padlocks.

"Y—yes," Hongjoong said noticing as my expression changed very quickly. He stepped closer to me to hold my hands. I just looked down at our hands and then at the padlocks. "But it was in the past and you know it, Y/N. I want to do this with you." He reached his hands towards my face, but before he could touch it, I stopped him.

"Well, I don't want to anymore." My voice came out serious, my face looked hurt and disappointed. I stepped back, putting distance between us.

"C'mon, Y/N. You can't be serious." He stepped closer to me and I stepped back again on that. He scoffed at that. "Why can't you put it all behind you? It was a long time ago."

"Because she's everywhere I go, Hongjoong, anything I do with you has to do something with her." Tears started to well up in my eyes.

"It's not, you just made it up here," He pointed at his temple."…because you can't get over it, Y/N." He seemed upset as his voice got more serious.

I scoffed at that in disbelief. "So, now you think I'm crazy?"

It is very unpredictable how everything can change from heaven to hell.

"No, you are not crazy, but you definitely can't let go of the past and be in the present…with me." Hongjoong said running his fingers through his brown short hair.

"What can I do, when all the time I see her face, everywhere." I lifted my arms helplessly. "In our daily life, in our home…in your eyes." One tear slowly escaped my left eye.

"When will you understand she is nothing to me now?" He stepped closer to me, disappointment showing on his face. "When will you understand you are my everything? That I love you and no one else." His voice got lower, weaker.

"I know that you love me, you don't need to remind me like it's an obligation." I looked at him already feeling so far away from him.

Hongjoong scoffed at that. "What are you talking about?"

"You always sound like you have to assure me you love me." I looked down at the ground, where our shadows melted into each other. I just wanted to hide from him. "I am sure you love me. But…it's just a feeling I can't shake."

"You have no idea what are you talking about. Can't you get that you are my fucking world Y/N?" I felt as he stared at me with deadly eyes, growing more furious.

Stressed, I ran my fingers through my hair, tears streaming down my face. "But you aren't mine," I barely said out loud, knowing he could hear me.

I couldn't see his expression as he stood there in silence for a moment.

"You think so?" he asked, his voice calmer.

I just nodded, unable to look up.

He chuckled and came closer to me, his breath close to my face. "So, let's make it fair, then. Shall we?" His voice was like a threat. Then he grabbed the padlock from my hand and threw it away into the water. I stared at him, my eyes wide in shock. "I wanted to make you happy, to do cheesy things like this. But if you can't understand, let's just stop."

"I never wanted to fight," I mumbled.

"But we always do, Y/N." He lifted his eyebrows as he looked at me, disappointed. "It wasn't like this before."

"What do you mean?" I asked him, confused.

"I mean, when we started, it was nice. We were happy, no arguing. But you kept looking into my past and everything changed." He looked into my eyes, tired of the arguments.

"Because she was always there in the back of my mind." I sniffled and wiped away a tear.

"She isn't now. But you can't see it." He shook his head slightly.

"Honestly…I don't know if I can be with someone who can't let go of the past…" I snapped my head up at that, his face was nothing but serious without any emotions. My heart started to race more quickly than before.

"Hongjoong…" I stepped closer to him with regret on my face.

"No." Now he was the one who stepped back, and my heart started to crack. "I am tired of this, you have to let go of our past and be present completely, not only with half of your heart." He said those words like it was venom and it flew right into my lungs poisoning it so I couldn't breathe anymore.

"We will talk when you finally manage to do that." He put his hands into his pockets and just passed by me like we suddenly became two strangers, leaving me there on the bridge where we could've locked our love forever, he left me with a heart suddenly broken into millions of pieces.

Did I cross the line?

The thing is Hana was Hongjoong's ex-girlfriend and my best friend.

My best friend and Hongjoong got together three years ago and broke up last summer. And it wasn't particularly because of me, well I played a little part in that as well, but they just always argued about little annoying things and I was the one who reconciled them. I'm not sure when it happened, but the more I was hanging out with my best friend and her boyfriend the more I felt something wasn't right. I started to feel something towards Hongjoong and I knew it wasn’t right so I quickly buried it deep down into my soul, so no one would know it.

I watched them through these years when they were arguing and when they hated each other, but they always made up at the end of the day and everyone was happy.

Not until one day, Hongjoong found out Hana cheated on him. That day was a disaster because the more time I spent with Hongjoong, the closer I grew to him. I considered him a friend and liked him. I could talk about things with him, that I didn’t even tell my best friend. It was hard to take sides, to be honest, it was cruel of my best friend but at the same time she was my best friend and I needed to be by her side. She was crying on my shoulder even though she fucked all of this up. Slowly, Hongjoong walked out of our lives, and it didn't feel right for some reason. Not seeing him every day, not knowing what he was doing, made my heart ache for some reason and I was so confused.

Not until July.

We accidentally ended up at the same event connected to our work and started talking. We talked, but like we just met, like we didn't know each other before like Hana didn't even exist. I felt guilty of course but sometimes people have to be selfish, for their own sake. We had a deep connection with Hongjoong and I didn't want to let it go. I just couldn't.

From then on, we grew closer to each other, and got to know each other. And one night, Hana saw us, of course, I didn't tell her about Hongjoong, that we were talking. And of course, the universe loved us and Hana saw us exactly that summer night when Hongjoong kissed me for the first time. When he kissed me, I felt like I was finally complete, like I found the missing piece of my lost soul. But when I saw Hana's face, my soul immediately burnt into specks of dust.

Until then, all I could see was her face when he saw us, the hatred in her eyes, that I could understand. I haven't see her since then, but she lives in my head rent-free. I hated myself because this was the cruelest thing a best friend could do. But I stayed selfish and chose Hongjoong because he made me happy and made me feel alive.

And now I fucked up everything because I can't get through our past. What happened is happened, but when he touches me all I can think of is how she felt, I always compare myself to her.

As I was standing on the bridge and trying to somehow organize my thoughts, I just started to walk in the city that was full of couples and happy people. The city was alive, restaurants were open, and people were celebrating, and laughing together. Yet, I was there walking past them with my eyes crying out, slowly losing myself in the dark. When I passed by a lucky charm seller, the old lady beckoned me to go there. I frowned as I slowly approached her.

"My daughter, you look sad, did somebody break your heart?" She asked me putting his hands on my shoulders.

I nodded tears appearing in my eyes again. "But… it was my fault…so I deserve it." My voice came out weak.

"No one deserves a broken heart, sweet girl." She slowly wiped off my tears. "These lucky charms will tell you what to do, I am sure." She pointed at the little papers with green trefoils on them.

I just shrugged, I didn't believe in these things, but at least I could make someone happy by buying one. I chose one randomly and paid for it, thanking the lady.

"And don’t forget, sometimes before loving someone else, we have to learn how to love and how to receive it." She smiled at me and let me keep going.

I put the lucky charm in my pocket, not even bothering to read it, and walked forward without any destination. All I could think about was Hongjoong and how much I fucked up. It was a perfect day…why did I have to fuck it up? As I walked next to the river my palm was itching in my pocket so I stopped to read the paper. I slowly opened the decorated paper.

"I fell in love with you because you loved me when I couldn't love myself.

And then you realize it was all real."

I read the lines with my heart slowly warming up and pumping quicker. I never believed in things like these, but these lines hit me hard in the chest just so I could realize how stupid I was, how stupid I was to think Hongjoong didn't love me. I mentally face-palmed myself and tried to stop myself from jumping straight into the cold river and turned around just to run back to our hotel, hoping Hongjoong was going to be there.

Hongjoong wasn't there and he will never come back. He will never come back, because I made myself believe he had anything to do with Hana and that he always compared me to her. But the truth is I compared myself to her and it made my brain a fool, so I believed every cruel thing it whispered to me.

I collapsed on the bed, hugged myself and here I was, crying my soul out with a broken heart, on Valentine's Day, in the city of love.

Hours or just minutes passed by, and I lost track of time when I heard the door closing. I opened my eyes quickly; I was facing the door to our room laying on my right side. Hongjoong slowly stepped inside and took off his winter coat his eyes on me the whole time. I couldn't tell what was he thinking.

I sat up as he approached me and sat on the bed, just to cup my cried-out face into his, now cold, hands.

He leaned his forehead against mine as he whispered. "Oh, my little bun. You make my heart break, seeing you like this."

Probably I looked like hell, my eyes red, my cheeks puffy, my make-up smashed from crying.

I slowly held his wrists that cupped my face. "Hongjoong I—" Tears found their way out again; I didn't understand how I hadn't dried out by now. I started to sob.

"I'm sorry, my love, I shouldn't have talked to you like that." He hugged me, his fingers running through my hair, trying to calm me down.

I slowly lifted my head from his chest. "No, you were right, Hongjoong." Words could finally leave my mouth. "I was living in the past, that hurt me, but at the same time healed me…you healed me. I was so broken, but you managed to glue together the pieces of me. But this Hana thing just hunted me and I couldn't run away it’s like she cursed me just so I could feel his revenge." I looked down at my hands sniffing.

Then I looked into his eyes and the mate of my soul looked at me like I was the most vulnerable creature on Earth. And that was the moment I got reassured about everything.

"I'm so sorry for making you feel like it was all your fault when it was just my fucked-up mind. You are my everything Hongjoong, and I couldn't spend even a minute without you in my life. Please, don't leave me…" My tears flew down my cheeks endlessly.

He sighed and slowly reached for my hands, holding them like a treasure. "You are a fool if you think it is an obligation for me to say I love you. I say it because I mean it with all my heart, and to let you know that Hana is in the past you know I never really loved her. Not like I love you. You are my partner in life, my future and I never want to let you go." He wiped my tears away as his eyes watered and a little teardrop escaped his eye. I immediately wiped it away, not wanting to see him cry because of me. Ever.

"I love you so-so much!" I whispered weakly as I cupped his face.

"I love you endlessly, bun." He smiled at me adoringly, his smile that cured everything inside me and his lips on mine that slowly put the broken pieces of my heart into its place, my heart being whole again, in one piece, just so I could give it to him, into his hands to do whatever he wanted to it, because I just belonged to him and he belonged to me.

He kissed me slowly, like never before, his soft lips moving along mine leaving a sweet taste behind. I slowly crawled into his lap, straddling his thighs. His hands found their place on my waist like they belonged there and squeezed it like he never wanted to let me go. Our kiss got more hotter as I parted my lips letting his tongue inside, discovering every hidden place of my mouth, like he wanted to taste every inch of me. My hands crawled into his hair squeezing it as a moan left his mouth. His hands slowly got their way under my clothes, running his fingers up and down my back, like he couldn't get enough of me.

"You are so beautiful, Y/N." He whispered onto my lips between hot kisses. He looked at me like he couldn't believe his eyes. "You are my beautiful girl." His lips traced over mine as he firmly bit my lower lip.

I chuckled at that, as he quickly flipped us over and he hovered above me, supporting himself with his hands on both sides of my head and he just looked at me. I got impatient and quickly lifted my head so I could kiss him, but he pushed me back to the bed and kissed me harshly, my body felt hot, and I felt like I could burn alive.

Everywhere he touched me burned my skin down to my bones. But I didn’t care because I knew he was the love of my life, that one person who was always beside me and supported me no matter what. The past needs to be locked in the past and the present needs to be lived just so I can build a strong future alongside the emotions I feel, alongside Hongjoong, now, on Valentine's Day and in the city of love, Paris.

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boredmadamoiselle · 1 year

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She Will Be Loved

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader; Lewis Hamilton x Reader

Synopsis: Charles learns that if you can't take care of something, someone will for you.

Warnings: Angst. Charles a little toxic. English isn't my first language, it probably contains some mistakes. I tried my best but sorry in advance and if you want to correct or help me, you're welcome.

Author's note: Don't know if I like this or hate it, so let me know what you think. Your feedback is always appreciated and is important for me. If you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to write them and I will take into consideration.

Beauty queen of only eighteen, she had some trouble with herself He was always there to help her, she always belonged to someone else I drove for miles and miles, and wound up at your door I've had you so many times, but somehow I want more

You had met Lewis a few months ago at the Paris Fashion Week. He was there for the Valentino show as their guest; you, instead, were one of the models chosen to walk the runway.

You didn’t know he’d be there; you were walking down the catwalk when you saw him sitting in the front row, his eyes staring at you. You continued to walk as if nothing had happened, but it was the first time you saw Lewis since breaking up with Charles, your ex, F1 driver and also Lewis’ colleague.

Later that day, you had seen him at the after party organized by Valentino. As he walked towards you, part of you wanted to run away. Seeing him brought back so many memories, as it was hard to see Lewis and not to think about Charles. And that was the last thing you wanted, after it had taken you long to forget him and move on with your life. But Lewis wasn’t to blame for what had happened with your ex. You could see that he seemed visibly happy to see you again and you couldn’t deny that you were too.

You had always liked Lewis, he wasn’t just one of the best drivers in the world but he was also a good person and when you used to go to races, you liked talking to him. Even if he was a 7-time world champion, he had remained a humble and sensitive person, as well as very intelligent. And yeah, he was also extremely handsome.

You didn’t keep yourself update on Formula 1 anymore, not as you used to do once, but from what you had heard, you knew he wasn’t doing well as in the past and you feel sorry for him. He didn’t deserve it. Despite that, his face lighted up when he saw you and in the end, you stayed.

Not much in the mood to celebrate, you ended up walking the streets of Paris, chatting and enjoying the beauty that the city had to offer you. Even though he must be curious and have questions about the end of your relationship with Charles, especially when everything seemed to be fine, Lewis didn’t touch the subject even once and you were secretly grateful to him. Later, like the gentleman he was, he had accompanied you to the hotel and greeted you on the cheek.

The next day you had found a big bouquet of roses in your room sent by Lewis. There was also a note in which he thanked you for the beautiful night and that he hoped to repeat it again and as soon as possible. Deep in your heart you wanted it too.

A few weeks later, while you were getting ready for a photoshoot, you were scrolling your Instagram when some pictures captured your attention. Your eyes filled with tears but you immediately chased them away as you didn’t want to ruin your makeup. You took a better look at the photos. They portrayed your ex with a girl. He was smiling and seemed happy. You, on the other hand, were hurt but angry as well.

As your heart broke into a thousand pieces, his words played on repeat in your head, which now appeared to be more lies than anything else. Suddenly everything seemed clearer to you. He hadn’t left you because he wanted to focus on his career as he had said. He just didn't love you as much as you did. As much as you still did, you needed to recognize, and those photos proved it. Despite the pain you felt, you ended up putting your best smile for the photographer, showing professionalism and dedication to your job as always. You had worked hard to get where you were and weren't going to let your past ruin it. Fuck him, you thought. I’ll focus on my career too now.

At the end of the photo shoot, when you were back in the dressing room, a message was waiting for you. You face lit up as you saw it was from Lewis and smiled even more seeing what he had written.

Hey

Are you okay?

After that night you started keeping in touch. Even with different time zones and being almost always on the other side of the world, there was no day you didn't talk or send texts to each other. He had also invited you to go to some races but you had declined. You weren’t still ready for that. And to see him.

A few months later you had finally met Lewis again. After your success at the Paris Fashion week, you had become very popular in the world of fashion and beyond. Everyone – the most important fashion houses, magazines, and lots of brands – wanted you, including Anna Wintour, who had invited you to the Met Gala. You couldn't wait to go to one of New York's most exclusive events, especially knowing that Lewis would have been there too.

He originally proposed you went together but you politely declined. Even if you wanted to go out on a date with Lewis, the Met Gala wasn’t the right place and the right time. Everyone would have seen you and talked about you two. You wanted people to talk about you for who you really were and for what you did, not because you were with the 7-time world champion. You didn't want history to repeat itself.

When you and Charles had broken up, soon after your career had started to take off and many had insulted you for that. They thought you had used the Monegasque only for fame and that when you had gotten what you wanted, you had just left him. If only they knew how wrong they were, you thought. The truth was you didn’t want to leave him, he just didn’t give you choice.

“There isn't much to say. We simply wanted different things and we both need to focus on our career”, he had said when a journalist had asked him about your break-up.

Yeah, you wanted to focus on your career and I… wanted to be with you. But apparently, I wasn’t in your plans anymore, you had thought at the time.

As you walked the red carpet at the same time as Lewis, you could feel his eyes on you while posing for photographers. Given your previous relationship, the others knew that you and Lewis knew each other, so you quickly said hello to each other.

“You are beautiful tonight”, he whispered in your ear, as you kissed him on the cheek. You smiled at his words.

Later that night you invited him to your place where, between the covers of your bed, you got to know each other better.

After that whenever he was off, Lewis was often in the States or joined you wherever your job brought you only to see you. It was good for him, you were good to him. The time he spent with you helped him get distracted and not think about what happened on track.

Things between you quickly became serious and you could say you were secretly dating. In fact, no one knew about you two and in some ways, it was simpler that way. On the other hand, even if he was patient and willing to wait, Lewis wanted to make things official as soon as possible and tell the whole world the truth. That you were his. And most of all he wanted and needed you by his side during races. You knew that sooner or later that was inevitable. But you were afraid of what people would have thought and said.

Also, you wanted to talk to your ex before going public with Lewis. You didn't owe him anything, but Lewis was still Charles’ colleague, and you didn't want things between them to get tense because of you. That’s why you were holding your phone and looking at Charles’ number. Again. Shortly after your breakup, you had erased it just as he had erased you from his life but you still remembered it. Like so much else, it was engraved in your mind.

You kept staring at the phone hoping the call would go off by itself. On one hand, the very idea of hearing him, even just on the phone, terrified you; on the other side, you terribly wanted to hear his voice.

You were having a déjà vu as you have already experienced this situation, months ago when after your breakup you spent most of your time waiting for him to call you or hoping he would. But you never heard from him again. It was also for this reason that you were hesitant to call him. Calling him first would’ve been like admitting defeat. And you didn't want to lose any more. You had already lost too much.

You ended up never calling him. And soon it’d be no longer necessary.

A few weeks later, in fact, you were entering the paddock at the Grand Prix of Austin. When Lewis had had an accident during the qualifying the day before, you had decided to join him to check on him and cheer him up. You wanted to be there for him as he had been there for you.

You had originally planned to stay at the hotel watching the race from there, but in the end, seeing how frustrated and demoralized Lewis was, you had decided to go to the Grand Prix. You knew he needed you there. And in fact, when you had told him about your decision, he had instantly become the happiest man alive as that really meant a lot to him.

Since you still wanted to be discreet, you hadn't arrived with Lewis and hadn’t used the main entrance. As you reached the Mercedes hospitality where Lewis was waiting for you, you hoped no one would recognize you. More than anything, though, you hoped you wouldn't meet Charles. Not yet at least.

Seeing the red building, the Ferrari hospitality, memories crossed your mind. It was strange not to enter it and to be there under those new circumstances; you almost felt like a stranger, an intruder. Yet for a long time that place had been like your home and you had been very happy there.

You were so deep in your own thoughts that it took a few seconds before you heard a voice calling you.

“Y/n? Is it really you?”

You froze. The hairs on the back of your neck started to rise, and you feel your cheeks getting warm. Even if your back was turned, you knew who that voice belonged to and as much as you wanted to run away, you turned around to face him. You could see the driver was visibly surprised and confused to see you.

“Ehi, Pierre. It’s good to see you again. How are you?” You forced yourself to smile at the French driver and hugged him. Actually, you had no problem with Pierre and part of you was happy to see him again, the fact was that of all the possible people, with the paddock full of people, it was him you had crossed paths with. Pierre Gasly, F1 driver and one of Charles’ best friends. If you had had any hope of going unnoticed, without Charles knowing you were there, you had lost it entirely now. Meeting him was like meeting Charles since he’d tell him that he had met you.

“I’m good, are you? But what are you doing here? Wait, are you and Charles…” You didn’t let him finish the sentence.

“No, we’re not”, you quickly said. After that you didn’t know what to say, so you simply told the truth. Sort of. “I was invited... Mercedes invited me. I’m their guest.” It wasn't entirely a lie but it wasn't the truth either.

Pretending to look at the clock, you continued. “Actually, I should go as I’m already late. But it was really good to see you, Pierre. Good luck for the race and be careful!”.

While you entered the Mercedes hospitality as quickly as you could, Pierre looked at you confused. You, on the other hand, breathed a sigh of relief once inside.

“Are you really sure it was her, Pierre?” Charles’ mind was racing as he couldn't believe what his friend just told him. He didn't know whether to hope Pierre was right or not.

“Mate, I know it seems unbelievable but I’m not going crazy or hallucinating. I told you: it was her.”

Charles fell silent and seeing his friend speechless, Pierre continued. “You know when I saw her I got a little offended because for a moment I thought you secretly got back together and didn't tell me anything.”

“It isn’t…", Charles quickly corrected his friend. "...Even if I wish it were.” He didn't want to say it at first, as it was hard for him to admit it but if there was anyone he could talk to about it, that was definitely Pierre.

Pierre could hear the sadness in Charles’ voice and he knew his friend wasn't the same since you two broke up, despite all his success.

“Well, then you might have your chance to get her back. Go talk to her”, Pierre suggested.

“I can’t, Pierre. I never even called her or looked for her… And even if I did, maybe she moved on.” Even if he was saying it, Charles hoped it wasn’t true but at that moment, he realized something. “Did you say she entered into the Mercedes hospitality?”, he continued.

Pierre nodded not fully understanding why he was asking, while Charles couldn’t come to terms with what he just thought.

“Wait, George is with Carmen and Lewis… You don't think the two are together, right?”, Pierre asked as he had finally connected the dots too.

“I don’t know, Pierre. But it’s strange that she’s here, moreover as a guest of Mercedes, when in all these months she has never come once. Why right now?”

Pierre looked at his friend not knowing well what to say.

“And then you'll remember Lewis has always had a crush on Y/n… I certainly haven't forgotten the way he looked at her when we were dating”, Charles said while jealousy taking hold of him.

“Of course, he had, Charles. I too had a crush on her, everyone had. She is stunning, smart and funny. But I don't need to tell you that, you yourself know it very well”, Pierre said.

Yeah, Charles perfectly knew that.

“Maybe it’s something related to her job. It wouldn’t be the first time that top models come to see a F1 race and then, you know Lewis is into fashion”, Pierre continued.

“Yeah, I know. And maybe he is into her too”, Charles said. The more he thought about it, the more convinced he was. Pierre’s words played on repeat on his mind. You know Lewis is into fashion, he had said. They could have gotten closer through fashion, Charles thought. Lewis used to attend some fashion show and Charles remembered seeing a photo of you together during a party a few months ago. You were just talking in the picture, nothing more but the sight of you together had been enough at that time to make him jealous. He should have been the one with you, not Lewis. But he was the only one to blame if you weren’t with him. He had sent you away. And for what? He had given up on you to focus on his career and chasing fame, victory and even if he had actually won everything and that had been one of the best year of his entire career, he had lost the most important thing in his life: you. And he couldn’t forgive himself for that. All those awards meant nothing if you weren't there with him. In the end, if he had gotten there where he was, it was also thanks to you. You had loved him and supported him before he became Il Predestinato.

What if you had actually moved on?, Charles thought. He couldn't bear to think it was true, least of all with Lewis. The very idea was unbearable to him.

He looked at his clock. There was still time before the race started. Pierre was right, he had to do something, at least he had to try. Even if he had to race later, Charles had a bigger race to run at that moment: he needed to win you back.

You were behind the Mercedes hospitality smoking a cigarette as you waited for Lewis to finish his debrief and join you before the race to spend some time together. As you needed some air, you had decided to go out.

You were surprised but at the same time disappointed you hadn't seen Charles yet. You didn’t know what you really wanted. Part of you wished to see him and his reaction at the sight of you; on the other hand you were scared that you wouldn't see any reaction from him. It’d mean that he didn’t care about you anymore. And that would have broken your heart. Again and again.

You were smoking to try to calm yourself and yet all you could do was think about him and distress yourself. It wasn't good for you to be alone, so you decided to go back inside. You threw the cigarette away and turned around. But you froze immediately.

There he was, your ex-boyfriend standing in front of you and looking at you intensely. You, on the other side, were unable to say or do anything. How long had he been there?, you asked yourself. Why was he there? Was he walking and saw you by chance? Or was he looking for you?

After what it seemed an eternity to you, he broke the silence. “I thought you quit smoking”, he said pointing at the cigarette on the floor.

Yes, you had. But you can't say no to certain vices for too long.

“Hello to you too, Charles. And yeah, I did but I still smoke sometimes. Occasionally. For example, when I’m nervous”, you explained saying too much and exposing yourself. Why were you explaining yourself to him? You don’t have to. He is nothing to you, you thought.

He was approaching you, so you took a step back until you were pinned against the wall. “Are you nervous now, Y/n?”, he teased you. He knew what he was doing to you. Just hearing him talking was enough to turn you on.

“No, I’m not”, you lied. You were just dying inside.

Charles looked at you better. God, how beautiful you are, he thought. Even if you were wearing just a top, a pair of jeans and sneakers, you were breathtaking. Simple but beautiful, as he always liked you and he couldn't take his eyes off you.

He smirked noticing the color of you top. “I can see you still wear red”, he said.

Fuck, you thought. With a closet full of clothes, you made the choice to wear a red top that remembered Ferrari. How did you not think about it? Force of habit, you thought. When you and Charles dated, you always used to wear something red during race weekend as a sign of support towards him.

On the other side, Charles loved to see you in that color, even now that you weren’t together anymore. It didn't just say who you rooted for but also who you belonged to: his and no one else's. And the fact that you were wearing it when you were probably with Lewis made him smile and turned him on. Maybe there is still hope, Charles thought.

You shook your head, fully aware of what he really meant. “It’s just a color”, you simply said. But it wasn’t and you knew it. Deep down you were still rooting for him. You always would have.

You looked away, unable to hold his gaze as his eyes roamed over your body and how they darkened as he took in the details, the tension building up. Charles knew you were lying, he knew you too well.

Pinned against the wall with his hands to the side of your face, he put a lock of hair behind your ear.

There were a million things Charles wanted to tell you, to ask you – important things – but in the end jealousy got the better of him. “What are you doing here, Y/n?”, he asked and kindly grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him.

The time had come, you thought. That moment you had been waiting for but at the same time postponing for so many weeks, it was there. Now or never, you thought. You had to tell him about Lewis.

“I’m here for Lewis”, you whispered.

So, I was right, Charles thought. You are here for Lewis, there is something between you. But what? Even if he already knew the answer, he had to try, get to the bottom of the matter.

“That’s nice of you. It’s important to be there for friends. Can I be your friend too?” Charles knew he was going too far but he couldn't resist, his eyes studying your face for some kind of clue. Anything that confirmed that you were just friends.

You rolled your eyes and ignoring his question, you got straight to the point. “Charles, we aren’t friends. I mean, yes, we are but not just that. We are dating, actually.”

A sigh expelled past his lips, his head hanging low so you couldn’t see his eyes.

Charles’ mind was racing as he couldn’t come to terms with what you just told him. His worst fears had come true. He had lost you. No, it couldn’t be, Charles thought. That couldn’t be the end.

“Really? With a Mercedes guy, Y/n? That’s not your place”, he said looking back at you.

You had never seen that look on his face before, it portrayed… Anger? Maybe. Annoyance? Also. But there was something else too. Jealousy. He was jealous.

Even if his jealousy pleased you because it meant he still felt something for you, you still got angry at his words. Who did he think he was to say that?, you thought.

“And let’s hear, what would be my place, uhm, Charles? Where?”, you challenged him.

Seeing that he didn't speak, you repeated the question and started beating him on the chest. “Come on, answer, coward!” You didn’t care if people were hearing you. You had waited too long for this moment.

He grabbed your wrists, stopping you. Your eyes, filled with tears, peered up at him, waiting for his answer. “With me… Your place is with me, Y/n.”

Even if you felt a tingling and loving feeling at his words and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t want that your place was with him, you couldn’t forget how badly he had treated you. How could you believe him after what he had done to you? How could he look straight in your face and say that? How?, you asked yourself and got even angrier if possible.

“With you?”, you joked. “After you kicked me out as soon as you had everything you wanted and when you didn't need me anymore? Are you serious, Charles?”, you asked him and sighed.

He glanced away, unable to look at you as he felt ashamed. He let your wrists and sighed. “I made a mistake, okay? I thought I needed to focus on my career and that to do so I had to leave all distractions aside, but I never…”

“So now I was just a simple distraction, Charles?” You felt your chest tighten as you let out a sob, you couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. “You know, I think I've heard enough. You're not the only one who made a mistake because I too thought you loved me and instead evidently......”

He didn't let you finish as he pushed you against the wall again and pressed his lips on yours. After the initial shock and even if you were angry with him, you didn't even try to resist him and kissed him back. His mouth was warm and soft. The kiss was nothing gentle and light, but intense and his hands were moving to squeeze at your waist, pulling you closer, and you completely melted into him. Even if all those months you had said otherwise, the truth was you had missed him, his touch on you… all that.

Even though you knew it was wrong towards you, towards Lewis especially, you didn’t stop him, you just enjoyed the moment, the feeling of his lips on yours. It was intoxicating, but it was also the only thing you needed at that moment.

That kiss was worth a thousand words. It contained everything you hadn’t said, how much you had missed each other and how much you…

“I never stopped loving you, Y/n, and you were never a distraction. Never. I made a mistake putting you aside just as I made a mistake not looking for you when I realized what I had done but I was too ashamed. And then.. I thought I didn't deserve you, that you were better off without me”, he sighed. “But I loved you, Y/n, and I still do. I know I don’t deserve it but if you feel the same, forgive me and take me back. Please”, he whispered, almost begging you.

… you loved each other.

You were speechless and your mind was racing, playing his words on repeat in your head. In all those months you hadn't wanted anything else, so many times you had imagined hearing him say those words and now he was finally saying them. But was it enough for you? After everything?

You were about to speak when you heard Lewis’ voice, scaring you to death. You and Charles quickly walked away from each other.

“Here you are”, the English driver said referring to you. “Hey, mate”, he said, greeting Charles.

Although you were scared to face him and were feeling incredibly guilty, you glanced at Lewis, he seemed relaxed but you didn't know how long he'd been there or what he'd heard. For all you knew, he might have heard all of it. You were too caught up in the moment to notice anything. What if he had actually heard it all and was faking it? You hadn’t said anything compromising, but you had kissed Charles back and that was enough to incriminate you. And even though he hadn't seen anything, you and Charles were too close for anyone to think you were just talking. Lewis wasn’t stupid and even if he was faking it, seeing your faces almost touching must have made him suspicious.

The last thing you wanted was hurting him, after he had treated you so well, showing you love and respect. But maybe it was already too late.

“Did I interrupt something?”, he asked.

You could feel the tension building up.

“No”, you quickly lied. “I went out for a smoke and we meet but he was leaving now.”

Charles looked at you, totally ignoring Lewis. This time it was you who was sending him away but he wasn't going to give up, not this time. That kiss had told him more than you were willing to tell him, at least not yet.

“Oh, that’s good. I imagine you had a few things to tell each other”, Lewis said.

You wondered if that was a way of saying that he had heard everything or simply an observation knowing what had happened between you and Charles in the past. You were about to tell him that you had told Charles about you and him but the Monegasque driver preceded you.

“Yeah, we had and by the way, she told me about you two”, he said finally looking at Lewis.

“Oh, well. This is a little embarrassing… But I hope it’s not a problem for you, for us.”

“No, it’s not. Just be smarter than me and treat her well”, Charles said surprising you. You looked at him. Was he letting you go? Was he giving up on you again?, you asked yourself.

You knew it was the right thing for you, especially if you wanted to make things work between you and Lewis, but part of you wanted to do nothing more than run into Charles’ arms and tell him to never leave you again. That you were his. Maybe you rushed things too far with Lewis… Maybe it wasn't too late for you and Charles,you thought.

“Oh, don’t worry. She will be loved”, Lewis exclaimed letting both of you speechless.

But in the end, Charles’ words weren’t enough for you, they couldn’t be. You needed something more and Lewis was willing to give it to you.

I don't mind spending every day Out on your corner in the pouring rain Look for the girl with the broken smile Ask her if she wants to stay a while And she will be loved And she will be loved

641 notes · View notes

freshfraise · 1 year

Note

Mbappe x reader where he is really possessive and angry and jealous. You can come up with the scenario. Maybe something like what u did for Richi 🫶🏼✨

TERRITORIAL

pairing: mbappe x reader

summary: On the day of one of Kylian’s vital matches, speculations cloud the pitch. Both Y/N and Mbappe learn the crucial power of privacy, realising what people don’t know, they can’t ruin.

author’s note: angst!! possessive and jealous mbappe!! honestly i love writing for him!! plus i tried some new things <33. hope u enjoy and sorry for the long wait :) + i imagined blonde kylian whilst writing this

Kylian startles me, as he comes from behind me and wraps his toned arms around my waist. His chin resting on my shoulder, I let out a long exhalation of relief, feeling a wave of serenity among the bustling Parisian lights. I glanced up, staring deeply into the blinking lights that illuminated the city, and then looked back to Kylian, attaching my lips onto his. Today marked our six month anniversary, and Ky decided to bring us back home to celebrate. Paris always had a special fondness in my heart, as it is where I spent the first seven years of my life, where most of my family resided and where I met Kylian. Although our night had to be cut short due to Kylian’s match at Parc des Princes tomorrow, we both made sure to relish each other’s presence to the fullest.

It was rare we had each other to ourselves like this, due to our demanding and famed lifestyles. If I was free, Kylian had training and if he was free, I had a photoshoot. As if this wasn't enough of a hassle of its own, the added factor of secrecy makes things completely infeasible. Disguises, secret locations and body guards were just some of the thousands of precautions taken to ensure our privacy. So far, it worked, as Kylian was being linked to essentially every Woman in Paris except me. No one had the reason to relate the two of us, as to some, I lived in a completely different universe to Kylian Mbappe. And it was all worth it, as despite everything else about us being in the forefront of the public eye, we finally had something that was utterly and wholly ours. Just ours, and only ever ours.

“Je ne me lasserai jamais de ce vue.” (I will never get tired of this view.) I mention, entirely enthralled by the glimmering tower in front of me.

“Moi aussi.” (Me too.) Kylian responds quickly, and I whip my head back to find his stare unreservedly fixated on me instead of the tower. I smile softly, and drop my eyes to the floor attempting to conceal my bashful state. He can obviously see me try to hide my face, as he erupts into a fit of shameless laughter. This only makes me even more coy, as I physically cover myself with my hands to avoid eye contact. I rest my head on his chest, which reverbates as he continues to laugh at my timidity, as he begins to cradle it and kiss my head. His forwardness has always made me feel shy, which was one of things I liked about him.

“Let me take a picture of you.” He asks, staring directly into my dilated irises. I nod as he takes a couple with me doing funny pictures in front of the tower, some idyllic selfies of the two of us and some with my back turned, facing the view. I decided to choose one to upload to my story, appreciative of the views ahead of me.

Game day. I made my way towards the stadium, riddled with nerves. As I sit patiently, my phone lights up seeing Ky’s name appear. I furrow my eyebrows in confusion, since at a time so close to the game, he would never go on his phone, it was apart of his pre game ritual. I answer hesitantly.

“Y/N,” Mbappe says, and my worry quadruples in size.

“Yes?” I answer, and he lets out a sigh. “Ky, what’s up?”

“Have you checked your phone recently? Or seen your twitter?”

“No? Why? Do I need to?”

“Check your messages.”

Suddenly, I get a notification from Kylian, viewing the attachment he sent me. I gasp.

I go silent, and Kylian understands my thoughts, as he begins calling out my name. That was me and him, on the front cover, kissing, for everyone to see. How did we not know? How could we be so thoughtless?

I tune in to our conversation and listen to what Kylian has to say.

“Listen, there’s good news and bad news.”

“Je pense que la mauvaise nouvelle est très évidente, what’s the good news? (I think that the bad news is very obvious,)

“Your face is not seen in the article, that’s good, right?” He says, attempting to lighten the tone. I giggle at his ridiculous positivity.

“It says undetected not unknown, I already know they are just waiting for the perfect time to say my name.”

“Speaking of that, there’s one more piece of bad news. Check your twitter.”

I sigh, and my Twitter is on the verge of crashing down with the amount of notifications I have. I go to the trending page and view my name in capitals.

“Kylian…”

I tap on the hashtag and see tons of threads and tweets labelled:

A TIMELINE OF Y/N Y/L/N & KYLIAN MBAPPE’S RELATIONSHIP

THE FRENCH IT COUPLE: Y/N AND MBAPPE

Y/N & MBAPPE??? UNDER THE EIFFEL TOWER,, KISSING???

Y/N IS THE GIRL IN THE PHOTO AND HERE’S WHY…

“Oh God.” I blurt out, realising just how bad this situation is.

“Yeah… essayez de ne pas trop vous en soucier, d’accord?” (try not to worry about it too much, okay?) Kylian says with his voice soft and gentle, trying to console me. I realise his game is getting closer, and he needs to focus, not calling me.

“You too. I’ll still be rooting for you in the stands. I love you.” I affirm, not allowing any trivial tabloids, trending hashtags or headlines get into my head.

“Je t’aime plus. (I love you more.) See you later, Ma vie.” (My life.)

Eventually, I reached Parc des Princes. This was the first time I would be going to one of his matches, due to our privacy precautions and coincidentally it was also the first time I went out as ‘Mbappe’s girlfriend.’ Great. We planned out this for months, ensuring that I could still have a good view, whilst still being hidden from the public eye, and now that all went to waste. As soon as I stepped out of the Uber, I heard haunting shutters and clicks of cameras, something which still irked me after all the experience. Mbappe made sure to increase the security, even before this whole situation, so I wouldn’t be bothered by anyone. Three different guards surrounded me, and escorted me to the seats, which, initially I thought was excessive, however now, I’m more grateful than ever. After navigating endless hallways and shortcuts, I finally sat down in my seat. I scan the pitch to find him, and I immediately see him, more unfazed than ever. Seeing him like that makes me feel more confident in turn, so I straighten up my posture, cross my legs, fix my hair and breathe. The whistle blows, and I just pray this match goes well.

Within minutes of the whistle sounding, Kylian is smoothly assisted the ball from Hakimi, before a defender from the other team viciously slide tackles into Mbappe’s ankles. He drops brutally. The crowd roars in anger and the referee whistle is sounded. I jump up instinctually, genuinely stressing. To everyone’s surprise, Mbappe limps up and begins to confront the heated defender. They argue aggressively, foreheads pounding, vicious shouts and boyish shoves and grunts consuming the screen. Just as the teammates from the respective teams begin to diffuse the situation, seemingly reaching a state of stillness, the defender utters something, which was completely unintelligible on the screens, but was clear enough to make Kylian charge towards him again.

Kylian releases himself from his frenzied team mates grasp and dashes towards him. Still provoking him with his comments, Kylian shoves the player with his utmost force and in turn, he drops to the ground immediately, rolling around to finish off the performance. I could tell Ky was extremely, extremely irritated by him, and was on the brink of losing control. The melodramatic player stops rolling around and gets back up, muttering more comments towards him. Kylian finally reaches his edge, as he shoves the player with intense acceleration. The crowd jumped in shock, the game turning into utter chaos as both teams failed to diffuse the situation miserably. The referee swiftly puts a red card above his head, something that Kylian was practically waiting for. He knew what he did was stupid. Before he left, I could make out the words ‘Parlez encore d'elle’, ‘Redis son nom’ and ‘Voir ce qui se passe’.

I could tell he was still angry as he left the pitch, as he ignored consoles from his manager and teammates and headed straight out towards the tunnel leading them back to the changing rooms. Suddenly, I make the executive decision to go, picking up my feet and explaining to bumptious guards that I am perfectly capable of going to the bathroom by myself.

Reaching the hallways, I hear the thump and strikes of objects being hurled around the room laced with a string of unrefined french swears. I breathed out Kylian’s name, before following the sounds as it became increasingly louder. I perceive erratic breathing and I become alarmingly worried at his state. Placing my fingers upon the door, I push outwards revealing the catastrophic conditions of the changing room. I see him, sitting on the floor against a disfigured locker door. His head hung back, facing the ceiling and his eyes pinched shut, as if he was trying to erase something from his mind. I murmur his name from under my breath, and he looks up at me, prolonging unfeigned eye contact. I begin to make my way towards him, before Kylian jumps up and moves back from me. I frown, puzzled but nonetheless I remain immobile maintaining a gut wrenching distance.

“Ky, qu'est-ce qui ne va pas?”(What’s wrong?) I ask gently, tilting my head and giving him further inspection. I glance down to his knuckles, bruised and red. “Qu'est-ce qui s'est passé là-bas?” (What happened down there?) My voice slowly started to become less and less unfaltering as it grew with concern.

He shakes his head and compresses his lips together, his hands placed firmly on his hips. He starts pacing around the room, opening up and closing his mouth in an attempt to formulate a sentence. Seeing him this anxiety-ridden makes my heart pound with sympathy, so in a couple strides, I come towards Kylian and grab his attention. I cup his face, staring into his dilated irises. I see flicks of hesitation scan his face, before I begin to calm him down.

“I love you. You can trust me.” I reassure him, as his broad shoulders slowly become less uptight.

“I know I can. C'est moi, en qui je n'ai pas confiance..” (It's me, who I don't trust.) He mutters shamefully, expressing the extent of his anger.

“Well I do. I trust you completely.”

Kylian heaves, before his attentive glare left mine and watched the walls. “He- They know about you. He was talking about you on the pitch. The whole team.” I sigh, before softly dropping my hands from his face. He notices this, as he grabs my hands to hold them before they fall against my sides.

“What did they say?”

His head hangs low, and his gaze meets the floor. I look up at him searching for the eye contact I desire, but his eyes remain glued to the ground. “Ky-” I’m cut off as he looks back at me.

“First they said you were pretty. They kept saying your name, congratulating me for getting someone as sexy as you. Afterwards, they began to threaten me about how I need to get up from the ground so I won’t embarrass you. Then one of them started to talk about how they can treat you better. That they can fuck you better than me. When I pushed him down, his teammates started to say the same thing, saying your name, imitating you, moaning. It was disgusting and I’m sorry that you-”

I connect my lips onto his, overwhelmed. It felt like the only correct answer at the moment, as Kylian’s temper was rising by the minute. His resentment translated into ardent concupiscence, as his hands shifted against my body frantically. His hands in my hair, and my arms linked around his shoulders. I hoped my appreciation for him was communicated. A million thoughts condensed into one single moment.

I slowly detach my lips from him, as our foreheads touch. Trying to regain my breathing, I still see Ky’s eyes closed and his lips pressed together. Eventually, his eyes flutter open and I begin to laugh at his state. Face flushed, red lipstick staining his lips it was truly a heavenly sight. As our laughs reverberated against the changing room, he grabbed my waist and pressed it towards him in a snug embrace. After a few beats of silence, I place my chin on his chest to look up, “Is it bad to say I like it when you’re jealous?” He looks down and furrows his eyebrows. His dimple pops up as he talks, “I wasn’t jealous.” I laugh at his denial, because clearly his actions presented differently.

“So getting a four match ban isn’t a result of your jealousy?” I remark snarkily as Kylian pouts, slightly saddened by my words. I laugh quietly to myself, before I apologise profusely and kiss the tip of his nose.

He continues to plead his case saying “Je ne suis pas jaloux, je suis territorial. (I am not jealous, I am territorial.) Jealousy is when you want something that’s not yours, and I was just protecting what’s already mine.”

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copperbadge · 1 year

Text

I feel like I could write roughly ten thousand words about my newly formed and extremely complex relationship with Amsterdam, given I only spent six hours there and two of those were in the train station. I have three or four posts in my head about it, from "Why is every indoor space in this city kept at roughly the boiling point of Tungsten" to "The Nice Things That Happened To Me In Amsterdam" to "That Time Someone Stole My Stroopwafel" but I think you all will be most entertained by the fact that I have a new feud, and it is with the entire Rijksmuseum.

I've been in museums that were a bit crap and museums that didn't interest me and even museums like today's that were physically uncomfortable, but I have never so hated a museum as I hated the Rijksmuseum by the time I left it.

And it's not the Rijksmuseum's fault! Yes, there are issues with the museum's physical structure -- the insane number of stairs and lack of lifts, the fact that the thermostat could be turned down from "temperature of the sun" to "next door to hell" if they wanted, the bizarrely poor lighting -- but not all of those can be fixed, and they're clearly doing their best. Plus it was mad crowded. But I've been in crowded, poorly-designed spaces before and always found something to love. There was nothing for me in the Rijksmuseum.

So I don't think it's the museum itself. I think that museum and I have some kind of spiritual feud. I think the museum feels actively malevolent to me in a way few buildings ever have because it hates me, personally. I don't know why -- could be to do with my Dutch ancestor who left Amsterdam (the infamous Mennonite Pirate) or perhaps it knows my heart truly belongs to the Art Institute and this is spite. In any case, it may think it has won, but I'm retreating strategically. Someday I will come back to Amsterdam and I will fight the Rijksmuseum and we will settle this once and for all. Bicycles will undoubtedly be involved.

I will eventually do a post about the lovely things I did in Amsterdam, including the grocery store (also kept at the melting point of steel, unfortunately) and Albert Cuyp Market, where I got the stroopwafel (eventually) and bought a nice new bag, and even the genuinely best part of the day, where I walked down a side street to Sarphatipark and discovered that Amsterdam is really very beautiful and quiet if you step off the main roads. @rumtastique I have to apologize for being mortal enemies with the Rijksmuseum but as mentioned in comments you did absolutely save my life when I consulted my notes from talks we'd had about Amsterdam and took advantage of all your good advice (particularly the advice about having cash on hand). (Josh, I didn't get to the bakery you recommended but I really wanted to. I'm keeping it in my notes for next time.)

Still, while I will make those posts, I have been awake since 3am and that's part of the problem, so I'm going to set an alarm to wake me before we reach Paris, and sleep until then.

This isn't over, Rijksmuseum. And next time I'll come prepared: I'll wear a tank top.

#sam travels #the cheese tour #amsterdam #rijksmuseum

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vixentheplanet · 11 months

Text

why did you fall in love?

“why did you fall in love? it's a hard fall from way up here."

shuri x black!reader | 18+

summary: You're one of the deadliest assassins in the world in a relationship with a superhero. [18+]

word count: 5.3k

themes: dark themes, assassin!reader, love-blind shuri (she is in love, leave her alone)

warnings: murder, manipulation, knife play, dom!reader (if you tilt your head, then left, and squint), oral sex, bondage, riding, fingering.

hi ✨ PSA this is a side blog to my main one so i can’t follow anyone as vixentheplanet

i’m okay!

i’m just re-uploading my deleted works for now and answering ask

i hope to write again but mentally not there rn

Every day, it is estimated that about 150,000 people die all across the world. Of those one hundred and fifty thousand people, one and seven hundred twenty-eight thousand of those people are homicide victims. When the night draws to a close, and Tuesday takes her daily victims, just one had the privilege of seeing your face last.

Many people make the mistake of believing that women are weak and harmless. These preconceptions force people to drop their guard and fail to see a threat right in front of them. Another widespread misunderstanding is that assassins are always male, grim, and gloomy figures dressed entirely in black. No one would ever suspect you of such atrocities, the girl in the velvet corset and gold metallic miniskirt. You were grinning devilishly to yourself as you walked the short distance from where the taxi had dropped you off to your apartment building.

In prison, you were recruited as an assassin by a criminal organization named Callio. Callio is short for blue coral snake (Calliophis bivirgata). The venom of the colorful snakes is so potent that it can cause all of the victim's nerves to fire at once, resulting in full-body spasms, paralysis, and sudden, terrible death—a fitting name for an organization housing some of the deadliest criminals. Your old identity perished the moment you became a member of the group. Callio aided you in escaping, fabricating your death, and establishing a new identity.

The organization was everywhere: police, MI5, and MI6 were covering things up so you wouldn't get in trouble. All potential evidence against you will be completely eradicated thanks to Callio's assistance. Your only task was to ensure that your target died. With each murder, you left a unique imprint without leaving a systematic trail. Your tasks took you all across the world. Except for Paris, you only stayed in one palace for a short time and did everything you could to blend in. If you wanted to have some fun, you could even go in disguise.

An 'expert' with a degree, desperate for labels, would brand you a psychopath who constantly disregards right and wrong and dismisses others' rights and feelings. It's a made-up phrase by individuals acting as society expects them to. They see the world in black and white, labeling things they don't comprehend because they've been taught to be afraid of the dark and unconventional ways of life.

It felt exhilarating to be able to live your life any way you wanted.

The night chill barely bothered your skin as epinephrine coursed through your bloodstream—the rush of adrenaline thrumming your body with pure excitement.

When your steps click against the pavement, sirens zoom past you, no doubt on their way to the location you were just leaving. Tonight is one of the few times in recent memory that you didn't have to go out of the city for business. The target was Angus Grant-Taylor, a Scottish businessman who planned to spend the weekend in Paris. Perfect for you. While you were in Tokyo two weeks ago, concluding an assignment on a fashion mongoose, you were given his file.

A key card that granted entrance to the penthouse suite was enclosed with the file. You slipped into the elevator and pressed the button for the 50th floor. The red light surrounding the button went out, and a bell sounded as the doors opened directly into the opulent living area.

The execution was quick. In a confused combination of French and English, you put on a heavy French accent and informed Grant-Taylor that you were a sex specialist sent by a friend to welcome him properly in the City of Love. He fell for it, a horny filthy man, without even verifying your claims. It was terrible how easily you could convince him to surrender over his belt with the threat of punishment. You were in his lap moments later, looping the belt around his neck and pushing till the leather bit into his wrinkled flesh. You pulled tighter and tighter, seeing the businessman's eyes widen in terror, clawing at his neck in an attempt to end the assault, violent breathy cries leaving his thin lips.

You smile as you watch the struggle leave his body. It will be over soon. “At least your wife doesn't know her husband was unfaithful, right?” You murmured this with mock pity, no longer maintaining the phony French accent. The authorities would declare it erotic asphyxiation for a half-naked man with a belt around his neck. As soon as his body became limp, you were off his lap and fled from the hotel room. You leave the space in the direction of the camera's blind spot.

Pathetic. You thought as you pushed through the revolving door into your residential building, keeping your head low as you made your way through the lobby and up to the elevators.

Inserting the key into the lock and hearing the click, you withdrew the key but hesitated momentarily before rotating the knob. There was a slight temperature drop, which you're sure was caused by a window opening and shutting. You feel an energetic shift as tension builds on your shoulders. There was a visitor inside. You instinctively reach for one of the solid-steel spikes hidden in your hair, preparing to strike. But, as you proceed further, a soothing fragrance meets your senses. Cherry almond bursts mingled with dense and warm woody ambery undertones.

Instead of continuing with your original plan, you smirk. Exiting the foyer, turn left into the kitchen, grab a glass from the sink, and twist the cap off the whiskey. "You know, I think you have a death wish sometimes," you say into the night, pouring yourself a celebratory shot. Had you not picked up on the scent, you would have attacked. The sofa creeks and footsteps approach from the sitting room while the brown liquid stings your throat.

The footsteps stop, and the light switches on, illuminating the room. Soft eyes land on you. “How did you know it was me and not some creep?”

You turn to face the voice, welcomed by the woman whose attention you’ve managed to maintain for over a year. A beautiful woman who honestly had no business being involved with you, but staying away from each other proved to be a difficult task. “I could smell your cologne,” A robust and potent scent. Some days, it would bring comfort, cocooning you in a loving warmth you could temporarily allow yourself to get lost in. Other days, when you felt exceptionally vulnerable, it suffocated you with the feelings you left unnamed.

"Imagine if it had been some creep," you add. A giggle escapes as you bite your lip and catalog how to torture the intruder. If someone made the wrong decision to break into your apartment, you would have considered it a gift from the devil. They must have some pretty fucked up karma.

Shuri's face changes as her expression hardens. She scolds you, "Stop doing that," fully aware of how unsettling your thoughts are.

You scowl at her reprimanding tone.

"Where are you coming from?" Shuri was interrogating you about what you had done tonight, and you pondered telling her the truth for a split second. For the typical person, it was a simple question. For you, it was difficult to answer. You could have been down the street, or you could have been at the scene of a homicide. It was unnecessary to keep your occupation a secret. Shuri was fully aware of the life you led, but your contradictory morality didn't detract from the feelings she'd developed for you.

Her justification? Shuri was an avenger; she wasn't concerned with the petty crimes of human existence. It wasn't her responsibility if it didn't pose a threat to her people or the universe. The truth? Love. Loving someone makes you unable to see their faults.

Shuri had been through so much grief and pain that she was at her lowest by the time you arrived. You were an enigma she was trying to solve at first, having met at a gala while you were on assignment. Shuri couldn't stay away once the mystery was uncovered and she discovered the nature of your life. Letting a literal superhero into your world, Shuri falling for an assassin, the relationship was risky for both of you. Secretly, you believe Shuri was drawn to you because of your darker tendencies, recognizing characteristics she fought to keep at bay in you.

“If you don’t want to hear about what I’d do hypothetically, you definitely don’t want to know where I came from.” There’s a playful glint in your brown eyes as you smirked, bending down to remove your heels. Shuri releases a long sigh that causes you to snap your head at her. “What? Does the mighty Black Panther have something to tell me?” You challenged, throwing your coat into the empty chair.

The two of you stood on two different sides on the scale of humanity. Things are rarely just black or white, good or bad; instead, they exist on a spectrum of gray hues. The world is filled with nuances, complexities, and shades of gray that require more in-depth examination and comprehension. Killing is a primordial act. Humans have three basic instincts: survival, predator, and prey. Humans would live like savages if not restrained by the rule of law, morals, and ethics. It's what nature intended. It was a waste of time to try to be decent when you could just be good at what you do best, murder.

Shuri saved lives as the Black Panther while you ended them. Shuri had difficulty grasping the fact that you enjoyed what you did. The gruesome sight of the victim’s body makes the detectives feel sick to their stomachs as they come up with little to no evidence. Thrilling.

Some may consider it selfish for a 'hero' to turn a blind eye to the assassin creating chaos in the world, but in reality, no one can always be entirely selfless. So Shuri gives herself the freedom to have this, to have you. As a result, you allow yourself to feel for the first time in a long time. Yet you never let the romance take you away from who you were. Make you abandon your criminal behavior in favor of a comfortable lifestyle with Shuri.

After sensing your anger, Shuri moves from the opposite side of the kitchen to be closer to you.

“I understand the nature of your profession,” Shuri hesitates in her following words, recognizing you’re prone to shutting down whenever the conversation becomes confrontational. "I must know you're safe."

Her sentiments amuse you. "You worry about me, sweetheart,"

"Y/N, I am being serious. Every time you leave on a mission, you run the chance of never returning."

"I suppose I could say the same thing about you." You fired back fast. With so many unknowns, the Avengers could not adequately prepare for every potential threat. You were at least provided with a file including all the required information and resources. On most occasions, you could be perfectly prepared for what you were about to walk into.

The situation was risky, but what's the fun of being cautious? You have a tendency to be impulsive and easily bored. “It hasn’t killed me yet.” You were well aware that you weren't invincible or superhuman. You are just too efficient at your work. But even if protected, you weren’t clumsy; every movement was careful and calculated.

"Would you like me to wait till it does?"

A droplet slides down your cheek as your eyes water, “Are you going to save me?" You ask, brows furrowed as you look at Shuri with pleading eyes. " Save me, so I no longer have to kill. Please, please save me," you sniffled, reaching out to wipe away the tears that had gathered on cue.

Perhaps the hero knew too much about you. Shuri sighs at your shenanigans, her face heated at your ridicule of her sincerity. "Stop," she mutters.

In the stillness, a manic burst of laughter rings forth. "Wasn't that what you wanted me to do?" You argue back, and the depleted sigh that Shuri lets out has you rolling your eyes. "You're taking away my post-kill buzz." You have a grimace on your face as you turn away slightly. You weren’t in the mood for this emotional connectivity, no longer interested in hearing how much the other woman cares for you.

Nevertheless, Shuri is right there, caging you against the marble countertop and unwilling to let you detach from her. Shuri's affection for you can be overwhelming. Initially, your emotional detachment was a struggle for the other, who wanted to be let in. She was gentle, always clutching at your rough edges with the hope of smoothing them out, and her understanding and tolerance occasionally roused in you a wish to be more patient with her.

"Don't shut me out," Shuri urges, brushing her gentle lips against your brow. It took significant effort to overcome the impulse to shut down when experiencing emotional distress. "What's on your mind?" she questioned softly.

Her focus is intense. It always fascinated you how much power she could wield over you with a look that demanded your attention. The gaze you give back is enough to convey what's going on in your unsteady thoughts. With Shuri so close, you didn't want to continue your conversation. You wanted her lips on yours so badly after being separated for a while. "Begins with the letter K, followed by the letter I. Finally, it has two of the same letters." You wait for her to figure out the puzzle.

Shuri leans forward, leaving you barely a few inches apart, your back pressed against the cold marble of the island. “Kiss or kill?” She inquires, her lips brushing across yours, close but not touching.

A smirk etches on your features. “Don’t tempt me.”

“The temptress doesn’t like being tempted?” Fucking tease.

"Playing with me may be disastrous, darling. But I’ll spare you. I think you deserve a kiss." Shuri doesn't waste any time pouring herself into you; your mouths move feverishly, embracing the severity of your hunger.

Gradually, the kiss is no longer enough to satisfy the craving. Hands tighten around your waist, pushing you effortlessly into the cool surface, the stone on your thighs sending shivers up your spine. Still yearning for the sensation of Shuri's lips, you bend your head lower. Her hands tremble as she removes the button on your skirt, the discarded garment on the tile. Shuri's movements stutter as you bite onto her earlobe, your teeth clamping down on her jewelry. "You're so sensitive," you joke.

Regaining her composure, the woman slips her hand under the lace of your panties and effortlessly finds her way to your opening. Gentle fingers move inward, gathering some of the liquid that has pooled there. As the pads of her middle finger massage your clit with the accumulated moisture, you draw away from her mouth and let out a blissful moan.

The rhythm on your clit was subtle at first, with just enough pressure to get your breath catching. Shuri’s other hand tugs your corset down to thumb over your nipple before rubbing it between her index finger and thumb. You were both panting heavily in the intensity of the moment. Your nails pinch into Shuri's skin as you press your lips together and hold her sharp jawline. "Go down on your knees."

As the Wakandan falls to her knees, lustful eyes follow her every move. You clutch the counter's edge while your legs lay on Shuri's shoulders. Your stomach muscles clench in anticipation as you feel her warm breath on your core. Your pussy throbbed incessantly, and you're certain Shuri's hesitancy came from her fascination with how your juices flowed.

You have no idea when she will give you what you want. She then went in. Shuri used her tongue to separate your folds, causing you to gasp quietly, then spread you open with a long lick, ending with her mouth on your clit. Savoring the taste.

"Mon amour," you purr, resting your palm over Shuri's curls. As you move your hips slowly, your mouth falls slack. Once the pleasure becomes too overwhelming, you fully relax, laying back on the surface. Head dangling over the edge, a dizzying wave settles in. The rush is intoxicating.

She keeps sucking and devouring. Another glide, a deeper lick, and she comes up for air, only a few seconds missing the taste of you on her tongue before diving back in. When she brushed across the inside of your slit, her touch on your core made you whimper helplessly. You extended your legs wider and pushed your hips up for more, grinding on her face impulsively. Your body understood what it desired.

Shuri did as well. As Shuri grasped your ass with both hands and forced you onto her face, you uttered an involuntary gasp of surprise. "Oh, fuck," you exclaim. She was fully immersed in her task. Nothing mattered but you. Your lustful cries redirected Shuri's attention to your clit, which she licked rhythmically. The actions cause your stomach to spasm and deliver euphoric vibrations throughout your body. You're delirious and feeling so fucking amazing. Shuri has you in such immense ecstasy that you can hardly think about anything else. Shuri sank her face as far as she could, causing your spine to arch and legs to tremble —right there.

Your eyelids slid back as your orgasm rushed over you from head to toe. Everything raced as you felt your release land fast and heavy on Shuri's tongue. You cry out her name, and every drop of air in your lungs escapes, leaving you gasping.

As Shuri gets up, you lift your legs off her shoulders, and firm hands pull you upright. Between the orgasm and the disorientation, you're dazed, but your half-lidded eyes make out her form, and your hands go for Shuri's shirt, bringing her in for a fierce kiss. "You always make me feel so good," you praise, admiring the lovely face paint your cum applied to her.

"I fear I'm addicted to hearing you yell my name." As a result of her exertions, Shuri's voice is low and slightly harsh.

You smile as you attempt to regain your composure. "You're in luck. I plan on screaming it a lot more tonight.” Shuri unleashes an insanity-inducing growl in response to your words, which she only makes when she loses control.

"I have a surprise for you," You speak to her in a hushed tone as though it was a secret. Your expression becomes increasingly sinister. Something unexpectedly made Shuri ache.

With your legs on either of her, you sat slightly on Shuri's chest to avoid disturbing the strap waiting for you to climb. In your palm is a dagger you brought from Thailand. The gold handle is detailed and encrusted with amethyst teardrop crystals, while the silver blade gleams in the Parisian night.

"Beautiful, huh?" you say, admiring the handcrafted artistry.

Shuri’s brows raise, eyes trained on the object you held. "It's lovely, but I thought I warned you against weaponry in bed, my dear?"

You tilted your head, "When I warned you not to tell me what to do,” you counter-responded. “Anyway, that's not a surprise." Shuri opened her mouth to argue, but you signaled her to keep silent with a finger; she obeyed. You put the dagger between your lips and reach for a bundle of scarlet hemp rope.

You don't ask. Just hold it up with a pleading expression. Shuri gives you a thoughtful look before finally giving in, her gaze flitting between the rope and the dagger. She couldn't deny it, but you knew she was always eager to try new things in the bedroom.

"Fine" was the only confirmation you required, thrilled. "Raise your arms and lock your wrists together," you command, and Shuri obediently complies. The synthetic material is woven into a handcuff knot. Imagining a future in which Shuri would allow you to tie elaborate knots in the rope that encircled her body evoked a primal sense of authority.

Shuri's breath catches when the rope is secured, and she experiences faint, painful sensations that heighten her awareness. Upon noticing that her eyes are closed, you smirk. You ask, "How does it feel?" to determine if she is at ease.

"It's good," she affirms, eyes fluttering open. You admire the vivid crimson thread that binds Shuri's wrist since it stands out against her complexion.

Tightly bound and 'helpless,' you and Shuri both know she has the ability to break free if she so desires. For the fun of it, you place the blade against her neck. "Are you afraid?"

Shuri swallows with her Adam's apple bobbing as her throat comes closer to the dagger. The woman beneath you remains silent for a few moments before shaking her head. "I'm not," she says clearly. "You wouldn't do anything to hurt me, and I know that."

It dawns on you how much faith Shuri has in you. You're a deadly assassin who kills others out of joy, with no remorse or conscience. Any rational person would have been terrified. It doesn't matter how brave they act around you; a knife to the throat will make all pretense of courage vanish in an instant. Yet Shuri's gaze is fixed on you, and she isn't reacting to the dagger you're holding.

Instead of being content with her response, you take things a step further, bringing your arm back and raising the blade above Shuri's head, but she remains unaffected by your actions, continuing to gaze with you. She doesn't even blink when you bring your arm down quickly, stabbing the pillow beside her head. Yet, with your chest pressed together, you can hear her heart pulse against yours.

You bend down and kiss her on the mouth. The kiss is anything but delicate, full of fire and desperation due to the limited time around each other. Despite being restrained, Shuri mirrors your enthusiasm, her lips moving in sync with her intent. A moan escapes your lips as you pull back and lick a long stripe across Shuri's tattooed neck.

The blade is withdrawn from the pillow when you pull the handle. "This," you declare, waving the weapon in front of Shuri. "It's only a precaution. I'd like you to keep it for me, darling." You request, putting the sharp blade between the lips of the other woman.

You lean in close to her ear. "I'm going to ride the fuck out of you," you confidently vow, and Shuri whines. Her wrist flexed in the precise knot. “Ah, ah- no touching.” You reprimand, grabbing for the lubricant container, squeezing some into your palm, and coating the strap.

You gasp as you lift up and sink down into the shaft. In this posture, you had perfect control over the intensity and motion. "You look so gorgeous," you say, appreciating how she's pliant beneath you, waiting to be used.

When you direct the shaft to your entrance, you inhale sharply, feeling your walls flex to accommodate the length. You balance yourself by resting your hands on Shuri's shoulders and dragging your hips upwards, setting the rhythm. Every time you come back down, your gaze is fixed on Shuri, and a tiny gasp escapes your lips.

Shuri's admiration as she watches you indulge in your own pleasure turns you on even more—symbolic submission, yielding to you and your dark desires. "Do you enjoy watching me use you?" you ask, and Shuri nods, unable to react vocally with the razor blade between her lips. "I'm sure you do. Strong for the rest of the world, yet weak for me." Perhaps it was your possessive attitude, but it was pretty erotic when Shuri handed over complete control; her fingertips flexed, anxious to make contact. If she had her way, you'd be beneath her as she drove into you at incredible speed. The thought got you on even more, and you didn't stop thrusting down on her.

You're chasing your climax with a ruthless drive, your moans rising in octaves at the intense feeling. You let go of Shuri's shoulder, your fingers sliding into your scalp and yanking your hair till it hurts, the stinging exquisite. "Shuri," you scream, your voice never wavering. You keep repeating her name, louder each time, keeping your promise. As a reminder to her, even when she wasn't performing the job, she was always the source of your ecstasy. Shuri looks on as you unravel, sinking deeper into pleasure as the tip touches that delicious soft area. The rush is so intense that you pause, tightening around the shaft. "I'm so close, baby," you assure her. “I’m going to cum for you.” Her pupils are blown as she watches you, hips shifting slightly. You know she longs to be free. Soon. The classic sensation of your muscles tightening emerges deep within your core; you move at a careless but steady pace, chasing to release the tension.

Your vision blacks out, and it’s almost psychedelic as a millisecond of tranquil, chemically-induced euphoria shoots up from the center of your body. It flows around in pulses so intense that they curl your toes. The tingling sensation coursing through your veins made you shake, and violent cries fell from your lips. Your body bucked reflexively once, twice, and the third time became a shuddering full-body spasm as you drew out the high.

You hardly had time to come down before lifting off the strap, unsteady fingers working on loosening the harness so you could put your fingers into Shuri's warmth. After watching you ride her, she's glistening with arousal. Her response to you is almost immediate, arching into your touch while you curl your fingers, stroking a rough spot that will have her coming soon.

"When you come for me, I'll cut you out," you breathe, stroking your fingers in Shuri and pressing your palm against her clit. "Would you be able to do it for me, baby?" She nods once before throwing her head back against the bed. Shuri's walls constrict around your fingers as you remove the weapon, forcing her to remain silent, and she moans so loudly that the walls tremble.

"I missed your pretty voice," you say, quickening your pace, eager to hear more of the sweet melody. "Fuck baby, Y/N," she gasps, body trembling. Seeing you are wrecking her brilliant mind, purging her of anything that isn't you, is an electrifying thought.

When you realized that Shuri was about to break, you slid the blade beneath the red hemp rope, preparing to sever the material. Shuri extends her legs farther, enabling you to press in harder, losing yourself in her and caring for her. "That's it, darling, let go," you urge, knowing she's getting near.

You slide the dagger through the rope when you feel the first wave of wetness. Shuri's walls are squeezing around your fingers as she cums, shouting out your name loud and long with a mix of obscenities. Making it clear to everyone around you who was making her feel this good.

Sweaty foreheads pressed together as you breathe into each other coming down from your high. Shuri grins as she scoops you up in her arms and swiftly reverses your position, hovering over you. "You know you're wild," she chuckles, bending her elbows to kiss you. You sigh into the kiss, missing her sweetness. “Thank you for humoring me,” you tell her between your soft kisses. "I'm sure you could have gotten out of that."

“I’d do anything for you,” and you recognize it’s not just pillow talk.

"Would you like to take a bath with me?" you ask, your eyes heavy from the sedation of your climax. Of course, Shuri agrees, and you get up as soon as possible. You are running warm water and adding a few extra things: Epsom salt, honey, and lavender oil.

You're seated comfortably between Shuri's legs, her mouth pressing little nibbles into your neck. Your manicured nail traces over the ink that has become firmly embedded in the skin of your beloved. These were the times when you could let your mind relax. You could get caught up in the moment and believe life was that simple. Except—

Your voice cuts through the silence. “What is it?” Shuri hums. “What are you thinking about?”

“I don’t want to scare you,” Shuri says, deflecting from the question.

You stop, pausing your tracing. “Tell me,” you demand.

She sighs deeply, the heat raising the hairs on the back of your neck. "I was simply imagining what it would be like if we were always this way." Shuri quickly adds context to her revelation. "I have no interest in domestic life. I don’t think either of us is suited for that. I only want you."

Shuri is waiting for you to answer in the quiet. You make every effort to comprehend her emotions. Love is a feeling that makes people happy, and happiness is the spark that draws people to love, and the emotion can take the form of people at times. Shuri wishes to be with you at all times. She wants to be happy with you. "One day, you'll consume me. You’ll be all I need, and then I'll want nothing else. And on that day, I'll say yes."

You turn, spilling the water about as you proceed to sit in Shuri's lap. Her hands naturally gravitate to your waist. "Say it," you beg, and she knows exactly what you mean.

"I love you," the declaration always makes your heart skip a beat, even if you have yet to reciprocate. You bend your neck and pull Shuri down, kissing her until both of you are out of breath.

You let Shuri hold you throughout the night, and when she slips away, believing you're sleeping, she kisses your hair and mumbles, "I love you."

The rising light gave the morning sky a pink hue. Given your circumstances, whether it was hours, days, or weeks, you and Shuri did everything you could. Even if you awoke alone, the cut crimson rope and thoughts of the previous night are enough to lift your spirits. You grab your silk robe, tie it snugly around your waist, and head for the kitchen.

The envelope containing your next assignment was on the coffee table, where you had left it before heading for the penthouse last night. You take it as you walk into the, your energy spent from the night before, and you need to eat.

You select a croissant, set it on a baking sheet, then place it in the oven to brown. In the fridge, you take out the orange juice and the strawberry jam, leaving them on the counter as you retrieve a glass for the liquid. You take a crystal glass from the cabinet and pour the orange juice into it, and your gaze is drawn to the diamond pattern. That's how the day begins, basking in Shuri's afterglow, the delicate aroma of the croissant filling the air. This file is thicker than the ones you're used to. Callio has been tracing this person for a time now. Uncomfort sinks into your gut as you hold the envelope. You're noticing details you didn't previously. It's not anxiety; it's a nagging warning brought on by intuition.

"Get a hold of yourself," you whispered to yourself. You make a clean cut across the seam using one of the spikes on your hairpin. You hold the glass again, ready to take a sip, as the contents pour out of the clean incision you made across the top, but as you read the name scrawled in red pen, your grip becomes unsteady, sending the glassware plummeting. It shatters instantaneously, the liquid spilling down your feet, but you barely react as your eyes scan the name once, twice, three times, hoping for a change; for the letters to suddenly rearrange into something else. Yet it doesn't, and the more you read, the faster your pulse becomes as discomfort takes over your body.

Shuri Udaku

#cai fics #re upload #shuri x reader #shuri x black!reader #shuri fanfiction #mcu shuri #black panther shuri #queen shuri #princess shuri #shuri black panther #shuri udaku #shuri x you #shuri fic #shuri smut #letitia wright shuri #shuri imagine #idk what else to put here #Spotify

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ggomos-maribat · 7 months

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6 | lost

Part 6 of Marinette Dupain-Cheng is Dead | Masterlist

CW: Depressive thoughts

After Alfred's badgering, Bruce finally retreated from the dark confines of the Batcave and brought his work up to the manor's dining room. The stack of papers rustled as he spread them on the wooden surface, and his laptop lit up again with the dust on the screen more evident in the light. Bruce rolled up his sleeves and began to read again.

In entered Duke.

"Hey B. Coffee?" His second youngest offered.

"A cup please, Duke. Thank you," said Bruce without looking up.

"What's that?"

Bruce let himself lean back a little. Perhaps Duke could give his thoughts on his search? "Remember the akumas from Paris?" He stretched his arms. "After Hawkmoth's defeat, the two heroes Ladybug and Chat Noir disappeared from the public's eye without prior notice. The League tried to track them down for a short while, but we came up with nothing."

"Why do you need to find them?" Duke quizzed.

Bruce stared at the photos of two blurs: one in red, one in black. It was no mistake that the two heroes had been on the younger side when they first started, and yet they lasted through the long battle with a terrorist. "Firstly, we barely know anything about the Miraculous and Hawkmoth's actual motives. Ladybug did announce that Hawkmoth had been caught and promised that he would be facing consequences, but she denied everyone of any other information. Secondly, we want to be allies with them, or associates at least."

Bruce heard the clinking of metal to ceramic as Duke stirred the drinks. "It's not the first time a set of magical powers are hidden away to protect those powers, right?"

"Right." Bruce nodded. "Our problem with the Paris situation is that it happened under our noses for years, and we hadn't caught on until it was over. We want to keep the same thing from happening again."

It's mostly regret. Guilt, Bruce wanted to say. It was too late when we noticed an entire city suffering. The things they dealt with were in the levels of world threats. He remembered waking up to the news that shook the entire world, not having time to register it since the Justice League needed to take immediate action.

"Is that the same thing Dick's going crazy about since he came back here?" Duke set down the cups on the table, pulling a seat for himself beside Bruce.

"It's a different but not completely unrelated issue," Bruce replied. He was also hoping some clue from the case would turn up for the benefit of his search. It was partly the reason he let Tim and Jason go to Paris.

"Hm. Any leads from Constantine?"

"Only chunks of indecipherable texts related to the Miraculi." Bruce showed him a picture of the strange symbols from a book called 'the Grimoire'. "He's convinced that the current Guardian of the Miraculous is Ladybug herself."

"What about Aunt Diana?"

"Her mother has had prior connections with the Ladybug Miraculous before, but they lost contact a long time ago. Diana's helping with my search as well."

"Sounds like a dead end." Duke sipped on his drink.

"It's not strictly an urgent case, but it's important nonetheless." Bruce skimmed over his notes. "Even with the thousands of photos of Ladybug and Chat Noir, the Miraculous Magic is able to hide their real identities very well and no existing accounts of a civilian contact exist. Well, briefly there was one about Lilia Ross, but she denied it after a while."

"What if you retrace the heroes' steps and try to figure out Hawkmoth's identity instead? If the heroes found him out, maybe that's an easier angle," Duke suggested.

It's a good strategy. But how far will it actually take the search?

"Thank you, Duke," Bruce cleared his throat. "I'll give Tim a call."

***

Meanwhile, deep under the manor, Damian strolled into the cave to find Dick finishing the call with their brother. The youngest Wayne took a seat in front of him. "What did you tell Drake?"

"I asked them to ask Adrien Agreste about his cousin, Felix Fathom," Dick answered. "He was in Paris on the day Marinette was found."

"Are you suspecting him for murder?"

"What? No," Dick said, "I'm just considering him to be someone with information, since he has been involved with Hawkmoth and akumas before."

". . . And what does that have to do with her death?"

"It's all part of Tim's theory, that maybe Hawkmoth was targeting Marinette. Felix had a lot of trips to Paris at the time with unclear purposes. Sure, we can say he's just there to visit Adrien but the timing is off."

Damian raised an eyebrow. "Would he not be comforting his cousin because Adrien lost a friend?"

"Call it a hunch, okay? It's a lead . . . aha!"

Dick held his breath—he'd just received a response from Barbara, from a request he made for the investigation. She was able to dig up the lost evidence and compile the translated file and send it to him. Oracle, you're a godsend, Dick praised.

"What's that?" Damian asked.

"I snooped around in the digital archives of the investigation team at that time." He anxiously tapped on the tablet, and sent the file to the Batcomputer for viewing. "Turns out they lost file of a key evidence to Marinette's death: her diary. The original copy went missing from the office some time ago."

The screen showed scanned pages of the diary—the words were written on lined pages in Marinette's neat handwriting, and the shape of the paper was somewhat curved. On the side of the photo was the re-typed French text, and then the translated English. The first entry was dated about three years before her death. Dick scrolled down to the last page and found that the last entry was on April fifteenth, just before her body was found by the bridge.

"Why didn't you tell Todd and Drake about this?" Damian leaned on the table to get a good look at the entry.

"I want to put together my findings here before I tell them." Dick sighed in frustration. "I really should've went to Paris too."

I have no choice but to help with the investigation from afar. He slowly and carefully read through the last entry, guessing that it should give them the most clues about her death.

15 April

These days I've been feeling 'free'. T says it's because I've been liberated at last and I've only begun feeling it now. I don't know if it's supposed to be like this. Maybe it's my way of adjusting to something new. Yes, it's a big leap, I know, but T will be there for me. T's strangely very optimistic about it. Years ago I wouldn't have thought that this will be the person I'll be. I guess time passes faster when you're older?

Dick stopped reading. Her writing is unexpectedly . . . heavy. It was like she'd already seen so much horrors in her life. He almost felt like an intruder in her thoughts.

He forced himself to keep reading.

'Freedom' feels a bit empty? Or lonely? T says it's the trauma. Adrien says that emptiness will get filled in soon. Apparently, it's the same thing he felt when his mother disappeared. If this is exactly it, I want to go back in time and comfort the younger Adrien. Maybe if you stay too long in chaos, you get used to it and find the calm strange. I hope that turns around for me soon.

The words cut off at that part.

"That's it?" Dick blinked a few times. "That's the end of it?"

"T . . . This 'T' person," Damian thought out loud. "There isn't anyone close to Marinette whose name starts with 'T', except for her father." He took over briefly and scrolled through the other pages. "But in other entries she only refers to her father as 'papa'."

"It could be 'T' for Kagami Tsurugi but the entries started way before they met," Dick added, "Also, she refers to Kagami as just 'Kagami' here, it looks like."

"So this person is another confidant of Marinette's that her friends and family likely had no idea about, and could be involved in her death."

"Assisted suicide? Is this why the police declared it a suicide?"

"It's not exactly a suicide note," Damian crossed his arms. "No farewell, or mentions of leaving possessions behind . . . If anything, it seems like she was actually hopeful for recovery, maybe from the emotional distress caused by Hawkmoth's actions in Paris."

Did we actually end up with more questions than answers? Dick wondered.

"Tim said something about Lilia Ross' transfer to their school having an effect on her that time. Let's see . . . " Dick skimmed through the entries to find a handful written a few years back:

8 November

They left me alone in downtown Gotham.

I can't believe they'd do that. I told them I had to fill out some forms in the museum and...they got on the bus without me. I wish Adrien were here. I had to ask help from the front desk and they kindly got a taxi for me back to the hotel. What is Bustier thinking? Will anyone be on my side if I speak up about it?

No.

Probably not.

It will be more of a burden if I do. I keep telling T I'll be fine. I just have to get through one more day and we'll be back in Paris soon. Someday I'll visit Gotham on my own again and dispel these bad memories.

"What the fuck?" Dick whispered. Even if the class or Lilia Ross had nothing to do with her death, this proved that they weren't faultless either. How could this have happened without anyone from WE noticing? Who the hell leaves a teenager alone in an unfamiliar crime-ridden city?

"Grayson," Damian snapped him back to reality.

He sighed and switched to another entry.

13 May

T says I have to go to bed but I almost forgot to write here. Nothing new happened today but my body feels so heavy. If I try to rest I either can't fall asleep or I end up dreading the days to come in my dreams nightmares. Hawkmoth has been getting ruthless each week, it's crazy. Why can't he just stop? How much do we have to give him? Yesterday I had to fend off a butterfly. Then the day before that. Then the day before that. Then the month before. I don't know what to do.

Is being brave something inherent or does it come after I face my fears? T says I look brave. I don't feel like it though. Each risk I take, I actually get very scared. I'm not actually sure what would happen. I might look confident but I'm not. I wonder what everyone would think if they found that out about me. What would they say? Will they sympathize with me or will they refuse to believe it?

21 July

I'm happy to have Adrien to talk to now. I know he still has his hands tied, but it's getting easier to talk to him since last week. We both told each other that it had been a huge weight off our backs. This feels too good to be true. The younger me would've been ecstatic. I'm ecstatic now too, but for different reasons. I hugged Adrien very tightly this morning and told him 'thank you'. He hugged me back and whispered more 'thank yous'. It was sudden but we both knew what it was for. T helped me wipe my tears after.

Things are going to change from now on. Is it bad that I feel ready to face those changes because I have Adrien on my side now? I used to think he put too much faith in me before. No, even now. I used to be scared I won't live up to his perfect image of me. But now his trust is something I really need. I'll put my faith in him too.

How can her words be so vulnerable but so secretive at the same time? Marinette didn't seem to be straightforward in her writing, and yet she completely conveyed her thoughts and feelings. How much more do we have to read to get a clearer picture?

"This mystery person is strange," Damian concluded, "Our best chance at figuring their identity is to ask Agreste."

Dick nodded in agreement. "Looks like he has the most answers right now. It says she was almost akumatized multiple times too, which supports Tim's theory."

"Wasn't Hawkmoth caught before her death?"

"He might still have other ways," Dick considered. "Ladybug never clarified what exactly happened to him. How was he punished? Imprisonment? Weird magic ritual? Death? We don't know."

His phone suddenly buzzed at the same time that a notification appeared on the computer.

Another Lilia Ross scandal has blown up.

***

The first few rumors were matches being lit, and the one that assumed Lilia Ross to be a killer started a forest fire. This one was gasoline, Tim thought. Just as the internet was getting quiet, posts showed up again, this time attacking Lilia's company.

"So, someone saw pictures of Marinette's old clothes designs that she submitted for competitions," Tim recapped, while Jason listened beside him and Dick and Damian watched from the screen. "And compared them to Lilia Ross' current brand's designs. They look like carbon copies, but with just a few tweaks. Now Lilia's being accused as a thief. Others are saying more of the designs were stolen by Lilia, based on the accounts of their old schoolmates."

"It should be recounted in her diary if there was theft," Damian chimed in.

"Diary, what diary?" Jason asked.

The screen pinged, receiving an encrypted file from Dick. "Babs found a digital copy of her diary that the police used to keep, but the original one went missing. There's a lot of things here, including accounts of what Lila did and said in their class."

"There. February first," Dick pointed out as soon as Jason scrolled to it on their screen.

1 February

My missing sketchbook returned to me in my locker. There were tears on the paper and burn marks and liquid stains and pages ripped out and pages crossed over with a black marker. It was one of the first sketchbooks I've ever completed and it's full of draft designs. How do I prove it's Lila's fault? I knew I shouldn't have left my bag in the room for that short while. I knew I shouldn't have brought it to school.

I want to throw it out.

T says I should keep it, and use it to finally shed the truth on her.

But what evidence do I have? Is this enough to make her face the consequences?

I locked it away under my bed. Whatever. I'll fill up another sketchbook. I'll remake the designs. If Lila sees me crying over it, she wins. If the world sees me crying, Hawkmoth wins. If I fight back, they get the upper hand anyway. I just have to be more careful next time. It was just hard not to let my emotions spill when I found it. Lila was nearby waiting for my reaction earlier, I know it. She seemed proud of what she had done.

"What the fuck?" Jason seethed, "She stole her designs!"

Tim's lips drew into a thin line. Was this what Marinette had been feeling the whole time? He couldn't imagine it . . . the suppressed emotions, the feelings of helplessness, the manipulation. She readily gave up.

"Who's 'T'?" Tim brought up the other point about the diary entry nagging at him.

"Some friend of Marinette's who's always mentioned in this diary," Damian replied, "They seem to be very close."

"Does that ring a bell for you?" Dick leaned in.

"No, not at all. Is it a codename? An online friend maybe?"

"Based on this diary, T is always close to her, like, physically."

"Is it . . . a psychological thing?" Jason said softly.

"I wouldn't immediately conclude that." It was already in Tim's jumbled thoughts—a guess. A wild guess. "With the Miraculi in Paris . . . " He sucked in a breath. "Fuck. Ladybug's kwami's name was . . ."

The others seemed to realize it too at that second.

A muffled buzz rang out.

"I got a message," Dick suddenly said, frowning. "It's Babs. She says she found who ordered the investigation to be closed."

"Who?"

"Adrien . . . it was Adrien Agreste."

Taglist: @hammalammadamdam @toodaloo-kangaroo@missmadwoman@afanofmanyships@atomicherringpersonjudge-blog@wheredostarsgowhenyoudie

#maribat fanfic #dc x mlb #mlb x dc #maribat #maribat fic #character death #major character death #angst #MDC is Dead #dc x miraculous #tw mentions of suicide #tw mention of death #tw depressing thoughts #tw depressive

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femme4ngel · 1 year

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bisous-kylian mbappe

it has been a horrible, hard week. everything coming out wrong, your body and mind slowly failing you. you’re fatigued and sore from running around work, your mental health hasn’t been on the top either. your girlfriends text you, asking you to go out clubbing with them on this friday night, but you just put your phone on do not disturb and sit on your bed quietly. everything is too much, you feel alone and overwhelmed. you know you need some kind of release so you put on your crying playlist and indulge in an hour long sobbing. when your tears are all gone you feel somewhat better, still physically exhausted but the dark clouds sitting on your thoughts are now gone. you wash your face and decide to dress up and go on a quick walk. paris is so beautiful when it’s nighttime, the city still awake, full of lights and people’s laughter. deciding on black sweatpants and a huge hoodie you reach for your phone and keys. you are about to close the door when you see a notification pop up on your screen. it’s kylian. you took him ( and your mom) out of the do not disturb list so his messages and calls come through even when you disappear from everyone else. he always texts, every night, especially on fridays, asking about your plans, if you want to go out with him and his friends or if you would rather go and watch a movie with him. ( it’s usually the latter) his message now is sweet and short;

“ hey bébé, qu'est-ce que tu fais ce soir ? d'aller faire un tour peut-être ? je ne peux pas dormir. bisous, kyky”

….

being with him, walking along him, eating with him, watching movies with him, listening to him, looking at him, just feels like home. like a safe space, a warm embrace. now you are walking on the loud, sparkling streets of paris, both of you in sweatpants and hoodies, kylian wearing a a dark cap, feeling the warm spring breeze on your faces. your talking, venting and hes listening. looking at your face with a serious, empathetic look in his warm brown eyes. your relationship is like this, long walks and deep conversations. or long nights and loud laughs, dancing in a hidden club or playing boardgames at his apartment. it’s always natural and full of joy. his love language being touch and yours quality time, it comes out perfectly. just like right now, he moves you closer to him, hugging your shoulders, his bigger figure swallowing yours. you breathe in his scent as you stop talking for a while, looking up at him smiling. he looks back at you, with that cheeky kind smile of his, his eyes full of love.

“ do you want to eat icecream? i feel like having ice cream.”- you ask him, now feeling a thousand times better, your chest light and your heart excited from the thought of vanilla burbon ice cream.

“ its 11am and 15 degrees”. - he answers but with a little laugh in his words, in a tone that makes it clear you already got your way and now he wants ice cream just as badly as you.

“ kylian mbappé lottin. i can see it in your eyes, you want chocolate ice cream. i can even see that you want colorful sprinkles.”- you say, playfully nudging him with your elbow.

he laughs and nods, and the two of you start walking towards the only ice cream shop thats open at this time of the day, the one with green vintage walls and old ladies as its primary costumers.

you heart is full of love as you hug your best friend, listening to him talking about a tackle he made today and how the coach sucks and how he is always right and how everyone is wrong but hes right. and how he is so glad you texted back and how he will ask for strawberry sprinkles.

#football imagines #kylian mbappe x reader #kylian mbappe x you #kylian mbappe #kylian mbappe imagine #mbappe imagines #kylian mbappe fluff #kyky #mbappe x reader

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brooklynislandgirl · 5 months

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@reverdies {{because legacy editor}}

"While you have my utter regard and appreciation for being concerned about my safety, that I am a woman alone and I make my trade with my hands and not on my back should tell you that I am no stranger to defending myself." Without father, uncle, brother or husband, without even a son and able to make that assertion to him might be prideful but in many ways she is. It has never been easy and there is never any guarantee that she will remain so free, unmolested, alive. "And whereas I do not particularly savour the word, if that is what you need of me, then that is what I shall be. I accept the cost. The risk and folly of it." She rakes him with an imperious stare she has no right to possess, her spine every bit of steel as his own, unwilling to bend or break and she nods to his arm. "However, I'll not have you disrespect me by opening your wound and spilling your blood heedlessly on my floor through stubbornness. I do not need such ill luck brought under my roof." There is a bit of the disingenuous in saying so; technically she has been marime for even longer than she's known him and she has never gone out of her way to treat him as she should, according to the proscribed traditions of her people. She does not say it out of cruelty either. She just does not want to see pollution enter his broken flesh, see it eat away at his life. "I promise to leave you be and be prepared to walk out the door for you the moment we finish but first you must sit for me. Drink your tea as a civilised man without gulping it. Let it fortify you for the night's bitter teeth, and provide you some measure of nourishment." She settles at her table and dissolves a sugar cube into her tea while stirring thrice clockwise, thrice reversed. She nods toward the chair opposite. "Tell me of these agents? What is it you need from them? Would you trust me to ever speak truth or do you like so many think I have two mouths and many words? I will confess I do not always know how best to read your intents."

#reverdies #Into The Fire|Javert #The People Sing|Javert and Erzbeta #God Bless the Outcasts|Les Miserables au #City of a Thousand Lights|Paris

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hwatermelons · 9 months

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seonghwa ⋆ 7:00 a.m.

⋆ between your business trips and his tour schedule, you and seonghwa have to find time to be together for a brief respite, before you go another couple months apart. ⋆ 0.5k words ⋆ bf!seonghwa x gn!reader ⋆ fluff ⋆ warnings: none :) ⋆ now playing: <jill barber - entre nous>

╭──────────────────────────.★..─╮ your eyes have been following the lines of the sun's rays through the open blinds for a while, and by now they've traveled down the wall to the dresser. one by one, iridescent sparkles reflect off the glass vases on top, dappling the room's walls with tiny rainbows as the light glistens through the faceted material. you take a deep breath, and are greeted with the warm scent of the man currently holding your waist hostage in his sleep.

seonghwa tucks his head more firmly into the crook of your neck, sighing when he's satisfied with his position. it tickles a little, and you have to stifle your laughter for fear of waking him up.

how long has it been since you had time to enjoy a morning like this together? between your business trips and his busy tour schedule, the only times you'd been able to see each other were when you happened to be in the same country at the same time. last time, you'd met in a small bakery tucked away in the streets of paris, seonghwa's face hidden behind a mask and carefully styled hair crushed under a beanie. the disguise did nothing to fool you, however. because how could you not recognize the stars lighting up his eyes the moment they met yours across the street? and the constellations dancing in his irises as he rushed across and crashed into you with a hug? how could you not feel like you'd finally come home when he spun you around in the tight embrace, despite being thousands of miles from the house you shared?

but that was months ago, and that shot of sweetness from the bakery was fading away. since then, seonghwa had been all over europe and you'd been everywhere but where he was, and it was eating at both of you. so when you found out you'd be going to the same city as their next stop, the first thing you did is book a hotel room for the days leading up to the concert. five minutes together in a public space, not even being able to see his smile due to a mask, was not nearly going to be enough this time. you needed to really hold him, and spend time with him, and let him rest for a good couple of nights under your care to ease the physical and mental stress of touring.

so that's where you were now, your first morning in the hotel room, and more importantly your first morning together in nearly a year.

you smile down into his hair, breathing in more of his conditioner, which he always brought with him so he wouldn't be subjected to the hotel's products. seonghwa hums in response to you shifting under his head, the sound a little deeper than his regular voice. it reverberates through your chest, and your heart melts. it had been so long.

tomorrow night, he'll be winning over a crowd of tens of thousands with that angelic voice. and then you'll have to say your goodbyes yet again, and you'll have to come to terms with the fact that you won't see each other for another four months. but all of it's worth it, because until tomorrow night comes, he's no one else's but yours. ╰─..★.──────────────────────────╯ ⋆ likes/reblogs appreciated ⋆ do not repost ⋆ taglist: @mazeinthemiroh

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kiwisa · 1 year

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floriography ✩ ln04

Lando Norris x Fem! Parisian! Reader

fluff • 2,800 words

IN WHICH... you met lando during his two-week stay in paris. through streets, places, and dates, you rediscovered your city and perhaps fell in love ⏤ all to the scent of flowers.

A delicious smell emanated from the Queen Elizabeth II flower market: a colourful spectrum in the monochrome place that Paris could sometimes be. Every week, you would go there to buy a different bouquet. Your flat wasn't really yours without a touch of life to brighten it up.

Some would see it as an unnecessary expense; you saw it as a necessity. Your flowers always sat in the middle of the living room, reminding you of the fragility of life and – above all – the need to enjoy the moment: a discreet but omnipresent Carpe Diem.

You could spend hours every Tuesday morning at the opening, wandering aimlessly between these stalls which always managed to make you feel light, carefree – a parenthesis of softness and calm, necessary in the intensity of your daily life.

With your wicker basket in your left hand and your steps punctuated by the chirping of the many birds for sale, you would stop at times in front of a particularly pretty bouquet and then go on your way, empty-handed. You only made your choice at the very end, even putting it off until the last minute to enjoy the bucolic setting a little more.

However, a hint of red suddenly caught your attention. You approached and hastened to read the little slate stuck between two plants: amaryllis, “the desire to woo”. Floriography – the language of flowers, for they could speak better than humans – had always intrigued you. In the corner of your head, you filed this information away.

As you read it, you found yourself thinking of Lando, with whom August had passed so quickly. A simple meeting in the heart of the French capital had led to afternoons filled with the smell of love and the melody of a British accent.

September was already upon you and, as you resumed your walk, the names of flowers seemed to be calling you. Some of them even took you back to those sunny summer days, spent in the company of the one who was becoming more and more present in your life.

WISTERIA ! “tenderness” ✩ Paris, rue Saint-Maur

The Atelier des Lumières was casting Monet's impressionist works on its walls, and, in the middle of these thousands of lights, your face had become that of his muse.

Lando had never been in this building and its peculiar industrial façade. The French capital itself was unknown to him, actually. You had been the one to first tell him about it during your first meeting at a café on the rue de la Convention ⏤ just after almost crashing in each other ⏤, telling him how the exhibition on Van Gogh and his Starry Night had transported you.

“There's something magical about wandering through mythical works of art,” you had told him that day, a dreamy smile on your lips. You were probably thinking of how amazing you had felt in the middle of that blue and yellow sky.

It was only later that you told Lando about the new exhibition, this time devoted to Monet, and expressed your desire to see it.

“I tried to go with my friends, but they don't care much about art.”

The night of your conversation, he had rushed to buy two tickets, even though he didn't particularly love the French painter, even though lighting effects sometimes made him nauseous, even though he didn't want to be in the middle of people who might recognize him. The mere prospect of making you smile motivated him.

When he kissed your cheek in front of the museum, smelling your flowery perfume, he found you shy but cheerful. No doubt you remembered this conversation and were touched to see how far his little attentions could go. His joy increased tenfold as you both moved through the exhibition.

More fascinated by the woman in front of him than by the indistinct lilies, Lando kept his gaze fixed on you, smiling when you finally decided to speak: “I've always wanted to visit the British Museum. If I come to London to see you, will you take me there?”

“Of course.”

The subtle promise of seeing each other again.

“Oh, look! Impression, Sunrise!”

He let himself be pulled towards the animation, a smile on his lips.

CAMELLIA ! “admiration” ✩ Paris, rue de la Légion d'Honneur

With his cap screwed on his head, Lando was desperately trying to follow you through the Musée d'Orsay while avoiding the passers-by, who were far too numerous for his taste.

The great upward path, overlooked by numerous sculptures, including the majestic Porte de l'Enfer, was invaded by art lovers. Among them, you and your look of wonder, who almost pulled him by the arm, eager to show him your favourite works.

He refrained from telling you that he knew the exhibition well, having visited it every time he would come to Paris. He didn't want to tarnish the glow in your eyes.

“The room with all the Bouguereau is my favourite. Come on.”

You led him into Room 2. Immediately, Cabanel's Birth of Venus greeted you. Exposed on the right wall of this recess, he let his eyes wander over her perfectly defined contours, her sensual curves accentuated, her languid position.

“She's beautiful,” you said beside him.

He refrained from nodding, walking towards Room 3, where he saw Bouguereau's version, proud as it was, standing in the middle of this watery painting, like an ancient statue.

“I don't know which one I prefer. They're both beautiful,” you said, your pout showing your indecision. “It's interesting to see the same subject can lead to completely different interpretations.”

“I think I prefer Bouguereau's. She appears less as an object of desire and more as a goddess. She has this aura to her.”

“I mean… They still look at her with desire,” you retorted in reference to the other characters on the painting. “I wish people would look at me like that sometimes,” she went on. “With as much admiration as they do,” you pointed to the two nymphs to the right of the Goddess.

You quickly turned your attention to Dante and Virgil, a darker but equally beautiful painting. Lando followed behind, hands in his pockets, looking thoughtful, but not without taking one last look at the painting.

All were in darkness except Venus, illuminated by a light coming from her right and emanating from the shell, which reigned in the centre of the vision. He looked at you, in the centre of the room, illuminated by one of the projectors. He smiled.

Of all the paintings, between academism and impressionism, your portrait was by far the most magnificent.

DAHLIA ! “generosity” ✩ Paris, rue St-Honoré

Lando and you quickly passed the forest green door of the Delamain bookshop, in desperate need for a refuge to escape rain. This unexpected storm had caught both of you by surprise, spoiling their initial plan to stroll through the Parisian streets.

Laughter – because your mascara had run, because Lando's jacket was soaked – echoed for a moment in the room's foyer but faded when your eyes finally took in the scenery. The central stalls jumped out for the visitors’ eyes, welcoming them and already urging them to buy. So numerous were the titles. One wondered how they didn't fall off. The latest Goncourt prize was sitting in the middle of it all, its garish red label attracting all eyes. Buy me, it screamed.

On the wall, when you could see them, mostly hidden by big oak bookcases, a few frames here and there represented the bookshop at different periods of its existence: 1790, 1850, 1970, 2010…

“How about we each choose a book and give it to each other?” Lando's voice drew you out of your state of admiration.

“Oh yes! That's a brilliant idea!”

You didn't see him smile – amused to see your vocabulary change for British English – as you walked by, already turned towards the back of the shop. You immediately began scanning the shelves for the perfect title. The Pleiades shelf on the left almost called to you, but the obvious language barrier between Lando and you came to mind, and, thus, you resigned yourself to looking elsewhere.

Reluctantly, you headed for the “Literature in English” section, disappointed that you could not share with him the beauty of French literature.

Several times you passed each other, exchanging a brief smile before resuming your search. It seemed endless. You spent the afternoon like this: in front of the stacks, reading the summaries of books, putting them down again. Nothing seemed good enough to be given as a present for the Other.

“What do you give to someone who has already read everything?”

“He'll think your classics are rubbish,” you cringed.

Finally, as six o'clock rang, the two of you stood outside the shop, each with a bag in hand, the rain already forgotten. You immediately handed your brown bag to Lando, who hurriedly took out the wrapped work. You both walked to escape from the street’s noise, while he struggled to remove the wrapping paper. The cover of A Room with a View by E. M. Forster was soon in his hands.

“I hope you like it. I chose it because it has a happy ending since you don’t like to be sad when you read,” you referred to one of your many debates.

Lando laughed, as you looked on in panic and immediately regretted your choice. Maybe he didn't like it? Had he already read it?

“Open yours.”

You complied, eyebrows furrowed, and pulled out The Song of Achilles by Madeleine Miller, which you had never read, despite the waves of enthusiasm on social media surrounding it.

“I got it for you because you love novels with bad endings.”

At his explanation, a giggle fell from your mouth. Your thought processes were not so different from each other after all… Smiling, you thanked Lando with a kiss on the jaw, which he returned.

You both returned to the bookstore several times during Lando’s trip, sometimes alone, but each time with a book in hand for the other.

CROCUS ! “joy” ✩ Paris, Jardin des Plantes

With a smile on your faces and your fingers intertwined, Lando and you strolled between the rectangular flowerbeds of the Jardin des Plantes, stopping at times to smell the sweetness of a bud that had or would soon become a flower. Time seemed to stand still in the middle of these flowers and shrubs. One could almost have seen the coquettes, dandies, grand ladies, and boisterous children who had walked these paths centuries before.

In the distance, the streets of the capital had never been so beautiful, an urban reflection of these hundreds of colourful touches: the yellow of the streetlamps, the orange of the cars’ indicators, the red of the shop signs. The Sun, comfortably seated on its highest point, dazzled your cheerful faces as it watched over you, smiling at this budding love.

Joy was such a pure feeling. One could see its aura, powerful and brilliant: a protective halo from the worst vices of the World. It sparkled around the two of you. Those heartbeats in unison, those candid laughs, all these little touches reinforced the beauty of the idyllic picture that was painted before the Sun’s eyes.

“Look!” you exclaimed.

One hand was holding your straw hat so it wouldn't fly off while the other was pointing to a colourful bird perched on a tree branch, its leaves coloured a resplendent green. The smell of freshly cut grass intoxicated passers-by, plunging them into a euphoria that only the end of spring could bring.

The feeling of being invincible was indescribable, reinforced by the Sun's rays, whose reflections chased away the shadows and, with them, the bad memories. All these trees formed an enchanting globe above the garden, pierced by these beams of light. The soft, pale pink flowers lowered and rose with the rhythm of the quiet wind.

This smooth transition between Summer and Autumn, these few precious days, was without a doubt your favourite time of year, synonymous with holidays, sunshine, tranquillity. You saw the joy of existence as well as rebirth with each yellowing leaf.

Happy to be able to enjoy this beautiful weather, small laughs escaped from your lips without realising it, hypnotised by this pastoral picture.

The characteristic sound of a camera caught your attention. Turning your head, your eyes obstructed for a few seconds by strands of hair, your gaze finally landed on the man a few metres away from. You hadn't even noticed that he had moved away, letting go of your hand as he did so.

You suddenly found it cruelly empty.

Lando was smiling at his screen. Curious, you hopped over to him, your white and light pink dress billowing in the wind. When you reached him, you leaned over his shoulder and stood on tiptoe to see what seemed to hypnotize him. With a grimace on your face, you quickly put a hand on the screen to try and hide the picture.

“Delete that! I'm ugly!”

“Don't bullshit me, you're always beautiful.”

You kissed his cheek, leaving it red from your lips.

BEGONIA ! “faith in the future” ✩ Paris, rue de Palestro

“Can you pass me the jam, please?” you asked, your tongue between your lips, concentrating on digging hearts into the dough with the end of a tablespoon.

An arm passed in front of your eyes, nearly turning the heart into a triangle. Lando easily grabbed the jam jar and continued scraping the bottom of the bowl.

“Stop eating the dough, you'll get sick.”

“Are you my mother? I don't think so.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled at his smug look. He shoved a teaspoonful of the mixture into his mouth to taunt you.

You chose not to say anything.

In just two weeks, and dozens of dates in addition to the many texts you exchanged, your relationship had evolved for the better: more spontaneous, less restrained. You were no longer trying to impress each other, although a few ambiguous little remarks continued to be exchanged, and were now fully enjoying this new comfort.

Neither really friends, nor really lovers, Lando reminded himself.

You hadn't even kissed yet, satisfied – for the moment – with the softness of a kiss on the cheek. Things were moving at your own pace: slowly, but surely. Lando could see that this was all new to you, who had confided in him about your lack of experience in relationships.

He was more than happy with this new pace. His previous relationships had all been formed on the fly, sometimes within two weeks, others within a month. If some had lasted a long time, a few years, all had been ruined by the desire to go too fast without consideration for the other. He had sometimes shared his bed with women he had loved deeply, without ever really getting to know them.

He did not want to fall into that pattern again. You were a breath of fresh air, an escape from this involuntary toxicity.

“I hope you're aware that I'm going to be intransigent on taste.”

“What are you, Gordon fucking Ramsay? You're going to eat the biscuits and shut your mouth. This isn't Come Dine With Me.”

“Shit, there goes my plan.”

The two of you laughed as you carefully filled the holes you had formed with raspberry jam. Without a word, Lando began to help you. Concentrating on your task, you did not notice him. It was only when you lifted your head to brush aside a lock of hair, which was in the way, that you realized his actions.

“You suck at this, get out!”

“Ouch!” You hit him with a tea towel. “Fuck, stop acting like my mother. You're hurting me!”

He fled from the kitchen under your attacks and laughter, finding refuge in the living room where he dropped onto the sofa. With a smile on his face, he traced each of the mouldings on the ceiling before straightening up and quietly watching you, who was humming some song in the kitchen.

He thought he recognised the tune, but didn't pay it any more attention than that, busy gazing at Her.

You looked ethereal, like a touch of heaven in the mundane.

Lando pondered over your future afternoons ⏤ in London, perhaps ⏤ and if, yes or no, they would all be this wonderful.

#lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris fanfic #lando norris fluff #lando norris x y/n #lando norris drabble #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #formula 1 rpf #formula one fic #formula 1 fic #formula one fanfiction #formula one #lando norris imagine #lando norris #f1 imagine #f1 rpf

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justrandomfanfictionskh · 1 year

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We Should have Stayed in Gotham ch 4

(Almost every Maribat fic I read has the akuma class going to Gotham. But tell me which is more likely, a class touring the city of crime, or a class touring the city of lights? So here it is, the Daminette fic that only I asked for, where Gotham goes to Paris, and the poor students have to grapple with the fact that they have competition for the most dangerous city in the world. I wonder what will happen?) (a/n: Warning dark Conversation. Don't be taken off guard.)

ao3 Beginning Previous

Despite what his brothers might say, Damian did not hate fun. He just hated their idiotic brand of fun that usually found them needing Bruce and the WE PR team to bail them out of jail while Barbara laughed at them from the other side of the bars. (He would never forgive Todd from stopping him from freeing the Zoo Animals. They would have gotten away with it if he had just followed orders.) Still, he planned to have fun on this trip, especially at the Louvre. He had always wanted to see the inside of this place, the art, the history, maybe even correct some of the factual errors. A scavenger hunt would not interfere with that, even if it was tedious and pointless.

But then Alix and Kathryn had skated by waving a half-completed work sheet shouting, “You’re falling behind!” Apparently, they had gotten a head start by going through her father’s office. Mendeleiev just groaned as manic grins spread across multiple students’ faces, including Marinette’s.

And so it was, that before any of the teachers could stop them, the Parisians had grabbed their Gothamite’s hand and took off running through the halls of the most famous museum in the world. Damian didn’t know how to react as Marinette pulled him through wing after wing, her hand holding his in a vice grip, until they stopped in the Egyptian hall. He was surprised to see that she wasn’t panting, even though she had to be running at full speed in order to stay ahead of him.

Instead she just skidded to a stop and began to say in very broken German, “Ok…the first…question…is about…”

Damian cleared his throat, and said in French “You want to win this, right?” Marinette cocked her head but nodded. “Then I think it will be best if we stick to our fluent languages. We can help each other after we finish demolishing your insane classmates.”

Marinette grinned and then said in English, “Very well, but what about your classmates. Won’t they be a problem?”

Damian glanced at his work sheet and raised an eyebrow. “I doubt they will be much help. After all I’m not even sure what this first question means. Is it some sort of riddle?”

Marinette laughed and pulled him deeper into the wing. “Sabrina and your class representative, no you call it president, made this to encourage us to ask questions about each other,” she explained, “‘The scroll that awoke the Pharaoh, and revealed the secret of the Bug,’ is a reference to the akuma Pharaoh. He was a researcher here at the Louver whose theory on resurrection magic was dismissed, so he was akumatized in order to prove it worked. He tried to sacrifice Alya to the god Ra.”

Damian squashed a quip about how that would not have been the worst thing, instead settling on the more pressing question, “And the secret of the Bug?”

Marinette stopped in front of an old papyrus scroll, her smile fond and almost nostalgic as she looked at it. She pointed at the image of a woman with a yoyo in a spotted robe fighting the Pharaoh. “It was during this fight that it was revealed that Ladybug was over five thousand years old.”

Damian nodded as he looked at the scroll with consideration. “I thought the SpotsOn blog said that the title of Ladybug was a mantle passed down.”

“It is,” Marinette said as she scribbled on her work sheet. “But it was this scroll that set the question in motion. Since then scholars have been scouring the artifacts looking for people who could have a Miraculous Holder.”

“So why is it on our work sheet?” Damian asked.

And Marinette once more smiled as if at a fond memory. “I was with Alya when she found this. I got turned into one of the hundred mummies meant to aid in the sacrifice. Believe it or not we were actually good friends back then.”

Damian opened his mouth to say something, but Marinette clapped her hands and spun towards him with a smile. “Alright, the first one was for Paris, the second one should be for Gotham. Alix and Kathryn, have a good head start, but if we run, and take a few short cuts I know, then we should be able to catch up and beat them!”

Damian stifled a grin with a smirk. Her competitive spirit was infectious, and it pulled at his own instincts to push them to victory. And he was so tempted to give into it. He was the Son of the Bat after all, there was no way they could lose. But Grayson was always warning him that he overdid it, so he fought the urge to string trip wire everywhere and looked down at his sheet. His smirk turning devilish. “Are there any bat artifacts in the Chinese Wing?”

Marinette nodded briskly, “Tang Dynasty, this way!” And with that she had grabbed his hand and was once again pulling him through the Louvre at a devastating pace. And as the game went on, Damian stopped denying the genuine and bright smile that was slowly growing on his lips. But even as he gave into his more competitive instincts, he noticed a few interesting details about the Parisians.

For example, the Museum had obviously prepared for them, because they had roped off designated running lanes so the students could go wild without breaking anything or disrupting the other guests. And as they zoomed past, while the tourists stared in shock, the employees and locals laughed and cheered them on. It was strange considering that in Gotham they would have had security called on them ages ago.

Another thing was that all the Parisians were strangely athletic. Even the ones who should have been out of breath at the first sprint, vaulted and laughed as if it was nothing. At the pace he and Marinette were keeping, he expected that she would have to slow down after the first three questions. Instead, she only seemed to gain speed as she pulled him after her in a rush of adrenaline. And she never slowed down. Even when her classmate, the tall Chinese one, barreled toward them with his partner on his back, Marinette never slowed. She just pulled Damian down so that they slid down the slick floor, as the boy vaulted over them with ease.

Leaping to her feet, Marinette continued to pull Damian along even as her peer shouted, “I’m going to get you Mari!”

“In you dreams Kim!” she shouted. She beamed with pure joy, and Damian felt his own adrenaline muddling his senses, because he found himself mirroring her.

“What was that?” He demanded when they reached the Enlightenment Room.

“Hm?” Marinette said even as she searched the artifacts, “Oh, have you ever played the floor is lava?”

Damian grimaced against the memory. Grayson had thought it was a good idea to yell that phrase in the middle of Titan’s Tower, resulting in Jon scooping him up and hovering over the floor. Everyone had laughed as Damian thrashed like a kitten in the bath. It was one of his more embarrassing memories. “Once or twice,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Have you ever played it with real lava?”

Damian cocked his head at the question then nodded his head in understanding, “Lava Boy, he was a level 10 right?”

“You read the list,” Marinette said with a smug smile.

“Tt,” Damian said has he scanned for their opponents. “Of course, I did, I’m not an imbecile. But what does this have to do with the fact that your entire class seems to be experts in parkour?”

“Not the entire class,” Marinette mused as she jotted down the answer. “Just those who know to pay attention in gym. Parkour became a curriculum requirement after Lava Boy. Every Parisian school teaches it as apart of our Physical Education. Or as we like to call it, ‘Running from Akumas 101.’”

Damian nodded his understanding. It was smart. It made him wonder why Gotham schools didn’t teach self-defense. But then again, maybe they did. He never really paid attention in class. But he had no time to ponder, because Marinette was grabbing his hand again and pulling him to the next artifact.

They ran into Alix and Kathryn twice, and saw that they were catching up, as the pair debated if they should be going towards Modern Art, or Ancient Greece. Which was when Damian noticed something else about Marinette, she was smart. When she had competed with him in languages, he had known that she had intelligence. But now she barely had too look at the clues to know the item they were talking about. And they really were some of the strangest clues, for example, “This Queen’s spear is lauded as Luck’s greatest hand.”

“That could be anything!” Damian exclaimed.

“Queen Hippolyta’s spear was donated by Wonder Woman back in 1983, as a gift to her adopted city,” Marinette stated and then dashed off.

“Wait how did you know that?” Damian cried as he chased her.

“Hippolyta was the first named Ladybug, although technically she was the second holder. The first was the Oracle of Khepri, although her name was lost to time. We saw her scroll like ten minutes ago.”

Damian just shook his head and followed her without question. And that was another strange thing that he noticed. He didn’t mind following this girl around. Under normal circumstances, he would have demanded the lead. But Marinette just pulled him along as if her leadership was the most natural thing in the world. And as of yet, Damian could not begrudge her for it. And so it was in less time than he thought possible, they were racing back to the teachers with Alix and Kathryn hot on their heels and gaining. Then Marinette pulled out a bag of marbles and scattered them on the floor.

“Hey!” Alix yelled as the two girls were forced to slow down, “That’s cheating!”

“No rule against it!” Marinette shouted back as Damian laughed.

Mlle. Mendeleiev was pinching her nose as the pair skidded to a stop in front of her and handed her their completed work sheets. “I hope,” she said in her stern voice, “That the two of you got to talk at least once during that…escapade?”

“Yes Mlle. Mendeleiev,” Marinette said with her signature bright smile growing even as Damian sunk back into his signature scowl.

“Oh, and what did you learn about each other,” Bustier said with her signature plastered smile and too sweet voice.

“That Damian knows a lot about bats but not a lot about bugs.”

Damian couldn’t help the amused snort, even as the teachers rolled their eyes and took their sheets. But it was one of the Gotham teachers, Miss. Faustus who said, “You finished three hours early. Why don’t you two go back through the museum slower this time? Or perhaps spend time at the museum’s café?”

The two nodded their assent and then waited for Alix and Kathryn to turn in their sheet. “Well,” Marinette said, beaming so brightly, Damian was sure he was going to go blind. “We won!”

“You cheated!” Alix cried in mock annoyance as she skated up to them.

“Tt,” Damian said, “You were the ones with a head start, not to mention you were on skates. If anything, you were the ones that cheated, and yet we still were victorious. I do not know if that proves the depths of your ineptitude or the height of our excellence, but either way, you cannot argue with the results.”

Kathryn face palmed, as Alix stared at him in shock. Suddenly Damian was very aware that offending the wrong person in this city could result in a villain chasing him down. But he refused to back down as he tilted his chin to the girl, daring her to question him. Instead, Alix just turned to Marinette who seemed completely unfazed by his attitude.

At her friend’s questioning look, Marinette smiled gently. “Imagine if Kagami and Chloe were one person, and male. That’s him,” she said jutting her thumb at Damian. He furrowed his brow at the comparison, but faced Alix undaunted all the same.

She however just said “Oh,” as if that made perfect sense and then studied him more critically. Then her face split into the widest, most mischievous grin, Damian had ever seen (and he lived with Jason). A little nervous he took a step back even as Alix leaned forward and said, “We kill Lila!”

“Alix, no!” Marinette cried.

“Alix, yes!” Alix cried grabbing Damian’s shoulders before he could even begin to process what was happening as she said in a hissing voice, “Come! We have murder to plan!”

“No murder!” Marinette cried, even as Damian threw her hands off of him.

“First,” he said coldly, “Never touch me again. Second, I assume you have a strategy?”

Alix cackled and led him to the café even as Marinette screamed in frustration.

---------------------------------------

“So,” Kathryn said once they were all seated at the Museum’s outdoor café, “Who is this Lila and why are we trying to kill her?”

Damian remained silent as he watched the Parisians. They had only ordered drinks, because apparently the best bakery in Paris was catering their “Getting to Know You Party” later. So he sipped his as he watched Marinette tense, and Alix huff in frustration. It seemed, that now her adrenaline from the game was spent, the roller blading menace was ready to be serious. But it was Marinette who began the story.

“Lila,” she said simply, “Is a compulsive liar in our class. The only way to ensure that she didn’t akumatize anyone from Gotham was to pair her with the worst French speaker in your class, because she doesn’t know a lick of English no matter what she might claim.”

“When she first came here,” Alix said anger dripping from her every word, “She would tell all of these crazy stories about the places she’s been, and the celebrities she’s met. Of course, none of us actually believed her. We actually personally know a lot of the celebrities she likes to name drop so we always knew she was lying. We thought it was just some sort of game she liked to play, so we entertained her. It wasn’t doing any harm.”

“I never liked the game,” Marinette said as she stirred her coffee. “So I asked her to stop, and she threatened me. It was the only time she’s ever been completely honest.”

Alix took a deep calming breath, an action which Damian was quickly learning to associate with deep negative emotions from the Parisians. “That’s when her lies became a little less obvious,” she said, “She started sneaking subtler lies in with her obvious ones, slowly turning the class against Marinette. Started framing her for stealing, cheating, and bullying. Things like that.”

“She almost got me expelled,” Marinette said into her cup. And Damian couldn’t stop the shock from spreading across his face.

“Are you saying that your teachers believed her?” Damian demanded. He had only known this girl for an hour and a half, but already he felt that her being anything other than a model student was just preposterous.

But Marinette didn’t seem to register his outrage as she just shrugged and said, “The principle is more worried about funding and press than justice,” she said, “And I don’t know if you’ve noticed this, but Mlle. Bustier is a bit naive. Mlle. Mendeleiev is great, and she doesn’t let Lila get away with anything. But Mlle. Bustier…”

“That woman needs her license revoked,” Alix said in a huff, “And she probably would have by now if it wasn’t for Hawkmoth.”

“So?” Kathryn said leaning forward, “What happened?”

“Adrien,” Marinette said with a sigh of exhaustion, “Another classmate. Apparently, he talked to her, made a deal with her to back off. He told me about it as if it was this grand gesture on his part. But basically, it boils down to, he lets her do whatever she wants as long as she doesn’t directly target me.” Marinette rolled her eyes, “His heart's in the right place, but his arrows don’t always hit their marks if you know what I mean.” The Gothamites nodded and then gestured for the girls to continue.

“So anyway,” Alix said, “Later, Lila comes forward and admits that she lied. Claims she has a mental disorder that forces her to lie. Only, that night Marinette goes home and does a crap-ton of research on mental illnesses and lying and guess what?”

“There’s no such thing,” Damian said with a sneer.

Marinette just shook her head, “Compulsive lying is a symptom of many different illnesses, mainly OCD and psychopathy. But neither force the individual to lie. The person is always conscious of what they are doing, and can chose differently given that they are actively working towards their mental health.”

“And when Marinette presented her research,” Alix said, “The class basically split in two. The enablers who think the best way to help Lila is to humor her. And the intelligent people, who are just sick and tired of her crap.”

“Me, Chloe, Sabrina, Alix, and Juleka are the most outspoken members of the Intelligent,” Marinette explained. “Alya, Rose, and Mylene are the most outspoken of the Enablers. Everyone else falls on a sliding scale in between. But of course, none of this would even be a problem it is wasn’t for Hawkmoth.”

“Yeah,” Alix said sipping her coffee, “Hawkmoth has everybody thrown out of whack. I mean how do you in good conscious call someone out for being an idiot, when they’re enough of an idiot to let that akumatize them.”

“Next thing you know,” Marinette said, “You're running through the city with a horribly dressed flying fox demon on your tail.”

Both girls groaned and sipped their drinks, as Damian exchanged a look with Kathryn. Finally, Damian asked the question that had been plaguing him since the moment he had heard the name Hawkmoth, “What about the Justice League? Why hasn’t anyone called them in?”

“Screw the League,” a harsh voice called out, and the party turned to see Chloe and Sabrina with Alice and Will following behind.

“Chloe,” Marinette said instantly brighter, “You’re done early. I thought you would be dragging your feet in there.”

“Chloe helped me make the scavenger hunt so she can’t participate,” Sabrina said sliding into the chair beside Marinette. “So, we decided to do a walking tour with our partners instead.”

Everyone then introduced themselves, with Damian being introduced to Chloe last. They stared at each other with narrowed eyes before huffing simultaneously and sipping their drinks. The rest of the group giggled at that before Alice said, “What do you mean, ‘screw the League?’ I know some of them are blowhards, but they do have some powerful magic users. They can help.”

Chloe sniffed derisively, but the rest of the Parisians became somber. They looked to Chloe almost as if asking for her permission before she nodded. Then Marinette cleared her throat and said,

“It was three years ago, at the beginning of this…mess. At first all of the akumas were level 1-4s. Powerful and scary but not dangerous. No casualties, and they always had limited goals. It was very rare for them to effect more than ten people. Then…then we got our first level eight, Dark Cupid.”

“I saw him in my research,” Damian said stiffly, “I couldn’t understand why he was put so high, all of the other level eights had a death count in the high thousands, but his wasn’t even in the high hundreds.”

Sabrina nodded emphatically, her face contorted with pain, “Yes. The akumas are categorized by the damage they do. Which means that the higher akumas are rated by their death count. 5 is 1-1,000. 6 is 1,000-10,000. 7 is 10,000-1 million. 8 is 1 million-10 million. 9 is 10 million to 1 billion. and 10 is anything high than a billion.”

“But there are other kinds of damage that rank just as high as death,” Marinette said as she reached over to grip Chloe’s hand which was starting to shake. “When those akumas happen on a wide scale, they are usually ranked higher.”

“And Dark Cupid was one of those?” Kathryn asked.

“I read about him too,” Alice said leaning forward. “There weren’t any fight videos of him on the blog, but it said that he made people feel the opposite of their true emotions. What does that even mean?”

The girls took a deep breath and looked to Chloe again. She just nodded as she stared numbly into her coffee. It was Alix who spoke, “Dark Cupid was a boy whose Valentine humiliated him. So he made people feel the opposite of their true emotions. Love turned to hate. Hate turned to love.”

“I don’t see the problem,” Damian said, his brow furrowed in confusion.

“Oh!” Will cried, horror etched over his face. “Oh, that…that’s awful!”

“What?” Kathryn demanded.

Marinette sighed and looked them in the eyes. There was something hard and cold in her gaze, and it seeped into her voice as she said, “Imagine the person you love the most. The person you trust the most, parent, sibling, partner, spouse, being struck with a black arrow and then turning against you. They are consumed with a burning obsessive hatred for you and everything else they love. What do you think would happen?”

Damian paled at the thought. He could imagine it. He didn’t want to, but he could see it happening. His family sitting down to dinner, suddenly struck from behind…and then turning on him. It was a horrible image and he wanted to forget he ever saw it, but Marinette was not done.

“Now, imagine the person you hate. You’re worst enemy, and the same thing happens to them. Except now, with love. Or perhaps more accurately…lust. You’re enemy filled with an obsessive drive to ‘love’ you, just as your loved ones are filled with an obsessive drive to hate you. What do you think happens then?”

Damian was suddenly very glad that he had not eaten anything, because he was going to throw up. The images that Marinette was painting for them. They were horrible. They were gruesome, and disgusting on so many levels. And…and they had lived through that. He looked up and saw it. All four of these girls had faced that. Spouses turning on their partners. Parents turning on their children. Friends turning on their friends. All on a day when they were supposed to be celebrating their love and trust. And then to add their enemies into the mix…

“Only 136 dead,” Sabrina said solemnly, “But over three million reports of assault and battery, and over ten thousand reported rapes, and sexual assaults. And those were just the people who came forward.”

“We called the Justice League,” Chloe said as a single tear fell down her quivering jaw. “We broke their website begging for help, once the Miraculous Cure passed through. But they never answered.”

“Three more akumas were created because of that,” Marinette said squeezing Chloe’s hand as Sabrina wrapped her arms around her. “Eventually Ladybug gave a press release saying she got in contact with an International member, but she didn’t say whom. Here,” Marinette pulled up a video on YouTube and showed it to them. “You can watch that later. It basically says that miraculous matters are miraculous matters, and the Justice League will not be coming unless it’s a level 11 akuma.”

“Level 11?” Kathryn squeaked.

“Yeah,” Alix said with an amused huff, “Otherwise known as the ‘How in God’s Name are You Still Alive!’ Protocol.”

“If either Ladybug, or Chat Noir ever lose their Miraculous to Hawkmoth. Then the other is to retreat and go into hiding, while every citizen still alive in Paris spams the Justice Leagues number until someone shows up,” Marinette said with a small smile. “It hasn’t happened yet, but we’ll be prepared if it does.”

“Were you?” Alice looked at the shaking Chloe, her voice hesitant and soft. “I’m sorry but you told me that you used to have a lot of enemies. So…were you…um…”

Chloe sniffed and straightened, she was as rigid as a bored, but her chin was up and her jaw was set. Her eyes had not lost their fire as she scoffed and said, “Kwami no, no one touched me during Dark Cupid. I was the bitch who caused the whole thing.”

The Gothamites blinked. “What?” Damian demanded.

“You heard me,” Chloe said firmly squeezing Marinette’s hand. “Dark Cupid. The most emotionally scaring akuma aside from Sand Boy. I caused him. I was the dumb bitch who humiliated the boy and made Valentines day banned in Paris! It was my fault.”

“Chloe—” Sabrina began, but the heiress silenced her by leaning forward and growling,

“I caused more akumas, and suffering in this city, then Joker has probably done in a year. Everyday I wake up knowing that I am probably the most despicable being on the planet. But you know what? Everyday I wake up and decide to change that. It will never be enough. I will never undo the damage I did to Paris. But damn it, I’m trying! And I’m not alone.

“This is Paris. If you haven’t been an akuma, you’ve caused one, and no one is immune. Not even angels who are too good for this world like, Sabrina and Marinette heaven help them! So everyday we wake up knowing that we are villains! But every day we wake up and we swear we are going to do better. We make amends and we try. We’re all monsters, but we all have one enemy, and that’s the idiot who thinks he can put chains on monsters and not get bit!”

Chloe was seething now. Her teeth bared. Her eye wide. But she was still in control, and she stared them all down with the deadly force of a lioness. It quelled any arguments, pinning the Gothamites to there seats. As she roughly wiped the tears from her eyes, she declared,

“So yeah, screw the Justice League. As far as I’m concerned, they can all go and suck it! This is Paris, and we clean up our own messes. Besides even if they did show up, there’s nothing they can do. Ladybug is right, this is a Miraculous problem to be solved by Miraculous Holders.”

“Besides,” Sabrina said in a far gentler tone, “Do any of you really want to see and akumatized Superman? Or Batman?”

Everyone shivered at the thought, even Damian. He then drew in on himself as he thought about everything they had said. Lila. Hawkmoth. Dark Cupid. Chloe. The Justice League. Not all of his questions were answered, not by a long shot. But then he remembered the scavenger hunt. The pure joy radiating off of the Paris Class as they ran through the Museum. The genuine laughter of the employees at seeing their antics. The bright smiles of the civilians as they walked with their heads held high down the streets. They had been through hell, like Gotham never had. But where Gothamites scurried and scowled they…smiled.

Even now as he looked up to study the four girls before them, they were smiling. Bright, genuine, pure smiles. They laughed as they pulled the Gothamites out of their horror. They cheered as more of their friends joined them from within the museum. It was strange. It was confounding, confusing, and impossible for Damian to comprehend. It was…miraculous.

And so Damian whispered to himself in his heart, "I swear on mantle as Robin, and on my title as the Son of the Bat, and the Demon's Heir, I will do everything in my power to defeat Hawkmoth."

@night-ngale @annastasha @ev-cupcake @hammalammadamdam @laydeekrayzee @itsemmylie @when-no-wings-do-broomsticks @doglover82 @raven-ette @atiredartistandacat

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venusorbits · 1 year

Text

DOUBLE TAKE | CHAPTER ONE

pairing ; cho gue sung ( 조규성 ) x female! supermodel! british-asian! reader

summary ; You have been invited once again to the Korean TV programme 'I Live Alone' alongside the World Cup Heartthrob, Cho Gue Sung ( 조규성 ). Simple guests, who had to take double takes from each other, who could have seen it coming? No one was. Certainly, neither were the both of you.

genre ; romance, fluff, established relationship ( by second chapter cause i hate writing slow burn, i like reading them though ), angst.

masterlist

❝if you've got a girlfriend, i'm jealous of her. but if you're single that's honestly worse 'cause you're gorgeous it actually hurts.❞

You began your stardom career at the mere age of 17 years after an agent saw your photos posted through social media. The said photo was the cause of the tumbling domino effect, igniting and bursting into bold bright orange flames, into dipping your toes into the window of opportunity and universe of high fashion, colourful red carpets and long hallways of runways.

You were on your own. You were no kid, anymore. You’re moving onto big girl things like moving to the big city; flashing lights, fast-paced times, overwhelming anxiety-filled environment, big mysteries and savouring new moments. Tom Ford, catapulted your career further way beyond the horizon.

Chest squeezing. Heart thumping. Bright lights. Everyone’s attention turned to you— the clicks of their cameras. Gaze is fixed on the end of the runway. Conscious of your steps. God, you felt awkward. With the slight rock and sway of your hips, this movement didn’t come naturally as the other models did. You felt tiny. How were you supposed to showcase the intricately designed clothing when they might be snickering about how you walk?

A fellow model reassured you, ‘There was no such thing as perfection when you’ve only begun..’

Fake it till you make it they say. Well, years have passed at the age of 22, and you are now one of the most recognisable faces in the industry. You’ve walked for many runways on endless fashion weeks, been on the cover of Vogue, Elle, Harpers Bazaar, the face of Versace, representative of Swarovski and many more. Some even dare say, up and coming It Girl. You’ve accomplished a lot, all on your own.

Though, one unexpected thing came into your life, living in Seoul, South Korea. The thought never crossed your mind once. But you came to South Korea for a photo shoot with Vogue Korea back in 2019. Needless to say, you fell in love with the culture, the country’s generous and kind residents, the language, the atmosphere and — Well, obviously, the city itself. You have dedicated learning the language and culture in order to live smoothly and in harmony.

It was difficult having to fly out to New York thousands of miles away, the epicentre of jobs and Fashion Week. But, what can you say? You were used to it. Hopping onto planes needing to be somewhere by Friday? Oh, London Fashion week ends on this day but, Paris starts that day. No worries. It was painfully exhausting but that’s the life of a Supermodel.

Your life in Seoul didn’t change much. Though this time you’re receiving twice the jobs than you did before, many Korean designers have reached out to you to model for the clothing they have designed such as Rok Hwang, Eudon Choi, the duo Byungmun Seo and Jina Um and finally, Youngae Lee and Happly for their project ‘Hanbok Wave’. Not only were you attracting attention in the fashion industry but it extended to the entertainment industry, you’ve been invited to many varieties of shows to be featured in.

As your schedule began to fizzle down, you found the time to film for the TV programme you were featured in ‘I live Alone’. Dressed all chic and feminine, opting for the chunky loafers with a pair of long white socks instead of your Versace heels. Your hair is all done so beautifully. Smiling so brightly at all the familiar faces and jogging up to them for a quick embrace. A light chatter followed along with it, ‘how are you?’, ‘I’ve been doing well’, ‘It’s nice to see you again’. Strings of compliments flowed through.

“안녕하세요. I’m (First name).” You greet the man. Undeniably gorgeous, you couldn’t even focus much on what he was saying as he reaches in for a handshake, he introduces himself as—

“안녕하세요, 조규성.” The beautiful angel marks dotted all over his face like starry stars across the wide peaceful sky. But, goddamn, he’s so bright like the sun and his beauty is also so blinding it hurts. His beautiful carved nose and the sharp angles of his jaw, high prominent cheekbones. Everything about him was a piece of art. He’s a delicate and classic painting deserving to be in a museum.

Heartbeat was skipping across the street.

Filming starts at any second now and you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him. The soft fluffy brush glides across your face for the final touch-ups. Unbeknownst to you, Gue Sung also had to take a double take also stealing sweet glimpses, you had an addicting kind of beauty. It was much more than a drug. The kind of one that makes Aphrodite green as envy and red as rage. Eyes trail to every detail of your face. The way your eyes brighten as you joke lightly with your makeup artist.

“Please everyone get ready! Filming will start in 10!”

That was months ago. Time flies quickly; your home became littered with traces of him. He was everywhere you looked, in every corner, you breathed him. Gue Sung has now integrated well and was a part of your being. You have made space in your extensive closet just for him, he has his very own mug for his coffee in the morning, framed photo of you together on your bedside table, his own toothbrush and his very own corner for all the things he leaves.

Those months spent together have nothing been but elated, fondness and love. You have never been this happy, your whole entire life, you have never expected for him to come into your life at such an unexpected time. But, you thank God every day.

The sound of the familiar beeps and the sound of the front door opening echoed in your small apartment.

“자기야, I’m home!”

Immediately, you tossed your phone aside, jumped off the sofa and came barreling. Gue Sung was kicking off his shoes as he slips his face mask off, he puts his bag down and his arm stretched out wide open. No hesitation, you crashed right into his warm loving embrace.

“Hi.” You mumbled nuzzling your face into the side of his neck and inhaling his scent. He awkwardly shuffles with you still practically glued onto him and clung onto him like a koala bear, Gue Sung peppers your temples and hairline with kisses. Running his hands up and down your back. You only snuggled further onto his neck tightening your grip around his large frame.

“Did you miss me?” He whispers softly voice dripping in honey, you pull away enough so, you could stare deeply into his eyes, and you rest your head on his shoulder. Gue Sung couldn’t resist but placed a quick kiss on your lips.

“Not even a little bit.” You tease, poking your tongue out at him playfully.

“Oh? I know you did. You can’t even think about not having me by your side that’s why you asked for my number when we first met.” Not exactly a lie but, not exactly the complete truth either. You gasped dramatically,

“I don’t appreciate you lying about my name like that.”

Gue Sung hums.

“Did you eat yet?” You asked.

“No. I knew you were waiting for me.” It tendered your heart.

“Let’s go eat then. I’m sure you’re starving.” However, Gue Sung didn’t want to let go, his grip on you only tightened squeezing you against his torso. No matter how many times, you brush his arms away it would always ends up back circling around your waist.

“What? I can’t set the table if we’re like this.” You laugh light-heartedly,

“Have you always been this pretty?” Gue Sung almost coos, “우리이쁜자기 ( My pretty baby ).”

“Go take a shower! You stink.” You ushered him away towards the bathroom. Your ear pick up the sound of water splashing, you move around the kitchen, hands everywhere all at once to get the food reheated, plated and on the table before Gue Sung gets out of the shower.

It has been a long day for him, you’re sure. You take upong yourself to sit while you await for your beloved, occupied by your mobile phone. Food all laid out on the table; all simple and quick whipped up meal, thankfully your boyfriend was no picky eater. He enjoyed a variety of dishes and scarfed everything down with gusto… Except meat. He’s particular about how it should be done. Not long after, he emerges from the shower.

You held out your hand for him to hand the towel. It’s a unspoken ritual at this point; he sits down and you dry off his hair. There was something weirdly intimate about it. Running the soft towel through his damp hair. Once his hair is relatively dry, you carded your fingers through his hair brushing it off his forehead, slicking it back. He lets out a sigh of relief and softens under your tender touch.

You were so deeply lost in your task, you fail to notice Gue Sung’s blatant fond, affectionate and loving stare. He admires everything that you are from your head and down to your toe. He likes everything that you do to him.

“What?” You ask with a stupid smile on your face leaning to his level.

“Nothing.” Gue Sung shook his head.

He cups your face peppered kisses. From your forehead. Eyes. Nose. Cheeks. Finally on your lips.

One love, one house.

#cho gue sung fluff #cho gue sung fanfic #cho gue sung imagines #cho gue sung x reader #south korea nt #cho gue sung #조규성 #cho gue sung ff #[ venusorbits 🪐 double take series ]

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