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melrodrigo · 11 months

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Lovesick - W.A.

Wednesday Addams x Fem!Reader

Summary: You and Wednesday are polar opposites. Do they really attract?

Word Count: 1.6k

A/N: Request from ages ago, I didn’t proofread this. Please excuse any mistakes. Happy reading! <3

Wednesday had a problem.

When Wednesday had first transferred to Nevermore, and gotten the infamous Enid welcome and introduction, she couldn't have cared less about you.

"That is Bianca Barklay, the closest thing to Nevermore royalty they'll ever be."

Then Enid pointed to a girl sitting next to Bianca, staring at the bubbles in the water fountain with intrigue.

"And that, is YN. She's the school heartthrob. It's just impossible to not love her, you'll see."

"She looks like a mushroom." Wednesday replied dryly, swiftly turning on her heel and heading back to her dorm.

"She's a sweetheart. Everyone likes her. You'll find out what I mean. I'm always right!" Enid shouted out, before quickly catching up and walking side by side with the goth.

Enid had warned that this would happen. God, how was Enid right?

Wednesday's frown only grew deeper as she thought back to the moments you've shared over the past year.

"Hey, you must be Wednesday right? New girl?"

All you got in return was a curt nod.

"Allllright, I get it, you don't wanna talk. Trust me I get it, I was so silent the first week here, some people thought I was mute!"

Silence.

You frown a bit but redirect your focus to the teacher emerging from the door.

"Enid I do not understand why I have to suffer not only with you, but her. I was content just sitting down in the dorm and practicing my cello."

The werewolf had recently gotten three free passes to Jericho, and decided to drag both you and Wednesday out for a cup of coffee.

"I hate to agree with her Enid, but I really have a lot of biology homework to do." You mused from behind, still sore from fencing class you had that day.

"Oh come on! It's good for you two to bond. My two besties, we're gonna be so cool together!" Enid makes an excited sound, "We should come up with a group name!"

When Wednesday quips back that she'd rather die in a long long torturous death (which she'd probably enjoy) instead of have a group name, you can't help but snort in agreement.

You shoot Wednesday a look, small smile playing on your lips.

Ever since that first day at Jericho, Enid had you guys connected by the hip. Unwillingly.

But as the days went on, Wednesday found out you weren't so bad.

She was particularly late to lunch today, catching up with updates on the hyde case.

In fact, she was debating skipping lunch all together. But as she glanced over to the pentagon, a hand shot up along with a shout.

"Wednesday! Over here!" You were waving your hand wildly, gesturing for her to walk over.

Wednesday bit back a sigh as she moved towards you, and to her surprise, there was one empty seat opposite of you, plate full, apple on the side.

"I got some lunch for you. Oh and a plain granola bar, I see you always like eating them." You tell her absentmindedly, munching on a sloppy joe.

Wednesday hesitates, before saying a quiet thank you.

"It's my pleasure Wends. So, how's the hyde case going?"

You both don't mention the fact you used a nickname to address her. She sighs, she supposed it was nice of you to get her lunch, so she tells you about the case.

"It's going well YN, I've just had a breakthrough......"

"Come on Wends, pleaseee? I really really really wanna go to The Weathervane."

You stare at Wednesday with your famous puppy eyes, and see Wednesday's glare soften just the slightest bit.

"I....suppose we can go in a few hours. After I've finished my writing hour, I have hyde business to do there anyway." She says, even though she'd already taken care of the issue already.

"Could you help me study for midterms? I do not understand anything for the life of me." You whine and throw the book back on her bed. Flopping onto the soft fabric dramatically.

"Bring it with you to the Weathervane." Wednesday says sharply, and returns back to her typewriter.

"Sucky Birthday to you Wednesday! Come, follow me." You squeal excitedly, reaching for the goth and pulling her by the wrist.

Physical touch has come sort of, natural to you with Wednesday. You were a naturally touchy person anyway, but when you were around Wednesday everything felt very...heightened.

Hm, I wonder what that is.

Wednesday was constantly complaining about your intense need to be touching her at all times, but she never actually pulled away when you did; and you're well aware she could if she wanted to.

"Where are we going?" She asks, tone somewhat annoyed.

You turn to her and smile; so bright Wednesday swears light shone through your teeth.

"Grave digging!"

Wednesday's eyebrows twitches in amusement, a small but noticeable movement. You've become sort of professional in her mannerisms over the past few months.

"I knew you'd like it. Come on." You say, practically sprinting to your destination. It's not a smart move, and you stumble over your own feet; arms still connected with Wednesday's.

You fall flat on your back into the soft grass, Wednesday on top of you.

She looks so good, the moonlight shining on her face. You steal a glance at her lips.

She's staring at you with wide eyes, arms on both sides of your face. Her braids frame your head a little.

She coughs awkwardly, then gets up and looks the other way.

You follow suit, trying to calm down your racing heart.

"Ooookay. Let's- let's get grave digging now." You say finally, watch as Wednesday walks toward you but avoids your eye.

She's grateful it's dark out, or else you would've seen the red coating her ears. And when you reach for her wrist she pulls back, afraid you'll be able to feel her racing heart.

It's parent's day. The long awaited dreadful day where Wednesday has to talk to her parents.

They'll be able to tell right away, she has no doubt. She's lovesick.

They’d see right through her. They're like magic love wizards in that way.

"You ready Wends?" You muse from behind her, take her hand in yours. You were currently situated in her dorm room, the two of you alone; waiting for your parents to come.

"No." She replies, but not in a sarcastic or dry way. She sounds kind of...scared.

You poke her cheek and watch as she tries and swat your hand away.

"You look a little on edge." You observe, staring at the hairs on the back of her neck.

She's a little afraid if she tells you why she's nervous for this specific meeting she'll let it slip that she might've accidentally caught feelings for you.

Ugh. Feelings.

It's come to the point where she can actually say she has feelings for you. It’s pathetic, and quite frankly sickening.

"I'm fine. Let's just get this over with." She grumbles, and bursts through the door; leaving you standing dumbly in her room.

"Wednesday, darling how have you been?" Her mother drawls, smile on her lips as she speaks.

"I've been good mother. Apart from the gigantic monster that's trying to kill me. Actually, I think I'm having lots of fun." Wednesday says, looking over her moms shoulder to spy on you.

Just a little bit.

You look lively, and happy. It makes her feel weird in her tummy.

"My little storm cloud, what are you looking at?" Her father asks, watching Wednesday with keen eyes. It wouldn't be obvious to anyone else, but Addams were very observatrice people, and he could tell straight away when Wednesday has lost focus.

He follows his daughters gaze to a certain werewolf. He has to blink one more time to make sure he's not seeing things.

“Oh," He smiles, soft. "I see what's going on."

Wednesday turns sharply, face impassive.

"You don't see anything." She says hotly. Too fast for her normal speech.

Her mom smirks, catching on quick.

"Oh sweetie, we think it's cute. Our little storm cloud is in love." They coo, leaning forward to whisper with Wednesday.

The black hair girl scoffs, and folds her arms in front of her chest.

"I am not in love. I do not know what you are talking about." She replies.

"Sure you don't." Pugley adds, peeping in between his parents.

Wednesday suddenly feels hot underneath their gaze. She gets up abruptly, tilts her face up in hopes for some high ground.

"You all annoy me. This is why I don't write to you." She says before turning on her heel and heading over to you.

You stare at her with curious eyes as she walks toward you. Stops in front of you, hands stiff like a soldier.

"Hey? Whatcha doing?" You ask, pat the seat next to you. She ignores the feeling of something fluttering in her stomach when you accidentally touch fingertips.

"I would like to stay here with you. If you do not mind. My parents are being...unreasonable." She says, picking her words carefully.

You chuckle, smile softly.

"Of course you can stay here Wednesday. Come, come meet my family."

Wednesday’s heart almost jumps out her chest. She's really not one to be scared easily, but this was easily one of the most intense moments of her life.

She usually didn't care if anyone didn't like her, but there was an underlying nagging feeling that told her this was important. Your family was an essential part of you, and if she wanted to win you over; she had to win over your family too.

"I can't wait."

#tara carpenter x reader #jenna ortega x reader #wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams #wednesday addams x you

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keeponquinning · 6 months

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Okay but like... I don't drink, I'm not a drinker....

But i have spent the majority of the day just imagining being at a bar with Joe... rpf ahead. 18+.

Imagine, of course, sitting between his manspreading legs, even though there are plenty of seats available, but he insists you're sitting there so he can wrap his arms around you, kissing your neck and cheek, and as every drink that passes his lips and down his throat, the kisses get more sloppy. The hands wander more.

You're making each other laugh the whole night and while paying attention to those around you, the focus always ends up on each other.

You feed him sometimes, be it just a chip / crisp or actual food, like, "Baby you have to try this" and he's just taking it, and when you see a bit at the corner of his mouth, you move your thumb and he's like, "No. Not like that."

You're confused at first, but then it clicks, and your smile grows wide and you reject it at first. But he's being so cute and giving you the puppy dog eyes, that you do. Grasping the side of his cheek and moving your lips, licking the corner of his mouth that then just turns into a kiss between you two...

Everyone hollering around you, teasing the fuck out of you two because you two are, frankly, disgustingly cute and you both flip them off without even breaking away from your kiss.

Drunken make outs happen throughout the night, especially right outside the bar, he went out for a smoke and you just wanted air, but he sees the opportunity and ditches the smoke and pulls you close to him, against the wall, lips to lips. "Just trying to warm you up, love, I promise..." he muttered against your lips and you let out a whine but let him. It does make you forget the chill of the air, tasting the liquor off his tongue and though you're not much for drinking, there is an addiction when it's off your boyfriend's tongue.

you end the night early, of course, to the groans and boos of the group you came with, but Joe makes a point of saying you're both tired.

but, once you're alone, together, kiss after kiss, desperation filling you. a trail of clothes leading straight to his bed... sleep doesn't happen until a few hours into the night, when curses of pleasure and cries that sound like prayers leave both of your lips. teeth marks showing on each other's skin, sweat glistens your bodies and he's uttering the most filth you've ever heard him say. sounding like sweet poetry, whispering that you're his, he's claimed you, and you promise him that no one will ever feel as good inside you than he does.

and he does claim you. fills you deeper than any other had ever done. and it makes him happy, when you beg for more.

it's only when your limbs are entangled together, the flush heat of your skin pressed one another, your fingers stroking his curls and his hooded eyes look at you as if you were the greatest thing that ever happened to him. and you are. he'll say it a thousand times until you believe, until you stop looking at him as if he was mad. soft kisses, warm smiles, gentle touches of adoration...that's when the sleep comes. and he always holds you a bit tighter.

#📝 — joe drabbles #joseph quinn smut #joseph quinn fanfiction #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn x you #joseph quinn x fem!reader smut #joseph quinn x y/n #📝 — here with me drabbles #if you squint and believe

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palmtreepalmtree · 2 months

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This is honestly still so shocking to me. As a California lawyer, I feel like it's difficult to understate the impact of John Eastman's fall.

Before Trump, John Eastman was a fixture of the California legal community. He was the Dean of Chapman University's law school for years. He was regularly interviewed in local media to get the conservative legal viewpoint, and even though I almost always disagreed with his positions, his reasoning was usually cogent and thoughtful. He clerked for Supreme Court Justice Clarence Thomas for fuck's sake (this is not a thing that stupid, sloppy, or thoughtless people can achieve or do--you can have bad and seriously wrong opinions, sure, but you can't be thoughtless).

I swear though, it sometimes feels like the entire conservative base has been captured by some kind of mania. He continues to insist that his prosecution is politically motivated. Even as his own witnesses collapsed on the lies he continues to peddle:

Testifying in Eastman’s defense was Michael Gableman, a former Wisconsin Supreme Court justice who has stated the election was stolen. But at the trial, Gableman admitted that his own 14-month inquiry into the election failed to prove that fraud cost Trump the election.

Another Eastman witness, John Yoo, a longtime friend and a Berkeley Law professor, testified that Joe Biden had won the White House “fair and square” and that Pence had “unassailable grounds” in refusing to reject electoral votes.

I mean, I guess at this point he just has to go all in on the lie. He allegedly says that his legal fees are going to cost him between $3 to $3.5 million and he's raised something like $500k for his legal defense.

But this doesn't sound like someone who is lying. It sounds like someone in a fucking cult:

[Eastman] said the bar trial was “extraordinary and unprecedented” but gave him a chance to present wider evidence of election fraud than had been previously aired. “It was eye-opening for a lot of people about the amount of illegality that we exposed during that trial,” Eastman said.

My dude, the Judge issued a 128 page ruling that found you guilty of 10 out of 11 counts of misconduct. Exactly what did you expose except your own ass?

Eastman portrays himself as a battling patriot who has been subjected to “false narratives and calumnies.” He said he is the victim of “lawfare,” an attempt to silence unpopular views with legal machinery.

“We are in a rather significant fight, and for whatever reason, I am the lead point of the spear in that fight, and I am taking it on, as I think my duty as a citizen requires,” he said. “We’ll do what it takes.”

My god, someone needs to fucking deprogram this guy.

Anyhow, this continues to be insane to me.

#i used to think the truth was somewhere in the middle #but the right has gone so far off the deep end #i don't even know where the middle is #can i even see the middle #just gonna stay over here on the left

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sbdskate · 1 year

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Laws of Attraction (Part 4) - DR x lawyer!fem!reader

Summary: McLaren is in breach of contract, dr3 hires a lawyer to deal with the aftermath. Tropes ensue. Slow burn. Enemies(kind of) -> Friends/colleagues -> Lovers

Pairing: lawyer!fem!reader x Daniel Ricciardo

Warnings (18+): language, alcohol consumption, COPIOUS sexual themes, references to self pleasure, NSFW for a hot sec

Word Count: 5,548

A/N: Happy Enchante drop day! Remember that time I thought this was going to be a one shot? Well, here’s part 4 and apparently there will now be a part 5 which I’m pretty sure will be the last one unless there is an epilogue. Thank you for your patience, while I had a strong sense of the story I wanted to tell in the beginning, I’ve had some trouble trying to figure out how to wrap it up. As always, any feedback is welcome. If you enjoyed, please like, comment, and/or reblog xoxo

Daniel stood there dazed in the middle of the bar, unsure of what just happened. One minute, he and y/n were dancing and laughing, then you were suddenly gone. He felt sad, but he couldn’t pinpoint why.

He barely had a second to reflect when people started swarming him, men and women alike, trying to find their way into the driver’s orbit. Some of them just wanted pictures, some tried to make small talk or flirt. Despite being surrounded be people clamoring for just a fraction of his attention, he was incredibly alone.

It was late, he was tired, and it was time to leave.

By the following weekend for the Mexico Grand Prix, you had not spoken to your client since that night in the bar. You wished you had blacked out so you could simply pretend it didn’t happen, or blame your behavior on the excess alcohol, but unfortunately for you your memory of the night was crystal clear. The scene replayed over and over in your head. First comes the shame, at how much you enjoyed the feeling of his touch on your waist and the warmth of your bodies pressed against one another. You wonder what might have happened if you had closed the tiny gap between your lips. Would it have stayed a drunken bar make out session or would it have overflowed to the hotel? Would you have gone to his room or yours? Would it have been sloppy and desperate or slow and sensual? Would he be a gentleman in the morning or would he kick you out? When you finish going through every single permutation of what could have been, that’s when the embarrassment sets in. Embarrassment that you let the whole thing happen and that you basically ran away without an explanation, saying goodbye, or much else. Finally, the wave of guilt over abandoning him after an emotional weekend when he probably needed you most. You couldn’t see how you could come back from this.

Fortunately you hadn’t had a reason to be in the same room together, but that would soon be coming to an end. Despite the temptation of margaritas and empanadas and tropical sun outside, you mostly stayed in your hotel room, throwing yourself deeper into your work and trying anything to distract yourself from the anxiety of the unknown fallout from what may or may not have occurred in Austin. There was a lot of positive movement happening with both Mercedes and Red Bull, which you should have been ecstatic to share with your client. And yet you were terrified to make contact with him.

As things seemed to be coming to a head in reserve driver negotiations, the partner set up an in-person client meeting on the morning of press day. You hadn’t been this nervous the first time you met Daniel or going into hostile negotiations against Zak Brown and McLaren. You changed outfits no less than seven times before heading out and no amount of power posing made you feel any better. Normally you would have gotten to the meeting at least fifteen minutes early, but you were worried Daniel would show up before Joe which would leave the two of you by yourselves. You uncharacteristically arrived on time, and ended up being the last person to join the meeting. You could tell Joe was slightly annoyed.

“Y/N, so nice of you to join us.”

You cringed. “Sorry. There was…uh, traffic.” You knew it was a lame excuse, but you couldn’t be bothered. You glanced over at Daniel, but he kept his eyes focused on the desk. For a meeting that should have been filled with excitement over the prospect of possibility, it felt somewhat somber.

You went over where he stood with Mercedes and Red Bull. The discussions between Daniel and the teams had been successfully kept under wraps until the last week or so, when a photo of Toto in an Enchante sweatshirt began circulating the internet. Though nothing was finalized, sleuthing fans thought this was an obvious hint that Daniel had signed with Mercedes. While it wasn’t the end of the world, you had hoped Daniel would be able to make his decision without the pressure of public comment or opinion. You were sure he had the mental fortitude to do so regardless, but you felt the need to protect him beyond your professional fiduciary obligations. He had already been through enough.

You pressed through the meeting, keeping your comments technical and brief. As usual you exchanged handshakes at the end before going your separate ways, though he hardly looked your way before he turned to leave. Once out of the room, Joe began to discuss next steps with you but his words went in one ear and out the other. You felt nauseous as the growing pit in your stomach failed to subdue. You thought back again to the night at the bar and your abrupt departure, and the last few days where you easily could have sent a text to reassure him or ease the tension, but you didn’t. You were the attorney and you were responsible for maintaining the attorney-client relationship, which you failed. You had to go find him.

You cut your boss off as politely as you could. “I’m so sorry, sir, I just realized… I forgot my, uh, charger! And I need to… respond to another client’s email. So I have to go.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “Are you ok? You seem flustered today.”

“I’m fine!” You were absolutely off your game, but you didn’t want to show him any signs of weakness. “Just, jetlagged?” You mentally slapped yourself as soon as the words came out of your mouth. While it might have worked for almost any other F1 race on the calendar, Austin and Mexico City were in the same time zone. The partner knew something was up, but he had too many other things to worry about than the mental breakdown of a low level associate.

“Ok. But I expect a draft of redlines by the end of the day.”

You were practically already out the door as you called out “Thank you, sir! I’ll be sure to get those to you as soon as possible!”

You were running around the paddock like a crazy person, unceremoniously shoving media personnel out of the way. You made your way through the maze of hallways and offices, the click-clack of your high heels announcing your presence before you got to wherever you were going.

In your haste, you didn’t notice running past Lando.

“Y/N!”

“Can’t! Don’t have time!” you called back, not even bothering to figure out who was addressing you.

“Y/N! It’s me, would slow down for two seconds?”

Finally, you stopped and turned. “Oh thank goodness.” You doubled over, huffing and puffing from the unexpected cardio. “You can help me. Where’s Daniel?” you asked between breaths.

“He went to his dressing room after your meeting. Whe-?”

You were already around the corner before he finished his sentence. “Great, thanks!”

You barreled your way towards Daniel, your run turning into a lame waddle from the constrictions of your shoes and pencil skirt. You did not pause when you arrived at your destination and pushed the door open without knocking. You doubled over again and leaned against the wall once inside.

“Can I help you?”

You were so exhausted you almost missed the fact that the driver was shirtless. It was a sight to behold, especially after months of imagining what might be underneath. Your eyes lingered longer than they should have on his toned pecs, moving their way down to his chiseled abs and the “v” that pointed its way to his pants. You knew he was still upset with you, but it didn’t stop the small smirk threatening its way to his face. But you were a woman on a mission and you refused to be distracted.

“I’m sorry,” you got out, still panting. “I fucked up.” You looked away while he put a McLaren shirt on, taking the moment to catch your breath.

He sat down and motioned for you to do the same, which you graciously accepted. He took you in. In the span of less than an hour, it felt as though he was looking at before and after photos of an ad but in reverse. You seemed so composed during the meeting and now here you were, blazer lopsided and unbuttoned, hair tousled, sweat beading at your forehead, cheeks flushed, and breathless. It was simultaneously hilarious and insanely hot, but he wasn’t going to let on anything at this point.

“What the hell happened?”

You started talking a mile a minute. “I wanted to talk to you right after the meeting, but Joe wanted to talk about next steps and I tried to get away as soon as I could, but then I couldn’t find you –“

“Not now you dodo, last week after the race.” You blinked a few times. Now that he was in front of you, the thoughts running in your mind from before went blank. He came to your rescue, filling in the silence.

“All I know, is that we were having a good time and then you left me in the middle of a bar by myself without saying goodbye after one of the shittiest races of my life. I haven’t heard from you since, and I know you haven’t been hungover for four days straight. I appreciate you coming in here and apologizing, but respectfully, what the fuck.”

You looked away in shame. You weren’t sure how you were going to handle this without disclosing your feelings. You took a deep breath and swallowed your pride, proceeding cautiously.

“What happened at the bar, and how I acted afterwards, is entirely a me problem and I could have been more… strategicabout how I handled it.

“Strategic!?” You winced and closed your eyes, immediately regretting your choice of words. Clearly insulted, he continued. “Strategic is how you describe a Bond villain, or a business deal, not how you treat a friend-“

You jumped out of your chair, interrupting him out of frustration. “Don’t you get it? That’s the whole problem!” You couldn’t tell if you wanted to hold his hand or punch a wall. “I love that you are basically the human equivalent of a golden retriever. I love how comfortable we are together, and I’m a firm believer that you do better work when you know and like the people you work with. But you are my work at the end of the day. You are my client. There’s literally a whole ethics exam that is separate from the bar exam and it’s really easy. (1) Don’t comingle funds; and (2) don’t sleep with your client.” He raised an eyebrow. You sat back down.

“Obviously, nothing happened on Sunday. But… it felt like it toed the line of what is acceptable in my professional capacity. I know this is probably very one sided and it’s all in my head, but it felt like something could have. If Joe or anyone else ever found out, I could lose my job or my license over something like this. That being said, I do not blame you one bit. I’m the one that let things get out of hand, and I realized it in a single moment, and I freaked out, and left. And I’m sorry. For all of it.”

Daniel looked at the floor, his cheeks dusted slightly pink as he processed your admission. “It wasn’t in your head,” he whispered. His gaze rose to meet yours, but you covered your face with your hands.

“Fuck, don’t tell me that.” You tried to keep your tone light as if you were trying to joke it off, but you were very serious. You had convinced yourself this was a delusional fantasy of your mind’s creation, which would have been very easy to let go. But now it had been spoken into existence with the revelation that those feelings were reciprocated. It had legs and took up space. It was terrifying. You sighed as you slouched back in your chair, feeling defeated and mind reeling. “Look. Let’s just chalk this up to the fact that we’ve been spending a stupid amount of time together for the last however many months. Can we please just pretend last weekend never happened so we can move past this?”

Daniel sat for a moment. Of course he had forgiven you as soon as you stampeded your way into his room. There was a lot about Texas he wanted to forget, but his day with you was not one of them. Maybe you were right that the feelings the two of you evidently had for each other were just the product of forced proximity, but right now he didn’t want to believe that. Time and time again this season when he felt like he couldn’t go on, you had been there with support and compassion. You grounded him while he mellowed your intensity. You provided logic and reason while he extracted adventure and vulnerability. He was Yin and you were Yang. You couldn’t make up a connection like that. Yet, he would never want be the reason you lose your license, let alone the job you love so much.

Looking at you now, all he wanted to do was scoop you up and kiss you. Instead, he stuck out his hand. “Deal.”

You smiled softly, giving a firm handshake. “Thanks.” You paused. “So, we’re good… right?”

Of course you were. How could you not be? He had a million things he wanted to say. Instead, all he could get out was: “Yeah. We’re good.”

You weren’t sure what was in the water. Maybe it was you, or next year’s team prospects, or simply the energy of Mexico, but Daniel gave his best performance of the season finishing a strong P7. For the first time since you met him, a genuine smile graced the driver post-race. Professionally, you knew this would be great to leverage in finalizing negotiations. But as his friend, your heart was exploding with pride. The crowd was roaring in celebration, everyone was a Daniel Ricciardo fan. After a tough season, you had forgotten this side of him. What you wouldn’t do for those dimples. You kept your distance though, allowing him to revel in the spotlight. It was killing you not to run up to him, but you wouldn’t have been able to get to him if you tried.

The post-race interviews would probably take a while so you decided to head out. As you fought your way through the media, you felt someone tap your shoulder. You assumed it was just standard foot traffic, so you kept moving until you heard someone call your name. You were shocked to find Christian Horner trying to flag you down.

“Y/N!”

“Christian! What a pleasant surprise, I assumed you would be busy.”

“I saw my favorite lawyer walk by, I had to say hello.”

Christian was an interesting character. Admittedly you had not looked forward to working across the table from him initially. He came across as arrogant, hypocritical, and conniving. You thought his only redeeming quality was that he was married to Ginger Spice, but soon found that was only second to how much he cared about Daniel. Given how Daniel departed Red Bull all those years ago, you wrongly assumed that bridge had been burned so you were nervous when you first approached the team for negotiations. It was quickly apparent how unfounded those feelings were after the first email. Christian was there when Daniel made his F1 debut in 2009 as an awkward teenager and watched him grow and molded him into a seasoned driver. It was clear he would give him both kidneys in a pinch.

“Honored and humbled,” you teased. You were almost shouting due to the swarm that quickly surrounded you due to Christian’s presence. You continued walking, “Running away from interviews now, are we?”

“Funny you should say that. I am, because I keep getting some interesting questions about a certain third driver seat.” He was being coy, and knew exactly what he was doing with all the journalists around you. “Are there any updates I can report back on?” He was more persistent than a used car salesman.

“None at the moment, I’m afraid. I promise you’ll be the second person I tell when I do.”

“Second? Who has me beat?”

“Your wife, of course.”

“Maybe if this thing closes, Geri might be open to grab some celebratory drinks.”

“I don’t know Christian, that sounds like a bribe to me.”

“Good seeing you as always, counselor.”

You laughed as you parted ways. You had been able to fly under the radar, until recently when snooty media noticed you going in and out of various meetings. You thought everyone would leave you alone when Christian left, but a few eagle-eyed personnel stayed with you.

“Does this mean that Daniel Ricciardo has a home for next year?”

“Can you confirm Daniel is going to Red Bull?”

“I’m unable to disclose any information, those discussions are protected by attorney-client privilege.”

Legal obligations be damned, the handful of media continued to follow you. You repeated the same statement in eight different ways, you tried ignoring them to no avail. You continued walking, hoping at a certain point they’d give up. Certainly there were at least a hundred other people around the paddock significantly more important and interesting than you.

“I think you guys confused the pretty lady for me?” You recognized the voice immediately. You were thankful for your savior shifting the attention away from you, except that the swarm around you returned ten-fold in an instant. The Australian entertained their questions while helping you navigate the crowd. You knew he and his PR advisor had prepped for this, and you were impressed how he skillfully dodged their questions while making them feel as though they had gotten a profound, headline-worthy snippet.

He fought the instinct to put his hand on your back to help guide you through the mob. You stayed close though, unnerved by the increasing number of people around you. As you continued to walk side-by-side, unsuccessfully willing yourself to become invisible, your fingers grazed. Instinctively, you flinched and pulled your hand away at the contact. He continued engaging with the media but took a moment to meet your eyes. His gaze was not judgmental nor offended, instead offering you reassurance. You realized how silly you were being and dropped your hand. The tips of your pinkies momentarily met again and the warm feeling you felt in the bar before everything went sideways came bubbling back. Only this time it made you feel safe and secure, not scared or embarrassed.

“As fun as this has been guys, I have big plans with some tequila shots and a mariachi band that I must attend to.” Even his excuses could charm the pants off the most scrutinizing reporter. He politely excused the two of you, pulling you away into McLaren hospitality. The doors shut behind you, immediately muffling the outside noise.

“Is it always like that?”

He took one look at you and burst out laughing. You might be able to keep certain thoughts to yourself, but often times your facial expressions gave you away as they did now. Your eyes, wide and unblinking. Your mouth, contorted into downward frown. In the distance, *sirens*.

“Don’t laugh, that was traumatizing!” you whined.

“In all fairness, it didn’t always used to be this bad. But you get used to it.”

“Please, you were born to be in the spotlight. The camera loves you.”

“Just the camera?”

You gave him your most aggressive side eye. It was hardly an appropriate comment given your conversation on press day, but you knew he was just joking. You raised your hands. “You know what, that’s on me. I walked into that one.”

“Had to go for the low hanging fruit.”

You looked around. McLaren hospitality was quiet, but not empty. You hoped no one noticed the light flirtation that was taking place. You changed the topic.

“I forgot to say congratulations on today! You must be so proud of yourself.”

“Yeah, it feels nice.” You know what else feels nice? “It’s been such a long, hard season. Y’know?” You know what else is long and hard? “I’ve just been really pounding away with trainings and everything -” You know what else you can pound?

You smiled and nodded while you continued to tally the that’s-what-she-said jokes and innuendos in your head.

“- and I feel like there’s been this gaping hole -” Surely he has got to hear himself.

You bit your lower lip to keep from giggling and cursed yourself for your filthy mind and having the sense of humor of a twelve year old boy.

“-but all in all it’s been a good day, yeah?” Finally.

“Yes, for sure. I’m really happy for you.” There was a pregnant pause before either of you spoke again. He could tell that you were distracted though he wasn’t sure why. You were concerned about keeping yourself in check.

“Anyways, this has been lovely as always. Enjoy the rest of your night, I don’t want to keep you from your Mariachi band.”

“You’re not going to celebrate?”

You looked around, again being mindful of potential witnesses. “What are you talking about, we’ve been celebrating your points finish since the end of the race. You go have fun, I was just going to stay here and get some work done until things clear out a bit more.”

“Not for me. It’s Halloween, you know.”

Actually, you had completely forgotten. But you quickly realized where this conversation was heading. “That’s nice.”

“Lando wants to show off his DJ side hustle at some club. It will be fun.”

“Now there’s something spooky,” you said sarcastically.

“You should come.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

The stare down between you continued as you went about your delicate dance around the elephant in the room. He took a step towards you and grabbed you gently by the shoulders.

“Nothing will happen. Promise,” he whispered. You looked up at him.

“I don’t have a costume,” you lightly countered.

“We’ll get you one.”

You pursed your lips. You had a million other excuses in your head, but you trusted him. How could you say no?

It had been a while since you had been in a club, and truthfully you weren’t sure you were cut out for it any more as you approached thirty. The flashing lights and heavy bass were giving you a migraine. That being said, it was a very different experience than you remember and being the guest of a VIP had its significant perks. When you got to the venue you almost didn’t even get out of the car when you saw the line down several blocks. As it so happens, when you’re a Formula 1 driver you can skip the line. And get attentive bottle service as opposed to fighting your way to the bar and pray the bartender notices you. Not to mention easy access to the DJ booth. As he had assured you, there were plenty of other people around to act as buffers.

Sure enough, Lando was at the helm of the DJ booth along with his girlfriend and a few of the other drivers and their respective significant others. As soon as the others saw you, they burst out into laughter. If you were ever concerned whether you could ever fit into Daniel’s world, this experience quelled any uncertainty. What Daniel’s skeleton costume lacked in creativity, yours’ made up for in leaps and bounds. Why be a sexy nurse or police officer when you could be American Daniel Ricciardo? American flag bomber jacket, cowboy hat, belt buckle, poorly drawn facial hair and all - which looked even sillier given your short stature. It was clear the resourceful last-minute look was well-received and earned you a warm welcome.

As the night went on and the drinks flowed, you leaned more into your Danny Ric persona including donning a poor Australian accent. Daniel continued to converse with the other drivers but watched you from a distance, trying to remain respectful of your prior agreement. Even with your face covered in smudged eye makeup to mimic his beard, he loved seeing you in his clothes. You were practically swimming in his jacket and he was sure it was the cutest thing he had ever witnessed. When you thought no one else was looking, you subtly grabbed the collar and gave it a sniff, deeply inhaling the owner’s fragrance.

Seeing you try to pick up his scent caused something primal in him to awaken. In another world he would have put on his usual moves to woo a lady back to his hotel room, which admittedly didn’t take much. First, he would buy you a drink. Then after some short flirty back and forth, he would move the two of you to the dancefloor. He would be behind you while you grinded - in a club packed like this, your bodies would be pressed closely together. He would place his hands on your waist and slowly move them down to your hips, rubbing small circles with his thumbs. Eventually he would leave kisses on the side of your neck, while finding your hands to hold. He would spin you around and ask if you wanted to go back to his place. Inevitably you would say yes, and the two of you would leave and begin your makeout session in the back of his private car to avoid suspicion by nosy paparazzi. Finally when you arrive at your final destination, he would fuck you senseless.

His mind was reeling at the possibilities. But you were no ordinary lady and you didn’t deserve his usual moves. You deserved so much more. And he couldn’t give you any of it.

Meanwhile, the constancy you had to stay away from your muse diminished as the night went on. The champagne was easily accessible and went down even easier. The club was hot and stuffy, though it was unclear if it was from everyone’s collective body heat, the Mexican climate, or both. You decided to take off the jacket, wrapping it around your waist, leaving in you a plain white tank top. It was far from being the most scandalous outfit in the room, but Daniel was doing everything in his power not to stare. It was a stark contrast from the conservative suits and dresses he’d gotten used to seeing you in, showing off every curve of your body. Again, he should have been turned off by the beard makeup alone but it endearingly complimented the cleavage that threatened to spill its way out of your shirt. Eventually you found yourself next to him again.

“G’day mate,” you said tipping his hat. You weren’t sloppy, but it was obvious that your usual social filter was long gone.

“Is that absolutely necessary?”

“What are you talking about, I’m Daniel Ricciardo. This is my voice. Pew pew pew” you gave him some finger guns and blew them out before returning them to their imaginary holsters. He couldn’t help but laugh.

“That is by far the worst Australian accent I’ve ever heard in my life.”

“I can switch to Steve Erwin if you want.”

“Please don’t.” You ignored him.

“Crikey! Here we see the Formula 1 Driver in his natural habitat.” You gestured over to Pierre shamelessly trying to flirt with a model with a bottle of Ace in hand. “Ah yes, the young male has spotted a potential mate. We will now get to witness his intricate mating ritual.”

He watched your face as you continued your animated nature documentary play-by-play of Pierre. He always felt lucky when he got to see this side of you. Silly, unfiltered, and unincumbered by responsibility.

He leaned into you. “I’m glad you’re having fun.”

“I am. Are you having fun – oh!” Someone had pushed their way past you forcing you to fall into the driver, inadvertently smushing your bodies together. He placed a protective hand on the small of your back further pulling you into him while trying not to spill the drink in his other hand. The buzzing returned with a vengeance. It was hard to ignore the soft of your breasts pressed against his muscly torso. You blushed profusely at the new sensation of your hips meeting, feeling the bulge of his pants against your pelvis.

“Are you ok?” You finally pulled your bodies away from each other, your cheeks on fire from the heavy and unfamiliar contact.

“Oh I’m fine. But on that note, I should probably head back.” You hoped he would he would attribute your flush to all the champagne you consumed, and prayed your “beard” was covering for you. The fluttering sensation between your legs refused to cease.

“Ok, I’ll call the car.”

“No, no, I can just call an uber it’s fine.”

“You shouldn’t leave by yourself.” It took a minute for you to realize he was looking out for your safety, not inviting himself to your hotel room. You again felt embarrassed at your own misinterpretation.

“I don’t want to make you leave though, you should keep celebrating.”

“I’ve celebrated enough, I’m happy and tired and ready to go.”

“Are you sure?” He smiled and turned his hand into a fake phone.

“I’m calling it,” he said into his hand. You laughed at the reference to the joke he had with Lando about ‘calling it a day,’ thankful that he found a way to break the tension.

The car ride back to the hotel was relatively quiet. You squeezed your legs together to quell the growing heat below your waist and kept your hands in your lap to prevent them from accidentally wandering. Your heart rate had not slowed since you bumped into one another. You closed your eyes to try to center yourself and redirect the energy of your raging hormones.

Two feet away, Daniel was in a very similar situation dealing with his own demons. The smell of your perfume mixed with this own cologne intoxicated him. He forced himself to think of his home in Perth to keep his mind from wondering to all the ways you could be bent right then and there in the back seat.

You thanked the driver getting out of the car. The walk to your respective rooms felt like an eternity. You pressed for your floor when you got in the elevator and waited for him to do the same, but he did not move.

“What floor are you?”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll walk you to your room.”

“Oh, I don’t think that’s necessary.”

“I just want to make sure you’re safe.” You looked at him from the corner of your eye.

“Fine. I’ll allow it.”

You again stood there in silence side by side as you waited to reach your floor. You cursed the mirrored walls of the elevator. With a few drinks in you, you allowed your lidded eyes to wander all over Daniel’s reflection from the neck down. Fortunately for you he didn’t notice your ogling, but only because he was doing the same thing. In the middle of your respective daydreams, your pinkies accidentally grazed again, pulling you back to reality. Your eyes finally met in the mirror.

“Sorry,” you said under your breath, taking a step away from your client.

“All good.” You both diverted your gazes for the rest of the short ride. You got off the elevator and walked to your room.

“Well, this is me.” You paused, finally making eye contact again. “Thanks for inviting me out, I had fun tonight.”

“Me too.”

“Oh, before I forget here’s your hat and jacket.” You went to remove the hat but he stopped you.

“Don’t worry about it, they look better on you anyways.” It was a questionably appropriate line, but he didn’t care. At this point, neither did you.

“I’m not sure when I’ll wear them again, but thanks.” You smiled to yourself, your hands fidgeting with the fabric of his jacket. He was still looking at you when you looked back up. The chatty driver was uncharacteristically quiet. You were both stalling, though it was unclear what for. You decided to rip off the band-aid.

“Good night Mr. Ricciardo, congratulations again.”

“Good night y/n. I’ll see you in Brazil.”

“I’ll see you in Brazil,” you repeated.

When the door shut, he placed his hand on it for a moment. His mind, again, going to all of the places that were off-limits. With a sigh he left for his room.

On the other side, you leaned your head against the door and squeezed your eyes shut. Sloppily undoing your jeans, you stuck a hand down your underwear to offer relief from the building tension. You were soaked. With reckless abandon, you grabbed your vibrator and shamelessly indulged yourself in the filthiest fantasies regarding your client the rest of the night.

Taglist: @ravenqueen27 @leslizzle @wewoo1233 @monzabee

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lukeevangelista · 1 year

Text

Number Nine - Joe Burrow

This will be LSU Burrow.

*gif not mine* **disclaimer: not edited and not great. gotta get used to writing for burrow and those handsome football boys*

oh boy here we go 🥰

*********************************************************

“Watch where you’re going Burrow!” You shouted at the quarterback for your school, him whipping around to glare at you.

“Maybe you shouldn't be in the way.” He shrugged as he kept walking, his friends tussling his hair as he shoved them off.

LSU had a big game against Alabama and the closer it gets to game day, the more chaotic campus gets.

It was two days prior, meaning it was insane. People were out and about, them all basically shoving into each other,.

The school was having a pep rally that they were requiring the football team to attend.

This game was more than just a game. This game was for the division title.

You knew this, but honestly, you could have cared less about it at this time.

You and Joe had history.

You and Joe had been close for years, him being one of the reasons you chose to attend LSU over Michigan. You never missed one of his games and that's what confused your friends the most. Neither of you had spoken in a few weeks. You two had a bad argument before a game against Georgia and you hadn't heard anything since, until today when you snapped at him.

Little did you know, your friend and Joe had been in contact, him not exactly explaining what had happened between you two, but he wanted to ensure that they'd somehow have you at the game tonight- which they agreed to.

It was days later and the game was in approximately a hour and a half, and currently, your friends were in your dorm, begging you to attend with them.

“Please!” Kira begged as she sat beside you, your other friends sitting on your roommates bed, “Worst case scenario is they lose and we go home immediately.”

You rolled your eyes at her, knowing that is exactly how it wouldn’t go. Whether LSU or Alabama won, you all would be going out to a nearby bar or whatever party was being thrown.

Because that's how your friends are.

“Fine! Whatever- if it makes you shut up about it.” You grumbled as she tossed her hands around you.

“Oh thank you!” She pressed a sloppy kiss to your cheek, “Glad you came to your senses.” She grinned, “Let’s get this on you then.” “Dont push it K.” you said, “Also, we are not sitting near the front and I’ll be damned if I wear... that.” You said as you pointed towards the LSU jersey that was hanging on the back of your door that read ‘Burrow’ on the back of it, now in Kira’s hands.

Your friends looked at wearily, them not sure what had you so pissed off at him. They knew something was up because of where Joe had approached them, but nothing was said and they didnt ask out of respect for you.

But now that you were acting weird about sitting in an area that you normally sat in, going to a game you wouldnt have missed for the world, and wearing your favorite person’s jersey? They knew something was up and whatever it was- it was not going to end well for you.

“Whatever you say.”

You grumbled under your breath as you and your four friends walked to the seats you typically sat in.

Your eyes met Joe’s back. As soon as you sat down, you saw Joe turn around with his teammate talking to him, but it wasn't Joe that saw you. It was Ja’marr.

“Dont look now Burrow.” Ja’marr said as he clapped his hand on Joe’s back, acting like everything was normal, “But Y/N is here.”

“She’s what?” Joe looked shocked, but he listened to his friend and decided not to look for you in the stands.

LSU had won.

They were the national champions of the SEC and all Joe wanted to do was celebrate.

But most importantly, he wanted to celebrate with you.

You and your friends hung around the stadium, watching all the players congratulate each other along with their friend groups. The field was practically empty as you guys had gotten up to leave, it no longer feeling like your place to see Joe like that after a game anymore.

“Hey wait!” You heard a deep voice call after you, you not stopping until you heard your name shouted.

“Y/N!” another voice chimed in causing you two whip around, seeing Joe and Ja’marr walking towards you.

Of course Ja’Marr knew it all. He was one of Joe’s closest friends and honestly, sometimes his voice of reason.

“You came.”

“and I’m leaving.” You said as you turned around, trying to take a step forward, but was pulled back once you felt a hand on your forearm.

“Wait.” you heard a whisper as you watched your friends clear you, giving you two space, “Talk to me. Please?”

“I have nothing to say to you.” you said as you jerked your arm from his grasp.

***

It had been a couple of days since your last interaction with Joe and you were sort of starting to feel bad for the way you treated him in the tunnel.

You two had met up and talked about things, you finally hearing his side of everything, him apologizing profusely until you forgave him, which in the end- you did.

“You’re lucky you’re cute.” You chuckled as you two sat on the couch in his off campus house.

“Wait, you think I’m cute?”

“Sure do number nine.” You grinned up at him, “Have for the last two years JB.”

“Good.” His eyes widened before he smirked, “Glad to know we make a good team.” he continued, “I just dont understand why you didn't say anything before?”

“Why’s that?” you asked, “and we were just friends, nothing more, nothing less.” you shrugged.

“Because it’s good to know that for when I ask you out.” he said, ignoring the last part you had said.

“Oh.” You widened your eyes, clearly taken back by his comment, “So you want to-“

“I do. Have for a while.” He said as he turned his body to get a better look at you, “That’s if you want to.”

“Count me in nine.”

#joe burrow #joe burrow imagine #nfl imagine #soft thoughts w/ari

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usedtobecooler · 1 year

Text

thinking about going on a date with joe and giving him a sloppy tipsy blowjob in the alley next to the bar ))):

he’s smart, sophisticated, suave in a way that made other men pale in comparison. he was cultured, intelligent, knew a lot of the world that most men his age didn’t. he’d wooed you by speaking fluent italian after he swore up and down he was poor at it — though he could be arrogant when he wanted to be, when he knew he was good at something.

he’s flirty without meaning to be. it comes naturally to him, through the lingering glances, the occasional touch of your skin when you made him laugh. the toothy smile and the way he’d lean into you. he always had to be close to you, just enough that his heat radiated against you. he’s sat next to you in the booth, cosied up and cheeks flushed pink from too many martinis.

you weren’t a martini girl. but you were for him. anything he wanted you to be, you would be. you drank them slowly, savoringly, the briny, salty taste swirling on your tongue and making you dizzy. he notices you don’t eat the olives, swipes them from your glass and pops them in his mouth like it’s nothing.

your gaze lingers too long on his hands. his thick fingers. perfectly manicured nails. chunky silver rings. your belly pools with a heat, a deep need inside of you to gulp them down and lick the remainder of the olive juice off them. your cheeks flush dark and he smirks, leans over to brush your hair from your face and wrap one of those god forsaken hands around the side of your neck. brushes your jaw with his thumb. you’re melting.

he’s suited and booted head to toe in armani. two buttons on his silk shirt unbuttoned, his chest adorned with his pretty chains. black looks best on him, makes him look as sultry as he truly is. you want to jump his bones.

he excuses himself for a cigarette and you’re sat there with a hazy head, in need of something. your feet blindly follow him, thick fur jacket wrapped tightly around you to block out the cool winter chill.

he’s leaning against the wall, as if he’s not in a four thousand dollar suit, cigarette in one hand and phone in the other. his head snaps up when he hears you and he smiles, “you want?” he asks, offering you the smoke. you take it gratefully, hoping the nicotine would warm you up the way it always did when you were on a night out with friends, huddled in the doorway of some dingy pub for warmth.

you’re not your real self around him. he’s intimidating, you’re common. you get pissed on nights out and dance up against men in dirty clubs. you take them home and you don’t remember names. how you wound up with a man like him you’ll never know, but he clearly saw something in you that you never saw in yourself.

you’re in each others faces, giggling about nothing, he’s flushed pink down to his chest, from the alcohol no doubt. he’s gorgeous when he laughs, all teeth and crinkly eyes and he’s so pretty it makes you want to claw at the walls. he leans in and steals a kiss that you instantly turn heavy, opening your mouth for him.

his tongue is sinful, the way he licks into your mouth, the tinge of smoke and bitter alcohol dancing on your tongue. his cigarette is abandoned in his hand, the one that’s now gripping your waist through the thin material of your pretty satin dress. it’s white. virginal. a juxtaposition.

you drop to your knees in a fluid motion, expert fingers working the button and zip of his fancy, expensive suit trousers. you ruck them down just enough for his half hard cock to slip out. he’s big, uncut, a pretty shade of pink, thick enough that he’s a real stretch in your mouth.

“dirty girl,” he admires you with chocolate brown eyes and a seductive smile as you wrap your hand around him, tugging him off until he’s fully hard.

“i’m anything you want me to be,” you flutter your lashes prettily at him, pulling his foreskin back, spitting on the mushroom tip to get him all nice and wet for you. the head matches your lipstick, blush pink and shiny.

you make hasty work of it, wanting to be good for him and get him off quickly. your hand wraps around what your mouth can’t reach, jacking him into the heat of your wet mouth, sliding down so far he’s cutting off your breathing and you’re struggling.

he stumbles on his feet a little, hand petting your hair and the last of his cig dragging between his lips. you can’t take your eyes off of him, and he refuses to look away. he’s half lidded, puffy spit slick mouth open in a moan as he watches you just go to fucking town. you’re insatiable and he thinks he’s in love with you.

“that’s it, take my cock,” he’s muttering and it’s slurred as the hand in your hair fists gently and shoves you down even further until you’re gagging and your eyes are watering, “calm down, sweet girl. you can do it.”

and you do, breathing harshly through your nose as you swallow around the fat head pushed into your throat, tongue swiping over the thick vein on the underside, suckling. you’re drooling, it’s spilling out the sides of your mouth and dripping down your chin.

your jaw aches, your knees scream at you as they dig harshly into the gravel below, but you can't find it in you to care when he's looking down at you like he's never seen anything more beautiful, moaning and spewing profanities like he's got no worry that somebody could walk past and see you both at any point.

your free hand grips at the small expanse of his bared thigh, using that touch to ground yourself as he abuses your throat, fucking his hips back and forth until you're gagging and tears are spilling from your eyes, ruining your pretty makeup.

"stunning," he muses quietly, running a thumb over a tear stain on your cheek, hips stuttering, and you use that to your advantage, gaining control back and sucking him down wetly until he's whimpering above you, "fuck, m'coming."

you quirk a brow, swallow around him one last time, and he's coming hot down your throat, big wet eyes squeezing shut, unable to keep eye contact as he unloads in the heat of your mouth. you hum as you savour him on your tongue, because somehow even the heady taste of that was perfect.

he's a gentleman when he comes to, because he always is. he helps you up from the ground, and you help him tuck his spent cock back inside his pants in return. he kisses you like he doesn't care that your tongue tastes of his release, large hand engulfing your cheek and fingertips in your hair soothingly.

he lights another cigarette, and offers you your own one this time too. you smoke in the peaceful quiet, the drunken haze still overpowering and the ringing in your ears stunning you into silence. you're dumbstruck.

when you get back to his place he makes up for giving you sore knees by eating you out until you cry. because, like you said, he was a gentleman.

#joseph quinn smut #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn x you #joseph quinn fic #joseph quinn blurb #my fanfic #mine #blurb #x reader #smut

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rabbitcruiser · 1 year

Photo

The Conch Republic was a micronation declared as a tongue-in-cheek secession of the city of Key West from the United States on April 23, 1982

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tomeebear04 · 3 months

Text

Tom Diet

breakfast: half bottle of smirnoff left over from last night, toast, some mice if he can find any

drinks and snacks in between

lunch: sloppy joe, fish and chips, two bottles of smirnoff, a frog or lizard, sometimes roadkill

dinner: whatever bar food he can get, dead deer, three bottles of smirnoff, paper, clams

#tomposting

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fadingreveries · 3 months

Text

The Royal Romance, Bk1 Ch1: Once Upon a Time (Pt. 3)

Click here for the TRR retelling series masterlist for more chapters! 🏰

Story Summary: In this novel-style retelling of TRR, beloved scenes with original commentary from the Choices stories including your favourite group of royals and friends will be expanded upon. Contains extended commentary and scenes from the original story, in-depth descriptions of bonus scenes, and premium choices and outfits.

Chapter Synopsis: Love awaits in the royal court of Cordonia as Riley competes for the Crown Prince! Will she accept his proposal, or will someone else win her heart?

Word Count: 1.8k

Disclaimer: All rights to original commentary, scenes, and characters from The Royal Romance series reserved to Choices and Pixelberry Studios. No copyright infringement intended.

~ ~ ~

On the other hand, Riley headed over to the table where the three guys sat, talking. She put on her best smile and set down a few menus in front of them.

“Hello, gentlemen. I’ll be taking care of you this evening,” Riley politely introduced herself, pulling out her pen and notebook to write down their orders.

Maxwell grinned at her, bouncing in his seat with excitement. “Waitress, steaks for the table.”

“How about some filet mignon, medium rare and prepared with a bearnaise sauce?” Tariq suggested, before pondering his choice for possibly something much more extravagant than he initially asked for.

Riley laughed. Clearly, this group had never been to a casual New York dive bar before. They were a breath of fresh air, compared to the drunk locals who also came in at the same time demanding pints of beer and sloppy Joes. “The closest thing we have to filet mignon is the deluxe burger.”

Tariq frowned in disappointment, hesitating to look over the menu to see if the unfortunate news was true. “Dare I ask for your wine list?”

Back in the restaurant, Liam noticed that Maxwell, Drake, and Tariq had found a table and were talking to a waitress. Her dark brown hair hung in waves almost like a waterfall down her back. She wore a cream-coloured work shirt, black leggings, and a red work apron around her waist.

“We’ve got an excellent vintage house red,” Riley slowly answered, having the feeling his frown would continue to turn downwards with her reply.

Tariq gasped as if he couldn’t believe the words that came out of Riley’s mouth. “House red?”

Riley shrugged her shoulders, smiling sheepishly at the three men at the table. “It also comes in white.”

Drake laughed at Tariq’s woeful reaction, turning to Riley. “We’ll be fine with a bottle of whiskey… and four deluxe burgers.”

Glancing at the three men at the table, Riley furrowed her eyebrows in curiosity. Who was the fourth person? “Four?”

In response, he nodded behind Riley and Liam took that as his cue. There, Riley turned to see the man walking towards the bachelor party and her eyes widened.

He had eyes as blue as the deep sea, a straight pointed nose, and a hint of a stubble on his face. He was dressed in a black blazer, white dress shirt, navy blue cravat, black dress pants, and black Oxford shoes. His copper blonde hair was neatly swept into a right-sided part and his thin lips were already working into a smile that radiated such genuinity and charm that Riley’s stomach immediately filled with butterflies.

Whoa. He’s really cute, Riley thought.

“Sorry I’m late,” Liam apologized with a shy laugh, making his way towards Riley. “Thank you for your patience, Miss…?”

Riley blinked before snapping herself out of her daze, mustering out a simple, “Uh, Riley.”

“My name is Liam. Charmed to make your acquaintance, Riley,” the handsome stranger flashed a dazzling white smile.

“Trust me, the pleasure’s all mine. It’s nice to meet you.” Riley shyly replied, her cheeks flushing. Liam had looked down, biting his lip with a smile as bashful as her own. “Now let me go put your order in. Be right back!”

Liam watched as Riley walked away towards the restaurant kitchen window. She tore away the paper where she had written the guys’ order in her notebook, sticking it on to a steel order wheel where other orders hung in preparation and letting kitchen staff know what their order was.

For some reason, he couldn’t help but observe in almost a trance-like state how Riley almost seemed to float across the room. She was handing out menus to new customers one moment before balancing dishes on her arms and gracefully setting down plates in front of other tables.

“And now that I definitely am down to get a face tattoo, that’s how we’ll end the night!” Drake exclaimed, noticing how Liam had hardly said a word during their conversation at the table.

Maxwell excitedly grabbed his friend’s shoulders. How exciting was it that Drake had finally come around to his wonderful idea! “Yeah, Drake! That’s the spirit!”

“What do you think, Liam?” Drake questioned, arching an eyebrow in curiosity in his direction.

With his eyes still fixated on Riley, an autopilot response slowly came out of Liam’s mouth. “Sounds great…”

“Okay, now we know he’s definitely not listening,” Drake stated, taking a swig from his whiskey. It wasn’t hard for Drake to know when something else had preoccupied Liam’s mind. Not when he had known his best friend for his entire life.

Maxwell pouted, letting out a disappointed sigh. “You were kidding about the tattoos, weren’t you?”

“Hush, Maxwell. Something’s going on with Liam. He’s distracted,” Drake informed him, keeping him in the loop of things.

Liam’s eyes widened, as he sat up straighter in his seat and cleared his throat. Why had his throat suddenly gone dry? “What? No. Of course not. Brotherhood. Bonding. Where were we?”

“You can tell us what’s wrong,” Drake offered to him, knowing that every once in a while Liam needed to confide in people he trusted. “Is it the rumblings in Lythikos? The water rights over the Royal Orchard? The controversy over the location of next year’s Art Festival?”

“The fact that Drake’s not going to get a tattoo with us?” Maxwell added. Maybe Liam could possibly change his mind? Drake was known for going along with things the second that Liam took an interest in them.

There was no use lying to his two closest confidants. If anything, perhaps they had some wise words for him to help deal with these newfound emotions. Liam took in a deep breath before quickly exhaling. “It’s… our waitress, Riley.”

“I knew it!” Maxwell triumphantly cried out, looking at him with a smug look. “Now it’s a bachelor party!”

Drake leaned back in his spot, thinking to himself for a few seconds before speaking up, “Huh.”

“What?” Liam asked, wanting to know what he was thinking.

“I’ve never seen you get this way about a girl before,” Drake commented. It was true; Liam had met so many ladies at court over the years as a prince, yet this was the only time he seemed genuinely interested in one before. Especially one who was across the ocean in America working in a New York dive bar.

Suddenly feeling embarrassed, Liam sat up straighter in his spot. He felt a warm blush across his cheeks and he was certain that he looked absolutely flustered. “I’m not any way. I’m just worried that we’ve imposed on her good nature.”

Finally catching on to what Drake meant, Maxwell commented, “Uh-huh.”

“Sure…” Drake added, as he and Maxwell exchanged knowing looks.

“I’m sure she wouldn’t mind being impositioned on further…” Maxwell noted, waggling his eyebrows in a playful manner. Hopefully they knew what he meant to say…

Maxwell could be clever, but this was unfortunately not one of those times. Drake sighed, running his hand down his face. “Maxwell…”

“Or you can just leave her a nice tip when we pay the check! You know a Beaumont never shorts a bill!” Maxwell briskly suggested, with a hint of nervous laughter. “Water bills, phone bills, car bills, dinner bills. We’ve never shorted any of those before! With all the money we have, of course. But even if we did, that wouldn’t be a bad thing…”

That was an uncharacteristically long answer for one simple suggestion. Drake eyed Maxwell suspiciously. “Of… course…”

Maxwell knew he had said too much. If Bertrand was there, he would reprimand him with words like, “Maxwell Percival Beaumont, why must you expose the true nature of House Beaumont’s finances in front of important company?” He could feel Bertrand’s glowering gaze at him all the way from Cordonia. Giving another uneasy chuckle, Maxwell fiddled with the collar of his shirt before taking a giant bite out of his burger. That should shut him up for now.

Drake leaned over to Liam, whispering with a concerned expression, “Is Maxwell acting weirder than usual, or is it just me?”

“It’s hard to tell what the baseline weird level is…” Liam admitted, though he did notice that Maxwell had been quite anxious whenever money was mentioned.

Drake stared at Liam hard for a moment. Of course Liam was still absentminded, his eyes following Riley across the room. Drake stated, “You really are distracted.”

“Perhaps…” Liam replied, only half listening to his friend. Riley giggled in front of a table of elderly women who had complimented her, making his heart warm at the sight of her smile.

Drake noticed the look in Liam’s eyes, before he advised him, “Okay, go. Talk to her.”

“I couldn’t,” Liam declined, shaking his head. There was absolutely no chance he could talk to her without making a complete fool of himself.

Moving on from his little comment about his house’s money, Maxwell asked, “What’s stopping you?”

“What’s stopping me?” Liam repeated, before instinctively saying, “The crown.”

“There’s going to be a revolution if you have one conversation with a waitress?” Drake responded, trying to put things into perspective for Liam. “Besides, none of that matters tonight. If only for one night, this is the moment when you get to be human.”

“Also, the tattoos…” Maxwell quietly suggested, taking a sip from his drink.

Drake groaned, as he lightly smacked his friend on the back of his head. “Maxwell! Anyway, it’s just a conversation. What harm could there be? It’s not like one little choice here is going to change the entire fate of Cordonian history.”

Feeling enlightened by their conversation, Liam answered with relief on his face, “You’re right.”

“I usually am,” Drake plainly responded, knowing for a fact that he was right. It was very rare for him not to be.

Liam breathed in, feeling a slight hint of nerves coursing through him. “I’ll… go talk to her.”

“Perfect. And then we’ll be on our way,” Drake responded, setting the plan in motion.

“It’s a plan,” Liam stated, before placing a gentle hand on Drake’s shoulder. “Thank you, my friend.”

Drake smiled, reciprocating with his own hand on Liam’s shoulder. “What are friends for?”

Liam nodded, grateful as always for Drake’s steady presence. Drake had been through the best and worst times that Liam had ever experienced in his life. He always knew what to say whenever he doubted himself and this time was no exception.

Liam stood up, feeling oddly nervous for an inconsequential interaction with an almost stranger. “I’ll be back. This’ll just take a moment…”

~ ~ ~

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