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#i am so sorry central maybe it’s not you. well it was you but your shitass contagion has spread around the world

leclsrc · 9 months

Text

more than anyone ✴︎ cl16

genre: childhood friends to enemies to lovers (a mouthful), smut, humor, Fluffff!!!!, angst

word count: 13.7k

You moved out of Monaco at fourteen with an unrepaired friendship hanging by a thread. Ten years and a whole lifetime later, you’re forced to work with him confront it all over again.

auds here… hi hi hi!!!! HAPPY 4k to us guys!!!!! i am so insanely thankful for all of u and i will make this a longer note when i wake up tomorrow because i have so much to say but have this for now. i hope u like it,i love love love u guys forever also i changed the banner because i wanted to

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... penetrative sex, semi public sex, praise central, size kink (pretty tame smut in auds world)

You know it’s bad when your assistant-and-friend-aka-friendsistant (her vernacular) Rachel walks in with a free coffee without a quip about how dependent you are on this exact order of coffee (she’s a millennial, so caffeine and lack thereof are in her arsenal of Funny Jokes). You fear you didn’t correctly anticipate just how bad it was going to be when she stays instead of leaving to work on your schedule, combing a few fingers through her fringe and sitting herself on your couch stiffly. Maybe you’re intuitive, maybe you spend too much time with Rachel and you can spot the way she scratches at her eye, maybe both—but it’s bad.

You don’t take a sip from the Starbucks that sits idly on the coaster, opting to watch the latte sweat instead. You do stare, though, at Rachel’s stagnant posture, scrutinizing her every movement. She takes a few deep breaths and drops the bomb.

“David sent me to tell you he has good news. But there is, um. Bad news.” Dread writhes through you at the mention of your manager with bad news, and you clear your throat to compose yourself.

“What’s going on?”

She purses her lips. “He’s on his way over here. Just…” She cocks her head sharply to the glass door of your home office, expression antsy. “Sorry. Wait for him. I can’t tell you anything yet.”

You take a swig from the pity coffee. “Am I getting blacklisted?”

“God, you dumbass, no—” She makes an incredulous noise, but before she can open her mouth to elaborate, your manager walks in with an excited expression on his face, pocketing his Juul to take a seat by your table. His smile is the radiant one of a man over forty with a comical amount of Botox.

“Rachel told me you had”—you stifle the adjective—“news.”

“That I do, yes.” He hums, tracing the edge of your table. “Did you enjoy Paris Fashion Week?”

Beside the brash Frenchmen, God-awful timezone differences and consequent calls at half past three, hungover show attendances, posing for pictures until your ankles blistered, and a temporary diet of black coffee, cigarettes, and stale croissants—sure, it was fun. It was your job to attend anyway, your obligation to shake hands with important people and be photographed in designer clothing and benefit from the PR, but how often could people call work fun?

“Sure.” You take another gulp off your coffee. “It was… fun.”

“Well, since your movie’s doing well,” David pauses and hums, “how do you feel about another few weeks of fun?”

“Like Paris Fashion Week—weeks… this month?” You frown, eyebrows knitting together. Is this a new Vogue thing? You’re not sure how many updates they give the schedule, but you wouldn’t mind too much if you could travel again for a little bit. “So soon after spring? Did Anna want this?”

“Iiiit’s, er, Vogue’s new project. Capsule shows in Europe, coastal and summery. She wanted an exclusive guest list. She asked for you by name,” David says smugly. “Well, she called my office, granted. But to ask for you—”

“Are you fucking serious?” You stand up, and if you hadn’t had some fix of coffee you would’ve gotten dizzy. “David, tell me you’re serious.” Time seems to have suspended itself as you await his answer—which, if affirmative, would be a pretty big deal to you.

“Yeah, I am.” He plays off a grin. “She loved your movie with Greta, and would love to send you to Europe to do PR on a few shows and pair up with some guests on a couple features. Exclusive stuff.”

You sit back down, mouth slack. “Oh, my God. I can’t believe it.” Your eyes dart to Rachel, who’s caught between a smile and an awkward purse of her lips. “Fuck! This is huge, David.”

“Yeah—okay, yeah, it is.” David shifts in his seat and crosses, then uncrosses, his legs, then his arms. He stutters for a second. “Good and bad news, remember?”

You blink a few times. You’d nearly totally forgotten the fact that this good news—and it is overwhelmingly good—comes with a bout of bad news, so bad apparently that it’s noteworthy enough to state alongside this massive deal. But it’s. Fine. It’s whatever. Worst case scenario, you’re going to need to fucking swim to Europe sans oxygen canister.

“So… the shows? Events, and shit?” He watches, waiting for you to signal that you follow. When you nod, he continues, averting his gaze to the face of his Patek. “They’re all in Monaco.”

Wrong.

“Monaco.” You repeat, deadpanning your delivery. It’s not out of the ordinary, the glitz and coast of the city being a perfect venue for high fashion. But Monaco is different for you, vastly different, and you tend to avoid the place to the best of your abilities. “Monaco. Are—you’re sure?”

“Mmm,” he hums in affirmation. “I know, I know you’re not exactly privy to Monaco because, bleh, childhood shit, whatever. But this—like you said, this is huge! And I don’t think we should jeopardize that.” He pulls a piece of paper from the folders tucked in his arm and waves it around.

“Well—yeah, I suppose. I’ll deal with it.”

“Yeah.” He sucks his teeth, eyes gliding over the scenery of L.A. that your window offers. “Okay, that’s it, so. Byeandhaveagoodlunch.” He slams the paper onto your desk, jostling you a little, but as he makes his exeunt, Rachel raises her arm to stop him.

“Is that it, David?” She asks, an edge to her voice.

You pick up the paper as they make hushed, stifled conversation, and find that it’s a call sheet of sorts, listing all the collaborators traveling to Monaco and what or who they’re in charge of, or paired up with, there. Models, athletes, celebrities, influencers—all making TikToks, or appearances, or brand deals, or interviews, or YouTube videos, the whole shebang.

“Yeah,” says David dismissively—nervously? “That’s it.”

You search for your name. “Okay. Um, hey.” Rachel turns to you, trying to catch your eye, which is busy scanning the sheet. “Did, um—did David mention you’re paired up with Charles Leclerc for a feature? Because you are. Paired up with Charles Leclerc for a feature, I mean.”

David sucks his teeth. “Thank you very much for graciously reminding me of that, Rachel.”

Still half-distracted and growing increasingly worried with the exchange happening in front of you, you make haste in your search—eventually, you find your name, printed in plain letters beside one you’ve wished to never read over ever again.

“Wait, my Charles?” You pause and look up, suppressing a yell as your eyes widen, and you blunder over a pathetic self-correction. “I mean—no, sorry—Charles, as in Charles Leclerc? I can’t work with him, you know this!”

“Wh—well, Vogue apparently wanted a really good Monaco-born pair and they seriously lucked out on you two. Also,” Rachel says, adamantly defending herself, “you’re always saying you can work ‘with anyone’!” She raises two comically vigorous air quotes to further her (moot) point.

“I didn’t ev—I never say that,” you lie straight through your teeth, mouth dry. You definitely do. You can place all the exact moments. “I would’ve known if I did. Rach—David—I cannot, absolutely cannot work with Leclerc. He’s my… we…” You shut your eyes and sneak two fingers upward to massage your temple, slowly caving into defeat.

David makes an oh well face and shrugs passively. “Fine. Then it’s either Anna Wintour’s special job that will help the Academy campaign or not meeting the ex-bo—”

“—friend.” You look up to cut him off, eyes narrowed. “Ex-friend.”

“Alright, kid. Suuuure.” David leans against the back wall of your office as Rachel comes to comfort you, her eyes already sympathetic and droopy. It shouldn’t be so bad, right? She asks sweetly, nudging the latte closer to your catatonic figure. You have seen him since, anyway.

With a despondent gaze, you just remain silent, refusing to state the negative aloud, opting to stare at the latte. At your disagreeable silence, Rachel continues, tone anxious: You have seen him since. Right?

You moved out of Monaco at fourteen, right after the school year finished and your father had gotten the opportunity to transfer out. The whole thing would’ve—should’ve, even—been a sentimental affair, full of tears and dramatic caresses of your bedroom wall, whispering thank yous to the city air in French and Italian, but it wasn’t. Months prior, you’d been preparing yourself for this kind of goodbye; but when it came to it, you merely kissed your extended family goodbye and slept en route to the airport, silk sleeping mask pulled taut over your shut eyelids. The only thing you left in the city was a letter written only to Gi and Cha about how much you’d miss them, with your email address scribbled at the bottom for an added touch, in case they felt like sending you longer messages.

“Do you two at least get along?” David asks, noting how genuinely aghast you appear.

“It’s not that simple.” You tap a nail against your desk a few times. “But I think it’ll be fine. I hope, at least. We used to be… good friends? As teenagers.”

You feel like an alien hearing yourself talk about it, talk about him and the whole circumstance a decade later. Your friendship with Charles was the only thing that mattered to your adolescent self, all lemonade stands and long car rides and stealthy conversations about your futures (racing and acting, respectively). It was happiness, in what you consider to be its truest form, it was lovely and real. And it ended abruptly, no goodbyes, no nothing.

“So it’s a no.”

“I’m just saying it’s impossible for me to work with him, and in Monaco no less?!” Your eyes are wild with frustration and anxiety at the prospect of your past whipping you in the face, full-fledged. “I don’t even talk about the guy or the city, how can I spend time with him there?”

“Are you seriously going to junk this amazing fucking opportunity just because of some petty childhood fight?” David’s tone is comparable to that of a dad’s, scolding and horrified, almost. “Look. If you don’t take this, career-wise, it doesn’t mean much. You get paid a shit ton, you’ll survive—you’ll do well. But emotions-wise? Maturity-wise? Be the bigger person and do it—I mean it.”

You stare back at him because you know he’s right. “Maybe it won’t be a big, long feature?” Rachel offers as some advice, some comfort. “If you reject it, his team will know, and so will he.”

And yes, you were fourteen, and yes it was petty and unexplainable even for fourteen—but there was a catalyst to all of this, a reason why the move became easy and forgetting childhood memories became second nature. A reason why you’re selective with who you make contact with from home. A reason why Giada and Charlotte are selective with topics they choose to bring up with you.

So, fuck it, really. That’s how you end up in Monaco, booked for the next three weeks, sharing a studio and public appearances and a 24-hour shoot with the last person you’d ever want to be in a room with. Ten years later—the person still is, and no doubt will always be, Charles Leclerc.

—

“MAMAN!” Charles’ voice was loud, loud, and so incredibly loud. You followed not far behind, legs running at full speed to try and leap onto his lanky figure and wrap an arm around his head to quiet him. It’d been futile: he ended up at the dining table facing his family with a victorious smile on his pink face. He breathed heavy, waiting for everyone to turn their attention to him.

“Charles,” you chimed in warningly, breathing even harder with the effort you had exerted to chase him from the sidewalk to here. “Don’t.”

“Guess who got the lead spot in the recital.” He slowly turned to point at to your angry face, and then bent, rifling through his already messy, grubby knapsack for something that he raised with glee: a headress that read…

“But-ter-cup.” Hervé sounded amused when he looked at your fuming expression. “You?”

“Yes, Papa! Maybe, just maybe,” he sing-songed, using the term wrong yet again, “she got the titular role!” He walked over to you and placed the headress square on your head, beaming.

“There is no titular role in a school recital,” you seethed, burning with embarrassment. Your stellar academic record had apparently granted you incentive to be centre stage during the routine year-end recital, where years were lumped into twos or threes (in your and Charles’ cases, Years 8 and 9) and the student body would dance or sing a variety of teacher-selected music.

In your case, it was Build Me Up, Buttercup, complete with choreography you’d be practicing over the next month and a half. Charles laughed at your pouting expression, didn’t stop laughing even when you’d both sat down and twirled through forkfuls of spaghetti, didn’t stop chuckling even when Lorenzo got the turn to speak and he started talking about how Bringing Up Baby was his movie of the month.

You allowed him to laugh—even laughed yourself at some point—because all day, you’d been absently wondering how you’d break the news about your moving away to him.

—

Charles is not okay. He’d gotten off a red-eye from a short vacation stint, and now he’s back in Monaco, sleepy and a bit jetlagged, being briefed on brand deals and press junkets he has to accomplish by three p.m. today. “On the dot, sharp,” said his assistant, like the two didn’t just mean the same fucking thing. He’s patient, though, smiling through the exhaustion, through the dressing room, the tape around his waist and legs to measure clothes for this fashion… thing.

“A meeting for Ferrari, two TikToks, a vlog for your personal YouTube channel, three stories by noon… oh, and in the next few weeks, you’re going to film a Vogue-sponsored 24 Hours With… with—”

“D’accord, thank you,” he cuts in, already exhausted from the spiel alone. He’s a professional; no matter what people believed or what gossip rags liked to say about him, he maintains a well-kept reputation of being polite and kind to people he works with. Maybe it’s the jetlag, maybe it’s the lack of sleep, maybe it’s the heat outside, but today he just wants to close his eyes and sleep for days.

But the assistant follows, clipboard and Excel sheet and all, still spouting all his media obligations lest he forget (and mark his words, he definitely will). “Sorry,” he says. He’s new, probably assigned as a part of the Vogue team, lanky and tall and nervous looking. “I’m new. I’m Greg.”

Briefly, Charles is left alone to stare at his tired reflection while the assistants reconvene and connect. There’s several of them, each assigned or already committed to a different celebrity. Charles should know more details, but there’s only so much reading of a call sheet he can do before he’s conked out on Ambien; he trusts he’ll be around people much more famous than he is, probably American or English, actors and athletes alike. He’ll figure it out.

Yeah, she’s almost ready. Is Charles here? One of the assistants says, a bright-eyed American. They need to be introduced before 11. Her voice is quiet, quick and hushed, and Charles has to focus to hear what she’s saying. Greg chips in with something he can’t decipher; in response, the American whispers, Yeah, I’ll get her to sign it for you. Bring Charles out in five.

In five, he is indeed being brought out to the lobby of this hotel; the outdoor area is decked out with models, cocktail tables, Vogue signage and a carpet for pictures. It’s even busier inside, wait staff and event coordinators conversing in angry, aggressive French—table settings, mineral water, extra forks are needed. Greg keeps a steady pace transporting Charles through the indoor throng, and at 10:59, Charles is outside, by the pool.

“Um, right, yeah. Okay, uh—wait here. Your partner—not really partner, but like, mate? Fuck, definitely not. Um, partner. She’s on her way heeere…” He checks his phone. “Okay. You caught her name, right?” Charles nods to fend him off. “Okay. So, wait here.”

There are cameras taking pictures of him when Greg departs, some microphones waved his way; in the distance he spots fans waving crazily, sporting Ferrari merch. Charles is doing what he’s told (waiting, maybe posing a bit) when an even bigger crowd appears, surrounding one person; with their arrival, ameras click even faster, and an uproar follows. Greg waves him over, pointing at the person frantically, so Charles smiles, extends a hand, and when the crowd parts—

There you are, in all your glory. Pink dress, hair clipped into a bun, a tanline on your exposed skin, lithe hand coming up to shake his. Your eyes are flat but the lack of expression doesn’t inoculate them from beauty; they remain sparkling and pretty all the same. Cameras snap the interaction, seemingly innocent, seemingly the first.

He fights, he really does, to keep his hands shaking yours. He forces himself not to hug you, press a kiss to your cheek even if that might look friendly, caress a hand across your cheekbone, brush the tendrils of hair out of your eyes. It’s a valiant effort.

A valiant effort that pays off because, as soon as you’re ushered into a room by yourselves, your smile turns into a scoff; your hands are kept to yourself, slipping a pair of sunglasses on, and; underneath them, your eyes begin to roll. “I need a drink,” you huff, not even looking at him.

You’re on two couches opposite each other, in what he assumes to be a foyer to a hotel room that’s much bigger than the one he was in earlier. A-list fame and that. The girl he’d seen earlier scurries off, mumbling something about a martini. Greg, beside him, goes: “Do you need a drink, too?” But he shakes his head.

“Are you voluntarily working for this guy, Greg?” You refer to his assistant by name, offering a sarastic, honeyed smile. You adjust the strap of your dress and he blinks his gaze away.

“Oh, no. I mean—yeah. Kind of. I was assigned to him.”

“It’s okay, I don’t expect you to do it of your own will,” you joke, crossing your legs.

Charles laughs dryly. “Who asked?”

“So he speaks…” You ping off his retort without missing a beat, a sardonic smile playing at your lips.

“In the two minutes we’ve been around each other, you’ve insulted me and my assistant. I’d prefer silence, your highness.”

“Aww, did my joke and asking Greg a question piss you off?” You suck your teeth. “You must be fun at parties.”

“Do you two, um. I don’t want to, like, overstep, but do you know each other?” Charles notices that Greg’s forearm is signed by you and realizes he has no allies here, with an inward grimace. “Or if you don’t, like, are you two just… not in good moods or something?”

The girl comes in then, saying here’s the martini and catering you a sweaty glass with a smile. You offer up the empty space beside you, patting the white leather for her to sit down on. Your eyes meet his again briefly, catty and a bit challenging, before you turn back to the girl. “Sit.”

Maybe Charles spends too much time with Max, because he’s starting to become more and more inclined to getting the last word in lately. “Bossing people around, eh? Fame really does change you.” He offers a smile of his own.

“She’s my assistant, Rachel,” you say sweetly, but your smile is gritty. “We need to check my schedule.”

He wants to slap himself. “Too busy to open your calendar?” Nevermind, he’s a god.

Your sarcastic smile drops. “And what’s on yours? P6 this week, P7 next, DNF after?”

Fuck. The tension is so thick at this point, it’s almost steaming hot. Both the assistants stare at you, waiting for Charles to wedge something in, but he bites himself back. Thankfully, right as the silence just begins to settle like oil on water, the door swings open and one of the coordinators steps in, noisily rattling off the week’s plans and proclaiming you’re both free for the remainder of the day before things pick back up—Schiaparelli show at noon, both of you, front row—tomorrow.

The four of you filter out of the room, and you make a quip about your autograph on Greg’s arm, which grants your assistant some face time with Charles. She turns to him, combing a hand through her hair and furrowing her thick eyebrows. “Hey, I’m Rachel, by the way.”

“Charles.”

“I know,” she says sheepishly. “Listen. I know you two have history, she—we—she’s, um, told me about it before. I don’t know the whole story, and I’m not… like, I’m not saying I do, so I respect it, whatever it is. But I hope you can find it in you to work with her properly. It’s a huge gig for you both. So—yeah, uh. Great job, and good luck.”

She smiles with a nod before exiting the room, leaving Charles alone and stirring with thoughts and memories woken from wild unrest.

—

“Alors,” Charles had said, not turning from his position in front of your vanity mirror. He’d been picking at his face, stopping only when you tsked at him not to. “What is the problem?” His eyes flicked over to you, your lying figure on the bed exhaling little puffs of frustrated air to the ceiling. “Are you missing the recital?”

“Quoi? Non.” You gnawed at your lip, accepting your defeat. You couldn’t lie for much longer, not when you’d been keeping this under wraps for two months. “Listen. Charles.” He nodded, clearly preoccupied with something. “Charles.”

“Hmm?”

“Can you ple—look at me.” Your voice hardened.

He’d noticed it then, the curt cutoff of your voice, the absent look in your eyes. He knows you even through a mirror, even in the low light of your room. “Desolé. This pimple won’t go away.”

“Charles,” you said, groaning but allowing yourself to laugh. “Listen.”

“Okay.” He turned to face you, a spot on his chin red from how long he’d been scratching at it.

You shrugged then, suddenly scared to deal with the realness of it all. You didn’t understand why you felt so torn. “It’s something to do with me,” you said.

“Yeah.”

“I’m moving.” You rubbed at your nose, the cold draft coming in through the window causing you to sniffle. “Out of Monaco.”

A beat. “What?”

You closed your fingers around your necklace, scratching absently at the divots of the pendant. One, two, three little dips in the gold locket, tiny but comforting. “Yeah. In a few months, like, after school. It’s Papa—his job. It’s a whole thing.”

“Europe?” You shook your head. America.

“What… well, what does that mean, then?” His expression didn’t waver but if anything did, it was his eyes—desperate, seeking more answers, wanting them with a guttural, belly-deep desire. You’re his best friend, so if he has to let you go in this life, he at least needs to know everything about the move.

“We’ll keep in touch,” you reassured, kicking your leg to further your point. “You were bound to get busy with karting anyway, so it’s like. Ça revient au même.”

“It isn’t the same,” he said, his voice thin and cracking.

“You’ll be fine.”

“You have a very misguided idea of who I am.”

“Shut up. Come off it,” you laughed, sitting up straighter. “We’ll call everyday, and I’ll meet all the famous people who’ll get me a real acting job, and I’ll come for the holidays or summer or something. Things won’t change. Not that much, at least.”

“Maybe, just maybe.” He pauses. “Will you be here for my birthday, at least?” He’d made a big deal all year of his turning sixteen on the sixteenth.

“Charles,” you sighed.

“No, yeah. I get it.” He looked down, rubbing his thumbs together, like he’s just been hit across the face. He will tell you one day it felt infinitely more painful than that. But at the time he shook his head and looked up at you, reached his pinky to yours, a thin slip of paper around the finger that matched your interlocked one, and didn’t say anything else.

Just: “We’ll be okay.”

—

You could pin a lot of adjectives on Monaco: picturesque, without a doubt; warm, glamorous, but you’d sooner die than pin the word home over it. The city is sprawling even with the little surface area it possesses, and only few things seem familiar. Your lodging is a hotel in Monte-Carlo, a penthouse suite that requires you to travel very little. It feels like a vacation.

And you embody the role of a vacationer very well—the first five, six days of your stay in Monaco went great, mainly appearances that lasted a few hours at most and several junkets to promote Vogue and your latest film, before you were free to do whatever you wished. You’d gone the touristy route already: shopping more times than you could count, trying your immense luck at the casinos, and eating at Michelin-starred restaurants; eventually all the fun blurred into each other and you found solace in naps instead.

Your troubles are not far behind, however, and they finally come after you on Day 7. The event coordinators had informed Rachel, who in turn informed you, that the first of next week’s agenda would be a photographed tour of the Musée Océanographique de Monaco, a grand seaside building right at the edge of the water. Today is, apparently, a day for you to “fraternize with” Charles, which meant you would once again need to put a façade over your less-than-kind appearance toward him.

Those are the concluding words of David’s very firm text, encouraging (read: coercing) you to settle things with Charles into some approximation of civility. You resolve things by calling him to skip over the awkwardness that comes with texting. It takes you all of twenty minutes and twice your body weight in courage to press the green telephone button.

“B’jour,” he goes, his voice quick. French people (he will hate that you called him French, even if it was just in your head; you relish in this) always talk rapidly. After some silence, he clears his throat: “Hello?”

Butterflies—some form of them, whatever—flutter in your stomach. “It’s me.”

He drops formalities and adopts a disinterested voice. “Huh. What do you want?” The butterflies have rotted to death.

“I need to talk to you.”

“To insult me again?” He sounds a little amused even over the phone, a breath of laughter landing in your ear. “Bah, I get it. We are enemies. You have no interest in reconnecting, et cetera. C’est tout ce que tu as à dire? I gotta go.”

Your face warms at his accusatory tone. “Wow, leave it to a guy to be charming, huh?”

“Why should I be charming with you?”

“At least be polite,” you taunt, but your voice lacks its usual edge. On the other line, Charles lets his own defiant tone ebb downward.

At least be polite. It’s the least he can owe you after ten years of forgetting. It wasn’t as if you two had a mutual agreement then, in 2013 when you moved away, to stop becoming friends. For months before you moved out, he completely stopped talking to you, like he’d forgotten you two were even connected, were even friends. What little words you two shared became petty and abrasive, and suddenly Monaco lost its color. The closeness you had with him, which for so long you’d convinced yourself was once-in-a-lifetime, was ripped from you, robbed from you—by him, no less, which hurt all the more. You’d given up on finding out why at some point. You waited for him to reach out. Maybe, you told yourself, just maybe, it would take a few months, a year.

Ten years of radio silence. He owes you that: politeness.

“It doesn’t matter,” you say to nobody in particular, in an effort to segue into the topic of your choosing. “Look, we’re supposed to be friends. In… on camera, at least. It’s disastrous if we look like we, you know, hate each other. We need to be professional.”

“For the cameras,” he says back, solemn.

“Yeah.” You wind a finger through your hair. “Just… for the sake of civility.”

You hear his little hums of consideration. “D’accord,” he says after a few minutes. “Truce, then.”

“Sure.” You smile a little. “I have to go.”

—

You were halfway through your mess of clothes when your mum peeked through your door, her hair held back by a headband. “Call you yet, poppet?”

“Non,” you said, decimating your voice to a monotonous murmur. You looked up from the dress you’d been folding and offer a half-hearted, sardonic smile. “Je t’ai dit qu’il ne le ferait pas.” You were right: he wouldn’t call. What difference did a month make, anyway? This time, though, the usual victory of being right settled into an ugly disappointment in the pit of your stomach.

You wanted so badly to be wrong. To clamber to the telephone, to your Skype, to your cellphone, any of the three, and see his name flashed across the helm or his voice in your ear. Maybe he was dialing your number now, to ask if you wanted to grab dinner after the year-end recital, or to update you on karting, or to tell you Pascale wanted lunch.

She could tell, as all mothers can, that you’d been upset. The knit in your brows that didn’t go away, the bottom lip being chewed, the tight clutch of your fingers over the already-folded dress. She sighed. “I’m sorry, baby.”

“It’s fine.” Your voice came out sharper than you intended and you have to roll it back, recede it, to sound more relaxed, more at ease. “It’s… fine. I’m fine.” She knew better than to pry, closing the door softly to continue packing up the living room.

You heaved a dry sigh to express the nausea that came with his absence. It began a month ago, two days after you first told him about it and poked at the zit on his chin. He’d buried his head in your shoulder until tears seeped into the cotton sleeve of your shirt, and you let him. You felt guilty, after all, for keeping it a secret for so long. You would leave in September, you told him. We have time.

Two days later he walked you home as always, on the “dangerous” side of the street, lanky legs skipping to the tree in front of your house. You pointed at the beginnings of clementines on its dewy branches, smiling, inviting him in, but he remained leaning against the trunk, playing with his mop of hair that covered his forehead.

“Bah, trop dramatique,” you said, poking fun. Lorenzo had showed you both some art house films he studied in class, and with the bout of French cinema, you and Charles had grown obsessed with making fun of overdramatic stills that often included the classic leaning-against-a-surface. “Come on, Mum made bouillabasse, I smell it.”

“We need to talk,” he eked out awkwardly. “I have something important to tell you.”

You dropped your knapsack, leather scratching against the concrete of the steps to the front door as you walked over to him. “Ouais?”

“I…” His lips moved, wobbled, but nothing left, so he shut them and his eyes, like he was considering something. His breathing slowed into one rhythm you find yourself unconsciously matching, just two kids looking at each other in the dusky breeze of Monaco, the orange sun casting shadows over the clementine tree. You closed your hand over his, a tight clamp over his knobby wrist with certainty. “I…”

“Say it.”

“I want to.” His eyes were shut. Exhale. Inhale, open. “I… I’m going… going home.”

You breathed out apprehensively and relaxed. “Oh.” You blinked. “That’s it?”

“Ye—ouais. Yeah. I gotta.” Already he was climbing to the gate, waving a half-hearted goodbye. “Save some for me, oui? Bye.”

“Charles,” you warned after him, voice tinged with concern. “That’s it, promise?” Your hand flexed around air.

“Cross my heart!” The last thing he ever said with any bit of something genuine.

—

You reunite with Charles at a meeting; under the guise of your truce, he makes the barely-necessary small talk. The rest of the staff file out of the restaurant in due time, but you both stay. You ask about Lorenzo and Arthur, leaving out questions you’d rather not listen to him answer, and he tells you they’re both alright. That his mum asks about you sometimes. That makes you smile. He asks if you’re still dating the guy you’d most recently been partnered with in Us Weekly.

“God, no. We never even dated, the… um, tabloids always make shit up.” You purse your lips. “Anyway. Is Lorenzo still in film?” You ask, turning your head a little. You don’t think you’ll ever forget his affinity for cinema.

“Not professionally, but I still sit through hours-long… you know, reviews, and stuff.” He laughs when he sees you laugh, eyes half-closed and meeting the ceiling.

“He introduced me to some of my favorite movies, especially when I got into acting and I was kind of… like, I wanted some inspiration, acting-wise. But not my actual favorite movie.”

“Which is?” He segues into a more personal topic. “Is it still Bambi?”

“Oh, it was, for the longest time!” You almost squeal with excitement. “Not anymore, though. It’s been dethroned, ha ha. I think it’s… I’d say it’s maybe Casablanca now.”

“How American.”

“Shut up.” Your face warms. “It’s so romantic. When he says—when he goes, um. We’ll always have Paris. And then, God—when Ilsa goes, I said I would never leave you—and Rick goes, And you never will… isn’t it so classic? Romance movies nowadays are—I, I, I… I get scripts sent to me that are just so bad, and they’re either too idealistic or too pessimistic, or too indie or too commercial, and.” You sigh. “It’s like nobody gets love right anymore.”

“Us Weekly disagrees,” he says weakly, after a period of silence.

“Stop,” you laugh warningly. “And don’t act like you’re not being paired up with different girls, too.”

For a minute you sit with the realization that you’ve both been keeping tabs on each other all these years, even just a little bit. It’s a bit jarring, it’s a bit warm, it’s a lot confusing. You make a move to ask for the bill but Charles is quicker, opens his mouth to implore your presence.

“Come see me tonight.” He says it like he didn’t mean to, like it escaped him on a whim, a blurted out confession born out of your memories and conversation. His voice is dreamy, faraway. “Earth to…?”

“Wh—sorry. Fuck.” You clear your throat and deduce your next words. “Where?”

“I’ll text you. A club, near your hotel.”

“Yeah… yeah, sure.” You hum an affirming noise.

—

Your name is on the list, though you’re sure it doesn’t matter whether or not it was. No ID is needed, and paps catch a bouncer being dispatched to guide you through the nightclub toward the elevated area with significantly less people. It’s low-lit, smoky, vaguely blue and purple, smelling of flows of alcohol and fresh ice. An Azealia Banks song is playing, pounding through your head.

Tabloids don’t care about nightclubs. They care if you come out drunk or with a smidge of snow under your nose, neither of which have happened to you; entering is fair game, a fun affair, especially in a district like Monte-Carlo. You don’t have any explaining to do, not even to questions like are you clubbing with your professional Vogue collaborator, Charles Leclerc?

The collaborator in question is the first to greet you, getting up and approaching you with a smile so obviously tense. The picture in front of him is like if he’d conjured up a forlorn fantasy of his to life—your hair fell loosely over black lace, a hand pinched around the hem of your dress. “Hey.”

“Hi.”

“So.” He realizes he’s in charge of the socializing, and turns to properly introduce you. “Um, guys, this is my—friend—you already know”—he fusses over your name, which everyone in the world knows, anyway—“and these are my friends. Pierre, Alex, George, Lando, Daniel… you know Joris.” He points to each guy's face as he goes, eliciting a beam every time he gestures.

You wave with a polite smile before you station yourself beside the only one you know: Joris, with whom Charles shares a longtime friendship. He greets you first, with a side hug. “Long time.”

“Yeah, it’s been.” You watch him turn toward the low table, and back around with two shots, offering them to you with haste.

You thank the Lord that he makes quick, dextrous work of it, and before long you’ve downed a glass or three of some strawberry four seasons thing, socializing with the different people around the table. One of them, Lando, talks about your latest film for five whole minutes (“I rated it five stars on Letterboxd. I left a review, if you wanna see”) before he leans close and asks: “Are you his girlfriend?” His is obviously referencing Charles, and you pull back from the proximity to shake your head.

“No,” you holler to emphasize it. “We used to know each other. I grew up here.”

“Oh shit! Native!” He whoops, offering you another glass. This must be your fifth, maybe, fifth G&T or Cosmo or something or other of the night. You take it, drinking as you walk, planning to collect your bag to take with you to the bathroom—another hand takes yours, though, dragging you down the steps. Halfway through, you realize it’s Charles.

“How’s the drink?” He asks, brows straight.

“That’s all you wanted to ask?” You raise your voice above the bass. “Someone needs to teach you fucking… proper small talk.” A laugh involuntarily bubbles past your lips, eyes crinkling.

He laughs, too, despite himself. “Non, I was—I was just asking. We should—I brought you over here to—so we could…” He realizes he’s been talking too fast without getting to the point and pauses, resetting himself with a pinched sigh. “Dance.”

Your heart pulses. Dance? You hear yourself ask. For wh…Why?

“For the sake of the truce.” His voice is light. “We should try being closer.”

“We were close once,” you say, loose. “Did you forget?”

He’s looking right at you, and you’re warm all over. “How could I?”

It feels too real. Not the words—yes the words—but the alcohol, the alcohol is what you’re referring to, and all those shots and drinks suddenly seem not as harmless as they’d seemed earlier. You scan the periphery for the WC sign and try your best not to look deranged on your way there, offering the same pretty smile to recognizing passersby. Behind you, Charles calls out; but you wave him off, heaving dryly.

The restroom is clean because the nightclub is outrageously expensive; you push yourself into the available stall that’s in your direct path and crumple above it. You heave. Heave some more. Nothing comes. The nausea rises and recedes, so you decide to wait it out.

The bathroom door hauls open, bringing with it a few seconds of noise before it swings heavily onto the frame again, sealing the sterile silence. The momentary return of the bass from the dance floor sends your head spinning all over again and you freeze, willing yourself not to wind up hurling your guts into the toilet. It’s a futile effort, though, because you’re feeling nauseated beyond your limit again, and you need water and maybe a salve or something.

“This stall is open,” somebody says, a chipper American voice that grows in volume as it nears you. A gasp follows, and then: “Oh, my God. Are you okay?”

You turn, your face flushed and lips parted. “I’m so sorry. I just—I’ve been nauseous all night.”

“I have water,” she answers, reaching her arm outward, as if seeking it. “Carmen, the water!” A bottle of Evian is thrust into her hand by another girl (Carmen, you presume), and she doesn’t hesitate to bend next to you to feed it into your mouth. She stares for a second, then goes: “On the off chance I’m lucky, and you’re the famous actress, by the way, I just want to say I’m a huge fan of your work.”

Eyes wide, you lock eyes with her and pull away from the water. “Oh, God. Yeah, that’s me. I’m so sorry—this is so humiliating.”

“It’s not—it’s normal,” she assures, nodding. “We’ve all… y’know, puked into a club toilet before.” From the stall doorframe, Carmen nods. “What’d you drink?”

“Fruity stuff,” you recall, eyebrows knitting at the memory. “And shots.”

They both grimace at the same time, knowing the exact feeling, the exact taste, it seems. “Are you heartbroken or something?” Carmen asks; Lily shoots her a look that can only really mean don’t ask the world-famous actress if she’s heartbroken. But you laugh it off, shaking your head.

“No. There’s a guy, though, and he’s… we’re… it’s a lot. I think I thought alcohol would absorb all of it, but… clearly, it did not.” Your lips simmer into a straight line and you’re quiet for a few moments before remembering you’re on a dingy club floor being supported by two nice girls who are strangers. “Anyway! Sorry. I’m clearly, um, delirious.” You get up on semi-wobbly feet, swallowing the nausea as you go.

You walk to the sink, and behind your back, the girl and Carmen share a telepathic exchange (should we ask her to elaborate? Yes! Should we really? Fuck, no.) You rinse your mouth out, washing your hands and focusing on your reflection—your tired eyes, your smudged lip gloss, your fussed-up hair. You turn after rinsing, offering a small smile. “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing,” says the first girl, offering her hand and a tube of lip gloss. “I’m Lily, by the way. And just so you know—I’m so sure that guy has nothing on you.” Carmen, beside her, nods in solidarity, and your heart blooms.

Your smile grows as your hand shakes hers, accepting the lip gloss. “You’re too kind. Thank y—”

“Lil? Baby, are you puking?” Comes a disembodied male voice from the door, ajar ever so slightly. Lily visibly cringes and walks over to the door, pulling it open further. On the other side—the detective of sorts—happens to be Alex, who you’d been introduced to a few hours ago. At the sight of you, his eyes widen with recognition.

“We’re fine. Leave us alone,” replies Lily in a conspiratorial whisper. “Carmen and I have a new friend.” She doesn’t even need to drop your name; your face alone is enough to make people recognize who you are.

Alex, however, refuses to admit defeat. “Try harder next time.” He pumps his eyebrows. “We were introduced earlier.” He looks up and waves to demonstrate his truth; when you smile back, Lily’s jaw drops as she turns to her boyfriend again, aghast.

“What the hell? How?” A pause. “No offense. It’s like. Two levels of fame, right there.”

He makes a pinched face. “She’s Charles’… friend? I don’t—coworker? Something, something. They were both vague about it. Actually, George and I were talking about it, and we both think something is up. With them.”

“Wait—you might be right.” Her eyes are hyperfocused, and her voice drops to a whisper for a second. “Let’s talk about it at the hotel.”

You and Carmen watch their hushed exchange, and eventually Alex leaves you three alone again with a loud goodbye, which allows Lily to rejoin your conversation. “Sorry,” she says with a smile. “That was my boyfriend, Alex. I didn’t know you two were introduced! He told me you knew Charles?”

“Oh.” Your shoulders relax. “Yeah, um. We knew each other as kids, but I moved away and we kind of—we drifted apart, so. I’m here on a business trip, and he’s just welcoming me.” You try to reduce the decade-long mess into a sentence.

“So you’re friends?”

“Yeah.” You feel like vomiting all over again.

—

The sky’s a searing blue at noon, silver clouds lining the horizon. Charles has to press a finger to the high point of his cheek to test if he’s sunburned from the heat, and the cameras catch it; he doesn’t doubt the fans will spin that into something cute later. You’re somewhere else on the property, this big, massive thing of a museum that’s crashed into by the waves.

He remembers Andrea first telling him about this whole arrangement. He and the team had deliberately left out any mention of you, like they could predict the immediate veto. He wonders if you knew, or if you, too, had been surprised when seeing him, a ghost of your past looking into your eyes. He wonders if you, too, are now in this endless emotional turmoil. Inside there’s a photoshoot ongoing, with you but also with some models in varying aquatic-related poses to convey the intent of the building; he’s done his share of pictures already, just needs to sit down with you for an interview.

“And a B-roll of you guys, um, like, walking, like—around?” Greg’s voice invades his head again, the nervous man beside him running through a to-do list like this is boot camp.

You’d left him hanging at the club—he couldn’t blame you though. A truce hardly called for the bringing forth of memories you two are now supposed to have buried beneath you. Memories he buried first. But alcohol had loosened him, and maybe you had, too, your eyes in the vaguely bluish light and your smile.

He wishes to apologize. He makes up some excuse and finds you nursing an Evian by a faraway corner, against a screen of stingrays. Your eyes widen when you see him, in recognition. He waves and then, with a thumb, gestures to the catering outside.

You end up by the water eating one of the caterer’s churros, a recommendation he deems “very special.” (“Have you worked with these caterers before?” “No.”) It’s also his excuse to cheat on his diet and eat a churro or three—chocolate dip included, always. You rave over the taste, smile, enjoy the view. Charles realizes this looks deceivingly like a date, and at the same time realizes he would not stop to correct someone if they assumed so.

“Our truce seems to be working.” You say in-between chews, voice flat but eyes bright.

“It seems so. I owe that to my personality.”

You really laugh at that. “I didn’t know you had one. It’s very fit for someone as unapproachable as I am.”

“Who said that?”

“No, noth—nobody.” You comb a lock of hair behind your ear. “Aw, putain. I’m ruining my lipstick. Pat’s going to kill me. I look awful.” There are no reflective surfaces around you to affirm your statement, but you sound so sure of yourself.

He smiles. He enjoys the illusion, the mask that you two seem to wear, albeit involuntarily. The chocolate syrup he squeezes on your little paper box of churros. The muttered back merci when he’s finished. Your flushed face, eyes darting from the delicacy to the ocean, eyelashes fluttering, lips smiling, curving into a laugh at some random realization. Briefly he imagines what he might tell somebody if they stopped to ask if you were dating.

Some old woman, French accent and short in stature. You two are so cute. Si mignon! And she would ask how you two met. Charles would tell her the story. But that is imagination. He blinks out of it and focuses on the beauty in front of him, so very real.

“No. You are very pretty, you know.” He says then, and it’s taken him all his nerves and then some just to wrangle it out of his mouth and past his lips. Anticipatory, he watches you, waits for your response.

You comb the hair out of your face messily, licking over the cinnamon sugar on your lips; then you smile up at him, turning your head in question. “Sorry,” you laugh, and his heart’s frozen because it’s the prettiest sound he’s ever heard. “What did you say?”

The wind roars in his ears, so Charles barely hears himself when he says, stuttering, “What? Nothing, I said nothing.”

You make a face—confused, suspicious—but all your allegations quell once you bite into another churro, stepping yourself a path along the area. Having blocked off the building, production staff and models are all that populate your surroundings, big headphones and even bigger cameras, rolling around racks of monochrome and Hermés, Birkins to match Loro Pianas. It’s easy to get lost in a crowd—in a city—where everyone looks the same, and knows the other’s name. Perhaps that’s also why, even at fourteen, you were excited to leave, he thinks.

“The coast was always my favorite part about the city.”

He notices. The way your eyes have softened, become more fond than when you’re in the centre of it all, in the bustle. Here it’s busy, but less busy; the distinction, perhaps, matters. Your gaze is not one of distaste, of disdain. It’s nostalgic, homesick, yearning. He supposes he describes this gaze so well because it’s the way he catches himself looking at you over the week.

“I wanted to…” He trails off. “I wanted to talk to you because, ah. I’m sorry. It was foolish of me to put you on the spot last night. I should’ve been more… yeah. I’m sorry. I hope you’re okay.”

You stare at the sea and nod quietly. Instead of responding, you launch a story: “I always…” You’re clearly lost in a different sphere of thought, and you have to fall quiet while finding the right words to say. “I remember, um. In Year 3, we—I came here with my mum. And I was super mad, because I got, like, three mistakes on my Maths paper?” You laugh and he does, too, but more because your storytelling is so effortlessly enthralling and funny and he needs to shut himself up.

“Anyway.” You pace around again, and he follows. “So, I’m mad, and she’s trying to cheer me up, buys me glace and everything, but no. So I go sit myself on a random bench. It must’ve been around here, I think.” You look around and point at an empty area. “There. But it’s—they must’ve ripped it out. Whatever. So yeah, I’m sitting there, and moping, and all of a sudden All You Need is Love by The Beatles comes blaring into the entire area.”

Charles’ eyebrows knit confusedly. “What, the bench area?”

“No—the whole pier, I guess? Like, it was loud, I almost jumped. And then this guy comes in holding this huge—this, um, board? Sign? Poster? And he’s got half the pier in on his whole thing, and I’m totally… it was just… yeah.” You smile. It’s the biggest smile he’s seen on you since you got here and the fact that he’s even around to see it gets him all warm.

“So what happened?”

“It was a flash mob. You know those—yeah, they’re usually insufferable, but that one was a little calmer. Nobody was, you know, dancing and yelling. It was just a bunch of people cheering and all, and the guy was actually proposing to his girlfriend. It was so cute.” You sigh a little, a brief exhale of air, and it turns into a smile. “I’d love that.”

He raises his eyebrows and, despite himself, laughs. “Vraiment?”

You turn to him, ready to defend yourself, mid-laugh. “Heeey. Everyone says they find big, romantic gestures cheesy, but I think deep down, if you trust the person enough, you’ll like it. Maybe not a proposal, though—can you imagine the pressure?” You pause. “But I don’t know. There’s something so nice about just knowing that person loves you so much they think it’s worth it to share it to everyone around you. So even if it’s cheesy, I wouldn’t mind much. You?”

“It’s cheesy for me,” he disagrees, shrugging. “But I see your point.” Truth be told, he didn’t see you as a romantic type—but all he’s ever seen you do lately is work, and even back in childhood, all you ever did was study. He likes learning these little facts, ones you wouldn’t share in interviews—likes knowing you feel comfortable enough to share with him. “Dancing is a bit overboard.”

“Oh, definitely.” You throw your head back to laugh, eyes half-shut and crinkled and reflecting the sun. Would you look the same if he was dancing to The Beatles, proclaiming all the words he hasn’t had the courage to say?

—

Next question is who your first love was—we’re rolling in three…

“First love?” You laughed a little, facing the camera to continue your Screen Test interview with W. The questions had been candid and lovely, but they were about your career, which you answered with familiar ease. First love is different—uncharted, private territory. But you’d realized all this too late, and the director called go, and you let words spill out of you like a bag popped open.

“I want to be funny and witty and say acting, but that would be a lie. Um, my first love was a childhood friend. We lived near each other, our parents were friends, and I… I really did, I liked him a lot. But these—there were so many factors at tension with each other, like me moving away in 2013—that’s, what, six years ago now? And us being young and not really knowing how to communicate. When you’re a teenager, you’re kind of just like, oh, no worries, um, that’ll sort itself out, and then you grow up and look back and realize, these things never do. But I miss him a, a, a… a lot, and I think of him always.” Your smile didn’t reach your eyes when you looked at the camera again. “We learn a lot from childhood loves.”

Cut. Lovely. Just lovely.

“Thank you, Lynn,” you said with a small smile. A pause as silence creeps up onto the room, and then, quieter: “Could we omit that? I—sorry. I could answer anything else. First kiss, or something? I’m sorry, I just. Sorry.” For the first time in five years, you realize, you’ve conjured his memory again.

—

“Okay. What else do you remember?”

“I… do you remember the recital song?”

“Of course I do! The dance is… that’s a different story.” You’d been at Charles’ hotel room earlier to go over some video shoot regulations for a 24 Hours With video you’re doing in a few days. You stayed because—that’s beyond you at this point, and you’d rather not delve into the rationality of it all. You’re content with thinking about how nice this conversation is, a trip down memory lane.

“The dance, mon dieu, the dance.” He smothers a hand over his face, smiles fondly. “You were at the center!”

“Stop. Stop,” you protest, letting laughter settle into quiet. “It’s crazy, you know? How we… like, we share a life. Not—but like, we had a whole childhood together.”

“And nobody knows.” It’s not something you keep a secret on purpose—it’s just that neither of you feel like name-dropping the other. Some stories have surfaced, but none of you have fully commented. Somehow, that’s a good thing for you.

“Do people ask?”

“People ask, yes.” His accent is a reminder of your past—you’d once had the same thick wraparound, the loose reign over English you’ve now grown to master. Now your accent is a lot thinner, to the point where it’s barely perceptible, and if it is, your coworkers and fans call it cute, chic, use it as a jumping off point to ask where you grew up. But in this hotel room, legs folded underneath you and glass of wine in hand, you have no coworkers or fans, it feels like; no one to perceive you but Charles. Charles and his accent, nostalgic and so very his, which you wouldn’t describe as anything but home.

“What do you tell them, then?” Quickly, you add: “The truth, or…?”

“That we knew each other as kids,” he says, smiling absently. “That is the truth, no?”

You cover a smile with the rim of your wine glass, nodding. There’s no revisionist history in that statement, but it hides a lot of the truth, the nitty gritty of it. You know it, he knows it, you both know it. “What would you want me to say?” His voice is soft and thin and imploring, so different from the boisterous voice he uses in public, from the slurred voice you heard in the club. This sounds real. This sounds like a conversation you would’ve had years ago in your childhood bedroom before everything went—

“Nothing, that’s fine.” You cut your own reverie off, clearing your throat. You even laugh, to alleviate the tension, but he sees right through you so many years later. “Unless you’re privy to telling people how we didn’t talk for months before I left.”

He blinks, smothers a palm over his face again, and sighs, eyes meeting yours. “I’m sorry. I don’t—I… I’ve wanted to bring it up.”

“I’m not mad.” It’s a half-lie. “Okay, no—I am, a bit. It just—it would’ve been nice to hear it two weeks ago.”

“I know.” He doesn’t even need to say it, but him saying it sends a low thrum of reassurance in you. Charles has found, in the two weeks of being in your company, that he accomplishes a sense of self—a sense of quiet, a sense of privacy—when he’s alone with you. Perhaps it’s your natural ability to bring out the best in people, to talk and loosen tongues and make everyone around you feel safe. Or, and this is on a likely front, maybe he misses being one of those people.

He pretends he’s back to last week after another club rendezvous left you tipsier than the first time, dropping you off at your hotel room with two hands taut at your shoulders, one pinching a keycard. You’d been muttering something under your breath, stumbling as you went—you weren’t tripping too much, really; he didn’t need to hold you, but he told himself he had to—and leaning against the doorframe of your room, staring at him blankly. When he met your eyes, you said: maybe, just maybe. Just those three words. If he tries to remember right, you’d been smiling, but he was sufficiently tipsy, too, so he could just as well be wrong.

He does remember a few things right. The eyeliner smudged across your lower eye, lipstick smacked to a point where it looked like you wore none, beads of salt by your lip, your hand wrapped around your necklace.

The silence is anything but awkward; still, he resolves to break it. “When you were drunk last week.” He looks up. “You said—you kept saying, maybe, just maybe.”

A laugh escapes you, stilted and a bit nervous. “Oh. That was—yeah, okay.”

“What’s it mean?”

“You seriously don’t remember?” You’re laughing for real now, your hair bobbing with it, eyebrows furrowed to emphasize your confusion. “Oh, my God. Charles, it’s all you ever said in Year… what, 7? I don’t… anyway. But when we were maybe twelve, I…”

Momentarily, you’re stunned by the memories of him—you’d forgotten they were even there. You press a few fingers to your lips and clear your throat. “Sorry. Yeah, I, um—I think you heard it in a movie or read it somewhere, and for ages it was your favorite saying. Maybe, just maybe.”

“I don’t underst—”

“—You were always just saying it,” you cut in, laughing, your voices layering as you discuss the origin of his former favorite term. “No, you really—”

“I don’t—I do not ever remember say—”

“—Well,” you say, “I remember.” He stays silent for a few seconds, the intensity of your stare and the little smile on your face and everything beating down on him. For a split second he thinks of opening his mouth and getting on his knees and telling you everything, all the apologies, all the things unsaid in the months and years you became strangers. He seriously does. The pressure is almost physical, beyond overwhelming.

“I have to go.” You swallow the lump in your throat, disentangle your legs and clamber off the couch, setting the empty glass on his coffee table. “Good?”

“Yeah,” he says, blinking. “Yeah. Take care. Should I drive you?”

“God, no.” You laugh breathily. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He closes the door after you leave, stares at it, as if that will conjure you back to him. It occurs to him, jolts him almost, that he’d almost let slip a quiet utterance of love you as you slipped out. His stomach boils. With thankfulness over not having said it, he wonders—or with regret?

—

“Best friends now, are you?” Lily, Carmen, and Rachel look up to the sound of your voice, their serious faces breaking out into smiles. If you could chart the time you spent here, there are definitely people you’ve spent the most time with—these three are at the top of the list. You hang your coat and drop your Chanel bag on the entryway seat, already picking up on the British noises of Love Island UK from the telly.

“Wait, so she’s hooking up with him?” Lily asks, confused; her train of thought is cut off by your flopping onto the bed. “Hiiii. Where’ve you been?”

Muffled by the bedspread: Charles’ place.

Silence. The television switches off and you hear the precarious preparation of three girls readying themselves for a debrief-or-sobfest of a lifetime, a noise you’ve heard and partaken in countless times over your life. You suddenly feel too watched, too spectated; you break the quiet by looking up, displaying your tear-streaked face.

“Talk to us,” Rachel encourages, her voice raspy with unuse (Love Island will keep one occupied and quiet for hours on end). Three of them are touching you in some way or other, reassuring grips on your hair or shoulders. “Did you two fight?”

And, oh Christ, fight? It’s not like you’re dating. You aren’t even halfway to that (not that you want to be, but that’s a discussion for another time). The idea of a fight with him is so terribly juvenile, so horribly reminiscent of secondary school and Monaco and being together and being friends. You can’t fight with a guy who’s not your boyfriend. You can’t fight with a guy you’re not close to, for Chrissake. You squeeze your tears out of your eyes and breathe hiccups out.

“Do you want gelato?” No, no.

“Love Island?” In a minute.

The truth is, you want both, but you really just want to sort everything out with Charles. It was no use—hating each other was futile, but pretending everything was fine in some pathetic attempt at a “truce” seemed even worse. You just want to talk everything out, even if it excavates feelings you’d once been able to suppress.

“What kind of crush doesn’t disappear after ten years?” You ask through tears. It’s almost funny, but the question comes straight from the heart. “I’ve dated guys, lived across the world, started a whole new life pretending he never—pretending we were—fuck. Pretending he didn’t exist. It was—I’m not lying, it was easy, pretending. But one glimpse—I see him one time and suddenly it feels like all of it was in vain. It’s the same crush I had before, coming back, like it’s never going to leave me alone.”

“Maybe it’s not a crush,” says Lily, slowly.

“So what is it then?” You ask, hopelessly. What is this—this revival of memories? This little feeling, this sense that no matter where he is or what he’s doing, you’ll be just as in tune when you reunite even if it takes a decade? A decade spurred by months of being given the cold shoulder? What kind of magic is that?

She doesn’t answer, because you already know.

—

“Hey Vogue—I’m here with Charles Leclerc, and we’re here to take you along with us on all our little adventures here in Monaco.” Your smile is rehearsed, the perfectly-orchestrated blend of fun and serious, and when the cameraman calls cut, it falls into a more natural resting face. It’s the one Charles turns to and observes for any signs of a grudge.

The day is busy, which is precisely why it was chosen as the film day: three shows in the morning, press junkets for your movie and Charles’ season in the afternoon, and then a gala in the evening, hosted and attended by Anna Wintour herself.

The day’s business is only trumped by its tension, which reaches its crescendo in the janitor’s closet of the fourth floor of your hotel. It’d begun with a fight over the color palette, then a fight over last conversation you shared, then a fight over him fucking up the color palette, and then kissing against the door. Ironically enough, this floor houses a fair number of honeymoon suites.

It’s ironic beause hardly anything about this is or should be romantic—it’s a temporary fix, a pause from the turmoil, his hand squeezing your thigh. He’s gentle but you feel his possessiveness, lingering longer, higher and higher up until he’s playing with the high hem of your skirt. You knot your fingers in his hair, smell the shampoo and hairspray and cologne in the wispy curls there.

He kisses your jaw, then downward, until he’s licking, nipping at your throat. Charles.

“Yeah?” His voice is rough against your pulse point.

“Make it—we gotta—quicker.” Your hands tremble, heart hammering loud and bold in your chest. His voice is sure, gravelly, quiet, and you have to focus on something—so you centre on his hands, up your thighs and slipping under the lace of your skirt, bunching the fabric up around your hips. His hands, big and calloused, fingers resting on your hipbones, on your ass.

He’s hard against your thigh, straining against his jeans. You could cry. “I want more.”

“I know, baby. I know.” The pet name, so new but so natural, sends you into a dopamine rush.

You squirm when he doesn’t let up on his touches, over every inch of your body, groping you. He wants to take his time—he hates that he can’t—and counts on the possibility of a next time. You pull him in for a spit-slick kiss, needy and whimpering, sloppy and tongues knotted. It feels good—fuck, it feels like this was all you were ever made for, his touch.

You buck your hips into the air desperately. “We really—fuck. We don’t have time.” Cameras, a shoot, a video; reminders ring in your head like alarm bells. He nods, goes I know, and you pick up the strain in his voice as he tugs his jeans down just enough to rub his clothed cock under your entrance, hard and drooling through the fabric.

You moan softly. “Please, I can take it,” you breathe. You’ve never been this wet, this worked up, this teased. You need to feel him, be full of him; he presses you flush against the door with a hand at the small of your back to keep it from aching too much, and drops forward as he pushes into you. Your noses brush and he goes deeper, air thick and muffled with little moans and whimpers.

His mouth is against your jaw, thrusting slowly to get you used to the size of him. The angle gets you dizzy, draws a burst of wetness out and gets you clenching around him. You’re flushed and sweaty, moaning. Feels s’good. So good, Charles, so, so good. He fucks harder, the door rattling, dirty talk cooed from his lips to your ear: Yeah? Feels real good? You’re so good for me, baby, come on.

Your needy voice, needier movements, are driving him crazy, getting him to fuck you harder, licking over his lips as he watches you fall apart on his dick. Relax, he slurs. You squeeze around him and moan, wretched and raw. Oh fuck, fuck, fuck. You’re so big. You’re getting his dick wetter and wetter with every thrust, shiny and drooling with cum.

Yeah? He says it so well, the best kind of reassurance. Come on, we don’t have time, baby. Let me feel you cum.

I know— you whine. I’m cumming—it feels too good—

You cum first, thighs shaky around him and lip curling into your teeth. You lean forward, mouth to his shoulder, and bite at the cotton. Fuck, he grunts, and releases then, a groan spilled into your hair. You watch, laughing breathlessly, and feel the world click into something different.

You two will do anything, apparently, but talk this all through.

—

The gala is big and extravagant and you’re seated not with Charles this time, but with a roster of celebrities straight out of an LAX red-eye. Anna is at the table adjacent, andy you were able to talk to her about the experience, though not without leaving out bits with Charles in them.

You’re beside Florence and she’s talking about something, about a new movie she’s working on, and you chip in with jokes and laughs but your smile doesn’t really reach your eyes. You’re still caught in a web of fragile confusion. “I need to excuse myself for a moment,” you say after a while, after you’ve done nothing but smile and push broccoli puree around on your plate.

Consolation comes with isolation, at least tonight, at least right now. You find an empty balcony on the third floor, stare into the black sea. You try and try to remember what life was like three weeks ago, but it’s irrevocable now, the change that’s come since then. You tap the glass of your beer bottle against the marble banister, solid and probably expensive—a match for the rest of the hotel, you realize. It’s starkingly clean and smooth, and white, the kind of things you’d only say about a marble banister when you’re trying to avoid an adult introspection.

Behind you: “Are you okay?”

In response, you say, “We shouldn’t have had sex.”

Charles settles himself into a spot near you, not totally beside but not too far—he, too, holds onto a bottle of beer. There are fancier drinks around, but somehow the dry taste of ale is all that brings you comfort right now. Your gears turn and, without prompt or question, you spill yourself forth.

“It was hard, when you didn’t… when we didn’t talk, and you didn’t ever tell me why, so I didn’t know anything. I keep remembering it, even now, what—ten years later, ha ha, even after… I don’t know, after the fact. We’re supposed to have moved on from shit that happened to us when we were fifteen but I’m finding it to be the hardest thing in the world. It was so… like, I had no trouble saying goodbye to anything else but you. And I’m famous now, my life is a whole thing, a—this whole party, and I’m supposed to… fuck.” You shut your eyes, and you can feel, through the thick fog of embarrassment and delirium, the tears that stain your cheeks. “It’s like. You know when you’re a teenager and you see all of it in movies and TV, this, like, moment where you’re staring at someone from across a room, and you’re smiling and talking to other people and you’re happy because you know in a few hours, you’ll be with that person anyway? At home, rearranging furniture, feeding the dog, eating leftovers? That… I always thought you’d be that person for me. Maybe because you were the only—you know—the only love I ever knew, and now, what. Four? Boyfriends and ten years later, you might expect me to feel differently—hell I expect myself to feel differently, but, unfortunately for you and me, I don’t. Sorry. I’m not—I’m not drunk, or anything.”

He stares at you, his expression soft and unreadable. It feels like it’s just the two of you in the world today, twenty-somethings, ten years later, unearthing all you left buried. “I…” he says, before pausing. “I’m sorry for leaving.”

You nod in response.

“I always thought you would forgive me.” His face is sullen and handsome and your heart seizes. “I wanted to be your person.”

“How could I forgive you without an apology?” Your voice comes out fragile. “I leave in three days. You’ve fu—you’ve… you’ve kissed me, had sex with me, flirted with me. You’ve done everything but that.”

“I did apologize. I don’t think it was enough, but—”

“But you didn’t,” you reply, a jagged response. “You never said anything.”

“I wrote you.” His eyebrows knit. “I wrote you.”

“You wrote me.” You repeat, deadpan. Your head spins with it. “What, a letter?”

“An e-mail. Before your first film came out—2014? A year after you… yeah.” He’s quiet and timid and nervous. “I forced Gi to tell me your address.”

“I didn’t… I wasn’t using that e-mail anymore. I haven’t in years.” You pinch your nose and let the silence settle like fine dust onto the room, an unspoken bomb that explodes over the both of you, raining regret and unsaid words. “I have to go.” You push yourself off the banister, turning already to the doors of the balcony. He stops you before you can step any further, a hand closed over your wrist, rough and warm.

“If you find the message,” he says, “will you read it?”

“I don’t plan to,” you lie. “Goodnight.”

—

From: Charles Perceval Leclerc <[email protected]>

Date: 14 October 2014

To: You

Subject: Urgent!

hey buttercup, I asked Giada for this email address. my bday in 2 days. Will you be home for Xmas this year btw? ill show you some new places that open ed + we can bike around. mum misses u a lot too. parfois je souhaite que tu ne partes pas… not sometimes but always. i think i need to edit this a little let me try ag

From: Charles Perceval Leclerc <[email protected]>

Date: 14 October 2014

To: You

Subject: Buttercup

j’appellerais mais je ne pense pas que tu veuilles répondre. it’s been more than a year since you moved out, in two days i’ll be celebrating my second birthday w/o you. i’ve been karting a lot, things are looking up, just like we always said they would :) just want to say i miss you a lot, and i hope you’re doing good. i would say i hate radio silence but i know it’s my fault all this happened in the first place. i’m sorry i stopped talking to you last year when you were moving away. i was being childish, but the truth is it was the only way i could handle it - by pretending we werent friends at all… i don’t want to make you pity me or anything (ne pense pas que je suis) but yeah you’re my best friend and you always will be. i’m sorry for being a knot head.

i was always scared to tell you but it’s been there since forever: i love you. i should’ve enjoyed your months here instead of leaving you in the air. i know i ignored you but it’s the 1 thing i regret. should’ve done a lot more, i know.. but i didn’t. we have a lot of promises i broke because i was being selfish. i kept the paper ring to remind me. remember that? we had a “playground wedding” when we were 5/6?

tu ne me dois rien - i just want you to give me a chance to make you happy, even if it’s just in the way we’ve always been (as friends). if you write me back i’ll try and fly there. mum is always asking me if we’ve talked yet. if not, that’s ok. i love you all the same and i will love you as you reach your dreams. this will never change.

charles

p.s: est-ce que je te manque?

p.p.s: call me if you can and wish me a happy birthday?

—

“Rachel, I would sooner die than wait another two hours for the tarmac to clear again.” You try to up the firmness in your voice but it fails, only serving to make you sound less angry and more agitated. When all you get in response is a muffled I’m coming! you grumble and hang up the phone. Your plane was delayed all of three times, and the instant it arrives and is scheduled to take off on time, your friendsistant is nowhere to be found.

Lily and Carmen had thrown you a goodbye party the night prior, with sprinklers and music and cocktails, and promised to be on the next flight to L.A. Vogue and David had emailed you for a job done spectacularly, and to watch out for the videos and interviews’ release dates. Twitter is raving about your movie. Everything should be good, and yet, it’s not.

You check your inbox. IM COMJNG LILTIERALLY IM RUNNING THRU AJRPPRT!!!!!! You scoff again, hoping the plane doesn’t somehow take off for the fourth time, and take a seat on the VIP waiting area sofa again, shaking your now-empty chai latte. The room, sectioned off from economy and business, is fairly full.

A woman paces over to you, a bright grin on her face. “Hi. I’m a huge fan.”

“Thank you,” you smile, despite your tiredness.

“This is so embarrassing—but do you happen to have the time?”

“Sure”—you tap your phone open—“half past four.”

“Great,” she says. “Thanks, Buttercup.”

You’re opening your mouth to say you’re welcome, but it catches like cotton in your throat. You watch her depart like nothing happened, a strange feeling settling in your chest. You have barely any time to answer it, because a flight attendant is tapping you on the shoulder, addressing you by name, thankfully. She maintains a tone of professionalism all throughout her announcement that the aircraft under your name will have to evacuate the runway in ten minutes or less.

“I know, I know—I’m just, um. I’m waiting for somebody. She should be near now, though.”

“Tremendous. Merci, Buttercup.”

“Wh—” You stutter, blinking and watching her leave. “What?”

She doesn’t turn, walking to the kiosk to exchange information with her coworkers. You look around the airport, for a camera hidden somewhere maybe. Perhaps you’ve been unknowingly listed in some Impractical Jokers skit.

Rach hurry you text instead, leaning back and hoping you’re in some grandiose delusion. Your phone dings. Omw promise! It reads. Then: Look up buttercup

Your head snaps upward faster than you can register what you’ve just read, matching the opening notes of a song you’ve grown all too familiar with in your lifetime. The opening beat to Build Me Up, Buttercup flows like honey through the room’s intercom and floods it with life.

Mouth agape, you watch as the staff and guests perform the routine you’d learned at fourteen, complete with hops and turns you were too embarrassed to do even then. They’re smiling and whooping themselves and each other as they go, finishing the entire first verse before turning collectively to the entrance of the room. There, in all his glory: Charles, wearing an entirely too-small headdress that reads Buttercup, worn dusty from years of being stored away.

He’s dancing, too, closer to you. You refuse to budge for the express purpose that he dance some more, which he complies with, though not without an eyeroll and an exasperated sigh. Your heart beats with something irregular and warm. You’d told him about this before. He’d listened.

The music settles for a little and the dancers do, too, so he takes the time to raise his sign. Will you forgive me? It reads. No pressure. Except kind of. You laugh, throwing your head back at the gesture, at this entire affair that must have taken some amount of effort to prepare. As the lyric comes on, so does his sign: I need you… more than anyone, darling.

He drops the sign when you approach him, arms crossed over your torso. He removed the headdress and places it gingerly on yours. “I believe that belongs to you.”

And, hyperaware of all the eyes and yet the complete lack of cameras—you’re grateful for it—you finally, finally, finally pull him in for a kiss. You’ve kissed before, done your worst, but still means volumes to the both of you.

In-between kisses and cheers (from voices belonging to Lorenzo, Rachel, Lily—so many familiar ones), he says it again: “I’m sorry. I’ll make it all up to you.”

“You better,” you tease into his lips, smiling. “I know. I love you.” Ten years later—your person still is, and no doubt will always be, Charles Leclerc.

#f1 #charles leclerc #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc drabble #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc smut #f1 x reader

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traveler-at-heart · 4 months

Text

Across the Natashaverse - Part 2

Natasha Romanoff x F!R

Summary: After you're sent to another world, Natasha has to deal with yourself, from another universe, and a very different life.

Other POV from this fic.

“Put more weight on your left foot” Natasha says, barely checking America’s movements.

Of course she knows this is important. Maria asked her to train Chavez in the basics of hand to hand combat. Her mind is elsewhere, though.

Especifically, you.

Natasha thought she was doing you a favor, she really did. Someone as kind as you could do much better than her. Agreeing to a date would only give you false hope, so she rejected the invitation.

It was foolish of her to think that things would be the same after that. You weren’t distant or rude, though that might have been easier.

Every morning, you’d still have breakfast with her, show her funny videos or tell her about your latest discoveries in the lab with Stark, which in the end, were related to her work as well.

You simply stopped sharing your interests, or going out of your way to seek her company. Long gone were the days of sitting together at the Met while you talked about your favorite paintings. Or the grocery shopping that turned into strolls through Central Park and ended in your favorite bookshop.

All that was left now were pleasantries.

“Am I doing it right?” America asks. She sure as hell isn’t, so Natasha shakes her head, hoping she can manage to focus on the task at hand.

“Stop” she says, stepping on the sparring mat.

“Please don’t tell me you want me to fight you”

“You’re punching the air, Chavez. The only way to learn is by doing. It will be fine”

The girl doesn’t seem too convinced, but Natasha starts with slow movements and corrects America as they go. When the intensity of the training increases, the girl’s powers begin to stir. A yellow flash on the ceiling distracts Natasha, and the next thing she feels is America’s fist colliding with her cheek.

“Crap! Agent Romanoff, I’m so sorry”

But there’s another loud thud, not far from the gym.

“Did you hear that?” Natasha asks, trying to figure what the noise is.

“Maybe”

“Take a break” Natasha instructs, looking around the room to check if everything’s alright. The team is still figuring out the extent of her powers and Natasha worries the girl just unleashed a demonic creature or something.

The redhead is so focused on the room, she doesn’t notice someone approaching.

That is, until she feels a hard slap on her ass, and a sultry voice against her ear.

“There’s my favorite ass-assin”

Five seconds later, she has the intruder upside down, back against the floor, gasping for air.

“Baby, I know you don’t like my jokes but this is a little too much, don’t you think?”

It takes her a second to process what’s happening.

“Y/N?”

“Hey, love” you smirk, all smug despite being knocked down by Natasha. “The weirdest thing just happened, I was going to get a snack because Anya was moody and then fell on my ass right outside the gym”

Natasha stares at you, as if you’re speaking a foreign language. And then it all clicks. The slightly longer hair, how you smell and feel different.

She let’s go of you and starts pulling your shirt by the collar.

“Hell yeah, let’s get naked”

“Where’s your birthmark?”

“I don’t have a…”

“You’re from another world”

“Ah, that’s so sweet…” you try to lean forward and kiss her, but she pushes you away. “Babe, I’m getting mixed signals here”

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., call for an emergency meeting”

—

“I’m sorry, she’s what?” Sam points at you, and Natasha pinches the bridge of her nose.

“She’s from another universe. America must have opened up a portal when we were training”

“Alright, so she just opens it back and we correct the mistake”

“It’s not that simple” Tony walks in.

“Uhm, guys. This meeting should be for Avengers only” you lower your voice, eyeing the man suspiciously.

“Hello? That table you’re sitting in so carelessly. Mahogany. Paid by me”

“Yeah, I’ve never seen this man before”

“A world without Tony Stark” Steve says, amused.

“Must be really quiet in your Compound” Sam says and you smirk.

“Why, no thanks to you. Not with all those super models you’re always bringing back to your room” you raise your eyebrows and Sam’s eyes widen.

“I date super models? I wanna go to her world”

Steve and Tony begin to argue about how that will make the multiverse collapse, when Natasha interrupts them.

“She’s messing with you, idiots”

Tony and Sam look at each other and then at you. You almost fall to the ground as you laugh. Since you’re not helpful, the team ignores you as they keep discussing the best way to identify your reality and correct the glitch.

“Y/N 2.0, we need more information about your… where did she go?” Tony grumbles.

“I got this” Natasha sighs, stomping to the kitchen. Sure enough, you’re rummaging through the fridge, complaining at every item of food you find.

“Don’t you have anything with sugar here?”

“You’re free to prepare anything for yourself”

“Not unless you want the kitchen to explode, Nat”

The redhead pushes you aside, while you look around the living room, inspecting the pictures on every place you can find.

“No wedding? Or Anya?”

“Nope” Natasha says, her voice shaking lightly.

“Why?”

“None of your business” she says, handing you a plate with a sanwich.

“Thanks. How did you know I was lying about Stark and Wilson?”

“Your voice gets all high pitched when you tell a lie” she answers, refusing to look at you.

“Huh” you mumble, taking a bite out of the sandwich. “Um. Is this peanut butter?”

“Would her Highness prefer caviar?” Natasha teases, but turns around and finds you covered in hives. “Shit!”

“That’s fine” you say, struggling to breathe. “Nothing an epi can’t fix, love”

You pass out in the middle of the kitchen, wondering if you’ll leave this foreign universe in one piece.

—

After leaving you at the medbay, Natasha goes back to the meeting room. She’s examining all the reports and missions that are related to multiverses. It’s a lot to digest, including all the quantum physics.

Alone for the first time since this whole thing started, she finally allows herself the chance to miss you. Right around this time, you’d be making dinner, and she’d be in the kitchen, pretending to help just to be close to you.

What if she never gets you back?

“Hello, there” a voice says. You approach slowly, knowing it’s best not to surprise her.

“How are you feeling? I’m really sorry…”

“There’s no way you could have known. It honestly never occurred to me that things like allergies were different” you say, patting her leg. “Interested in string theory?”

“Yeah, it’s a great ice breaker” Natasha says, and you chuckle. “You don’t seem too worried”

“The America Chavez of my world has had a bit more training. I’m sure I’ll be back home for lunch tomorrow”

“You could have said something!” Natasha feels the need to kick your ass again.

“Hey, I was gonna! And then I almost died”

“Jerk”

“What are you so worried about? She’s in a safe world”

“What if your Natasha gave Y/N a similar welcome?”

“Oh, I’m sure she had her pinned to a wall, only for very different reasons”

Natasha turns to you, alarmed. Her jealousy is so obvious that all you can do is laugh.

“There it is. I wasn’t sure you had any feelings towards her. Wanna tell me what happened?” you nudge her chair with your foot and she looks at you, annoyed.

“She asked me out, gave me flowers, I said no”

“Flowers, huh? Well, she’s more romantic than me. Natasha and I were pretending to be a couple for a mission and then I just blurted out I wouldn’t mind doing it again under different circumstances” you explain, laughing at the memory. “But hey, if flowers and chocolates aren’t your thing, I respect it”

“It’s not like that”

“Then, what is it like?”

She thinks back to all the times you’ve made her feel safe, cared for, loved. You make it look so easy, but for the life of her, Natasha can’t figure out how to reciprocate.

What you make her feel, is too good and beautiful for someone like her.

“I haven’t earned her love” is all she manages to say.

“Natasha” you call, softly, and only speak when she finally turns to you. “You don’t have to do anything to be deserving of love”

There is silence, and then you take her hand in yours.

“Come on, I’m starving. Let’s grab some Chinese”

“Fine. No more peanut butter, though. I don’t want to fight myself if something happens to you”

“Now that would be entertaining”

—

Next morning, everyone is back in the meeting room. Apparently, due to some bad experiences, they’ve decided you should come back to your world immediately, before the universes collapse.

“I promise you, it will be fine” you insist. Natasha is the only one that seems to believe you, so you save yourself the trouble and spin around in the office chair.

“Can you stop?” Steve says, irritated.

“I’m trying to create a vortex that is powerful enough to send me back to my reality, Steve” but he still glares and you stand up. “Fine. I’m getting a snack”

As you exit the room, Natasha comes running behind you.

“Wait. I wanted to apologize”

“Steve is an old grumpy man, don’t sweat it”

“No, not about that. I’m sorry for… being so hard on you when you first got here”

“We deal with aliens and all kinds of threats. It’s not so crazy to think that an intruder is dangerous. It’s all good, Nat” you shrug your shoulders.

“I just wouldn’t be ok if your Natasha had acted that way with my Y/N”

“Your Y/N?” you repeat, pleased as Natasha blushes. “Good for you, Romanoff. Get the girl. Trust me when I say, she’ll make it worth it” you wiggle your eyebrows.

“Such a flirt”

“We can’t help ourselves around you, no matter the universe”

You wink, and walk to the kitchen, leaving Natasha in the hallway.

Inevitably, she thinks about you. The one that belongs here, with her. Are you enjoying your time in that other universe? Will you resent her for bringing you back? Maybe that Natasha is more loving and sweet, and you’ll finally realise that she can’t actually make you happy…

Her thoughts begin to spiral again, until the commotion in the room breaks her train of thought.

“Damn, you fell from the ceiling” Sam says, looking up. A yellow portal closes just as Natasha opens up the door. Everyone’s around you, and when your face comes to view, Natasha’s heart almost stops.

There’s a little cut and bruising from the fall, but you’re back.

She pushes everyone, and wraps you in her arms. You return the gesture.

“Hey, it’s ok. It’s me”

She hugs you closer, smiling against your neck.

Natasha’s never letting go again.

—

“So, tell me everything!” you say, sitting next to Natasha as you drive back home. “Did I tell you I almost died to peanut exposure?”

“Looks like someone had fun” your wife comments and you smile.

“What about you, my love? Did you do anything dirty with my other self?”

“Well, there might have been some kissing and touching before I noticed…”

“Not to brag, but the other Natasha was on top of me” you say, trying to pretend like it’s no big deal your wife kissed another you.

“You pissed her off and she threw you to the ground, didn’t she?” Natasha smirks.

Damn it.

“Maybe”

Seeing your daughter brings you back to reality. Fun as it was to be in another universe, your life is perfect here.

“Mommy, are you cooking dinner again tonight?” the girl says as you carry her to the kitchen.

“Uh… let’s have lunch first, yes? Go wash your hands”

Natasha hands you a plate of what the other Y/N made and you gasp.

“Holy crap, this is delicious! Babe, not gonna lie, I wouldn’t have judged you if you fucked her against a wall after tasting her food”

“You’re such an idiot” Natasha rolls her eyes, sitting on your lap and stealing a bite of the pasta. “But you are my idiot”

“Always and in every universe, baby”

You kiss her softly, happy to be home.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x y/n #natasha romanoff fluff

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astonmartinii · 11 months

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daniel x gradschool reader?? maybe they’re not officially dating but he meets her when he’s in new york and they spend the summer together??

big apple lovin' | daniel ricciardo social media au

pairing: daniel ricciardo x gradschool!reader

sparks fly when daniel visits new york on his winter break

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danielricciardo: big city exploring

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newyorkstreetstyle

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newyorkstreetstyle: our usual warren street fashion icon has been double trouble recently, obsessed with both.

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yourusername: found this stray cat in central park, anyone recognise them?

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danielricciardo

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yourusername

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yourusername: final stretch of grad school with some extra motivation

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yourbff1 believe me everyone in the apartment can hear the motivation

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nyu

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nyu: nyu graduate y/n y/ln has had her graduate study published in the journal of english literature and cultural studies!

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yourusername

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yourusername: grad school ... completed it mate ;)

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danielricciardo

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danielricciardo: finally showed the mrs my day job

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note: pls enjoyyyyyyy (p.s. there's a lando request i finished but tumblr deleted it from my drafts so i'll get that up asap) xx

#f1 #f1 x you #f1 instagram au #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #daniel ricciardo instagram au #daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo #daniel ricciardo imagine

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diagonal-queen · 21 days

Note

Omg you're backkkk<3 I hope uni's going well for you!

Maybe the Hunting Dogs with a s/o who's kind of mean/petty?

Hunting Dogs with a mean S/O

♡ pairing: Fukuchi Ouchi, Jouno Saigiku, Tecchou Suehiro, Teruko Okura (platonic), Tachihara Michizou x gn!Reader

♡ synopsis: How are the Hunting Dogs with a mean and petty S/O?

♡ cw: Swearing, u r a BULLY >:((, dw it's pretty chill though, non-graphic NSFW with Jouno, teensy bit of NSFW with Tachihara, mentions of violence, crime and torture

note: ahhh hello yes i'm back! uni's pretty great actually. i love being able to tell people i go to law school lmao, it makes me feel smarter than i am. uhh but i've been swamped and a bit busy, and i'm going back home for a week so i might not be super active over the next couple weeks, i'm so sorry my babies </3 but i'll still be lurking in case you wanna chat! as always, apologies for errors and i hope you enjoy x

Fukuchi:

Mf you think he cares?? He hired Jouno and Tachihara because they committed crimes, and he's more than happy to keep Teruko around. Bro doesn't give a FUCK that you're mean

If you're dating Fukuchi you clearly do give a shit about the welfare of society and world peace, so your individual quirks are just that. Quirks

He will fully let you just be a dickhead sometimes, because...like, why not?

I feel like Fukuchi is obviously often a very intimidating individual who strikes fear and commands respect from everyone else. But you? You just walk all over him

In some ways for him it's probably kind of refreshing to have someone around him who doesn't idolise him at all, or look up to him as a superior. It gets exhausting, for sure. Sometimes he just wants to be humbled and that's so okay Fukuchi, you deserve it actually /mean-spirited and condescending

Don't get me wrong it's not like you're an abusive partner! You're still obviously nice to your partner and you love him, but you definitely don't go out of your way to sugarcoat things or try to avoid any necessary confrontations

And Fukuchi genuinely really respects that about you. He's pretty similar like that, though still definitely goofier than you

I mean he won't want you sitting around with an RBF when he's at formal events and whatnot, because that really wouldn't have the best impression, but he's usually very gung ho about letting you be yourself

You're lucky he loves you man...lmao

Jouno:

He loves it. Full stop.

You two are just sadist central over here. Like he'll be torturing a suspect and you're just watching. Bored. Not a care in the world

(Jouno, I don't think you're legally allowed to invite your partner to watch you do your job- much less one like this, but...eh...)

You two are always just talking shit about people to each other, and like when you're out in public on dates you're just whispering to each other and judging people T-T

Lowkey kinda gets turned on when you guys argue. He thinks it's hot when you get heated and angry. Usually it ends in rough "passionate hugging", and the pillowtalk is when you both actually resolve the issue (dumbasses)

He might even purposefully rile you up sometimes because mf is just THAT much of a horny degenerate. You guys can call him classy and gentlemanly all you want, but we all know he's secretly deranged

Like an angry, horny goblin with a knife...someone stop him

Tbh you should probably bully him a little bit every now and then. I think he needs to be taken down a peg sometimes

Hey, he's more likely to listen to you than Tecchou, isn't he? Besides, it's nothing genuinely malicious. Just couple's banter

Oh, you guys are fucking LEGENDS at the couple's banter. Though you never do it in public, because a lot of the times the things you both tell each other as jokes can come off as really cruel jabs

Nah your senses of humour are just not family-friendly (violent and malicious)

You guys have very strange ways of showing your love and affection. But, hey, it works for you and that's what's important :)

Tecchou:

Ah yes, arguably the least meanie of all of the Hunting Dogs. Yeah uh he doesn't really like you at first

Tecchou doesn't understand being mean just for the sake of it. I mean like, for Teruko, she uses it in her career, and Jouno is sadistic and weird and also uses it in his career. You're just petty because you can be

But the more time you spend together the more he realises that you're really not that bad- you're really just more of the loveable asshole type

An acquired taste, yes, but this is Tecchou we're talking about! That's his thing!

He learns to appreciate the things about you that many others would probably consider flaws. He influences you for the better definitely...

...BUT you also kinda make him worse

He will adopt your 'deal with it bitch' attitude sometimes, but it doesn't hinder his relationships or work so it's fiiiiine

(Jouno isn't a huge fan of it though...but at the same time he kind of respects you)

Tecchou probably won't admit it but he really likes to listen to you rant and bitch about people you don't like. He just likes to listen to you be angry about trivial things, he finds it equal parts endearing and entertaining

If you're mean to someone who deserves it? Well I mean...who is he to stop you?

At the end of the day you're definitely emotionally self-sufficient, so that's one less part of you for him to fret over. All's well that ends well or some shit idk

Teruko (platonic):

You guys are literally the best of friends

She's the loud fiery kind of mean and you are the 'I will straight up meticulously ruin your life' kind of mean

You on some r/nuclearrevenge type shit and she fucking loves that for you

Like she's fully willing to plot and scheme with you and do whatever mean shit you suggest. You two are menaces and she should absolutely not be a military soldier

Teruko WILL smite your enemies. And by smite your enemies I mean she will actively do what she can to ruin the lives of people you don't like, with absolutely no remorse (pretty sure she actually commits crimes to do this)

She LIVES for your cruel one-liners and clever insults. Every time she hears one she absolutely hollers

Teruko enjoys it when you're mean to the other Hunting Dogs (except Fukuchi). They can handle a couple bitchy words so it's not a huge deal, but she's just extra amused by it

For the record you're not *mean* mean, you're just...humbling them (which let's be real they could use from time to time (Jouno, again, looking at you))

Nobody is surprised by your guys' friendship really

You're a dangerous pair. Please stop

Teruko kinda likes that you hold grudges so frequently because she'll never tire of hearing you shittalk the same exact people and events over and over again

She'll shittalk them too

Dia doesn't approve of this friendship

Tachihara:

You guys know that scene in B99 where Jake says that he can't decide if he's scared of Amy or turned on by her and then decides that he's both? Yea, that's Tachihara with you

He is a good person at heart, and outside of his mafia gangster persona he's really not that mean, and as such he does not encourage mean behaviour. But like, when you do it? Mm...

Bro is WHIPPED

Lowkey he probably gets some of his mafia persona ideas from you 💀

His mafia coworkers have no questions about how you two get along, and they generally like you. The other Hunting Dogs have a few more questions

Tachihara isn't some shy, quiet introvert, but he is generally pretty chill and a nice person. They like to playfully tease him about how different the two of you are (though if it gets too far he knows he can count on you to rip them a new one with no issue)

Dw they still like you though! Especially Teruko

He has absolutely no problems with you for being cold and blunt. It's nothing he himself can't handle, and in some ways it actually makes talking to you easier

Again, I'll stress that you're not mean to him, you're just not the most lovey-dovey person out there. But you DO put effort in and that's what Tachihara cares about, even if it isn't in a stereotypical way

If anything else, you're certainly loyal!

Tachihara loves you for all of your different eccentricities, and he's also kinda turned on by them. Win-win? Win-win.

taglist~ ♡ @gettinshiggywithit, @fyodorhatr, @flower-of-darkness, @bejeweledgirl, @kokoenjiandco, @pinkiipeachiikeen

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whowantslovergirl · 1 year

Text

An: obviously based on this song 😍 this is going to be a long one 💋 but i worked really hard in this one because i am chandler and chandler is me i tried to write their dynamic as best as i can

Hey Lover!

Chandler Bing x hyper fem! reader (she/her pronouns)

warnings: fluff and cursing, friends are a little rude in this, kinda suggestive talk, angst if you squint, later seasons like 5 under and that’s it hope you enjoy my lovers 🤍

friends masterlist

Summary: The one where Chandler found the love of his life

posted: April 9,2023

The one where they met:

You were walking into Central Perk or as you would call it. ‘The best coffee shop in all of New York.’ You put your coat on the rack and as you were walking you bump into a fairly tall man.

“Oh I’m sorry I wasn’t look-ah.” He stopped when he saw you. “Oh no I’m sorry it wasn’t your fault.” He just stared and stared and stared.

“Um Can I just?” You pointed to the counter. “Oh yeah I’m sorry.” You just nodded and walked to the counter. “Chandler” You turn around. “What?” “My name. My name is Chandler I think.” You let out a short laugh. “You’re funny Chandler. I’m Y/N.”

“Do you wanna go out sometime Y/N?” You nodded and gave him your number and he reciprocated.

Little did you know that was the name of your future husband.

The one when it’s the first date:

You wore a mini dress with white heels and sliver jewelry. While admiring yourself in the mirror, you heard a knock at your door and got excited.

You and Chandler talked for a few weeks before actually going on a date. You talked for hours and hours. He’s exactly your type. Funny, tall, handsome and a good job. There was absolutely nothing wrong with him.

You opened the door. “Hey.” He just stared. “Sorry I was thinking about how I’m going to kill you after this.” You laughed and he smiled. No one laughed at his dark humor. “Well at least I look good for my final moments.” You said while posing dramatically. He laughed “Let’s go it’s a long drive.” You nodded and intertwined your hands.

He giggled.

You gasped. “Did you just giggle?!” He just made excuses and kept walking.

_____

“She left you with her underwear on!” You say laughing hysterically. “Ok ok it’s not that funny.”

“I’m sorry I’m sorry and this is all because what you did in fourth grade.” He nodded and said something even more funny.

“Then I walked out with the bathroom door.”

You laughed even harder and people were looking at you. He was trying to calm you down. “Just a really funny story folks nothing to laugh at here.”

After laughing until you almost peed, you finally calm down. “Enough about me tell me about you Y/N.” “Well what do you want to know?” He just shrugged. “I don’t know tell me everything.” You nodded. “Well I work as a manger of design at this place.” “What place?” “Oh you probably never heard of it.” You said while looking down. “Then tell me.” You pretend to cough. “Chanel” His eyes go wide. “You work at Chanel.” You nodded.

“I’ve always liked fashion as a kid and at 16 I saw a Chanel show and realized that I want to be responsible for those designs.” “Wow so what do you do as the manager?” “Well I design and approve designs.”

He nodded. “Well what else?”

You tell him everything and talked til the restaurant closed.

_____

“Well this is me.” You guys stop at your apartment. “Well I hope that we can do this again sometime lover.” You just realized what you said. You put your hand on your mouth. “I’m sorry we just met and I called you lover wow.” He interrupted you. “It’s okay. I like it.” You just smiled. “Well bye Y/N.” “Bye Chandler.” You get lost in his eyes and he gets lost in yours. He stepped closer. “You have really pretty eyes.” “Thank you, you too.”

You connected your lips. And it felt so right. You wrapped your arms around his neck and put his hands around your waist. You pull away. “Do you you want to maybe go inside? Stay over maybe?” He nodded enthusiastically. You laughed and pulled him inside.

You had a lot of fun that night.

The one when you became Chandler’s girlfriend:

After a few dates and a lot of sleepovers. You guys were at his apartment watching movies. His roommate wasn’t home and he really wanted you over for once. “Do you ever think of this going anywhere?” You look over at him. “What?” “I mean do you think that we can be more than friends who go out with each other and you know?” He gestured with his hands. “Have sex?” “Yea that’s the word!” You laugh and nod. “But I think we can be more if you ask.”

“Oh well. It’s just that… I mean you can… I have..” You just kept nodding. “Are you going to ask?” He nodded. “Yea will you.. Can you… Will you allow me…. Can I be your boyfriend?” You smiled and squealed. “Yes lover I will let you be my boyfriend.” He leaned in and kissed you and you kissed him back. He laid down and you were on top of him. “Happy relationship sex?” You asked with a smile. “Of course!”

Again you had a lot of fun that night.

The one where you meet his friends:

“She’s going to be here any minute. Don’t be so intense. She cares about how you feel about her cause she knows you guys are like my family ok? Don’t be you.” They all nodded.

There was a buzz. “Everyone stop talking! She’s here! Shut up!” “Um Chandler no one was talking.” Monica said. “Shhhh!” He pressed the button. “Y/N?” “Hey lover.” He giggled and took his finger off the button. “She’s call me lover.”

“We hear everything you hear Chandler.” Rachel said. “Shh!”

“Um Chandler are you going to let me up?” “Oh yeah! Come on up!” You walk upstairs and knock on the door. “Shh! Shhh! She’s here.” You hear from behind the door. The door whipped open and you saw your boyfriends smiling face. “Hey lover.” You went to hug him and gave him a peck. “Heyy you! These are my friends.” They all waved “Hi!” “Hey guys! Are you going to introduce them?” “Yeah!”

“This is Joey, my roommate. Monica and Rachel, Ross and Phoebe.” They all waved again.

____

“You work at Chanel!” Rachel yelled. You nodded and smiled. “Yea if you want I can design you some custom pieces.” She screamed and everyone covered their ears. “You can design!” “Yeah I’m manager of design.” She screamed again. “Now my ears are dead.” Chandler said. “What!” Joey yelled. “I can make anything for you guys. I make some of my clothes actually.”

They all got really excited and started asking for different pieces. Joey went to Chandler. “Good job man!” He said hugging him.

The one when you say ‘I love you’:

You were just about to leave for work. “Ok I’m going now bye I love you.” What did you just say? “Did you just-?” “Oh my I have to go! Bye Chandler. I have work oh my god!” You gave him a kiss. And you left.

He was speechless and went over to Monica’s place.

“She said I love you!” They all turned around. “What?” Ross said. “She said I love you! And I didn’t say anything!”

“Do you love her back?” Phoebe asked while walking up to him. “Yes of course I do. You know what I’m going to say it back. I gotta go!”

_____

He ran over to your job and saw the secretary. “Hi I’m looking for Y/N L/N.” “Do you have an appointment?”

“I need a appointment?!” She nodded. “I just really need to talk to her please?” “I will call her and she can come down here.” “No”

“No?” “I’m sorry.” He ran into the elevator and saw her dialing for security.

_____

“Y/N! Y/N!”

You look up from your desk. “Chandler?”

“I love you too!” “What?”

“I love you too! I love you! I love you! I love y-.”

“Shut up.” You smash his lips onto his. Everyone from their sewing tables stared cheering. Security walked in and pulled Chandler away. “Bye lover! I love you!”

“I love you!”

God you really do love him.

The one where you find out:

All of Chandler’s friends and you were hanging out in Central Perk. You and Chandler were giggling to each other. “You are so beautiful.” He whispered against your neck. You were giggling. “Shut up.”

“You guys are so cute.” Monica said smiling. You both thanked her. “Yeah I’m surprised that y’all lasted so long.” Joey said while eating his muffin. You looked at him confused. “Why wouldn’t we have lasted?” “Oh no reason just the whole thing with Janice I thought he was never going to get over her.” Everyone looked at him with ‘stop now!’ looks.

“Janice is an ex or something? You never told me about a Janice.” You say looking at Chandler. He was looking at the ground. “Oh look a penny!” He said jumping under the table. “Hey! Chandler get up!” He just stayed under the table. You looked at Joey. “Why is Janice being brought up?” He just stuffed his face.

“Why is no one talking?!”

“Ok! Ok! I’m sorry Chandler but she deserves to know.” Phoebe said and turned over to you. “Chandler got broken up with by someone who he thought he was going to marry. And he was heartbroken and needed a confidence booster. And-.”

“I was a rebound?” He got up and tried to hold your hand but you snatch it away. “You only wanted sex basically? You know I never have sex on the first date and I thought you really liked me Chandler.”

“I do! It started off like that but I started to fall in love with you.”

“So were you going to tell me?” He didn’t say anything. “Yeah okay.” You got up and got your coat.

It really hurt to find out that you was wanted for sex but nothing new.

_____

“Y/N! Please open the door. Baby please! I am so sorry!” He said knocking on the door. You just turned up the volume on the TV. “No no no no no! Please don’t do this. Just let me explain!” You pause the TV and went to the door. “How can you explain this Chandler?”

“Y/N I can’t even put together words on how sorry I am. We’ve been dating for a whole year baby. Why would I do that? I don’t ever wanna want to lose you. I can’t imagine my life without you. I want to marry you and I want to have kids with you. I want you. I need you. Janice is nothing compared to you. You make me so happy. This was the best year of my life! Come in please open the door. I’m your lover. And I love you Y/N please.”

You opened the door. “Did you mean that?” He nodded and took your hands. “Yes I love you and I am sorry.” You teared up and smashed your lips onto his.

He was never going to let you go after this.

The one where Chandler proposed:

“Oh my god look at that thing!” Rachel yelled when she saw the ring. “Yeah if she won’t marry you I will.” Phoebe said and stared making sex eyes to Chandler. “Only the best for her.”

“My best buddy is getting married!” Joey said smiling and hugging Chandler.

“Hey lover! What’s all the cheering about?” Phoebe put the ring in her mouth. “Nothing.” She muffled. “Why do you sound like that?” You say walking over to them and giving Chandler a kiss. She just shook her hands. “I’m going to wash my hands.” Chandler smiled. “Ok.” You walked to bathroom. “Get that out your mouth!” She spit it out and gave it to him.

“So what are we going to do today?” He put the ring in his mouth. Everyone shook their heads. “Nothing!” You thought the behavior was weird but you known each other for almost two years so nothing new. “Oh! I have to go to work! Sorry guys. Bye lover I love you.” You gave him a kiss and you felt a solid. “What do you have in your mouth?” He shook his head again. You just nodded skeptically.

_____

You guys are at your apartment getting ready for your date tonight. “Two years! Two whole years! I can’t believe we been together for two years Chan.” You walked out in your sage green satin dress with your chunky heels and sliver jewelry. He stared at you. “What? Is there something on my dress!” “No! No it’s just you look stunning.” You got flushed and look at the floor smiling.

“Well let’s go.”

“No I have to go to Monica’s real quick.” “Ok no biggie it’s down the street Chan.” He ran out the door. “Wait here! I’ll be right back!”

Weird.

_____

“Monica hurry! I need you guys to set everything up in her apartment!” All his friends started running to her apartment. “No after we leave!” “Ohhhh good luck!”

“She’s going to say yes!”

“Worst thing is she doesn’t!”

“Shut up Ross!”

_____

You had a marvelous night. You went on a boat and had dinner. It was so much fun.

“I had a great time Chan.” You say with a dreamy look on your face. “Me too. Let’s go in your apartment and celebrate our two years if you know what I mean!” You giggled and bit your lip. “Ok!”

When you walked in, you immediately stared tearing up.

“Oh my god!” There was candles everywhere. The room only lit with candles and a trail of roses leading to the middle of the room. “Oh my god! This is beautiful!”

He walked over to the middle and got on one knee. You gasped and put your hands over mouth. “Y/N I might have saw you and thought ‘she will be a good rebound’ but you are so much more than that. I realized that you don’t have to be a queen. You don’t have to have a thing. For I’ll be satisfied as long as you are my bride. I love you Y/N. And I really want you to become Mrs. Chandler Bing. Can I be your husband ?” You didn’t say anything.

Silence.

“Now this is the part you say some-.”

“Yes! Yes! Yes! You can be my husband!” You jump into his arms and he falls on the floor. You kiss him and he wraps his arms around your waist pulling you closer. “Engagement sex?”

“Uh let me see yes please!”

You can not believe you have a fiancé.

The one when the wedding became more:

“Oh my god! My weeding is in five hours and we have no bridesmaids dresses!”

“Y/N it’s okay the dresses are on the way.” You just nodded and started sweating. Rachel got a napkin and patted it across your face. “This is my first time getting married and nothing is right!” You stared tearing up. “No! Don’t cry. You’re getting married! I bet Chandler is just so ecstatic right now!”

_____

“What if I’m not good enough and I screw this whole thing up!” Joey slapped him. “Ow!”

“I don’t ever want to hear that talk! You guys are perfect for each other!”

He’s right. You guys are perfect for each other.

_____

Twenty minutes until the wedding and the dresses are here.

In the wrong color.

“I wanted sage green! Not vomit green! I need to make more!” They all looked at you with disbelief. “Y/n you can’t make six dress in twenty minutes!” Monica said but your other friend Evelyn tapped her. “One time she made a dress with a tear away in five minutes so this is nothing.”

Some information she did not know.

There was curtains that were the perfect fabric. You tear the curtains off the wall and got to work.

_____

You finished in fifteen.

And it was time to walk the altar.

All the bridesmaids went in their handmade sage green dresses.

And you walked in a beautiful custom Chanel wedding dress. It had a train and had an ombré from white to sage green so you can match the color theme. You had white roses in your hands and a crystallized vail in your face.

You saw Chandler tear up and caused you to tear up. Your dad was looking at you. “You look magnificent darling.” “Thanks dad.” You say smiling. You finally walked up to Chandler and he put your vail behind you. And he actually started to cry.

You saw in the corner of your eyes everyone giving the other money. You’re not surprised that they bet in this.

“We are gathered here today to celebrate the love of Y/N L/N and Chandler Bing.”

As the priest is going on you can’t help but start crying.

“Now Chandler repeat after me. I Chandler.”

“I Chandler.”

“Take you Y/N.”

“To be my lawfully wedded wife.”

“In sickness and in health.”

“Rich and poor.”

“For as long as I shall live.”

“Now Y/N repeat after me. I Y/N.”

“I Y/N.”

“Take you Chandler.”

“To be my lawfully wedded husband.”

“To be my lawfully wedded husband .”

“In sickness and in health.”

“Rich and poor.”

“For as long as I shall live.”

“Do you Chandler take Y/N to be your wife?”

“I do.”

“Do you Y/N take Chandler to be your husband?”

“I do”

“In the power vested in me, You may now kiss the bride.”

And he did.

Everyone was cheering and when you pulled away you couldn’t wait to tell him.

“I’m pregnant.”

“Oh shit.”

An: YALLLLLLL this took all day it’s 4 in the morning rn the things I do 🤧🤧 PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASEEEE request more I have drafts but my brain can only take so much 🤧 but until I post again my lovers 🤍

#Spotify #chandler bing #monica geller #rachel green #phoebe buffay #ross geller #joey tribbiani #chandler bing x reader #my lovers on top #friends x reader

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heylookitsyc · 2 months

Text

Saved by a Sorcerer!

Character(s): Arcana Twilight Sorcerers x GN!Reader

Anime/Game: Arcana Twilight

Genre: Fluff

Synopsis: There’s another student that just won’t leave you alone! Good thing you found one of the other sorcerers… maybe they can help out?

Warning(s): None

Note: It’s been some time! Enjoy some Arcana Twilight for now; hope all of you are well! (๑˃ᴗ˂)ﻭ

Story is down below!

“Hey, (Name)! Wait up, I need to ask you something!”

You freeze as you recognize the voice, and you look back to see a classmate from your potions class. The sight of him is enough to make you swear under your breath, and you push through the crowd of students in the hallway, walking a bit faster now.

You manage to find your way outside and into the garden, your eyes catching sight of a certain sorcerer. As your classmate’s obnoxious voice becomes louder, you realize what you have to do.

Without wasting time, you call out the name…

» Arcturus «

“Arcky!”

You rush over to the sorcerer, smiling in relief. You take his hand. “Where were you? I thought you agreed to meet me outside of my last class.”

Arcturus tilts his head in slight confusion, his expression becoming a bit flustered as you take his hand into yours. “Ah, did I? I’m so sorry, (Name)! I don’t remember promising you such a thing…”

Your classmate stops a few feet away, watching you and Arcturus. Their stare makes you squeeze Arcturus’ hand just ever so slightly, and the small action seems to be enough to make him realize what is going on.

“Please, Arcky… you signed us up for that cooking class, remember? The one hosted by that new restaurant that recently opened in Central District?” you say, hoping he would play along with your lie. “You said it would be fun.”

To your surprise, the sorcerer lets out a laugh, nodding and pulling you closer. “Right! I did promise you… I’m so sorry for forgetting, (Name). Let’s get going so we aren’t late.”

Before you can say anything else, Arcturus pulls you along, his grip on your hand tight as he leads you away from your classmate.

Once you two were a good enough distance away, Arcturus stopped walking and turned to you, not letting go of your hand. His smile is a bit more shy now, his cheeks red. “Are you alright? I’m sorry it took me so long to get the hint…”

“It’s alright, Arcky. Thank you for helping me,” you say. “But… I am serious about that cooking class. Do you want to go together? I heard they’re teaching us how to make egg salad sandwiches today.”

His expression lights up, and he nods excitedly as he hums in approval. “That sounds good! Come on, let’s go!”

He continues to hold your hand as you two head towards Central District, the small blush never leaving his cheeks.

» Spica «

“Spica!”

The blonde was busy talking to a few other students, but at the sight of you he smiles slightly. “Good afternoon, (Name). What brings you here?”

“I…” You trail off when you see your classmate come closer, and you are quick to take Spica’s hand. “I was wondering if you could recommend me another book? The one you gave me about the origins of magic was really interesting.”

He looks surprised, but one glance over at your classmate was all it took for him to understand the situation. He nods, and he removes his hand from yours, instead opting to place a hand on your waist and pulling you close.

“Excuse me.”

He nods at the other students before guiding you back inside and towards the library.

As the two of you walk, he continues to gently hold your waist. His cheeks have the slightest hint of pink on them. “Is that classmate of yours bothering you? If so, you can tell me. Your safety and comfort are my priority.”

“He’s a bit… much,” you admit quietly. “Ever since we worked together on a project, he just won’t leave me alone.”

Spica chuckles, the small sound causing you to smile. “I thought so. Many students here can’t help but be curious when it comes to someone from Mid Earthiem. However, that does not give them the right to cross your boundaries…”

You two arrive at the library, and he opens the door for you.

As you step inside, you are suddenly guided to a chair. You find yourself sitting comfortably next to Spica as he scans the shelves, taking out a couple of books.

He opens one of them, taking a seat next to you and leaning in a bit closer. His voice is a bit softer now, less stern than usual. “You wanted me to recommend another book, yes?”

“Yes, please,” you respond. “I want to know more about the world that I’m in. It’s… really different compared to home.”

Spica smiles. “Well, you did tell me you would trust in my judgment… so how about this one? It’s a book my mother would always read to me when I was younger. I can read it to you if you’d like.”

You nod, and you rest your head on his shoulder. “I would like that, please.”

He chuckles, the subtle pink hue from earlier returning to his cheeks. He starts to read the book to you, his voice quiet and calm as he speaks.

After a few minutes you start to doze off, and the last thing you remember is a firm yet gentle hand grabbing your shoulder and pulling you closer.

» Pollux «

“Pollux!”

“Eh?”

The sorcerer’s face becomes bright pink as you suddenly tackle him into a hug from behind, and he starts trying to shove you off. “H-hey! Warn a guy next time, what are you even-!?”

“Please help me,” you say quietly, giving him a slight squeeze as you continue to hug him. “Please.”

Pollux looks over his shoulder to see your classmate nearby, and he frowns. “Seriously? Isn’t that the guy you worked with for our potions project a few weeks back?”

You nod.

Pollux groans, and with a small huff, he moves you so that you are now next to him.

“Pollux? What are you… huh?”

Your eyes widen in slight surprise when he places an arm over your shoulders, pulling you closer. He looks away from you, and you notice the tips of his ears are pink.

You can hear the feigned annoyance in his voice, clear as day. “Don’t think too much of it, okay? I’m just doing this so Spica doesn’t give me another lecture about taking care of you.”

A new voice is suddenly heard from behind the both of you. “Hm? Little boy, what do you think you’re doing with (Name)?”

The both of you turn around to see Alpheratz, who has his hands in his pockets. From the way his hair slightly stuck out, you figured he had just woken up from a nap.

“You do know that if other students see you like this with (Name), rumors will spread,” Alpheratz says, looking a bit amused. He then yawns, rubbing the back of his neck.

Pollux shakes his head. “I don’t care! Besides, it’s not what it looks like… I’m just doing my job since no one else was around.”

“Well, I’m here now.” Alpheratz shrugs. “So you can relax, little boy. No one will try to do anything now.”

Pollux opens his mouth to protest when Arcturus suddenly appears, smiling. “Oh! (Name), Pollux! We were looking for you…”

Vega, who was walking alongside Arcturus, is quick to notice Pollux’s arm around you. “Pollux, why do you have your arm around Summoner?”

As more sorcerers suddenly appear, Pollux quickly lets go of you. He still looks away, clearly embarrassed now that more sorcerers have arrived. Your classmate from earlier seems to have left after seeing that you were no longer alone.

“I-I’m just doing my job…” Pollux mumbles.

You smile, and as Arcturus asks all of you if you would be interested in trying a new restaurant in Central District you reach out and subtly link Pollux’s pinky with your own.

His face becomes an even brighter shade of pink, his face now almost matching his hair. He says nothing, instead giving your pinky a small squeeze in return as he tries to hold back a smile.

» Alpheratz «

“Alpheratz!”

The sleepy sorcerer was leaning against a tree, arms crossed as he dozed off. At the sound of your voice, however, his eyes slowly open, and a soft hum escapes his lips.

“Hm?” He yawns, standing up straight now. He shoves his hands into his pockets, the sleepy expression still on his face. “(Name)... what’s wrong?”

You are quick to tug on the sleeve of his school jacket, eyes wide with panic as you see your classmate drawing closer. “Hide me, Alpheratz, please…”

Alpheratz follows your gaze, and his eyebrows raise just ever so slightly when he finally realizes what’s causing your panic. “Oh…”

He quickly raises an arm, and you find yourself pressed up against the tree that he had been leaning on. You feel your cheeks go warm as he stares down at you, his expression now more awake and serious.

From the corner of your eye, you notice that your classmate has stopped walking, now staring at you and Alpheratz with a mixture of shock and anger.

Alpheratz frowns, looking a bit annoyed now. He sighs. “How tiring… I can feel him staring holes into the back of my head.”

The sorcerer leans in a bit closer, his face now mere inches away from yours. “Give it a few more seconds. He’ll leave soon enough.”

You nod, staring up at Alpheratz. You didn’t really trust yourself to respond at the moment, your cheeks still feeling a bit warm from the close proximity.

Eventually, your classmate storms off, grumbling under his breath.

Once he’s gone, you immediately breathe a sigh of relief. “He’s gone… thank you, Alpheratz. You can back away now.”

The sorcerer doesn’t move, still staring down at you. There’s a hint of annoyance in his voice, as if irritated by your words. “Hey… you really think you can ask me for a favor and just leave like that?”

You’re quick to wave your hands in front of your face, shaking your head quickly. “No, no! Alpheratz, I just… meant that you don’t need to protect me anymore since my classmate is gone. You can go back to napping now.”

His expression softens, and he sighs. “... it’s only fair that you return the favor.”

“But who do you need protecting from?”

His hand grabs onto yours, and before you can protest you feel yourself being pulled down onto the ground. You find yourself now face-to-face with Alpheratz, his eyes already closed as he wraps a strong but gentle arm around your waist to pull you closer to him.

“Protecting you made me tired. Take a nap with me,” he says, and within seconds he was fast asleep.

You stare at him for a few moments before sighing, closing your eyes and ultimately deciding to take a nap as well.

» Sirius «

“Sirius!”

You are immediately greeted by his playful smile, and he closes the tin of candy in his hand and tucks it away into his jacket pocket.

“Oh, my… Summoner, you seem to be in a hurry.” He chuckles, tilting his head a bit as he watches you approach. “Don’t tell me it has something to do with that classmate of yours.”

You sigh, crossing your arms as you look behind you to see your classmate getting closer. “He just won’t get the hint. I’ve been trying to avoid him for weeks but he’s just so bent on asking me out on a date.”

You don’t miss the way Sirius’ smile grows wider as you say the last word, his eyes flashing green for a moment before turning yellow again.

“A date?” he says, sounding amused. “I know a lot of students would find a student from Mid Earthiem interesting… but still. How bold of them.”

You are suddenly pulled towards him, one hand holding your wrist as the other presses against the small of your back as he dips you slightly.

“Sirius! What are you-!?”

“Do not worry, my fair summoner,” he says, his tone equivalent to that of when he would recreate a scene from a play. “I shall protect you from any harm that might come your way. Of course, not without a price…”

He leans in closer, his voice filled with obvious teasing. Just as his lips are about to meet your own, he pauses.

He chuckles. “... it seems as though your classmate wasn’t entertained by our little show, Summoner. They’re gone.”

You look around to see that your classmate has indeed left, and you relax a bit. “Finally. I can’t believe- mmph!”

His fingers make contact with your lips, and immediately a sweet taste fills your senses as he places something in your mouth.

He looks amused as he lets go of you, his hand lingering on the small of your back for just a moment longer than necessary before fully pulling away.

“A reward for taking part in my show,” he laughs. “But you do need to work on your acting skills, Summoner. Your acting skills were horribly absent. No wonder the audience left.”

You roll your eyes, sucking on the candy he had offered to you. It wasn’t too bad, the unexpected taste of mint and honey greeting your tastebuds. “You could’ve warned me before doing that. I didn’t expect you to pull me in so suddenly.”

“Why?” He looks amused now. “Ah, I see… did you want someone else holding you?”

He laughs as he transforms into Spica, and then into Alpheratz. He grins, placing a hand on his hip as he stares at you. “How’s this? Or did you prefer someone more cheerful?” He then transforms into Arcturus.

You stare at him for a moment, before shaking your head. You have a small smile of your own. “They’re all great, but right now I’d like Sirius, please.”

He pauses for a moment, clearly not expecting your response. With a small chuckle, he transforms back into himself and crosses his arms. “You sure know how to make someone’s heart race, Summoner. How cute.”

“I’m only like this when it comes to people I like,” you tease, and he laughs again.

“Careful, Summoner. You shouldn’t say things like that so recklessly… I might do something you won’t like.”

» Vega «

“Vega!”

“Summoner… what seems to be the problem?”

Vega’s usually cool expression falters as you suddenly run up to him, and he is quick to stand in front of you just as your classmate catches up to you.

“What the-!? Hey, move!” Your classmate demands, only to freeze when Vega suddenly draws his sword.

“What business do you have with Summoner?” Vega asks calmly. Despite his neutral tone, his stance and gaze on your classmate showed that he was ready to protect you if needed. “You seem to be making them uncomfortable.”

“Look, I just want to talk! They keep avoiding me and-”

“Then you should take the hint and leave,” Vega interrupts. “Summoner does not wish to speak to you. Leave them be.”

Your classmate looks like he wants to argue again, but he stops when he sees you grab Vega’s hand. Vega’s hand immediately stiffens under your touch, and a faint pink color forms on his cheeks.

“I have plans already,” you say. “So please leave me alone.”

Your classmate looks between you and Vega for a few seconds before scoffing. “Are… are you serious? Out of all the sorcerers, don’t tell me you chose this one.”

Without thinking you grab Vega’s sword, earning a surprised gasp from your classmate as you point it at him. “Leave.”

Your classmate rolls his eyes. “You know what? Fine! You aren’t even worth it…”

Once your classmate finally leaves, you turn to Vega.

“Here…” You return his sword. “I’m sorry, he was just so persistent and wouldn’t leave. Thanks for letting me borrow it.”

“It’s… no problem, Summoner. As long as you are safe,” he says quietly. His gaze seems to be focused on your hand, which still holds on to his own.

You laugh softly. “Vega… now that I think about it, there’s a new gelato place that opened up in Central District. I heard that their raspberry flavor is really popular right now. Do you want to go with me?”

“I… don’t see any reason to refuse. Who else will be joining us?”

“It’ll be just you and me, Vega.” You give his hand a gentle squeeze. “Is… is that okay?”

For a moment his expression remains neutral, before his lips turn up to form a small smile.

“That would be just fine, Summoner,” he says. “Let’s go.”

Unexpectedly, he takes the lead, putting his sword away and gently pulling you along as the two of you make your way to Central District to get some gelato.

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harrystiddess · 2 months

Text

DRUMMER GIRL

A/N: If my scenarios before bed were a fanfic haha

WORD COUNT: 1.1k

SUMMARY: She’s a drummer and a cop and he’s in need of a drummer. Will she “stick” with his offer?

DRUMMER GIRL SERIES

Content Warning: None as of yet!

Read Part II here!

On a sunny day in central Manchester, I found myself at my friend's house, agreeing to fill in as the drummer for her band's gig due to their drummer falling ill. Although playing gigs wasn't my thing, I preferred doing the favor over enduring my friend's constant yapping and crying about it. After two weeks of practice and one gig with the band, Elena and I were forced to get coffee for everyone before our gig in the evening. As we strolled and chatted along the sidewalk, discussing the most random things, I saw my friend suddenly freeze in shock. Concerned, I asked what was wrong, only to find her gripping my hand tightly and pointing across the street with excitement. Curious, I looked over and found myself uttering under my breath, "Oh hell nah" at the unexpected sight before me.

“Oh, you’re doing this”

"Elena, no, I'm not."

"Are you out of your mind? This has been your dream since you were 12!"

"I can't let you miss out on this opportunity."

"Is it that you don't want me to miss the opportunity, or YOU don't want to miss the opportunity to do it yourself?" I said, raising my eyebrows.

"Maybe a bit of both," Elle said mischievously, pulling me forward.

"No let’s go back, I need to.. i need to uh.. take a piss!!” I try to come up with an excuse.

“No you don’t, I know you took a huge dump before we left” I was definitely taken aback by her answer looking at her absolutely flabbergasted.

“I fucking hate you. You're going to do the talking, and if you embarrass me, I don’t know you." I said irritably as I crossed the road, ignoring the sceptical look Elena continued to give me. As I reached the other side, I began to realise that maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all, just as I had feared.

It was too late now. I could see Elena approaching the moment I feared.

“Excuse me” she said poking his arm. It was quite humorous because she was half of the tall gentleman’s size. I was holding onto her hand, standing behind her like a child hiding behind their mom.

‘The moment you have feared yet dreamed of, all your life, is here.’ You thought to yourself silently

You see him turn around and remove his sunglasses, putting his hand forward.

“Hi, I’m Harry.”

“Oh. My. God.” I say to myself as I find myself getting lost in his eyes.

“Are you okay my love?” You hear him chuckle.

He watches me intently as my eyes widen when i realise that i fact had said that out loud.

“Uhh yeah yes I am” You clear your throat. I thought I saw a spider that’s all” I try to cover up the fact that i was totally star struck and defiently impressed by his appearance. By this point Harry was completely facing me with Elena looking at us like she knew about this all along.

“Oh is it? A spider I see” he says seeing through my bullshit.

“I’m Harry” he shakes my hand.

“And you are?”

“Oh I’m Ava”

“Ava. That’s a cute name!”

I just pursed my lips and smiled. That’s all I could do! What would you do if Harry Styles called your name cute? Exactly.

“So you’re drummer I see”

You raise your eyebrows sort of creeped out.

“Haha I saw the drum sticks in your bag. I’m not as creepy as they say” he said leaning towards me, winking in the end.

It’s like i was snapped out of my suspicions to a realisation.

“Oh right sorry yeah. I’m a bit distracted today”

“So how long have you been drumming for Ava?”

“Oh Uhm since I was uhh 16”

“Hmm.. so since how-”

“8 years”

“Wow that’s impressive”

“You wouldn’t be interested in drumming for me would you?” He said after a long pause, unsure of whether he should’ve said it.

“Drumming for you?” I know exactly what he means but I’m too utterly taken aback to say anything.

“Yeah”

“You don’t even know how I play? For all you know I’d not even be able to hold the sticks”

“Well then that that’s just an excuse for you to come in for an audition!”

“Orrrrrr…” I see Elena sliding in and before I can say anything she’s said it.

“We have a gig at Bardo’s tonight! You can come and see for yourself” she says chirping.

He looks at me for to find a glint of expression but sees fails considering I was trying to deny his offer at all costs and I just failed.

“Then Bardo’s it is” Harry says delightfully looking at the both of us.

“Great see you at bardo’s, 7pm” Elena being a little to excited was pissing me off real bad at this point.

“That’s great…See you tonight…” I say almost sounding excited as I walk past him, leaving him stood right there.

I know he’s looking at us walk away I can feel It, so I keep walking silently until we’re out of his hearing range.

“ELENA! What did you do!” I say pinching the bridge of my nose in distress.

“Your kids will thank me one day”

“No. No kids are thanking no one. I DON’T WANT TO DRUM FOR ANYONE LET ALONE HIM!!” I say whisper shouting

“The only difference is, you do!”

“Elle you Know I’m happy with my job, a job I’ve dreamed of doing since I was 5! Why do you want to ruin that for me?”

“I’m not ruining anything for you. You can do both at the same time! I know that you’ve wanted to be a big shot Artists drummer too. Just because you’re scared of change doesn’t mean you have to ruin the rest of your life for it. That’s what I’m here for. Ruining your life is my job. And so is making sure you don’t give up opportunities like these.”

I can’t help but let out a small smile..

“Well meeting your Celebrity crush of over 8 years and having him offer you a job doesn’t go well together that’s all” I breathe out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

“Can’t believe I’m saying this but You’re right. I’m going to go to the gig, give my best, which I do either way and see what he has to offer…. I mean 16 year old me wouldn’t believe this happened if I told her” I say screeching in excitement, holding her hand and jumping and and making incoherent noises like a madwoman.

Read Part II here!

Reblog, like and comment! DM if you have any prompts! Hope you guys like this Series!

♡ ♡ ♡

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles blurb #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #harry styles smut #harry styles x reader #harry styles writing #harry styles one shot

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sillyblues · 1 year

Text

the ocean and the wind. (3)

ੈ✩‧₊˚ synopsis: tonowari is the ocean and ronal is the wind. where does it leave you?

ੈ✩‧₊˚ notes: y'alllll i am so sorry i'm like a week late. we had like a fuck ton of tests that really made me want to die and we still have more coming up next week aside from our projects. anyways!! part 3 is here. the awaited angst!! hope you guys enjoy this i pulled this out of my ass so quick because i felt bad for leaving you lot for almost two weeks. hope you guys enjoy!!

part 1 ✩ part 2 ✩ part 3 (here!) ✩ part 4 ✩ part 5 ✩ part 6 ✩ part 7 (final part)

Ronal and Tonowari first met when you introduced them to each other after things had calmed down with Tonowari.

They knew each other from the stories you tell of them when you spent time with each of them when things had calmed down with you and him. You told Ronal of Tonowari of who he is to you, of who he actually is behind the title of future Olo’eyktan, with fondness and giggles. You told Tonowari of Ronal of who she is to you, of who she actually is behind her cold and intimidating exterior, with admiration and grins.

They were close and very much dear to you and you’d want nothing more for them to be close to each other as well. You want them to see each other as they see you.

And they did.

You were on the outskirts of the inner island, exiting it as you had just come back from gathering plants with Ronal for your class. Flat and circular baskets full of herbs, plants, and flowers rested against the side of your hips as you two walked. Sands and soil that were beginning to mix pushed back under your steps, leaving light footprints. You could faintly hear the waves of the sea hitting the sands on the shore and the fresh wind that softly nipped at your skin, almost ticking you.

The silence between you two was comforting but a familiar and welcome voice interrupted it.

“[Name],” Tonowari called out to you in a soft voice as he walked to you. He placed his fingers to his forehead and opened it towards you and Ronal as he said his greetings.

“Tonowari! What perfect timing!” you beamed at him and gestured to the girl beside you with your free hand, “Meet a close friend of mine, her name is Ronal.”

They introduced themselves and you watched as Tonowari’s blue eyes slightly widen before they quickly softened. How his ears twitched and the genuine smile on his face displayed his dimples, unlike the usual polite smile he shows to others. You watched as Ronal looked at him in curiosity, her forehead never furrowing nor her green eyes glaring. How her gaze didn’t look away quickly and her tail swayed lightly.

You grinned.

“Come, let us put away our baskets first and talk more.”

The two finally broke eye contact and smiled at you.

There is an island a bit far from the central island of your clan, the distance just enough to see its outline from afar and near to a village. It was more of a sandbar rather than an island and quite bare compared to the others. There were no trees nor any shrubs, maybe a few seaweeds that would wash up ashore.

Despite its bareness, you never found it boring. This was your’s and Tonowari's island, after all. You found the place in one of your little adventures, swimming far away to see where the way of the water would take you and it led you to the little secret you two would keep for years. You two spent most of your time on this little island of yours, from countless days when you braid each others’ hair and decorate it with the prettiest shells you found and nights when you both lay down and stare under the moons, letting its beauty shine upon you two.

Now, this little secret has been shared with Ronal. It was not a heavy decision unlike it should have been, to let a stranger know something so close to you two. But Ronal is not a stranger. You see her. She sees you. Tonowari sees her. She sees him.

It was amazing to see how fast their friendship grew. Perhaps, they grew closer faster than she had with you. You thought it would take them a long time with Ronal’s shyness and Tonowari’s politeness, but they proved you wrong and you were happy about it. From the very first they met, they had gone along well like an instant connection that has been made from the moment they saw each other.

“You act like a child. A grown child.” Ronal frowned, almost hissing in annoyance as she braids his hair. You two were on the little island, taking a break from all the classes that exhausted you three. You giggled and continued to inspect shells, keeping the ones you approved of in your left palm and placing back the others. Tonowari snorted.

“I am not a child. Which child have you seen is as big as me?”

“I see one in front of me right now.” There was a quick sound of a harsh slap on the skin and you turned at them, giggling once more. Tonowari let out a small hiss of pain and grumbled.

“No, Tonowari is not a child,” you walk over to them and sat in front of him as you placed the collected shells in the small pouch you brought with you. He grinned and before he could reply something along the lines of you being his supporter, you quickly crushed his hopes. “I think a baby would best describe him. A big babe who is lost without anyone to look after him.”

You teased him while you pulled his cheeks and pinched his arms. He let out an exaggerated gasp and you laughed. Even Ronal cannot help but let out a chuckle.

“What betrayal is this, [Name]?” Tonowari let out a groan when Ronal tugged a section of his hair in place when he flailed his arms around.

“Stay still, skxawng!”

“Not until [Name] explains herself of this betrayal!” his arms suddenly engulfed your figure and leaned his weight behind on Ronal. You squealed as you all fell while he just laughed boisterously. Ronal groaned at the heavy weight on top of her and hit Tonowari.

“You id—”

You try to get away but his arms were tight, not giving you a slight chance to escape. You felt bad for her knowing her hits don’t really hurt Tonowari and his ridiculous big muscles and she most likely knew of this as she gave up with a sigh after a few slaps with no effect on him.

You just giggled and leaned down on Tonowari’s chest. Your smile was so wide it was almost hurting your cheeks.

You would never exchange this for anything in the rest of the world.

“Ronal is such a freak, what does Tonowari even see in her anyway?” You heard a voice say in disdain and disgust as you walked towards the creek where you, Ronal, and Tonowari would meet one night. You had already asked for your parents’ permission and they didn’t mind that it is already evening. Giggles and murmurs followed after. When you heard that, your head immediately turned to the source of the voices.

They were girls who you recognized and there was one in particular whose name you remember. Her name was Letsakx. She had short wavy hair that reached up to her collarbones and was a bit taller than you. She was known for being loud and a bit mean but you never really paid mind to her that much because she hadn't done you any wrong until this moment.

“What did you just say?” You asked her after you walked towards her, confronting her for what she had just said. Her head turned to meet you slowly with her forehead raised and her friends did the same.

“Who even are you?” She sneered.

“I asked you a question. What did you just say about Ronal?” You hissed.

“Oh, how surprising. I didn't expect that freak would have a little friend.” She scoffed. “Surely you would know what an arrogant thing she is, making people cry and pissing them off just because she can.”

“You shut your mouth, she is not arrogant!”

“Pff, what? Poor girl, you must be under her manipulation.” One of her friends said. She had wavy hair braided into a big one with her hair strands poking out. She looked at you in ridicule.

“What manipulation? How dare you say I speak of nonsense when she is truly the nicest girl in this village. How dare you speak of such things about her when you have no idea what she truly is?” You walked closer and closer to her, leaned up to her face and bared your teeth at her.

She hissed at you and you hissed at her as well. You heard her friends circle around you. One glared at you.

“Maybe she's just a freak like Ronal? You can't be friends with her if you aren't one,” the other giggled.

“Wait, I think I know you,” the latter of her friends suddenly said, “You're [Name]. You used to stick to Tonowari’s side before, didn't you?”

“You did?” Letsakx looked at your form up and down before she cackled. “How pitiful, are you clinging to Ronal just for him to have his eyes on you once more?”

“No, what are you talking about—”

“What a sad little thing, can't you see that he’s done with you?” The one who used to glare at you now looked at you with eyes full of mockery.

You opened your mouth to say anything back to them, to snap back at how wrong they were. You three were just close friends. How could Tonowari be done with you and move to Ronal? It doesn't make any sense.

“No, we're all just friends,” you said in a firm voice, trying to steady yourself and not let their words affect you. They speak of lies, they are the one's themselves trying to delude you into thinking of your friends leaving you out.

“Just friends? Don't they make us laugh,” Letsakx scoffed and rolled her eyes before she pointed her finger at your chest and poked it harshly a few times. “I might not like Ronal but at least I know that they are together. They will choose each other when their Iknimaya come.”

You almost stumbled back whether from the harsh pokes or harsh words, you don't know, but they rendered your legs weak. The others came closer to you too.

One put her hands on your shoulders from behind, “Poor [Name], their so-called friend who keeps tailing after them like an annoying little thing.”

“Wake up, [Name]. You will never be with Tonowari when he is with Ronal.”

“We can help you with that, you know? How could Tonowari choose her, a freak—” you pushed them away. You will not tolerate any disrespect to Ronal and Tonowari. You will not tolerate the lies they feed you. You will not tolerate the mock they have of you.

“You three do nothing but assume and assume! Have some shame!” You bared your teeth to them and hissed for the third time. Your ears were pinned back and your tail raised in anger. The anger in you boils stronger than the seed of doubt they planted in you. You walked away from them and you still hear their laughter and scoffs.

“Do come back to us when you finally open your eyes! We promise we won't laugh!” You hear Letsakx say one last time.

You walked away until you heard their laughter faded into nothingness. Until you could only hear the soft crunches of the grass and sand under your feet. The soft whispers of the wind and the trills and chirps of the animals. The soft splashes and the pitter-patter of the water against the rocks as they stream down.

You let out a small whimper at the sight in front of you.

Beyond the creek, they lay so close to each other. Their chest rose and fell, signs of their peaceful rest with one another. Ronal’s head lay on Tonowari’s arm with it wrapped around her head. Her hand was placed on his chest and under his other hand. Their freckles glowed so brightly and — oh, how peaceful and content they looked.

Letsakx’s words rang in your ears and finally, you see it now. The way Eywa’s beauty shined so brightly to them, the way the bioluminescent lights of the plants and the water reflected on their skin. The way the water trickles softly as if not to disturb them and the way the wind provides them with enough coolness so they wouldn’t be hot as they embraced each other.

Memories of them flashed to your head. How Tonowari looked so bright and shined with the sun behind him as he comforted you with your legs halfway in the sea. How he wouldn’t let you go despite your struggles to do so for the best of you two. How Ronal finally saw you as she embraced you, her forehead against yours. How she smiled at you with such softness and gentleness.

You see it now. Why you loved being with them. Why you loved them. You didn’t see them just as your friends. You saw them for who they were. You saw—see—them. You are reminded of your greed. Your envy. It all comes back to you now.

But you are also reminded of how Tonowari and Ronal grew so close so fast, an instant connection that sparked between them. How they see each other so brightly, so gently, so lovingly. It was like they were made for each other. And maybe they were.

You bit your lip. Tonowari wasn’t just enough for you, you also wanted Ronal. You wanted her time and attention as well, why you kept her closer to you than any of your friends. You wanted him, why you avoided him in fear of him knowing your greed for him.

Your teacher’s words rang in your ears. Greed. Selfishness. You are so greedy and selfish. How disgusting you are. And so foolish. So, very foolish. Why have you still not learned your lesson? Were you complacent in Tonowari’s belief in you? Stupid, stupid! It is him, Tonowari. He would never mind it because he is your friend. He is soft. He is kind. He is gentle.

And oh, Eywa, how could you even involve Ronal in your mess? She does not deserve this. He does not deserve this. She needs not anything or anyone to ruin her peace in life once more. Ruin her happiness. How dare you do this to her? To both of them?

You are angry at yourself. Angry for wanting her. For him. For both of them because of your excessive greed that knows no bounds. For roping them into your useless desires.

Your heart thumped so loud and heavy, wanting to rip out of the cages called your ribs and rip out through your chest and bleed so openly. Your ears are pinned back and tears welled up in your eyes. You let them fall, helpless against the raging emotions that you drown in. Your legs were weak and you have never wanted more than to open your mouth and wail but you dare not ruin their peace just because of your ruined one.

You took a step back and turned so quickly. One step. One more. Another. And more after another until your slow steps turned into a run.

Run and run, [Name]. Run and don’t look back. Never look back again. Never dare want them again. Never dare be greedy again.

Oh, Eywa, you begged, is this my punishment for the thoughts and ugliness I have borne in my soul?

I’m so sorry, Great Mother.

I am so sorry, Tonowari.

I am so sorry, Ronal.

You are reminded of how Tonowari is the ocean and how Ronal is the wind. You are reminded of your place.

Between the ocean and the wind, where does it leave you?

series taglist: @totesnothere04 @ducks118

#blue writes! ✧˖*°࿐#avatar the way of water #avatar #avatar angst #ronal x you #ronal x reader #tonowari x reader #tonowari x you #atwow #atwow angst #avatar 2

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yuri-is-online · 9 months

Text

10. Getting a visit from him while you're sick and thinking it was a dream.

I AM SO SORRY I ACCIDENTALLY DELETED YOUR ASK BY POSTING IT TOO EARLY (╯°□°)╯︵ ┻━┻

I really really hope you like this friend, I am very grateful for your support <3

notes: they/them pronouns used for Yuu, typical best friend pining for Deuce, references to fainting from exhaustion for Jack. Check out the other requests on my masterlist here.

Silver

"Golden hour" is a funny term when you are forced to think about it under the influence of Twisted Wonderland Benadryl. Which is to say that you feel very grateful to be hallucinating an image of Silver and not the hat man. Rook would be much too willing to entertain this line of thought.

"I just think that it's kind of funny," you try to justify to not-Silver who has kindly allowed you to rest your head in his lap "that your name is Silver and you sort of look like that y'know." He blinks, an intense look of concentration knitted over his lovely face.

"Not really." He says, genuinely remorseful. "I'm just not that imaginative I'm sorry." He idly strokes your hair, the ghost of a smile growing the longer he looks at you. It flutters into your heart and briefly halts your train of thought; you don't know if you should be happy it's the weekend so this can't interrupt your classes or mad you can't enjoy your day off. But then, what about this dream? Silver doesn't really go out of his way to hang out with you, if you had not been running a fever...

You had been reaching for him, pausing only when you realize in a desperate effort to stay in the illusion. What had you been talking about? You wonder ignoring the way Silver leans to follow your hands. Oh right, golden hour.

"It's super pink and purple," you mumble "and it's just- it's supposed to be the prettiest thing in the whole wide world and there it is trapped in your eyes." Sliver takes a deep breath, almost like he is trying to restrain something, before slowly, gently, caressing your eyelids in an effort to convince them to close.

"I think you need to go back to sleep prefect." You want to tell him that's a silly suggestion because you are already asleep, but something about finally closing your eyes makes you just that much more comfortable. As you drift into the darkness, you feel someone pick you up, cradling you bridal style as they begin to walk up the Ramshackle Dorm staircase.

"The prettiest thing in the world, huh. I wonder what that says about you, when you are what's reflected in them?"

Deuce

Today was not a good day for the only plot relevant members of freshmen class A. Both of your friends had forgotten to charge their phones last night, and while Ace had been smart enough to slip his into his pocket, Deuce had left his charger back in their dorm room. That hadn't really been anything other than an inconvenience at first, but then the rain had started.

"I'll be fine, you two should worry about yourselves, I know Varags isn't canceling your club practices for this."

You really should not have said that. Maybe you haven't been feeling well for a while now or maybe the rain + no central heating + no parental figure had been what put you down. It didn't really matter what caused it, you feel like death and none of your text messages are making it through to either of your friends. At least Grim was kind enough to bring you a bunch of blankets and pillows from your room, there was no way you were giving him free reign in Sam's with your wallet no matter how badly you needed medicine. The only thing left to do is try and sleep it off and that's what you do, tossing your phone onto a chair Grim had propped up next to the couch.

~~~

Deuce had been sitting in the library before Trey kindly told him that you were out sick. He had not bothered asking where Ace had gone off too, assuming that by the time he made it to Ramshackle he would already be there and laughing at him. But that was not the case and now that he is sitting here wondering if he should try to wake you up or just let you sleep he can't decide if he is angry at Ace or happy to be alone with you. He does know he feels disappointed for even needing to ask.

"Yuu?" He decides to try and whisper, that way if you're deep asleep you won't react. You are curled up on the couch so tightly you might as well be a cat, the way you nuzzle into his palm when he tries to take your temperature does not help. You open your eyes but don't say anything at first, you just... smile? Smile and reach to hold his hand with a contended mrrp. Every muscle in Deuce's body is painfully tense, he desperately wishes he knew what he was supposed to do in this situation.

He knows what he wants to do, but that has to be the one thing he is not supposed to, right? You are his best friend, there is nothing more than that. It's with friendly intent you reach to hug him, it's with friendly concern he pulls you into his embrace and holds you tightly so you don't crash onto the floor.

"Am I making you uncomfortable?" He whispers and you shake your head into his chest before looking up into his eyes with pure friendly adoration.

"I wish you were here," your eyes close, sending you back into sleep and Deuce into a spiral "I want to wake up in your arms just once."

"Me too..." he relaxes, gently moving you back to your couch before you can do more harm. "I- I hope you can remember I want that too."

Jack

Jack adjusts the position of your arms around his neck and makes sure he has a firm grip on your thighs. He has given piggy backs before but never to an unconscious person.

"You need to be more realistic about your limits." The words taste like sandpaper on his tongue, for someone so invested in the opinions of his seniors Jack sure had been determined to ignore them when it came to how hard he pushed you. He couldn't, well he could have helped it. He could have done some research about how to safely start working out, or asked you if you were even interested in training with him. But no, he did neither of those things, instead he just told you that your stamina was pitiful and that you were going to start training with him immediately. Knowing him he probably threatened to leave you alone if you couldn't keep up, some friend he was. "Sorry," he expected the word to feel heavier, maybe sting a little, but his pride doesn't feel any worse than it had when you fainted "I don't like seein you hurt." Maybe it's because you're asleep and he doesn't actually have to worry about coming off too soft, or maybe it's because you stir in that sleep to bury your face further into his hair signaling that you still feel safe with him on some subconscious level, but he feels like he can just... talk. Like even though you aren’t awake your heart will listen.

"I know I talk a lot about how if you're weak you'll get left behind, or that I don't need friends but that's just second nature y'know? It's not like I don't want to be around you, and I definitely don't want you to get sick." Again you move, but your steady breathing confirms you are still asleep as Jack nears Ramshackle with his precious cargo. “When you wake up I’ll say sorry the right way, and make sure to get you some water… ha I wonder why you even came out today in the first place? I’ve been a pretty shitty friend-”

You take a deep, deep breath at the back of Jack’s neck, exhaling as your arms tighten around his neck in a way that could choke him if you had been angry but now feels more like a hug. Hot air tickles him from his neck all the way down his spine as his stupidly keen ears pick up on a sleepy murmur he knows has to come from somewhere deep in your dream-addled mind. Don’t be stupid, I wanted to spend time with you. Why? You know why! And even if you don’t-

“It’s a secret~” You actually say out loud, speeding up Jack’s heart rate and his steps.

If he doesn’t put you to bed soon he’s going to be the one who’s dehydrated.

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #silver x reader #deuce spade x reader #jack howl x reader #300 followers celebration #so the sheep was not intentional i just forgot i drew it until after i gave every other request animals haha #suits the theme though no?

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chessholic · 1 month

Text

The One With

Comfort

ー

　　　　 F R I E N D S

R E A D E R

　　　　ー

Summary: Your boyfriend was a jerk and he broke up with you. Fortunately you had your friends and all of them helped you in their own ways.

ー　

Author's Note: I will forever love Friends, my favourite comfort show. I have a few fics written about Joey, I could maybe publish them. Let's see, I hope you enjoy this.

ー

You stumbled into Monica's and Rachel's apartment.

To simply put it you looked disheveled. Your eyes were slightly red and puffy, hair a mess and your clothes didn't match your jacket or shoes, which was unusual.

You cursed slightly when you could see six pairs of eyes staring at you, of course they were all here. If they were not in the coffee shop they were here.

"Y/N?", Monica asked rushing towards you from the kitchen.

"What happened?", she asked worriedly and brushed your messed up hair behind your ears. Monica also helped you out of your jacket and helped you to sit on the couch.

Chandler was sitting on the other side and you could see he was holding back some sarcastic comments about your current state.

You were slightly glad, you always found him funny, but this was definitely not the moment.

Phoebe had been sitting on the floor in front of the television. She had her guitar and was writing down something, probably a new song for next week.

Central Perk was in for a treat.

The song title was 'My mother was killed by a drug dealer, my mother was a drug dealer'.

Joey was in the kitchen sitting at the table finishing off something from the fridge it was apparently a jar of jam, maybe blueberry jam. However his eyebrows were scrunched in worry.

Rachel was sitting around the table too with Ross, both looking slightly amazed at Joey's eating, that wasn't probably his first jar of jam.

They were probably leaving to go on a date soon, because they were all dressed up. It made your heart ache.

"He left me", sob escaped your mouth shortly after your confession.

The apartment was filled with different reactions.

Monica was first to close you into a tight embrace petting your hair.

"I am so sorry, we could bake cookies today and burn some of his belongings?", your friend suggested while trying to calm you down. She was quick to offer you a tissue box.

"He took them with his new girl when he came and broke up with me", you cried still distraught about the fact he had cheated and moved on so fast like you never existed.

"Let's burn him instead, yea?", Chandler proposed and scooted closer to you rubbing your back slightly awkwardly, you knew it wasn't his expertise to console someone if sarcasm was off the table.

You let out a watery laugh muttering a quiet thanks to him.

"Yeah, we don't need to go with Ross, he was anyways taking us to some lecture about... Rocks", Rachel joined walking towards the living room and stole you from Monica. While Ross choked up.

"They are not rocks, they are... Well technically they are..."

Rachel hugged you tightly while she gave a deathly glare at Ross shutting him up.

"I am sorry, that jerk didn't deserve you. Let's go shopping some day, okay? We can use my discount", she took your face in her hands and you nodded eyes shining.

In your sad tears had mixed happy tears, you had amazing friends. You couldn't help, but feel thankful.

"My grandmother's taxi can fit a body in the trunk", Phoebe said suddenly getting up to give you a hug.

"Noted, don't piss off Pheebs, ever", Chandler said while others didn't even know what to say. Everyone however had the same question in mind.

"We can also make a song together, I could also use some inspiration and break up songs are hits usually. Especially when the ex was a total asshole", Phoebe stated giving you a hug before returning to her song writing place.

Phoebe turned the paper and made some notes, you couldn't wait to hear what the song was going to be.

"Thank you everyone, I really appreciate you and your help", you thanked them from the bottom of your heart.

"That's what friends are for", Monica stated and everyone nodded agreeing to what she said.

"We are there to help and for each other"

"I can take you on a tour in the museum someday, at least someone appreciates the rocks here", Ross suggested and bitterly muttered the rest of his sentence making Rachel give him another glare which Ross returned.

"Enough with the bickering love birds, I am getting PTSD", Chandler said jumping from the sofa and getting the couples jackets, before throwing them to the owners and ushering the couple towards the door.

"Go, go, out, off you go", Chandler ushered not letting Rachel or Ross protest.

"We got this, have fun with the rocks", Chandler said before slamming the door closed. He looked pleased with himself.

You clapped and he bowed, "That was rather impressive", you confessed.

"Rachel probably hasn't ever left so quickly to anywhere, could be the first time they are on time somewhere", Monica pondered for a moment before heading back to the kitchen.

"You relax and I will prepare the cookie dough. This situation needs cookie dough and ice cream", Monica ordered pointing at you to stay put.

"I might have eaten the ice cream", Joey said quietly with a sheepish look on his face when he avoided looking at Monica's face.

"I will go get more, because I trust myself more than Joey to go get the ice cream", Chandler stated pulling his jacket on.

He quickly came to you and gave you a kiss on the cheek.

"I will go get all your favourite ice cream, hold on, although I know it will be difficult without my charming presence and looks"

Phoebe let out a snort earning a glare from Chandler.

"Really needed to twist the knife", he muttered before exiting the apartment.

You quietly sat on the sofa. Phoebe was writing and Monica preparing everything comforting food the world new in the kitchen.

Suddenly the sofa dipped, Joey had sat next to you.

Joey had a small amount of jam on his face, it wasn't much compared to the last time, but still.

You took a tissue you hadn't yet used and cleaned his face. After that he opened his arms to welcome you into a warm embrace. You cuddled next to Joey without a moment of hesitation, pressing your head against his chest you could feel his warmth and heart beat making you relax.

"Finally I got you all to myself", Joey mumbled quietly pressing a small kiss onto your hair.

"I am sorry, you deserve so much more"

Joey's heart was aching for his friend, he would do anything in his power to make you feel better. He would maybe even share his pizza with you...

Maybe a slice.

Yes, a slice was fine.

ー

#friends #joey tribbiani #joey tribbiani x reader #monica geller #monica geller x reader #chandler bing #chandler bing x reader #Rachel green #rachel green x reader #Phoebe Buffay #Phoebe buffay x reader #ross geller #ross geller x reader #fanfiction

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milkywayan · 4 months

Note

Do you have any recommendations for books about the everyday lives of medieval people? The last two that I’ve read were just disappointing, leaning far more into sensationalism than anything, and not taking into account the changes in worldview and society between then and now. I love everyday history of how people went about their lives, from how they made breakfast and what they wore, to the games they’d play to pass time and what they thought of their place in the universe. I love your historical posting and was curious if you had any recommendations for non-disappointing books to read! (I read better in English than German, but either would be appreciated!)

Cool to hear you are interested in 'domestic history' as it is often called!

I read these kinds of books mostly in german as I am interested in central european medieval times, as most english books are about britain and france. So I am sorry, most of this stuff is German.

Personally I was very, very happy with 'Wien in Mittelalter' by Peter Csendes & Ferdinand Opll, which is as the title says about Vienna in medieval times (from ~900 until 1529, which is the date set as the end of the medieval times in austria). First half is a timetable for each year, based on documents found in the archives to state what happened. Not only what kings and dukes did, but also e.g. 'Frenz sued his neighbour because his window is built wrong'. Tells you a lot about things people cared about. Second half describes in detail how e.g. the city was divided, how it was governed, how people lived etc. I really, really liked it, but it is mostly about Vienna and its Bürger and thus does not go into detail of the world beyond.

In addition to that, speaking of Vienna, there is the Geschichte Wien Wiki, which is one of the best history wikis in the world! So much details and also images of a lot of maps and stuff, it is great!

Another book I am currently reading (and loving) is also German, called 'Unerhörte Frauen' by Henrike Lähnemann and Eva Schlotheuber, and is about medieval nuns, mostly of the late 15th century in Germany. It discusses diaries of nuns and also explains how they lived, how the cloister was set up, how their education looked like, etc. It is really nice and it is very well researched, putting attention to often ignored women!

When it comes to food I generally read the actual recipe books from the time, as it is the best representation for it. There are also a lot of blogs from reenactors talking about it. For example this blog where some of my friends are involved, focused in 14th century cooking (also german).

I also recommend this blog by an Austrian reenactment group, where they talk about a lot of cool medieval topics. They are very passionate and have a lot of references (also German but have some posts also in english)

Going more specific and maybe boring there is this 7 book set about the finds of excavations in London. I have two of them by now, and it is quite cool to see what people used, how it looked like, what was common, what stuff was made of. But it is very thechnical/academic, so maybe not what you may be looking for. My reenactment friends and I love these books because it helps a lot in recreating stuff authentically.

Otherwise I read not that many books about medieval life, I mostly read research stuff and read medieval literature (I made a long post about it a while back) and talk with my nerdy friends about it

I hope this is useful!

Any of my followers, feel free to add if you know cool books and stuff :)

#personal #medieval #medievalcore #ask #anon

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zeezelweazel · 10 months

Text

Lottie Matthews| On the field|

______________________________________

This is the first time I do a fic for s single character please bear with me

Also is it too obvious that I'm obsessed with Lottie?

Also I'm sorry in advance if this is confusing to people who don't know much about football I don't know how else to explain the positions since I've always been a football gal. But I am a European so like I have no clue how nationals work

Summary: You and your team have made it to nationals and you promised yourself that nothing will distract you from winning. Little did you know the enemy team's CB is going to steal your heart like she steals the ball from your feet.

______________________________________

You are nervous about this game, I mean of course, you are at motherfucking nationals. You are not going to let anything get in your way. You are ready to give it your all and as your team's top striker everyone depends on you to seal the deal.

It's already been 30 minutes since the game started and even though the score is set at zero for both teams you're quite confident you can win this. Wiskayok High School, the team you were going against, was good alright but you were better. It is quite obvious that their striker was getting frustrated by your defenders blocking her each and every time she tries anything and their desperation becomes more obvious as their midfielders try to push more and more, without producing any results.

Their defense on the other hand is having trouble controlling the ball and keeping you at bay to the point where one of their midfielders, number 6, has to stay behind for extra help.

All was going well until the second half started and the Yellowjackets started of with a switchover. You tried to suppress a grin when you saw their coach bring in a fresh player in their backline just in hopes of stopping you. Suppressing your grin though became a lot harder when you took a look at the girl running across the field, heading straight to you to claim the central-back position.

Her hair is dark and curly tied in two pigtails with small yellow bows. Her eyes are a soft chocolate colour that perfectly matches her soft face. She's tall, like really tall, and her sun kissed skin seems to shine in the sunlight. When your eyes go back up to her face, after you took a good look at her from head to toe, you notice her staring right back at you.

Fuck, she caught me staring.

You are about to look away in embarrassment when you notice a faint blush in her cheeks. Well maybe you weren't the only one staring.

The sound of loud cheering brings you back to the game. You look at the score board and sure enough the score was now 0-1. You let out a sigh honestly disappointed by how you're losing when everything was going fine three seconds ago. As you're moving to get in position for the kickoff you can't help but look back at the stunning CB and to your surprise she's not just looking at you, she's full on smirking.

Oh game on Yellowjackets.

During the next 15 minutes you relentlessly attacked working perfectly with your midfielders to put pressure on the enemy defense. There were so many good opportunities for you to score but all of them were cut short thanks to their number 5.

It's like you and this gorgeous girl silently created a 1v1 and after one point it honestly felt like it was only you and her on the field.

The match is nearing it's end with the clock ticking at 80 minutes and that's when you see the goal coming in the form of a crossover pass that lands right in front of you and after dribbling your way out of their defense, it's only you and their goalkeeper and you swear you see the the crowd already cheering as you lift your leg ready to shoot...

And then suddenly the world is upside down and you hit your head really hard on the turf and you're honestly so ready to get up and start yelling at the idiot that did this.

When you open your eyes you're met with wide and apologetic brown ones and you don't register anything else going on for what feels like years until you try to get up but you're unable to.

You both look down at the same time just to see her strong thick thighs frame your hips and her hands clutching the front of your jersey. Now it's your turn to smirk as she blushes and stumbles to get up on her feet. She extends her arm to help you up but you don't waste the opportunity and tug her down so she's face to face with you.

"Let me buy you a milkshake after we win." You whisper in her ear before walking in your position to execute the foul she just granted you, leaving her dumbfounded.

After you hear the whistle all it takes is a good kick and three seconds before the crowd goes wild and you're surrounded by your teammates. You can't deny how your eyes skipped over all the disappointed faces of your opponents before locking in with soft brown ones. This time you don't try to suppress your grin when you see a soft smile on her face.

The last few minutes of the game were torturous as both teams tried incredibly hard to out do one another. But, no matter the effort of your dear number 5, the enemy defense was just not strong enough to stop you from scoring again just a few minutes before the end of the game and getting the win for your team.

After the final whistle, you go around the field shacking hands with your opponents and feeling sorry for them after seeing their hurt and disappointed expressions.

"Hey, good game miss Messi."

You turn around, startled by the unfamiliar voice only to find your favourite defender staring back at you with a soft loopy smile.

"You too um...?"

She looked at you confused for e few seconds before she registered the silent question.

"Lottie. How about you?"

"It's Y/N"

You two simply smile at eachother for e few seconds before the moment gets ruined by exaggerated sounds of kissing. When look to the side you spot their goalkeeper, who is still making those sounds while wiggling her eyebrows, alongside their midfielders, numbers 7 and 8, who are trying and failing to fight back their laugh.

"Oh my god." Lottie mumbled quietly beside you as she put her head on her hands in defeat and embarrassment. You only giggle and grab her hand, leading her towards the locker rooms.

"Come on, we still have that date to go to."

____________________________________________________

#wlw #female reader #yellowjackets x reader #yellowjackets imagine #lottie x reader #lottie matthews #lottie matthews x reader

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icysinner · 11 months

Text

code broken

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

#ID: pt 2 to codename, which u can find here!

warnings: lil suggestive at times

nya note: whenever i write connie i just see central cee in my head

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“yes, i know about it. it’s impossible to miss.” connie said, still finding amusement in your expression of pure horror. “that must seem so creepy, i am so sorry — oh my god.” you said, not even looking him in the eye while sasha was sitting two seats down from you, finding this interaction very funny. “don’t apologize, and you never answered my question. why red? my favorite color is actually purple.” connie said, knowing his last comment would put a smile on your face, which it did. “ew, i’m not telling you now! it’s embarrassing.” you said back, spinning your pencil in your hand as a way to not make direct eye contact with him. “come on, i wanna know! i feel like i have every right to know..” connie was attempting to keep your attention as long as he could, because he was enjoying having an actual conversation with you outside of a yes or no question.

“okay, okay! it’s stupid, it was over those shoes i have that you liked – they were red, so it just kind of stuck.” you said, the embarrassment really setting in now. “oh, the cherry reds. i remember that. i thought it was like.. some first color of the rainbow type shit. i like that, though, kinda thoughtful if you think about it.” connie’s nonchalant nature about this ordeal shocked you, because why wouldn’t it? anyone else would have thought that was weird.

something about this, about you intrigued connie. maybe it was the fact that you remembered something so small, it was cute. but, he’d gotten this far and he couldn’t fumble it now. “hey, what’s your number?”

⎯⎯⎯⎯

connie

u busy rn?

y/n

no sir

connie

dunkin at 5:30?

y/n

u know i can’t say no to coffee

connie

i’ll take that as a yes.

⎯⎯⎯⎯

“what are you getting ready for?” sasha asked as you pulled on your shoes, the ones connie liked. “i’m going to dunkin.” you replied, walking around you and sasha’s shared dorm, trying to find everything you needed. “without me? you have a new best friend?” she asked, wiping away fake tears. “no, i’m going with connie.” “oh, we’ve moved past calling him red? what’s next, a baby?” sasha was grinning ear to ear, finding amusement in your flustered expression. “stop it, we’re just hanging out. i got his number in class this morning.”

“his number? oh, bitch.” sasha said, nudging your shoulder. “stop it! it’s nothing serious.. he’s probably trying to give me the benefit of the doubt.” you rolled your eyes, spraying on your perfume. “even down to the expensive perfume? practice safe sex!”

⎯⎯⎯⎯

“you got my shoes on, it’s like you’re reeling me in.” connie said with a smile, watching you walk in. “i wouldn’t say reeling..” you smiled back, sitting down at the table he was at. “whatever it is, it’s working. you look good.” he said, sending you another smile. god, he was so attractive. he knew that, though. it was clear he was using your crush on him to his advantage, not that you were complaining.

“so, you really don’t think i’m like, a stalker?” you asked, half joking as you sipped your drink. “no, i don’t think you’re a stalker. and even if you were a stalker, you’d be a pretty one.” connie replied, pretending he didn’t say what he just said. he knows what he’s doing, no doubt about that. he’d calculated his whole plan, down to his cologne, just for you.

“i’m happy you agreed to this, though, seriously.” connie says as he puts his phone down, maintaining eye contact with you. “did you think i wouldn’t?” you asked him, tilting your head to the side slightly. “i don’t know, maybe? maybe you just wanted the distance to stay the way it was.” he replied, a bit of uncertainty in his tone. “well, considering that i had a code name for you for three months, closing the distance was the whole point.”

#aot #aot x black reader #nya writes #attack on titan #aot x reader #black writblr #aot fanfiction #connie x black reader #connie aot #connie attack on titan #codename : connie #connie x reader #snk connie #connie snk #connie springer #connie smut

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starflungwaddledee · 7 months

Note

Okay you gave me permission so now it's time to go fully autistic

*inhale*

So something I'm really interested in (mostly for my Bandee x Marx bias) is that comic with Marx and Bandee interacting, like, what's their relationship in this au, how'd they get to that point and heck, what was even happening? also it kinda seems like Bandee may be the main guy in this au or is just really important which makes me happy as Bandee isn't treated the best by Nintendo at all (hell, Sakrai said he didn't add Bandee into smash because he didn't like him) so seeing Bandee get the spotlight always brings me joy

And about the Meta and Galacta comic, it seems like Bandee plays a factor here too, with the mention of him being what gets the most reaction out of Meta and that makes sense because canonically Bandee is the weakest of the four and most likely to die quite easily, so it would make sense for the others to be protective of him

ALSO META BEING SEALED AWAY AND GALACTA SAYING HE'LL TAKE GOOD CARE OF, I'M ASSUMING BANDEE, DOES THAT MEAN GALACTA TAKES META'S PLACE??? HELLO???

anyway hi im really invested and also your art is fucking astounding

hell yea, fully autistic! the best kind of message! thank you also for the sweet words about my artwork ahhh! but hoo boy isn't this The Ask Ever. okay, let's get into it!

Bandee is, i think maybe obviously, my most specialist little guy ever and everything i make is likely about him in one way or another. so you're correct that he is indeed the main guy in both these AUs; he is the central protagonist which i think he deserves!!

(but he does also go through the angst blender a bit, just like... a warning. i adore happy endings but before that i do tend to meat-grind my faves pretty well in the drama machine.)

clockwork heart is actually a spin-off of awtdy (we do a little AU-ception in my household) which is our* primary au. (*a lot of my au work and headcanons are fleshed out very collaboratively with my girlfriend! the initial concept for awtdy was her idea, which i then very meanly shoved my bandee-important agenda into lmao)

awtdy sets this basic alternate world-state: during the Haltmann invasion, Galacta Knight defeats Meta Knight in battle and makes a wish on Star Dream to trade places.

this causes all sorts of terrible fun problems for everybody and basically gives rise to a bad timeline that a lot of folks do not come out of intact (rip floralia)

the Meta Knight vs Galacta Knight comic covers an important turning point in the story, where Meta Knight lets slip that he cares about Bandee the way he cares for Kirby. Meta Knight has an especially strong reaction to this for two reasons:

one is because, as you said, of the three remaining heroes Bandee is the most vulnerable-- seasoned and experienced fighter he may be, but against someone like Galacta Knight? 💦 he's still ultimately just a mortal dude. this obviously puts him at terrible risk, because Galacta Knight also considers him far more expendable than Kirby.

"i'll take good care of him" is transparently a threat and not actually... you know, kind.

secondly is because (unbeknownst to Galacta Knight) Bandee uniquely remembers Meta Knight. he knows that the timeline is screwed up and Galacta Knight is not meant to be there, and is actively working to rescue his real dad mentor. Meta Knight knows that if he's found out, Galacta Knight won't hesitate to kill him.

suffice to say the guilt of this would drive him capital i Insane!

as for the Marx "hurt like hell" comic, I am actually sorry to have to tell you that that scene is their first ever interaction in this au! 😂 in this alternate version of the story Marx is also aware of the timeline fuckery (due to his existence as an eldritch, temporal little creature) and he tracks Bandee down late in the game with a risky trade offer; which Bandee refuses. that's what's pictured in the comic!

it goes on for quite a long ways after that; though I don't know if it'll tickle your ship dynamic quite right because Marx is mildly antagonistic towards Bandee (and everyone) the whole time. so while they are cursed to be Stuck Together By The Narrative they are not really close or even particularly friendly.

they do indeed interact in it quite a lot, and I personally think Marx would gladly shoot his shot if he was offered it; but Bandee is neck-deep in a different ship for the entirety of awtdy and is especially miserable/pining as hell throughout clockwork heart.

but that's okay because Bandee is, uh-- totally fine!! he's normal. he's fine. he's very very fine and things will be very very okay.

#hopefully this last lil doodle is not too dark?#wanted to give u something for your marxdee needs bc i feel like i'm letting a fellow bandee rarepair shipper down 😭#watch me skirt actually dropping my rarepair tho. even rarer than marxdee apparently!#anyway thank you so so much for this ask and your interest?! blew my mind that anyone cared even a little bit about the stuff i'm making <3 #my art #bandana waddle dee #awtdy au #clockwork heart au #asks #cw angst #cw blood

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holdupjack · 9 months

Text

Young Woman

——————

Pairing: Hermione Granger x Fem!Reader

WARNING: None, just fluff

——————

Third Person P.O.V:

Hermione sat outside on a bench near the trail towards Hogsmeade, her hair blowing in the spring wind as pollen stuck onto her skin.

"So, Y/n invited you to a group study session at the library?" Ron asks as he popped a bit of chocolate into his mouth, he sat on the ground next to her knees as Harry read a book with his head in her lap, his legs touching the ground over the edge of the wooden bench.

"Yes, tomorrow at three" she responded, to which the boys shared a knowing look between them.

"What were those looks for?" Hermione asks and Ron turned to her with a raised eyebrow, almost surprised that she didn't already know what they were poking fun about.

"When are you going to admit your feelings to Y/n, the sweet, and kind Slytherin who you swoon and gawk every chance you get" he teases, to which she smacked the back of his head as a response.

"How would you want me to do that? Announce it in front of the entire study group-"

"Oh Y/n, won't you take me into your arms and tell me how smart you think I am." Ron continues with a high-pitched impression of Hermione, which made Harry cover his face with his book to hide the grin plastered on it.

Y/n has always complimented Hermione on her intelligence, which made the boys roll their eyes whenever their best friend turned into a flustered mess because of it.

Ron thought Y/n did it on purpose.

Harry thought...Harry didn't think much, but he was cute, so no one minded.

"This is rich coming from the guy who lost his chance with Fleur to his older brother" Hermione hums, to which Harry burst out into laughter about. Ron turned to her with a sour look and hit Harry in the shoulder to shut him up.

"Shut up! Both of you!" He grumbles as he looked back at the castle, which had Hippogriffs flying happily near it.

"Honestly Hermione, when are you going to tell her?" Harry asks as he bookmarked his page and rested it on his chest.

Hermione looked down at him and sighed, not sure if her fancy for the girl was even worth pursuing. She had heard the whispers around the school about why the very eligible and likable bachelorette hadn't made a move on the many girls that had asked her out.

She had politely declined them all, saying that she was working up the courage to ask the woman she liked.

That's where the fangirls started to ponder questionable conclusions as to why they were rejected.

"She said 'woman', do you think she likes someone older? Maybe a grown woman?"

Hermione couldn't help but roll her eyes at their observation, Y/n had told her it was nothing like that. She just didn't see a 'girl' when she looked at her romantic interest, she saw a beautiful young woman.

When the Gryffindor pestered her about just asking her herself, Y/n suddenly got very red in the face and explained that she would in time.

They sounded like they were in the same boat.

Maybe it was just Hermione's insecurities, but she was terrified to make a complete and utter fool of herself if Y/n declined her offer.

"I don't know, maybe soon?" she replies and Harry hummed as he opened his book again and crossed one leg over the other.

"Rejection isn't that bad, I mean, Ron has been let down four times this week" Harry states and Ron sighed as he stuffed his face with the last of his chocolate.

"And look at him, you think he is the pinnacle of mental wellness?" Hermione asks as Ron turned to her with an 'I'm literally right here' look on his face.

"Sorry, but it's true" she mumbles as she patted his head, to which he swatted it away in annoyance.

"You know what, I'm going to go ask out Lavender Brown! Screw both of you!" Ron huffs as he stood up and walked away, Hermione hums as he got further away from them.

"Do you think he knows that she's dating Pansy Parkinson?"

"Nope"

——————

Next Day

Hermione made her way towards the Library, her books stuffed into her bag as she quickly ran down the stairs to the central hall, almost getting bumped into the fountain as she pushed her way towards one of the doors.

She was surprised to find Y/n waiting at one of the entrances, their eyes meeting as a shared smile broke out on both of their lips.

"What are you doing out here?" Hermione asks as Y/n eyes seemed to soften at her question.

"Blaise, Pansy, Draco, and Cedric all bailed on us. Seems like you and I are about to rub elbows all afternoon" Y/n joked as she opened the door for Hermione. The Gryffindor chuckled and gave a quiet 'thank you' as she made her way down and into the Library.

"We do that anyways" Hermione whispers as she began to lead Y/n to their regular spot on the second floor.

"That is true, I just enjoy hanging out with my favorite witch too much" she whispers into her ear as they passed the librarian, Hermione felt goosebumps rise on her skin as Y/n backed away.

Y/n and Hermione have been glued to hip since the first year, complementing each other better than Hermione and the boys.

Even Harry and Ron knew that Y/n was Hermione's number one and vice versa, and that was before her growing fancy emerged in the third year.

Speaking about the third year, Hermione still remembers the simple sentence that Y/n uttered that caught her like hooked fish.

It was a day that Hermione had been teased by the other girls about not having a boy/girlfriend yet. This was ridiculous in retrospect, but when you're 13/14 and just trying to fit in, anything sounds reasonable.

Y/n had found her in a broom closet, trying to hide the tears that fell from her eyes. The Slytherin stepped in, letting the natural sunlight seep into the small space, she took a seat on the ground next to Hermione.

A boy had rejected her in a mean way that very same day, calling her a stuck-up teacher's pet, and saying that no one would want to be with a girl who couldn't even comb her hair correctly.

Y/n wrapped an arm around Hermione's shoulders and began talking about how that boy would probably date a stick of tree bark. Which made the Gryffindor chuckle at the image in her mind, but what she next made Hermione get stuck in her web.

"Well, I like everything about you! I think you're hair and personality are a perfect fit in my life, and I can't see why he doesn't see it either?"

It was a simple compliment, but hearing that everything about yourself was somebody's favorite thing, would make any young teenage girl smitten.

From that day on, Hermione had found herself easily flustered at Y/n's flirty behavior as they got older. The nicknames didn't help either.

'My favorite witch'

'Mione Bear'

'Granger Danger'

All of them made her stomach squeeze and twist into knots as their days together seemed to grow shorter.

They graduate next year after all.

Maybe the boys were right, it was most definitely now or never.

As they sat down in their usual spot, Y/n pulled out her History book and yawned, making Hermione chuckle.

"Bored already?" she asks and Y/n sighs rubbing her temples.

"If I hadn't put off this class for so long, id be in pure bliss right now" Y/n mumbled as she opened the page she had bookmarked on her History homework.

"Sometimes I wish I could just graduate with what I know now, but you know what they say" as she began to write down some important topics.

"If you refuse to learn your history, you're doomed to repeat it" Hermione replies as Y/n hums in agreement, they soon fall into silence and a rhythm as the sounds of rustling paper and writing filled the space between them.

An hour must have gone by before Hermione slowed down her pace and looked back at Y/n. Her eyebrows were furrowed in concentration as her face glows from the candlelight near them.

She watched as her fingers followed each sentence she read, her lips silently mouthing what it said. Hermione could almost tell what she was saying, but only got bits and pieces about the student that saved Hogwarts from a Goblin named Ranrock.

Y/n suddenly looked back at her, but instead of having a look of curiosity for her stare, she instead gave Hermione that devilish smirk that she had come to admire more than most people.

"You seem entranced?" Y/n whispers as Hermione felt her tongue crack from dryness, and her eyes widen slightly.

"I...uh"

Her voice slipped from her as if her throat were an ice rink, and Y/n just chuckled at the Gryffindor's awestruck expression

"What's on your mind, Granger Danger?" She asks as her quill was set down on the table, her attention now solely focused on Hermione.

Hermione knew that she talked too much and that her conversation bored most that weren't close to her. Even the boys had a habit of zoning out when she got on a rant about something.

But.

Y/n always kept her eyes on Hermione when she began to speak, while everyone else partly listened as they multitasked with something else.

Maybe this was part of the reason she found herself enthralled by the Slytherin, wishing for Y/n to whisper in her ear that she only wanted her.

"You know what Hermione?" She asks suddenly, as the Gryffindor felt her pupils resize as she came out of the deep end of her thoughts.

"Yes?" She replies.

"I think you're an extraordinary young woman"

They stare at one another, as their eyes both held the reflection of a dancing candlelight flame that floated between them.

"You could have said 'girl'." Hermione whispers, testing the waters in case it wasn't what she thought.

Y/n leaned in towards the middle of the table, and rested her chin in her palm, her eyes overtaken by the candle flame.

"That's true, but you're more than a girl in my eyes" she whispers back, which made Hermione sit up straight at the confession that went unnoticed by passersby.

Hermione saw their personal bubbles merge into one as a smile slowly broke onto both of their faces. The Gryffindor looked down a moment to gather her thoughts, and after a quick breath to calm her nerves, she spoke.

"Then would you like to go get a butter beer with me as...more than friends? Maybe tomorrow after class?" Hermione asks as Y/n hummed and nodded over to the doorway of the library.

"Why not now? I don't think I can stand another day filled with us pretending to be friends" Y/n replies with a grin matching the girls across from her.

They quickly gathered their things and scurried out of the Library, soft laughter shared between them as they emerged into the main hall.

Harry and Draco sat on the edge of the fountain, discussing their upcoming Quidditch match against each other.

They were surprised to be randomly given a bookbag from the girls in their houses, who both quickly said something about 'return to my room' and 'going to get butterbeer'.

The boys didn't even get a word in as the two ran off whispering to each other about something that no one else was allowed to know.

"She actually did it" Harry mumbled as they placed the bags next to their feet and looked at one Draco.

"It's amazing, isn't it? How two people could be so obviously in love with each other, but were too nervous to ask one another" the blonde replies to which Harry hummed.

"Yeah...amazing"

A moment is shared between them. They averted their gazes as a soft shade of maroon dusted their cheeks.

Hermione held her own dust of red as Y/n began to whisper her true honest feelings for the young woman beside her. Of course, Hermione admitted her own as the walked the trail towards the village.

They walked shoulder to shoulder as their hands dared to entangle, yet they restrained themselves.

"Y/n, when did you realize you felt the same?"

"That day in the broom closet, when the sun shined in your eyes and showed me a color of brown that I would never be able to replicate"

"Brown isn't a very pretty color"

"Yet on you? You'd make Francisco Goya beg to paint with the same color"

Hermione felt like the center of the universe as Y/n spoke such compliments to her.

The night was spent at The Three Broomsticks, the both of them on the second floor huddled in the corner, as they shared every thought that came to mind. Good and bad.

When they finally did get back to the castle, they stood near the staircase towards the Gryffindor entryway.

Again they whispered.

Maybe it was just nerves, or maybe they were afraid that if they talked too loud, this would all be a dream they would reluctantly wake up from.

As their night came to an end, Y/n pressed a small kiss to the Gryffindor's cheek as a goodbye. Hermione chased after her own. Then Y/n did the same again.

Each peck got closer to one other until they sealed their night with one dreamed-about kiss. It only lasted a few seconds, but it felt like blissful eons to them.

When they moved away from one another, their faces looked as if they had replaced their head with a tomato.

With another goodbye and smiles that reached the corn or of their eyes, Y/n descend to the Slytherin corridor. Hermione watched her until she disappeared, even waiting a minute in case she came back.

When she realized that she was good to go to her own Common Room, you could imagine her shock when her entire House friend group was waiting inside for her.

Same with Y/n.

The boys had accidentally told everyone.

'Accidentally'...really?

A saint could lie better than them.

The girls were bombarded with questions and congratulations, while they looked like deers in headlights.

Hermione answered as little as she could while Y/n tried to just go to bed, but of course, they were coaxed out with the details as their closest friends cornered them.

As they gave the sweet details of their night out, people celebrated and swooned at the things they shared with one another.

Y/n's friends called them an old married couple while Hermione's said they were in their honeymoon phase already,

The girls wore matching grins as they thought about the days that would come for them, wondering if they would step farther into this new territory.

Thankfully, they did.

#harry potter #hermione granger #hermione granger x reader #lesbian #fanfiction #fanfic

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