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jaembun · 4 months

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this moment with you.

unstoppable force (opening shift) vs immovable object (sleepy boyfriend mark) ！⠀⸻⠀mark lee x gnr ⠀ fluff est. rs ⠀ wc 1.4k ⠀ now playing . . ☆

생각⠀blonde mark gmfu he’s literally the love of my life

the sound of your phone’s alarm had never been a particularly welcome thing, but that morning the harsh vibrations coming from where it lay face-down against the wood of the bedside table seemed to irritate you more than usual.

a flailing hand of yours reached clumsily up to grab the device, hoping you wouldn’t drop it and risk waking up the boy still currently sleeping behind you, with his arms wrapped snugly around your stomach and a leg lazily tossed over your hip. once it had been successfully stopped you flopped onto your back to stare up at the ceiling, contemplating whether you really wanted to get to your opening shift on time or if you could get away with staying in bed just a little while longer.

the sudden thought of your manager’s condescending questions about where you’d been when you finally turned up, however, was enough to put a sour look on your face and act as the incentive to make you peel back the duvet and gently extract yourself from mark’s arms.

which, as it turned out, was a decision that almost immediately was met with objections from your boyfriend. while you were busying yourself with finding clothes to wear for the day he had seemed to sense the distinct absence of you in his arms (despite the pillow you’d hastily replaced yourself with) and made a whiny noise of displeasure, catching your attention. you couldn’t help but crack a smile at how unaware he still looked of everything, hardly opening his eyes but pouting all the same, face red from the warmth you’d shared, and a mark on his cheek that looked suspiciously like the pattern on the collar of the sweater you’d worn to bed to sleep in (nights were cold in december, after all, and the heating in mark’s apartment could use some work to say the least).

“hey, sleepyhead.” you hummed, taking a few quick moments to debate with yourself over which shirt to wear. “i’m opening, so i gotta run. you’ve got your day off today, though, so why don’t you go back to sleep?”

he only groaned again in answer, and you snickered as you left him to complain into the sheets while you ducked into the en suite bathroom to wash up. when you returned you found that mark had not in fact gone back to sleep, and was instead trying to blink himself awake—the opposite of what you wanted.

“don’t want you t’go.” were his first words of the morning, voice still a touch gravelly from sleep. you tried to hold back your laughter when he only became more indignant as he continued. “i hate your job. for real.”

that made you laugh as you struggled mildly with the fiddly buttons of your shirt, seeing as your job in question was a relatively harmless convenience store gig. “coming from kpop idol mark lee himself? i don’t think i’m as bad as this whenever you’re on tour.”

a blatant lie, but you hoped it would sneak past him in his half-asleep state. you were just as bad whenever he had to leave early (or late—it seemed the idol life didn’t have much consideration for whatever their stars may be doing in the times they called on them) for schedules, and probably worse whenever he was away in different countries performing to millions.

thankfully mark didn’t notice the untruth, only huffing in annoyance before making a motion alike to grabby hands in your direction, beckoning you back over to the bed. “c’mere. please?”

“so clingy,” you teased, running a hand through his blonde hair as you complied to his wishes and sat down to tug some socks on. “what would your work husbands say about this?”

“screw my work husbands.” he mumbled, bleary eyes finally opening fully (albeit slowly) as he took the opportunity to ditch the pillow he’d been reluctantly hugging in place of you and snake his arms around your waist again. his tone melted into the whine it’d been when you’d first left the bed, fingertips curling into the fabric of your shirt and syllables dragging on when he spoke. “why d’you have to go? it’s cold without you, and my bed’s too big for just me.”

“woe is you,” you deadpanned, reaching down to gently pry his palms off of you. but before you let him go completely you pressed a quick kiss against the cold metal of the rings adorning his fingers that he’d forgotten to take off the night prior. a giddy-sounding noise bubbled out of mark at the sensation, and you bit your lip to stop a smile spreading across your face, one that would make you look so obviously in love it be would be embarrassing.

the bed creaked as you stood, and you found your eyes drifting from cabinet to cabinet, the open wardrobe to the (near overflowing) box you crammed all your jewelry into. if there was just one more thing you could add to your look, one more ring to slide onto your fingers or a last minute change change of your shirt, then maybe you could linger a little longer.

stay with mark a little longer.

you didn’t know who you were fooling with your nonchalant act, because it certainly wasn’t yourself. you wanted to crawl back into bed with him just as much as he did, wrap your arms around his waist and drink in the warm feeling of his skin and faint smell of his cologne.

a second glance at your phone told you that wouldn’t be allowed, though, so you turned to say goodbye to the boy currently led right where you’d rather be. it took less than a second to meet his gaze, finding his large brown eyes already staring up at you, cheek squished and held up by one of his palms.

it tugged at your resolve, a sudden feeling clutching at your heart so fiercely it was all you could do not to melt through the floor. what you did instead was let yourself indulge, leaning down to place a kiss on his lips instead. the curve of his grin pressed against your skin and the warmth of his hands skirting up to hold your arm as you cupped his face was a comfort, the tingling feeling it still gave you even after all the months you’d been together refusing to fade even after you pulled yourself away; far too aware of what you knew would happen if you let yourself get too caught up.

mark was still looking at you when you straightened up again, like you held the whole world in your eyes, and you poked his cheek in a weak attempt to get him to stop. your heart was going to beat itself out of its chest if he didn’t. when that didn’t work you turned to a verbal reprimanding, although your tone was anything but scolding—instead unbearably fond, mirth dripping through your every word.

“stop looking at me all gooey. i might start to think you like me, or something.”

his lips curved into a pout, the hand supporting his cheek falling back onto the mattress and words coming out muffled as he spoke half-buried in the soft pillow underneath his head.

“i do like you. i love you, actually. and you’re leaving me cold in bed.”

you rolled your eyes at his continued dramatics despite the smile on your face and your own obvious want to stay, avoiding looking back at him in place of shoving things you thought you’d need for the day in your bag because you knew one more pleading look from mark would make you give in. “and you know i love you too. i’ll be back later, baby. then we can laze around all you want, promise.”

“m’holding you to that.”

his words were interrupted by a yawn, and when you’d finally gotten all your things together and stole one last glance at your boyfriend you found him with eyes that were now struggling to stay open again, blinking slowly and remaining closed for longer each time. you huffed a laugh and opened the door with as little noise as possible so not to disturb him from slipping back into slumber, stopping before you stepped through to pull a stupid sappy smile at the sight of the thin streams of sunlight pouring in to paint mark’s sleeping body gold as his chest rose and fell with each breath.

“see you later, yeah?” were your last whispered words before you gently closed the door behind you and left your lover in peace.

you hoped he’d still be right there lazing around in the warmth of the duvet when you came back home, ready for you to collapse onto and fall right back asleep with. the only good thing about leaving at all was knowing you could come back to mark at the end of it.

#⠀⠀⏖ works ⊹ ᶻ ⁺⠀⠀#⠀⠀마크 ⠀ ♪⠀⠀#mark lee #mark lee x reader #mark x reader #nct dream x reader #nct dream fluff #mark i miss u and i love u #stream never lose me we love u flo milli!!!!

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okimnerdy · 4 months

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Trolls Headcannons

(BROZONE Edition)

[Hi yes. Welcome to another fixation.]

•The brothers got out of the troll tree BEFORE it got caged in by the Bergens. They only heard about the outer trolls being hunted, but never thought it would make it to the main settlement. All of them believed that Branch and Grandma were still alive.

•The brothers knew of other genres of music, even dabbling into a few of them. JD and Clay enjoyed techno and funk. Bruce enjoyed classical. Floyd enjoyed rock. No one really fancied country music.

John Dory

°JD felt like the group had to be perfect and loved due to their parents. Their parents (before they got "chosen" or before leaving after the last kid was born) had a wish-wash way of parenting, only giving positive attention when the boys did something of merit.

°JD acted more like a parent than a brother, assigning roles he felt fit his brothers in order to give them a better foothold in their life and career in the group. He blamed himself if they didn't seem to succeed.

° JD hasn't truly showered in like 10 years. Man is a "water's clean" kind of guy, and was promptly held down by his brothers for a cleaning. Rhonda helped by essentially being a pressure washer.

°JD found Rhonda as a baby pill bug and didn't expect her to get so big. He felt a little bad decorating her once she was big enough to house him, fearing that he was hurting her.

Bruce

°Bruce let go of his ripped image because of Brandi's cooking. This man fell in love with her food THEN her. He felt at ease with her, especially since she didn't know Brozone.

°Bruce grew his hair out for his little girl to play with since her brothers won't. He lets her put little braids and clips in from time to time, and he wears them proudly.

Clay

°Clay tried to go back for Branch during the escape, but got caught in a wave of escaping trolls. After seeing the collapsed tunnels, he believed that his family got out safely even though he never truly knew for nearly 20 years.

°Clay made it to other Troll settlements and became a CPA after leaving Brozone and before he attempted to go back.

°Clay bonded with Viva over the loss of family due to the split™. He would share all these stories about Branch and she would try to do the same for Poppy, even though she was barely a year old when they got separated.

°Clay's little admin hut actually is bigger on the inside. He dug out a little living space underneath to hold his bed, desk, and a small kitchenette. Its like his own little bunker.

Floyd

°Floyd did a self-discovery journey through the other genres. He hung around the rock and country trolls the longest due to them being more land-based tribes, even though country trolls don't particularly like visitors.

°Floyd made a name for himself in the indie scene, eventually making his way to Mount Rageous where he had a new contract in the works. He had hoped this small push would bring his family back.

°Floyd suffers from muscle spasms and PTSD after his time in the bottle. Branch was kind enough to help develop a wheelchair and other mobility aids for him to use in the jungle gym called Pop Village.

°Floyd experiences fatigue easier. One of the brothers is always ready to be a pillow or a helping hand when he needs to rest. Poppy goes to him when she wants to know what else the village can do for others like him.

Branch

°Branch's muted color is due to his many years in the gray. He still feels the effects of the fight™ and grandma's capture, and personally blames himself from time to time. He leans on Poppy and his brothers who assure him that things are okay. No one really knows if he'll fully get back to his bright blue.

°Branch kept an item from each brother, even if they don't know it. They're buried somewhere in storage. He only wears Floyd's vest cause he missed him the most and held no animosity to him.

°Branch knows exactly how to deal with his nephews and niece when their energy gets too high because of Poppy. Sometimes, he'll ask her to help since she already teaches the younger trolls in the village.

<<prev || next>>

#trolls band together #trolls brozone #trolls john dory #trolls branch #trolls bruce #trolls clay #trolls floyd #trolls headcanons #trolls world tour #trollstopia #trolls the beat goes on #trolls movie

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honeysuckleharringtons · 6 months

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"Star Boy" ~ B. Hargrove

Summary: When Billy and Reader go for a late-night drive, the stars are just too beautiful to not stop and gaze at them.

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x GN!Reader (R wears a skirt though)

Word Count: 1,043

Content Warnings: a mild sexual joke, i think that's it? unless you count Billy being very out of character lol

Extra Notes: this is kind of rushed because i simply don't know to write a Billy fic lol, i hope you guys enjoy regardless of my crappy writing!

Originally Written: 10/24/2023 through 10/25/2023

honeysuckleharringtons masterlist can be found here!

halloweek masterlist can be found here!

The windows were down and the radio was cranked up, the cool October breeze surrounding you like the perfect weighted blanket.

Billy's left hand was settled on the steering wheel, the other placed affectionately in yours. He hummed along to the AC/DC track playing in the stereo, a sound that was, quite literally, music to your ears. You'd always told him he should join a band, but he simply insisted that he didn't want to, since you were the only girl he wanted fawning over him.

His fingers tapped against the leather of the steering wheel, the noise bringing a strange sense of comfort to you. It was truly nights like these that you lived for. No matter how many late night drives you and Billy went on, no matter how many ten p.m. trips to 7-Eleven you took together, you'd truly never get your fill.

Billy spoke up abruptly, breaking you from your thoughts as you watched the passing trees. "You wanna do something fun and a little bit illegal?"

You raised an inquisitive brow in his direction. "Are you trying to get Neil to kill me or you?" you questioned, though internally curious about where this was going.

"Don't worry about him. If we play our cards right, he'll never know," he said. He lifted your hand to his lips, leaving a gentle—and somewhat persuasive—kiss over the soft skin of your knuckles.

It didn't take much to have you agreeing, and soon, he'd whipped the car in a different direction, heading toward what you could only assume was the middle of nowhere, given the sheer amount of trees surrounding the vehicle.

A few minutes later, he was putting the car in park and hopping out, jogging over to your side to grab the door. Once again, Billy was taking your hand in his, this time leading you over to what appeared to be a tall, white fence. The moonlight sparkled along the wood and on the fresh green grass, and you soon realized exactly where he was leading you.

"Why are we at the country club?" you whispered, almost anticipating for someone to catch you.

"You'll see," he simply answered before his hands were distracting you, grabbing you by the waist. "Come here, I'll give you a boost up."

"As long as you don't try to look up my skirt," you scolded, a defensive finger pointing at his face.

"I would only look up your skirt if I was given proper consent first."

You mumbled something sarcastic about him clearly being a gentleman before he was hoisting you up on his shoulders. Billy practically tossed you over the fence like a sack of potatoes, leaving you to wonder just how many pounds he was bench pressing at the gym.

The sight on the other side of the fence had you nearly in tears. A blanket was spread across the luscious grass, the moon shining on the lake beside it. Pillows and unlit candles surrounded the area, and your heart flipped at the sight. "Billy," you simply said, a thousand emotions hidden in the word.

"Do you like it?" he asked, joining you behind the fence.

"I love it," you smiled through teary eyes. You all but pulled him toward the blanket, though you were internally curious as to why he was being so romantic all of a sudden.

He moved around a couple of the pillows to make the space more comfy for the both of you, instructing you to lie back on the cushions. "I thought we could go stargazing. You've always told me you wanted to see a shooting star. Air's supposed to be clearer on this side of town."

And so, the two of you lay back on the blanket, your hand in his as he began to point out various constellations and shapes. Though, the beauty of the Big Dipper had nothing on the sparkle in Billy's eyes as he explained the stars to you.

The two of you examined each speck of light for hours, conversation barely ceasing as Billy pointed out every detail of Orion's Belt, every line of Andromeda. Your heart warmed at the sight, remembering how hard of a time he'd had adjusting to his cross-country move. Now, he'd found something about Hawkins that made him happy, and your heart swooned at that.

"Promise me something, Billy?" you said suddenly, rubbing soft lines on the back of his hands where your fingers met.

He turned to face you, messy curls framing his face as the moon shone down on those cerulean eyes you'd fallen in love with. "What's that?"

"Never lose that sparkle you have when you talk about this stuff?"

He snickered before pulling you up for a kiss, the taste of cherry slushie prominent on both of your mouths. "Don't go sappy on me now."

"I can't help it," you huffed in amusement. "You bring it out of me. You're like a puppy or something. I can't help but find you adorable."

His eyes narrowed in on you, clearly not amused at your words. "I don't know what they put in your slushie, but I think you need your eyes checked because I am not as cute as a puppy."

"You keep telling yourself that, you big golden retriever in black cat's clothing," you said, eliciting another deep chuckle from the man. "You still haven't promised, by the way."

In one swift motion, he was grabbing your body and pulling you down on him, eyes filled with love as he looked up at your squealing form. "I promise."

"You have to say the whole thing."

Billy held up a finger, drawing a 't' shape over the pocket of his tee shirt. "I, William Neil Hargrove, will never lose my sparkle. Cross my heart and hope to die."

"Now, was that so hard?" you giggled, placing a soft kiss on his cheek.

"Yes, it was," he grumbled. "But I love you, so savor it because I'm not doing it again."

You rested your head on his hard chest, his scent and feel enveloping you like a bubble, made to keep away anyone or anything else from just the two of you. "I suppose I'll take it, star boy."

-> taglist: @ducky-is-dead-inside @awkotaco24 @liberhoe @hereiamhereigo @esoltis280

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norrisreads · 10 months

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Photograph #MS47

PAIRING: mick schumacher x reader

SUMMARY: scrolling through photos, you’ve found some photos that holds great memory and can’t help but to reminisce the moment

WARNING: FLUFF! the cutest and shortest fic i’ve written 😭💗

FC: sooyaaa__ on ig

Masterlist

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

you are the type of person who’d rather have tons of pictures of your love ones rather than yourself and being that type of person means you’d have to transfer pictures regularly to clear up space.

films and dslr wasn’t really ideally for you as you’ve never really taken photography as something you’d think of doing it for life but rather just taking pictures as a memory.

here you are laying on your bed, head laid on the headboard and your phone being supported by your pillow looking through your gallery, you were given a week break off school and since icloud have been notifying that your storage has been used up, you guessed it’s time for your monthly delete session.

the first picture, you got to was a picture of you celebrating with mick’s family on Christmas. Your family weren’t that big on celebrating Christmas, as someone who’s been born to a family with no siblings, it can be quite lonely sometimes and mick thought it’ll be a great idea for you to celebrate christmas with his family.

Corinna, Michael, Gina and you were close, you would sometimes pay them a visit when school hadn’t really taken a huge stress of you. Days when mick would go for his race, you’d be there standing alongside with his family and seeing his face in search of you and his face automatically brighten up once he sees you was something you’d enjoy seeing.

You aren’t a huge dog lover, especially when you grew up with 2 tabby cats, named after your favourite characters last name, reid and green. When you first met angie, it took quite a convincing from mick for you to be close to angie, but the more you came over the more angie had taken a liking to you.

The photo was one of the core memory, and a photo you’d always love to talk about because that was the moment between mick and you was something you will always treasure.

Then a photo of mick walking through the streets of japan with you were found. It was rare for you to be there for him in races, and when you told him that you’ve decide to accompany him to the Asia races because it was closer to your home country and you’re able to make a quick stop to your home afterwards, he was happy and quickly booked tickets for you.

The stop to japan was the first ever time you had stepped foot in Japan, and with mick knowing this was your first ever visit, he wanted to make it extra special.

But with the flight being delayed, the both of you happened to reach around 10PM where most of the shops were closed or closing soon , so mick and you were casually taking walks nearby the hotel finding for food places that was open.

In the end the both of you settled on 7-eleven food.

Mick had taken multiple photos of you which of course was taken on his phone, one photo was captured with you posing along the streets.

“stand there babe, you look beautiful, let me take a photo”

mick took out his phone from his pockets, and signalled you a countdown and took the photo.

“perfect”

After scrolling through photos you’ve selected to transfer them to your thumb-drive, you’ve finally found the one photo that you’ve been trying to find.

A photo of mick during the afterparty of your wedding, it was held privately within close friends, family and of course drivers were invited. You had ask for Daniel to take photos for your wedding, and you could say he has a talent in it.

By the end of the day, Daniel dropped you a link that had 200+ photos of your wedding and you and mick had went through all the photos in one sitting in the living room of your new home.

You settled on a photograph of mick wearing a suit being nervous on walking down the altar and mick settled on a photograph of you in the wedding dress, because the moment mick saw you walking down the altar with the wedding dress on, he realised you’re the woman he would love to be with till the end.

“still transferring the photos?”

there he was, walking towards you with a hot chocolate and a bunch of marshmallows floating around, just the way you like it.

“yeah, my storage has given up on me, which means i’ll need to transfer more photos” you took a sip and placed it by your bedside.

“these are our wedding photos right? we have these photos hung, and it’s in the folder Daniel send us, you can just delete them away my love” mick said while looking at the photos that had successfully transferred to your laptop.

“that’s cruel, i love to have them on my phone. It’s a great memory mick, if i had the chance to marry you again, i will” you gave kisses to his cheeks which led to his ears getting redder

“it’s been a year since we got married and your ears still gets red when i kiss you, Mick Schumacher”

—✩࿐ end note: this fic is highly inspired by photographs by ed sheeran! Let me know what’s your take on it, i think this might be one of my favourites because i’m someone who takes a-lot of photos for memories 🤎

#f1 x reader #f1 fics #f1 x y/n #mick schumacher x reader #mick schumacher x you #mick schumacher #mick Schumacher x y/n #ms47 #f1 fluff #f1 drabble

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forthechubbies · 26 days

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I: Chill

Idol! Bangchan x Chubby Reader x Idol! Felix

🌸Kdrama Vibes, Magic, and Love Trangle🌸

The OG Drabble

00.1%, the point one percent is you.. Or at least that's how you feel being in a relationship with Bang Chan; you met him your vacation in Australia all the while he was reuniting with his beautiful family - Berry was actually the first member of the family you met. You heard slight growls followed by tugging you looked down at the poor puppy's leash tangled on the bench's legs.

She cutely whined before turning her eyes up to you for help.to which you happily help her. However; her owner wasn't to for behind her - that's where those big beautiful eyes of yours melt the poor man down to a giggling puddle.

In vice versa, you never stood a chance against his accent to his big pink nose matching his ears. His bashfullness paired with insane muscle mass made you see stars, manly yet gentle..

"Christopher." He said his name was..

Little did you know; A whole another world came along with him. He failed to tell you he's also bangchan; leader of SKZ - a wildly popular korean boyband. He basically fathers the members being so he trumps them in age. You found out quickly the age card is thrown around a lot in South Korea.

Sadly; Bang Chan told you all this overwhelming information the day you moved to Korea with him….It wasn’t the worse idea, he’s ever had.

With a fiery rage burning within, you bellowed at him, his tongue-in-cheek facade no longer amusing. "Why did you not consider informing me earlier? Was that not even a possibility? Or did you arrogantly decide this on your own?" The anger surged through you, threatening to unleash a torrent of tears. His fame meant nothing to you, but being trapped in a foreign land with no means of income of your own.

“I asked; you to move in with me. You said-“ Bangchan scoffed after feeling a slipper knock him upside his head. “ Well, That wasn’t very nice.” He sang picking up the slipper-“ You know violence doesn’t solve anything-“

“Chan, hold on to that thought!” You've already had enough of him today. However, here's the twist: you didn't even have a chance to speak before storming towards the entrance, grabbing your coat.

“And let me enlighten you, my dear! When a man proposes living together, it's typically within the same country, not a completely foreign one!” As you flung open the door and took a confident step forward, you anticipated solid ground beneath your foot, but oh boy, were you about to be shocked...

As you gasped, your delicate fingers clung desperately to his firm forearm, tightly wrapped around your waist. In that moment, you realized the true value of walking, a privilege you had taken for granted until the arrival of Christopher. It was an unexpected turn of events, for this was the first instance where he exerted his strength upon you.

With effortless grace, he effortlessly scooped you up, cradling you under his protective arm, and carried you back into the sanctuary of the house. However, as soon as you crossed the threshold of the door, he released his grip, allowing you to stand on your own once more.

When Bangchan turned from locking the door you were walking away towards the bedroom.."You can be upset in here not outside late at night!" He yelled in a deceptive tone as if he were trying his damnest to be gentle with you. " Your things should be arriving soon-"

Slam!!

" You're a kidnapper and a per-vert!" You opened the door to a blonde boy with freckles instead of your bastard of a boyfriend. You gasped, clutching the pillow quickly behind your back.

You can't believe him. When you agree to move in you didn't think it would be instant. you also didn't realize the home he was referring to was in South Korean to which he knows the language by heart!

Where was all this information hiding?

How dare he pretend that you're blowing this out of proportion when, in truth, it's an absolute nightmare to find employment in a foreign land that you have minimal knowledge about!

A weak knock presented itself to you. You sneered. Perfect timing; You eyed the nightgown he had prepared for you. Pretty modest yet graceful; a retro mini nightgown the lacey frills draped your gorgeously.

You marched to the door while snatching a pillow off the bed to smother your boyfriend....or die trying.

Instead of your wretched excuse of a boyfriend, you swung open the door to find a blonde boy with adorable freckles. Your heart skipped a beat as you gasped, hastily concealing the pillow behind your back.

This is how you met Yongbok (Felix).

....

The following morning brought the memories of yesterday with it. Christopher was still in hot water it only continued to boil as you realized you've been moved. You remember falling asleep on top of the covers yet you found yourself tucked in.

You smiled for a second. The thoughts of Channie being caring as usual even if you were willing to physically fight him. That's when the smile faded away upon hearing movement downstairs coming upstairs.

Thud!!

"Ouch!" A loud voice expressed his pain. " Why would follow me up at the same time,Jeongin!?"

"Ah!" Channie whispered loudly; "Binnie, be quiet." He turns to scold the boys with a look.

Binnie widen eyes at the scorn. " Me?! Why aren't you talking to him!? He almost tripped me up!" He cried, pointing to Jeongin who stands there amused by his hyungs anger.

"I know, I know, Binnie-Gin, quiet laughing at him. You'll make him angrier." Bangchan has enough on his plate already. "And stay quiet; please." The language was difficult to understand but pleasant to hear especially when you realized Chris's voice. You found yourself blushing.

The door latch clicking alarmed you to keep still as the boys entered.

They made sure to seat everything down gently before heading back out...so we thought.

I.N couldn't resist admiring your peaceful expression. "She's so beautiful," he whispered, giving a thumbs up in approval. Your heart fluttered as he moved closer, his hair gently grazing your cheek. "She smells just like Felix's favorite perfume."

"Shh!" Chan hissed, his voice barely a whisper as he clenched his jaw. "If you dare wake her up. Get out , right now."

As time stood still, a silence filled the air, broken only by the gentle descent of the bed beside you. A tremor ran through you as familiar lips brushed against yours." I love you...I know you hate me right now.." He confessed, tilting his head slightly. " Honestly, I deserve it. I'm a dog for telling you half truths." Bangchan's lips touched your cheek before he nestled his nose against your skin. "I don't even have the balls to tell you when you're awake."

Channie couldn't help but laugh when he saw your eyelashes fluttering. "I have to say, you're absolutely stunning when you're pissed...those curves as you walk away." He winced as you sat up abruptly to hit his chest, but he caught your wrist and drew you closer. "Well, good morning to you as well."

You yanked your wrist away from him. "You are the absolute worst-mmmhp!mmm" You struggled against his biceps and shoulders as his strong arms enveloped you. Channie's kiss remained intense and forceful until you finally let go of his shirt, surrendering to his soft, irresistible lips.

♡..♡♡..♡♡♡.♡.♡♡

Chan, observing your dazed expression, gently moved away. He laughed softly, looking into your eyes that were brimming with affection. "I need to leave briefly," He whispered, pulling you onto his lap and holding onto your plush waist. "But don't worry, lover, I'm always just a phone call away."

You subconsciously nod as he spoke something you developed as you started dating him. " I'm still mad." You stated, brushing your fingers across his jawline. " We need to talk-"

"I tried that and you almost left in the dead of night. "He spat out with an undeserved attitude, but you were quick to pick up on it.

"Oh I'm sorry. Was my reaction to you lying to me upsetting to you?" Your nose brushed against his."Well, Mr. Bangchan, Christopher, Channie or whoever you are-"

You sneered as his heavy hand caressed your ass, but he continued speaking as if his hands had a mind of their own. "I'm Christopher in English," he said, tongue in cheek. "In Korea, I go by Bangchan," he explained calmly.

Christopher lifts you up in his strong embrace, calling Channie a fresh experience. He gently places you back on the bed, calling you adorable and his sweet Cutie. With a sly wink, he leaves you breathless.

He ignored your anger again.

#poly skz #skz x chubby reader #skz fluff #skz x reader #skz imagines #skz smut #skz x y/n #bangchan imagines #bang chan series #bangchan x reader #bangchan x chubby reader

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heliads · 8 months

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can you make a nikolai lantsov x reader?? i've been thinking about one where reader was one of sturmhond's crew as a tidemaker and they were together for a long time, but when nikolai became king, the two separated because royalty had done too much harm to r family and she didn't want to become one of them (besides her being Grisha). maybe after RoW they finally talk and get back together??

yesss pirate!reader x nikolai my beloved

masterlist

If Nikolai Lantsov were to regret anything in his life, anything at all, it would be how he handled her. It’s not that he regrets her, he wants to make that clear. He couldn’t if he tried, and Nikolai has tried many times to get over her, to find some flaw out of an improbability of perfection so he might not feel as achingly heartbroken as he always does.

But when Nikolai lies awake at night, unable to sleep despite a gilded bedroom and dozens of lush pillows and luxurious blankets, the worries troubling his mind are not of a country to run, nor the endless cycles of politics constantly reinventing new problems to crush his world beneath his boot. No, he thinks of one woman. He thinks of you.

Before Nikolai was the latest Lantsov king, before he was a homeward bound prince, he was a boy, and a boy who wanted to run. A much younger Nikolai in body and spirit had signed onto a pirate ship the second his guards turned their backs. It was a terrible decision for a golden prince to make, but the best choice for the bastard who never wanted to see another silver spoon again unless he was stealing it.

When Nikolai was a young man, he determined that he would be the captain of a ship, and a captain always needs a crew he can depend on to carry him through thick and thin. Nikolai sailed to countless foreign shores, finding friends and enemies in oceans sapphire and stormy, cerulean and calm. He wore dashing waistcoats and ruined them with the blood of slashed throats. He blockaded and benefitted small towns with equal joy.

And, most importantly of all, Nikolai found his first mate. It is a difficult thing, of course, choosing someone who could be your successor. If he picked someone a little too captivating, he ran the risk that they could depose him in a mutiny. If he gave that spot to someone the crew hated, though, his leadership would be undermined all the same.

He was just starting to think it would be impossible to find the right sort of figure, and then this young woman he’d never met before had simply walked up and asked for it. Technically, it wasn’t such an easy meeting as that. She had actually stolen one of the rowboats off of his ship while it was tied to their ship in the harbor with her abilities as a Tidemaker, then used the water to ferry her over to him.

From anyone else, Sturmhond would consider that a punishable offense. However, the privateer in him was also a politician, and one used to fronts and facades at that. Nikolai looked at the woman in front of him and realized that she wasn’t looking to use him as an avenue for a coup to captainship. She’d done her research and figured out that he was the best captain to serve under, and was simply ensuring that she made a good impression.

There is nothing Nikolai can appreciate like a fine display of showmanship, so he’d accepted her acceptance of his non-offer and told her to move her belongings into the first mate’s cabin that night. The crew woke up to a new member, and they took to her as readily as Nikolai himself.

After that, it was easy. Nikolai skimmed over frothy waves and he had someone by his side, a proper companion. He has liked his crew heartily all this time, but Y/N– he likes Y/N even more. Saints, he loves her. It takes him a while to realize that, but he does. Once that knowledge is common to him, the fact that he could have felt anything else is nothing short of absurd.

He’d given her his name a long time ago. Part of it, at least. They’d been on night guard together one shadowy twilight and she’d begged him for some sort of name she could use. Sturmhond, although great for inspiring fear and leadership as he saw fit, wasn’t personal enough for a friend, and Captain was too formal. Nikolai had witnessed many years of his father forcing everyone to refer to him as the king and nothing more. Never will he force a title on anyone.

So he’d said Nik, she could call him Nik, and that was more than good enough. It feels like cheating, a little, to have her bypass his real name and go straight to the familiar nickname. If anyone could do it, though, it would be her. Captains aren’t supposed to have favorites among their crew, but this is Y/N, and he loves her, so she calls him Nik, and he– he lets it happen.

All this truth, this love, and he never told her who he was. Not by choice. How could he? Y/N hated the monarchy, and so did he. The elder Lantsovs did not treat Grisha kindly, only tolerating them in the confines of the Little Palace. There was nothing Nikolai could do to protect them, to protect her, half as well in Os Alta as he could as Sturmhond, so he kept it a secret.

You could call that selfishness. You would be correct in doing so. Nikolai did not tell Y/N he was a prince because he was terrified of how she would push him away. In the end, there was nothing he could do to avoid that. The Darkling called on his help in capturing Alina Starkov, and Nikolai revealed that last ace in his sleeve the night before he was to dock in Ravka and personally escort the Sun Saint and her friends back to Os Alta.

He will never forget how Y/N had looked at him when she finally learned what he was, not as long as he shall live. He had asked her to come to his office, to lock the door so no one could hear. Y/N has been host to a great many of his secrets, good and bad and terrible, so she thought she could handle just one more.

She was wrong. Nikolai stood before her, and said, “I am the son of the king.”

She’d laughed, actually, but that had dried up when she realized he wasn’t joking. “No. You can’t be serious. All this time we’ve been out here, and you haven’t told me? You would have told me.”

Her eyes were desperate, pleading. Y/N L/N is one of the finest pirates Nikolai ever had the pleasure of meeting. He’s seen her go into no-luck gunfights with a grin on her face, and now she looks like all of her luck has finally run out. How awful, that he would be the one to finally crush her spirit underfoot.

“I knew you wouldn’t like it,” he tries to explain.

Y/N shakes her head. “No. I don’t like it when Tolya borrows my knives to slice fruit. I don’t like it when we stay in small towns too long. Nik, it’s not that I don’t like it that you’re a royal. It’s that you’ve betrayed me. You know how the Lantsov kings have treated Grisha, how they’ve treated anyone who isn’t an elite.”

It occurs to Nikolai that this might be how he loses her, in truth. “Y/N, please. We can change everything. Why do you think I came out here in the first place? I want to help Ravka. I want to help my people. Just come with me. We can do it together.”

She waves her hand dismissively. “No. I don’t want to be one of them.”

Not like he is, at least. Nikolai is endlessly, ineffably them, but she doesn’t have to be. She’s safe from them. From him. “Y/N. I love you, and I want you with me. Please, come to Os Alta with me.”

She turns to him abruptly, eyes violent. “No. That’s final, Nik.”

Ah. So it ends. And so Nikolai had gone to bed alone, heart a bitter mess of hurt, and he had disembarked from his ship with Alina and Mal and the rest. He had taken them to Os Alta, he had reclaimed his position on the throne, and all the while, he knew that he would never want anything in the world half as strongly as he just wanted her.

It’s funny, isn’t it? Nikolai is a king now, and despite all his reach and power, the one thing he desires most will never be in his grasp again. She will always be the sea’s, and, as of late, that means she will never be Nikolai’s. Nikolai is chained to the crown; he will never leave it, he can never leave it. Y/N will be out there on the storm-tossed waves forever, as wild as the night he met her, and that will cause him grief until the day that he dies.

Nikolai grows up and it gets no better. He watches friends lose themselves to war and misery. He wears the crown upon his head, and then, surrounded by the clamoring voices of those who wanted him gone, he relinquishes it. Nikolai had tried to do his best while he was in office, but, walking back from the meeting with a strangely light feeling upon his head and shoulders where a great burden no longer rests, he wonders if it had ever been enough.

No one can ever be enough for Ravka. This he has known since he was a child. He had tried, though. The trying should at least get him somewhere. Nikolai passes blind laps around the Great Palace, attempting to remember every garden and room before he leaves it. He’ll have to pack his bags at some point, move out and find somewhere else to call a home after so many years in this one place.

Zoya has already offered for him to stay here, albeit in a different room. He’s a valuable advisor thanks to all his years on the throne, and he’s still as good a diplomat as ever. Nikolai will probably take her up on it; he wants to help Ravka, and this seems like the best way to do it.

About a week later, Zoya knocks on the door of his new rooms before letting herself inside when he invites her in. She’s taking to her new royal title very well, even if this seems to include her stealing his tea far more times than is strictly proper.

This time, though, she isn’t here to stop and talk. Instead, Zoya hovers hesitantly at his door, and says, “There’s someone here to see you.”

Nikolai arches a brow. “I didn’t realize relinquishing my crown meant I got to have the Dragon Queen herself here to announce my visitors. Will you do this every time?”

Zoya laughs sarcastically, but her voice is still stilted when she adds on, “Just this time. She says she knows you. She was on your crew. First mate.”

Nikolai swears his heart stops in his chest. This is– no, it couldn’t be. He told Zoya about Y/N a long time ago. She’d asked why he hadn’t been more invested in finding a suitor and he’d admitted that he was pushing it off for as long as possible, knowing he couldn’t love unless it was her.

He nods a little frantically. “Alright. Where is she?”

“Here,” says a voice behind Zoya, and then the queen of Ravka is disappearing back down the hall and Nikolai is alone in a room with someone else and– and it’s Y/N, Y/N after so long, and he doesn’t really know how to think straight, let alone say anything at all.

She pauses over the threshold before finally going inside and shutting the door behind you. “I suppose I should be glad you’re speechless. Shows you still care, at least.”

“Of course I do,” Nikolai chokes out. “But– you do too? You’re here.”

She inclines her head, taking a seat on the chair opposite him. “I came as soon as I heard that you would no longer be king. I thought it would be hard. To lose this one last thing from your family.”

Nikolai frowns. “You hate my family.”

“I don’t hate you,” she says simply, “and even if they treated you harshly, they were still your blood. That means more than any of us want to admit, I think.”

Nikolai sighs. “You’ve always been the wise one, Y/N.”

She smiles at that. “Isn’t that why you hired me, Nik?”

The nickname again. His heart contracts painfully in his chest. “I should have told you,” he blurts out. “I should have told you everything.”

“I knew a lot,” she replies, “Enough to love you. I’m glad for every moment. There would have been fewer if you had told me sooner.”

Nikolai grimaces at the truth in that. “So you’re alright with me being a Lantsov now?”

She furrows her brow. “I heard some whispers that you aren’t entirely a Lantsov at all.”

He can’t really argue with that. “Who am I, then?”

“You’re Nik,” she tells him, “My Nik. My captain. And yes, my king, even if you’ve given over the throne. I always kept track of what you were doing during your reign. I was always proud of you.”

A bright burst of pride flares in his chest. “What do you advise I do now, if my reign is over?”

She stands, extends a hand to him. “We could always go back to a good time. The sea only gets bigger.”

Nikolai looks up at her, and he thinks– this is what he’s missed. Nikolai makes a fine king, but he has always missed adventure. He’ll have that now. And, when they both get old and tired, they can come back here, and continue making policies now that they’ve lived the lives of both the rich and the outlaw. It sounds wonderful to Nikolai.

He takes her hand. “Shall we go, then?”

She smiles. Radiant. He loves her just as much as he did at the start. “I think we shall.”

grishaverse tag list: @rogueanschel, @deadreaderssociety, @cameronsails, @mxltifxnd0m, @story-scribbler, @retvenkos, @mayfieldss, @eclliipsed, @gods-fools-heroes, @bl606dy, @auggie2000, @baju69, @crazyhearttragedy, @budugu, @aoi-targaryen

all tags list: @wordsarelife

#nikolai lantsov #nikolai lantsov imagines #nikolai lantsov x reader #nikolai lantsov oneshot #grishaverse #grishaverse imagines #grishaverse x reader #grishaverse oneshot #shadow and bone #shadow and bone imagines #shadow and bone x reader #shadow and bone oneshot #grishaverse nikolai #grishaverse nikolai imagines #grishaverse nikolai oneshot

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lostbetweenvampiresandmusic · 2 months

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Hello lovely!! I saw requests were open but if i'm mistaken just ignore me lol, but if they are, i was wondering if i could request hcs for poly!lost boys with a free spirited s/o who is always traveling and exploring (think like young donna from mamma mia yk?) thank you again lovely <333

Thank you for the request! It's a fun one, and like, I definitely knew who donna was? (Is it alright to admit I've never seen Mamma Mia? Or is that like not done?) Anyway, thanks for the fun ask, and I hope you like this!😘

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

When I say you've travelled a lot, I mean a lot. You spent summer holidays backpacking through Europe and Asia, hitting several countries and enjoying the adventure tremendously.

Holidays do come to an end, however, so once you're back in the States, you decide to explore more of the state you live in. You didn't really have a plan, and the bustrip that was supposed to take you to San Francisco ended up with you being stranded in Santa Carla.

I am convinced that you met Paul first, probably while jamming with some musicians on the boardwalk. You danced and sang along, twirling around until you suddenly slammed into someone.

"Oh my god, I am so sorry!" You'd laugh, "Are you alright?" Paul would just grin, dragging you along in another dance. "Sure am, babe," he'd say, "but it would be even better if I get your name."

So that's how you get to know Paul, as a carefree, fun-loving guy - and you absolutely adore him. Through him, you meet the others.

"Oh my god, are these bikes yours?" Is probably along the first things you say to them. When they ask if you ride, you happily shake your head. "Nope, but I am certain I can!" Needless to say, they make sure to leave their keys in sight.

Later on, they do teach you how to drive, but none are quite comfy with you going off on your own since driving safety is not the first thing on your mind.

They run into you at the weirdest places. One time, they found you stuck in a tree. Another time, they found you lounging on the roof of a motel - the ladder you'd used to get on the roof had fallen, and you'd decided that sunbathing and stargazing was a very nice way to spend the day instead of doing groceries and such.

Marko absolutely adores the way you handle things, how you just enjoy life and can laugh about practically anything.

I am convinced you and Dwayne will bond over telling stories of adventures. You have a lot, and so does he and in the end the two of you could talk for hours.

You and David had to get used to each other for a bit, with him being way more controlled than you - and you being way more open and free in the way you acted. But once you connected over a story, or when you stumbled and fell into his arms - followed by some corny oneliner - the two of you get really close.

You fit in perfectly, within the groups dynamic. You're not quite as chaotic as Paul and Marko can be and definitely not as mysterious as the other two - so it definitely works out well.

David takes you to hidden gems around town and genuinely loves to accompany you when you're out exploring.

You find out they're vampires due to one of the long chats with Dwayne, and you hate to admit it, but you're really disappointed that they don't turn into bats.

The next morning you find a tiny bat charm laying on your pillow.

Once you know what they are, you definitely want to experience parts of their world. Not the feeding, perhaps, but the flying? Yes, absolutely.

Marko takes you out flying the first time and you have never felt more alive.

Overtime you begin to feel a little conflicted: you really like all of them, in a rather romantic way and eventhough it is rather simple in your head (just date all of them) you're just not sure if they'd be okay with that?

But when you awkwardly bring it up one night, the boys just grin. Everyone's in, and suddenly you've gained four boyfriends.

Dynamic wise, nothing changes, except you get the occasional ask if you want to turn into a vampire as well.

If you do, I am certain you spent the first couple of months exploring the town all over again with the boys, and then begging them to come along when you went out to explore the rest of the world because a) you had the time now and b) travelling and exploring while you're a vampire is so much more fun

David and Dwayne are always on alert when they hear you (or Paul or Marko) gleefully yell something along the lines of "Let's do it!" "Who cares!" Or "Fuck it!" Because it often means one of you will get stuck somewhere. Like a tree. Or a roof. Or under the boardwalk. Or in a fight with sharks. You get the drift ;)

Before I forget, you absolutely adore Marko's pigeons, and on world animal day you definitely give them little pigeontreats.

#the lost boys #marko #david #paul #tlb #dwayne #the lost boys 1987 #tlb 1987 #the lost boys x reader #lost boys

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formulaforza · 11 months

Text

miss americana & the heartbreak prince

—03. i think i fell in love today —word count: 7.5k —warnings: despicable tooth rotting clawing my eyes out eating the stuffing in my pillows fluff. truly its horrendous. lets talk about it. —love, mackie... i'm sleeping hopefully. right now I am hammocking. the ice cream truck just drove past. I love June.

After Paris, Chris was a bit apprehensive when it came to her ability to navigate the airport in Abu Dhabi with any sort of efficiency. Especially not now, where she needs to go through customs and register for a visitor’s visa and find her luggage and get her money exchanged. Pleasantly, though, she’s surprised at the ease she works through her notes app checklist. It’s within the hour that she’s climbing into the backseat of a taxi and heading to the hotel.

She spends the entirety of the twenty-something minute drive doing a deep dive on Joris’ Instagram. He’s going to be waiting for you, Charles had told her the night they’d worked it all out. How he knew his friend would be free is beyond Chris, but that's not even the bigger issue at hand. The issue is, of course, that she’s had no more than a momentary interaction with Joris in the background of a FaceTime call two weeks ago. The thought of breezing past him in the hotel lobby is a mortifying one.

It’s quarter after seven by the time she gets there, and when she catches a glance of herself in a mirror on the wall and almost bursts into laughter. Someone could tell her that she fell down the stairs in Austin and hit her head and is in a coma and it would feel more believable than her life right now. This just… this doesn’t happen to her; five star hotels in foreign countries and heavy accents and guys who call her beautiful from the other side of the globe.

She spots Joris in an armchair on his phone at the other end of the lobby. She approaches nervously, and he stirs from his phone at her sudden proximity. “Hi,” Chris greets, sounds almost apologetic for interrupting him. “Joris, right?”

“Uh, yeah,” he nods, dragging out the vowel sounds when he glances back down at his screen. Chris wonders if he knows he’s waiting for her.

She smiles. “I’m Chris.”

“Right!” He snaps his fingers, shoves his phone into his pocket. “Chris.” He stands and opens his arms to hug her like they’re old friends. It’s a move straight from her book, one that she’s pulled on dozens of people before. It’s not one that she’s met with often. Chris thinks they’ll get on well, her and Joris. That’s a good thing, right? Friendly friends.

Chris’ mom had told her more than once that the quickest way to know someone’s character is through their friends. Only a maniac is rude to animals and elderly and children, she’d said a million times over, it’s the character of the people they choose to spend time with that matters. Joris has no idea Chris is silently observing his every action, picking them apart on a human level.

On the elevator ride up, Joris fills Chris in on everything that’s happened during the free practices that day, tells her that it’s been a relatively clean couple of sessions. You do know of the risk this weekend, yes? P2 or P3, he asks and answers his own question. Chris nods. If she didn’t know, she does now. The room is on the fifth floor, she notes, staring at the glowing five button as she picks at her cuticles. It hits her like a ton of bricks, her anxiety skyrocketing as the elevator ascends, her stomach left behind on the ground level.

This whole thing is crazy, and not the quirky, silly story you tell your friends about over a vodka cran crazy. Just plain crazy. Insane. Off the wall absurd. Why, why are they sharing a room? Why is she even here? What is it about her that can’t be found somewhere, anywhere, else? And the most prudent question, the one ringing in her ears louder with each passing moment; what is it about him?

Chris has never considered herself to be logical, not in the slightest, but she does like to maintain the idea that she’s well grounded. She might not always act in a way that makes the most sense, but she always makes those choices within the bounds of her reality.

And, because her nerves permeate off her like a thirteen-year-old’s B.O, Joris takes a stab at cooling her down. “How was your planes?”

“Good. Smooth.” she nods, forces a smile. Her weight shifts from heel to heel, thumbs looped through her backpack straps. The floor is a shiny black marble with white and gold veins, one that commands your attention. Chris pulls her eyes from it to look at him anyway. Nervous and insane or not, she wants to make a good impression. “I could do without navigating the airport in Paris ever again, though.”

“Oh,” he laughs. “It never gets easier.”

“Does any of it?” She offers up a laugh, but it’s as genuine as the smile her face held before.

He opens his mouth to speak but is cut off with the ding of the doors opening. There, in the hallway with more marble floors and a wallpaper that walks the line between elegant and gaudy, a couple stands on a white carpet runner. The man has on a Mercedes cap. Chris wonders if they know a Formula One driver is staying on their floor.

The four of them sidestep awkwardly around each other with polite smiles to the floor, and before she knows it Joris is holding a keycard over the lock on a heavy door and handing the piece of plastic to her.

It’s not a room. It’s a suite. There’s a living room and a kitchenette and a whole separate bedroom to this place. It’s expensive, wildly so, she’s sure.

She wheels her suitcase into the bedroom, leaves it in the corner by an armchair with her backpack. At the bottom of the bag is her purse, which she digs out while Joris is using the bathroom, moving things around from one bag to the other.

The drive to the circuit is twenty minutes, at least, and Joris talks the whole time, mostly about how nervous he is and how hard he’s trying to make sure Charles doesn’t notice. Chris doesn’t tell him that Charles is also beyond nervous about the whole thing–or that he knows good and well everyone around him is losing their minds. It doesn’t seem like the type of thing that would make Joris feel any better.

“Pascale and Enzo, you know them, yes? Charles’ Mum and brother?” Joris questions.

“Nope,” Chris shakes her head. “Not yet.”

Oh, he doesn’t say. “You’ll like them if you like Charles,” he laughs. “You do like Charles?”

Chris bites down on a smile, a laugh leaving her nose in an exhale. “I do.”

“Good, good.” He nods. “Anyway, they are not here tonight, they already have gone back to the hotel. Arthur is there, still. Do you know him?”

“I think it’s going to be easier for both of us if you just assume I don’t know anyone.”

“Ah, okay. Will do.”

Chris wonders what Charles has said about her to Joris, to Arthur, to anyone. All of the stories he has or hasn’t told them about. She has almost exclusively not talked about him back home. Not because she doesn’t want to, she just can’t figure out how to say anything without sounding like a reality television star. Maybe he’s the same way. There’s a real chance that nobody in his family even knows that she’s coming, and maybe that’s the way she’d like it to be.

Her reunion with Charles couldn’t be more different than their first meeting. The paddock is empty with exception of team crews and straggling media members. There isn’t a Bud Light in sight and the pass hanging around her neck has a picture of her on the back. He must’ve pulled it from her Instagram, the one that he keeps talking about wanting to follow back. A picture of her and CHRISTYN ELLIOTT - FULL WEEKEND written in bold letters.

“He’s probably at the briefing,” Joris explains, checking his watch and walking one stride for every two of Chris’. She tries her hardest to keep up with him as he expertly navigates the paddock, all while trying to memorize his moves so she doesn’t end up stranded sometime this weekend.

A whistle gets their attention, cutting sharply through the hot desert air. Her and Joris both snap their heads around to find the perpetrator of the summons. Charles pats Pierre’s shoulder and jogs ahead of the group of drivers, all already engaged in their own conversations and heading off into different directions.

He has such a carefree smile on his face, jogging over with happy eyes and wiggling brows and a stupid little wink that puts a smile on her face. “Hello, Christyn,” he quips, greets her with open arms. And then, once his arms are pulling her to him so tight she can’t take a full breath, when he has so much energy to give her he can’t help but rock on the sides of his feet, he whispers just for her, “Hi,” a soft kiss on the crown of her head, “I’m so glad you’re here.”

All she can think about is how warm he is. Warm, and smells so nice. She doesn’t know how she’s going to ever go home. Not when he’s so warm.

“How was the planes?” He asks, an arm comfortable slotting around her as they resume their walk to wherever it is she’s being led.

“Uh, I’m tired, but.” She smiles. At him. Right there where she can touch him. Where he is touching her. “I’m here, so. I’m happy.”

On the walk back to hospitality, she asks him how his day’s gone. He’s sure she already knows, that Joris talked her ear off the entire drive over or that she’d checked the media reports of the practice sessions, but it’s nice to pretend she doesn’t know. He tries to summarize everything as concise as he can, because even though he loves talking to her, he’d much rather listen. He can listen to her talk until the sun burns out.

He’s not surprised to notice that Joris has peeled off from them, especially not because he didn’t even realize he wasn’t trailing behind him and Chris until he held open the door to his driver’s room and Joris was nowhere to be found.

He can’t count the amount of texts he’s had to have sent Chris from his driver’s room. How badly he wanted to just be talking with her, and now she’s here. She’s here, she’s here, she’s here with him.

He moves around the room, cleaning and reorganizing his things for a fresh start in the morning. Casually, he mentions that he has a sponsorship obligation tonight, last race and all, and that Arthur and Joris are coming along. He doesn’t speak it so offhandedly because he’d forgotten, but because he didn’t want her to get freaked out by the idea of it. He explains that she’s welcome to tag along, or, if she’d feel more comfortable, she can stay here while Andrea packs up his things.

She’s leaning against the wall just next to the doorway, watching him. Without hesitation, she replies, “I’ll come with you.”

“Are you sure?” He asks, looking to her. “You don’t have to.”

She nods, looks at the ground or the couch or something that isn’t him, folds her hand to look at her nails and lets out an almost silent laugh. His stomach drops. “You sound like you don’t want me to go.”

“No, no.” He corrects, and she still doesn’t look at him. He waves for her attention, cocks his head to the side when he gets it, “No. That’s not. I just want you to do what you want to do.”

“I want to go.”

“Okay,” he smiles.

She crosses her arms over her chest, looks like she’s trying so hard not to smile at him. “You’re being weird, you know?”

He shrugs, because she’s right. “I told you I would be.”

“Well,” Chris sighs, moves across the room to the small couch in the corner, “why are you being weird?”

“Because.” I want to kiss you, he stops himself from saying. I’ve wanted to kiss you since I saw you twenty minutes ago, since you decided to come, since I met you, maybe.

“Because, why?” She laughs, and he’s suddenly struck with the thought of what her laughter might taste like. Sweet, surely, just like it sounds. Like a popsicle on a summer day.

His phone buzzes in his pocket and he tries his absolute hardest to wipe that thought from his brain before texting his brother back. “Je veux t'embrasser tout le temps,” I want to kiss you all the time, he mumbles, isn’t even sure it actually leaves his lips or if he keeps it locked in the vault. He continues to send his reply to Arthur.

“You know I don’t understand what you just said,” Chris reminds him. That’s why it came out in French, he thinks. Not everything is meant to be said.

“I said,” he pauses, sends the text, looks back at her. God. “I said I want to kiss you.”

She crosses one leg over the other, looks down at her pants like there is something in her lap to fix. He can see the blush on the tips of her ears, even though she’s trying to hide her cheeks. When she does look up, face still flushed, she tucks her bangs behind her ears and replies softly, “you’re allowed to kiss me, Charles.”

He can’t believe he hasn’t yet. That he’d hugged the life out of her, kissed her hair and told her how happy he is she’s there, that he’d thought about kissing her for weeks, that he didn’t fucking kiss the girl yet. They’re sharing a bedroom tonight, and he still hasn’t kissed her. He thought about it, he did. But they’d promised to keep things as quiet as they could. Now, he’s pretty sure she wouldn’t have stopped him from throwing all those conversations out the window.

If there wasn’t something weird in the air before, there certainly is now. A new weird. A good weird. An implication of something in the air, weird. It’s out there now, ust hanging above them. I want to kiss you. You can kiss me. Now all that’s left is for one of them to make the move.

It’s the least he can do–make the first move. She flew across the globe, he can fucking kiss her. He wants to fucking kiss her. He feels like a little kid, the giddy smile that pulls on the corners of his lips when he walks over to her. He does little to conceal his intent.

“What?” She asks with a smile on her face. A tease, she has to know.

He holds out his hands, palms forward to her and she follows his lead, reaches up to lace their fingers together. “I like you, you know?” He asks, leans his weight against her hands. Some hands are just meant to be held.

She giggles like a child, pure and innocent and like nothing bad has ever happened to her. Like the childhood dog and all four grandparents are still kicking. “I can’t hold you up.”

“What?” He quirks a brow, leans more weight onto her hands and she laughs harder, her arms shaking below him.

“Charles!”

“I said I like you, Chris!”

Through weak arms and uncontrollable belly laughs, she manages to choke out in gulps for air, “I like you, too.” In a swift movement, he recenters his weight on his own feet, pulling Chris up from the couch. The force of his pull almost knocks her from her feet, both of them still laughing, fingers dancing with the others on either side of their frames. The laughter is light and airy and barely there, but it’s laughter nonetheless. When their hands do fall apart, their pinkies stay looped together without force, without any pull at all, just comfortably slotted against the other. “I really like you,” she adds, and her voice sounds like smiles look.

She blushes under her own words, over the entirety of their private moment, eyes darting from eyes to lips and back to eyes. “Yeah?” He asks quietly, like he’s scared asking might change her answer. She nods, biting down on the smile that paints her bottom lip, and it’s more than enough for him. She’s so good. She’s too good not to kiss.

He moves a hand to her jaw, thumbs her cheek with fingers slotted behind her ear, dancing along her hairline like a whisper of what’s to come. Like a promise. In the absence of his hand, hers finds his chest, just his thin Ferrari shirt separating her palm from the butterflies stirring wildly in his chest. “Me, too,” he says softly. Softer than she did, more to her lips—soft and pretty and his favorite shade of pink—than to her eyes. And then, either so softly only the atoms hear it, or maybe in his head entirely, “very much.”

And then he kisses her.

She tastes like mint chapstick and biscoff cookies and coffee. Her lips are soft, softer than they looked, softer than her voice. It’s like a boost of energy, kissing her. Like an immediate and complete charge.

She tightens her grip on his other pinky. Tightens it, loosens it, re-intertwines the whole hand somewhere off in the distance, far, far away from where he wishes to stay forever. This alone is worth a flight anywhere. Altitude sickness and limbs falling asleep and jet lag and headaches from screaming babies are all poor inhibitors when this would be waiting for him on the other side.

He pulls his hand from hers because it's just not close enough. Nothing is going to be close enough, but he’ll try his damndest to cup her jaw and pull her deeper into the kiss. Their noses bump awkwardly and they pull apart in a breathless laugh. Nothing more than a quick, shared smile and he’s kissing it off her face, tugging on her bottom lip with his teeth and letting her hum mumbles into his mouth. Teeth clacking and more laughing, so breathless it’s practically silent.

“Chris Elliott,” he says all sing-songy, just because he knows it’ll make her laugh. A quick peck, because he can. “You are something.”

“Charles Leclerc,” she mimics, wide eyes and raised brows and a beaming smile. A quick peck, because he’s never going to stop her. “Something good?”

He hums. “Something great.”

“You’re silly,” she says, and he laughs.

“Silly?” She nods. “You’re cute.” Chris rolls her eyes, but still has that child’s smile on her face and a pink flush to her cheeks. He kisses her again, quick, because he has a month to make up for.

“I know,” she retorts, deadpan. He laughs louder than any sane man should.

Joris, Arthur, and Andrea file into the room a few minutes later. Chris is leaning against the wall again, scrolling through her phone. She clicks it off when they walk in, shoves it deep into her purse pocket.

Andrea’s eyes bounce from Chris to Charles, and then back to Chris, holding out a hand for her to shake. “Andrea,” he greets, formal and cool.

“Chris,” she smiles, shakes the outstretched hand.

“Nice to meet you.”

“Yeah,” she nods. “You too.”

First bad impression. She doesn’t know what it is she did, but with the simple half-minute observation of his interactions with her versus the rest of the people in the room, it’s obvious he’s already soured on her.

Arthur, though, Arthur is almost off putting in his resemblance to Charles. Same voice, same face, certainly same bloodline. She thinks she could recognize him anywhere, probably. He, however, on his phone, doesn’t even notice Chris’ presence in the room until Joris elbows him on the sofa.

“Quoi?!” He exclaims in a defensive tone that transcends language barriers. The kind that only brothers know how to use.

“Hi,” Chris says, and Arthur’s head shoots from Joris to her in the doorway. He almost laughs, he’s so surprised by her presence. “I’m Chris,” she adds, holding out a hand only because he's sitting and she’s standing and a hug doesn’t feel logistically sound.

“Ah, Chris,” Arthur nods, shakes her hand. “Charles does not answer my phone calls because of you.”

“Oh,” she offers a weak smile. “I’m sorry about that.”

“No, no. I do not want to hear from him.”

Chris laughs. From the other side of the room, Charles chimes in, “then why are you calling me?”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “Maman say, ‘do you call Charles’ and I say ‘yes he does not answer me.’”

- - -

They run into Carlos and co. on the way to the sponsorship event. Chris tries to hang back towards the end of the group, back with Joris and Arthur and away from Charles, purely out of self preservation. They’d agreed in passing that everything would be much easier, hundreds of times simpler, if nobody knew Chris was there this weekend, if everything was kept under the radar. Charles, however, seems to have forgotten that agreement because, no matter how engaged he gets into a conversation, he is constantly looking for her in the group, reaching his hand out to her if she’s within distance to do so, keeping her as close to him as he can.

She keeps falling back though, falling into ranks. She doesn’t want to look like a girlfriend, because she isn’t.

Chris has no idea how to be a public… girl? A fling or a girlfriend or anything in between. She’s at home at a race track, yes, and during Chase’s championship winning season, she got stopped three times to take pictures with fans, but, really. Nobody has ever cared about what she’s doing or who she’s doing it with.

Walking in behind Carlos and Charles is like walking in behind celebrities. Everyone wants to shake their hands, to pat them on the shoulders and tell them this thing or another. There’s lots of languages being thrown around that she doesn’t recognize, accents she struggles to understand.

“This is crazy,” she says quietly, just to herself.

Arthur nudges her with his elbow to steal her attention, furrows his brows for a moment and holds up a quizzical thumbs up. Chris nods, smiles gratefully.

Charles promised that it was going to be nothing more than a quick stop at the event, and he meant it. They aren’t even there long enough to sit down. Instead they hang out in the back of the tent near the bar, watching Charles and Carlos talk on stage with several different people about how important this brand is for us.

They decide to go out to dinner after, despite Chris’ burning desire to go to sleep for a couple years. They get sat at a booth that’s probably made to hold no more than four people; Andrea and Joris on one side, Charles sandwiched between Chris and Arthur on either side. He finds her hand under the table, his thumb tracing along the lines of her fingers. Chris, against all urges to rest her head on his shoulder, rests it instead on the wooden divider between their booth and the neighboring one.

Arthur is the only one who struggles to speak English rather than his mother tongue, and while Charles corrects him each time, Chris doesn’t dare. She’d rather die than imply someone speaking in a second language needs to improve the way they speak it.

“Are you going to be with us all weekend?” Arthur asks around Charles’ frame.

“I’m actually going to be in the grandstands,” she smiles. Charles rolls his eyes.

“Oh?” Arthur asks, looks to his brother, but Joris beats him to the punch.

“You couldn’t get her a pass for the whole weekend?” Joris chirps. Andrea laughs and Charles reaches for the pass hung around her neck. She didn’t even realize she was the only person still wearing it until now. Charles flips the pass over, points out the FULL WEEKEND on the back.

“Her choice, not mine.”

She reaches to take the pass out of his hand, to pull it off over her head and put it into her purse. “I’m hoping for a drama-free weekend,” she says, and the boys laugh. Charles’ hand finds her thigh, gives it a little pat and a comfortable squeeze.

Her hands are meant to be held, they really are. He could hold her hand until the moment she leaves, fingers locked together as they walk through the hotel corridor, empty and echoey with their voices and the sound of their feet on the carpet runner.

Once in the room, face to face together with the single bed, they both burst into laughter. He’s glad he cleaned things up before she got here, because the room was starting to look a little like his driver’s room–clothes strewn about messily, plastic water bottles on the end table, a television remote he lost the night he got here and hadn’t found until this morning. In the corner, Chris’ luggage sits beside the armchair, backpack neatly stacked with a single suitcase.

“Did you bring your whole wardrobe?” He jokes, and maybe it’s because he’s never been great at conveying jokes in English, or maybe it’s that they’re both absolutely exhausted, but the joke doesn't land. She’s immediately apologizing, spewing out a jumbled apology about I didn’t know what I was supposed to wear, and then– “I’m messing with you,” he says, and hates that she thinks he’d be that worked up over a suitcase, especially when he’d brought at least double what she had. She could have shown up with twenty suitcases and he still wouldn’t have thought it was too much because, well, she’s here. Right in front of him.

“Oh,” she pouts, and he kisses the look off her face. He’s wanted to do that since he saw it for the first time. “Oh. I like when you do that.” Good, he thinks. Get used to it.

They both make plans to shower; her before him. He’s on the couch in the living area of the suite when she re-emerges from the bathroom, the TV rolling and absentmindedly scrolling through his phone. When the sliding door to the bathroom opens, he looks up to watch her.

Her hair long down her back, carefully combed out so that the soaking ends turn the fabric of her sun-worn blue t-shirt a darker shade. It’s big on her–the shirt–hangs almost long enough that you wouldn’t be able to spot the flannel shorts underneath. He can still hear the sink running in the bathroom and she’s got a toothbrush in her mouth.

He whistles when she walks back from the bedroom towards the bathroom again, and she stops in the doorway, laughs around the toothbrush and does a sweet spin. “Bellissimo,” he says, gestures a chef’s kiss and she bows dramatically.

After his shower, he finds her in the bedroom, comfortably perched against the headboard, tucked under the crisp white duvet. The only light in the place is coming from her end table lamp, casting a soft shadow on her face, her knees pulled up close while she turns the pages of a book. He hovers around his suitcase watching her, completely in her own world, the only hint of her presence on this plane being the subtle lean into the light to better illuminate the pages she turns.

It’s not the first time he’s found himself looking at her like this. She’s easy to get lost in and almost never notices him staring. She just gets so focused on the task at hand–grading papers, cooking a meal, painting her nails, watching a television show, or like tonight, reading her current library rental.

“Do you want a water?” He asks. Her eyes don’t leave the page, a subtle shake of the head before she finally mumbles a no, thank you. He navigates the dark suite to the kitchenette, finds himself a plastic water bottle in the mini-fridge, and then he’s pulling back the comforter to climb into bed with her. “So, I was thinking tomorrow–” he starts, but she cuts him off with a singular finger held in the air. He can’t help but laugh, stupid smile on his face while he watches her eyes hurriedly finish the page, dog ear the tiniest fold onto the corner.

“Sorry,” she unapologetically offers, setting the book down on the end table. “What were you saying?”

“Uh, I don’t remember,” he says, because he lost it while he tried to guess what she was reading based on the little microexpressions that crossed her face. His eyes fall to the gold chain around her neck, to the small cross that lays over the blue fabric of her shirt. He’s noticed it dozens of times, it’s constant presence in every picture, every video, every call and outfit and event. He doesn’t even think when he reaches for it, examines it with gentle fingers. “Is this a, uh…” he struggles to find the word, “how do you say, family tradition?”

“Heirloom?”

He nods, drops the piece of jewelry back to its rightful spot. “Heirloom.”

“No, it was a birthday gift,” she explains, fingers the chain of it, “from my brother when I turned eighteen.”

He nods, points out the other necklace she’s wearing, a flower with a pearl in the center. “And this?”

She laughs, “it’s silly,” she says. “It goes with these earrings I have, they’re from my parents when I graduated college.” He learns the flower is a chrysanthemum, that her dad has always called her Mum, that her mom has a particular affinity for pearls that she’s passed onto Chris, that all of these things have combined into this piece of jewelry hanging around her neck and that she cried and cried when they gifted it to her.

Because the sun is still burning, he doesn’t stop asking about the different pieces she wears until he’s run out of ones to point to. He learns the story of a ruby ring–her birthstone–that she found in a thrift store for seventy-five cents when she was fifteen, how it used to fit on her pointer finger but now it fits her ring finger, how sometimes she makes up elaborate stories of how it ended up in the bargain bin of a Goodwill in North Georgia.

She tells him about three friendship bracelets. The first and second are made by students, her favorite gifts. The third, blue and yellow–NAPA colors, her brother’s racing colors–made by her nephew. “He’s four, and he is everything annoying about my brother and everything good about my best friend, and I think I would kill someone for him.” Charles is sure that tomorrow he’ll be telling someone they wouldn’t believe the way she lights up when she talks about this kid.

When he’s run out of things to question, she’s examining the red string tied around his wrist. “What about you?” She asks, “what’s up with this guy?”

“My mate, Pierre. He learns about it from our other friend Yuki,” He explains. “They always know the strangest things, Pierre and Yuki,” he chuckles, continues to explain the traditional symbol of good luck. “I don’t know how well it works, though,” he laughs, and she kisses him. It surprises him, but he’s in no place to complain. Perhaps the bracelet works quite well, he thinks when she moves closer, snuggles under his arm while he continues.

Three metal bracelets. One red, one silver, one stainless steel. Morse code: Amour, Bonheur, Smile. A ring that matches the bracelet. Two hex rings that track his heart rate and his sleep and a million other things.

He spins the rings while he talks, pulls them off and hands one to her without missing a beat in his sentence. She toys with it while she listens, hands it back to him with a quiet yawn. When he kisses her hair, it’s still damp and smells like the shampoo she used, something he can’t place, something he hopes eventually to memorize. “You’re cute when you’re sleepy.”

“You told me that last week.”

“I know,” another kiss against the unfamiliar scent. “I meant it.”

Charles wants to order room service for breakfast. Chris shuts that idea down the minute it comes out of his mouth, furrowing her brows and making him attempt to rationalize waiting half an hour for food that’s five minutes away. He can’t, so they head to the lobby.

Chris is wearing the same shirt, pulls a pair of sweatpants over her flannel shorts and ties her hair into a messy, tangled ponytail. She’d keep it down, but her hair dried while she slept and it’s pointing in directions that defy gravity. A ponytail was the only option. Charles doesn’t change, keeps the t-shirt and shorts he slept in on.

They find Andrea in the lobby, eating at a table for two by himself. Charles pulls a chair over from a nearby table and they sit down with him. By the time Joris appears, the table is officially too full of food to comfortably function.

She hears his phone vibrate against the hard plastic of his chair, and he casually mentions that the rest of his family is on their way down.

Chris doesn’t react, not externally, anyways. She finishes what’s left in her mug, bee-lines it over to the coffee bar to make another. Absent-mindedly, she tears the foil from the creamer cups, rips open the sugar packets and stirs it all together. His mom. His mom. His mom. It’s all she can think about. His mother. The woman who gave him life. Chris knew she’d be meeting his mom this weekend, but she figured she’d have more preparation than a couple minutes warning, assumed she’d be dressed, hair styled, makeup done. That she’d be presenting herself as someone you’d be happy to have your son spend time with, not like a 7/11 customer in Dahlonega at one in the morning. Maybe Charles was right and room service was a good idea.

Even once she’s back at the table, every elevator ding makes her jump, shoots her head in the direction of the opening doors just terrified the people walking out are going to be his family.

“Are you good?” Charles asks after she flinches at the third elevator bell.

“Yup,” she lies, slaps a big, phony smile on her face and takes a sip of her coffee. His hand finds her leg, gives it a little you’ll be fine squeeze.

The next elevator is carrying his family. She instinctively straightens in her seat, moves things around the crowded table so her food looks neat and managed. Joris looks at her with concern, Charles laughs when she refolds a napkin. “Don’t laugh at me,” she whispers.

Out of earshot, Arthur says something through a stretch and a yawn. His mom rolls her eyes, pushes him in the direction of the coffee bar, mutters something to his other brother that makes him chuckle. When his mom spots Chris, she makes a bee-line for her with open arms. Chris practically trips over the leg of her chair trying to stand up before the hug reaches her.

“Come here, chérie,” she smiles. It’s warm, just like her boy’s. “I have heard so much about you.” Oh? Chris smiles, suddenly aware that she’s apparently horribly unprepared for this entire introduction. He’s telling his mother about her?

She hugs Pascale back and looks over her shoulder to Charles with wide eyes. She’s met with a matching expression, Charles shrugging and shaking his head as if to adamantly tell her he has no idea what his mom is talking about. “And what have you heard, Maman?” He asks with a laugh.

“Don’t start with me,” she says, wagging a finger at her boy, and then to Chris, “Ignore him.” She holds her at arm's length, hands on either shoulder and looks her up and down. Chris laughs, nervous but still noticeably genuine. “You are just beautiful, aren’t you?”

Well. Beautiful isn’t a word Chris would use to describe herself at this moment. Ratty, perhaps. Disheveled. Off-putting. But sure, beautiful is a word she might sometimes describe herself as. “Me?” She shakes her head, “ma’am, look at yourself.”

“Oh, please,” his mom scoffs. “Pascale.”

“Pascale.” Chris smiles, goes in for another hug.

Whether it’s because he’s a brother and not a mother, or because meeting said mother is done and over with, Chris is significantly less anxious when it comes to her introduction with Lorenzo.

Chris attempts to insist Pascale take her seat, but is out-insisted to finish her breakfast. Charles finds her hand under the table, winks at her when she interlocks her fingers with his.

– – –

Outside of their shared breakfast, Saturday is a long day apart for Chris and Charles. A quick kiss goodbye in their hotel room when Charles finishes getting ready, a quicker “good luck,” from Chris called after him on his way out the door, and a thumbs up over his head as a response summarizes their interactions for the rest of the day.

Chris works on next week’s lesson plans for a few hours, nothing better to do while she waits to leave for the track.

She watches the third practice session and quali from the grandstand across from the pitlane, and while neither are his greatest showing, Chris can feel it in her bones that everything is going to fall into place for him tomorrow. A third place start is more than good enough to beat out Perez at Red Bull. She knows it like she knows her own name, and nobody is going to tell her otherwise.

She goes back to the hotel after quali, doesn’t bother to attempt sneaking into the paddock to try and find him. It just doesn’t feel worth it–navigating a place she doesn’t know, avoiding the cameras and the reporters and the chaos–not when he’ll be coming back to the hotel, back to her.

She falls asleep moments after sitting down on the couch, and isn’t woken up until she doesn’t even know when. It’s the middle of the night, Charles tells her, guides her to bed and tucks her in like a child, complete with a kiss on the forehead.

- - -

The first words out of her mouth on Sunday morning are an apology.

When Charles tries to cut her off with a laugh and a kiss, she stops him just short of her lips, claiming morning breath. “Wow,” he feigns shock. “First you fall asleep on me, now you will not kiss me?”

She rolls her eyes, grabs the back of his neck and pulls him down to kiss her. “Happy?”

He nods and kisses her again. He keeps waiting for it to not feel so exciting, so much like a stupid movie, so young, and it’s yet to reach that point. It’s not even coming close. “Yes, thank you.”

From the other side of the bathroom wall she dares to ask him if he’s nervous, if the pressure is finally manifesting itself into stress. He’s quiet for a while.

“No,” he eventually calls back.

“No?”

He peels around the doorway, messing with the collar on his team shirt. “Yes,” he admits with a scale-breaking sigh. She wishes he was as sure as himself as she is, that he could feel in his bones it is all going to work out perfectly.

“Well, I’ll be here when you’re done, and we can either celebrate Charles Leclerc, Vice World Champion,” he turns away at the title, the side profile of a smile turning the corner back into the bathroom. “Or, we can celebrate the end of an exhausting season. Either way, we’re celebrating.” He stays quiet. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” he finally speaks, tone lackluster, unconfident. It’s hard to hear him like this, to hear the distinct shards of doubt that rattle in his chest. “We’re celebrating.”

We’re celebrating. Tonight is a celebration. The positives with the negatives, the good always outweighs the bad. She reminds herself like it’s a mantra. Tonight is a celebration.

- - -

Alone in the grandstands with an air of certainty about her, Chris’ bar for friendship has never been lower. She finds a group of girlfriends who appear to be sort-of, almost, kind-of, maybe in the same age demographic as she is. They speak English and don’t ignore her when she talks, and that’s enough for her to latch onto for the evening.

We like McLaren, they tell her, But those Ferrari boys–they’re cute. You can’t help but feel for them. Chris just smiles and nods, offers up a laugh and pretends she won’t be falling asleep next to one of those cute boys later tonight.

The girls–flew in from London on Friday just for this-fill her in on everything she already knows. They tell her about Charles and his fight for P2, about the strategic pitfalls of Ferrari and the fact that on paper, it was Charles’ year to win it all.

They’re more nervous during the race than Chris is, not to say that her leg isn’t bouncing watching the times constantly changing, that she isn’t whispering mumbles prayers into the air between here and there, just that she knows. She knows.

If it was possible to stare through a helmet, Chris would’ve done it during his pitstop, burning the confidence right into his frontal lobe. Her eyes are glued to his car, his helmet, distant and small and buzzing with energy. He’s got it under control, like a perfectly wrapped gift sat in his lap, like a row of monkey bars and hands hardened by months of blisters, like a first kiss and a second kiss and a third kiss. He’s got it under control.

He does, because after what feels simultaneously like the longest and shortest fifty-eight laps of her life, Chris practically has a front row seat to Charles doing donuts. She’s so happy that she thinks she might cry, not that it takes much of anything to pull a tear from her when she’s this exhausted. The girls she’d befriended jump and celebrate and cheer louder than the fireworks.

Chris tries to live the moment. To feel it all, the energy and the roar and the joy, which only makes it that much harder not to cry.

Suddenly, momentarily, irrationally emotionally, while she watches him celebrate with his family and his team in front of the whole world she wishes she was down there with him. Screw the world watching, she wants to hug him until her arms are numb and kiss him until she passes out.

There’s no telling when–or even if–she’s going to ever live through a moment like this again. It’s not one she wants to forget. In the chaos of it all, her hand finds her chest, the hard metal of her cross necklace through the fabric of her top, the pulsing of her heartbeat, loud and racing.

It’s hours before he’s back to the hotel, but it doesn’t feel late at all. He’s still running on adrenaline, just as ready to celebrate as he was when he jumped into his team’s arms. Over the mechanical shifting of the door lock, he can hear Chris’ feet echoing on the floor just on the other side and before he can even make it through the doorway she’s crashing into him. The pure energy that she is knocks him back a few steps, but then he’s hugging her back just as hard, maybe harder.

He can feel her tears soak through his shirt, and with a laugh asks if she’s crying.

“Shut up,” she says, and it only makes him laugh harder, hug tighter. God, the show he would have put on if he could’ve found her right after the race. The trouble he would make. “Oh, my god!” She sniffles, pulls her head off his chest and wipes away her tears. “Kiss me, already!”

And so he does. He kisses the shit out of her.

She pulls away with a smile, arms slinked around his neck like it belongs to her. “So, how does it feel?” She asks, “Vice World Champion, Charles Leclerc.”

He gives her a quick kiss, nothing more than a peck, shrugs, and repeats the action. “Too busy kissing the girl.”

“You’re such an idiot,” she laughs, drops her head so it’s against his chest and vibrates his entire being. It’s a laugh that lights stars, dances around the room like a windchime in the warm August air. The kind so distinct you could hear it across a room ten years later and still know it was her. “A walking cheeseball.”

“A cheeseball?” He humors.

“I said what I said.”

His satisfied hum says more than words ever could, fingers comfortable dancing along the bone of her hip. “We gotta get ready,” he says.

“For what?”

“The celebration.”

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seris-circle · 1 year

Text

My Humps

Drew Starkey x femreader

Summary: on his way back from a meeting, Drew finds y/n having a little party.

Warnings: swearing, pregnancy, fluff

—————————————————————————

“Whatcha gon' do with all that junk. All that junk inside that trunk?” Is the first thing Drew hears as he opens the front door. He continued to follow the music to the source, leading him to the kitchen where he found you singing along and dancing. He began recording while trying to keep his laughter hidden behind a tight-knit smile.

“My hump, my hump, my hump, my hump, my hump My hump, my hump, my hump, my lovely li-” you’re cut off when you turn around and realize that Drew is standing there. You cue the alexa to shut off and turn your attention to your fiance.

“Hey babe, didn’t know you were standing there,” you said, sounding a bit out of breath. It wasn’t a surprise since you were now 7 months pregnant. You walked up to him, stepping on your toes to reach for a kiss.

“Oh, don’t let me stop you. I liked the little concert.” He said after you pulled away.

“Yeah, just got a burst of energy and decided to clean.” You smiled. “The music just got me going I guess and distracted me from the task at hand” you continued pointing at the still full sink of dishes. You attempted to walk back to the sink but drew trapped you by wrapping his arms around your waist from behind.

“You didn’t have to clean, I would’ve done it when I got back” drew responded, nestling his chin on your shoulder and rubbing the bump. He said that because he promised the night before to take care of it because you’ve been feeling sick almost this whole trimester but also because he may feel slightly guilty too. Drew would be leaving for Italy to film for his new movie in a couple days, leaving you alone and pregnant for the next two months. You’ve been ordered for bed rest due to difficulty during the final trimester so far, so going to another country was out of the question. He didn’t know how he was going to do it; being in a different country away from his fiancé, the woman carrying his child, long enough that she could go into labor while he was away. But they have talked it through a dozen times to relieve the stress of the two. You weren't due until the middle of July and drew would be finished by 4th of July, the following week if anything. Your mom is already coming to LA in June, so you won’t be alone and drew already made sure with the directors to leave on the first plane out of Italy at any word of you having contractions, real or not.

“No, I wanted to.” You replied. “I know you said you would last night but this win today felt so refreshing after all the losses the last couple of weeks. I feel alive” you continued, throwing her arms up in the air. Drew released you and you turned to face him.

“You say that now but in a couple hours when little bug here kicks the shit out of you after you just ate another jar of pickles, you are going to be regretting it.” Drew responded , poking your bump. He was right though. Your craving the whole pregnancy has been dill pickles and it has gotten serious, to the point where you’re spending $30 a week on jars. Once you start eating, you can’t stop. Topping a whole jar off in one sitting. Though they were good, the heartburn was crazy. You would feel it rise and the gerd pillow still couldn’t help. It wasn’t until the baby would kick you during this experience that you would get out of bed to chug water. Complaining to drew about how much you are suffering from your own doings would just make him laugh and you get all clingy.

You send him a glare after that remark, “you know what? I think I will stop and let you clean this up just for making that comment.” You said with a cockiness in your tone. He was right which irritated you slightly so you just gave up at this point. “You finish the dishes and make dinner while I burn this energy in another way” you said turning the music back on.

‘Humps’ continued to play and you got back to dancing and singing along. You rubbed your bump to the beat of the part where it was “My hump, my hump, my hump, my hump My hump, my hump, my hump, my hump, my hump, my hump My lovely lady lumps (lump) My lovely lady lumps my lovely lady lumps (lumps)” You danced in circles around drew, making funny faces to over exaggerate the lyrics. Feeling him up and down as he sat still laughing. As the music kept playing, you got him to join in and you two were dancing in the kitchen. The dishes never got done and you had just ordered takeout instead of drew preparing dinner. You savored moments like this because you knew it would last for a couple of months.

#drew starkey #drew starkey x reader #obx s3 #Spotify

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dreamauri · 5 months

Note

Hey girlie! I miscliked on the vote… more spy! max please. Also everyone accidentally miscliked as well (source: trust me bro) if they didn’t they don’t need to be here for any au. Keep killin’ it! 🩵

┊𝗞𝗜𝗦𝗦 𝗪𝗜𝗧𝗛 𝗔 𝗙𝗜𝗦𝗧 - P2 ┊─ ୨୧ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─ :🪴: ─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ୨୧ ─ ┊as spies from opposing countries, you each ┊try to beat each other to success, but sometimes, ┊you're going to need to be frenemies. ┇︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦˚₊ ┇ . 🌿 :: pairing — ( spy! max verstappen x spy! fem! reader ) ┇ . 🫧 :: ⁠genre — ( fluff ) ┇ . 🌿 :: ⁠word count — ( 1, 174 )

★ ☆ you have my heart anon 💗😔🫶 ━━━━━

( fic master list | general master list ) ( requests )

"Where even are we?" "Can you stop nagging me." You huffed, shoving his shoulder in front of the door. Last thing you should be doing right now was be hanging out in a suburb in the middle of the night when Spain has something so dangerous they didn't even tell you during mission briefing.

You reached from behind him, ringing the bell before climbing up the house. "What are you doing?" Max scoffed watching you pull a window open and fall in. The Dutch rolled his eyes, ready to climb up after you when the front door swung open. Blue and green eyes met, both bodies freezing at the sight of each other. And for a good few seconds, Charles and max stood there like dears caught in headlights.

Well, until one attacked. The fight quickly escalated and they were wrestling each other on the floor, Charles with a knife he someone got and max weapon-less. And that continued for a few moments, holding each other in gut wrenches when they caught a tinny little giggle. Looking up, they found you standing down the hall, an amused grin on your face as you carried the 5-year-old girl on your hip.

"I didn't know you two got along so well." You teased, watching the two men pull away glaring at each other. Charles kept an eye on Max as he walked towards you, gently hugging you and taking his daughter from you. "What's he doing here?" He whispered in English so the toddler wouldn't understand.

"We need your help." You shrugged, putting your hands in your pockets. "No. Nuh uh. I'm on vacation. No work for me."

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"Are you all set?" The same guy who didn't want to help you earlier, asked, his sleepy daughter in his arms as he looked between you and max through the front door. "As set as i can be while working with a Dutch spy." You hummed pulling a beanie on and stuffing your gloved hands into your new winter jacks.

Max nudged you with a frown. "You're the one that threatened me to be here." He reminded you with a scoff. "Yeah so they kill you instead of me." You gave him a fake smile patting his chest. "Ciao, Carli." You wave to the little girl before walking away and dragging Max along. "Now what?" He asked you once the door shut behind you. You simply pulled a pair of car keys, embedded with the famous prancing horse. "You did not." "He won't mind."

The drive was long trying to figure out and formulate a plan. Even just trying to figure out what on the flash drive. Well, Max had no guesses because he wasn't assigned on the mission to hunt for the flash drive . . .

You two did end up stopping at a place to stay for the night. You rented a room with a tiny small inn. You of course took dibs on the bed and left your subordinate the floor. Dutch spy or not, you're not sharing a bed with Max Verstappen and your defiantly not going to sleep on the floor so Max Verstappen can stay warm.

Well, you always thought and stood by that. Why would a woman like you waste your time with a Dutch man like him. He's Dutch, plain and simple. There's no reason for your conscious to wring you like this. You just wanted to sleep, and it was late. With a sigh, you peaked over the edge of the small bed, looking down at the passed out blond.

Maybe you were being too cruel? His body was curled in on himself and he was using his arm as a pillow. This defiantly wasn't fair to him, but life wasn't fair at all now was it. Not you either, now the one with one lass pillow and zero blankets. With a huff under your breath. Gently, you draped the blanket over his body wich started him awak.

"I don't want to be owing you any favours in the future." Max was confused, still half asleep as he took the pillow you offered, passing out again in the blink of an eye. You'd watched him shake and practically get shot in his chest 70 times in his sleep the other night, he deserves at least some proper rest. Now it was your turn, but it looks like you're not going to catch any shut eye tonight.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You breathed out, blowing into your hands. Winter was rolling in and you hated working in the cold. You flinched upon feeling someone touch your head. It was just Max, fixing your icecap over your head. "If we're gonna work together. I'd rather you not die from hypothermia. I don't need France on my ass." You rolled you eyes as you continued to walk.

You quietly approached the fence separating you from the so called factory. It was still running, but clearly not crawling factory workers as it should've. The night was dark enough to disguise you and Max as you sneaked your way into the property and through a window into the window.

Max had memorized the blue prints to the building and you'd assessed the areas with high possibilities of which could contain your desired object. And so you split up. Max took a right and you took a left. But that didn't feel right, to Max at least. He'd rather stay close to you. Things always go bad when a force is divided. The sneaky walking continued and soon enough, Max found himself face to face with Carlos Sainz, the other Spanish spy. And it went rough.

It didn't take Max long to go around and find you. The drive was no where and neither was Fernando. But you weren't anywhere either. Where were you?

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

A grunt left your lips as Fernando pulled your bloodied body up from your chin. "I don't need this anymore." He dropped the drive in front of you. You frowned in confusion as you looked down at the now crushed metal piece.

You tried to reach for it only to be reminded of your cuffed limbs, and absolutely aching and sore body. "I don't think you even knew what was on it. Probably because your boss knew you'd destroy it instead of bringing it."

"Well, either way. You can have it now. It was just a recipe. I don't need it now that I have my cake." "You're not gonna win." You seethed only to find your body drop on the floor. "I already did. You're lover Max wont be able to do anything about it."

"Max is not—" You huffed through your nose as Fernando slammed the door shut behind him. "My lover." You finished the sentence to yourself, fixing your laying position so you were at least comfortable.

"I love my life." Sarcasm dripped from your tone. You were stuck. There was no way you could get yourself out of this rat trap.

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iisasarcasticlittleshite · 1 year

Text

Thieves (Obey me x Reader)

In response to my last poll in which HCs won by a country mile, I present Mammon and Satan being needy little thieves! Enjoy!

MC has adapted several ways to evaluate the Devildom. This formerly alien place has now become rather familiar, but it plays by its own rules.

This is no less true for the seven brothers they share a roof with.

MC's had to learn quirks, hairpin triggers to flaming tempers, boundaries and fixations, but something they've also learned, is that each and every one of those brothers is a little thief.

Mammon had been oddly quiet all day. Ten hours without seeing him, and MC hadn't received a single text or disgruntled call. Not even a second hand message passed through his brothers.

It's odd, they find themselves staring aimlessly at their DDD as they make their way to their room for the evening. It's getting late, later than MC would've stayed out if not for Diavolo and Lucifer's company.

No amount of staring at the screen will change it though, no new messages from their first demon.

With a pursed frown, they push open their bedroom door, eager to get comfortable for the evening.

They peeled off the nice clothes they'd worn for dinner with the demon prince and reach for their favourite hoodie, the one that practically lives on the chair at their desk, only to be met instead by bare wood.

'Huh? Where'd I put-?'

Muttering to themselves, MC spun in a circle, searching for the familiar shade of painfully comfortable fabric, internally wondering how in the Devildom they'd misplaced THAT.

MC's more likely to loose their head than that hoodie, and as they finish the first lap of their room, they realise they haven't lost it at all.

It's been stolen.

Eyes rolling, they pull on an oversized tee shirt and shuffle out of the room, padding on bare feet.

Given the circumstances, there's only one demon who would attempt such thievery.

They knocked once on Mammon's door before pushing it open, and found him lounging on his sofa, wearing MC's double oversized, baggy hoodie as he scrolled through his phone.

'Whatdya want Luci-? Oh shit!'

The demon's expression was downright comical as he scrambled to try and cover himself with something. Too bad that the nearest object was a ridiculously tiny throw pillow.

Still, he's anything but a quitter and holds the item firmly to his chest. 'H-hey, what're ya doin' bargin' into a guy's room, human?!'

'Looking for that.' MC chuckled, leaning smugly against the closed door. 'If you missed me that much, you could've just said so.'

Mammon's cheeks became a delightful shade of rose, all too perfect to ignore. 'Like hell I'd miss ya! Puny human, you're lucky I don't-'

'Don't what?' MC purred, stepping forward until they stood between the demon's legs, gentle fingers combing the hair back from his face gently. 'Steal the rest of my wardrobe?'

Mammon gulped, wide eyes unable to look away from the human, his human, smiling down at him like he...like he mattered, like they loved him.

Before he can think to fake an objection, MC slid into his lap, arms sliding around his neck as they cuddled close, yawn slipping past their lips.

'If you're gonna steal my comfy hoodie, you'd better be ready to replace it, greedy menace.'

Of all the Devildom's lords, you'd have thought Satan sat on the far end of the spectrum when it came to open clinginess.

MC's a long way from being fooled into thinking that he's immune to missing them, despite the demon's stoicism.

On an outing with Solomon, MC had lost all ability to use their DDD (not at all because they were trapped in a pocket dimension after Solomon tried to prove a point).

By the time they'd returned to their proper places, MC had at least a dozen texts and three missed calls from the demon.

Rushing to the House of Lamentation, ready with apologies on their tongue for missing the planned reading date, they found the Avatar of Wrath's room empty.

Crestfallen, MC started typing a message on their way back to their own room, only to hear Satan's notification ping from beyond the door.

They found the mighty, terrifying avatar of Wrath, curled up on their bed with a book and MC's favourite plushie in his lap, their blanket wrapped around his shoulders.

'Shut the door!' Demanded the blonde, fighting off a blush as MC began to giggle.

With the door closed and locked behind them, MC arched a brow. 'Missed me that much? We resort to stealing plushies now?'

'It's still in your room, therefore, not stolen.'

'Uh huh. So you've just replaced me with a plushie sheep?'

Satan's returning smile was impish, one he saved for MC's playful bantering. He set the little sheep aside gently, and wordlessly opened his arms, eyes never once wandering from MC.

The human didn't hesitate, crawling into his lap in the little sheep's place, resting their cheek against his shoulder as Satan wrapped the blanket around them both and picked his book back up.

'Read to me?'

The demon pressed a kiss to the crown of their head, free hand gliding through their hair. 'Of course, love.'

#obey me mammon x reader #obey me satan #obey me x mc #obey me shall we date #obey me #obey me fluff #obey me satan x mc

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fishech · 1 year

Text

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝑨𝒅𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒔 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑹𝒂𝒃𝒃𝒊𝒕: 𝑮𝒊𝒍𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒕 𝒗𝒐𝒏 𝑶𝒃𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒊𝒂𝒏

𝑬𝒑𝒊𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒖𝒆

𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐰, 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐂𝐲𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐝. 𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐨𝐮𝐭, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦. 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝟏𝟎𝟎% 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭, 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The inexplicable phenomenon of a human becoming a rabbit can be explained if it were a dream.

However, dreams are essentially a reflection of the depths of the human psyche.

(If this were a dream, what would I want?)

A few seconds ago, there was a cute little rabbit on my bed, kissing me on the cheek.

But in an instant, the little rabbit is back to her normal self.

It was a dream, but it felt strangely real, except that she was not wearing any clothes.

Gilbert: "Hey, little rabbit…"

Gilbert: "you can borrow my shirt for now?

The rabbit that had crawled into the sheets at blinding speed, and only her face peeked out.

The sight of her cheeks as well as her ears turning bright red made me feel somewhat lewd.

(However, I wouldn't want her to be naked forever either.)

I took out the black shirt I always wear from the closet and put it beside the rabbit

Emma: "…… thank you."

The bunny thanks me in a fading voice, grabs the shirt, and hides back into the sheets.

I sat on the sofa and waited leisurely, and finally not only her face but also her upper body came out.

(It is indeed a bit too big for her.)

When the little rabbit put on my shirt, she looked like she was wearing a short one-piece.

(Oh no, if someone were to enter the room here, it would immediately become a rumor.)

Emma: "…….."

Gilbert: "What? I can tell by the way you're staring at me without saying a word."

Emma: "Prince Gilbert, you don't seem surprised. I was a rabbit.………"

Gilbert: "Of course, I was aware of it."

Emma: "Since when?"

Gilbert: "Well, since… I found out you didn't have a rabbit…"

Emma: "……is that true?"

Gilbert: "Yes, that's right."

Emma: "then when you gave me a bath....."

Gilbert: "………."

Emma: "Oh, you suck!"

Gilbert: "Ha ha ha! Even the rabbit is embarrassed?"

Emma: "you would have noticed that I was embarrassed!"

Gilbert: "I noticed it……"

Emma: "………"

The little rabbit grabs a nearby pillow and stops trying to lift it up.

She seemed to remember that he was dealing with a guest of honor from another country, and buried her face in the pillow that she had almost flung at me.

(I guess it's better to tease a person in human form.)

Gilbert: "Are you sulking?"

Emma: "I just realized once again that Prince Gilbert is this kind of person."

The bunny, who had been fainting in agony, looks up and finally gets off the bed.

(…..eh?)

As she was about to go to the doorway, I stood up and grabbed her by the hand.

Gilbert: "Don't tell me you are going back to your room like that?"

Emma: "would that be too hard?"

Gilbert: "You don't have to ask, right? See?"

I push her shoulders and move in front of the mirror in the corner of the room.

She is wearing only her bare skin and a shirt, with a ribbon tied around her neck, the ribbon she wore when she was a rabbit.

If I were to walk through the court, tons of people would turn to look at her

(This is a den of beasts, after all.)

The little bunny also looked at her reflection in the mirror and realized how foolish she had been to say what she had just said.

Through the mirror, her eyes and gaze were at a loss.

Emma: "Prince Gilbert--"

Gilbert: "No."

Emma: "I haven't said anything yet."

Gilbert: "You're going to ask me to get you some clothes, aren't you?"

Emma: "……."

Gilbert: "But you can't go outside dressed like that either. I don't want other men to see you dressed like that."

(There might be some unwanted pests, I'll have to kill them.)

I put my hands in front of the rabbit's body and fasten the top button, which she had probably left open because she was flustered

I was a little concerned that I could see some skin when I looked down at her from behind.

Emma: "I'll never get out of here."

Gilbert: "I won't be bothered, I told you I would keep you, didn't I?"

Emma: "What?"

{flashback}

Luke: "Hey, what are you ------ doing?"

Gilbert: "What do you mean? ……… She's not a domestic rabbit, is she?"

Gilbert: "Then I'm going to make her mine."

Gilbert: "I'll take good care of you, little rabbit. ?"

{end flashback}

Gilbert: "I don't lie."

When I traced the ribbon around her neck with my fingertips, the little rabbit stiffened her body.

Emma: "No, I am not a rabbit now."

Gilbert: "Don't worry. Rabbits and people are the same."

Emma: "Not at all!"

Gilbert: "Well, if you were still a rabbit, I would have made you a bed, but since you are a person now, you could use the bed."

Gilbert: "I'll make sure you eat every meal. Oh, and of course, I'll give you a proper bath."

Emma: "No, thank you!"

The rabbit turns around and covers my mouth with her hand.

She had restrained herself from throwing the pillow at me, but she finally couldn't take it anymore.

(…… stupid. You should have just turned pale.)

My heart beats for a moment as I look down at the bunny, her cheeks flushed red and her eyes moist from the repeated shame she has felt.

(…………..? No, no way.)

her warm hand does not pull away, and I let my tongue crawl between her fingers as a test.

Needless to say, the little rabbit withdrew her hand

Gilbert: "You have no discipline. As the owner, I have to teach you a lesson."

Emma: "Prince Gilbert is being twice as mean as usual today, aren't you?

Gilbert: "Yes?"

(I do think I'm having a bit too much fun.)

Gilbert: "I can't help it. Because i am having fun."

Emma: "I'm not having fun at all!"

Gilbert: "Ha-ha-ha, liar."

(It's a miracle that I can laugh with someone in the middle of hostile territory.)

(………)

(Oh, I see. If it's a dream, then this is my deepest wish.)

(I feel stupid, dreaming of fleeting moments…)

Emma: "Prince Gilbert. Do you have any more clothes I can wear?"

Emma: "I would be happy to borrow some pants at least."

I lock the little rabbit in my arms as she stares angrily at the closet.

The bite on her shoulder through my shirt was almost an impulsive act.

I bite a little harder, so as to leave a mark on the skin.

(Even if it leaves pain, ------ it won't last long anyway.)

(If it's a dream, it's going to disappear soon.)

Emma: "…….. What are you…? …"

Gilbert: "The proof of being my pet."

Gilbert: "I won't lend you anything but my shirt."

Just as the little rabbit suddenly became a person again, this time will soon come to an end.

Still, I pull away with a mean smile.

(Just a little longer)

(let me dream)

#ikemen prince #ikepri #ikepri jp #translation #gilbert von obsidian #ikepri gilbert

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roxygen22 · 11 days

Text

Still Here (Chapter 9)

Summary: Your ex calls and throws off your evening. You and Timothée make love for the first time (again), and you finally say the three little words he's been dying to hear.

C/W: Conversation with toxic ex; NSFW (oral and consensual/protected p-in-v sex, denied orgasm)

Catch up on previous chapters here.

You walked into the town's elementary school and were immediately hit by a wave of nostalgia. It was the same one you attended, after all, though the hallways seemed much smaller (or normal, really) as an adult. Madison walked alongside you to the office to register for the upcoming school year.

"Oh, that was my classroom for 3rd grade. Ms. Hobbs was my favorite teacher. She had a knack for making stories come alive. She would decorate the classroom based on what we were reading at the time. Oh, we had SO much fun when we read Charlie and the Chocolate Factory! I found the golden ticket and got to pick a prize out of the treasure bin."

Madison barely acknowledged your story with a "uh-huh" as she looked around, nervously biting her lip.

"I figured that would get more of a reaction out of you given your current obsession with Wonka," you said as you playfully nudged her arm with your elbow.

"Huh? Oh, sorry, Mom. I'm just thinking about my old school. And my friends."

You stopped walking and gave her a hug. "I know how hard it was for me to move across the country and start at a new school, and I was an adult. Well, a teenaged adult, but still. I can only imagine how you are feeling at the moment. If you want to talk about it, I'm all ears. And I'm sure Nana, Pawpaw, and even Timothée would say the same." You squeezed her to you once more. "You're a likeable girl, Madison. You'll make new friends here. And at least you know Emerie already." She just nodded, so you kept your nostalgia as you continued to the office to finish paperwork.

Evening arrived and Timothée came to pick you up for a date. It was a fantastic feeling to have your relationship out in the open now. Your mom was even supportive despite her earlier comments about sparing his feelings. Madison was sitting outside on the porch swing reading a book when he came up the steps.

"Hey, kiddo!" you heard him say cheerily through the front door. You had heard him drive up and got up to let him in, but once you saw the two talking you wanted to give them some space.

"Hey." Madison put her book down.

"I heard you got to see your new school today. What'd you think?"

"It's...small."

Timothée laughed and sat beside her. "I'm sure it's very small compared to what you are used to."

"At least I won't have a lot of new names to memorize," she side-eyed him and smirked.

"That's one way to look at it!" He bumped her arm with his. "Alright, I'm going to go say hi to your grandparents and mom."

Timothée lightly rapped on the door as he let himself in. You slightly startled him with your presence right by the door, but he quickly regained his senses and greeted you with a kiss. As he stepped around to say hello to your parents, your phone rang. It was your ex, Michael.

"Hello?" you answered in a questioning tone.

"I'm calling to talk to Madison."

"Oh, uhh, I'm about to go out, but I can give her the phone for a few minutes while I finish getting ready."

"Go out? Like on a date?"

"Not that it's any of your business, but yes." You made frustrated eye contact with Timothée and mouthed "Michael" as you walked to your bedroom. He followed and leaned against the doorway with his arms crossed.

"It IS my business to know who is spending time with my child," he groused.

You felt your ears heat up and your lip curl. "Like you gave me the same courtesy when you started seeing Katie," you spat. "Besides, you hardly reach out to make contact with YOUR child. You can't just call on a whim and demand to talk to her after weeks of radio silence."

"Just let me talk to her."

You muted the phone and grabbed a pillow from your bed to scream into. Despite how much you just wanted to hang up on Michael, you never wanted Madison to say that you kept her away from him. You squeezed past Timothée and walked to the front porch.

"Maddy, your dad is on the phone." She looked up at you in confusion that was quickly replaced with excitement. She grabbed for the phone.

"Daddy?" You couldn't hear what he was saying on the other end, but you heard her start listing off some of the fun things she had done since moving out here. You went back inside but only closed the screen door so you could easily hear if you needed to intervene.

Timothée was sitting on the couch. "What did he want?" he asked attitudinally.

"He just randomly wanted to talk to Madison, I guess."

"Where does he come off questioning you about you personal life?" You just shrugged, unsure of where Michael's behavior was stemming from. A few minutes later, Madison came in and handed you the phone.

"Here, he wants to talk to you again."

You took the phone back and held it to your ear. "Hello?"

"Who is Timothy? Isn't he the guy who dumped you in high school? Is the dating pool in that tiny ass town so small out that you have to resort to your own leftovers?" You didn't validate his insane line of questioning with a response. "Whatever. Why is Madison around him so much? He is basically all she talked about. What kind of influence is that blue-collar, good for noth-"

"Don't you DARE talk about him like that." Your voice was dripping with venom. You jumped up from the couch and stormed out onto the porch. Your mother, upon hearing your tone, took Madison into the kitchen to keep her occupied.

"I do not owe you an explanation for how I choose to fix what you broke," you continued. "EVERYTHING I do, I think about Madison first. Can you say the same? I ran into Timothée a couple of weeks after we got back into town, and yes we reconnected. But you know what. She probably likes him because he has spent more quality time with her in the past two months than you have in the past two YEARS. HE shows an interest in her. HE checks in on her. HE puts her first in our relationship. HE treats her like a human being, and not just to get to me. Because HE is a decent human being. Next time you want to talk to Madison, coordinate a date and time first. I am no longer available to cater to your every whim." You hung up and ran down the steps to the driveway. You angrily walked over to your dad's shed and kicked the tire on the tractor.

"Careful, you could break a toe doing that."

You spun and saw Timothée standing a few paces behind you. You sighed and closed your eyes. "How much did you hear?"

"Enough to confirm that he's an asshole. Though I did enjoy hearing you sing my praises," he smirked.

You laughed wetly as hot tears poured down your face. "I'm sorry that he called right as we were about to head out the door."

"Shh, don't worry about it." Timothée pulled you into a hug and rested his chin on your head. "I know you probably don't feel like eating after getting so worked up. Would you like to come over and chill at my place instead of going out? We can pick up a pizza, snuggle on the couch, and watch a movie"

"That sounds so much better than the original plan right now."

<><><><><> (minors DNI from this point)

Timothée held the door open for you to enter his house. While you had been on the property a couple of times since returning from California, you had yet to go inside his new place. This house was not here when the two of you dated in high school, so you had no idea what the interior looked like.

"Welcome," he said. "Make yourself comfortable. I'll get us a couple of plates."

You walked to the couch and leaned against the back of it. "It's less...'bachelor pad' than I expected," you said through a laugh.

"Ah, well, I cleaned up my act once I started pushing 30." You chuckled. "Bathroom is over there," Timothée pointed, "if you need it." He walked around the counter and couch to the coffee table and grabbed the remote. "Here, why don't you find something to watch while I divvy up the pizza."

You sat down on the couch, took the remote in hand, and started scrolling through Netflix. You still hadn't decided when he sat next to you with the pizza and beer. Still feeling the nostalgia from visiting the school with Madison, you settled on 13 Going on 30. He rolled his eyes.

"What? You told me to choose. I was inspired by your earlier comment about getting your act together at 30."

"I rolled my eyes because of the number of times you made me sit through this movie in high school. Some things never change."

"It's one of my faves!"

"Well, I guess I can appreciate the plot line a little more now. Guy in his 30s eventually gets the girl he pined over as a teen."

"Awww, you're getting sentimental in your old age." You grinned.

Timothée pretended to scowl at you, then booped you on the nose. "Are you going to press play or not?"

Once the two of you finished the pizza, you set the plates aside and curled up next to him. He draped his arm around you, allowing his fingers to lazily drift up and down your arm. As the movie progressed, his hand eventually found its way to the space above your jeans where your shirt had ridden up slightly. You shivered as he grazed the bare skin on your waist. You lifted your head from his shoulder and looked up at him. He seized the opportunity to capture your lips with his.

You hungrily opened your mouth to deepen the kiss. You felt his tongue glide across yours in return. You eagerly shifted to sit in his lap. He reached around and squeezed your ass before sliding his hands under your shirt. At first he just snaked his hands underneath, but then began to pull it up. You sucked in a breath and froze, catching his hand at the hem of your shirt. He pulled back to look at your face with concern.

"Timothée, I- uh, I don't have the same body I did as a teenager."

His face relaxed and he smiled warmly. "[Y/N], you were and still are the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on."

"Yeah, but..." you argued as your insecurities became more evident.

"Let me guess," he interrupted. "Stretch marks? More curves from maturing into a gorgeous woman whose awe-inspiring body has brought life into this world?"

You simply nodded. Your cheeks blushed from the attention.

Timothée pulled you tighter against his body. "Let me love those, too." He stood with your legs still wrapped around him. His hands cupped your ass to support you as he carried you to the bedroom. You wrapped your arms around his neck and clasped a hand in his hair. He placed a knee on his bed and laid you down gently.

"You okay?" he asked as he hovered over you. Your breathing shuddered, but you nodded.

"It's...it's been a while," you whispered.

"Me, too." Timothée gently grazed his lips against yours. Once. Twice. He then tugged at your shirt, and this time you made no move to stop him. He pushed himself up on his arms to take in the sight of you half-naked on his bed.

"Now, why am I more undressed than you?" you teased. You grabbed the hem of his t-shirt and pulled. He sat up and continued to pull it over his head. You sat up on your knees to run your hand down his chest and abs, stopping at the buttons on his jeans.

Timothée grabbed your hips and sucked in a breath in anticipation of your next move. "[Y/N], I want you so badly."

"Not as much as I want you." You both stood and clumsily finished undressing each other while hungrily kissing each other. He snuck a hand between your folds as you freed one leg from your pants. You gasped, having become unaccustomed to the feeling of another's touch. Noticing the reaction, he curled his fingers and rubbed your increasingly sensitive bundle of nerves. You moaned, wrapping your arms around his neck to prevent your collapse.

Just as you started to feel the heat of climax in your core, Timothée pulled away. You whined at the absence of his hand. He flashed a wry smile and licked his fingers. He pressed himself against you and pulled your chin up for a kiss. Then, he backed you up against the bed so your knees buckled, forcing you to lay back. He separated your legs with his body and dipped down onto his knees. You knew what was about to happen, but you were still not prepared for the overwhelming sensation of his warm tongue separating your folds. You involuntarily bucked up into his face. In return, his hands snaked to your hips to pin them down. You moaned and struggled against his grip as the coil inside your belly tightened and tightened. But yet again, he stopped before you could reach your climax.

Timothée reached for the drawer of his nightstand and pulled out a condom. Once sheathed, he picked you up and pulled you further back onto the bed. He hovered briefly, staring into your eyes. "I never thought I would get to have this - have you - again."

"Take me," you breathed. "Please. I'm yours." Maintaining eye contact, he lined himself up and gently pushed in until he filled you completely. You both stilled, reveling in the closeness and allowing you a moment to adjust and accommodate his length. He began to work his hips, rutting up against you. The coil inside you quickly constricted again when he reached between you to rub your sensitive bud until you were finally overcome. Your walls clenched around him as you clung to him with all of your limbs, gasping his name.

After you caught your breath, you cupped his face in your hands and guided him down to kiss you. He continued to slowly grind against you, trying to postpone its inevitable end. You loosened your grip so he could pull back and gaze into your eyes.

"Timothée, I love you," you whispered as you stared into his emerald orbs.

He came undone at your confession.

<><><><><>

Chapter 10

Masterlist

Tag List:

@croatianprincess, @bluizh, @jindongdongie

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