#TELL ME I WAS MORE THAN JUST A DECENT OPPORTUNITY | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

itsallyscorner · 10 months ago

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Like Father, Like Son | CL16

pairing: Charles Leclerc x reader

summary: Leo is just as clingy as Charles. Some cute little fluff moments

warnings: none! Italics are flashbacks, if there’s any spelling errors pretend you didn’t see them x

author’s note: A little all over the place, but I hope you guys enjoy the read! First time writing for Charles, so I hope it’s decent :)

Charles was a clingy boyfriend.

He knew it, you knew it, and everyone else who’s witnessed him practically attached to you knew it. But he couldn’t help it, Charles loved and adored every single part of you. Which was why he somehow needed to always be attached to you.

Whether you guys were at home, at the paddock, or just out and about, Charles always had to have you close. Majority of the time, he can be seen having his hand interlocked with yours or walking about with his arm around your waist. On rare occasions, fans have even spotted the Ferrari driver walking around while hugging you from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder and hands connected at the front of your waist.

Fans melted at the sight of Charles being so clingy. His friends on the other hand—along with some fellow drivers on the grid—found Charles’s little habit as the perfect opportunity to tease him until he was as red as his race suit.

The Miami sun beamed on you as you and Charles entered the paddock. Immediately, fans recognized your boyfriend, calling him for his attention to sign merch and take pictures.

You gently released his hand, causing him to look at you with a pout, “Bébé, hold my hand.”

“Cha, they’re calling you and I know you want to go say hi.” You insisted, encouraging him to greet the fans by nudging him towards the barricades.

With a pout still on his face, Charles looked around, “You might get lost, it’s your first time here.” He knew you were fully capable of finding your way around the paddock and locating the Ferrari motorhome, but he just didn’t want you to leave his side. The moment he’d step into the Ferrari hospitality, he’d be pulled away from you to film content and do media. Which meant he wouldn’t see you till a couple of hours later. So basically, he was shamelessly finding excuses for you to stay with him.

“I’ll be fine, Joris is here and he’s going to hospitality too, I’ll just go with him.” You assured your boyfriend, motioning to his best friend behind you.

Charles’s brows furrowed together, his hand finding yours and tangling them together.

“Joris doesn’t know where the hospitality is.” Charles reasoned, obviously lying. Joris opened his mouth to object but quickly shut his mouth once his friend shot him a look.

“Please bébé, just come with me. They’re going to make me do media once I get there and I won’t see you till after.” Charles tried again to make you stay, slightly tugging on your hand. Joris shook his head at his best friend.

“Charles, your fans want to see you, they don’t want to see me. Just have some one on one time with them.” You encouraged him again, a slight smile on your face at how clingy your boyfriend was being.

“Nonsense, I’m sure they have some of those friendship bracelets you like so much. They’re always telling me to share them with you.” Charles said, dragging you along with him to the fans.

Once you get to the barricades, you’re approached by Lando and Fernando, who are already smirking at the both of you.

“Morning love birds!” Lando greeted you both, shifting his eye from Charles to you, “Is he holding you hostage again? Blink if you need help (y/n), security’s right there.”

Charles rolled his eyes at his friend, signing posters for a couple of fans and taking selfies with them.

“Pretty sure it’s going to take more than security to get him off of me.” You teased, raising your interlocked hands up and shaking it in the air. Charles paused the selfie he was about to take and turned to you with a feigned look of offense.

“I’m kidding, babe.” You smiled at him, rubbing your thumb over his hand. Fernando tsked at Charles playfully, “Ai, Charles no one is going to steal her away from you!”

A couple of the fans caught on with the banter you were all having and decided to join in.

“WE’LL STEAL HER!” A fan screamed.

“CAN WE HAVE (Y/N)?” Another fan from the back chimed in. Charles’s eyes widened at the crowd in front of him, a slight blush on his cheeks from all the teasing.

“You guys are all mean!” He jokingly yelled at the fans, pulling you away with him as he ran towards the garages.

While your boyfriend was clingy, you did not hate it one single bit. Majority of the time, you weren’t in the same time zones, so all the cuddling and hand holding made up for lost time.

Charles hated being away from you. He hated it even more when you were at his apartment in Monaco, sleeping in your shared bed without him after admitting how much you missed him. He knew you understood why he had to travel so much, it came with his job, but he still felt guilty leaving you alone so often.

Which is how you both ended up with sweet Leo.

Charles watched through his phone as you adjusted yourself in bed. You were in your pajamas, your nightly skin routine was done, and you were ready for bed. Before you can settle, you grabbed Charles’s pillow and cuddled it.

“I miss you, Cha.” You hummed quietly. You looked so cuddly, the blankets were pulled up to your chin and the pillows looked so fluffy around you. He wished he were there to snuggle up beside you and hide his face in your neck, basking in the scent of you.

“I know mon cœur (my heart), I miss you too, so much.” He was currently in Australia for the third race of the season. He wanted you to be there, but too many things were happening at your job for you to travel this weekend.

“It’s so quiet, I miss hearing you just yap and play piano.” You pouted, eyes beginning to feel heavy.

“I don’t yap.” Charles’s disagreed, his nose wrinkling.

You huffed out a laugh, “Yes, you do! Sometimes you’re just as bad a Max!”

Charles gasped at you, “That is a strong accusation, bébé. I am not as bad as Max, he never stops.”

You playfully rolled your eyes at your boyfriend, “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Cha.”

Charles went quiet for a bit, causing you to look at him.

“What’s wrong?” You asked him through the phone. You see him shrug, “Nothing’s wrong, don’t worry.”

“So what is it?”

“What if we got a dog?” He suddenly suggested. The thought of a dog made your sleepiness go away. You weren’t against getting a dog, but with how busy you and Charles got, you weren’t really sure if now was the right time.

“A dog?” Your eyes squinted at your boyfriend. Charles hummed and nodded at you, “Yeah. I think it would be nice, no? You could have company whenever I’m away and we’ll be our own little family.”

Your heart swelled at Charles, the thought of having a family together one day was definitely something you both saw in your futures. But again, you were both too busy to start one, so maybe a dog would suffice.

“You’re right.” You began, “But having a dog is a big responsibility, Cha. Who’s going to watch them if we’re both away?”

“We can always take them. If we can’t, I’m sure maman wouldn’t mind.” Charles suggested, running a hand through his hair. He began to go through the other logistics, but sleep was beginning to take over you.

“I guess, baby. Let me sleep on it and I’ll let you know tomorrow, okay Cha?” You tell him, rubbing your eye. Charles smiled at you and blew you a kiss through the phone, “Don’t worry too much, mon chéri (my darling). I love you, sleep well.”

You mirrored his smile, “I love you too, Cha.”

After having a conversation about the responsibilities of having a dog, you and Charles decided that you were ready. So he reached out to a couple of breeders and some pet shops in Monaco until you guys found the right pup fit for you and Charles.

Leo was like the missing piece of you and Charles. You didn’t feel it before, but after seeing the small pup nuzzling between you and Charles you felt complete.

The English cream miniature dachshund was a bundle of joy and full of energy despite his small size. Leo’s daily schedule consisted of him eating, sleeping, playing, cuddles, eating, and more sleeping. He demanded both yours and Charles’s attention, though he demanded yours more. It was like he was in his own little world and the two of you were living in it.

Charles and Leo were like two peas in a pod. While one was a dog and the other was human, the similarities in their personalities were uncanny. They were the biggest sweethearts around you, constantly cuddling into your side and pressing kisses (or in Leo’s case—licks) onto your face—the two adored you and always wanted to be in your space. Wherever you went, they followed. But whenever you were gone, they were miserable.

Which brings you to today.

Leo whined as he sat beside the front door of Charles’s apartment. He pawed at the door, the sound of his tiny nails filling the room. You had gone out to have a girls day, visiting your favorite cafe with a couple of your friends and getting your nails done. Which left Leo to his own devices at his dad’s (Charles’s) apartment.

Charles was in the living room, going through a couple of emails from the team and his engineers about data from recent races and about the car. Though, he wasn’t able to focus since the six pound dog you both shared was constantly whining at the door waiting for you to come home.

Getting up from the couch, Charles made his way to the entrance of his apartment. Leo jumped up at the sight of Charles, immediately approaching his giant feet.

“Mon cœur, maman will be home soon.” He crouched to pick up Leo, who climbed up his chest and began licking his face. Charles let out a chuckle, “You’ve been acting like I was chopped liver for the past two hours, Leo. Don’t act so surprised to see me.”

As if Leo understood him, the dog nipped at his nose, making Charles yelp, “Ah! Leo!”

“You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Holding the dog against his chest, Charles made his way back to the couch. He moved his laptop aside, already knowing he wouldn’t be getting any work done anytime soon. He laid horizontally on the couch with Leo sat on his chest, the dog still nipping and licking at him excitedly.

“Do you miss maman too, Leo?” He softly asked the dog, petting Leo’s head and smoothing the soft fur of his ears. The dog let out a small sound, as if he agreed with his dad.

Still stroking Leo’s head, Charles continued to talk to the dog, “I always miss your maman, Leo. Whether she’s gone for a couple of hours or when I’m away overseas, she’s always on my mind. Just like you mon cœur.”

Leo had settled on nuzzling himself into the crook of Charles’s neck, similar to how you would, and laid down against his chest. Charles soothingly rubbed Leo’s back as his eyes began to feel heavier.

“We’re very lucky to have maman, right Leo? She’s perfect for us and she takes care of us all the time. I know you like to cuddle with her more, that’s okay though, she gives very nice cuddles.” Charles could feel himself doze off. The afternoon sun was shining against the windows of his living room and the couch was incredibly comfy—it was perfect for an afternoon nap.

Before he can completely fall asleep, Leo suddenly whipped his head away from Charles, making the man groan at the dog. Leo’s tail began to wag excitedly, his paws tapping on Charles’s chest, begging to be let go.

Leo barked at the sound of your keys turning in the lock. Instead of placing Leo back on the floor, Charles picked him up and walked towards the entrance to greet you once you’ve come in.

Leo’s tiny body shook even more as he watched you walk through the door. You beamed at the sight before you, your boyfriend dressed in sweatpants and a sweatshirt, cradling your extremely hyper dog.

“Aww, hi babies!” You cooed, dropping your bag to the side and gently taking Leo from Charles. You giggled as Leo covered your face in kisses, sniffing at your hair, and nudging your face with his cold wet nose.

Charles softly smiled at you and Leo, “Hey, I missed you too, bébé.”

“I know you did, Cha.” You hummed, walking into his waiting arms and pressing a kiss onto his cheek. Charles made a sound of disapproval, “You missed, mon chéri.”

You chucked at your boyfriend, “Oh, I’m sorry.” You pressed a tender kiss onto his awaiting lips, a hum of satisfaction coming from Charles. His arms tightened around you as he led you to the couch, only letting you go so you can settle onto the cushions.

Picking up your hand, Charles inspected your nails, “I like them, they look good on you.”

“Thank you, Cha. How was your day with Leo?” You sat back into the couch with Leo still cuddled into your chest. Charles sat beside you, wrapping his arms around you and placing his chin on your shoulder.

“I tried to get work done but Leo kept crying, so we decided to cuddle and talk about how much we missed you.” Charles answered, feeling the sleepiness come over him again.

“Oh, really?”

Charles nodded, “Yeah, our child’s a boy of many words, mon chéri.” You looked down at the pup to see him dozing off like Charles.

“Can we take a nap?” Charles asked, moving the both of you so you were laying down on the couch. You laid beneath Charles and Leo, your two boys nuzzled into your sides.

“Of course we can, Cha.” You hummed, pressing a kiss to his forehead and another onto Leo’s.

“I love you.” You whispered to Charles, you felt him smile against you, “I love you always, Mon cœur (my heart).”

You watched the two of them as they fell fast asleep on you. Your boys were clingy, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Like father, like son, I guess.” You whispered before falling asleep yourself.

#f1 #formula 1 #formula one #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #cl16 #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fanfic

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distantdarlings · 1 year ago

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HAVE ME // t. nott

RATING: R / 4.8K WORDS

Theodore Nott x Fem Reader Insert

+ SUMMARY - *Requested, based on this* When you are paired with Cormac McClaggen for a mid-semester project, he takes it as an opportunity to shoot his shot. However, despite your numerous rejections, he doesn't seem to want to let up. That is until Theo gets involved.

+ WARNINGS - SMUT, depictions of violence (a small fight, specifically), blood described very briefly, Cormac is hitting on reader and won't leave them alone, language, oral sex (perf. on reader), kissing, dom!Theo, fem reader, not proof-read

+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -

Hotel - Montell Fish

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The chatter around the classroom slowly dwindled as Professor Snape silently slipped through the door of his office. Everyone was waiting patiently for the results of his decision from yesterday. He mentioned that the mid-semester project would be partnered rather than solo. To you, that was bad news, but to others in the class, it was good. You worked best when you didn’t have to sort out the ideas getting bounced around aloud. But if you had to work with a partner, please let it be someone halfway decent.

“So,” Snape starts, “I have here the list of partners for the mid-semester project. As a reminder, you will be handling very toxic materials, so for the sake of all of our time, be careful with them.” His expression hinted at boredom, despite the unfortunate things he was referencing. Last year, someone nearly lost a hand with this project, and—to be quite honest—that was one of the reasons you were so excited about it. You liked the challenge and, even better, overcoming it. But you couldn’t do that with a shitty partner. Your fingers crossed beneath your open notebook.

“Malfoy with Weasley, Berkshire with Granger,” he began listing the names. Your hips shifted uncomfortably. He was pairing everyone with the opposite house. Surely he’d grant you some mercy with how well you’d been doing in this class?

“—Nott with Finnigan—” Your thoughts were briefly interrupted as Theodore’s name was called. That was an interesting pairing; however, you knew that Potions was one of Theo’s strong suits, and, granted they worked well together, the both of them would successfully keep their eyebrows intact.

Your eyes found the older boy, tracing over every line on his face. You were friends, pretty good friends. His whole group of Slytherins were friendly with you, really. But there was something about him that had shocked you to your core from the first night you’d met him and started chatting at the Sorting ceremony when the both of you were eleven. He was quite literally one of the most attractive people you’d ever seen, and it seemed like he knew it too. The way he held himself down to the way he communicated with people, he just knew he was alarmingly alluring.

He had a way of staring right into your eyes when you spoke to him, almost to the point it felt as if he was reading your mind. No matter what, he’d give you his full attention, even more so than his other friends, it seemed. Maybe you had always imagined it, but if you called his name, he was there. He would be waiting with his ear next to your lips, eager to hear what you had to say, no matter how you were feeling. Perhaps it was cliche, but you felt as though you could tell him anything, and you did.

His eyes found yours suddenly. His lips parted into a crooked smile, his dazzling white teeth peeking through slightly. You returned the action, raising your eyebrows in an amused fashion at his partner for the project. He shrugged, the smile never leaving his face. He pointed at you and mouthed, ‘You’re coming up.’ You rolled your eyes and laughed silently as you brushed him off. You were laughing, but, in all seriousness, this wasn’t a comedic matter. Your Potions grade was potentially on the chopping block here, and you were getting nervous. Snape didn’t grade depending on who did what; he simply graded on the project's legitimacy. You could do this by yourself, but if whomever your partner ended up being fucks it up, you both were screwed. And, on top of it all, you would have to work with a Gryffindor, someone you likely barely knew. Perfect.

Your name perked your ears as Snape paused for a moment, trying to decipher his own handwriting. Merlin, was he trying to tease you? You glanced around, wondering who hadn’t been selected yet. You hadn’t been paying attention. “Ah! With McClaggen.”

Your heart sank. You turned to glance over your shoulder at the showy Gryffindor sitting in the back corner of the classroom. He sent a wink and a small smirk your way, to which you replied by quickly turning back around. Did the universe hate you? It must. That was the only answer. Shit.

“Get to work,” he instructed, returning to his office and firmly shutting the door behind him. You weighed out the options in your head on how angry Snape would be if you asked to switch partners. You were sure he picked them for a reason…or maybe he didn’t? Merlin, help. Should you even bother with this? Maybe you could convince McClaggen to let you do all the work. He could sit patiently by and be quiet.

The classroom bustled gently as students were standing and finding their partners. Small groans echoed as everyone paired up. Apparently, you weren’t the only one that disliked your partner. Usually, you wouldn’t have expected Professor Snape to have paired Gryffindors with Slytherins. Who knew? Maybe he was trying something new.

You hid a wince and got to your feet. You collected your notebook and school bag and made your way over to the smirking boy. His hands were placed cockily behind his head, and one leg rested, crossed over the other. He maximalized every bit of space he took up, like a peacock. You repressed a groan and sat down in the seat next to him, neatly spreading your things out.

“Well, hello,” he cooed. “I don’t think I’ve spoken with you before.”

“I don’t think so either,” you chuckled nervously, eyes finding the back of Theo’s head. He sat towards the front of the classroom, partnered with the clumsy Gryffindor. You wondered if he was having the same doubts you were. As if on beat, his head turned and made eye contact with you. He hid a smile at your current predicament and gave you a small wave with his fingers. You rolled your eyes and, with the hand farthest from McClaggen, pretended to choke yourself with it. Theo laughed aloud before turning back around when his partner tapped his shoulder.

“What’s so funny?” your partner asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“Nothing,” you smiled, “how about we get started?”

Most of the class period was spent discussing the potion the two of you wanted to brew. The assignment was to pick one of the most difficult potions to brew and to make and document the experience successfully. All of the potions you were to choose from were in the very last chapter of your textbook, and the two of you flipped through the pages, unsure.

Every so often, Cormac (you’d learned his first name was) would point at something on one of the pages and scoot ever so closer to you. He was so close now you could smell the peppermint candy he swished around his mouth. His arm rested alongside the back of your chair, and you were…immensely uncomfortable. Your back straightened so as not to come into contact with his arm.

Throughout this whole experience, you’d glance Theo looking back at the two of you every so often and wonder if you could signal him to distract the boy. It wasn’t that you felt threatened; you just wish he’d back the hell up. If you had a personal bubble, it had long since combusted. His face was so close to yours, and no matter how far you leaned away, he’d get closer. Finally, you’d had enough.

“Cormac,” you laughed nervously. You placed one hand on his chest and slowly pushed him back toward his own seat.

“What is it?” he asked. No matter what you did, that stupid smirk never failed.

“You are very close to me,” you explained, trying to remain as polite as possible. He shrugged and chuckled a bit, gaining on some of the space you’d placed between the two of you.

“Well, that’s because I want to get closer to you,” he said.

“Uh, no,” you tittered, “that’s okay. Let’s just do the project.” You tapped the textbook and pretended to immerse yourself back in the information, hoping he’d let it lie. He didn’t. His arm wrapped back around your chair, and your eyes slipped close in exasperation.

“Cormac, please—”

“What? Don’t you want to get to know each other before we do a project together?” he asked, scooting closer yet again.

“No, I really don’t. I just want to get this done.” His face resumed its previous proximity to yours. He smirked at the closeness and you sighed, turning your face away from his, begging Theo to glance back again.

“Oh, I see…is he your boyfriend?” Cormac asked. Your face shot back to his.

“What? No! He’s just a friend,” you said.

“That was a very quick, rushed answer,” he laughed, “but if you say so, that’s even better for me—”

“Please, let’s just do the assignment,” you pleaded, “I’m really not interested.”

“Not even for a trip to Hogsmeade?”

“No, not really, you’re not my type.” You glanced back at Theo. He was finally looking back. Only this time, his eyes were locked on the boy beside you, with his face so close to yours. His eyes gleamed blood red, and his jaw clenched tightly. Your eyebrows furrowed, begging him to intervene somehow. If Cormac wasn’t too embarrassed to shoot his shot in the middle of class, surrounded by his peers, you were almost positive he’d continue to harass you outside of the classroom. Maybe even when the two of you were alone, and he might not let up at that point.

“What is your type?” he asked. “Brooding assholes in Slytherin?” He said this part a bit louder, making direct eye contact with Theo. You could feel the tension building slightly, and did your best to diffuse the situation. You partially blocked their gaze of each other.

“Please don’t say that about him.”

“I thought you said he wasn’t your boyfriend. Why are you defending him?”

“He’s not my boyfriend, but he is my friend, and I’d like you not to call him names,” you spoke sternly, eyes hardening on the boy. He was plucking the last strings of your patience.

“Fine, I will—” you nodded at his promise “—if you let me take you to dinner.”

The bell signalling the end of class interrupted the conversation. Thank Merlin. You quickly gathered your things together and shoved them into your bag, praying he’d just drop the subject and let you move on with your day. You’d figure out a way to deal with him later. For right now, you just wanted to get your free period started as soon as possible. He stood right when you did. You ignored him and made for the exit, walking as quickly as looked natural.

You were the first out of the classroom and down the hall, trying your best to get away from him without completely abandoning Theo. A hand grabbed your shoulder, stopping you in your tracks. It roughly spun you around, yanking a yelp from your throat. You stood before Cormac, who had a sinister look on his face.

“You never answered me,” he said. “Let me take you to dinner…”

“No, Cormac, I don’t want to go,” you said, attempting to wrestle yourself out of his iron grip. What about your thousand answers was he not grasping?

“Let go of me.” His hand did not release you, and it did not seem like he intended to, either. You slipped your hand between his and your shoulder, trying to edge it off. He made a sound of endearment before attempting to slide a hand around your hips. You squealed and squirmed away from him, trying to prevent him from wrapping his arms farther around you.

“Hey!” A voice shouted. The both of you began to turn, but before Cormac could get his head fully pivoted, a hand appeared on his shoulder and yanked him away from you. It was Theo, and he appeared to be fuming. His jaw was tightly clenched, and his eyes were wild.

“The fuck do you think you’re doing, McClaggen?” he demanded. “She said no, you dick!”

“I don’t see how it’s any of your business. She said you weren’t her boyfriend,” the younger laughed meanly, poking him roughly in the chest. You winced at the contact.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” he hissed, pushing the boy back from him. Cormac stumbled a few steps before regaining his footing. It appeared he was as surprised as everyone else was at the sudden hostility. Cormac laughed cockily.

He raised a hand and swung his fist at Theo as hard as he could, getting a good hit in. Theo’s head jerked to the side from the force of the punch, and you gasped sharply, hands shooting to cover your mouth in shock. Natural instincts told you to jump back, but you rushed toward Theo, who pushed you back gently behind him, squeezing your arm firmly. It didn’t hurt, but you knew it meant to stay put.

“Come on, Slytherin!” Cormac shouted. “Show me what your reject house is made of!”

A crowd of other students had begun to gather around the two boys, curious to see what all of the commotion was. Adrenaline pumped through your veins like ice water as you watched Theo approach the other boy, cocking his arms and wringing any stiffness out of them.

Before you could feel the exhalation of breath leave your body, Theo swung his arm at the boy, cracking him hard across the jaw. As if in slow motion, Cormac fell back and hit the ground with a hard thud. You imagined his tailbone would be quite bruised tomorrow morning.

Theo fell down on top of the boy, legs resting on either side of his hips, and wailed on him. Fist after fist hit the boy’s face, pushing more and more blood out of him. You screamed in shock as you realized Theo had no intention of stopping. Around the same time you did, everyone else did too. They began throwing shouts of concern and pressing in on the two boys. Everybody loved a good fight now and then but nobody wanted to see someone get killed.

Yet, nobody put their hands on Theo for fear of being in the same predicament as Cormac currently was. That was, until Enzo and Mattheo ran up behind the crowd. You heard them ask if that was Theo.

“Enzo!” you shouted his name, waving over the crowd. His eyes quickly found yours and in seeing the distress on your face, began weaving through the crowd. Mattheo quickly followed suit.

When they breached the barrier of the crowd, their eyes widened, and they made for their friend. They grabbed his shoulders and pulled him away from the poor boy, his face a mangled mess. You looked away quickly, not wanting to see the damage that had been done in your favor.

Once pulled away, a gathering of students ran over to Cormac and covered him with a wall of their protection, trying to see if they could help him somehow. You turned to Theo, who was breathing heavily, a single dripping of blood pouring from his nose. You turned to the bottom of your uniform shirt, found the edge of the seam, and tore a small section of it. You could get a replacement sometime later.

You approached the boy with a murderous gaze and gently pressed the piece of shirt beneath his nose. He flinched slightly but never looked away from Cormac. Maybe that hadn’t been for you, and he’d just wanted to beat Cormac’s ass—which is understandable, but still. You weren’t totally sure why he did it.

“Theo?” you spoke gently. His glare didn’t waver. The fingers pressing the material against his bloodied nose tilted his face carefully to look at you. His eyes found yours, softening slightly.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, his chest heaving. “I couldn’t stand him touching you like that.”

“It’s okay,” you reassured. He didn’t seem convinced. How he looked at you with such concern and worry made you wonder if he thought you were mad at him. You shook your head at the question running through your mind. Obviously, he didn’t know what you had been thinking, but you hoped he’d understand somehow.

You helped Enzo and Mattheo pull him to his feet and escort him away from the crowd before any of the professors showed up. Speaking of which, they likely should have been out here by now.

As you helped the boys guide Theo toward the Slytherin common room, you were careful to avoid any obvious eyes that raced past them to see what the aftermath of the commotion was. Hopefully, nobody would notice them and they could deal with the whole situation later. The group turned the corner and stopped before the entrance to the dorm room. Enzo announced the password, and the lot of you headed inside, pulling Theo up the stairs and into the boys’ dorm room. He pulled away from them suddenly and sat on his bed.

“Alright, alright, I’m okay!” he declared. “I just got a sock to the jaw; my legs weren’t broken.”

“They’re just trying to help, Teddy,” you whispered, trying to place the cloth back on his nose that had started up its intermittent spurting again. He sighed and gently grabbed your wrist, holding it away from his face. He was never rough with you, despite how angry he was.

“I’m fine, I’m just wound up, I don’t need any of you to—”

“Nonsense,” you interrupted him. “Mattheo, Enzo, would the two of you mind running down to the hospital wing and asking Madam Pomfrey if she has anything to stop the bleeding. It’s not excessive, but it’s messy.”

“Is there not a spell or something like that?” Mattheo asked, clearly concerned for his friend.

“Not one that I know off the top of my head. Would you just go ask her, please?” you repeated yourself. The two boys seemed to hesitate but eventually worked their way out of the room with their destination in mind. Once they were gone, your eyes turned back to Theo’s. An amused glint lay suspended in his eyes.

“‘Nothing that comes to mind?’” he smirks. “If a spell comes to my mind and not yours, the world must be upside down.” You conceal a laugh. You knew a spell. You knew multiple healing spells, but you wanted Mattheo and Enzo out of the room for a second. You just wanted to speak with Theo about what had happened.

“I’m sorry I lied to your friends,” you said. “But I really wanted to talk with you privately, and I didn’t want to wait.” His eyes keep a tight hold on yours. You swallow thickly.

“Okay, what is it?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

Anxiety pools in your stomach as you realize you hadn’t really planned anything to say. You wanted to know why Theo had done what he did and if it was for or because of you. Cormac had been bothering you, yes, but it could have just been that Theo really disliked him and wanted to intervene.

“Why did you do that?” you ask. Probably the worst way you could have asked that, but it was what came out. You might as well own it at this point.

“Do what?” he mused.

“Why did you stop Cormac?”

“That feels like a dumb question. He was laying his hands on you without your permission.”

“Would you have done that for anyone, though?” you stuttered through your interrogation.

“I suppose not….why do you ask?” he asked, the smirk never leaving his face. Your eyes fell down to his lips suddenly, noticing that there was a small amount of dried blood stained across them. A small gasp left your lips as you reached your hand out. You didn’t think through any of the following movements; you just allowed your body to do as it pleased. Your fingers gently cradled his jaw, and your thumb swiped slowly over his lips, collecting the bit of staining as it crossed. Your eyes found him again, and you realized he was intently watching you. His eyes were softened by hunger. The way they traveled down to your lips, his lips parting as he found yours, his hands clenching by his side. It sent a chill down your spine.

“Theo,” you breathed. You could not pull your eyes away from his swollen lips. You wanted so badly to learn their taste and memorize it for eternity. Just one kiss and you could be satisfied for the rest of your days.

“I kicked Cormac’s ass because he was laying his hands on you, and I have been desperate to do that for years…,” he whispered. “The difference between him and I, though? I ask permission.” A glimpse of a chuckle spreads over his lips, and you feel your stomach blush with heat. As if he could feel it happen to you, his nose bumped softly against yours, igniting the heat and transforming it into a flame.

“I want you so bad,” he whispered, the air skimming your lips. “Please let me have you.”

“Have me, Teddy.” Your response was final. His hands gripped each side of your face firmly and pressed your lips together. Heat and light and everything in between exploded into your stomach, sending shocks of love into your heart. You could have melted on the spot, and you nearly did, if it weren’t for Theo wrapping one arm tightly around your waist and holding you up.

His tongue slid over your bottom lip, begging for entrance. You granted him access to every part of you with no push-back. All you wanted was to feel him everywhere and never to lose that feeling ever again.

The both of his hands pushed around the back of your thighs and pulled them to either side of his bent knees. He settled you neatly onto his lap, you straddling his thighs against the bed. The action sent a lightning bolt of pleasure directly to your core as the space between his thighs urged gently against you. You sighed against his mouth, entangling your fingers into his hair.

Everything about him was overwhelming. His smell, his taste, and his touch had you gasping for air. You had never realized how much you truly wanted him until this very moment. Without so much as a breath, he cradled your back with one hand and stood from his bed, lifting the two of you into the air. You squeaked from the sudden movement but relaxed instantly when he settled you against his bed.

His lips detached from yours and quickly made alliance with your jaw and then your neck. His head worked down the frame of your body, pressing open-mouthed kisses to every sliver of skin he could find. When he reached the waistline of your uniform skirt, he tapped his finger twice against the spot where your shirt was tucked in. You nodded so quickly, it was almost pathetic. He smirked and slipped his hands between the materials. He tugged your shirt out and began laying the same types of kisses over your bare stomach. You groaned at the feeling, noticing the ardor he placed into each press of his lips. You felt worshipped and it was addicting.

His eyes flicked up to find yours as he slowly pushed himself farther down, placing himself just in front of your core. Without question, your legs began to spread for him, allowing him access to anything he wanted. You just needed to feel him; you didn’t care what he did.

Your eyes found his face once more and scanned over the entirety of it. A deep, sinister glance rested in his eyes, holstering a lust so dark, it almost frightened you. His lips were slightly parted in a teasing, smirking way, just waiting to place themselves against you once more. And his nose had…oh, it had begun to bleed again. You reached down and swiped your thumb beneath it, pushing the excess discharge away. A small twinge of guilt hit you again at the thought of Theo getting himself hurt for you.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, frowning at the sight before you.

“You never have to apologize to me,” he breathed, “you are perfect.” And with that, he’d flipped the edge of your skirt over your legs and sunk his face between them. His tongue found your core before you could even get a word out. A breathless moan spilled from your lips as your spine arched off the bed. Your hands immediately pushed down to wrap themselves in his curls, savoring every single swipe of his tongue.

“So fucking good,” he moaned against you, the vibrations sending messages up to your very brain. You quaked beneath the feeling, your thighs shaking against the boy’s hold on them. It was nearly becoming too much. You weren’t going to last much longer. If he wanted to do something, he’d better get to it.

“Theo, I’m…c—”

“Not yet, baby,” he whispered, pressing two chaste kisses to the inside of your thighs. You could feel the wetness spread across his lips and chin smear against your flesh. You shuddered at the sensation. It definitely should not have turned you on as much as it just did. “I want it on my tongue.”

He separates himself from you and slides his hands beneath the crook of your knees. With a firm grip, he yanks you to the edge of the bed, where your hips are lying just over the curve. His hands find your hips and flip you over onto your stomach, careful to avoid hurting you in any way. Ever so gentle.

You could hear him kneel down again behind you. Your thighs shook in anticipation just before he pressed his lips back to you. His tongue swirled across you in the most delicate of motions, drawing every sound possible from your lips. Your fingers gripped the sheets as each of his movements drew you closer to the edge. You might finish any second.

“Hey-o!” Mattheo’s voice came from just outside the door. You jumped up and glanced back at Theo as the both of you separated as fast as possible. Theo came up to sit beside you on the bed and made quick work of wiping his mouth off on his sleeve. You pulled your skirt back over your legs and stood at attention, waiting for the two boys to enter. Damn it. You had been so close.

The two boys walked in, clutching a small vial of liquid. Mattheo raised it to show the two of them, both of whom quickly nodded, smiling innocently. Surely, they wouldn’t suspect anything of the two of you. You’d never really expressed any feelings toward the other before now. At least not publicly.

“Where do you want this?” Mattheo asked.

“If you would just take it to the bathroom, we’re headed in there so they can help me clean up the rest of the way.” Both of the other boys nodded and headed back out the way they came, moving toward the group bathroom.

Just as they left, Theo slipped his hand beneath your skirt and traced his fingers along you, allowing one to insert itself to its hilt. You gasped sharply, trying your best to mute the sound. His hand began to pump against you, slowly rising in speed as he hit that perfect spot each time with ease. The sounds spilling from your lips became less and less controlled as he pushed you towards the edge, keeping you standing tall and refusing to let you lay back down on the bed.

“Come like this, baby,” he whispered. “Quickly, before they get back.” His finger pressed deeply up into you one last time, bruising the soft spot and forcing a rushing finish down on you. Your lips parted in a shocked moan as the proof of your end slipped down around Theo’s fingers. He worked you through the entirety of it, never tiring and never halting. He could do this all day.

The sound of his friends heading back toward the dorm room pushed the two of you apart once again. Only this time, Theo had a telling, lustful expression imprinted on his face, and the remains of your ecstasy were still painted across his fingers. You swiped a hand between your thighs in an attempt to clean yourself off and brushed any concerns from Mattheo or Enzo off. The ‘Are you okay?’ and the ‘You guys look weird’ had nothing on the steel resolve the both of you kept planted on your faces. If Theo could fight someone for you, you could fight the urge to tell his friends he’d just let you fuck his face while they were out running an errand. Oh well, such is life. You laughed to yourself.

#fanfiction #creative writing #fanfic #writing #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #reader insert #oneshot #slytherin #harry potter smut #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott #theo nott #mattheo riddle #enzo berkshire #request #cormac mclaggen #fem reader

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pedgito · 4 months ago

Text

𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 | Lucien De Leon x reader

summary | it was never a favor, allowing him to take up space in your apartment. but, time after time, he finds his way back and somehow, it brings an unexpected normalcy to your life.

author's note | in my heart, it's still flores. but canonically its de leon. i had the opportunity to watch the movie and hot take, it was...alright. but pedro's character made me just as feral as i expected. so here's this absolute monster for no reason other than, well, me ovulating.

content warning | 18+ mdni, the uninvited spoilers, set post-movie, roommates to lovers, enemies to lovers, reader works in the film industry, financial hardship, shitty living situations, lucien is a schmooze and a drunk, but also a sweetheart, angst, feelings, reader has shit luck with dating, there's also smut in here somewhere i swear (oral, couch sex, unprotected piv, all the good stuff)

word count — 11k (sorry lmfao)

“Lucien?” You grumble around the chewy granola bar you’ve snatched from the craft table, “Lucien De Leon?”

The agent, Lucien’s agent—James, also working for a few of the on-set cast, looked hopeless.

He nods, squeezing tight at the phone in his hand, one more inconvenience text from snapping it in half.

“No,” You refuse, chewing at the sweet and sticky granola, “why—why me? My tiny apartment?”

“He’s exhausted any other chance,” The agent explains vaguely—yeah, real convincing, this guy, “listen—I like you, you’ve helped me in plenty of binds. It’ll be two weeks before he’s leaving for work, I just need somewhere to keep him for a while.”

“You’re making it seem like I’d be dog sitting or something,” You retort, watching as the agent glanced down at his phone, notifications spilling in, “this is Lucien—controversy magnet, and he’s rude—”

“You’ve gotta get to know him—”

“The one set I’ve worked on with him he spilled my coffee on me and acted like I made him do it. Fuck him, tell him to sleep on a bench.”

“I’ll pay you,” He scrambles, “Just—please?”

You pause, narrowing your gaze. Being a production assistant hadn’t been the life of luxury, minimal pay in an overpriced city in a shitty apartment with barely decent and affordable rent was nothing short of miserable.

“How much?”

“A thousand,” He offers—a shrug of uncertainty follows.

Silence stretches.

“Two thousand? Come on–that’s a thousand for each week.”

“Make it three and you’ve got a deal.”

The agent is quiet for a few seconds before he caves, sighing heavily, “Fuck, fine. Three. Can I drop him off tonight?”

“Tonight?” You balk, “You know, you’re actually the worst.”

His hands grip your shoulders, shaking you with far too much force than needed, “You’re a lifesaver, thank you.”

He’s long gone and buried in a phone call before you grumble a disgruntled, “You’re welcome.”

You consider later that evening that disclosing the recent…activities around your apartment complex would have been a good idea, especially with someone as high profile as Lucien taking up space in your one bedroom apartment.

Three break-ins in the past two weeks, noisy and unruly neighbors both above and sandwiching you—it wasn’t exactly peaceful or safe, but it was something.

You wait with a creeping anxiety as you tap your chopsticks against the homemade ramen you’ve made for yourself, one true moment of happiness in the day as you’re finally sitting down to relax, feet aching terribly.

It was coffee runs and constant back and forths over forgotten supplies or paperwork—it was the perfect job to keep you active and on your toes, never sure when someone might blow up on you for whatever reason it may be—you were nothing special, helpful, but when it came down to it, you were more or less in the way, so you often made yourself small out of habit.

The knock that startles you is hurried, like a panic. It sends your heart rate skyrocketing but your name echoes on the other side of the door, scrambling to open the door, you’re faced with two men.

The agent, James, a decent man despite his unorganized and erratic personality—and Lucien, a piss poor disguise covering his face.

You snort, addressing the ball cap and sunglasses with an amused expression, it was doing nothing to cover the instantly recognizable wispy brown hair of his and aquiline nose—the upcoming king of stage and screen. It was a wonder he even made it here in one piece.

“A natural chameleon,” You joke, widening your door to let them inside—the apartment was clean, thankfully. You’d scramble to get home after work and pick up, given you didn’t have much time to actually prepare, “seriously—get inside before someone clocks you.”

The agent stays though, like his feet were planted.

“He’s all yours,” He tells you, “you’ve got my number—don’t let him leave. I’ll check in when I can. Keep an eye out for paps.”

“Hey, no—” You interject, watching as the agent turned on his heels and departed, “we didn’t agree to—”, turning the corner with a shout of a long, helpless, “that!”

You sigh with a deep frown, turning over your shoulder to find Lucien with a chopstick in hand, noodle dangling from the utensil with a curious face, sniffing it cautiously.

“Hey!” You chastise, plucking the chopstick from his fingers, “Stop that.”

He looks at you curiously, obviously taken aback by your tone of voice and lack of intimidation by him, like a startled cat.

Jesus, okay.

You force a calming breath through your nose and look up at him, “Would you like some?”

“Is it gluten free?” Lucien inquires, peering over your shoulder at the still steaming hot bowl of soup.

“Actually, yeah,” Your brow furrows, “it—it is.”

“Sure,” He shrugs, beginning to remove his cap and glasses, along with his jacket, resting them haphazardly on the kitchen island as he takes a seat on the only other unoccupied barstool in your kitchen.

“Oh no,” You swiftly rectify his actions, “we’re not doing this—there’s a coat rack for a reason and a shelf by the door for things like,” You walk toward the front door, hand circling the object like a cherished belonging, “keys—sunglasses, hats,” You stress the final two words and point at the items before jutting your thumb frustratingly at the door, “—if you don’t mind, while I make your dinner.”

It was clear he’s spent most of the past several years with people ready and waiting on him, never questioning or ordering around, but it was basic human decency, you weren’t going to allow him to be amiss to it.

He obliges quietly, a surprise to you. You hide the satisfied smirk as you pour the broth into the bowl along with the noodles before placing the bowl on his side of the island, placing another dish near him, scattered with different toppings.

Lucien looks silently intrigued, the ends of his mouth curling down in interest as he sprinkles various toppings over his food, beginning to eat silently as you return to your own meal.

After a long enough silence and Lucien’s occasional slurping you decide to set a hard boundary, given the various personalities you’ve dealt with in the industry, it was you being proactive out of habit.

“Let me be clear, I’m not doing this out of the goodness of my heart,” You inform him, locking eyes with his intense stare, something you hadn’t forgotten, not since the on-set incident, “This is still my home. Don’t be an asshole about it.”

“James said you were a firecracker,” Lucien smirks slightly, resting his chopsticks along the top of the bowl, “and a little bit of a bitch, but—”

“Good, he hasn’t lost his mind then.”

“Don’t worry, I’m a professional at this shit now. You won’t even know I’m here.”

Highly unlikely, you think.

He even makes a point by grabbing his bowl and emptying it before placing it in the sink before extending his hand out to your own bowl. You watch him wash the dishes, something that looks unnatural, but you aren’t going to complain.

“You always cook like that?” Lucien asks curiously over the running water, head turning over his shoulder briefly.

“No, only Friday. I never have time otherwise, work is…busy,” A generous way to describe it, but Lucien doesn’t seem to care or question, drying off the last dish before extending his hands out by his side in a grand gesture.

Maybe he was expecting a roaring applause, but you don’t give him the satisfaction. You offer him a genuine thank you but it doesn’t extend beyond that before you’re trailing a few feet over toward the living room, a clean pillow and blanket draped over the couch, along with a fitted sheet if he felt like using it. It was all unmade, allowing him to set it up himself.

“Also,” You clasp your hands together at your front, “James didn’t mention this because I didn’t tell him but we’ve had a string of break-ins for a while now, so—always keep the deadbolt locked. Please.”

His eyes widen, looking around the apartment for the quickest escape. You were on the seventh floor, the only other escape option was a less than reliable balcony that you barely used.

“I have a bat,” You tell him, before pointing toward the door beside the entrance, “in the shoe closet, but I think we’re okay.”

“Think?”

You shrug, “It hasn’t happened yet, but the police have shit response time around here.”

Lucien looks overwhelmed, but nods.

“Oh, and the neighbors like to have really loud sex—walls are thin. Have fun.”

“No puedo creer esta mierda—” He mumbles under his breath as you turn your back, a sharp flap of a sheet, and a short laugh from you follows.

“Blame your agent, Lucien.”

He didn’t think you’d understand him, but your astute hearing proved otherwise.

Lucien was putting on an act with his gesture, clearly.

He doesn’t respond, pouting his way through the process of setting up his new bed for the next couple weeks in silence, ignoring the soft click to your door as you turn in for the night, the creeping and soft city noises filtering in through the thin apartment walls.

It wouldn’t be an easy night but he's never really liked big, empty houses anyways.

—

The weekend is uneventful; you fear it might be a dream, too good to be true, a complete fluke.

Maybe he had a change of heart overnight, but Lucien is overly polite.

He deconstructs his bed both mornings, packing it away in a corner of the living room, listening to the television at a reasonable volume with fresh coffee in the coffee pot, he cleans up his dishes and leaves a marginal mess.

The real kicker—he has the ability to keep the toilet seat down with your now shared bathroom attached to your bedroom, a real…gentleman.

You eyed him suspiciously most of the day, when he’s unaware and preoccupied, wondering when the facade would drop. Does he even remember the coffee incident?

He had to, right?

He approaches with a silent gesture of his emptied cup as you fill your own.

Fine—you pull the cup from his grip and fill it to the brim, sliding it back over carefully.

He sips gingerly as he raises it to his lip before speaking, “S’good coffee.”

“Thanks,” You answer nonchalantly, pouring a generous amount of sugar and cream into your coffee and stirring, watching as the dark black lightened into a soft brown, “are you a coffee guy?”

“I’m an anything guy,” Lucien responds, “but—good, it’s good. I’m impressed.”

“Why?” You ask with a little more bark than needed, a flippant tone rounding out your morning irritation as you readied for work. “Are you—you really don’t remember, do you?”

Lucien raised his eyebrows in question, expectant.

“Your last job, up in Hollywood Hills. You spilled coffee all over me, blamed me, then got me suspended for a week, because of your outburst. I barely managed rent that month”

His eyes narrow, recollecting the thought like he’d been stricken with temporary amnesia.

“You’re all so much of the same, y’know?” You continue, sipping generously from your cup as his face relaxes, following your movements with a casual glance. “Cocky, egotistical, little dicked men. Without me you wouldn’t have that ridiculous fifteen dollar hyper whateverthefuck water you insisted you needed in your trailer, or your dry cleaning? God forbid. Seriously, fuck you.”

“Wait—” Lucien staunches, hold his hand up in pause, “hold on—”

You wait for approximately half a second before you roll your eyes, pushing beyond him to gather your bag and keys, “You know, I don’t need a disingenuous apology. I’m not doing this as a favor. I’m being paid.”

James had lied to him, that much he was figuring out as he processed the situation. You weren’t someone offering up free charity, a helping hand for a starving actor in need—except that wasn’t the case for him. Despite his team's careful guidance; he was a repeat offender of bad choices and money management, a part-time alcoholic, and a serial flirt. He knew how to play his hand and he was good at it, but with you—it was clear that you were a challenge.

But, it was only a couple weeks. He could survive that. He was a people person first and foremost and he’d charm the hell out of you if given the opportunity.

“James said he’d be by in an hour to pick you up for your meetings today—lock the door when you leave. Please.”

Still speechless, he watches you leave with a stiff, crisp shut of the door.

He couldn’t remember, racking his brain for one incident after another. His own fair share made him cringe in hindsight, but he…couldn’t remember. He’d almost hoped you were a fresh face, leaving him free of judgment, but it was clear that this situation was about pure survival.

“You did do that,” James confirmed to him as they left the first brand meeting that morning, “It was the morning of the big awards show—you remember?” He doesn’t wait for Lucien’s response, continuing, “Poor kid got her ass chewed out and had to take a trip to the clinic for the burns. It was…a mess. Never cried, though. I’ll give her that.”

And, like a strike of a match, it floods back. You’re shocked expression, mouth slightly agape as the sting of pain settled in, bracing for the impact of Lucien’s wrath because you knew. A man allergic to accountability, oozing power, it was almost too easy.

“Shit.”

“Yeah. Apologies seem pointless now, but it could help. But…be genuine.”

“I’m genuine.”

James gives him a certain look, one that argues otherwise.

“I am.”

Only time would tell, really.

By the end of your work day, it was with great relief as you stepped through the door of your apartment until you remembered one fine detail you had told Lucien more than once.

Lock the door.

The eeriness hits you as the door clicks shut behind you, the place falling into a dead silence for a brief moment, your bag hitting the counter as you maneuvered your keys between your fingers, ready to take on what you could with what little strength you had to offer.

Just maul their face off, that seemed like the best option.

You count the seconds in your head, breath held tight and constricted in your chest. You quickly check the available pathways—living room, kitchen, before slipping down the hall, left with the only room to flee if not away from your apartment.

Bedroom light off, not a thing out of place, pristine even—but your eyes track toward the bathroom light seeping underneath the gap in the door. With careful, measured movements you approach the door although you haven’t thought through the actual process of what you wanted to do.

But, before you can react the door is swinging open as the bathroom is plunged into darkness, revealing a sopping wet Lucien, towel tied tight around his waist as he slings a smaller one over his shoulders, completely relaxed until he spots you.

Both of you scream—you out of anger and fear, Lucien at the incoming hand that he snatches by the wrist, your eyes landing on each other, your nostrils flaring in frustration.

“You’re insane!” Lucien shouts, shoving your hand away, “You nearly tore my face off.”

“I thought you were an intruder,” You seethe, “—what kind of maniac showers with the front door unlocked while home alone?”

“You said you had a bat,” Lucien excuses, “I could have defended myself.”

You sigh, plucking the keys from your grip before you toss them on your bed, stepping away from Lucien and away from the radiating heat of his body as it glistened, obnoxiously.

“Get out,” You snap, “get out—go—”

“I was just gonna…grab my clothes and come change in,” He weakly gestures toward the bathroom, earning a sharp look of distaste in his direction, “alright—alright, Jesus.”

He pauses for a moment, though. Before the lightbulb clicks on and he’s scrambling into the living room and back in record time, shoving a small white envelope into your hands.

“What is this?” You ask tensely, blindly ripping at the seal as you stare at him.

“It’s uh—what I owe you, for the coffee thing. I…I remember now. Figured I could pay you for the work I made you miss…is that about right?”

You peer at the wad of cash. It was indeed, enough.

“You’re unbelievable,” You reply, shaking your head.

It gives him false hope, wondering if it was all going to be brushed under the rug and that he could continue the rest of his stay in a somewhat semblance of peace, but then your expression flips and oh…that’s not…

“Are you physically incapable of saying the words “I’m sorry”—would it kill you? Allergic to accountability? God, you know what, I’m gonna call James and tell him I just can’t do—”

“No,” Lucien panics, hand around your bicep as you attempt to push past him, immediately recognizing the fierceness of his grip he loosens it, calms himself, “no—please, listen…I…I didn’t think you’d care enough to hear it. I do remember now and I was a dick, I was trying to offer a gesture of good faith. Peace, even?”

“Is this even your money?” You ask curiously, brow furrowed as you help up the envelope.

“Yeah, yeah—I pulled it out of my savings. Why? Do you…not want it?”

You quickly snatch the envelope away, “No, I’ll take it. But, words mean a lot. Like calling me an ignorant little bitch.”

“Okay, okay. I am sorry. I had a lot going on and I know that isn’t an excuse either, but I am.”

You tilt your head in examination, peering through the raw emotion on his face, whether he was putting on a masterclass in acting or not, it was believable enough. You could remain bitter, even if it meant suffering in silence, but you liked the peace just as much as he, so you compromise.

“You still have to get out,” You inform him, walking your fingers tauntingly toward the door, “and I swear, Lucien, if you used all the hot water—”

Lucien was insistent about rehearsing at least five hours a day, even on weekends. Luckily, most of those days you were spared, but when you’re barricaded away in your bedroom, sound travels. And Lucien doesn't care much to stifle his performance, maybe it was a weapon to backfire at your inconsiderate neighbors, but it was driving you insane.

He’s stuck on one scene, clearly a building tension that explodes and apparently he can’t nail, having heard the lines a hundred times over through the muffled walls—your first instinct was to complain, tell him take it elsewhere, but you remember your deal with James. Lucien just needed a place to stay for a while and this was his job.

Eventually, you poke your head through your bedroom door with a cautious expression, watching Lucien examine his face in the mirror, filing through various emotions before he finally gives up, tossing the script against the counter.

He spots you as he turns, already gearing up to apologize or maybe even excuse—but instead, you speak.

“Is it for an audition?”

“How’d you know?”

“The yelling, the emotion—I guess? I help on set with self tapes from time to time. I’ve learned to spot the difference between just memorizing lines and trying to feel the script.”

Lucien pushes his lips out in thought, tongue rolling over his teeth as his hands settle against his hips, pushing the sweatpants lower on his hips as he stands, deliberating.

“Just ask,” You tell him.

“You any good?”

It was a genuine question, not meant to attack your own ego. Besides, it makes you laugh.

“I’ll get your good side,” You promise him, surfacing from your room as you beckon for his phone with your hand, getting straight to work.

It only takes a few minutes to find a solid place to set up, against one of your cream colored walls, pictureless and plain, but with ample lighting from inside and out, it highlighted the wispy grays in Lucien’s untamed curls hanging over his forehead, the wrinkles creasing there as he looked down at the script and examined the text.

“Do you have them memorized?”

Lucien nods absently, his finger trailing down the side of the paper until it was suddenly gone, snatched from his hands with a smile on your face as you pointed for him to slide into frame. You take a step back, watching the screen with a careful eye before motioning with a finger for him to move a few centimeters to the left, “There. Perfect.”

You flatten out the creased paper as you speak, “From the top?”

Lucien smiles halfheartedly—the stress washing from his face for a moment—and nods.

–

You could keep up, that much was obvious.

Lucien is used to the monotone voice on the other side of the camera during auditions, forced tones and half-cocked emotion, it was hard to act against and with, but he’s learned to push through for the sake of a role.

It was an emotional scene, almost a requirement to have that intensity to act against and Lucien caught your eye line at one point, face buried in the script as you uttered the lines with teary eyes, letting your own emotion fill you to the brim and flow out, giving him a real and authentic reaction to act against.

He watched it back with a grin, mostly out of his own cocky admiration for himself but the secret you’ve been hoarding, a welcome surprise.

“Have you never considered acting?” Lucien asks curiously, emailing the video off to his agent.

“Cameras are daunting,” You shrug, folding and filing away some freshly washed towels as Lucien reclined on your couch, “I prefer being behind them.”

“You’re a natural,” He offers honestly, “that’s really rare.”

You shake your head in amusement as you riffled through the unfolded laundry, separating in different piles until you come across a no longer white blouse, stained a soft pink—and of course, Lucien. It was Lucien who offered to take laundry down the night prior, needing a moment away from being cooped up in the apartment, swearing he had it under control.

“I told you not to put this in the wash load with the colors! Look at this—” You held up the obviously stained blouse, crumpling up the fabric and tossing it to the couch with a frustrated huff.

“To be fair, it’s been years since I did my own laundry,” Lucien responds casually, “—don’t worry, I’ll have James buy you another.”

Your face twitches, actually twitches.

“No, no—it…it’s fine. It’s only a shirt,” You tuck a loose hair behind your ear as you heave the towels into your arm, “just—whites and colors, always separate them.”

And while living with Lucien had mellowed out some, it was still tumultuous at times.

Fighting over the bathroom was a regular occurrence, both of you guilty. But, that could be worked through, it wasn’t the end of the world. Occasionally it was the lights, a bad habit of Lucien’s to leave them lingering in his wait, lamps and fixtures, nothing was safe. Opened cabinets, items forgotten and out of place. It was all tedious and frustrating, picking and choosing your battles as they came, brushing far too much under the rub for the sake of peace.

You knew it was almost over, enjoying a quiet night to yourself while Lucien was apparently out at dinner—you weren’t sure, you didn’t really care, but you enjoyed the glimpse of what was to return to you, tucked away on the couch while half-dressed, hand stuffed into a freshly popped bowl of popcorn.

It was Friday and your neighbors never failed to come home from a rowdy night of partying with everything but sleeping on their mind, getting straight to business and your grab for the remote was immediate, turning up the volume to drown out the obnoxious moans and groans of drunk sex happening on the other side of the wall.

Lucien arrives back somewhere near the middle of the movie, the soft laughs from you pulling his attention to the couch as he clocked the nineties rom-com on the television, your cheek resting against your balled up fist, placing his wallet against the counter to signal his entrance.

“Loud enough for you?” Lucien jokes, approaching the singular piece of furniture in your living room, fingertips pressing against the arm of the couch as he takes in your appearance, shirt barely reaching beyond mid-thigh, thick socks keeping you warm as you curled in on yourself, careless that Lucien was definitely looking you make a noise in question, the words processing in a delayed manner.

You reach for the remote, pausing the movie briefly to reveal the reason; the insistent thump of wood against cheap sheetrock and moans, squealy and high-pitched, forcing a raised eyebrow from Lucien that needed no words.

“Nevermind,” He concedes,hands thrown up in defeat with a chuckle hidden behind his teeth, walking closer to examine the screen, filing through his internal rolodex of films and drawing a blank.

“Are you going to keep standing there like a total weirdo or are you going to watch the movie?” You ask with a joking tone, tucking your feet underneath you as you made room, glancing down at your phone as a notification brought the screen to life.

Lucien catches the faint tug of a smile on your face as you type away, clicking the phone into sleep mode a few moments later before continuing the movie without a word.

You’re not sure which one of you succumbs to sleep first, but it didn’t matter, finding that you both aligned together easily as you slept, covered with a blanket that Lucien must have snatched somewhere near without disturbing you—and when you wake in the middle of the night, complex quiet throughout, you can’t even find it in you to move.

–

Lucien’s length of stay was diminishing quickly and you were relieved, only a few more days and things would be back to normal, you’d be three thousand dollars richer, and you wouldn’t have to confront the fact that Lucien wasn’t entirely as bad as he seemed, temper aside.

You’re both on your way out the door on a weekday morning when you spot him, navy blue hoodie draping his body, one you favored because of its size and comfortability.

“That’s mine,” You utter as you’re fisting your keys into your hand and tucking a makeup applicator away in your bag, “that’s…mine—why is it on your body?”

Lucien looks down, perplexed. He could’ve swore…

“It’s mine, I swear,” You’re peering over his shoulder and pulling at the collar, examining the tag by his neck, or lack thereof—you always cut them out, hated the feeling against your skin.

“It’s mine,” You say with finality, “But, it’s fine. I’ve been meaning to replace it anyways. And now that you’ve worn it, definitely.”

“Ouch,” Lucien chuckles, shaking his head at your bluntness, “I guess I deserve that. I did think it was mine, though. Swear. Must’ve gotten mixed up somehow.”

“Oh, well, just burn it now—oh, shit, before I forget,” You point your finger at his chest, stopping him in his tracks, “I’ve got a date tonight. I’ll more than likely be gone when you get back here. I’m leaving a key under the mat, you know the deal. Respect it…protect it like you give a shit if anything happens, it’s all I have.”

“Date?” Lucien teases, “Sounds—”

“We’re not doing this,” You cut him short, finger raising higher in reprimand, “don’t do that.”

Again, Lucien values his well-being, so he admits defeat.

It was difficult for him, his eagerness to please and charm, to command the conversation and impress—but with you, it was impossible. Truly, it was mesmerizing to him.

It was several hours later when Lucien arrived at the apartment, pointedly locking the door behind him as you had reminded him several times—he wasn’t completely aloof.

His orders takeout on a whim, disguised under a fake name and the careful directions to leave at the door, having practiced the art of subtly when it came to laying low, enjoying a couple beers from a pack James had bought him as a small celebration for a week of good, decent meetings.

Things had been looking up recently and it made Lucien unsettled in a way, but thankful nonetheless, sipping at the beer generously and relaxing well into the night, dusk turning to black skies and few twinkling star lights, drowned out by the thick smog of city pollution. It started raining eventually, a soft pattern picking up gradually and he, for natural reasoning, is slightly concerned. So, he stays up despite some lingering exhaustion, barely hitting a quarter beyond eight o’clock when the door handle rattles, soft curses on the other side of the door that send him to his feet, peering through the peephole to spot a sufficiently blurry outline of you.

And what he opens the door to is not what he’s expecting, although, he wasn’t even sure what he was expecting in the first place, but this…it wasn’t it.

You were wet, clothes dripping and rain water pooling at your feet, everything sticking to you like an uncomfortable glue, cold and shivering, your bottom lip trembling.

Without thinking, Lucien shifts into action.

He doesn’t ask a single question, not at first. Silently pulling the items off of you as you allow him; keys and purse first, clanging against the counter before he’s pulling your coat of, blouse, even kneeling down to remove your shoes before he’s carrying the clothes to the bathroom with you in tow, turning on the shower until it was steaming up the mirrors, heat radiating through the room as you pulled at the button of your jeans weakly, fumbling with cold and feeble hands.

He holds his hands up, careful not to approach in a way that would startle you or force you into attack mode, which seemed unlikely with the disheartened look on your face and he asks quietly, “Do you need help?”

You’re quiet for a long, tense moment before you nod, trying to quell the full body shivers as he assists you in stripping down to your underwear, also soaked. He pulls the curtain back and helps you over the side of the tub with the solid weight of his hand and speaks again despite your silence, “I’ll wait in your room—do you need anything?”

It doesn’t take a genius to piece things together as Lucien settles against the edge of the bed and it angers him for some forlorn reason, a feeling he hasn’t experienced in a long time. When the shower cuts off, he straightens, hesitates—should he leave?

You’d want privacy, right? Yeah. No, definitely.

He rises to his feet without another thought, his awful timing sending you straight into his chest as you swung the door open, towel snug around your body and smelling sharply of fresh, citrus body wash.

“S-sorry,” You stammer out, “you don’t—you don’t have to wait around, Lucien. Or give a shit, either. I don’t expect you to and I don’t care—”

It was unusually cold. He’s become familiar with your snark, that sharp and cunning personality, but this was different. This was a push, a defense of hard and impenetrable walls building up before his eyes and he speaks without thinking, hoping that it slips through the cracks.

“Regardless, I’ll listen,” Lucien provides—it wasn’t an overwhelming expression of fake, forced care or, god forbid, love. But, it was a raw enough response that it grabs your attention, “—if you want me to.”

—

He cranked up the heat while you dressed, flipped open his leftover takeout, and listened. You weren’t used to this and for a while, you were half-expecting him to find a way to turn the situation on himself, a sob story for a sob story. But, he doesn’t.

“This sushi…” You savor the taste, eyes falling closed.

“Good, isn’t it?” Lucien smirks, popping another into his mouth with careful precision, chopsticks in hand.

You could cry, it was such a strong and startling feeling that it caught you off-guard, “Yeah, really good.”

You clear your throat, tears shoved aside, “Have you ever ditched a date before?”

Lucien shakes his head with a subtle frown.

“Right, Lucien De Leon,” You respond jokingly, that magical emphasis around his name, “any woman would be dying for all of….this,” You gesture to him lazily with a faux disgust that couldn’t even be forced, both of you divulging into a laugh.

“Hey, you said it,” Lucien shrugs with a pointed wink that you shouldn’t find so attractive, but the natural charm he emits makes it impossible, “—but, no. Can’t say I have.”

“Even the ones who wouldn’t put out?”

“At the risk of sounding like an asshole—“ Lucien begins, but you follow the rhythm of the conversation and it isn’t long before the lightbulb strikes on and you’re nodding.

“Right, you probably don’t have an issue in that department. Stupid question, sorry.”

You pluck the last piece of sushi off the styrofoam and chew, speaking behind your hand, “I should’ve known that dude was a prick, only stared at my tits the entire date.”

Out of reflex, his eyes drag to your chest and you click the movement in an instant, “Not helping,” You warn him lightly, “I guess I was too blunt, he kept…touching me. I told him I didn’t feel comfortable going back to his place, he made some excuse to go to the bathroom and I waited for a half hour. Until the server came by with the bill—so, not only did he ditch me, I paid a hundred dollar tab and I didn’t even eat my food.”

Even in Lucien’s wild days, he couldn’t imagine doing that. Not when he was drinking more heavily, partying, hooking up on a daily basis—before his first failed marriage, it was foreign to him.

“You could’ve called me, or James, shit—an uber.”

“Phone died,” You shrug lamely, “it doesn’t matter, anyways. And don’t get me wrong, casual sex—it’s fine, but I got too hopeful, I guess. All men are the same.”

“Come on,” Lucien jests, “that’s not fair.”

“Fine, enlighten me, then.”

“You can’t expect fairytale shit—I mean, I’m one failed marriage and plenty of missteps in my life. Do you think I’m a bad guy?”

“Do you want me to answer that honestly?”

Lucien sighs in defeat, scratching at his mused hair as he tosses the empty food container aside.

“I’m fucking with you,” You offer in a quieter tone—even if you weren’t friends with him, he didn’t have to put in the effort to help or listen, but he was, “I’m—just, thank you.”

“I’m in good graces now?” Lucien asks curiously, that playful mischief gracing his face with a smile.

You make a motion with your hand from your head as you grab, like pulling a thought and throwing it away, “Coffee incident? Forgotten—unless you pull some heinous shit.”

“You know, I might actually miss this,” His finger does a swirling motion, encompassing your living room, “you—eh,” a shaky hand motion that earns a jab to his thigh from your foot, “shit, ouch—that was a joke.”

“I know,” You concede with a smirk, “—I won’t, though. I want my couch back. And my bathroom.”

“If it makes you feel better, I think you’re a catch,” He tells you, “although, I do like the ones that bite, so—“

You reach forward this time, swatting playful at his chest with the back of your hand, but his fast reflexes beat you, your fingers smacking into solid rings.

He snickers softly and examines the grimace on your face as you pull back, “Pobrecita,” He coos mockingly, reaching for your hand and pressing a gentle kiss against the skin, “see what I mean?”

You ignore the heat that strikes through your body like a freshly lit match, pulling your hand away with a distinct eye roll.

He’d be gone soon and this would all be a ridiculous memory to think back on.

There was no room for newly evolving feelings, or worse, infatuation.

—

The three months you spend falling back into your normal routine is monotonous, safe, but the kind of security that has you itching for change. You find yourself checking on Lucien more often than you should, regular social media checks, the occasional subtle question to James when you happened to catch him on set. It wasn’t healthy, but you couldn’t help yourself.

He did seem more erratic, often coming across other quick clips and social media stories of him at the club during waking hours, pure reckless abandon, he was having the time of his life—you couldn’t blame him, but it was…slightly alarming.

It was a Saturday night when all hell broke loose, police sirens raining down the street as you raced to your open window, peering down at the obscured face of a man in cuffs as he was roughly shoved into a police car before there’s a pounding knock at the door, your heart nearly bursting out of your chest at the sound.

Turning on your heels and swinging the door open, you can’t help but find yourself speechless at the sight.

“Think they caught your burglar,” Lucien notes under his baseball cap, eyes catching the cascading red and blue lights outside your window, duffel bag at his feet and a regretful look on James’ face.

You tilt your head at the discovery, your brain working overtime before your eyes widen.

“Just hear him out,” He pleads with prayer like hands, phone sandwiched between two begging palms, “Lucien—go,”

Lucien seems to stutter-step in his mind, not expecting to be the one leading this proposition as he side-eyes James, “I…need a place to stay…again,” Lucien squints his eyes and stares up at the ceiling, looking almost embarrassed, “for the next six months.”

“No,” You nearly shout out incredulously, “the first time wasn’t a trial run.”

There’s a long moment of tense eye contact and uncertainty.

An underlying worry in your gut at the sight of Lucien, a little worse for wear but still mostly himself, gripping tightly at his carry-on bag in his hand, thumb rubbing nervously at the leather strap.

Goddammit.

–

He’s paying the entire six months of rent he planned on staying there while he filmed for a movie they were shooting a short ten minute drive from your complex, a quaint little studio gracious enough to let the crew film free of charge—he’d given you the whole spiel, in one ear and out the other still wondering how you’ve tangled yourself in this web again.

“Can I just ask you one thing?” You inquire, helping him file away some of his clothes in a drawer you had emptied out for him like this was normal. He makes a soft noise of acknowledgment with his lips pursed together, tired sunken eyes staring back at you, “Why not get your own apartment? A house? I mean, you’ve got the money?”

Lucien clears his throat, scratching at his neck where it jostles his chains, fingers slipping under the silk fabric of his shirt, “I, uh—feel weird…livingalone,” He rushes out, quickly turning to grab more clothes as you stand, hand placed against the top of your dresser as your brow furrows, feeling like you’d just fallen deaf.

“Come again?”

A small huff as Lucien passes a stack of expensive shirts, material that had to be ethically sourced or…some bullshit like that, he’s told you the story before in passing.

“I don’t like living alone, ‘s why I float,” He offers lamely, tossing the empty duffel into the corner of your room—you’d pick it up later, it didn’t matter, “I left all my old stuff to my ex-wife, it was easier that way.”

Often you had to remind yourself that Lucien was older, nearing his late forties while you were still managing through your late twenties, a big thirty on the horizon.

It dawns on you then that you don’t know much about Lucien at all outside of tabloids and gossip sites, the rumor mills running through Hollywood—you often find yourself reminding you of the fact he was still a person, with troubles, clearer now more than ever.

“It wasn’t always like this,” He assures you, “I’m a fuckin’ mess, I already know.”

“I think we’re beyond judgment, Lucien,” You assure him, “You saw me sobbing and nearly naked—just keep this place clean, like you give a shit about it, alright?”

Lucien nods dutifully, “Yes, ma’am.”

–

You learn quickly that his long term stay meant that little quirks were beginning to surface—always organizing your things out on the sink opposite of his own, a small gesture that didn’t go unnoticed when you were rushing out the door on days he wasn’t given a call time. Or how he always made sure there was food waiting when he arrived before you—takeout or not. He wasn’t a great cook, but he could manage.

In turn, you tried to cook more often. And he loved to hover, but not with a homey, warm feeling that made you feel safe, rather like a curious dog nipping at your ankles. And more so, he would finish his own plate before looking cautiously at your own before you nod, allowing him to pick from your plate with a greediness that made you giggle under your breath.

“My ex-wife never cooked,” He had told you once, “I mean, she tried—but she was terrible. And this,” His tongue pokes at the inside of his cheek as he steps at the homemade ravioli, “is there anything you can’t do?”

“Say no, apparently,” You gave him a solid once-over, a look from head to toe—he’s never offended anymore, taking the playful jest in stride, it had already been a month and it was beginning to feel like normal, again, having him there.

Your conflicting schedules meant a lot of time away from each other, which wasn’t bad. It almost helped more than you expected and while your apartment wasn’t well-fit for a roommate, Lucien made the place feel less empty.

You couldn’t say it out loud, but you were starting to understand the charm. You could see beyond the facade and the persona—a troubled man with ambition, purpose, but a mountain of struggles. The drinking wasn’t a surprise, nor his uptick in smoking. He always smoked out the window so the smell wouldn’t permeate, but the drinking started to become…an issue.

It wasn’t that Lucien couldn’t handle himself when he drank, but he often did it to fill the dead time—so he said—when you were still at work, fighting with his own demons in his mind. He always ended up on your bed those nights, curled up in a fetal position at the wrong end and you couldn’t find it in yourself to move him, draping a blanket over him before you decided to spend the night on the couch. It was a weekly occurrence after a while, slowly growing in frequency.

He always apologizes, tells you he won’t do it again, but eventually you find yourself melding around him, sleeping in a way that keeps you comfortable and doesn’t disturb him. You don’t judge him, don’t think any lower of him—but there was concern and Lucien could see it growing with every passing conversation as the weeks dragged along.

By the third month, the dam breaks.

You don’t sugarcoat anything for him either.

“Do you need rehab?” You ask bluntly, watching him peel the gold-flaked under eye patches from his face, shoulder leaned against the doorframe, “Or, like, therapy?”

“I’m not an alcoholic,” He defends, washing his hands under the warm water, “I can get sober if I wanna, but it helps with the stress, you know?”

“No,” You respond honestly, but softly, “I don’t. Unless this is just some big excuse for you to sleep in my bed, which if it is—”

Lucien chuckles, toweling his hands dry, “You caught me.”

“You would tell me if it was getting bad, wouldn’t you?”

It seemed like the least he could do, considering how greatly you were carrying the burden for him by allowing him to stay in the comfort of your own home, treating him like a human. You ignored the tabloids anymore, always negative and nefarious toward him, like he wasn’t allowed to make a few mistakes along the way. He had to be perfect, given his troubling start in the industry. DUIs, cheating, eventually settling down to marry but that didn’t work out great for him either—you’d done some research lately, out of pure curiosity to understand what he wasn’t always willing to share, but you preferred to hear it from him.

Lucien squeezes at your chin in a comforting manner that makes you grimace in feigned disgust, forcing a gentle laugh through your nose as he answers, “Yes, I would.”

–

When he should, he doesn’t.

Award season was approaching and work was hectic, Lucien had wrapped on his next project and his previous one was gearing for a big release and line of promos, which meant Lucien had to be on his game.

The lamp in your living was broken, a shattered glass bottle on the floor beside it, a trail of clothes following to your room and a heat in the apartment that was sweltering in a way that had you stripping down immediately to the thinnest layer you could manage without getting to your underwear, jeans and a thin strapped top as you walked barefoot toward your room.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting or hoping for, but it isn’t this.

He’s naked, completely bare, save for the blanket draping his groin to save his modesty, out cold but skin obviously clammy, reeking of alcohol and sweat and you can’t help scrambling to the floor, unable to form any type of tangible sound. You check for a pulse, fearing that you might have just found yourself in an inescapable scandal, but it was there. That soft thump, thump, thump under your fingertips before you press the back of your hand to his skin and despite the sweat, he’s cold. He must have sweat out most of the alcohol in his system, your eyes dragging to the forgotten bottle on the ground.

You sigh, eyes falling closed as you gather your thoughts. You devise a plan, slow and methodical—first was to clean, grabbing the clothes and broken glass from the ground, leaving no trace of his mayhew before you’re returning to your room and straight for the bathroom, immediately turning on the cold water, the stream forceful as it pushed through the showerhead.

“Fuck,” You curse to yourself as you glance at Lucien who is mostly dead-weight, struggling to understand how you can get him from one point to another—with another quiet huff you approach him, shifting until you can get your arms under his armpits and heave him up, blanket falling from his waist as you yelp, eyes shooting toward the ceiling as you continue to drag his slumped body toward the tub, “okay—god, Lucien, you fucking owe me.”

It takes some maneuvering and the unbelievability that you are so incredibly close to his bare ass and dick in a way that most would fall over backwards for, regardless of the situation—it felt wrong, seeing him in such a manner and so completely helpless, but you shove the thought aside as you finally get him in the tub, the cold water waking him almost immediately.

It starts with a gasp, a sharp tug of the curtain and coarse, “Shit,” that assures you he was alive and well, coherent, even. A small smile tugs at your lips as you hear him let out a string of curses before he finally settles.

“There’s a bottle of water and some Advil on the counter—take it,” You instruct behind the curtain, “I’m going to grab dinner—try not to hurt yourself, please.”

He doesn’t acknowledge you, not that you expected it. And it doesn’t take long to grab the food either, calling it in and driving there and back in about twenty minutes, finding Lucien freshly showered and sitting on the stool near the counter, eyes telling a story of exhaustion but his insistently bouncing leg telling another.

“Chicken or steak?” You ask nonchalantly, holding the styrofoam containers in both hands.

He takes a moment to answer, unsettled by your calmness, “...steak.”

You hand it over without a question, grabbing a couple drinks before you’re digging in, standing opposite of him rather than sitting, eating in a silence that grows, thickens.

“It’s quiet,” You note the obvious before you scroll through your phone, searching for a soft tune to play through your speakers, something to fill the air, “better—how’s the food?”

“I like it,” Lucien responds with a full mouth, somehow endearing as he swallows and sips at the second water you offered him, attempting to help keep him hydrated, even if it was still annoyingly hot in your apartment, “—I…I think I broke your AC.”

“You did. I’ll put in a work order for it to get fixed,” You answer, a solution to the problem, “are you okay?”

If Lucien was being honest with himself, he can’t remember the last time anyone has asked him that—not genuinely, anyways. He falls silently, biting at his bottom lip in deep thought as his eyes squint, poking quietly at his food.

Talking was hard, you understood that. But, you hoped there was some trust built between you in the past few months, that you hadn’t laid your vulnerabilities out bare the night you came home rain soaked without the ability for him to share too. Plus, he’d broken your favorite lamp.

“It’s complicated,” Lucien diverts, but that doesn’t stop you, eyes lying in wait as you laid your utensil down to listen, “—I’ve got two kids. One, he’s eighteen…awesome, awesome kid. His name is Raynor. I didn’t meet him until a few years back, I’ve been tryin’ take make up for that. We even went on a roadtrip a couple summers back.”

Lucien fiddles with the cap on the water bottle idly, speaking further, “I, the other, my daughter, she’s a couple years old—it was a crazy night with a co-star,” You clock the information immediately, knowing who he was talking about without the confession, and he knew too—it wasn’t exactly a well kept secret in Hollywood as Delia was now married, to another co-star, raising that child, “a long story for another time, but we’re going through this nasty court battle.”

It would explain his financial situation a little, his willingness to take roles as he could, but the growing stress on his face as weeks passed, the tendency to hide or ignore the situation rather than face it—you understood, to a degree.

“So, all the drinking? The transiency?”

“It just helps,” He shrugs—helps him forget, temporarily, before it all comes barreling back at him, “she wants to revoke shared custody—she’s got her more anyways, with my work and everything, but she wants to deem me unfit, make it—” Lucien’s throat tightens, exactly why he wanted to avoid this conversation entirely, “she wants to erase me and the moment the press gets wind—”

All hell would break loose.

“Lucien, I don’t think it works that way,” You assure him, even if your knowledge was slim, “there’s…that's your right, she’s your child.”

“Given my history, the judge could consider it,” Lucien replies lackluster, ashamed, “look—I’m sorry to dump this shit on you, I fucked up your apartment, I can find another place to stay and I’ll pay out the rest of the rent like I promised.”

You look at him with a gentle expression, tilting your head until his eyes finally rise, “I asked,” You remind him, “and I hated that lamp anyways, so you did me a favor,” It was a lie, but given his emotional state it was acceptable, watching as he forced a weak laugh, “I’m not kicking you out either, if the media publishes anything about it, you hunker down here. I can deal with a few paps, you know? We do work in the same industry, after all. I may not understand the full scope but I do understand, Lucien.”

He returns a look with sad, red-rimmed eyes as you reach to clean up your shared dinner, before approaching him with a careful few steps, a hand gliding over his bicep and your fingers rubbing at the small dip in the back of neck, your first real initiation of genuine touch. He was a touchy person himself and seemed at ease by the feeling, your lips coming to press a soft kiss against his cheek. Kind, friendly, you pat at his back.

Something changes between that touch and the look he gives you as he turns, eyes flicking toward your lips out of desire, silently he pushes logic aside and leans forward, pulling your chin into his hand like he has before, a familiar touch followed by a foreign one, plush lips against your own that has you swimming in a mix of emotions, eyes falling shut briefly before you realize what was happening, lips parting slightly as the tip of his tongue touches your own before you’re ripping away, eyes wide.

“Oh my god,” You utter out, wishing the words had stayed inside of your head, “I, uh–I’m—”

You stutter relentlessly before you’re scrambling toward your room, door falling shut with a soft click as you sink into your sheets, heart racing uncontrollably and your hands covering your face, unable to face what you had just escaped from as a knock comes a few minutes later on your bedroom door.

You couldn’t face him. You couldn’t.

Eventually, he leaves. Slow footsteps that eventually lead toward another door that closes too, unsure of where he was wandering off to, but you couldn’t think about that, not with the conflicting, battling emotions in your head and chest, a startling yearning coming from just a simple touch.

He was everything you despised—somehow finding level ground, adoring him, caring about him, it was never supposed to go this far. He started as an inconvenience, a disruption to your life…and now, you weren’t sure you could imagine it without him there, in some form.

It takes a couple hours, already deep into your slumber, but the dip of weight in your bed startles you for a moment before the movements stop, the strong press of a back against yours, and an unspoken security that pulls you both under quickly.

He’d gone out drinking again, but at this point, you couldn’t blame him.

–

He awakes to a sweet smell, distinct and fresh. And air, cool air. It can’t be dawn, the sun is too far in the sky to be early morning. Lucien rises with a heavy grogginess, rubbing at his eyes as he finds his footing and walks toward the living room of your apartment, finding your back turned to him as you fiddled with the buttons on your AC as you bid someone goodbye, a man carrying a toolbox descending toward the hallway.

He gears up for an apology, the words balancing on the tip of his tongue.

Suddenly, you’re in front of him, two filled mugs in hand, coffee just the way he liked.

And Lucien doesn’t know when or why the feeling overtakes him, but he kisses you again. It isn’t a simple peck. It was full, all-consuming, feet lifting off the ground type of kiss.

No, literally—you rise to your tiptoes as the cups jostle in your grip as two large, warm hands curl around your back and his lips melt against your own, earning a starling gasp that slips through slightly parted lips, followed by his name after a moment too long.

“Coffee, coffee,” You mumbled quickly, “hot—burning, my toes,” Lucien pulled away quickly at the words, watching as the tan liquid pooled at your feet before he rushed to clean up the mess.

You watch with an amused expression before you finally hand the cup of coffee over, “Good morning to you too, I guess,” You smirk, biting down on your cheek to stifle the laugh that was fighting it’s way out, “please don’t tell me you’re still drunk.”

“I need to apologize,” Lucien tells you, “...again—I’m—I’m sorry for kissing you—again, like that, assuming that was something you wanted. I got pulled into the moment—”

You’ve had all night and morning to think it over, mulling over the emotions and feelings, still not quite sure, but you couldn’t help the swirling feeling of nervousness that had grown more frequent in Lucien’s presence, his looks, his flirtatious nature and touches. You were under his spell completely.

And if you didn’t want to kiss him, you would have stopped him.

Besides, you didn’t want to be the bearer of more bad news after his terrible night, having been let go from your job position that morning, no notice—you were still reeling, but didn’t want to burden Lucien with the news.

You needed something else to occupy your mind.

“Drink,” You instruct, taking a seat on the couch as you sip at your coffee in silence, watching as Lucien mirrored your actions and sat at the opposite end, legs out-stretched and his chest on display, tanned skin with neatly trimmed chest hair, soft tummy leading into the charcoaled, stretchy lounge pants leaving little to imagination as he fidgeted in his seat.

“Where’d you go last night?”

Lucien’s face immediately flushes with guilt, “The—a bar. I didn’t drink. I swear, I—”

He makes a small noise of frustration and closes his eyes, “I did something stupid, I needed a distraction, alright? I shouldn’t have kissed you, that’s not what you wanted, I know that.”

With a silent reservation, you press the coffee cup into the table in front of you before slowly make your way toward him on your knees before you pluck the half-empty mug from his grip and return it to a similar spot, feeling a surge of bravery as you climb onto his lap—there’s some underlying stupidity there, you think. But, fuck it.

“You don’t know what I want,” You assure him, fingers dragging along the top of his head before you’re tugging at the stands to tilt his head back, kissing him soundly, sweet dark roast on your shared breaths as you lick into his mouth, the opposite hand pressed flat against his bare chest. It takes a while, but eventually his brain catches up, along with his movements, and his hands curl around your bare thighs, fingertips grazing the silk shorts you wore to bed the night prior, like butter against your soft skin as his fingers climb and dig, pressing into your skin as you continue to discover every inch of him he had to offer—mouth, tongue, neck, chest.

It was a dormant hunger that had awoken after careful thought and pure primal need, tired of waiting things out for perfection when you had something tangible in front of you.

He’s mumbling your name softly as you lean into him, the bottom of your lip dragging against the tip of his nose as he pulls you away, strong hands encompassing your face as he looks at you, searching your glazed over eyes, “What are you doing?” He asks, apparent concern.

“Distracting you,” You tell him, immediately diving back in to kiss him, nipping at his chin playfully, a shaking sigh falling from his lips, “are you distracted?”

He chuckles weakly, “What happened to me being a cocky, egotistical, little dicked man?”

“I can go back to hating you if you want,” You respond, nipping at his ear before you pull back to look at him, so close you can feel his breath against your lips, “If you’re into that sorta thing.”

He could see in your eyes that you needed this too, a way to shut your brain off for a while, months of failed dates you’ve told him all about, in detail, he can’t help but chuckle at your eagerness, stifling a groan as you core grinds against him, cock stiffening with the movement.

“Maybe,” He’s undecided, “we’ll see how this goes.”

You smile wide, feeling a surge of pride as he returns the kiss more fully, a hand twisting around the back of your neck as he kisses you fully, all wet and uncoordinated but it makes your heart flutter in excitement.

“Let me taste you,” He begs, clawing at your top in an attempt to get his hands on your skin, pushing up the fabric as you follow his movements, top off, stripping your shorts down along with your underwear, an eager Lucien gripping at your hips to maneuver you down into the cushion as he hastily shoves the table away with his feet to make room for him on the floor, no reprieve as he hooks your legs over his shoulder and splits his tongue through your folds, licking up the center.

A man of his word, he tastes. Noisily he licks and prods, tongue dipping inside of along with wandering fingers, sucking gently at your clit until you’re yanking at his hair, hand curling over the back of his scalp, fingernails digging into the top of his back, moans spilling from your lips like a flowing river, the rapids rushing through, walls clenching around nothing but cool air as Lucien parts from you, admires.

He’s got two hands on your thighs to keep you open, “Wider,” He coaxes, your breath quickening as he squeezes at your thighs, “right there, don’t move.”

He shoves his pants down his hips, the heel of his palm rubbing down his shaft as he wraps his fingers around his cock, jerking himself off at the sight of you, glistening and eager, your fingers digging into the cushion fabric—you’ve seen him before, naked, in starkly different context.

But, he had nothing to be ashamed of, your eyes counting the faint splattering of freckles on his chest as his hand glides over his cock, tugs, thumb sliding over the tip to spread the precum down his shaft and you don’t hear him calling your name until his hand touches your skin, gliding over your knee as he taps, coming to with a weak, “Huh?”

Lucien laughs under his breath before he’s beckoning you closer, pushing up with your palms as he cups his hand under your chin and asks—no, demands, “Spit,” He tells you, following his order without missing a beat, the saliva dripping into his hands as you push it past your lips and he moves closer, knees settled on the plush rug in your living room, guiding you until your ass was nearly hanging off the couch and using your saliva to aid the tug of his cock.

“No condom,” You quickly interject, slightly out of breath. His mouth opens like he wants to respond but you quickly shush him, “we can avoid the spiel, I’m on the pill.”

Lucien shrugs with a cocked smile, “Just checking. You alright?”

You nod eagerly, dying for a reason to shut your mind off.

It was the perfect angle, his hips just level enough with your hips that he slid in with ease, adding his own string of spit into the mix as rubbed it down your cunt and pushed his cock inside—deeper, deeper, the head of his cock sliding against your folds teasingly as he rocks his hips until he’s fully flush inside of you.

Your anxious hands are taken hold by him, curling around his wrists instinctively before they’re being shoved over your head and against the back of the couch, his towering frame leaning over you as his hips piston you at a bruising pace, deep enough that it aches. It’s been long, so long and you feel pathetic for already wanting it so bad, core pulsating with an insatiable need.

His breath is hot, wet against your skin as his teeth graze against your breast, sucking the skin between his teeth as you gasp, “Louder,” Lucien coaxes, “let ‘em hear you. Think they deserve it after all they’ve put us through.”

You laugh at that, full-body and airy, eyes falling shut as Lucien plants a foot against the floor, changing up the angle to an intense degree, his cock slipping out briefly as he adjusts, catching glimpse of the string of shiny slick that connects you both before the thick head of his cock pushes back in, a soft squelch of admittance, a tell-tale sign of your obvious enjoyment.

If he knew this would shut you up, he would’ve tried seducing you months ago—though, he had a feeling the attempts would be futile, he was floating on his own cloud of disbelief that after all his wrong-doings, his missteps, it hadn’t pushed you away.

“Show me—huh, show me what you like,” Lucien pleads through baited breath, hair sticking to his forehead from the sheen of sweat, his own hands leaving yours with the silent promise that you wouldn’t move them, finding purchase underneath your thighs and pushing them up toward your chest, your fingers gripping around the back of the couch in desperation, “touch—touch yourself, show me.”

The drag of your hand is slow, but eventually your fingers hover over your cunt, pressing against your sensitive clit as you circle, slow and intentional movement that rips a loud moan from your chest matched with his pointed thrusts, feeling his stamina weaning as he watches, hips stuttering.

“You’re a fucking dream,” Lucien admires, “makin’ a damn mess, too. You hear that?”

He slows down on purpose, partially for his own benefit but he’s proving his point, that sticky squelch of arousal, his faint grunts mixed with your quickly rising moans.

“Does it make you nervous when I stare?” He asks curiously, eyes locked on your pussy, watching his cock split you open, gripping him and pulling him back in eagerly with every thrust, “Look at me—answer me, baby.”

There’s something so distinct in the way he says it, laced with an addictive drug.

Your eyes peel open, bleary behind near tears and you shake your head.

“Do you wish it did?” You counter, earning a subtle head shake from Lucien as he pulls out.

A moan of disappointment leaves your mouth before he’s quickly jostling your around, chest against the couch, his hand spreading wide over your back as he bends you over, fisting his cock as he feeds it back into your greedy cunt, the swollen head making you gasp as it pushes through your over-sensitive folds.

He uses the leverage as his hand climbs, gripping at your shoulder to pull you up, bracketing your body into the couch with a knee at your side, pressing you tight into his chest, his hand sliding around to your chin and turning your face to his, lips parting as he fucks you with a newfound ferocity, eyes rolling back so deep you aren’t expecting the fingers that find your clit, circling the senstive nerves until you’re tipping over the edge, soft encouraging words pulling you through your orgasm like a gentle wave, his fingers slowing down as you resurface.

He comes soon after, his hips stuttering out of pace again as you lean forward, feeling him pull out at the last possible moment before he’s painting thick strips of come against your lower back, the fingers of his left hand digging into your skin as he grabs you tight, the tip of his cock sliding against your ass.

You collapse with a content laugh, oblivious to Lucien searching frantically for something to clean you up before settling on one of the kitchen towels, your body slumped lazily against the couch and sighing when you feel his warm touch, the words slipping out on their own accord, “I got fired.”

“What?”

He tosses the dirty towel aside and passes over your clothes, pulling his own lounge pants back up his hips, sans underwear—and it makes you curious how often he does that normally, comfortable as he takes a seat, legs spread wide as he settles into the cushion.

“They called this morning,” You explain easily, pulling your top over your head and maneuvering your panties and shorts back on, “wouldn’t give me a reason, but it doesn’t matter.”

Lucien’s brow furrows in thought, rubbing his thumb against his fingertips out of habit.

“Is this one of those situations where you’re gonna ask if I’ll sign an NDA?” You half-joke.

He shakes his head almost immediately. He doesn’t seem to find it amusing, almost slightly concerned—or wounded?

“Come work for me,” He insists, “I’ve been needing an assistant.”

“Isn’t that a conflict of interest?” You ask him, staring at his flush chest and mused hair, evidence of rigorous sex all over his face, it was almost enough to have you confessing some unspoken feelings, but you weren’t that easily broken down.

“It doesn’t have to be.”

“Are you just trying to find a reason to stick around longer?” You tease him, a smile peeking out behind your tired expression, “Because it won’t work.”

“No—I’m serious about getting my shit together,” Lucien promises, “I might need a little help…but I want to.”

“Can I think about it?”

Lucien nods, hands dropping to his lap as he fiddles with a ring on his finger, eventually trailing toward the chains around his neck before his head is popping up, a quizzical look on his face.

“Wait—was that because you were having a bad morning?”

The sex, he means.

A smile breaks out on your face, “Nothing an orgasm won’t fix.”

He can sense it isn’t the full truth, but he doesn’t pry.

“Damn straight,” He chuckles, both of you falling into a comfortable silence.

–

Your answer doesn’t come for a solid week, thinking over the pros and cons. It was complicated, indeed bound to be messy if you allowed it, but Lucien was promising to double your pay, no undermining, no hovering—it seemed too good to be true.

But, you were taking the risk.

Lucien was still awaiting the imminent release of the court documents, the storm of press, but when you were secured in the safety of your apartment, hidden under the blankets as Lucien clung to you, head buried in your chest and his cock still buried inside of you, a slow and lazy day was what he needed, but he also craved you—and he was addicting, impossible to deny.

“We can’t keep doing this when I start working for you,” You remind him.

“Who says we can’t?” Lucien asks curiously, adjusting his hips as he slides deep inside of your cunt, peering up at you with soft eyes, “We keep it casual, if we decide we wanna stop. We stop. It won’t affect your job. I’m not that much of a dick, baby.”

“Well, for starters, you can’t call me baby at work.”

Lucien nods dutifully, listening to you divulge into a long lists of hardset rules, eventually pulling your focus back to him, his hips moving at a slow but gradual pace until you can’t focus any longer, giggling loudly as he buries his face into your neck, a sufficient end to the conversation.

The rest could be figured out later.

dividers: @/saradika-graphics

#lucien flores #lucien de leon #lucien flores x reader #lucien flores x you #lucien de leon x reader #lucien de leon x you #lucien flores smut #the uninvited #the uninvited fic #lucien de leon smut #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal #my writing

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lorelune · 2 months ago

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oliver is a whore who absolutely does not commit to you. it's very transparent that's just like. not his thing. that's not what he's looking for and it's not a farce. he wants a bedmate and someone to share space with but like... not the ties of a relationship. genuinely does not want to be tied down and it makes him a worse man.

HOWEVER i do think things changes for him when you 1) actively turn down opportunities to go to his games (this is so hot to him. your disinterest makes his dick so hard it's crazy)

and 2)

you're out together, maybe. a night at the club or a crowded bar. it's a celebratory thing after a game or a birthday. a crazy night regardless. oliver has a decently high alcohol tolerance and doesn't mind staying only mildly buzzed and keeping an eye on his teammates. and you. you're squirrely with him that night. oliver has thought about dancing with you, he wants to, but he holds back on initiating. he likes when you come to him (at this point anyways. guy's world is about to be fucked).

ohh man. but the team has a little private area for bottle service. it's a good place to lounge. oliver is just scrolling on his phone when you practically crash into his side, press your lips to his cheek, and laugh. for a split second, he thinks you're trashed. but another look at your face, your drawn up brows and wilted lips, you look more scared, than drunk.

you lean to whisper in his ear, arms wrapped around his shoulders, "some guys won't stop following me. play along, please?"

and you look at him with big soft, scared eyes and like. damn. his axis changes a little bit. you coming to him for safe harbor actually rewrites his brain chemistry so quickly, it's downright concerning.

he's not even thinking words when he pulls you into his lap and corrals you by the waist. he presses a kiss to your temple, laughs nice and low in that way that makes you shudder. "'play along'? you're hardly asking for anything, sweetheart."

it's. insane. how good it feels to have you in his lap and close when he's fully aware that you've been stalked like prey. all it takes is one look shot in the way you came, and whoever had been lingering around to bother you disappears into the crowd.

"they're gone," he tells you. "they shouldn't bother you anymore."

"thank god," you sigh. "a-and thank you."

you attempt to climb off his lap, but he holds you there. steady, "why don't you stay awhile? we can grab you some water."

"... sure." you yawn. it's... really cute. oliver's never lucidly thought of the action as cute when he's seen you yawn before, but it really is. "just don't be weird about it."

"wouldn't dream of it."

oh and when you grumble and settle your cheek against your collarbone and doze off on him? and he gets to ever so casually pull the hem of your dress down to the better cover your thighs? so no one can see that much of you?? just him.

oh he's fucked for you

#lore writes #thirsts #guys #i'm fucking cooked

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johnbrand · 7 months ago

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True Test

My nephew Brandon grew up in a deeply conservative household, where masturbation was strictly forbidden. He had been raised just like his father and I had been by our own parents, and their parents before them. We were built by traditions, maintaining them as they had maintained us throughout our childhood and adolescence. Certain words were never said in the house, certain ideologies never acknowledged.

It had been my brother’s hope for Brandon to never see a naked woman before marriage. Everything had appeared to have been going to plan, for by the time Brandon reached his 22nd birthday, he was still exceptionally shy around the whole topic. My brother and I had been so proud; his little boy had made it through all of college without being tainted by “progressive” ideas or gone astray from our values. Unfortunately, that image was shattered when I arrived at Brandon’s room to fetch him for cake, finding him jerking out a quickie to hardcore gay porn on his laptop.

Both of us stood in shock for a moment, unable to move as the realizations hit us. I had discovered his secret, he believed his perfect facade was about to collapse. Brandon opened his mouth to explain but I had already left the doorway. By the time we got downstairs, everybody had been waiting for us. They had no idea what I was about to tell them.

“Before Brandon blows out the candles, I have one last birthday gift to give him.” Brandon rushed in behind me, his face red with embarrassment. My brother eyed me, caught off guard by this sudden announcement. “After college, he will stay with me out in the country for a few months to learn some more physical skills. All expenses covered by me, just one last hurrah before Brandon’s adulthood begins!”

Brandon’s eyes grew wide as the room cheered. My brother gave me a solid pat on the back, laughing and thanking me for such a great opportunity, insisting it was too much. I argued the contrary, watching as my nephew hesitantly paced over to his cake.

———

What none of my family knew, not even my brother, was that my property out in the country also doubled as a conversion camp. My institution had stayed afloat for three primary reasons. First, my property was an exclusive institution. I worked one-on-one with my clients, meaning my property was truly intimate. This tied in my second aspect, privacy. It was not special that no one in my family knew of my alternate career, as I kept my side gig well under the wraps of a decent, average country farm. Finally, I had never had a complaint. All my clients converted perfectly to my standards.

When Brandon had arrived at my farm for the summer, he had assumed there would be a combination of heavy farm work and awkward conversations. To be fair, at the surface level this was true. I had my nephew working from dawn to dusk every day, filling him with hearty, animal protein-heavy meals that along with the exhaustion would knock him out immediately after dinner was served.

There was no time for anything but labor and my conversations with Brandon. I also allowed no devices beside my work computer, which was off limits anyway, meaning not only did my nephew have no time to jerk off, but nothing to jerk off to. Eventually, Brandon’s brain became too overworked from the constant tug of war between exertion and exhaustion, forcing his will to fall back in line. It became easier to just listen and absorb, to sponge up my opinions rather than react to them.

Over the summer months, I watched as my nephew’s slim, faggy form bloated into that of a man. He grew taller, broader, muscles slowly piling on thanks to the proper diet and obnoxious amount of exercise and training. One by one I replaced his articles of clothing with more appropriate attire: cheap tees that could get dirty, thrifted jeans, my old boxers already stretched to fit his thickening size. Brandon had not made any comment when his razors had disappeared, nor when his shoes were replaced with much larger, well-worn boots. His growing feet had needed them anyway.

The mental changes were harder. Our conversations, which eventually became nothing more than lectures, where discussions focused around the family's values. I spent the majority of our time peeling back Brandon’s progressive ideology, stripping down to the traditional conservative roots. In between it all, I would constantly scatter in mentions of girls, vulgarly tossing tits and pussy language so that it became all my nephew heard. At first it pissed him off, but once Brandon began to simply ingest it all, I knew the conversion had already begun.

By our last week together, Brandon had become an entirely different man. The 22-year-old now physically resembled our family pride, his masculinity now at par with the textbook definition. As a final test of my work, I brought my nephew into my office and sat him next to the sole computer on the property. I instructed Brandon to open the screen, stepping away as the old monitor booted up a lesbian porno I had already booted up.

“Like what you see?”

I chuckled as Brandon’s cock hardened, completely mesmerized. Thanks to the lack of exposure, my nephew’s brain was flooded with waves of sexual pleasure forgotten to him, now redirected with my instruction. With his instincts realigned, Brandon’s former life would be no more. I reached over and quickly turned off the monitor, knowing his aching cock threatened immediate release.

“You’ve passed the test,” I announced. “You’re a real man now, Brandon.”

I motioned towards the open bathroom, Brandon's massive cock still throbbing for the opposite gender. I offered my permission without saying a word, grabbing for the door. To my surprise, and delight, my nephew cockily questioned my expertise.

“I disagree, uncle,” his voice was deep and authoritative. “The true test will come after I lose my gold star.”

#gay to straight #male tf #male transformation #dumbification #jock tf #breeder tf

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belovedenzo · 5 days ago

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the kings of hogwarts // slytherin boys headcanons

various headcanons; appearance/style, social stance/relationships , pet peeves, favorite things, fun facts.

characters; Theodore Nott, Mattheo Riddle, Lorenzo Berkshire, Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zambini, Tom Riddle

words; 3.7k

warnings; cussing, sfw other than that? I think? suggestive maybe

notes; these are all my opinions so if they aren't accurate to you that's okay! If you want more various headcanons, comment some ideas and i'll make it happen :). please enjoy! reposts, likes and comments keep me motivated to make more. thank you guys for all the love on my other stories so far!

taglist; just tagging people I like! If u don’t want to be tagged please lmk! @shyamanuensis @riddlesbunny @redeemingvillains @nottsamor @nottsbaby @nottsluvv @nottsangel @riddleswhcre @enzosbabyangel @enzoberkshiresonly-deactivated2 @nottslove @nemesyaaa @obsessedwithceleste @prythiansprincess @anawritez-posts @riddlesrizzler

Theodore Nott

appearance/style;

6ft1

broad with decent muscle tone

light chartreuse eyes

Few scattered freckles. Iconic freckle below left eye

Light brown hair with body

A natural kubrick stare with a twist of gentleness

Sharp incisors

innocent smiles and shy grins (it’s a stick up)

doesn’t wear a lot of jewelry- occasionally a ring on his left hand

Outside of his uniform he sticks to simple colors for his clothes- beige, black, white, tan, navy, dark brown, etc.

Definitely gold over silver

Always wearing the nicest shoes- shoes are his favorite accessory

Watch on the right arm when it’s a fancy event because he’s left handed

Wears a lot of sweaters in the winter

social stance/relationships;

Silent but deadly. He may not cause a fight for the thrill of it like Mattheo will, but he will support and instigate his best friends angsty behavior. His naturally sweet looking face can quickly become mincing- his main tactic of intimidating his enemies and naysayers.

Most people think he’s meaner than he is. He actually stays mostly in his own lane if it isn’t to back up the rest of the boys or join in on chaos one of them already caused.

They are all players, sure- but Theo is kinda mean about it. Rather heartless with his hookups and doesn’t ever keep the same one for long. Romantic feelings are something he doesn’t really feel or act on.

May be on the more cold side with girls but keeps their personal info to himself. Even to his friends he doesn’t brag or talk about it that often.

People who do get the opportunity of being Theo’s friend say that he is very funny and has a dark sense of humor

Comes off as a lone wolf to the rest of the school- but can also very often be seen with his best friend Mattheo

Will actually stand up for the little guy- especially if on his own. If he thinks something is unfair he will call them out

Thinks that Lorenzo is the funniest in their group but tells Mattheo it’s him to make him feel better

Let’s the boys think he isn’t totally in charge of most of their affairs

Mattheo is his best friend- he thinks he’s the coolest and gets along with him the most out of any of the boys

Him and Enzo butt heads a lot but he does love him very much

Goes to Blaise and Tom when he needs good advice or just to vent to smart people

Finds himself feeling jealous of Draco and his ability to not give a fuck (little does he know…)

pet peeves;

While he does engage in bullying with the rest of the boys he thinks Draco goes way too far sometimes. It gets on his nerves and sometimes does say something

Love and romance in any way. If he feels like any girl is catching feelings he gets the ick and leaves sooner than he would have anyways

Hates it when Mattheo blows cigarette smoke to close to his face even though he smokes too

Thinks Enzo brags too much about himself but has never said anything

Also thinks Enzo can talk too much in general sometimes…

If a girl he likes seems more interested in any of his friends he gets jealous. This happens with Mattheo the most and can cause them to fight

favourite things;

Alone time- as much as he loves his friends he actually does love chill time alone sometimes

He likes parties just as much as the rest of them but for him it’s because he can get super fucked up- he’s there for the muggle weed and alcohol

Potions. Out of all his classes he actually finds making potions kind of fun- his favorite classmate to make potions with is Pansy because she’s actually good at it

More into smoking than drinking- loves muggle weed. He’s always in charge of bringing it to the their smaller get togethers

Crystal Castles- if that band existed he would love it

Spicy food

Painting- even though he thinks he’s terrible at it

Hanging out with Mattheo

Early morning hours

Skirts on girls

fun facts;

Actually speaks Italian and some Spanish

He can out-smoke any of the boys (yes even Mattheo)

Pansy has a huge crush on him

He never remembers his dreams

Has dyslexia

Mattheo Riddle

appearance/style;

5ft10

Lean but prominent muscle tone

Chocolate brown eyes

Long eyelashes

dark brown hair- lightly curly

Dough eyes

Very charming grin- but mischievous

Wears various bracelets and a pinky ring on his left hand constantly

Mostly dark colors. Loves jackets even when not in uniform

Mostly silver, but likes gold

There’s a few rings and bracelets that he wears the most- almost every day. They are subtle but iconic

Watch on his left arm because he’s right handed

Too scared to pierce his ears

Actually likes fashion and thinks about it when he gets ready

social stance/relationships;

Terrible reputation. Known for his rude words and tendency to get into physical fights. This has a lot of people on his enemy list

He and Draco are the worst about how they treat other people in and outside of their house. He has no respect for people that feel less than him

One of the worst players- but has a select roster he mainly goes to. They are wrapped around his pinky

Can and has felt romantic feelings but never acts on it. Hides his desire to actually love someone. Thinks that would make him too vulnerable

While Draco is egotistical- Mattheo is rude for other reasons. He’s pessimistic and does it to get attention

Secretly wants validation but continues to worsen his reputation by acting out

Thinks Theo is the funniest and the coolest. He loves his dark sense of humor. They bounce off of eachother well

Let’s Theo think he’s in charge but it’s so obviously him- right? (right-)

While his best friend is Theo- he is also very close with Enzo

Him and his brother Tom butt heads a lotttt, they get into a lot of disagreements. He secretly loves him a lot

Also quite close to Draco. They can relate in some ways even if they won’t admit it

Goes to Blaise when he needs advice or even when logic needs to be talked into him

All of his friends know that he is secretly super sweet and caring but outsiders don’t and he likes it that way

pet peeves;

Tom’s lack of empathy. And his lack of interest towards getting with girls- he thinks that is odd

When Tom won’t hang out with them because of an academic reason- also thinks that is odd

When a girl stops showing interest in him in any way- or if they’ve replaced him. If it’s one of his friends he’d freak

He hates all of his friends music taste. They don’t listen to good music. He thinks very highly however of his own music taste

Tests of any kind

If any of his friends take Tom’s side during one of their fights he gets super mad and it secretly hurts him a lot

favorite things;

The smiths- he would listen to the smiths a lot and I will die on that hill

The specific brand of cigarettes he smokes daily

Quidditch- Lorenzo is his favorite team mate because he’s quick

Confrontation

Music

Attention, positive or negative

A total night person, especially as it gets colder

Sour candy

Reading tragic romance stories

Horror movies

Hanging out with Theo

fun facts;

Thinks he can out-smoke Theo (he can not)

Has really crazy dreams and a hard time sleeping

Gets seasonal depression really bad

Hates the smell of coffee but still drinks it

Has had multiple secret real gf’s that only Theo knows about

Lorenzo Berkshire

appearance/style;

6ft4 (the tallest)

Long limbs- lean. But shockingly strong, sleeper build

Amber brown eyes

Sharp jawline

A natural Kubrick stare- mean case of resting bitch face

Dark brown hair- kept on the longer side

Shows his emotions on his face through his expressions

Likes necklaces, long ones underneath his clothes. Likes rings and earrings which he wears most of the time

Mostly gold but likes silver as well

Outside of his uniform he wears a lot of pastel colors, purple and green being his favorite. Also really likes dark purple and green. Gem tones

Watch on both arms, mixed with chunky bracelets (for fancy events)

Everyone says he had really beautiful hair and he secretly always makes sure it is (he loves his hair)

Social stance and relationships;

Known as the schools biggest whore. But in a good way?

Even though he can actually be the worst- he has a good reputation. His ability to charm and seem innocent has helped him get away with a lot of things

Generally one of the most liked out of the boys around the whole school. People fear him least and actually really want to be friends with him

Either that or they have a huge crush on him

He comes off as much more sweet than he… can be

He uses girls very disposibley. He really makes them feel like he really likes them though. He’s great at pretending to get what he wants

All of his friends know one of the worst thing about him is his habit of lying

Over the years girls have gotten the gist of what kind of guy he truly is but it still stays rumor around school because of how well liked he is

Treats everyone in the group like they are his best friends- but it’s probably actually Mattheo

He knows that Theo can find him annoying but thinks that’s funny. Even does it on purpose sometimes for entertainment

Draco is his cousin and another close friend of his but secretly envy’s him because he thinks the boys like Draco more than him

Becomes the most mischievous when with Mattheo. They can act like major dicks together

Likes to hit on girls with Blaise

Goes to Tom about school stuff he struggles with. He’s not that great with academics

While he can be cold in some ways to others- with his friends he can be quite emotional

pet peeves;

He hates that he feels the need to be perfect all the time but never can be

It irks him that everyone thinks Mattheo is some hooligan when he’s really not

While he likes smoking cigarettes- he thinks they all smoke too much

He has a lower tolerance and hates that he’s always the first to be super drunk

Waking up in the morning. Always wakes up in a terrible mood until he wakes up

Out of any of the boys he has the most patience overall

favorite things;

Getting drunk and partying. He gets invited to everything

Having people fawn all over him. He likes that so many people like him

Flirting with other guy’s girlfriends to piss them off

Quidditch- loves playing with Mattheo and Draco

Muggle weed. Also has the lowest tolerance with that

Hugging Draco

Fruit. Blueberries are his favorite

Deftones. He’d feel so cool while listening to them

Luna Lovegood. He thinks she’s freaky in a good way

fun facts;

Has the deepest voice out of all the boys

Can run faster than anyone else at Hogwarts

Has really bad OCD

Out of any of the boys he is most susceptible to substance abuse. Terrible addictive personality

He hates his family and only talks about growing up with Draco

Draco Malfoy

appearance/style;

6ft even

White blond hair

Striking, light blue eyes

Long and lanky. The skinniest out of them

Sharp angular features

Also has resting bitch face but on purpose

Loves jewelry- but classy jewelry and not all the time. Mostly necklaces

Silver and silver only

Wears a lot of dark clothing- also likes gem tones. But mostly black white and grey’s

Mostly gets comments on how blonde his hair is and how bright his eyes are. Has soul staring blue eyes

Black is his most iconically worn color fs

Watch on his left because he’s right handed. Actually wears it every day

social stance/relationships;

A total asshole. Just less physically than Mattheo. He may not pick a physical fight but he does bully a lot of people- he’s rude and intitled. Says hurtful things

Known for his high ego and over privileged personality

People don’t understand how him and Lorenzo are even related

Does pull girls but isn’t as good as the others are at it- is filled with too much hate (lol… no actually)

Everyone wonders how he gets good grades because he never pays attention. It’s because he’s actually super smart

Him and Tom get along really well. They actually have a lot in common and hang out a lot

Blaise and Lorenzo are the ones that know more of his vulnerable and emotional side, being there since the beginning

Mattheo and him really feed off one another and are a very feared couple when together (no one is safe). They fuel each others egos

Actually really loves Theo. Has always had an extra soft spot for him and has wished he could be him

He envy’s how cold Tom actually is. Draco hides a lot of his pain in a fake persona

He actually had real gf’s. A few long term ones even

Out of all the boys he trusted Blaise first. Lorenzo introduced them

pet peeves;

Everything? No literally- he has a very short fuse

Speaking of short fuse- his friends like to use that against him and rile him up for fun. He hates that

Being disrespected. He will actually become a Karen if he has to- no body is rude to Draco.. except his friends are rude to him all the time

How much everyone loves his cousin Enzo but hates him. He is jealous of the attention he gets

Any time one of the guys are bragging about girls because he secretly wishes he had that many girls

Mattheo’s fucking cigarette smoke

The fact that Tom’s grades are just a little better than his

The fact that Mattheo and Enzo are better at quidditch than him

Gryffindor. Just the whole houses existence

“Fucking nerds’, as he’d call them

favourite things;

Cussing

Writing (keeps it to himself mostly)

Mattheo’s music taste

Enzo hugs (he will die before Enzo knows this)

The Greengrass sisters (has dated both of them… wants one of them back)

The color black

Getting extremely drunk. Feeling numb and unbothered. That’s when he gets deep and real

Cold weather- hates the heat

Pastries, especially jelly filled ones

fun facts;

Speaks French

Is super rich and will make sure everyone knows that

Has a weakness for cute animals

Got mad when Tom lost his virginity before him

Is secretly bisexual

Probably bpd

Blaise Zambini

appearance/style;

6ft2 (the second tallest)

Broad and muscular but still on the lean side

Deep brown eyes

Full lips, model like features

Great cheekbones

Known as one of the prettiest out of the boys

Likes gold and silver

Never wears his watch- always forgets it and loses it

Does wear earrings like all the time though

Secretly wants a nose piercing

Wears a lot of grey and navy outside of his uniform. Looks really good in it though

Striking eyes but gentle, sweet resting face

social stance/relationships;

A good reputation like Enzo- but a bit more intimidating

A lot of girls want him but he’s actually quite picky and doesn’t give a lot of them a chance

Gets emotional about girls more so than his friends- still doesn’t date them. Like Mattheo- has the ones he goes to the most

Not really mean at all unless he’s joining in on his friends being dicks. Him and Enzo like to tease people together

Sees Draco as his best friend

Knew Enzo first

Wishes he could be as smart as Tom and goes to him a lot for school questions. Is secretly super smart though and could probably get better grades than Tom if he applied himself more

Likes to smoke with Theo the most. They get along well when they smoke together

Thinks Mattheo is the funniest

pet peeves;

How mean Draco and Mattheo can be. He finds it pointless and rude when they go too far

When he gets lumped into some of the boys bad behavior

When Enzo and Draco get too drunk at parties. He tends to drink less because he knows they will go over board and he’ll have to take care of them

How little the boys think about Tom sometimes and leave him behind (Tom would have said no anyways)

How much he can see through Draco’s shit sometimes

Does a lot of damage control for his friends and that can get old

Being late to things

Losing things (loses things all the time)

Watching a friend lower their standards for a girl or guy

favorite things;

Going to quidditch games to see his friends play- always sits with Theo

Colder weather

A comfy sweater

A nicely rolled joint. Thinks Theo roles the best ones

When things are nice and calm. No body is arguing or being stupid and he doesn’t have to be mom

When his grades are good and he doesn’t have to stress about it

Watching Draco get put in his place

Alone time with Draco and Enzo, just like their first year

Rock music. Like classic rock music- listens to it with Tom and Mattheo

Girls that wear nice perfume

fun facts;

He wishes he could play quidditch when he watches his friends play

Can understand a small amount of Draco’s French

Has really bad anxiety but keeps it to himself

Seems like the most put together in the group but really isn’t at all. More insecure than he lets on

Tom Riddle

appearance/style;

5ft11 (One inch that he holds over Mattheo’s head)

Major sleeper build

Green eyes. Odd shade of green that you can’t forget

Hair similar to his brothers just a little less curly

NIce jawline

Evil and mischievous looking grin- it’s just that way naturally

Resting plotting against you face

Tries to have a kubrick stare but has dough eyes like Mattheo

Would wear jewelry but nothing too flashy. A necklace maybe- one ring even

Gold and silver- mostly gold

Wears his watch on his right hand because he’s left handed. Wears it all the time

Isn’t seen in much other than his uniform. But when he is it’s black and green anyways

Doesn’t care for fashion. Thinks piercings and tattoos of any kind are too much

Never goes into public not dressed nice

social stance/relationships;

Social outcast. Not the most social at all really

Extremely focused on his grades and personal writings

Is either feared or ignored by most people around him

Does however have friends and goes out with them sometimes… when they bug him enough

He is known for being very smart though and lots of students want his help on projects

Quite intimidating even though he doesn’t care enough to bully anyone

Isn’t very interested in girls… has had his fun with a few but romance and feelings don’t exist in his world- he has no time or energy for that

Has had a few crushes but would never tell anyone

Doesn’t talk about his feelings with any of his friends

Actually likes his brother Mattheo the most out of any of them but won’t admit that

Is also a huge fan of Theo- he thinks he’s the funniest

Likes being around Blaise a lot too- thinks he is actually super smart

Draco and him hang out often- they have a lot in common and Draco makes the most sense to him out of all the boys

He finds Enzo slightly annoying… he’s just gotten used to him really

All of the boys admire Tom in an odd way and he does know that

pet peeves;

Like Draco- Tom finds everything lame and annoying to be honest. He however is more quiet about his distaste for things unless he really hates it

Enzo’s constant talking about girls. He thinks that guy talks too much in general

Mattheo’s temper. He thinks Mattheo needs to get it together and drop the ego

How little his friends pay attention in school… how stupid some of them can be

Mattheo’s fucking cigarette smoke

How much the school cares about quidditch and how Mattheo is praised about it more than he is with his academic success

Getting super fucked up is dumb to him. Just like the flirting and hooking up- he has better things to do. He will however smoke muggle weed a little bit and does lie cigarettes

Being touched (Enzo trying to hug him)

Athletics of any kind

favorite things;

Writing and reading, he absolutely loves it

Draco’s creative cussing

Getting the best grades out of all his friends

Watching Mattheo get angry at him and squirmy

Chocolate, major bitter sweet tooth

Black coffee

Charms; he is really good at it

Dueling; he is also really good at it and beats all the boys

Classical music

Alone time and his own space

fun facts;

He can play the piano really well. Plays mostly for Mattheo

Practically raised Mattheo even though he’s just a year older

He doesn’t like to sleep too much

He is always the first to wake up and start his day

He is also the first to always leave the table in the great hall

He speaks parseltongue but no body knows

Secretly overthinks a lot

love, spell

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golden-cherry · 1 year ago

Text

deal - cl16 (21/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: The truth comes under purple skies.

Warnings: angst, but mostly tooth rotting fluff because you deserve it

Word Count: 3.4k

series masterlist

previous part

A/N: a little late happy birthday to me! sorry for the wait. I love you.

Although you keep your eyes closed, you know that it is still dark outside.

The air in the room is cool against your face, while your tired body is kept comfortably warm under the heavy comforter. It is just as warm against the free, uncovered parts of your body as Charles' soft skin.

His arm is wrapped around your middle, his fingers are tightly intertwined with yours and his thumb strokes gentle circles over your hand. A tender, loving gesture that you're not sure whether it's meant to calm your nerves or his own.

You haven't changed your positions in bed since you fell asleep pressed tightly together a few hours ago. Charles's chest is still pressed against your back and if you were to focus on it, you could certainly feel his heart beating hard and steady. But you don't. Your thoughts revolve around breathing as normally as possible so that it still looks like you're asleep.

You don't want to be awake.

Being awake would involve thinking, and you definitely don't want to think about the last few days. You don't want to think about how Charles told you that you would jump into bed with Lando at the next opportunity. You don't want to think about Raphael coming to your front door last night and calling you a whore. And you don't want to be reminded that Charles jumped to your side and defended you without so much as batting an eye.

All you want right now is to lie here, in his strong arms, wrapped in his scent and warmth. Deep down, you know you can't be angry with him. Lando's words flit through your head again and again about how you both want to protect each other, and even though you've only known each other for a few days, you can tell Charles so well that it's exactly this part of him that makes him who he is.

But you still don't know why he treated you like that.

You breathe in deeply, take in his scent - a mixture of sandalwood, peppermint and a smell that you can only describe as Charles - and press your face into the soft pillow. Although you had been furious with him, you had missed his closeness over the last few days.

The thumb that has been tenderly drawing figures on your hand pauses.

"I'm sorry." Charles' voice is little more than a whisper against your shoulder blade. As his warm breath brushes over you, your muscles tighten. "No apology in this world can make up for what I did to you. I betrayed your trust, hurt you, and left you thinking I didn't care about you." When you don't answer him, he continues. "I am so incredibly sorry. And I won't ask for your forgiveness or kindness, because I don't deserve it. I don't deserve you. And I'm sorry I couldn't be better for you."

Your heart beats so fast against your ribcage that you fear it will break your bones and jump out of your chest. His touch feels like your skin is burning. When you open your eyes, you see purple clouds in the morning sky through the window.

Carefully, you turn in his arms, whereupon his embrace loosens a little, but his arm remains on your hip. His eyes are closed, as if he doesn't dare to look into your face. His eyebrows are furrowed and there are a few wrinkles between them that you would love to smooth out with your fingers.

You decide to run your fingers over his bare shoulders. His muscles twitch under your fingertips. "Why did you do it?" Charles remains silent, so you tentatively place your hand against his cheek. You feel his stubble scratch your skin as he exhales deeply, as if he hasn't taken a decent breath in a long time.

He opens his eyes and there is an anxious gleam in the otherwise beautiful green. His gaze searches yours as he nuzzles his face against your hand. "I was jealous."

Jealous?

A small glimmer of hope flares up inside you. Maybe everything you've experienced together - the viewpoint, your movie night, the bookstore, the tiramisu - is based on something other than friendship. On something more. Maybe there was more to every conversation, every look and every smile than just the friendship you nailed down to protect your heart. Maybe you were just talking past each other the whole time. Maybe –

"I was jealous of how well you got on with Lando. I thought that if you got to know each other better and became more than just friends, then we wouldn't be friends anymore. I thought -" He pauses for a moment. "I couldn't bear it if I lost you because of your relationship."

You try to suppress the punch in the pit of your stomach and swallow the frog in your throat. "You hurt me and pushed me away because you didn't want to get hurt yourself?" Your heart breaks a little for him. You finally smooth out the wrinkles between his eyebrows with your thumb. His arm wraps around you tighter and presses you together. His fingers stroke your back and goose bumps spread across your body.

That's exactly what Lando said. That Charles pushes the people he cares about away to protect himself. Something you can well understand, after all, you were planning to do the same to him. Only not so drastically.

But Lando also told you something else about the Monegasque. "But that's not all, is it?" An image flickers in your mind's eye of Raphael holding out his hand to introduce himself to Charles. "You didn't just want to protect yourself. Or am I wrong, Charles Leclerc?"

As you say his name, a shiver jerks through his body, as if he's suddenly cold, and his hand freezes against your spine. "You're not." His tone is cooler, more distant than it was a few moments ago, and the tension in the room is palpable despite the purple clouds and morning calm as you place your hand on his bare chest. His heart is beating fast and strong.

"I - I think we both rushed into this friendship far too quickly." You try to put as much warmth into your whisper as you can, even though deep down your heart has caught quite a tear. "We've known each other for five days. And so much has happened in that time that takes some friends years. Our trust in each other went from zero to one hundred." You run your finger over his collarbone, your gaze following him.

Panting, he sucks air into his lungs at your touch. "What do you suggest?"

You purse your lips. "Maybe - maybe we should get to know each other better first. Get to know each other properly so that this doesn't happen again. So that our living together is easier."

Charles tightens his grip around your middle, his legs tangle with yours. "Living together? Does that mean you're staying with me?"

You nod slightly, but grab your arm with your hand to pull away from him. Something flits across his face, but as quickly as it came, it's gone again as you place his hand between your faces on the pillows. "But maybe a little distance will do us good. So we don't mess this up."

His fingers interlace with yours. "I'll do everything I can to make this work."

"That makes two of us," you smile, missing his touch on your body. You miss the warmth pulsing through your veins under your skin. But it's the right thing to do. At least that's what you try to tell yourself. You take a deep breath. "I - I'm unemployed, by the way." You look down at your hands. "I was fired from this magazine before we met. I'm looking for a new job so that I can continue to live in Monaco, because my savings won't last forever. That's why I'm so grateful to you for standing up for me with Joris. About the rent. I can't thank you enough for that."

"But you don't have to," he replies quietly. "Friends help each other. They're there for each other. I can understand why you didn't tell me. Nobody likes to talk about the fact that they've recently lost their job."

"Thank you," you whisper back. You feel a weight fall from your shoulders. You suddenly find it easier to breathe. But now it's something else that's plaguing your thoughts.

And no one but Charles can give you the answer. "Can you please explain to me what happened yesterday? With - with Raphael?"

The Monegasque briefly lets go of your hand so that he can play with your fingers. He doesn't look at you. "Do you remember the night we watched Cars together?"

You nod. How could you forget that night? The wine, the movie, the flirting that apparently wasn't flirting. Ouch.

"We talked about Formula One and how you used to watch it with your grandfather when Michael Schuhmacher drove for Ferrari." His gaze is literally glued to your fingers. "When we first met, I told you that my work had something to do with cars, and I wasn't lying."

You raise an eyebrow in confusion. If he's a mechanic or engineer for one of the racing teams, that woiuld explain why he has to travel so much for work. "Is that where all the cool photos on your phone come from? Because you fly across the globe with Formula 1 to work on the cars?"

Your flatmate purses his lips. "I don't work on the cars. I - I drive them." He licks his lips once. "I'm a Formula One driver for Scuderia Ferrari."

"Don't fuck with me," you reply, wanting to pull your fingers out of his grasp. But he holds on to them and when he lifts his gaze and looks you in the eyes, you know he's telling the truth. And his confession makes you see the last few days from a different perspective.

The conversation between Charles and Joris, shortly after he suddenly appeared in the apartment, pops up in your mind. "When we met, that night - you were on the phone with Joris. You said something about headlines."

He nods slightly. "A few weeks ago, the season ended and Annika and I broke up. I stayed away from here as long as I could because I didn't want to be confronted with it. And when I got to my apartment for emergencies, there you were. With a valid tenancy agreement. I couldn't just throw you out the door. You could have gone public and then it would have made the headlines. Something like "Charles Leclerc throws poor woman out of rented apartment". It was a risk I couldn't take." He furrows his eyebrows again, but this time you hold back.

"You have a nutritionist."

Again he nods. "For the races, I have to follow a strict diet to make the car go faster. Unfortunately, pasta and thick sandwiches aren't part of it, so please don't tell him."

Fragments of the last few days appear one after the other in your mind's eye, which you try to sort out and work through. "The bistro you went to after the bookshop had already closed, hadn't it?"

"Yes. But when do you ever have a Formula One driver on your doorstep who needs two sandwiches?" He shrugs. "One photo and we've had our dinner."

You lick your tongue over your lips and you don't miss the way Charles' eyes twitch to your mouth. "We went everywhere in my car. Why?"

"You've seen my car." He's referring to the fancy Ferrari in the parking garage. "With its stripes, it's not exactly inconspicuous. Especially since everyone knows the car is mine." He runs his thumb over the side of your index finger. "As soon as the car rolls down the street, everyone knows it's me. And everyone takes photos of it. I couldn't risk you getting caught up in all this because of a stupid car. And especially not because you couldn't choose it until now. Your sweet tin can was the only way we could get around the city together without attracting attention."

You clench your jaw. "The meetings in Italy. What about it?"

"The headquarters are there, in Maranello. Before the winter break, the team wanted to get together again and discuss what went wrong this season and what we can improve."

"And you could just leave like that?" you ask him.

He shakes his head. "Not really. But in my opinion, there wasn't much to talk about either. The season was a throwaway." He shrugs his shoulders. "I was actually a little relieved when Lando called and asked me to go home."

So you were right. The Brit did call Charles. "And what did he say?"

"Exactly what I needed to hear." He smiles slightly. "He threw a lot of swear words at me and made it clear that I'd be the stupidest idiot in the world if I screwed up this friendship."

You don't know what to do with this information. The fact that Lando called Charles and made a slug out of him doesn't bother you much, because the Monegasque needed the push. But there's also something about the fact that Charles didn't come up with the idea of straightening things out himself. That one of his friends had to step in for you first so that he would get off his butt and stand up for this friendship. That Lando -

"What about Lando? And Pierre? And Kika? Are they part of Formula One too?"

Charles purses his lips into a thin line. "Lando and Pierre are also drivers. Kika is a model."

Bile rises in your gullet as you release your hand from his and turn onto your back, closing your eyes. Everyone knew, they even work in the same field, and no one thought to let you in on it. The whole thing could have gone down the drain. People could have recognized you both, taken photos of you and spread the word.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. I -" Charles exhales. "I was just scared."

"Scared? Of what?"

"My job - my name - brings a lot with it. A lot of good things, like seeing the world, getting to know cultures and not having to worry about things like money. But there are also negative things, like a lot of pressure, fake friends, no privacy." He also turns onto his back. "I don't want you to choose something you don't want because of my name. I thought - I thought if we stayed in our little bubble, our little world, that - I don't know. It was just nice to have someone as a friend who wanted to be friends with me because I'm Charles. And not because I'm Charles Leclerc."

You have to smile. "Actually, I'm only friends with you so that I can live with you and save on rent."

"Haha."

You clasp your hands behind your head. "I can understand, I think. That you have to be careful who you surround yourself with. And that there are a lot of people who only use you because you're you. It sounds very lonely."

Charles snorts softly. "It can definitely be lonely."

"Then let me assure you that I don't want to be friends with you because of your money or your name."

"But?"

"Do you really need reasons?"

"It certainly wouldn't hurt my ego," you can practically hear his grin.

"All right," you reply. "I want to be friends with you because you're kind and considerate of your friends' feelings. Because you trusted me with your favorite place, even though you didn't know me. Because you introduced me to your friends because you thought it was inevitable anyway if our friendship strengthened." You take a deep breath and exhale. "I want to be friends with you because you're funny and make me laugh. Because you have a big heart. Because -"

A feeling bubbles up inside you. You've felt it before - the day after your movie night, when you were reviewing the evening. In the not entirely innocent dream you had about Charles. And when you shared the bed after the bookshop.

It's warm, like a warm blanket, strong like a good hug and bright like Charles' eyes when the sun shines on his face. Charles is not just your roommate. Or your friend. Charles is so much more. Charles is your home.

Before you can complete the sentence, the Monegasque interrupts you. "That's good. That's good enough for me, thank you." He smiles. "It's nice to have you as a friend. Even if I don't deserve it, the way I've treated you."

"Mm-hmm."

"Maybe you should sleep on it one more night and then decide if you really want it. There's so much more that comes with a friendship with me." When you yawn, he has to laugh. "You see? Maybe you're not even able to think straight right now. And then I push you into a friendship that you don't even want."

"I'm sure," you reply tiredly and you notice how your eyes get heavier.

"But -"

Before he can finish his sentence, you reach for his hand and interlace his fingers with yours. You try to ignore the fact that this makes your heart beat faster. "I'm sure of it. Believe me."

When you gently squeeze his fingers twice, he replies with the same gesture. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Then it's a good thing you don't have to find out," you smile and as you yawn again, Charles pulls you closer to him. Like a magnet, you slide across the bed towards him, unable to resist as your face finds its place against the crook of his neck.

He lets go of your hand, but only to wrap his arm around you. His hand rests on the bare skin of your hip, while his other hand pulls your leg over him so that you're half lying on top of him. You are enveloped by him, fully and completely, and as you place your hand on his bare chest, you feel his heartbeat under your fingertips.

You try to convince yourself that it's not beating for you, but as you snuggle even closer to him and your lips touch the soft skin on his neck, you feel it skip a beat. But maybe you're just imagining it.

"I'll be better from now on," he whispers and tentatively presses a kiss to your forehead. Goosebumps spread all over your body, but not because you're cold like he thinks, which is why his arm presses you even tighter against him. "I don't want there to be another moment when you doubt how important you are to me, mon amour."

"You can teach me a little French," you reply. "Then you can hide less from me if I speak your mother tongue too," you joke.

Charles feels your smile on his neck and he is glad that you can't see the blush on his face.

"Anything you want. I'll go to the other side of the world for you if I have to."

"But not until tomorrow, all right?" You gently caress his chest with your fingertips and Charles draws in a sharp breath. "Now it's time to sleep. And don't you dare steal my blanket in the night."

Charles would love to pull you on top of him, kiss you and promise you that you're safe with him and that he won't let anything happen to you. But he holds back, just lets his fingers dance over your skin.

He promises in the purple morning light. "Deal."

next part

1K notes · View notes

oracle-of-dream · 5 months ago

Text

Welcome to the Dollhouse

Summary: Y/n is down on their luck making financial ends meet. When a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity forces them into a bargain that can't refuse. Now, they find themselves at a party searching for a partner but the person they get is someone they'd never expect.

Notes: Male Reader, Dubious Contracts, Financial Struggles, Idol Jay, Enhypen exists, Fake names, Kissing

Wordcount: 6.9k

It’s funny to think about how much money can buy. Many people say it can’t buy happiness, love, or fulfillment. But when push comes to shove. Money makes the world go round…

Being in college was all you wanted. A chance to get an education that was enough to get you away from the boring life that awaited you if you decided to miss out. Moving to a big city, far away from your parents wasn’t even the hard part. It was paying for college… You managed to land a decent scholarship, as long as you did your school work and did some volunteering to make the school look good then you’d be safe to coast through without any worries. Or that was the case. In your second semester of freshman year, one picture put you dead in the water.

It was your first party. No parents to worry about what time you’d be back. Friends watch you in case things get too crazy. And a cute guy who invited you. A frat boy.By the end of the night, videos of you drinking online circulated. And being a year under the drinking age wasn’t a good look either. The school tore away your scholarship, you were lucky they didn’t expel you. You didn’t have the heart to tell your parents what happened, so you had to find a way to pay for school alone. You looked for private loans, but most wouldn’t accept you without a guarantor, someone to pay them back if you couldn’t. And working odd jobs wouldn’t earn you enough money before the next semester. That’s where The Dollhouse entered the picture.

This was the sixth bank you’d visited. You were desperate. Waiting for the subway, you were approached by a man in a long black coat. He was older than you, but not by much, his early thirties max. He wore a black shirt and pants, with black hair to match. He was almost like a shadow… if shadows were handsome men. “Excuse me, you dropped this!” He exclaimed as he rushed over to you. He had your phone in his hand, ready to offer it to you.

You must’ve dropped it at the bank. “Thank you so much! I’d be dead without this.”

“You should be more careful! You never know what kind of people you’ll meet. Stranger Danger and all that.”

You giggled. He sounded like your Dad saying that. “Aren’t you a stranger?”

He tilted his head to the side, pondering your point. “I suppose so. You can call me Seo-jun.”

“I’m y/n. Sorry for making you chase me here, and thanks again for bringing me my phone.”

He shook his head. “It’s no problem. I have to go this way for work anyway.”

“What kind of job do you have?”

“I’m sorta like a manager. I help connect people looking for work with clients looking for workers.” Seo-jun smiled wryly. “But right now, business is down. Some workers quit recently, and our clients want more new faces.”

You felt a pang in your stomach. You’d been cutting out meals to save money and your job was still only paying minimum wage. Considering you had a bit of free time, you took a chance. “I could lend a hand. I could use the money, and you did help me. It’s only fair that I return the favor.”

Seo-jun’s smile faded a bit. “Um… You’re a nice kid. But I don’t think our work is good for you.”

Originally you were offering just to be nice, but now your interest was piqued. “W-Why not?”

“Don’t be like that. You look like a hard worker, but it’s not ordinary work. The paychecks are nice, but I’d hate to see such a good kid like you work there.”

“How well does it pay?”

“That’s beside the point–”

“How much does it pay!?” You demanded.

“Depending on your client. After fees from management, I’ve seen some workers make over $4,000 in less than a week of work.” Seo-jun sighed.

4k in a week could set you up for the entire semester before the end of the summer, and then some! “Take me to work with you! Please!” Seo-jun tried not to look you in the eye, but you gripped his arm and refused to let go. “Then you’ll have to walk with me there. I’ll just talk to your boss.”

“Woah, woah. I’ll take you there, just don’t make a scene. People are staring,” He whispered, trying to peel you off him.

Thankfully it wasn’t too far of a train ride. You spent it wondering what kind of work they’d had you do. You weren’t well-dressed, having sold off most of your nice clothing. Maybe if there were uniforms, then your clothes wouldn’t be much of a problem. Seo-jun was silent for most of the ride, texting someone. His face was dark, which made his face stand out more. He wasn’t just pretty, he was extremely handsome. His black hair settled on his forehead and dipped slightly past his eyebrow making him even more attractive. The type of look no one could get enough of. And a few of the girls on the train agreed with you, from how they stared.

Seo-jun guided you off the train after another five stops. You walked a few blocks, turned a corner, and approached a black building wedged between two pale ones. Before knocking, Seo-jun looked at you. “Are you sure?”

You nodded. “I think I can handle it.” You were a bit nervous. There weren’t many people on this street, and the building was tall and imposing in the quiet neighborhood.

Seo-jun knocked on the door. It cracked open, and a big man with tattoos peeked through the crack. Once he registered who was at the door, it closed again before opening completely. Seo-jun said nothing as he entered the building, and you closely followed behind him. The large man shut the door behind you. Now you saw him completely, he looked more like an NFL player. He could easily throw you around if he wanted to. Seo-jun didn’t pay the man any mind, walking forward as he passed several doors. Each had a sign on it. Most said open and a few said occupied. The doors were closed and looked pretty heavy. It was so quiet, you could only hear the sounds of your footsteps on the tile. Seo-Jun led you to an office at the end of the hallway, putting in a key from his pocket and unlocking it. He sat down behind the desk, which was covered with papers.

“Come in and take a seat, y/n.”

You sat down in the chair in front of the desk. The room had a red velvet wall, and pictures of models. Or at least, they seemed like models. All of them were men in their early twenties, each was different but handsome. You even saw one that looked like Seo-Jun.

“Is that you?” You pointed at the photo.

Seo-Jun didn’t look. “Not anymore. That was a long time ago.” You raised an eyebrow. He looked almost the same in the photo as in front of you. But maybe it wasn’t the best time to push him to spill more.

“Why are you looking for money?” Seo-Jun questioned.

“College. It’s expensive, ya know?”

He scoffed. “Yeah. I know. Don’t you have parents, or any other family who can help?”

You shook your head. “That’s not an option.” Thinking about your family left a bitter taste in your mouth. They’d be so disappointed if they knew how bad things had gotten.

He pursed his lips like he understood the feeling. “How much money do you need?”

“Ideally, enough for school.”

“Give me a number.”

“It’s about $10k a semester. More if I live on campus.”

“Okay, and when school’s not in session, do you have a place to live? Around here, specifically.” You shook your head. You caught yourself about to talk about your family home, but maybe it was best not to… Seo-Jun typed a few things on a calculator on his phone, opened a laptop, and waited for it to start. “Okay. If you start working with us, it's like this. We’ll give you the money and other necessities you need, and you have to work off that amount.”

“You’ll give me the money?”

“I’ll have you log into your student account, and I’ll pay your semester in advance now. But that’s only if you accept our offer.”

“Of course!”

Seo-Jun sighed. “Please hear me completely before you decide.” He straightened his back as he pulled the laptop closer to him. He typed a few things before turning the computer around, and showing you the screen. It was a camera feed. “This is what we do.”

You watched closely. It looked like a guy your age was in a room with another person. They were talking. You were about to look away, shrugging it off before you saw the boy kneel on the ground. He was doing something to the older man’s pants. You leaned in to see, but the camera wasn’t clear enough.

“What is this?”

“This is the job. Be a partner for your clients, whatever that means for them. Then they’ll pay you for the service.” Seo-Jun’s jaw went slack. “Like I said, this isn’t an ordinary job. But if you take it, we’ll take care of you. You’ll have a home and meals, and we’ll keep our end of the bargain and pay for school.”

You sat back in your chair as the reality of the offer landed on you. Being hired, partner… A fancy way to say, prostitute. Was this really the only way?

“I know that you don’t want to pressure your family with your financial situation. And I’ll be honest, we didn’t bump into each other by mistake.” Seo-Jun pulled your phone out of his pocket.

You didn’t even realize you’d dropped it…

“You didn’t drop it. I stole it. I needed an excuse to talk to you, and for you to trust me. I know you’ve been looking for loans, but can’t get any.” Seo-Jun leaned forward, placing his elbows on the desk. “We need workers, and you need our help. Or… does your sweet mother wanna hear about your scholarship?”

A cold sweat ran down your neck. You’d walked right into a cage and didn’t even realize it. “What scholarship?” You gulped.

“The one you lost. It’s a shame. How one mistake can ruin everything for you, isn’t it?” Seo-Jun put a video on the laptop, the same one that ruined your chances of living a normal college life. “We can make it so the video never sees the light of day again, as a bonus for signing with us. You won’t have to worry about mommy seeing it, or knowing how you lost your scholarship. You’ll have school paid for, and have time to study. All you need to do is be a worker.” Seo-Jun pulled a piece of paper from a stack on his desk, a pre-printed contract, with your name at the top. “You can read through it if you’d like. Everything I promised is in there.”

Seo-Jun placed the paper on the desk, sliding it toward you, with a pen on top.

“How can you do this to people?” You mumbled.

“It’s never easy. I did try to give you a warning, but you insisted.”

“That was before I knew this!” You wanted to throw the paper at him and storm out, but your legs were glued to the seat. This was a once-in-a-lifetime offer.

“I’ll also mention. Any extra “gifts” you get from your clients will be yours to keep. Frequently, we get high-profile clients who love to have specific partners they visit. And they bring them gifts every time they visit; from clothes and jewelry to cars and even buildings.” Seo-Jun stood from his seat, walking around the desk to lean on it close to you. “It’s a good deal. Fair and transparent. If you’re lucky, you’ll be out fast. And your identity is completely concealed within our walls. No one will ever know you worked here unless we want them to know.” He picked up your hand and the pen, placing them together. “So, what’s the call?”

Your jaw was so tight, you struggled to speak, “C-Can I sleep on this?”

“No. Once you walk out the door, the offer’s gone.” He said flatly.

The pressure was too much. You couldn’t think of anything. There was no real way out, and this was too good of an offer to pass. Even if you refused, how could you afford the new semester? You sighed heavily before moving the pen to the paper, slowly signing your name. The red ink flowed on the paper, drying into a deep crimson like you were using your blood to sign.

“Excellent. As of today, you’re a part of the Dollhouse.” Seo-Jun snatched the paper off the desk, folding it and tucking it into his back pocket. “Here’s this back,” He handed your phone back to you. “One more thing, if you violate our contract or try to run. We’ll drag your ass back here faster than you can blink. If not then your parents will have to pay off the loan.”

Your head hung. Guilt sat on your shoulder as you leaned back in the chair. This was your fate now…

Seo-Jun handed you a card. “You’ll go back to your dorm. When you do, call this number and answer whatever questions they ask. We’ll have to come by in about a week for measurements.”

“What measurements?”

“We need your body measurements to advertise you. And we’ll have to dress you, give you a nice haircut, and dress you up. Which, the Dollhouse will pay for. This will add to your debt, naturally.”

“I-I don’t want it then!”

“If you don’t look nice, no one will ask for you. If not, then you won’t make any money. If you make us no money, you’ll be stuck in our arrangement for a while.” Seo-Jun frowned. “I don’t enjoy this, so let’s make this as easy as possible. There’s an event next week where new clients can meet our workers clandestinely. It’s like a mixer, speed-dating. That’s your best way to get a high-roller on your account to support you.”

You rolled your eyes. “This is so stupid. Why would anyone pick me anyway?”

Seo-Jun glared at you. “Do not talk about yourself like that. If you start looking down on yourself, clients can tell you don’t value yourself. If you can value yourself, how can you value them?”

Seo-Jun sent you back on your way, giving you directions back home. The ride back home felt like hours. All you could do was try not to cry. You tried so hard to come to the city to be someone different than how you could’ve been back home, but it wasn’t supposed to be like this. You got back to your dorm. It was dark and quiet, just like that building. You were lucky enough not to have any roommates. No one to hear you cry yourself to sleep…

In the morning, you woke up as your phone rang. You rolled over, ignoring the call. But it rang, again and again. After the fourth phone call in a row, you looked at it. It was an unknown number.

You answered cautiously. “H-Hello?”

“Y/n? Have you lost your mind?” Seo-Jun said, with disappointment in his tone.

“How did you get this number?”

“I stole your phone. I knew I had to get your number too. Just in case you ran off.” He sighed. “I thought you did for a moment. That would’ve been a lot of trouble for the both of us… Why didn’t you call me when you got home?”

You’d completely forgotten about calling the number on the card. “Sorry. It slipped my mind.”

“Let’s get rid of that habit. Being forgetful isn’t cute. Some clients will call you at different times of the day and don’t take kindly to being ignored. You’ve got a job that’s busier than full-time. It’s 24/7.”

“Well, what do you want, Seo-Jun?”

“When we’re talking business, please call me Mr. Seo-Jun.”

You groaned but knew he wasn’t joking. “What do you want, Mr. Seo-Jun?”

“I need you to tell me your school login. I want to see your schedule for classes and pay your bill.” You told him without any fuss. You were too tired to give a damn anymore. “There’s a good boy. Now, you can go back to the rest of your week. I’ll keep in touch.”

Seo-Jun hung up before you could answer him. It was Wednesday, meaning your classes started later in the day. You took your time showering and picking out clothes. It was thirty minutes before class when you went to the bus stop. Like clockwork, your friend, Eun, waited for you to arrive.

Eun was a friend you made during the first semester of college. He was 5’9” and goofy, often laughing at his jokes like a comedy club. He probably heard a laugh track in his head when he told jokes. He usually dressed in bright-colored shirts, denim jeans, and a big smile. He was also there for you when you’d gone through the frat party fiasco. Most of your “friends” had ditched you, throwing you under the bus for drinking to save their necks. But Eun was the only one who stayed by your side.

Eun waved at you as you walked toward him. “Good morning!”

“Morning, Eun.”

He studied your face for a moment. “Yeesh, what happened? You look like you had a rough sleep.”

“Thanks, buddy. You always know just what to say…” You sighed as you looked up at the sky.

“I wasn’t trying to be funny. Seriously dude, are you okay?”

You nodded. “I’m fine.”

“If you’re sure… then, you’ll wanna hear about how Enhypen are coming to the area to perform.”

Your eyes bulged. “Enhypen’s coming here!? No fucking way, when!?”

“The news dropped this morning. They’re holding a small concert on campus around next week!”

Your stomach churned. Next week!? That’s when the mixer was supposed to be. Maybe you could ask Seo-Jun for a day off to attend the concert…

Eun saw your smile drop. “Hey, dude, seriously. What’s going on? Normally you’re super excited about this kind of stuff.”

“I am. I’ve got some stuff happening next week, so I hope they don’t overlap.” You prayed that it would be some swift joke that would pass you by…

The next few days passed, and you kept a close eye on your phone. Not a single call or text from your new boss. Or would your owner be the right word? You checked your school login a few days ago, and your school bill for the next semester was already paid in advance. It was good to know Seo-Jun was a man of his word. But it also meant that everything else he’d said would pass too. It wasn’t until Monday that you got some news.

The Enhypen concert was on a Friday. Which made sense, students would stay on campus all the time. So why not have a concert that night? However, your morning was disturbed by a call. You answered it immediately.

“Hello?”

“Good job answering the first time. You’re learning.” You could hear the smirk on his face.

“Let’s get to the part where you tell me what you want.”

“To the point it is. The date of the mixer is set to be this Friday night, it’ll be pretty late so get your homework done in time.”

You rolled your eyes. “Like you care about my schoolwork.”

“Of course I do. I’m the one paying for it.”

“What time exactly is the mixer?”

“Why?” Seo-Jun questioned.

“Well, there’s a concert happening on campus and I wanted to go–”

Seo-Jun sucked his teeth. “No. You’re expected to be here before sunset so we can get you ready. Tardiness will only put the whole team behind schedule, and some client’s time is precious.”

“But–”

“Be here. Friday. After class. Bye.” Seo-Jun hung up without another word.

You huffed a heavy sigh as you texted Eun that you wouldn’t attend the concert. Naturally, he was concerned about why and questioned you, but you lied about having a family matter to attend to. He promised to take videos for you at least. It left you feeling like a dog on a leash. Any time Seo-Jun pulled on it, you had no choice but to follow his orders. In the days before the mixer, he asked you more questions about the style of clothes you’d enjoy, strengths, weaknesses, talents, quirks, birthmarks, anything you hated, and even your allergies.

On Friday, after your last class. There was a black SUV waiting outside your dorm. Walking past the suspicious car, the window rolled down. “Just going to ignore me?” Seo-Jun’s voice whistled out. You turned to see him sitting in the back seat. “Get in. Time for fitting.”

“I just got home. Don’t I get to change or something?”

“Does it matter? You’d just be changing just to change again. You’ll have time to relax while waiting for the mixer to start.” You got in the car, tossing your backpack in. The car was nice. You didn’t recognize the driver.

Seo-Jun handed you a folder. “Does everything in here look right?”

You opened it. It was almost like a resume, all about you. From an approximate height and weight to even an ethnicity check. “How did you guess my ethnicity? I didn’t tell you that.”

He shrugged. “The internet is a scary place. If you’ve put it somewhere online before, it's on the dark web.” They closed the folder and tucked it into a briefcase. “So, let me explain the mixer a bit. Generally, it's an event for our workers to meet new clients. But also for some of our clients to show off to their rich buddies and convince them to invest in our services. Be presentable, flexible, and obedient to earn attention.” Out of the briefcase, Seo-Jun produced pictures of young men pandering to their clients. “Now, we never call our clients “clients” to their face. They’re our partners. And you’ll need a persona. Something that’s already similar to who you are so you don’t need to act too much. Some like them feisty, others like our boys a little more submissive.”

“How do I come up with one?”

“Don’t, just be you and they will. Once you’ve got one, then stick to it. The savior types might be your best bet, so maybe you’ll get them with a sort of damsel persona.”

“Savior types?”

“The ones who get off on the fact they’re helping you. Like they’re the only ones who ever could, so you need them to save you.”

There was so much nuance to this… It made your head hurt just thinking about it.

Seo-Jun studied your expression. “It’s your first one, so don’t worry about standing out. You’ll be standing with the newbies, like a puppy in an adoption bin. All the newbies are workers without a regular client, so they’re a bit cutthroat when someone gets close.”

“Anything else?” You sighed as you scrolled through your phone.

Seo-Jun leaned forward and snatched it, putting it inside his briefcase.“Also, you can't use phones. You’ll be engaged the whole time, so we can’t risk distractions. And we can’t let you take any photos of anyone.”

You grumbled as you looked out of the heavily tinted windows. The rest of the car ride was silent, even the car didn’t make much noise. After the car ride, you were escorted into the Dollhouse. Upstairs were the living quarters for all the “Dolls” as Seo-Jun called them. You were now one of the Dolls of his house. Each doll was awarded their room. Some got to move out if their clients bought them a place to stay, but they weren’t allowed to leave the city without permission. And, each doll had a name. Something they’d go by. Your new name, Minsu, means Elegant and Beautiful according to Seo-Jun.

“Okay. From now on, anytime you’re in the dollhouse or with a client, you’ll be called Minsu. Clients can pay to change their name. But it's how we can identify you without exposing your identity.” Seo-Jun elaborated, “We’ve had issues in the past of clients who get too attached to their dolls and tried to approach someone’s family to ask permission to marry their song. Which, of course, we dealt with before disaster struck.”

Minsu… You’re new name. Nothing was yours anymore. Your body, time, and now name wasn’t even yours.

“Let’s practice.” Seo-Jun cleared his throat. “Minsu, how are you?”

You hesitated for a moment before speaking. “I’m fine… Mr. Seo-Jun.”

“Good job. You even remembered Mr.” He smiled. Seo-Jun put your backpack in your room. It was a simple room, with a bed, desk, and wardrobe. It was bare. “You can decorate it with what you want, it's all yours. But if your client gives you a gift, I’d recommend making a space for it. They notice this kind of stuff.”

You looked around the room. The floor was hardwood, cold, and slightly creaky. You weren’t given much time to settle before Seo-Jun took you to the next floor. “This is the dressing room. We dress the dolls here in outfits when they have to attend events. We also have makeup available, if you don’t know how to use it we can teach you. You are expected to wear makeup, shave, and keep your body healthy while in our care.” There were two older women there. It was the first time you’d seen women in the dollhouse so far.

“This is Jill and Mary. They’re the main doll caretakers and your beauticians. They make you beautiful on the inside and out for our clients. They also help with cooking and cleaning, so please treat them kindly.”

You nodded to them shyly.

Mary cracked a smile. Her caramel brown skin had glitter around her eyes, and her smile was so white even the crayon wouldn’t be able to keep up. Her clothes were simple but chic like she was about to walk a runway. Jill was white, her most notable feature was her colorful hair. Her tattoos, where they could be seen, were amazingly detailed. She had a snake slithering up her throat, ready to bite her chin.

Seo-Jun cleared his throat. “Introduce yourself.”

“O-Oh! I’m y/n.”

Seo-Jun chuckled. “Not that name, remember?”

“I have to use my fake name with other workers too?”

Seo-Jun frowned. “It’s not fake. It’s your name. It’s just a second one to the one you’re born with. And yes, anonymity is our friend here. So use the name that you were given, please.”

You turned to the women, who were smiling expectantly. “Hi… I’m Minsu. I guess.”

Mary spoke first, “You’ll get used to it. It’s a transitory period right now so just take it slow.” Jill nodded in agreement. “Now, you’re here for fitting, right?” You could tell Mary had a slight English accent, but she was suppressing it.

“I’ll leave it to you. Minsu’s a very good boy, he won’t cause any trouble,” Seo-Jun said as he left you with the two women. Mary and Jill were thorough, each taking a side of your body and measuring you. The length of your arms, legs, waist size, and even your bust.

“So, this will be your first mixer, no?” Mary asked.

You nodded.

“Are we looking for something more cute or sexy with the concept here, Mary?” Jill asked.

“Let’s ask him.”

Mary looked at you, waiting for you to answer. “Um… I guess cute?”

Jill booed at you. “You’ve got a sexy frame already. We can crop a top, get you loose-fitting shorts, and give you something cozy yet sexy.”

“Jill, let’s respect him here. Minsu doesn’t want that. Plus, he’d look way better in leather and sheer. I already know what you’re thinking. That just won’t work.”

Jill and Mary started holding up pieces over you, arguing about what to give you. Slowly they moved away from the cute vibe you’d asked for… By the end, you had a sheer shirt, black leather pants, with a leather belt around your waist, not your pants, and a gray denim jacket. You were given some silver accessories, rings, and necklaces to try on.

You’d never worn anything so… revealing. Without your jacket or the design on the front of the shirt, you’d be shirtless. The black sheet was see-through; you could see your stomach in the mirror, and your belt only pulled attention to it. The belt was odd. It was above your pants, so make your waist smaller, so the loops used for belts were altered to move up for the belt to slide through and keep your pants up.

“Minsu, you look great!” Jill exclaimed.

Mary nodded in agreement. “Jill was right, your body suits a sexier concept anyway. Just keep the jacket on if you’re feeling modest. But if you want to get attention, take it off halfway through the party. Pretend it's warm or something!”

The pair squealed like young girls, rambling about ways to appeal to potential clients. But you were just tired and hungry. “So, when can I eat?”

“Oh, you haven’t eaten?” Jill frowned.

“We’ll get you something light. We don’t want to bloat you too much, since you have the belt on. There’s food at the mixer but remember not to stuff your face.” Mary said as she stepped away.

“Why not?”

“Well, what if a client wants to take you home? You’ll want your body to look its best if you have to perform.” Jill squealed. You hadn’t thought of that. What if someone does show an interest in you? And they want something physical from you… Would you be able to go through with it?

Mary returned with a sliced apple. “This should hold you over for now. The mixer will be soon. We still have to do your hair and makeup. So sit, It’s alright if you doze off, we’ll take good care of you.” You listened, sitting in a studio chair as they started working, one on your hair and the other on your makeup. Like magic, you passed out almost immediately in the chair. When you opened your eyes, they’d just finished their last touches.

“Welcome back, Sleeping Beauty. You look amazing!” You looked into the mirror in front of you. Your eyebrows had been brushed. Your shawling and nose had never been more prominent. And your hair had a shine that you could only really get from a hair salon.

“Thank you… This is great.” You mumbled as you looked over yourself.

The pair smiled triumphantly. “It's all a part of the job! So go knock them out! Seo-Jun will be here any minute to take you to the mixer.”

They started cleaning as you left the room, going back to your room. There was a mirror on your desk. You used it to study yourself more. Their work was impeccable, with model-quality makeup in such a short time. The alone time you’d found was spoiled quickly with a knock at the door. You answered it to see Seo-Jun waiting.

“Let’s go. Leave your backpack, you can get it later.”

You put the mirror back on your desk and followed Seo-Jun out the door. The venue for the mixer was toward the downtown area in a hotel, one of the large classy ballrooms. There were waitstaff walking with finger food. Many young men, all fashionably dressed, stood around talking to each other. It was intimidating seeing some of them. They could easily be actors and models on the front of magazines… Then there was you, the college kid who wasn’t in the same league as them.

Seo-Jun led you to an empty table. “Okay, you’ll sit here. If anyone comes to you, talk to them respectfully but in a friendly manner. You’re the only doll from our house, all these other ones won’t know you. Remember, Minsu, nothing about your personal life. Or theirs. Keep everything hidden, and tell only what you need to.”

You nodded nervously. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to try and point you out to a few people.” Seo-Jun turned to leave, but you grabbed his arm. He was all you’d known for the last week. And now he was leaving you alone at a table at this huge party. “If you want to be a baby, do that to clients. But with me don’t be a baby, I’ll be watching the whole time. Nothing will happen to you.” He pulled his hand away and walked off, talking to a few men in suits.

The mixer began shortly after. Men started slowly filling the room, all dressed in formal clothes, from suits or high-end outfits. Not one paid you any mind. You were relieved that no one was interested in you. You occasionally looked around the room, searching for Seo-Jun with little luck. The first hour was a panic fest, silently hoping no one would sit at your table and talk to you. In the second hour, some clients found who they liked talking to and stuck to certain areas. Some dolls had almost seven men around them at any time. In the third hour, some dolls left with their partners.

Thankfully, not one person seemed interested in you. You’d been sitting so long that your legs started to fall asleep. You’d tried your best to eat any time the servers walked past you with a plate, but the buffet at the other end of the room was almost calling you. Cautiously, looking over your shoulders, you stood and made your way over. Walking like you knew what to do, or like you belonged. The table was full of interesting foods you’d never tried. Mostly seafood and assorted fruits. You took a plate and started stacking it with whatever seemed the yummiest, which was one of everything!

It wasn’t until you reached the end that you realized how much you’d grabbed. It wouldn’t all fit on your plate. If you tried walking back to your seat, you’d drop something… You turned, slowly toward your table when you bumped into someone, keeping the damage under control. You don’t drop your food!

The person in front of you let out a heavy sigh. You looked forward, a huge spot on their shirt from where you’d bumped into them.

“Holy shit, I’m so sorry!” You exclaimed.

He shook his head. “It’s alright, you didn’t mean to.”

You put your plate down on a nearby table. You slid the sleeve of your jacket down, making it slide off your shoulder, as you rubbed the spot. It didn’t look like it was going to clean neatly. “I’m really sorry. I can take it and get it washed?” You suggested as you looked at the man’s face.

You realized he was extremely familiar–like celebrity familiar. He had a middle part with long dark hair that draped his eyes. His jawline was sharp, and his eyebrows knitted together in frustration.

“Do I know you?” You asked.

“Uh, no. We don’t know each other.” The man assured.

The spot wasn’t getting any better and some people were starting to stare. “How about you take my jacket for now?” You slid off your jacket, showing off your top completely to the room.

“Oh, I–That’s not necessary.” The man said, looking away from you. “Just put your jacket back on.”

“I insist! I ruined your shirt!” More people started staring, and whispering.

“Fine! I’ll take it, just give it!” He snatched the jacket from you, pulling it over himself as he looked down. His long hair covered his face as he looked around.

“Do you have a table? You can sit with me, and we can talk about getting your shirt cleaned.”

The man nodded again. “Fine, just take me away from here.”

You took him to your table in the corner of the room, where you’d spent the last three hours alone. Many more people were watching you this time than when you’d left. Maybe Jill was right about your shirt… It made you a little self-conscious with so much staring. You pulled out a chair for the man and sat next to him.

“I’m y-Minsu! It’s nice to meet you.” You put your hand out.

“Are things always like this?”

You shrugged. “This is my first time here, so I don’t really know.”

The man looked around the room, acknowledging the looks. “Well… That’s nice.”

You sat awkwardly as you looked at him. You noticed Seo-Jun behind him, toward the other end of the room, motioning something to you. Talk to him?

“So, Mister? What brings you here?” You asked,

“You don’t need to call me that. My name’s Jay. I… came here for something stupid and I don’t think I should’ve come.”

You smiled at him. “You sound like someone made you come here. I didn’t want to be here either. I was so worried that someone would talk to me, but it turns out that no one would even pay attention to me.”

“Why’s that?”

“I just… don’t think this is my sort of party. And I’m not very good at meeting new people. I’m only here because I have to.”

Jay nodded. “I get that. I really only came because my members teased me about not meeting any new people.”

“Members?”

Jay’s eyes flickered to you. “Y-Yeah. I’m a part of a group. I’m a performer.”

“Whoa! Do you make music? I’d love to listen to it.”

Jay smirked. “It’s not me who makes the music. But I dabble.”

“I don’t have my phone. Tell me your band, and I’ll try to remember it.”

Jay leaned close to you to whisper, “I’m a member of Enhypen.”

You blinked. The words echoed in your brain before you looked at the man again. That’s where you’d seen him! He was Jay from Enhypen, and he was talking to you. “O-Oh, yeah I’ve heard of that group before.”

“Oh? Are you a fan?” Jay smiled. “It’s always nice to meet a fan.”

“I’m not trying to be weird. I am a fan, but if you wanna forget about it or talk to someone else–”

“No. You’re funny. And I think it would be better to spend time with a fan.” Jay slipped your jacket off and placed it over your shoulders. “I think this suits you better than me, by the way.” Your heart was fluttering a mile a minute. Jay said he wanted to spend time with you and even draped a jacket over your shoulders. Eun would be foaming at the mouth at this point.

“Could I ask why you’re at an all-guy mixer?”

“You can, but then I’d ask you the same question.”

“Touche…” You chuckled awkwardly. “Well, I’m here for another hour. So we can chat… or whatever.”

Jay smirked. “Would you wanna talk somewhere else?”

You nodded. “I’m cool with that. It beats talking here, with all the staring.”

“Then let’s roll,” Jay said as he stood. You followed him as he led you out of the room. You spotted Seo-Jun who gave you a thumbs-up as you passed by. Jay took you to a room in the hotel. It had an amazing view since it was on a higher floor.

“Jay, check this out! It’s so high!” You cheered.

“So, uh. I’m kind of awkward at this since I’ve never done it. I don’t have any preferences or anything. I’d be okay to start and see how it goes.” Jay said.

You turned around to see Jay sitting on the bed in the room. “What?”

“Isn’t this the part where we… do stuff?” Jay raised an eyebrow.

Your face went warm. You hadn’t thought about the context of things until now. Jay was at a party to meet a partner to spend the night with… and he’d chosen you. And like an idiot you accepted thinking he just wanted to talk.

“I-I…”

“Is it more of a, I tell you what to do?” Jay stood, walking toward you. “I’m new to this whole thing, so I’d appreciate it if you could help me.”

You couldn’t form the words you wanted. All of the thoughts in your mind couldn’t fit the situation in front of you. “I-I’m new too,” was all that you could muster.

“Well, that works for the both of us then. We can figure it out together…” Jay approached you until the both of you were at the window. Your back against it, he leaned his arm on the glass near your head. “Let’s just go slow.”

Jay’s tone was calm and empathetic as if he were as worried as you were. He slid his free hand behind your neck and kissed you softly. Your eyes fluttered shut as you placed your hands against his chest, letting him move as he pleased. It was a peck at first. Just a touch, a test. Then Jay leaned in again for a kiss, your lips meeting for longer. His nose brushed yours as he started to move his lips experimentally to find what he liked…

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rotagnus · 10 days ago

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what this journey is going to teach you---<3

is it just me or has life been super hectic lately? i feel like i am more alone than ever, but at the same time, sometimes you must go on a path without anyone in order to truly reach the growth you've been praying for.

this pac will explain what your struggles are leading to. i promise you, baby, that they haven't been for nothing. keep your head up. as always, if the piles don't speak to you, don't force yourself to feel them. pac readings don't always carry messages for everyone. enjoy, dove 💋

pile 1.

this pile definitely has a tendency to feel a great amount of guilt, and destroy oneself due to it. you guys may have had troubles with imbalance; take that as you may. a lot of you may have grown up in a really strictly religious home, and this may have made you go from one side to another, struggling to find a good middle. this made you mad, and you tore yourself up over it. why couldn't you find a middle? this journey is teaching you how to be balanced. you're looking within yourself, doing shadow work, learning more about faith and spirituality. you are a very smart, clever person--but you've doubted yourself several times, because many people doubted you. want to hear some advice? i'ma say it anyways. the only thing that should matter to you is that you don't doubt yourself, because the universe/God doesn't. you'll be caught when you fall. you may have struggled financially recently, and this journey is meant to teach you a lesson on that. some of you may have to choose between following your heart and following security. you already know the right choice for you in your gut, and i suggest you follow it. good thing is, you guys are at the end of the journey; now, you are presented with several choices, with the 7 of cups. there are so many routes you can go, and it's up to you to decide. don't be dismayed by the amount of paths you can take; once again, your intuition is on point. you know where you're headed.

pile 2.

the first card that fell out is the tower. let me guess, recently, your life completely flipped. you were having a decent life, going about your business, when BAM! everything went nuts! you may feel like you're truly alone, now. you're losing friends, fake friends, your family doesn't see you the way you do, and you feel like you have no one. you've been grinding, though, working on yourself, chin up, working for a better version of yourself, a better version of the world. this pile has a strong sense of justice and morality, and you follow that. a lot of you are scared for change, and i assure you, it is positive. leap of faith. that may be significant for some. with the chariot, this is the right time to leap! now, you know exactly what experience i'm referring to for yourself. it'll come soon, but as of now, prepare. take a deep breath. you're strong; you're the atlas of your world, carrying the sky on your shoulders. you'll come out of this journey strong. you'll come out with benefits; you may start new opportunities, make new connections, work on your health. it's a new beginning in uncharted land. however, be careful with these new connections; don't give too much of yourself to people. you have underlying issues with that. save some of your beautiful energy for yourself.

pile 3.

you guys have been working hard. i hear this journey hasn't been as earth-shattering for you guys as it has for the first two piles. you've lived a relatively peaceful life, steady growth, baby steps. you've been working on your patience, and i can tell it's paying off. you guys are insanely skilled. insanely. you have determination and endurance, and you use it. you fight for what's right, for your people, your beliefs. but be careful; you guys are burning up, carrying so much weight, and a lot of it doesn't belong to you. why are you supporting everyone? people have their own hands, too; with the 10 of wands, give some of those staves to someone else. as soon as you realize this, you'll be able to be vulnerable. very slowly. think of a flower blossoming; it blossoms slowly, petals unfurling to reveal a divine beauty. that's you. with the lovers, i feel like your reward for the end of this journey is going to be a connection; romantic, platonic--it depends. however, you have a lot of emotional issues that you should start to work on. doesn't mean that this connection will happen after you heal every single part of yourself, it just means that you should get a head start on that journey. you'll reach stability.

#love reading #pick a card #tarot reading #tarotblr #pick a picture #rotagnus #divine guidance #pick a pile #pac reading #intuitive messages #intuitive guidance #tarot blog #tarot cards #tarot guidance

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pumpkinbxtch · 10 months ago

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Hi!! I loved your aftercare hcs! Could I do a request where the reader is babysitting Estelle for the night since Paul and Sally have gone on a date and Percy comes home and finds reader and Estelle asleep cuddled up together?

girl's night

• the reader babysits Estelle and Percy finds them asleep.

— percy jackson x mortal!reader

warnings: none

a/n: hello! What a nice request, I hope I did it justice. 😭 Also, thank you!

It all started with a:

— Yes, Mrs. Jackson. I'll be there, don't worry.

Because it was your chance to gain Sally Jackson's trust. People who know her know that this opportunity is like gold, something not even a god would dare mess up or decline. But beyond that (since she was practically your mother-in-law), you cared about something else: Estelle.

Your boyfriend’s little sister. She was tiny, still unsteady on her feet, but already full of energy, and you loved the idea of bonding with her from such a young age. So, that's how you ended up agreeing to babysit her for a night while Sally and Paul went out on a date, which you thought was admirable and exemplary, that romance never dies even after starting a family.

You wondered for a moment if life with Percy would be like that too. Despite his life as a demigod and the differences between how you two were raised, you could see his dream of living peacefully, surrounded by his loved ones. You wanted to believe that when he talked about those hopes, you were included, and of course, you were.

You wished he could be with you, but not even Percy knew you were going to babysit Estelle. You saw him too worried about godly issues and his college graduation, even though he was on break. But you knew that life never stopped and you didn’t mind as long as he let you help, even if it was just by listening.

— Darling! — Sally Jackson exclaimed as she opened the apartment door, and you stood there, mouth agape. She looked stunning in a red dress, reminiscent of that movie "Me Before You." Paul peeked through the door while adjusting one of his funny ties.

— Mrs. Jackson — She chuckled, preferring you to call her Sally, but you couldn’t drop the formalities.

They showed you what there was to eat, talked a bit about Estelle’s schedule, but after that, they just looked at you with a confident smile.

— You'll do great, dear — Paul said, kissing Sally's forehead. You couldn’t understand how they could entrust you with their most precious thing without giving strict rules.

— Her bedtime? — The question seemed funny because they just shook their heads.

— Estelle doesn't struggle much with sleep; it’ll be obvious when she’s tired.

And when they left the apartment, you looked behind you. There she was, waving her tiny hand while giggling.

— It's just us, Estelle — You said, sitting next to her as she kept watching something on TV, something more important than your obvious nervousness.

You wondered if she would just watch the screen the whole time, if you only had to give her snacks when she got hungry and make sure she slept at a decent hour. You were pondering this when you felt a tug on your hand. You looked at her, and she was shaking some coloring pages and a worn-out crayon. Where had she gotten that? When?

She said something you wanted to interpret as, "Let's color, and you'll like it, or I'll tell everyone you're no the one for my brother." Well, maybe not, but it felt like that.

You picked her up and took her to the wooden table where the family usually had dinner, making her comfortable with some pillows to adjust her height. But even then, Estelle stood up and started coloring.

You had your own page and couldn’t remember the last time you colored, so your hand moved a bit clumsily, and being so focused, you didn’t see her hand make you go out of the lines. You looked at her, and she grinned widely, but you knew she didn’t do it on purpose; she was just calling you to see her progress, a scribbled bear with at least five different colors. You smiled genuinely and gave her a thumbs-up, which she took as the best critique of her art.

The night went like that, and you never thought such a small child could teach you so much.

When you made cookies, seeing her face reminded you of the joy in just making them, not so much eating them or how they turned out.

When you watched her favorite cartoons, you remembered what it was like to watch something without guilt or the worry that you should be doing something better or more productive.

When she decided she wanted to dance, you remembered that music could be missing, but never the attitude and good moves.

Estelle ended up holding your hand as you regularly straightened the cushions and rug, making sure nothing was too messy. When you smiled, she did too, and she didn’t let go of you all night.

Finishing up washing the dishes, you looked down to see Estelle next to your feet, sitting on the floor playing with some toys while waiting for you. You stopped to watch her for a moment, seeing so much of Sally in her, but also unmistakable traits of Paul, and in her attitude, you saw Percy. Maybe because he was her big brother after all. Estelle brought her little feet together and touched her toes, lost in whatever a child her age might be thinking when you saw her rub her eyes. That was your signal.

— Estelle — You called softly, and she looked at you with sleepy, shiny eyes. You extended your arms, and she got up to do the same, and you picked her up, rocking her, but she seemed to realize what you were trying to do.

— No — She said clearly. You were startled as she hid her face in your neck, clinging to you. You weren’t an expert, but you knew what it meant, so you sat down with her on the couch, placing her properly on your lap.

— It’s okay — You lied, feeling bad about it even though you knew you had to. You put on a new movie to make her think she’d stay awake, but your trick was to make her fall asleep, though you didn’t plan on falling asleep yourself. You hugged her and got comfortable, the best cuddle ever because she kept holding onto you as you slowly closed your eyes.

You never heard the key in the lock, the quiet footsteps on the floor, nor the warm greeting from your boyfriend, who wasn’t expecting to find you cuddled up with Estelle on the couch, sleeping soundly.

— Babe? — He asked softly, checking to see if you were really asleep. He set the keys down and took off his hoodie, dirtied from some... incidents.

His blue eyes scanned the apartment for his mom or Paul but found no sign of them, leading him to realize why you were there. He walked over to you two with quiet steps until he was face to face with an image no one could take from him. Two of his favorite people, seemingly fond of each other, filled his heart with love, and he kissed both your foreheads. Unfortunately, you woke up, and he couldn’t help but pout.

— Sorry — You mumbled, blurry-eyed and disoriented from your nap, realizing it was Percy. He was smiling, kneeling at your level.

— Percy — You murmured, rubbing your eyes and feeling another weight on your chest, going rigid as you remembered. Your boyfriend noticed your fear of waking her. He extended his arms and picked up Estelle so you could get up normally.

— Having fun without me? — He asked with his sister on his chest, rocking to keep her in the land of Hypnos. You stretched, smiling sleepily.

— There was no way to tell you — He nodded, seeing your phone on the carpet, feeling a bit bad for not being able to carry a phone to stay in touch. He often spent days away, and no one knew where he was, not even you.

— I’ll put Estelle to bed — He whispered, and you nodded, struggling to keep your eyes open in his direction, making him chuckle. Before leaving, he leaned in with his sister in his arms to kiss you.

— Be right back.

You nodded and stood to check the living room. You only had to straighten the cushions and put the chairs back in place before Percy hugged you from behind. At his touch, you hummed, feeling a wave of sleepiness brought on by the calm of having him there, finally safe.

— Hey — He greeted, still whispering, and you rested your head on his shoulder, giving him enough space to plant a warm kiss on your neck. With no immediate response from you, he held you tighter and kissed your cheek, wanting to support you so you didn’t have to put in so much effort.

— I’m okay — You said, realizing what he was trying to do, but he quickly lifted you bridal style, making his way back to the couch.

— Shh, I’ll take care of you. — He soothed while sitting with you, and you wrapped your arms around him, sharing your sleepiness. You rested your head on his chest, and he pulled the blanket from the corner to cover you both.

You sighed calmly, almost falling asleep when you sniffed your boyfriend's shirt once, twice, three times. Groggy, you kissed his cheek and whispered in his ear

— You smell like monster, Percy Jackson — He smiled, and you mirrored it.

— Things got tough — He said slowly, resting his cheek on your head, almost stumbling over words.

— Hmm — You hummed starting to fall asleep, and you both did it.

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that-house · 1 month ago

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The Tarrasque Can Blow Me or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Make 5e Bosses That Don't Suck

HI, I'm Catherine that-house, and I play Dungeons and Dragons Fifth Edition almost as much as I hate it. I do this because I am a sicko pervert who likes to tinker with abysmal dogshit, not because it's a good game. This screed is dedicated to everyone trapped in the same mine as me.

D&D 5e combat sucks! Here's the flow chart for your melee champion fighter's turn:

IF BAD GUY: smack bad guy

IF BAD GUY WITHIN 30 FT: move to bad guy, smack bad guy

IF LOW ON HP: second wind

IF NO BAD GUY WITHIN 30 FT: dash towards nearest bad guy

action surge, take it from the top

IF YOU'RE FEELING DARING TODAY: maybe a grapple or an item interaction

And pretty much any non-caster monster has a pretty similar flowchart: there's no real back and forth, just the same set of actions over and over and the only time you have to pay attention on someone else's turn is for an attack of opportunity maybe. Finally one side reduces the other side's number to 0, and you can get back to roleplaying in your roleplaying game.

In general, I strive to make my boss fights hard and interesting, with interesting being the more important of the two. For some reason the wicked clowns working at WOTC got it into their heads that the only ways to make a fight hard are Bigger Number and Less Counterplay. I don't have any data on how they sought to make fights interesting because as far as I can tell they were too busy siccing the Pinkertons on people like it's the fucking 1800s.

Probably not all 5e combat is like this. But, like, look at the statblock for the Tarrasque, the CR 30 "strongest monster in the game" and try to tell me that that thing looks INTERESTING to fight. Difficult? Maybe, if your stats are bad. But INTERESTING? It walks at someone and murders the shit out of them, then rinses and repeats. The fetid dog turd that is the Tarraque is the perfect example of the Bigger Number, and even its meme status as the DM's "fuck you" monster is eclipsed by later additions to the game.

The other end of the "strongest 5e statblock" spectrum is shit like Sul Khatesh from Eberron, who earns the title of "most bullshit" by being immune to nonmagic attacks and creating antimagic fields. This is progress, because you might force someone to grapple it out of the field or something so everyone can deal damage! But this is still ultimately a pretty linear fight, not unlike fighting any other caster in the game, but with Less Counterplay.

My DMing style is pretty character goal-oriented, with the occasional bullshit superboss. We sit around for a few sessions while people pursue side projects and gather information, and then I subject them to the Horrors of a 5e fight that requires things like "positioning" and "planning" from turn to turn.

When playing a high level D&D campaign with insanely bullshit homebrew magic items and character-specific custom mechanics, it becomes necessary to pull out the big guns. The biggest guns. I'm talking a gun like my boy Hierarch Ozyas, undead demigod, father of monsters and heart of a living city, who had a meaty 2000 hit points and took somewhere in the vicinity of thirteen rounds of combat to bring down. Building bosses is an arms race and it's my job to lose in style. Here's Ozyas' statblock:

The bitch himself

Anyways I've been talking for a bit without actually saying anything of substance besides making fun of the Tarrasque. Which I will do one more time:

...deep breath...

D&D 5e is a pretty widely-disdained game by pretty much anyone who's ever played more than one RPG system. I myself only play it because I enjoy game design, and the thoroughly-beaten dead horse that WOTC calls a game serves as a decent foundation to do a lot of heavy tinkering. The Tarrasque is perfectly emblematic of all of the trash I have to wade through in order to get to the stuff worth keeping: it is an uninspired, anticlimactic relic of the past that didn't even manage to cling to a shred of its old glory and is instead content to wallow in the filth of what it once was, never once providing a challenge to any character with a flying speed. I would probably attempt to beat it to death with my hands (and fail, because it checks your character's stats rather than challenging you as a player in any way), but Jim the 1st level aaracokra with a save-forcing damage cantrip already solo'd it for me, so I'll settle for chewing through the throat of whichever game designer forgot they were making a "game" and submitted a three step flowchart for D&D's ultimate boss monster.

But anyways, I promised you a guide to how I design boss fights these days, so let's get to that.

Actually, first here's a quick aside about action economy that I didn't bother finding a place to fit in elsewhere: legendary actions are basically a necessity for any boss past level five or so. One big action is going to be a lot more polarizing than several small ones (i.e. one big crit on a large attack could completely flip the course of the fight, whereas multiple smaller attacks offer the same amount of damage output in a more consistent fashion). If you don't want to give your boss a bunch of HP to make it live long enough to take a few turns, you could consider giving it two turns in the initiative order (reducing the damage per turn to keep the damage per round constant). Low health minions are also a good way to pad out action economy, and even if they're easy to kill they tend to buy the boss another turn or two just from the actions it costs to take them down.

ANYWAYS, here's the core ideas I like to focus on in my boss design:

Keep them moving

Keep them working

Keep things changing

Reward good play

Punish mistakes

Make it a game

Along the way I'll be using snippets of the boss I mentioned above to illustrate examples of these principles and how they affected play. Let's begin.

KEEP THEM MOVING Positioning doesn't really matter in 5e. AoEs and movement values are both so large that you can easily get away with not having a battle map and sorta just tracking "in melee" or "not in melee." I run most fights without a battle map and just kinda track that, but for a good boss you need a map.

But how do we keep the game from just falling back into "move into range and hurt people," you ask? Simple: the Zone of Nasty. The Zone of Nasty is something on the map that is going to hurt the PCs if they're in it, and the Zone of Nasty moves. Depending on the boss, it could grow, shrink, follow a player, follow the boss, alternate between areas of the map, whatever. Some bosses might have multiple different Zones of Nasty that move in different ways and do different things.

There are other ways to force movement besides a moving AoE, such as punishing players for being too close or too far from each other or the boss.

The general principle here is that a boss should at times force suboptimal play: optimal play involves simply standing around, spending all your actions on damaging the boss, and it's incredibly boring from a strategic standpoint. There should be turns in which your players have to spend their action economy on protecting themselves or helping their allies. If they find themselves in a Zone of Nasty, it should force a decision between suffering the consequences to continue optimal play, or spending resources to get out of it.

Our boy Ozyas had a Cancer Field that he could move slowly around the arena that damaged and debuffed PCs inside it, and Pretender-God-Piercing Strike, a telegraphed line attack that oneshot anything that stayed in its area too long (more on this one later).

KEEP THEM WORKING Everyone needs a job to do! This job is probably just going to be based on what their class and abilities encourage them to do, but it sucks for someone to not be able to meaningfully participate in a boss fight.

Let the DPS players kick the boss's teeth in, obviously, but make sure the person who focused on AoE effects has some extra enemies that they can deal with. Bonus points if the extra enemies have something that forces them to be dealt with instead of just rushing the boss' HP bar.

Worst case scenario, throw in a secondary objective like completing a ritual, controlling a point on the map, or fighting the boss' soul on a higher plane to give someone who isn't immediately needed for DPS to still have something to do.

Ozyas spawned a bunch of extra monsters from these gross Birthing Pillars around the map, and killing the monsters and destroying the pillars provided a nice secondary course of action for people either not equipped to slug it out with the boss or not currently positioned right to fight him.

KEEP THINGS CHANGING The tarrasque sucks because it does one thing over and over until it works or it dies. The Theros splatbook improved on this marginally: Mythic Traits are fucking baller! Combats should change over the course of the fight, or this could have been a fucking autobattler. But we can go further.

In addition to occasionally shaking things up based on health thresholds, here's a few ways I like to do it:

Rotating list of effects that change every round

Huge list of options the boss can choose from for one of their effects with no repeats

Some sort of meter that increases and decreases based on what's happening in the fight and modifies the boss' abilities

Ozyas summoned new monsters every round and could customize the statblocks with a bunch of quick templates I whipped together, and in his second phase he started alternating between scaling the to hit/damage of his tentacle attack, the reach of his spear attack, and applying extra buffs to his summons.

REWARD GOOD PLAY These next two kind of tie together but the core idea here is that it's okay if a boss is a bit easy, as long as it makes your players work for it.

This can include things like ways to trivialize certain parts of the encounter as long as the players utilize them, typically at the cost of advancing other parts of the fight.

I knew that Ozyas was going to be a long fight, so I gave my players the ability to heal to full health, as an action, whenever they wanted. They were fighting inside Ozyas' body, and he was a generous host. However, any time they healed, he would be healed for the same amount. They got around this restriction by hitting him with Chill Touch to disable his own healing whenever people needed to heal, but that obviously had the cost of losing two actions' worth of damage output.

Towards the end of the fight, everyone was still standing thanks to that healing, but as he began to infinitely scale his stats once he reached his second phase and started taking them seriously, they couldn't afford to waste turns healing anymore and the safety net they built up by healing earlier in the fight kept anyone in the party from dying.

PUNISH MISTAKES The range on D&D characters' HP pools and general survivability can be pretty broad. I like to give my bosses a reasonably-heavy hitting melee and some sort of light ranged attack to remind the backliners that they too can die. But there's a third kind of attack.

The great equalizer.

The One Hit Knock Out move.

These need to be telegraphed. There needs to be copious time to get out of the area, or to stop the boss from using it, or whatever the case may be. But any superboss should have a way to threaten any player on equal standing: a move that will always hit if its conditions are met, and puts them clean to 0.

Ozyas' OHKO was Pretender-God-Piercing Strike, where at the end of each turn he would wind up a spear thrust with enough range to hit across the entire map, targeting a 15-foot line through the nearest player. Neither he nor the line could move after that, and if you were still in that line at the start of his next turn, you were done.

It wasn't hard to avoid: just walk like 10 feet and don't get pushed back in by another enemy. They even lined it up to target some of his own allies sometimes. But it forced them to think about positioning and stay moving, and there were a few times where it aaaaalmost caught someone in the line. The prospect of Instant Death really does wonders to ratchet up the tension.

And now, finally, we come to the most important part:

MAKE IT A GAME D&D 5e likes to jerk off while fantasizing about being real. "Catherine what the fuck are you talking about?" What I mean to say is that D&D makes a fumbling attempt towards a more simulationist style of game, trying to distance itself from the fact that it is, in fact, a game. It tries to comport itself like reality, such that every part of its combat makes sense in-universe, and then immediately falls short because it can't be assed to indulge in actual simulationism.

It is my belief that if you're going to spend 4 hours fighting a boss, and one of the boss mechanics doesn't really make much sense as an in-universe concept but does make the boss more interesting and fun to fight, then that's a perfectly fine mechanic. Obviously finding some way to justify it is preferable, but my bosses prioritize good gameplay over verisimilitude.

The upcoming boss in my campaign has a feature which puts the fight on a ten-round time limit before he begins kicking substantially more ass than he was before (and the prior ass-kickery was indeed already substantial). If this is a desperate fight with his life and his dreams on the line, why doesn't he open with that? If this were a WOTC statblock, barring a mythic trait, that's exactly how it would work. But fuck that, because it would make the fight way less interesting! Now there's time pressure! And sure, the post-round-ten version of the boss is meant to be fled from, not fought, but if he's at a low enough HP it could instead make for an insane climactic finish!

I let my players see the whole statblock before the fight. We talk through all of its abilities, and I'll even point out some of the potential points of complexity and the big risks to watch out for. There's no in-universe justification for why the characters would know this (beyond, perhaps "you're exceptional adventurers and are good at evaluating your foes"): in fact, one of the quintessential examples of classical 5e metagaming is the Guy Who's Read the Monster Manual. I think that's fucking stupid, though. With open statblocks:

Features can be game-warpingly deadly without instantly incurring a TPK born of ignorance. OHKO moves don't feel fair unless the counterplay is known

The players can strategize around the ways in which the boss is going to change throughout the fight

It's fundamentally fair. Some GMs just wait X turns and then let the boss go down when it takes a big, impressive hit (and I fully respect people who do that! That's still more compelling boss design than 5e's normal schlock), but I personally like when numbers have meanings.

You can still hide some information (I like to black out the boss' Mythic Trait, and then only use it if the players stomp the fight too easily), and you can still tweak it to adjust the difficulty, with the difference being that your players know it's being adjusted and how so (which again comes back to my feelings of fairness).

A few other fun mechanics to toss in include stacking debuffs that trigger something horrible at some certain threshold, additional win conditions or lose conditions, and silly little minigames. One trick I particularly enjoy is having my players secretly vote between two or more bad outcomes, and punishing them even more if the vote is tied.

CONCLUSION Your mileage may vary, but I'm hoping at least some of the insights here were useful to you! I have a particular strain of undiagnosed mental illnesses that make me especially predisposed towards piloting huge convoluted intricate bosses with 1k+ word statblocks, and I'm lucky enough to have players who know their shit well enough to play around this bullshit. Find something that works for you and your players.

If you hate 5e combat and think this sounds like way too much work to be worth doing, go play something else, like Pathfinder or Lancer or (heaven forbid) a game that actually struggles to trace its lineage of inspiration back to D&D. Go to itch.io and find some game no one's ever played before, and toss the creator a bit of money. The only way we're making it out of these goddamn Mines of Phandelver is if people try something new from time to time.

On the subject of cool games with cool combat, bear with me as I shill for a friend real quick. If you want a game that cares less about combat as an abstract dick measuring contest and more about combat as a facet of violence and all that that entails, check out [BXLLET> by @rathayibacter.

And, finally, from the bottom of my heart, fuck WOTC. Your books aren't even worth pirating, and the Tarrasque can blow me.

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sunnypopoki · 2 months ago

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━ 𝐌𝐔𝐙𝐙𝐋𝐄 : P.6

(Yandere Mafia Husband x Female Reader)

SYNOPSIS: Your husband has been suspicious lately. Going out for days on end, answering suspicious phone calls, being extra clingy when he can... is he cheating on you?

ᴛᴡ: ɪɴꜱᴇᴄᴜʀᴇ ʀᴇᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ ꜰᴇᴍᴀʟᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ꜰᴏᴜʟ ʟᴀɴɢᴜᴀɢᴇ, ᴍᴀʀʀɪᴇᴅ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱʜɪᴘ, ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ, ᴍᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇꜱ, ᴏᴠᴇʀᴛʜɪɴᴋɪɴɢ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ᴀꜰᴀʙ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ᴇᴛᴄ.

ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ʜᴀꜱ ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ. ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴍᴇᴀɴꜱ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴍᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɪɴ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ᴍᴇᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʀᴏᴍᴀɴᴛɪᴄɪᴢᴇ ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇꜱ, ꜱᴏ ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴅᴏ ꜱᴏ ᴇɪᴛʜᴇʀ. ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ. ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ʀᴇꜱᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴘᴏᴘᴏᴋɪ ᴏɴ ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ, Qᴜᴏᴛᴇᴠ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ.

Р.5 / Р.7

"Leovana Co?" you echoed, almost dumbfounded to hear the name. "Are you talking about that one billionaire company that deals with communication?"

Danny looked like a kid on Christmas. His chest swelled with pride and he held his chin high, looking down at you from the edge of his nose. You noticed the way his eyes glittered. It was the same pride he used to get each time he got a perfect score on his tests in school. His pearly white teeth gleamed when he smiled.

"Yes! As cheesy as this sounds, Leovanna is a place where dreams really do come true. When I started working there, I wasn't anything, but look at me now!"

That wasn't that convincing. From what you can see, Danny acted like a lesser version of himself compared to how he used to be. It was as if all the good stuff was zapped from his body the moment he found a decent job and started getting a good income. Money truly was a game changer and while you weren't one to judge, you couldn't help but see him in a different light when he was acting so, well, snooty.

You didn't understand why he wanted to hire you. Leovana was only founded a couple of years ago yet it rose up the ranks incredibly fast, toppling over any other competition in its path. Frontier, T-Mobile, and even Apple—this new company was devastating to their charts. Just recently they came out with a new phone that had far more data space than most other phones out there, showing off their new and improved features that to you, seemed like it was out of a movie.

It was hard to believe that artificial intelligence was getting so far out there. And Leovana was taking it by force with how far they've thrown themselves into the field.

Though, didn't he understand how suspicious it was to just give job opportunities out of the blue? Yes, you trusted him more than most people, but your gut was telling you that there was something off about the whole ordeal. You couldn't quite place it.

Kieran moved his hand from yours and placed it behind your head on your seat. He seemed to be deep in thought before asking, "I hope you're not going to drop a ball on us and tell us you're the CEO."

Danny snorted. It almost sounded mocking. "Ah, no. I work under the CEO with a team of secretaries. If (Y/N) joined us, she would be working under him too, though I would also be her supervisor."

He raised an eyebrow. Glancing over at him, you noticed the subtle tensing of his jaw. A feather of a muscle in his jaw twitched and he licked his teeth slowly, he looked back at saber. He wasn't looking at Danny as if he was a long lost friend; instead he viewed him to be a nuisance, like a steaming pile of shit on the side of the sidewalk.

It seemed you weren't the only one affected by Danny's rambling. Your stress was most likely rubbing off on Kieran too.

"So you work for the CEO? And you see him regularly?" Kieran asked unblinking. "And that gives you authority to hire whoever you want without repercussions towards the CEO, who is your boss? If it's team his of secretaries, shouldn't he have a say in who you hire?"

Danny was missing all of the social cues. He couldn't sit still, continuing to squirm in his seat, still beaming like the sun. "The CEO is a friend of mine, as well as my employer. He trusts me with hiring, plus, he's far too busy to look into every person who tries to get into such a position. He leaves that work to the people below him."

You rubbed your forehead. All of this was confusing.

Danny continued to blabber. "I mean, Kieran, if you also want to work there, I can look for—"

"No."

Danny was rendered speechless. Kieran raised an eyebrow in response. You wanted to shrivel up and hide.

"O—Oh... apologies, I thought you were interested. Since you were asking so many questions, I suppose I got a little excited."

With how many times you rubbed your face, you wouldn't be surprised if you broke out in the next couple of days because of it.

Taking a deep breath, you forced your hands back to your lap. You had a ton of questions. But where to start with all of them? You wanted to ask about what he wanted, what his goal was, why he was acting so weird, if he truly wasn't working for your father. Half of them were accusatory, but in that moment, you didn't care.

It was always best to start small and then work up to the bigger questions. "...Danny, can you tell me why you're asking me this? Like, what's your goal from all of this, because I don't understand."

He raised an eyebrow and nodded. "Well, I—"

Ring! Ring! Ring!

You paused when Kieran's phone started humming from his pocket. Danny stopped talking and recoiled when Kieran cursed. It was in Russian so the both of you had no clue what he said, but based on the foul scowl he was carrying, it wasn't good.

Of course his phone was ringing now. You couldn't read the screen from how he held the phone, but you could only guess it was another unknown number. A metallic taste formed under your tongue.

Who knows, maybe it was Sam! You wanted to gag and hurl at the thought. Anxiety was at an all new high for you now.

"Do you need to take it?" Danny asked politely, smiling softly.

"Ah... yes. Sorry my Котик, I need to take this. I'll be right back, it won't take me long." His voice was a little snippy. That phone call seemed to make his mood look ten times worse, whatever it was about, whoever it was.

It felt like a punch in the gut. Sure, his phone just HAD to ring, but he also HAD to answer a phone call? When you were stressed as fuck, stuck in an uncomfortable situation, and anxiously sick? He got up before you could protest (not that you had the guts to do so) and walked away from the table to find somewhere more private.

There was a solid lump in the center of your throat. Like a lodged rock from a creak, you felt like you were choking. The light flickered above the table. Turning back around, you let your head fall into your hands. Manners be damned!

Danny was quiet for a little bit. When he did speak, it was a much smaller voice than before.

"...Did I do something?"

"No."

It came out harsher than you intended. Aggravated for Kieran having another phone call, stressed about the situation, and dissociating from the entire planet was a lot to take at once. You did your best to focus on the table. Counting the amount of lines you could see, noting the glossy reflection of the overhead light, and the cool touch of the wood.

You wanted to go home. But now Kieran was off somewhere to talk to who-knows-who! Normally, you wouldn't be bothered being stuck with Danny, but it wasn't like he was the same guy you used to talk to in school. He was now an annoying pest. The said man took a sip of his wine and placed it down. There was a couple of seconds before he spoke again.

"Are you sure? I feel like—"

"I said no, Danny! Do you know what the word 'no' means? Use that big brain of yours and figure it out!" you snapped, turning your glare to him.

He froze. His hands fell into his lap and he pursed his lips.

You felt a tad bit of guilt when you saw his face, but you quickly pushed it down. He was the one sticking his nose where it didn't belong.

You groaned and rubbed at your forehead, swallowing the rock in your throat. The lights were bright, the smell of food was so strong it made you want to gag, and the seat was uncomfortable. The world shifted and you clenched your eyes shut. It was as if someone decided to stuff cotton inside your skull around your brain, making it a soft pillow to rest. But at the same time every detail felt blinding.

Why did you want to cry? It wasn't like you were sad. Rubbing at your eyes, you prayed for the ache behind your eyelids to go away. Danny continued to bounce his leg up and down, making you even more annoyed.

Where is Kieran?

Who is he talking to?

Is it Sam?

"Uhm, (Y/N)..." Danny started, chewing on the inside of his cheek. He was a little naïve, but he wasn't dumb enough to miss you spacing out. He tilted his head when he noticed your blank stare at the table. "Are you okay? Can I talk to you about something?"

Maybe dad was right.

Maybe I'm only meant for business.

What if dad finds me?

Will he force me back?

Danny shuffled in his seat and leaned forward, his brows furrowing ever so slightly in concern. He didn't know what to do. Kieran was the one who always knew how to help you, not him! He debated on poking you or something, but refrained from using his hands to get your attention. "(Y/N)?"

I should at least talk to him, to see what he wants.

Wait, no, that'll just be playing into what they want.

Fuck. What should I do?

Maybe I—

A soft, fragile hand touched yours. You jolted and your eyes snapped open to see Danny tenderly reaching out to you, his fingertips barely brushing your hand out of fear that you didn't want to be touched. He quickly pulled back when he gathered your attention and cleared his throat.

"Sorry. I—uh, I didn't know what to do," he cleared his throat.

"What do you want?"

It was unfair of you to take your anger out on someone who didn't know how to read your thoughts. It was your fault for expecting him too, but hey, if he was so fucking smart, maybe he could learn to read the room!

Danny shuffled in his seat and lowered his head. Danny was always a bit slow when catching up to things and stuff often went over his head, but he always managed to catch up in the end. Based on his reaction now, he finally realized you were upset and Kieran was too. Good. He finally noticed the obvious, even if it took your snapping at him for him to realize.

"Shit. Uhm—I'm sorry... if like, I upset you. I didn't mean to. I'm just," he sucked in a sharp breath, "I don't know what to say. I just... wanted to impress you guys. But I guess I went about it the wrong way."

"You think?"

Danny bit his lip. "Sorry."

He seemed to shrink in his seat and you rolled your eyes.

Danny scratched the back of his neck and glanced around the restaurant. He looked ashamed of something. You were hoping he left the conversation be, but he opened his mouth again. "If you want, I can walk you out to your car."

"I'd rather not," you muttered sourly.

"Okay... do you want—"

"It's fine."

"Why are you acting so mean?" Danny blurted, his tone not as accusatory as the question sounded. He sounded calm, albeit a little hurt and confused, but calm nonetheless. He was never the type to explode.

Your lips zipped shut.

It was easy to forget you weren't kids anymore. There was nothing holding you back from actually having a conversation. You found it easier to tell Danny what you were thinking compared to anyone else, maybe because he's known you for such a long time, or maybe it was because his parents were also pieces of shit. Even if that also meant being a complete dick to him.

It came back again, that spark of guilt. It wasn't smothered this time. Instead it was fueled by your overwhelming senses and you bit the edge of your tongue.

"I..."

"What did I do to make you act like I'm the worst human being to exist?" Danny asked, his lips pulling into a soft frown. "You're treating me like I'm gum you just stepped on."

What?! No you weren't! You were treating him the same way he treated you the entire outing. Defiance raged through your body.

"Well, the entire time you were looking down on us—"

"Really? And you knew this how?" he asked, his voice tightening. Now he was getting a little angry. He was starting to understand what you were thinking, little by little, based off the small bits of info you were giving him. "Because you assumed? You guessed?"

Just like you, he had every right to be upset, especially since you just lashed out at him after a genuine apology. You just assumed the worst. Off of what evidence? Your gut? Ha, as if that's evidence! Half the time, your gut is just your brain trying to avoid situations that make you uncomfortable. Your gut was telling you Kieran was cheating on you, your gut was telling you that you were a bad wife, your gut was telling you that you didn't deserve happiness.

What the hell did your gut know?

Danny slid out of his seat and smoothed out the wrinkles in his suit. The silence was loud. You knew you should have apologized, for snapping at him, for taking out all your frustrations on him, but you stayed silent. You smothered your guilt until it was buried underneath you.

It was fine. Everything was fine. It wasn't like you were in the wrong, he was the one who made rude comments throughout the entire time they were sitting down. Just because he apologized for his bad behavior didn't mean you had to accept it.

"Here's my card with my personal number on the back. Call me if you want to talk again, (Y/N). I'll pay for your everything up front and I hope you have a good rest of your day."

There was nothing you could say. He placed the card next to your phone and left. Just like that, he was gone, and you were stuck with by yourself. The waitress didn't come over to ask anything if she saw you slump down further into your seat. Maybe she was avoiding you because of the heavy scowl you had on your face.

You don't know how long you sat there by yourself.

All you could think about was your parents. While Kieran worried you a lot, there were some things that made your entire body turn cold. Danny mentioned that he didn't take any ideas from your father and he wasn't working for him, but when it came down to your parents, you hated knowing that they could pretty much persuade anyone if they put their mind to it.

The mention of Dominic left your throat tight. He was a mastermind, cruel, and someone you wouldn't even touch with a ten foot pole. He had to be planting seeds of information and ideas into your father's head if your father was brave enough to call one of your old friends from school.

If they want me to come back into the family again, that means they're up to something devious. There was nothing else it could be. It wasn't like your family enjoyed your presence or liked you at all, so believing they had a random change of heart was a possibility that had to be thrown out the window. Let's say even if they did, you wouldn't have forgiven them for all the things they did.

Dominic had a lot of power. Enough power to make anyone think twice, even Danny, and that alone made you anxious.

When you were younger, any interactions you had with Dominic was limited. He was your cousin but he never attended any family gatherings unless your father was also in attendance. The times he talked to you were the times he was stuck inside a room with you alone, whether it be waiting to talk to your father, or he was left unattended in the manor.

Your nails picked at your skin. What was your father thinking? He brought up an arranged marriage to Danny, but why? Was he hoping you got married to him instead? It left a bitter taste in your mouth. Danny was handsome but not husband material, not for you at least.

God, Danny. Maybe you did mess up? He was right, you guessed what he was thinking and assumed everything, but wasn't he the one giving social cues that he was thinking that? Sure, he apologized, but you couldn't read minds. It wasn't like you knew that apology was sincere or not.

Wasn't it his fault?

Danny was the one acting like your father, not you.

Maybe that was where all of your annoyance stemmed from. Danny's blue tie, his position in work, where they sat; it reminded you far too much of your father for your liking. Even if the two of them were completely different men in both personalities and looks.

"Fuck," you whimpered, head falling into your hands. You wished you could go back in time and redid things with your family differently, maybe then they'd leave you alone.

"Котик, I'm back. Sorry that took me a moment, I..."

Kieran trailed off when he came back from his phone call. Tired and a tad bit sluggish, he looked around and brushed down his clothes. Bits of his hair were sticking out in odd angles.

"Where's Danny? Did he go to the bathroo—"

You shoved up from the table. Every thought was spinning inside your head over and over again. But mostly, you were angry. Angry at Kieran, angry at Danny, angry at your father. Your fingers brushed at your throat to soothe the painful knot there.

"Let's go home," you hissed, grabbing his wallet and slapping a tip down on the table. "Danny said he paid for us up front."

Kieran's eyes hardened. You weren't in the mood to play the "guess what he's thinking" game in that moment, so you stomped past him to head for the front doors. He didn't say anything and you were glad that he also wasn't in the mood to ask about what was making you so upset. It wasn't like you knew either.

The waitress smiled ear to ear when she saw the two of you leaving. Saying something about coming back, you ignored her and beelined for the door. Home. Fuck, all you wanted to do was get home.

The cold clawed at your skin the moment you stepped outside and stomped back to the car. It was amazing how someone's feelings could change so fast. One moment you were walking inside the restaurant with a hopeful smile, the next you were walking out with a bitter frown.

By default, you started thinking about what Kieran was possibly thinking. He was in a worse state now than he was earlier because of his phone call. There were only a certain handful of theories you could go through before you started to sound delirious.

What did the person on the other side tell him that made him so annoyed? Did it have something to do with the messages you saw on his computer between him and Sam? You hugged yourself tighter against the cold wind.

The cut on his face and busted knuckles flashed to the forefront of your mind. Maybe the phone call had to do with that? You didn't want to think about him being in debt or in some gang.

I'm going to have to snoop, aren't I? Every day was another day you were getting closer to giving up on being polite. If his privacy was the reason he was coming home cut up and late, you didn't give a shit about what he wanted. You had to make sure he wasn't being stupid or in a dangerous situation alone.

The car door slammed behind you. Kieran slipped in and turned the ignition. It roared to life and he messed with the controls up front.

The car was dead silent except for the pitter patter of icy rain falling from the sky, the hum of heat blasting through the vents, and the squeaking of leather when you shifted in your seat. Kieran inhaled and his hands flexed out on the steering wheel.

You didn't know what to say and if you had to be honest, you didn't want to speak. You enjoyed the silence.

Ring! Ring! Ring!

Fucking hell. Again? Wouldn't you ever get a break from that noise? It was one thing after the other at this point!

His phone buzzed in his pocket for the umpteenth time that week. The lump in your throat formed at the sound, as if a phone was about to break that small thread of will you had left to not cry in the car. Kieran started grumbling under his breath, making your headache worse

It was just your luck that his phone started ringing again the moment you wished for it to stay quiet. You were starting to believe that you weren't allowed to have a peaceful life, not even a single moment where you were allowed to unwind.

"Hey... can you not answer it right now?" you asked weakly.

Kieran didn't hear, his head so stuck above the clouds in his own little world to think about reality. He took his phone out and read the screen. You caught a glimpse of unknown numbers. You sighed.

"Are you listening to me?"

"Sorry," he responded absentmindedly. His eyebrows were furrowed in a specific way that cause a worried crinkle on his forehead, his eyes lidded in annoyance. "чего они хотят сейчас?"

"Kieran."

He didn't respond, his thumb hovering over the answer button. The patience you felt thinning throughout the entire day snapped.

"Kieran!"

He flinched. At the speed of light, his head whipped around to face you, eyes wide as saucer places. The ringing phone in his hand stopped when he failed to answer it on time, leaving the car in tense silence. He looked like he just got slapped.

A guttural sigh ripped through your throat. Fuck. You didn't mean to raise your voice, or maybe you did, you didn't know what you meant anymore. Your brain was messy and staticky. Like someone just rubbed a balloon and kept shocking your brain over and over again.

"Just—can you not answer the phone for one fucking day?" you rubbed your face and hunched in the seat, voice cracking. "That's all I ask. One day. I just want to go home and lay down, okay? No phone calls, no shitty networks on TV, no conversations. Can't we just lay down without any fucking distractions?"

He was quiet. Blood rushed to your ears and any feeling seemed to leave your fingertips as you wrung them together. All you wanted was to lay down with him and sleep. You were tired, your brain was tired, and the ache in your heart was a craving to be held. It was an odd feeling; too tired to cry, yet too emotional to do anything.

"I..." Kieran fumbled, obviously at a loss of words, but shifted in his seat to move his hand to yours. You never yelled and he was stunned to be at the end of it. His head spun in circles before he managed to figure out what to say next without upsetting you. "Yes. We can go home and lay down."

"Promise me, Kieran. Please."

There was a pause. You heard a sharp inhale and then a tight, "I promise."

You should have left it be. That alone was enough, there was no reason for you to ask for more reassurance, but you did. Of course you did. Because who were you without the constant need for reassurance over every single thing? The only reason you felt special was because you were always wanting him to reassure you that you were. You blamed it on the emotions that coursed through your head like veins of poison.

"And you won't answer the phone?" you whispered, so quiet you almost thought he couldn't hear you. "Even if someone calls you, you won't answer it? Promise me you won't answer it."

His hand squeezed tighter. Dragging your fingers to his lips, he pressed a gentle kiss to your knuckles and then to your palm, then your fingertips. He whispered a promise to not do it again. But by the time his phone rang for a second time in a row, he glanced over at his phone, and cursed. He didn't answer it but a single glance told you that just like before, it wasn't a promise he could make.

Your ribs punctured your heart. Sighing, you took your hand away from his and pressed your cheek against the window.

Again, you expected too much.

LINKS:

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[ Read Ch.7 Here / not yet released ]

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