#also also the top pick is probably Charles and he's taken so

[thoumpingground]

So when Darcy went to fix the Lydia/Wickham situation, he first tried to get Lydia to return home, only bribing Wickham into marrying her when she wouldn't. This is sensible by modern standards, but we know from everyone else's reactions Lydia *failing* marrying Wickham would bring the Bennet family shame. Darcy knows this, and doubt he planned to leave the situation as is. So how did he originally plan to fix it?

I think Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy was gonna channel his inner Emma Woodhouse (didn't have to dig far, they're very similar people) and play matchmaker. In my headcannon Darcy checked his "Possible Husbands for Georgie" list against his "People who owe me Gargantuan favours" list and offer whoever came up money to marry Lydia.

Now, he would want to spare the Bennets of as much of the scandal as possible, and wouldn't want to take the merit in front of Lizzie, so all would most likely happen discreetly through Mr. Gardiner, while Lydia was in London, and she would move to her husbands immediatly after.

However, I wanna propose a different scenario: Lydia returns to Meryton. Scandal ensues, the Bennets are disgraced. Then, within two weeks, a random well-off man shows up intent on courting Lydia and *only* Lydia. He heeds nobodys warnings and gives no explanations. Lydia loves it. Every other mum in Meryton is furious. The Bennets are confused and paranoid. Imagine the drama. The intrige. The million questions still unawnsered long after Lydia eventually gets married and leaves. Bingley marries Jane (cause of course Darcy still told him he'd been wrong to pull them apart, and Bingley would) and Darcy's still somewhat around. Maybe him and Lizzie get together, maybe not, but every time the topic comes up he gets all sheepish and awkward and she gets suspicious and it's a thing. It's their new dynamic.

[peachtarto]

Now or Never

Pairing : Luke Castellan x reader

Word Count :

Summary : Luke missed his chance to ask you an important question, and is painfully unaware of it.

Warnings: mostly fluff! nothing crazy- Luke is dumb, Clarisse is an overprotective bestie, talk of self-doubt etc.

Masterlist here!

A/N : thinking of making this a little series of moments in your relationship- let me know if that’s something you guys would like!

‘Don’t you think it’s a little much?’ You questioned, eyeing your own reflection with what some might call a generous amount of scrutiny.

Silena gave no indication that she’d heard and continued talking, ‘there’ll be such good food, and wine of course, lots and lot of wine..’

The pins in your hair were already beginning to ache, and you tried not to wince as she added yet another one to the elegant braid she was painstakingly creating.

‘- imagine if we made this much fuss for our birthdays,’ she continued, ‘like, I get that he’s the god of festivity but I’ve got to question why he wants to party with a load of hormonal teenagers. Not that I’m complaining, we could all use a good party.’

Silena was already dressed: a deep purple gown of silk accented with golden cuffs, and little combs fashioned like gilded laurel leaves swept her hair away from her face. She looked beautiful, and there was not a doubt in your mind that she was the daughter of Aphrodite.

She’d picked out your dress which had been a relief, a soft chiffon that seemed to float when you moved. It was simple but elegant, she’d insisted- perfect for a daughter of Athena. She’d also said that the hair should match, but it’d been half an hour since she’d started and it was starting to feel everything but simple.

‘And can you believe we’re allowed to switch tables tonight? I can’t wait! Charles said we’d sit together obviously and I’m sure the Hermes boys will join as and..’

Her smile faltered when she saw the look on your face and she quickly halted her movements, ‘oh, don’t you like it?’

‘No no, it’s beautiful!’ You stammered quickly; she’d curled and brainded your hair back in a thick, loose plait with little gold pins shimmering throughout. Even in cabin 10, her skills were unrivalled. ‘I just- do you think it’s too much?’ You questioned again.

‘Too much?’ She scoffed, and then her full lips parted in a dazzling smile, ‘of course it’s too much, that’s the point! We want every boy in this camp on their knees! Figuratively of course.’

You tried to hide the smile that tugged on your lips, ‘You’ve already got Charles drooling after you non-stop, leave some for the rest of us.’

‘Some?’ She said and grinned rather fiendishly, ‘or do you want me to leave just a certain son of Hermes for you?’

You rolled your eyes and gave her a smooth, and rather horrible gesture as she went back to toying with your hair, giggling to herself.

Silena had been the one to introduce you to Luke two years prior. She’d gracefully swept you into her circle the moment you’d arrived in camp, convinced you would be claimed by her mother too. Had Luke not intervened and taken you to cabin 11 she probably would’ve had you sleeping top to toe in her bunk; she’d reluctantly handed you over, but not before she’d seen the look that had passed between the two of you. Love at first sight she’d insisted, and maybe she’d been mistaken on his end, but she hadn’t on yours.

‘You know, he really does like you. I can tell, and you should believe me because it’s literally my thing.’ She sighed, stepping back to admire her handiwork. She pulled and prodded at a few loose hairs until she seemed satisfied, then dragged you over to the long mirror at the back of the cabin.

You didn’t know how she’d managed it, but for once you didn’t cringe at the reflection you saw and a part of you couldn’t quite believe what stared back. There was no denying she was a master at her craft.

‘You look so beautiful!’ Silena squealed, her hands clasped together in pride. Then, without warning she pulled you into a bone-crushing hug that had the air leaving your lungs. ‘Tonight’s the night, for both of us, I can feel it!’

You hoped she was right as you followed her out of the cabin, towards the glittering lights in the pavilion.

Luke stood with Charles and Chris at the edge of the party, sipping slowly on the glass of wine in his hand. He supposed Mr D had been granted a night of reprieve.

‘Seriously man, chill out,’ he whispered over Beckendorf’s shoulder, ‘she’ll be here. Keep frowning like that and you’ll pop a blood vessel.’

He could sense Charles shifting in his feet nervously and his mouth twitched slightly, he knew the feeling all too well. He’d been on edge all day too. Chris was smirking too, but his was all smugness; he’d asked Clarisse outright to attend the party with him and much to everyone’s surprise, she’d said yes immediately, which was lucky for him because the alternative would almost certainly have been the loss of a limb.

‘How can it possibly take this long to get ready?’ Charles said, turning to face Luke. It was odd to see the son of Hephaestus so flustered when he was normally immune to the whims of teenage hormones; apparently he was not at all immune to the power Silena Beauregard seemed to hold over him. ‘Maybe she’s not coming man, we should just go before- oh..’ he trailed off. His eyes went starry and Luke whipped his head around to see what had entranced his friend.

There was Silena in her finery, tossing her hair over a shoulder as she swept into the pavilion. She threw a dangerously beautiful grin at Charles who was beginning to look a little like he might faint.

‘Hi Charles,’ she offered as she sauntered over. Anyone else might’ve missed the shake in her voice, but Luke caught the slightly nervous wobble of her tone and smiled. Good for Beckendorf.

‘You look great Silena,’ he managed to cough out. He quickly eyed Luke who gave an tiny nod of approval as if to say ‘keep going buddy!’

‘I know,’ she sighed dreamily, giving a little twirl of her dress before looping her arm through Charles’ who was now definitely holding his breath. Silena giggled and patted his chest sweetly before throwing a mischievous glare at Luke, ‘Just wait till you see her, I think you’ll get a little breathless too Castellan. Now come on Charlie, let’s get a drink.’

Luke watched her lead his friend away to where Chris stood with an arm slung around Clarisse’s waist; she’d opted for a gown of stormy grey adorned with tiny silver chains, as close to armour as she could get he guessed. She looked slightly terrifying, until Chris whispered something in her ear that had a blushing like crazy and stepping even closer into his side.

‘They make a great couple, don’t you think?’

Luke spun around quickly at the sound of your voice and cursed silently, Silena had been right. All the air left his lungs in a great breath and he was instantly lightheaded at the sight of you.

Devastating was the only word that came to his mind. Truly devastating. You could’ve walked into Olympus then and there and they probably would’ve pronounced you a goddess in an instant. He was struck dumb, and silent. He wanted to say something about how beautiful you looked, or how he’d been wrapped around your delicate finger the day you’d walked into camp; instead his frantic brain settled on, ‘nice dress, did you borrow it from Silena?’

You flinched. ‘No. We were sent a trunk to pick from from her mother.’

‘Oh.’ Was all he could reply as his gaze raked over you again. ‘That’s awfully nice of her.’

‘Very.’ You said through gritted teeth, trying to stop the scarlet blush you could feel rising to your cheeks. What was his problem? It wasn’t unusual for Luke to be blunt, he always struggled to keep his opinions to himself and it had gotten you both in hot water a hundred times before; but it was unusual for him to be blunt with you.

He’d been distant all week, he’d managed to miss three sparring sessions with you and counsellor duties on several occasions. The first few times Chris had been polite enough to make excuses for him, but when the two of you walked into the arena one morning to find Luke and Travis swinging swords at eachother, he’d stayed silent. He didn’t have to tell you what was already painfully obvious. Luke wasn’t ill, and hadn’t ’slept in late’, he’d just been avoiding spending any amount of time with you. You hadn’t had any idea why; and now, standing in the pavilion with the air thinning in between you both, you were even more confused.

He ran his eyes over your dress yet another time and something seemed to snap in your chest. ‘If you’re going to keep judging my outfit,’ you managed to spit out, ‘do it at the dinner table, I’m starving and don’t have the energy to defend myself. Let’s go sit with the others.’

You span away from him so quickly you missed him opening and closing his mouth as he tried to explain himself. As you stalked towards the table your friends had gathered around you must’ve been wearing a murderous expression, because Silena quirked her eyebrow at him with a face that said ‘what did you say?’ He responded with a small shrug before slipping into the seat opposite you.

Luke tried, and failed, to catch your eye throughout dinner. Food came and went, and glasses of a sweet amber wine refilled themselves as soon as the last drop hit the drinker’s lips. Silena had made her way through at least five glasses by his count, and was whispering something in Charles’ ear that had the man choking on his strawberry tart. You’d barely touched yours, and had politely declined his offer to get you something else to drink. You’d barely touched your dinner either, pushing things around your plate with your fork until Connor had unceremoniously dumped the contents of it onto his own. He felt he should apologise for his brother’s behaviour, but when he’d tried, you’d turned to watch the campers dancing by the fire.

The soft light from the flames flickered over the planes of your face and he knew he shouldn’t stare, but after starving himself of you for almost a week, he was finding it hard to look away. If he was honest with himself, it had been almost impossible to endure. You’d spent almost every day together for two years; a week apart had him feeling like he was missing a limb.

But a week apart was better than a week of watching male campers saunter up to you in a flurry of proposals. He’d managed to stick around long enough to see two Ares boys crash and burn and that was more than enough. If the failures were that bad, seeing you agree to attend the party with someone would probably have finished him off. He wondered which insufferable git you’d given in to, which one you’d been stood up by.

Curious, he leaned forward and asked loud enough to get your attention- ‘where’s your date?’

You slid your eyes away from the dancers and faced Luke. He was toying with the stem of his glass. Your throat tightened, and your face warmed uncomfortably. ‘I don’t have one.’

‘What?’ He asked incredulously.

‘Loads of people came alone Luke.’ You said replied quietly, keenly aware of the sudden silence of the conversations between everyone else at the table. ‘It’s not a big deal.’

‘I know, I just thought you would’ve put someone out of their misery. Every guy at camp must’ve asked you.’

‘Almost every guy.’ Chris whispered into his drink, rolling his eyes.

‘A few asked, yes.’ You murmured.

‘And you came alone anyway?’

You could’ve sworn Chris was wincing now, and Clarisse had the good sense to find the lights strung above the tables incredibly interesting all of a sudden. Silena however, looked like she was about to explode. You didn’t even know where to begin, your cheeks weren’t warm anymore, they were burning.

‘Yes.’ You ground out, hoping he’d take the hint and keep his mouth shut for once.

Luke went to speak, but Charles cut in before he could begin. ‘We should go dance!’ He declared, slapping his knees over-enthusiastically and standing so quickly he nearly toppled over his chair. The others rose with murmurs of agreement, eager to get away from what was becoming an increasingly awkward conversation.

‘You guys go ahead,’ you said, rising from your chair ‘I’m going to get some fresh air.’

You hoped no one would mention that you were already outside, surrounded by fresh air, and thankfully no one did. Silena gave you an apologetic look but you shook it off. The lights suddenly seemed much too bright, and the table of your friends was starting to feel like an audience to your embarrassment. As they all walked towards the fire you began in the opposite direction, lifting your dress slightly to allow your feet to travel quickly towards the cabins.

Luke felt Silena’s hand meet the back of his head in a swift slap before he could reach out to stop it.

‘You are as dense as old bread Castellan!’ She hissed as he cradled his neck. The boys were looking at him disapprovingly, but Clarisse was just glaring at him like she was sizing him up for a fight.

‘Chris where’s my knife?’ She asked coldly, holding her hand out in her boyfriend’s direction.

‘Woah- what did I do?’ Luke exclaimed, which earned him a hard flick right in the centre of his forehead. Whoever said Aphrodite’s children weren’t vicious fighters was beginning to sound like a goddam liar, he thought.

‘Do you know how many guys she turned down for tonight?’ Silena continued, ‘almost every guy at camp! And do you know why Captain No Clue?’

Luke just stared blankly until she let out an exasperated sigh. ‘Because she was waiting for you to ask her! I was hoping you’d pull your finger out by the end of the week but you didn’t, and you let her come alone.’

He flinched. Silena’s face tightened and her dark eyes flicked to Charles. Something unsaid flashed between them before she turned her gaze back on Luke; her anger was gone, replaced with something strangely close to pity.

‘You wanted to ask her, didn’t you?’ She asked- carefully. Her eyes were beginning to crinkle like she was about to burst into tears. She dashed forward and forced him down into a tight hug. ‘Oh Luke, I’m so stupid!’

Clarisse rolled her eyes. ‘Daughter of the goddess of love and you didn’t see this one coming? Even Chris figured this one out!’ She chided, then added sweetly in his direction, ‘no offence babe.’

He thought of every moment he’d spent with you; the hours of sparring sessions under the heat of the summer sun, the picnics out in the strawberry fields, sneaking between your cabins in the middle of the night to swap stories of your lives before all of this. He’d known the risks of falling for you, and he’d done it anyway. He’d thought about telling you a hundred times. He had thought about telling you that he didn’t want or expect anything from you in return, that he just needed you to know how he felt because it was torture to suffer it in silence. Over the months he’d managed to convince himself that you didn’t feel anything close to what he felt for you, and had resigned himself to living in the wake of your existence.

Luke’s heart stumbled, taking all the confusion and doubt with it, he blurted, ‘I should go after her,’ and started after you, his pulse pounding in his ears.

Even at a fast-paced jog, he only managed to catch up with you when you were rushing up the stairs to your cabin, the skirts of your dress billowing out behind you.

‘Wait up!’ he shouted through heavy breaths.

You didn’t let him continue and just increased your pace, rushing to get to the door. If you could make it inside and shut him out, perhaps he wouldn’t see the tears that had begun fall. A small part of you ached to stop and turn to him, but you knew what was coming. Silena would have tried to intervene once you’d left, and he was probably coming after you to let you down gently. You weren’t sure you could survive that.

‘Gods will you slow down!’ Luke yelled, ‘I want to talk to you!’

‘Don’t bother,’ you said bluntly, ‘I know what you’re going to say.’

‘Oh yeah? What am I going to say?’

He’d taken the Athena cabin steps two at a time and was right behind you now. You could hear his ragged breathing, had he ran here? He must really want to get it over with, you thought bitterly. ‘Does it matter? Just go back to the party Luke, they’ll be missing you.’

‘It matters to me. I don’t want to be there if you’re not.’ He said softly and reached out to grab your hand. His fingers grazed your own, warm and steadfast- patiently waiting for you to pull away. But you didn’t, you couldn’t bare it.

As you turned to face him fully you realised you were close enough to share breath. In other circumstances you might’ve stared up at him with longing; now all there seemed to be was the awful sinking feeling that you were about to lose him.

You opted to not meet his eyesight, and instead studied the scuffed wood of the cabin porch beneath your feet.

‘Then why didn’t you ask me to go with you?’ You managed to ask. You could feel his eyes on you, burning into your skin like a brand. ‘I thought we were friends Luke, I thought that would be enough to get you to tolerate me for one evening so neither of us had to go alone.’

‘That’s not..’ he took a deep breath before he continued. Now or never, he thought, and opted for now.

‘I didn’t ask you because I didn’t want to go as your friend. I wanted to go as your date. I knew you’d say no, because every guy here was chalking up how to ask you themselves and I couldn’t- I couldn’t stand it. I’d prepared myself to see you with someone else tonight and it caught me off guard to see you alone. I had all these things I wanted to say to you, about how beautiful you looked, but I panicked and said some really stupid stuff back there. And i’m sorry, for all of it.’

It was your turn to take a deep breath, and without thinking your fingers tightened around his own. The air was too tight, humming between your bodies, between your joined hands.

‘Ask me now then.’ You dared.

He was silent for long enough that you dared to look up and meet his eyes. You were sure your expression was mirrored on his own: shock, longing, and then something like amusement.

He was smiling like a kid on Christmas at your offer, broad and unrestrained. ‘You want me to ask you to go to the party with me? Now? After I’ve just poured my heart out?’

‘If you don’t want to that fine.’ You teased, a small smile returning to your face. ‘What was it you said about every guy at camp?’

Luke let out a laugh and took a step closer, ‘I don’t care about the party. Go on a date with me. Tomorrow, today, hell let’s go now. I don’t care. Just go out with me. I’m not waiting another two years for this chance.’

‘Of course I’ll go out with you Castellan.’ You replied softly. You didn’t even have to think about your answer, you’d been preparing it for months.

‘Really?’

‘Yes really.’ You laughed and gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

With a sudden burst of confidence, Luke leaned down to brush his mouth against your blushing cheek. You thought you might burst then and there as he pulled you into his chest to whisper in your ear, ‘you look beautiful. You are beautiful. Always. Even covered in sweat during sparring practice, or windswept from the chariot races. I can never look away from you.’

He was blushing too when he pulled away, leaving you staring up at him, breathless again. His smile was nervous as he said, ‘I want to do this properly, I’ll plan something great I promise. But for now, I would be honoured if you’d come back to the party with me, as my date.’

You quirked an eyebrow. ‘Will you dance with me?’

‘Of course I’ll dance with you,’ Luke said, wrapping an arm around your waist, ‘I plan to show you off in fact. I’m pretty sure I’ve just achieved the impossible as far as the guys here are aware. I reserve bragging rights.’

[clxja16]

Our Life

Pierre Gasly x Reader

Genre: established relationship, parents au!, dad Pierre

Warnings: angst, yelling, arguing

Word Count: 1.5K+

Author's Note: I realize this is probably the most I have ever posted here. and this is probably the first time I have two different 'on-going' stories out at the same time. well I had this idea for a while, except it was with Charles and I can't keep posting things with Charles man. but this concept works with Pierre so yeah. I don't think there will be a part two, unless you guys absolutely beg for a part two but there's a happy ending so yeah. also Idk if this is a fear for a lot of people or if im just being irrational, because its definitely a fear for me lol. anyway enjoy reading, pls let me know what you think.

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

“If I want my son at the race then he will be at the race,” Pierre spoke loudly as he tried to get his point across to you.  

“Pierre, he’s only 10 months, I don’t think a race track when cars are flying past is the best idea for him,” you matched Pierre’s volume, you couldn’t understand why he just wouldn’t get it.  

“He can wear a headset, just like all the other drivers' kids do, I want my son at the race with me,”  Pierre wouldn’t let it go. 

“No Pierre, I don’t want him there, and I don’t want all the media with pictures of our son, we’ll be…”

“You don’t have to come this weekend, but my son will be there this weekend, nanny can come with him.” 

“Pierre you’re not getting it, I don’t think that's the best environment for our son, right now, maybe when he’s a little older.”  

“y/n what do you think is gonna happen to him?” 

“I don’t know,” you shook your head at this point, “anything could happen to him, I don’t wanna risk it.” 

Pierre sighed, running his hands through his hair, “he’s coming to the race this weekend, he’s my son…” 

“OUR SON,” you shouted at the top of your lungs, cutting Pierre as the tears finally escaped you, “he is our son.” 

The sound of the baby crying coming through the monitor stopped you from continuing on.  You and Pierre both sighed, knowing that you’re shouting at each other is what woke him.  “Let me…” Pierre spoke up first.  

You waved your hand to dismiss him, “I’ll get him.” You quickly exited your shared bedroom with Pierre and made your way to the nursery, wiping away the escaped tears.  Down the hall, before you entered the nursery you took a deep breath, calming your racing heart.  

“Hi boy,” you spoke softly to the crying baby, picking him up.  You held him close to you, afraid that he would be taken away.  You closed your eyes, breathing him in, your perfect son. You cradled him in your arms, rocking him back to sleep.  You watched him sleepily yawn, he had his father’s eyes. Eyes you loved very much.  

“Dear,” Marta called out to you.  Marta was an older woman that Pierre hired as a housekeeper to help around the house.  Marta didn’t have any kids, her husband had died many years ago.  She became a mother to you, since your mother wasn’t anywhere near.  

“Marta,” you sighed, “I’m sorry, did me and Pierre wake you?” Because it’s only Marta by herself, Pierre had her move into the downstairs bedroom, it’s especially helpful when Pierre is away during the season.  

“Don’t worry about me, I can sleep plenty when I’m no longer here,” Marta smiled, taking a seat next to you in the nursery, “what’s bothering you?” 

You shook your head, as you smiled at your little boy in your arms, “Pierre wants to take the boy to Monza this weekend, and I don’t think it’s a good idea.”  

“That’s not it,” Marta said, as she gave you a look.  A look a mother gives when she knows her child is lying. 

You felt the tears begin to well in your eyes, “he’s our son.” You whisper into the night, like the words are a sin.  You look up at Marta, meeting her kind eyes, her eyes telling you to continue you on.  “He’s our son,” you speak a little louder, as the tears fall, “he’s not just Pierre’s son, he’s my son too.”  

“I see,” Marta hums, nodding her head, “and? Why does that bother you?” 

“He’s all I have left Marta.” You pulled the baby closer to you.  “He’s all I have.”  You took a deep breath, closing your eyes.  You breathed him in, you burned this moment to your memories.  You treat this as if it’s your last moment with your son.  You opened your eyes looking at Marta, “He’s all I have.  You know, when I got pregnant, it wasn’t planned.  It was an accident, me and Pierre had only been together for just under two years.  But we said we were gonna do this, we were gonna have this kid and raise him together.  Pierre makes more money than me.”  You took another deep breath, trying to gather all your thoughts.  “I had a good job, a place of my own, but there was no way I could raise a child by myself, and I couldn’t expect Pierre to move.  He lives in Milan because it’s best for his career, he was set up already.  I gave up all that I had, so he could be in his son’s life, and maintain his career.”  

“You regret that?” 

“No, no, never, Pierre is so good with him.  He’s such a good father,” you smiled at the thought of Pierre with the boy.  “But I’m so scared Marta.” you felt guilty for even speaking your feelings aloud.  “Everything belongs to Pierre.  I live in Pierre’s house, I drive Pierre’s cars, I fly on Pierre’s dime, I am completely dependent on Pierre.  We’re not married, I own nothing, all I have is this boy, and Pierre has all the power to take him away.”  

“You think…” 

“I know,” you spoke quickly, “I know Pierre wouldn’t just randomly kick me out, but that doesn’t mean I don’t fear the possibility.”  You felt the hot strikes of your tears, “If Pierre doesn’t want me anymore, I won’t have anything.  I have no money to my name, I have no job, no place to stay, I have nothing without Pierre.  If he decides he no longer wants me, I have no way to support myself or go back home.” 

“That possibility scares you?” 

“It does, and everytime we argue, he reminds me of that possibility, by saying ‘my son.’  He’s not his son, he’s our son, our child.  Both mine and his, our son, together.” 

“Oh dear,” Marta sighed, as she stood, pulling you close to her standing figure.  

“Is it wrong to be scared?” you asked as you silently sobbed, holding your son closer to you.  

“No dear, it’s not wrong to be scared, it’s the world we live in.”  Marta said, as she held onto you tightly, wishing she could take away your fears.  She wondered where in her lifetime did she go wrong?  Why do the women of today have the same fears as the women of before? 

Little to your knowledge, Pierre had overheard your conversation with Marta.  And he thought how could he be so stupid?  How did he not realize how damaging his words were?  How did he not realize the weight they carried?  How could he allow this to happen?  He mentally slapped himself over and over again for not realizing his mistake.  Our son, the boy, was your’s and Pierre’s son.  

-

“Pierre, where are we going?” you asked as you sat in the passenger seat, as Pierre drove.  

“To do something I should’ve done a long time ago,” Pierre said, as he pulled into a parking garage.  

“Isn’t this your lawyers’ law firm?” you asked, as Pierre parked the car.  

“Yes,” Pierre answered, as he made his way around the car to open the door for you.  

“What are we doing here?” 

“You’ll see,” Pierre said, taking your arm, as the two of you walked into the building lobby.  You silently followed after Pierre, as he made through the lobby, up the elevator and to his lawyer’s office. You watched him exchange a few words with the man behind the desk, before the two of you took a seat, opposite of the lawyer.  “I’m sorry these changes are a bit spur of the moment, but it’s something I should have done a long time ago.” 

“Since the house is paid off, it was actually really easy changes,” the lawyer spoke before setting down paperwork before you and Pierre.  “I’ll just need you both to sign on the line, and initially at the tabs.” 

“Pierre what is this?” you asked, picking up the paperwork before.  

“I’m putting your name on the house,” Pierre said, as he signed his set of paperwork.  

“What?” you asked, as you threw the papers back on the desk, as if they were burning your hands.  “Pierre this is a big thing, that’s your house…” 

“Our,” Pierre said, correcting your statement.  The one word had you shutting your mouth.  

“Huh?” 

“Our house,” Pierre said, as he set his paperwork and pen down, “We have a son together, and our son needs a home.  We need a home for our family.  This house can be our home, together.  y/n, I should have done this when you gave up everything for me, for our family together.  I am sorry this is so late, too late, but I want it to be our home together.  This is our life together, none of this mine anymore.”  

You couldn’t wipe the smile from your face even if the devil himself appeared before you.   You signed away at the line and initialed at all the tabs.  You were so grateful that Pierre was willing to share his life with you.  “You know, you could’ve just asked me to marry you,” you joked as you and Pierre made your way back to the car.  

“I am, I’m just going to do it right,” Pierre smirked at you, “plus it actually doesn’t cost money to add someone’s name to the deed of a house, when the house is paid off.”

[leclercss]

Tainted Love, Part 3 (Charles Leclerc ft. Lewis Hamilton)

Part 1, Part 2

Masterlist

plot: in an attempt to fix your marriage, you've reluctantly agreed into being in an open relationship with your husband. so far, it's only been your husband that has taken advantage of your recent arrangement until one night out you meet a man who makes you begin to question your marriage.

pairings: charles leclerc x fem!reader, lewis hamilton x fem!reader

warnings: (+18) mentions of smut, cheating and some swearing

authors note: thanks so much for all of your positive feedback so far. really happy that you guys are enjoying this story. i'm hoping my creative juices stay flowing but in the mean time, let's talk about the husband (ifykyk).

word count: 3.7k

taglist: @ironmaiden1313, @ru-kru, @buendiabebeta, @flwr-quicksilver, @ravioli19, @julesandro, @hornedravenclaws, @thatobsessedreader

What time shall I pick you up? x

Baby, I think we need to talk about yesterday x

Call me when you're awake okay? Love you x

You're currently standing in Charles' kitchen as your eyes scan the unread messages that your husband has sent through the night. You're not sure what you think or how you feel about the messages.

It's the first time since you arrived at Charles' apartment that Lewis has even crossed your mind. You're telling yourself that you should feel some guilt as he's starting to sound a little desperate with his messages but you mostly just miss the feeling of Charles.

It's currently 06:10. You haven't slept much throughout the night, probably about thirty minutes altogether. You and Charles had been keeping each other busy and awake. You'd spent a decent amount of time pleasuring one another. Charles' head had spent a considerable amount of time between your thighs. You had returned the favour to Charles by pleasuring him with your mouth, switching between slow and sensual blowjobs to Charles basically fucking your mouth. This was in between you guys trying out different positions with each other - Charles had loved fucking you from behind but he loved seeing you on top of him more, riding him as your boobs bounced in his face. You'd also spent a lot of time having intimate sex, softly kissing one another and running your hands all over each other's bodies as he moved in and out of you.

But your favourite moments were the ones where you lay on each other, limbs intertwined talking about life. You'd come to learn about each other's lives - about your similarities and your differences. Both of your fathers had passed away when you were in your mid-to-late teens. You both had a love for travelling. Charles was a talented piano player, you could barely play the triangle. You were both silly and playful with one another but compassionate and open to learning more about the person laying in their arms.

It was clear you had a connection but how deep this went, only time would tell.

As you stand in the kitchen, your body covered in one of Charles' t-shirts, which happened to be of Ferrari, your eyes go back to the texts on your phone. How and when do you respond to them?

You'd always thought that if you ever took the opportunity to sleep with someone else other than Lewis you'd have been filled with guilt and regret. But here you stood in another man's apartment, spending the last 5 hours of your life having sex with him and telling him your life story. Lewis was an afterthought.

"Can't sleep?"

The voice behind you takes you out of your thoughts. It has caused you to jump a little both from the surprise but also from the fact that it doesn't belong to Charles. You turn to see one of his friends standing in the doorway, arms folded across his chest looking at you. You think this one is Hugo.

"Erm, yeah, I guess. I thought I'd take the chance to check my phone. Charles is currently asleep," you respond.

"You're checking to see if your husband has messaged right?"

You're a little taken aback by his question but you answer him out of politeness. "I hadn't checked my phone since I got here last night. Just checking in on life".

The conversation has taken you by surprise, especially at this hour. You're vague with your answer, not really wanting to dive into a conversation about what you're going to say to your husband after you've been fucking somebody else for the whole night. Especially with someone whose name you can barely remember.

"That's not what I asked, but okay".

His bluntness causes you to frown. You don't want to find yourself in an interrogation over something that's none of his business so you grab your phone and handbag and start to make your way back to Charles' room. But before you make your way down the hall, his voice stops you in your tracks.

"It's nothing personal, by the way. But you're a married woman, who's been having sex with my friend all night," his voice is a little softer this time. "Charles seems unfazed by the fact that you're married but it'd be strange if I didn't have questions. I'm just looking out for my friend".

You turn your head slightly to nod, acknowledging him with a half smile before making your way back to Charles.

You quietly make your way into his room, placing your phone and handbag onto his bedside table before climbing back into bed. You lay your head on his chest and begin to make yourself comfortable when you hear a voice beneath you.

"Mmm... you're back," Charles utters. "Thought you'd sneaked out and left me".

You smile as you tilt your head so you're looking up at him. He's looking down at you, his eyes looking like he could fall back asleep at any moment although he doesn't seem to mind that you've woken him up as he wraps his arms around you, pulling your body closer to his if it was even possible.

"I was just getting some water in the kitchen before getting my bag and phone," you tell him before placing a couple of kisses on his chest.

"I'm glad you're back," he whispers as his eyes slowly close with a smile plastered on his face. He's about to fall back asleep but he manages to tell you one more thing, "by the way, you look so sexy in my Ferrari top".

You can't help but smile at him before he drifts back to sleep. You stare up at him for a moment, mesmerised by his beauty before laying your head on his chest once more and finally closing your eyes for some well-needed sleep.

-

The feeling of something hard against your thigh was enough to take you out of your slumber. You let out a little groan as the world starts to come back to you. As you have a quick look over your shoulder, you notice that Charles is well and truly awake. His body is pressed against you from behind and the something hard is his penis erect against you.

"Morning, baby," he whispers in your ear and it's you feel a butterfly in your stomach.

"Mmm... Morning Charles," you mumble as you place your hand on top of the one that he has spread across your stomach.

Charles is clearly eager to feel you up and get back down to business as he's beginning to gently grope at your skin and he lightly thrusts his hips against you so his dick is rubbing you. Your hand reaches back so you can run your fingers through his hair but it's not enough for him. He's impatient and ready to fuck you.

"[Y/N], I want you," he growls into your ear before he begins to lick and suck on your skin just below. You're not putting up much of a defence as one of his knees is pushing your legs open so he has better access to the part of you he's so badly craving.

You're already so wet for him as he starts to rub circles on your clit and a soft moan escapes your lips as you lean further back against his chest.

"Mmmm, that feels good," your voice is delicate as the last of the sleep leaves your body.

Charles clearly isn't in the mood to play around as you feel him push his dick against your slit. He pushes it lightly past your folds and thrusts a couple of time.

"Ohh... Charles," you groan with pleasure.

You feel his breath against your ear, he's panting lightly. Clearly ready, you lower your hand that's still on top of Charles' on your stomach and place it between your legs. You don't hesitate as you use your hand to push his dick inside of you. You both moan simultaneously as he begins to fill you.

He wastes no more time and begins to thrust inside of you immediately. He's spent so much time inside of you that your body needs no time to adjust. You're already moaning for him as he's building his speed inside of you rapidly.

"Oh my god!" you cry as he's starting to pound you from behind. The hand in his hair is now pulling at the strands as you're trying not to moan so loudly but it's a difficult task when he's already fucking you this hard and this fast.

"Charles, don't stop" you moan as you dig your nails into the arm that's wrapped around you. You don't need to tell him to keep going, his pace is still relentless.

"You look so sexy when I'm fucking you like this, amour," he pants in your ear as he started to grope at your boobs that are still covered in his Ferrari t-shirt.

You're basically whimpering in his arms at this point. His pace hasn't faltered once and his stamina is admirable. He's just pounding into you from behind, sending your body into overdrive.

"Please," you don't know what you're saying please for exactly. He takes this as a sign to pleasure you even further as his free hand makes his way down to your clit and he begins to rub circles. Your clit is so swollen and sensitive that just feeling his slightest touch is causing you to hiss.

It's another couple of minutes of Charles pounding the life out of you from behind and you can feel your orgasm fast approaching. He senses this and picks up the pace with your clit, driving you even closer to your orgasm.

"Charles, please," you beg him. The assault on you is almost too much to handle.

"[Y/N], I want to feel you cum for me." You're not sure if it's a command but you soon hit your peak and cry out as your orgasm hits you in waves.

Charles continues to fuck you through your high as he's now fast approaching his own climax. He's so lost in fucking you that he almost pulls out too late before he's spilling his cum onto your thigh, grunting in the process.

"Merde!"

His body finally relaxes around you as he lays on his back. You're still recovering from your orgasm when you feel his fingers gently tracing along your spine.

"Amour, that was incredible," he whispers as he's still catching his breath. You finally find the energy to roll over and lay your head against his chest.

"It was," you whisper as you lay a peck on his chest and shut your eyes, taking in this feeling.

-

It was hard to say goodbye to Charles but you knew that at some point you had to return home. To return to your husband.

After having a shower with Charles, where you used it as one last opportunity to touch and grope one another, you realised that you'd left your spare clothes and bag at Whitney's. Deciding that you weren't ready to rock up at her house in another man's clothes, you made the decision to wear one of Charles' t-shirts and pair of shorts back home and you'd pick up your bags later. You knew she'd have questions about your dancing and kiss with Charles last night.

A kiss you could explain, but rocking up in random clothes when you told her you'd gone home was going to be a lot harder to talk your way out of.

As you sat in the Uber heading back to your apartment, you remembered how you had left Charles with a passionate kiss and a promise that you'd see each other again soon.

Despite the many hours you had spent with Charles, you still weren't 100% sure of how "open relationships" truly worked. And you were beginning to think of the questions you were going to get from Lewis when you rocked up in Charles' clothes.

The thing is, what could he say to you? You hadn't broken the rules you had agreed when you accepted the terms of the open marriage:

No friends, no friends of friends, no colleagues, no ex-colleagues, no falling in love and no pregnancies. Basically, there was to be no evidence or trace left behind to spare the other's feelings. God, how did you buy into this bullshit idea?

But one thing you had never agreed on or discussed was the possibility of sleeping with the same person more than one time - unless it was with each other.

Reality was starting to sink in and you were beginning to realise that you had just as many questions about all of this as you predicted Lewis would have when you finally made it home.

"Hey babe, am I allowed to fuck the same guy over and over again?"

As much as you originally hated this whole arrangement and had told yourself you wouldn't partake in this open marriage, you were beginning to realise that you were getting yourself into dangerous territory. This wasn't your game to play but now you couldn't help yourself. You'd had the taster with Charles and you'd be going back for a second course.

Or a third, or fourth, or fifth.

Shit! You tell yourself to get it together, you're about 10 minutes away from home and you notice that Lewis still hasn't replied to your text saying that you were on the way home. But he's read the text. Based on how constant his texts were last night, you knew he was going to be pissed if he hasn't replied.

Before pulling up outside your apartment building, you send a text to Whitney asking if you could call by at some point to pick up your things before the weekend was up. This could be your excuse to leave if things got heated with Lewis again.

You make your way into your apartment building and say a little prayer to yourself before facing what you expect to be the wrath of your husband.

"Yeah, well how many girls have you fucked?"

That was going to be your argument if things got heated. Surely that was enough, right?

You take a deep breath as you begin to open your front door and make your way inside. It's quiet.

You shut the door and make your way into the living room, not really sure whether to call out Lewis' name to let him know that you're home or to basically sneak in and get changed out of Charles' clothes as soon as possible.

Your choice is made for you as you see Lewis sprawled across the couch with his eyes completely glued to his phone. The British bulldog which you share, Roscoe, is lying by his side.

"Hey," your voice is so quiet you're not sure if Lewis hears you as he's still tapping away on his phone. But he must have decided to ignore you as Roscoe lifts his head at the sound of your voice and pants with excitement as he sees you standing in the doorway. He climbs off of Lewis and makes his way over to you, running around your feet.

"Hey cutie," you giggle as you lean down to hug and pet him.

After a moment of playing with Roscoe, you look over at Lewis to see if he's looking away from his phone yet. He's not. He's still tapping furiously at his phone. His tongue slightly poking out from the side and his eyebrows are crossed.

"Hey, Lew," you say. You stand up and the dog at your feet makes his way back to Lewis on the sofa, placing himself by Lewis' feet.

"Nice to know that someone knows how to come back to me, hey Roscoe," Lewis grunts. He's still looking at his phone.

So this was going to be his attitude? You try not to roll your eyes, knowing that if Lewis catches it his passive-aggressive attitude will only worsen.

"Nice to see you too," you mumble as you sit down on one of the armchairs as you look over to Lewis.

He's silent for a few moments, still tapping away. You want to take the phone out of his hand but that idea is put on hold as he speaks his first words to you since returning home.

"Good night?"

That was it?

"Erm, yeah, it was," you could barely hear your own voice. Now that he was speaking to you, all of the confidence you had in the Uber has left your body.

"Yeah, must have been a good one," he continues. He locks his phone and places it on his stomach so he can finally look at you. And when he does, his dark brown eyes feel like they're staring into your soul. "I can tell it was a good one because you've turned up in someone else's clothes".

Shit.

"Even though you brought a bag with you last night. You stayed at Whitney's right?"

You gulp. You're royally fucked.

"We went back to someone else's for afters," you tell him. I mean, it wasn't really a lie? You did go to someone else's for afters.

"And you didn't go back to Whitney's to get your stuff before coming here?" He's staring at you still. You're not sure if his expression is one of amusement or anger.

"Erm, no... the place was closer to here than to Whitney's," you lie.

He starts laughing. He's actually laughing at you.

"Okay, [Y/N]. You don't need to embarrass yourself with these lies. If you went back to someone else's house and fucked him just say it," he chuckles.

But you don't say anything. Your nerves are growing by the second and you're not sure if you want to pass out or throw up as the conversation is developing. He has some nerve. All of the times he's slept with someone behind your back and he's sitting here laughing at you.

But he doesn't laugh for much longer as his facial expression turns.

"I said say it!" the tone of his voice shocks you and you're no longer confused about the expression in his eyes. He's furious. You're pretty sure the only reason he hasn't shouted at you is to stop Roscoe from barking like mad. The poor dog went crazy when you and Lewis were screaming at each other the other day.

You're not really sure what your next move will be. You're trying to hear your own thoughts but your heart is beating so loudly that it's basically thumping in your ears. You can't think. All you can do is just look at Lewis who's anger and frustration with you is growing by the second.

"You really can't say it huh?" he scoffs before picking himself off the sofa and storming into the kitchen. Roscoe follows suit.

You take a moment before you go after him. You're not sure why you decide to follow him. Curiosity? Stupidity? God knows but you both know the conversation isn't finished.

You walk into Lewis slamming pots and pans around as if he's attempting to make something but all he's doing is causing chaos and poor Roscoe is following him helplessly and confused.

"Go away, [Y/N]".

You let out a sigh as your eyes follow your husband's movements.

"Lewis, can you just stop for a second?" you plead with him but your plea falls on deaf ears.

"What part of go away do you not understand?"

This time you can't help but scoff, growing tired of his antics. After the way he's treated you for the last eighteen months, something inside of you is telling you to finally grow some balls.

"Are you fucking kidding me? You've slept with how many women during our marriage and you're mad at me?" you cry out.

Your eyes are still on Lewis. His hands are gripping onto the counter, his back turned away from you. His fingers are going white with the pressure and tension he's putting on them. "It's not the same thing!"

You scoff again and you're surprised it doesn't cause Lewis to lose it altogether but he's using every restraint in his body not to shout at you.

You want to tell him to fuck off at his hypocrisy. You agreed to this bullshit situation for him and he's the one that's pissed?

"How is it not the same thing?"

This time your voice is louder. You're digging your nails into your hands to stop you from screaming. He doesn't answer you.

You give him another couple of seconds. He says nothing. You notice his body is starting to shake. But you don't care, you're going to push his buttons with your newfound confidence, "Oh! Now you're the one who doesn't want to answer?"

It's almost like you want him to break. You want to push his buttons so hard for him to snap at you. To show that he actually gives an ounce of crap about you.

Roscoe's now barking at the tension in the room. Lewis is still quiet. Still looking away from you.

How has he not snapped yet?

The tension in the room is like a pressure cooker. Ready to explode at any moment.

"Lew-"

"You're wearing his fucking clothes!" His outburst is met with his palms hitting the countertop with pure rage.

He's finally snapped. He finally turns to face you and you have never seen him look so angry. At least not when it came to you.

"You fucked him? Fine! But you broke a fucking rule," his voice is so loud that even Roscoe has stopped barking out of shock.

You say nothing. You just look at him. His chest is rising and falling dramatically. His eyes are almost black with anger and he's now gripping onto his braids to somehow stop himself from doing something stupid.

He's not done. "You barely answer your phone after we've had the biggest argument of our relationship. You stroll in here at 1:30 in the afternoon as if you haven't been gone for almost two days already and you don't even have the decency to change into your own clothes? And you're here, wearing his clothes as if it's some fucking achievement that you've finally shagged someone else. Well, congratulations!"

Silence.

You don't really know what to say. You're not sure if you want to nominate him for an Oscar or burst into tears. Instead, you just look at him, stunned into silence.

Lewis finally makes the first move as he walks towards the doorway, towards you. He's about to pass you but he stops right in front of you, this time he's no longer looking at you as if he's ashamed of you. Like a parent who's disappointed in their child.

"I may have started this whole thing but you've brought a piece of him into our home," he growls before walking past you.

You've broken a rule.

[riririnnnn]

Aftermath of NEL/BM Vs PxG:

Isagi is the protagonist, so I'll be focusing on him.

From the start, the main main rival in NEL for Isagi has been Kaiser, and there have been instances where the latter had accepted that Isagi got him good. In fact, in the chapter 239, he was genuinely tweaking:

You see my boy in the top left? Yeah, even Ness was taken aback.

Also, while we are at it, can we give a glance to this panel:

Ness, indeed, calls everything disgusting, but the last line, "The Magic of Yoichi's football...!?"

Hello???????????????

How did we ignore that, huh?

I understand that it doesn't seem like much but if we were to take in account of his backstory, then we can say that, that IS a big statement coming out of Ness' mouth.

So, is this like a slow/indirect build-up to a moment in the BM Vs PxG where Ness assists Isagi instead of Kaiser?

BUT

That's where things becomes low-key difficult for me to digest.

You see, if Isagi were to INDEED surpass/defeat Kaiser, then what?

No, I'm not trying to pick up a fight, I'm genuinely asking what will happen after that? Will Kaiser become a disposable rival or something like Kira Ryosuke?

But you know, the above thing seems a bit farfetched. I understand that Kira disappearing like that seemed farfetched too, but Kaiser as a character has too much depth to just be thrown away.

That's why, I think that Isagi MIGHT surpass Kaiser but only superficially.

That's that, and now we have this grumpy fella:

Rin has been Isagi's rival ever since the beginning of second selection and the thing low-key became officially mutual when Sae praised Isagi after the U-20 match.

However, Isagi's Blue Lock rank is canonically 2 now and Rin's rank is 1. So if Isagi were to truly defeat Rin, then he will became number 1 and that's like the endgame for Blue Lock you know— protagonist reached the highest point. I understand that the main goal is to win the World Cup, but still.. you getting me, right?

BUT

Amidst everything, why are we forgetting this miracle boy:

What if he pulls up some Prodigy shit during the Barcha match and gets into Top 3?

Further, with Kunigami Vs Shidou, what makes you think that these two wouldn't get into Top 5 too?

I think that Isagi wouldn't be number 1 yet. He'll probably share the rank or maybe that his auction value will increase for sure but he'll get his rank lowered/shared. It makes sense because there have been many moments where Isagi was humbled and didn't get the victory he wanted at once.

But.

(screeches)

BUT

We can't forget the above panel.

Something fiery is being cooked up.

Every type of theory that has been made about World Cup arc/Post-NEL arc takes in the facts from whatever we know about REAL life U-20 World Cup.

So if something entirely else is going to happen in the BLLK universe, then I don't know what more can happen.

To sum it up, I think this MIGHT happen:

Rin gets an offer from Royale Madrid/Re Al and will maintain his ranking of 1.

Isagi gets an offer with higher salary than his current but it'll not affect his ranking.

Nagi pulls up his shit and becomes L(egend).

Top 5/Top 10 will have more than one shared ranking.

Shidou and Kunigami gets banger offers too.

And about the match:

Kaiser will score a goal.

Kunigami too and Shidou will give him some kind of acknowledgement.

IGA-DA-GOAT-GURI will clutch and gives BM a free kick by making someone from PxG do a foul.

Kiyora will either assist or will score himself.

Isagi might score a goal too.

Yukimiya might assist.

Raichi defends against Loki.

Goatmaru slays.

Charles Vs Hiori.

Feel free to add yours!

.

.

.

Charles might throw a tantrum if PxG loses. Idk why he gives off a BIG bratty prankster vibes.

[1moreff-creator]

how often was ace guessed as the ch2 culprit during the hiatus? i wasn't around for it so im a bit curious

Not very often, but he wasn't, like, the most unheard of. This Accirax poll from august had him in fourth, as well as this reduced cast Star poll, so he wasn't as "clear" as people like Charles, David, etc. Below the is the impression I got as someone who was only here for part of the hiatus, I didn't visit Tumblr very often after 2024 began up to the release of CH2 EP12.

Levi was by far the most common guess, as everyone and their mother called that Arei had his secret and that made him look suspicious from a meta sense. And Hu has this funny thing where her secret quote in the source code of her character page, "I want to pay for what I’ve done. But even then, I still want to live," is the most "blackened" thing in existence, so she'll probably never escape top guesses for culprit no matter what. Add in the ideas that Levi could have broken Arei's neck without rope (strength argument) and Hu's wire was in the Ace-Nico crime scene (many believed the culprit of both would have to be the same for one reason or another), and they were the two big picks across the general fandom. Especially for those not insane enough to do full murder theories and stuff.

J was also up there because of MonoTV's comment that the Movie Screening Room's wall connected to the playground, which many believed could mean there was a secret passage she could access with her Universal Remote, and that made her shady. Clearly the comment was just to give a general idea of the spatial disposition of the building and room, but I understand why many thought it would be more important than that.

Probably the funniest situation was Eden, though. Because the tape thing and lockdown reasoning (that only Teruko, Ace and Eden were in the room were the tape, used in the murder, disappeared) was something the theorizing fandom was very aware of. You know, that think that actually ended up pointing at the culprit? Yeah, we knew that. A lot of people argued against its importance, but we were aware of it at least.

In fact, the linked accirax post mentions "the 1moreff-creator/thebadjoe scripture" because (at least here on Tumblr) we were some of the biggest exponents of Eden!Culprit with our respective theories, and we both used the tape's disappearance as reasoning for it. Now, make no mistake, there were always plenty of people that thought Ace could have been the one to take the tape, and in fact I'm sure that could have certainly earned him some votes in the linked polls, but a lot of people that pointed to the tape believed that, based on the way the scene played out, only Eden could have taken it.

We were wrong.

Sorry about that, Eden :v I swear I would have picked Ace as the culprit if the scene made it a bit easier to believe he picked up the tape T_T

That said, if you looked hard enough, there were always people who guessed pretty much everyone as the blackened. From guessing that David could have manipulated someone into murder and he'd be the blackened (even then, the main guess for murderer in this case was Hu I believe), Whit because of the "hanging out" comment (and general Whit bullshittery), Arturo because he was one of the only people who we knew would have heard the Arei-Eden conversation referenced in the note, Rose as a bit of a wild card guess because of her lack of alibi at night, to Charles (somehow) because the handwriting in the note is strikingly similar to the handwriting in the custom weapons list. Hell, after LGI some thought David would replace Teruko as the protag, maybe there was some kind of Teruko!Culprit theory out there. We had a lot of fun :D

So, as a final answer, I'd say there were four big "tiers" of characters in terms of character suspicion. "Main Suspects," being Levi and Hu, "Popular Alternative Guesses" including J and Eden, "Some Guesses Here and There" including Rose, David, Whit, etc., and "No Shot" including things like Xander, Min, Arei, Teruko and possibly Charles. I would say Ace fell in the lower end of "Popular Alternative Guesses" tier, take that as you will.

Thanks for the ask! It was fun to reminisce!

[12romy]

Need a one shot of Lewis comforting Charles (because he has experience with this from before)(or them comforting each other) after the disqualifications today to be able to move on�� im speechless.

Oh anon, trust me, I can't believe it either... This is so messed up, we really can't have anything good. My poor babies...

Here's a little ficlet, I hope it will cheer you up ❤️

It's a little poetic, Charles thinks, that they picked a picture of the two of them congratulating each other to announce their disqualifications. A little cruel, too.

Lewis is curled up against him, his cheek resting on Chalres' chest. It's still a bit damp with tears, wetness piercing through the fabric of his tee-shirt.

He doesn't mind. He lets Lewis cry all he needs because what else can he do? He had been magnificent the entire weekend, not making a single mistake. Charles is used to be let down by his team, Lewis, not quite yet. He hopes it'll never get as bad, that Lewis will never have to be used to that kind of things.

They cried, they talked, they cried a bit more, and they kissed. They didn't have sex, but it has been a while since they used that as a way to cheer each other up. It's better this way, better to keep negative feelings out of the bedroom.

Lewis' motorhome was in a terrible state, when Charles sneaked inside, and he can't blame him. It's really not in Lewis' nature to lash out like this, he tend to keep everything inside and plaster a smile on his face. It's good to know even he has his limits, no matter how good he got at losing.

Lewis also monologued for a solid ten minutes about how he hated Mercedes, and Toto, and everyone involved. About how he should dump their sorry ass and go drive to redbull.

He can get a bit dramatic, and none of his words are to be taken seriously, of course. It isn't often that Lewis can say things without any consequences, so Charles let him.

He would've found it funny, even, if he wasn't busy wallowing on their messed up races.

Lewis is probably asleep, Charles guesses from his quiet, regular breath.

Charles should sleep, too, but he can't. There's something in him that's too restless for it.

He feels Lewis move against him, hear him take a long inspiration that tells him he's awake.

"I can hear you think," he hums, the sound resonnating in Charles' chest, and he feels overwhelmed with love at this instant.

"I'm gonna leave Ferrari," he says simply. Lewis lifts up his head, looking at him with piercing eyes, and nods before plopping his head back against him.

Charles doesn't need to precise he's being serious.

"I'll support you no matter what," Lewis says softly.

"I know," he replies, and kiss the top of Lewis' head. Then, after a few minutes of silence: "Let's go get dinner and celebrate. I'm talking fancy restaurant, maybe hit a bar, after."

"Celebrate what, our DSQ?" Lewis snorts, unkind, annoyed.

"No, but it took me four years to come to this decision. And you deserve a proper way to celebrate your podium. It doesn't matter if it was taken from you, you fucking deserved it. You've been amazing, mon amour."

He can hear Lewis cry again more than see him, as he buried his face against Charles' chest once again.

"Okay," Lewis agrees eventually, a hint of a smile in his voice. "I know just the place. But this time, you let me pick your clothes. No way I'm letting you wear those ugly pants."

"Whatever you want, Lew," Charles smiles. They will be fine.

[astralprisms]

It's been awhile since I poked you directly, so you can answer these for whoever (xa'rok, Skaro, kresh, etc.)

Favorite physical texture (like sand, fur, marble, etc.)

A place that brings comfort, and/or a place that holds bad thoughts.

Do they prefer to pick at food or have a large meal? 3 square meals or one big meal?

Thanks for always being so kind to me about gum/gertie/bi'smol etc. I value it a lot 🌟

Hi Charl!!

The fact that you listed sand as an option under favorite textures is so funny to me for some reason. Anakin voice, it's coarse and rough and irritating and it gets everywhere.

Xa'rok

Favorite texture: smooth buttery leather, and equally smooth and polished wood, I think are the top. They prefer smooth textures in general, fond of their somewhat luxurious silken nightclothes, even though they have no real problem roughing it. I think they also conversely enjoy *interesting* textures. I always have them picking up those terracotta vases that in my brain are plastered with little moasiac patterns. I think they would enjoy the feel of tiles like that. Something either smooth and whole or cleanly and expertly broken.

And for a self-indulgent bit of lore, Skaro's face, because every time I see him up close in game I desperately want to touch his face--it has so many textures on it I bet it would be nice to run your hands over (between the leathery, weathered skin, the significant burn scarring, and the ridges of his spots).

A place that brings comfort: I know this is a very "fork found in kitchen" answer, but the astral plane. They felt it the second they stepped into the pocket plane in the Astral Prism and it never left. Post-game they take such comfort being out there, I think it puts their thoughts at ease and focuses their mind and worries to their task instead of all of whatever is going inside their head (a lot).

A place that brings discomfort: another bit of an obvious answer but a multi-layered one that comes back in waves of mixed longing and nostalgia along with the bad feelings, but creches of any kind, and they must visit a lot of them in their work. But these little bastions of culture are an integral part of their people and a connection point to their past and the bridge they're attempting to build of their future. They had no particular hatred for or uneasiness in their own creche beyond their personal disagreement with uh, shared cultural values regarding illithids and their peoples' continued answer to that problem (and their own less than githyanki brand of problem-solving), but being exiled left its mark. A tangible weight when they visit places similar to the one they grew up in that simultaneously feel like the walls are shouting "you don't belong here" along with a crooning, "how could you belong anywhere else?"

So, double-edged sword.

How do they like to eat: incredibly funny question to ask as I've sort of taken the meme borne of them always choosing the impulsive "consume this" options in-game as character gospel and now they will pretty much eat anything once without prompting and just for the challenge of it. But as a rule I think they just enjoy food a healthy amount and have, a decade and change among the various locales of Faerûn, become accustomed to properly enjoying and savoring it instead of just eating as quick and as much as possible, like their kin when they return from the Astral and get hit with the status effects all at once.

No promises on when they return from the Astral, though. I'm sure that impulse hits them, too, and hits them hard. Also I've mentioned this in DMs before but I don't think they enjoy sour flavors all that much despite their impulsive consuming habits, and probably go out of their way to avoid them/grimace extensively when confronted with them unexpectedly in a meal. I need to draw that lemon meme with them sometime because it's very accurate. If you gave them a sour gummy worm they would be so betrayed, I think.

Skaro

Favorite texture: genuinely think he enjoys the sight and feel of well-crafted metal the most. Cool to the touch and then warmed by contact with skin, and an art all on its own in craftsmanship. Plus he wears a lot of it. He also enjoys well-cut and polished gems, specifically in purples and golden browns.

A place that brings comfort: Only just decided this recently but Skaro genuinely enjoys the Underdark. I think he and Xa'rok will spend a not insignificant amount of time there in the post-game of their universe. He intuitively understands the culture of competition that exists as a framework, and yet there are pockets of gith (and illithid) activity there enough to keep him busy. He likes the myconiid and I think he's quite fond of the svirfneblin as well. I feel like he might be at odds with drow just on a personality clash basis, though.

A place that brings discomfort: I think he feels very out of place in Faerûn when it's just him and the wilds of human/humanoid civilization beyond his particular pockets of extraplanar travel. People mistake him for a goblinoid or for a githyanki, neither of which he is, and either react badly or coldly to him despite his relatively at-ease and generally non-(intentionally) threatening demeanor. Like Xa'rok I think he prefers having a goal to work towards and something to do to keep him busy and Faerûn doesn't offer him much in the way of useful distraction.

How do they like to eat: Perhaps a holdover from spending more time in the astral plane (among others), perhaps a byproduct of his mental discipline and zerth training, Skaro is very bad at heeding hunger signals. He's aware of them in the sense that he's very in his body, as per training, but he either doesn't connect the dots well (courtesy of too much extraplanar existence) or simply ignores them in favor of "more pressing matters" and as a result probably eats ravenously at irregular intervals when prompted to and otherwise just snacks occasionally to keep his energy up. I think if you introduced him to the concept of Good Berries he'd never eat anything else. Definitely prefers utilitarian convenience over decadence in this regard.

Kresh needs more exploring before I can answer these for him, I think!

[marley-manson]

In Love and War

-- Potter sucked lol, straight up says he didn't tell Hawkeye about Kyung Soon's circumstances and let him go off about rich people because as a colonel he doesn't need to explain orders. Then topped it off by being condescending while stating the 'love during a war sucks' theme. Oh ALSO not a fan of his explanation for transfering the nurse who Donald hit on comparing her and Margaret to a car and a horse respectively. Minor in the grand scheme of things, but like, it's very Potter.

-- Loretta Swit was so fucking funny in the shower scene

-- the Kyung Soon + BJ goodbye scene parallels are so strong lol, kudos for that

-- headcanon that Hawkeye is not a lit guy heavily reinforced \o/ I only remembered like one line, but his interactions with Kyung Soon were actually full of not getting her lit and poetry references, and he even made a self-depricating joke about quoting the Divine Comedy from a comic book version - a joke I think is exaggerated, I do assume he's probably at least read some of it for school, but it does tell us that Hawkeye doesn't see himself as a literature knower

-- Hawkeye trying and failing to hammer a board, Kyung Soon takes the hammer from him and tells him his hands are for surgery. that's my guy

-- love Hawk and Margaret commiserating together at the end, sans explanation. it's a little odd this early, but not so odd that it feels implausible, so it strikes a good balance evocative of a burgeoning friendship.

-- Kyung Soon was a pretty solid character for a single episode love interest. kudos for that.

-- I've seen posts that interpret this episode as a critique of American imperialism so I was watching the ep with an eye out for it, but I don't see it as an intended theme. I think you can pick it up essentially as a side effect of the show trying to realistically portray a downer romance between an American draftee and a Korean civilian, but the ep is very on the nose about its theme (romance and war don't mix) and everything that points in that more specific and political 'critique of imperialism' direction is either a) undermined shortly later (eg Hawkeye suggesting they eat dinner in a bombed out restaurant initially seemed potentially insensitive and out of touch, but Kyung Soon and the narrative finds it romantic), b) furthering the more general war sux theme (eg the bombed out restaurant, or Hawkeye's class A uniform at the funeral, as foreboding symbols of the war poised to separate them), and/or c) something I wouldn't expect a mainstream 70s audience to understand as a critique of imperialism without further explicit contextualization (eg Hawkeye's uniform again).

Plus, rather than being critiqued as an American, Hawkeye is pointedly portrayed as ~one of the good ones~ with the way Kyung Soon explicitly says she likes him because he "cares about [her] people," and his response to Charles' racism. Maybe a little naive in a way that can be taken politically, but not in a way I believe is intended to be a political statement - it's Hawkeye's idealistic romanticism imo, since it's contrasted to Potter's world-weary realism.

Basically I can see the anti-imperialism lens the way you can view most of Mash through it, but I'm not inclined to give the show credit for a thoughtful anti-imperialism sentiment here. They've done anti-imperialism episodes and they tend to be more clumsy lol and much more overt. Imo the tragedy in this episode is the war, not the American presence in the war.

-- That said, I think the lack of intentional messaging and the focus on sad realism works in this episode's favour, because it's overall pretty good. I mean it's still a rushed one-ep romance which never actually works, but within the bounds of its format, it's successful imo. And the realistic touches do add up to an implicit, if accidental, critique of imperialism if you're inclined to see it. It's a solid lens to view the episode through, just not one I'd praise the writers for.

[twooboomoomoo]

The Poll™️ is Over!! Results Momence!! This is a longer post so it's under a read more.

----

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With 30% of the votes, or about 6,593 votes total, is Ernest Hemingway!! Pretty much a landslide victory, I seriously didn't think this many people wanted to punch him.

The only person even close to votes, with 25% or 5,494 votes total, was Lord Byron. Which. Yea.

The rest of the numbers are:

9% or 1,978 to Percy Shelley.

6% or 1318 to Oscar Wilde.

5% or 1098 each to both Victor Hugo and Walt Whitman

3% of 659 to Bram Stoker

2% or 439 to RL Stevenson

And 1% or 219 to Mary Shelley

Of course there's also the 14% or 3,076 people who had other nominations. From what I saw in the notes, most are:

Henry David Thoreau. A lot of you wanna beat him up. Same with F Scott Fitzgerald, who fun fact was almost in the list but was switched out for Ernest Hemingway.

Leo Tolstoy. A whole lot for him too. Same with Nathaniel Hawthorne. I also almost included him but I didn't. Same with James Joyce, he was taken out last minute in place of Whitman.

Charles Dickens was also nominated a bunch. Completely forgot he existed tbh.

CS Lewis. What the fuck happens in the end of Narnia like holy shit.

A main point of the list was to include "Tumblr Popular Authors™️" to try and pit them against eachother. For example Stoker because of Dracula Daily, Hugo due to Les Mis, Mary Shelley because she's Mary Shelley, etc etc.

I wasn't expecting such a Hemingway/Byron sweep, I thought the results would be a little bit more spread out. However I gained some insight into some thoughts through the tags:

Too many of you want to fuck these people. I'm sorry to the one person who wants insane unethical sex with Hugo, but that sentence is now part of my vocabulary. To the rest of you, please stop wanting to fuck Wilde. I am begging you.

On the topic of Oscar, more if you should have picked him. Personally. Between him and Mary I got a lot of "OP why are they on the list???" and again this is a lighthearted list. But like. Please. Shout-out to the one tag calling Alfred Douglas an "evil twink" though I will also be thinking about that forever. Top favorite tag.

There is a reason I didn't put Lovecraft and people still nominated him. Even when I make a rule violence prevails 💛.

Thank you all for informing me on the ending of Narnia. What the fuck happens in Narnia.

Probably one of my favorite tags by far has to go to:

New gate crimes against Ernest Hemingway is another favorite phrase. I have literally a whole folder of tags I gathered throughout the week but if I put all my favorites on here this post would be a nightmare.

In all, thank you for the most insane week of my life, I never want a popular poll post again 💛

[quicksilverownsmysoul]

Mother’s Day

Summary: How the Evans and their kids treat you on Mother’s Day. These were so much fun to write and I may have gone a little over board. Anyway I hope y’all like them!

Also may have some typos since I didn’t have time to proof read it took much! (Cause ya know Mother’s Day)

Peter

-Would forget

-The kids would come and quietly walk over to his side of the bed to wake him up. (You guys have a daughter who’s 7 and a boy who’s 4). He’ll look and them with bleary eyes and they’d be like “Dad come help us.”

-And he’s like “with what?” Already tucking himself back in

-“Breakfast for mama, it’s Mother’s Day”

-“Oh shi-“ He’s ripping the sheets off and speeding out of bed with them under his arms.

- The fridge would be empty and he’d try and convince the kids to let him just buy you McDonalds breakfast but they’d start to cry cause they really wanted to make you breakfast. So he hushes them and dashes to the store picking up an instant box of pancake mix, a carton of eggs and bacon. Also gets you come flowers and a box of candy. (He paid).

- Him and the kids get started on breakfast and they are better at it then he is. Your daughter knows how to flip the pancakes perfectly while his come out all misshapen and runny.

-They honestly don’t get breakfast done till like 10. You had already woken up and walked in on them trying to pick the egg shells out of the eggs that your son cracked. And your just smile at how hard they’re working. You’d go back to bed and let them bring it to you in bed like they want and your act surprised.

- Peter pretends like he didn’t totally forget and promises to to take you and the kids out for a funny day. (It’s probably going to be the arcade.)

-But you don’t mind. You guys have fun playing all the games together. He’ll pull you aside later and tells you how much he loves you. And he thanks you for giving him the world, and tells you how much of an amazing mother you are. He also bashfully gives you this locket he bought you a while back. It’s has all of you in it.

Charles

- Your baby was only about 2 years old so Charles took care of all the Mother’s Day festivities.

- He had been taking pictures of you and y’all’s baby ever since they were born. Has a whole collection of them. So he decides to put them together into a scrapbook for you.

- He spends weeks in advance adding the pictures and writing little notes and memories alongside them. Paints his hand and his daughters and the cover is their handprints onto of one another.

- He makes you a really good southern breakfast, real hearty. (Charles is a really good cook and you can’t fight me on it).

- He walks in holding your daughters hand and treats you to breakfast in bed and tell you all about how he plans to spoil you. He bought you a real pretty sun dress and tells you he planned a picnic for you guys. He made sandwiches and cut them in the shapes of hearts.

-He takes you to the beach and your daughter has so much fun playing in the sand and laughing as the waves tickle her feet.

-As the sun starts setting he gives you your gift. It’s wrapped up all pretty like and the minute you open it you start bawling. And first he thinks you don’t like it but then he sees the loving look in your eyes and you look at all the picture and run your fingers gently over the little messages.

- You pull him close and press kisses all over his face. He sets up his camera and runs back as it snaps a picture of all of you. Once it’s developed you add it to your scrapbook.

Warren

- Wakes you up by jumping up and down on your bed with y’all’s son. Screaming at the top of their lungs Happy Mother’s Day!!!

-Drags you to the kitchen and makes a grand gesture of showing you the breakfast him and your son made. They put a table cloth on the table and they have flowers in the vase. Everything is set up really fancy.

- You try to ignore the mess of dishes in the sink and the stains that litter your counters. How did they get eggs on the ceiling? And is that blood??? You hope not.

- Warren pulls out your chair for you and you thank him. You look down at the breakfast, the toast is all burnt and the eggs have shells in them. You smile and eat what you can hoping you don’t die of food poisoning.

- He planned a self care day for you. He bought you a million different kinds of skin care products and bath products. Let’s you give him and your son skin care treatments and you guys wear them while binge watching your favorite movies. Eating popcorn and all kinds of junk food in the fort him and his son made for you. Warren pretends he hates those cheesy rom coms you like but you can see him sniffling out of the corner of your eye when the wedding scene comes on.

- After you out your son to bed you take a bath with Warren and he washes your hair, whispering sweet nothings into your ear. Has music playing in the background but was too cheap to pay for spodify premium so in the middle of you guys making out you hear click here for 30 minutes-

Luke Cooper

- You would think he would forget but he didn’t. Couldn’t cook to save his life so he went out and got you donuts from your favorite place, also buys some takeout breakfast.

- You have twins they were five and they made you cards in school. They are colored all messy but you don’t care. You kiss them both on the cheek and thank them. Luke was nervous to give you his gift, he was scared you wouldn’t like it.

- He opens up his laptop and places it down on your lap. Gets into bed and sits behind you burying his face in your neck. You press the play button the screen and a video starts playing. It starts with a shaky shot of you after you had given birth to your twins. Crying happy tears and you can hear Luke sniffling behind the camera. You laugh at the memory.

- He had made you a Mother’s Day video filled with all the videos he had taken of you and your kids over the years. Your twins has started school this year so you were still sad about them growing up.

- His video let you relive all those memories of them growing up and raising them with him. When it’s done he shyly asks if you like it.

- You turn around and there are tears streaming down your face. You say it’s the best gift you’ve ever gotten. You kiss and and your kids let out echos of ewwwww.

-Luke smiles and makes a bigger show of kissing you causing the kids to giggle and run away. He pulls away and looks at you. “Do you know how much I love you?” He asks

-Not more than I love you you answer and you guys spent the rest of the morning trying to say who loves who more.

Colin Zabel

- Spoils you the most out of all of them.

- It’s y’all’s first Mother’s Day and he wants it to be perfect. Spends all week running a round town trying to get everything and make sure everything is absolutely perfect.

- You wake up the smell of something heavenly coming from the kitchen. You see him cooking in the kitchen holding your daughter in his arms. He dances with her as he cooks, singing to her in a soft voice.

- He whines when he sees you, he wanted to surprise you with breakfast in bed

- You guys finish making breakfast together, singing along to the songs on the radio. He asks you to dance with him and you do. You guys sway with one another your daughter squished between you two giggling.

- The whole house is filled with flowers, every table has a bouquet, you’re pretty sure he bought all the flowers in Easttown.

- Has a whole day planned. Filled with the sweetest activities, like a carriage ride through the park and a cake making class.

- You make the cutest little Mother’s Day cake decorated with flowers and all these little details. And you glance over at him and his cake is all lopsided and the icing is smeared all over his cake. His has icing on his nose and leans over to swipe some on your cheek. You guys get kicked out for making a mess but you don’t care.

- You guys spend all day walking around town hand in hand, Colin has your daughter in one of those baby carriers strapped to his chest. He bought you and her matching dresses for the occasion.

- He finishes the day with taking you the the station claiming he has work to finish. You guys go up the stairs and it’s decorated head to toe with balloons and streamers and pictures of you and him and your daughter. You start crying right then and there wondering how a man could be that sweet.

- Mare offers to take your baby for the night so you guys can spend some time alone. Being new parents you haven’t had much of it. He spends all night dancing with you and just talking as you eat the dinner he cooked.

- He gives you a necklace he had made that had your daughters fingerprint on it. It also has a message and his and her name inscribed on the back. He puts it on you and you guys just sit in one another’s arms. Looking at the setting sun, wondering how you guys were lucky enough to have gotten everything you could have ever wanted.

[yelenasdog]

moving out, moving on (mitch rapp x fem reader)

genre: fluff

summary: mitch and reader are taking another step towards mitch moving on, and it’s bittersweet.

words: 2.2k

warnings: drinking wine, kinda suggestive at times, talks abt katrina, mitch being emotional, my writing being melodramatic LOL

a/n: so. this was written during an all nighter that went to 7 am where i was listening to nicki minaj and eminem (???) for a good duration of it so. i’m very sorry if this is wonky at times! i hope u enjoy either way! mwah 

🥍🥍🥍

The early morning rays streamed through thin fabric, draped above the assassin's window. Dust particles floated about, becoming visible within the section of light cast from the sun. The birds perched outside the small apartment tweeted happily from their branch, their songs beautiful. 

Though, they were quite pesterous to the pair that lay together, wrapped in gray sheets. They reveled in the heat provided by the soft blanket, but even more so by the warmth from their joint bodies.

A mop of dark brown hair stirred, bringing one hand up to softly rub his eyes with his knuckle, the other hand snaking around the waist of the woman peacefully sleeping beside him. He watched with fond eyes as she lightly groaned, rolling to face away from the invasion of bright, turning towards her love. 

Mitch smiled down at her sleepy behavior, reaching out and brushing stray hairs from her forehead. He reluctantly retracted it only moments later, forcing himself out of bed to go and prepare the two of them for their big day as best he knew how: Coffee.

His sock clad feet dragged across the hardwood as he went, his sweatpants hanging low on his hips and groggy-ness (a word Y/n had donned as her own, and Mitch had caught on to) still very prevalent in his entire system. 

The Rhode Island air was frigid this time of year, Mitch allowing a grin to break out on his face upon remembrance of two nights previous, just how cold Y/n had been in the arena of the Providence Bruins hockey team. Nose pink, donned in a beanie proudly showing the team's logo, well, he had found himself a new lockscreen.

He shook his head in an attempt to rid himself of said groggy-ness, his body on autopilot as it made the beverages. He picked out her favorite mug from the cupboard (AKA a souvenir from Dubai he had picked up long ago) that she had adopted as her own, drinking out of it every time she would spend the night, almost like clockwork. He waited for his coffee beans to brew, scratching his stubble along his jaw. He flinched, though, when he felt two arms wrap around his middle. He quickly relaxed into the embrace upon realization of who the supposed assailant was, her head finding its way to rest on his bare shoulder.

“You scared me, there.” Mitch muttered, his larger hand inching towards her’s on his waist. He closed his eyes in content and she hummed in acknowledgment. Mitch allowed her to turn his figure to face her, still residing in her arms, seeing a bright smile plastered across her face.

“Only for a minute though, right?”

She laughed to which he chuckled in response, nodding in false surrender. “You’ve got me there, Y/n/n.” He mused, his eyes lighting up at the sound of the coffee machine beeping. He looked back to her, shrugging.

“I made you coffee, was gonna bring it to you in bed but, y’know.” He gestured to where she had now climbed up to sit on top of his counter, his sweatshirt around her that read “Brown University” across the front in large lettering pooling around her thighs.

“It’s alright, I need to get a move on anyway.” She smiled, hopping down to retrieve the mug, taking the warm ceramic from Mitch’s hands and sighing at the wondrous feeling that had spread through her whole body. She lifted it to her lips and drank, not surprised that her boyfriend had made it just the way she liked, to perfection. 

“Thank you, baby.” She commented, reaching up to plant a chaste kiss on his lips. Her lip curled as she pulled away, Mitch already knowing what she was going to say, a laugh bubbling up in his throat.

“Mitch! Go brush your teeth, for the love of God!” She whined, watching as he scampered off towards the bathroom, snickering all the way. She rolled her eyes, downing the rest of her beverage before following where Mitch had gone.

Once in the bathroom after rinsing her and Mitch’s mugs, she tied her hair up, undressing and turning on the water (practically scalding hot, of course). Mitch had no objections to the temperature, though, seeing as it was his last time showering with her in that apartment, and in that apartment, period. 

The whole thing felt very symbolic to Y/n, at least, seeing it as washing themselves clean for the next phase of their lives together, a sort of preparation. (Maybe not so much for Mitch, who really was just pleased for any excuse to see his girlfriend naked.)

They used generous amounts of soap, as not only were most of them nearly empty (in fact, a few were and if it weren’t for Y/n, they probably all would be), but also that they had decided to simply just buy new toiletries as a whole for their new place.

They giggled at the sight of each other, all lathered in bubbles and suds. Mitch reached a finger forward, wiping it from above her eyebrows and preventing it from falling into her eyes. Y/n brought her arms around his neck, her lips connecting with his. “Much better.” She regarded with a smirk, before leaning back in.

Nearly 40 minutes later, they both emerged from the shower, fresh faced and ready for the day ahead. He didn’t have a lot that needed to be packed up, given that his place came fully furnished, so it took all but 2 hours and 5 boxes to pack up Mitch Rapp’s life. It honestly might have taken even longer than originally would have been needed, as Y/n would stop every time she found something interesting, allowing Mitch to tell her all about whatever stories had been connected to the item.

It had started with the ridiculous bird lamp that sat on his bedside table, once belonging to Mr. Nazir, and ended with his lacrosse stick. (And, a promise that one day, he’d show her how to play. He swore he’d never seen her smile that big.)

They also threw away and donated a lot, some of Kat’s old stuff bringing a pained smile to his face as he would place it in a box simply labeled “Kat” in messy, thick letters. He wasn’t sure if the box would end up in his new closet, covered in dust and unopened, or back with her family. But either way, he wasn’t quite ready to say goodbye to her completely, which Y/n was able to understand.

“Mitch? Did you pack away your coats already?” Y/n called out, opening up the closet near the front door. Her breath slightly hitched in her throat upon seeing all of the photos of Mansur, still pasted to the painted wood, the edges curling up. 

“Nah, not yet, I was gonna handle that while you worked on the cupboards” He responded, busying himself with a text from Irene on his phone wishing him good luck. He looked up and saw what she had been asking about, his phone quickly sliding into his pocket as he made his way over to where she stood, visibly distressed. 

“How long have these been here?” She questioned, feeling Mitch’s arms wrap around her shoulders. She brought her hands up to grasp onto his wrists, leaning backwards into him and biting into her lip.

“Since the beach, when I decided to go after Mansur. When everything happened with the CIA, it was kind of a whirlwind, I didn’t really have enough time to even think about taking it down when I was only even here for hours at a time.” He lightly chuckled, watching as she stepped forward and began to take the pictures down, crumbling them up in her hands. 

She ran her fingertips over the indents left in the door, feeling the splinters against them. She turned back to Mitch, quipping how “Mr. Nazir won’t be too pleased about that.” 

He smiled, joining her in taking all of the images down, ripping them or balling them up in his fists. All of them ended up in one of the old Target bags they had been using for trash, filling up an entire bag (minus a few Dunkin cups sitting at the bottom).

Mitch trailed a few tender kisses down the left side of her next, and though it sounds cheesy, a feeling of hopefulness flooded himself out of most of the bitterness that had been stuck inside for so long. 

She turned her head to catch his lips with her own, and smiled into the kiss, her hand finding the back of his head. She lightly tugged on the chocolate colored strands and he groaned in content, to which her grin only widened. She pulled back, ruffling the top of his head before beginning to pack away the remnants of what was left in the closet. He rolled his eyes, following suit.

They had piled all of the boxes into the back of Mitch’s old decommissioned CIA vehicle (which was obvious that is was such, given that the side was littered with bullet holes and metallic scratches), returned the key to Mr. Nazir (who was glad to see Mitch go), and with that, they were off.

The new place wasn’t too far away, the pair taking a page out of Stan’s book and opting for a wonderful sense of privacy. It was nestled in a rural corner of Massachusetts, where Mitch would be able to come home to a sense of serenity. Y/n had already moved in her possessions, Mitch’s items being the last step. They’d also furnished the cozy cabin, trips to IKEA and Urban Outfitters (along with several other over-priced boutiques) making the place feel like a perfect fit for the couple.

Mitch’s strange and varied knick knacks made the house feel like a home, his lacrosse stick finding a new home by the front door, right under a hanging potted plant that Y/n and Mitch had decided to affectionately name “Charles” after a drunken night watching the X-Men movies. The house was littered in plants such as Charles, in fact, with Mitch’s first response to seeing all of them being “Wow, looks like a greenhouse in here.”

(Still, he’d grown to love the plant babies. Trust me.)

Two tired smiles made their ways to their faces as they both sat on their new sofa, admiring a job well done. Though several boxes still lay on the hardwood, unopened, they felt accomplished enough to pull out a bottle of wine that they had been saving for the occasion. It was an early housewarming gift from Stan, to which they were unprepared to take advantage of, it seemed.

“Baby, did we unpack the wine glasses earlier?” Mitch questioned, his mind slightly foggy of the day's events and early start.

“No, I think they’re still packed up.” She replied, to which Mitch’s eyes lit up, an idea forming and an imaginary lightbulb popping up over his head. He got up from his seat, a wide smile spreading across his face. Her expression mirrored his own, with an added quirked brow at his antics.

“I’ve got a solution, wait here.” Mitch responded, padding over to where he had remembered the new home of the mugs to be. Upon realization of what he was doing, Y/n smiled, rolling her eyes and bringing a hand up to run through her roots.

He shuffled back over moments later, his girlfriend recognizing one of the mugs in his hands as her favorite. He sat down next to her, with the bare skin of her thighs touching his own, jean clad. He bumped his knee to hers with a giggle, pouring out the Pinot Grigio into the mugs. 

She gratefully accepted it as it was handed to her, smiling as she took a sip. Mitch did the same, the two of them leaning back into the soft sofa. Y/n brought her legs up, cuddling into his side and absorbing his warmth. He brought his free hand to her side, a strong hold giving them both a strong sense of comfort as she lay her head on his shoulder.

The box labeled “Kat” remained unpacked along with the others on the floor, dust already beginning to gather. Mitch had come across it a few times that day, each time more thoughtful than the last as he struggled to decide what it was exactly he was feeling towards the objects; or perhaps towards the memory of Katrina.

He had come to realize that it was acceptance he felt, deep in his stomach, settling down. It had been brought upon him in totality over time, today’s events being the final step. A soft smile spread across Mitch’s face, a single tear falling from his eye. Y/n looked up, eyebrows furrowed with worry.

“Mitch, are you alright?”

He leaned down, connecting their lips in a watery yet nectarous kiss, his hand beginning to rub small circles on her shoulder. 

“Yeah, Y/n/n.” 

The fire they had built earlier was roaring, now, casting a warm glow across the pair’s features. The damp trail down his cheek was highlighted, nearly glistening on his skin like an amber. 

“I’m doin’ just fine.”

🥍🥍🥍

ok btw ik that wine in mugs would be a horrible idea but this is fiction so SHUSH

anyway i hope yall enjoyed! i love writing for mitch and i have lots of future fics for him, so if u liked this, please reblog and follow if ya wanna. mwah, go drink water and have some protein <333

 xx hj

[theanticool]

a couple of months early but what are your thoughts on Islam vs Charles?

For the most part, Islam’s run has been characterized by guys who will give him all the space he wants. Green, Hooker, Moises, Ramos, etc we’re either so intimidated by his wrestling or so lacking as distance strikers that they just let Islam dictate pace and range. Also, many of them were more fire hydrant shaped. Oliveira is fearless to the point of self-destruction and is built like slender man. He’s one of the most aggressive front kickers in MMA. And unlike Poirier, Gaethje, or Chandler, Islam probably doesn’t have the power or technique to knock him down a bunch. If he struggles at range against an aggressive do Bronx, can he still time a takedown? Is that a thing that’s in his arsenal?

For Do Bronx, I’m worried about what happens if this hits the mat. Unlike with his last two or three opponents, Charles has no safety zone to recover. If he’s hurt on his back, he is a sitting duck for Islam. I want to know what happens if Charles can’t get the instant sweep or sub attempt off when he gets taken down. What happens if he’s on his back, in half guard for 10-15 seconds? Cause, for all his improvements, this is the same guy that Paul Felder broke by doing that exact thing. Just being on top, flattening Oliveira out for a bit, being strong, and dropping heat. It’s a lot easier to be chaos on the feet when you know the other guy wants no part of your ground game, like Gaethje or Poirier. Islam will follow him down and try to hold him there.

I’m still not sure what to pick for this one. Haven’t watched a ton of tape. but I’m going with my heart until I do and saying Do Bronx by KO.

[lightsovermonaco]

His Good Sweater: Chapter 11 (NSFW)

Masterlist

IT’S THE MOMENT YOU’VE BEEN WAITING FOR BESTIES! Thanks as always to @acollectionofficsandshit I think I broke her with this chapter! She also found  the song for this chapter so special thanks for that as well ❤

Word Count: 7.6k

Recommended song: “The Man Who Can’t be Moved” by the Script

The steam of the shower cleanses your senses and washes away the sweat from your workout. Crisp September air rushes through the open window and raises goosebumps on your skin as you step out. You turn off the tap and wrap yourself in a fluffy towel in an attempt to ward off the chill. A glance at the clock tells you that you have a half hour to get ready before your date picks you up.

Peter was one of the few guys in your major that paid you any attention. Most of them tolerated you at best but it had never bothered you. You were independent enough that you could make it through class on your own and google what you didn’t understand afterward and learn it before the exam.

It had been fairly easy to fall in with Peter and a few others during the first few weeks of summer classes. What began with group study sessions and quickly developed into hanging out one on one with Peter on the weekends to go to coffee shops or play video games.

When Peter had asked you out two months ago, Pierre's voice nagged in the back of your head. He asked if you were ready to move on from him and if you could really forget him.

The simple answer was no, forgetting him was impossible. No matter how many years passed, he would always own a part of you. 

Peter was sweet and he cared about you but you were quickly realizing the bond you shared with him didn't run as deep as it had with Pierre. He started as your friend and you really didn't feel right letting it develop past that. Although you had agreed to that date and plenty more in the time since, it still didn’t feel like a relationship. You had to stop yourself from imagining someone else's arm around you when you lounged on the sofa or someone else's lips kissing you goodnight.

You slip into a form fitting red cocktail dress and sweep your hair over a shoulder, banishing the memory. The person staring back at you in the mirror is a stranger, a ghost of who you once were. You pull your lips into a smile nowhere near as bright as it was months ago.

A knock on your apartment door startles you from your trance. Peter holds a bouquet of flowers, a broad grin on his face. He was handsome in a traditional sense, with a sharp jawline and playful forest green eyes that promised a good time. He was adventurous; a night in wasn’t in the cards. Everything was an event with him and you didn’t mind the distractions one bit.

"You look amazing as always," he says, stepping inside and kissing your cheek. You sniff the flowers lightly. Daisies were some of your least favorite flowers but the gesture was too sweet to point that out.

"So do you," you respond, gaze sweeping from his scuffed wingtip shoes to his crisp blue button down shirt. Ocean blue, washed out against Peter's pale skin, but would have looked perfect on Pierre's golden complexion.

You had to stop thinking about him. You saw him everywhere. On more than one occasion, you dropped out of a conversation when you caught a glimpse of blond hair bobbing through a crowd or heard a laugh startlingly similar to his. You couldn’t escape the idea of him whether you liked it or not.

"Are you okay?" Peter asks, touching your elbow.

God, you were so far from okay. Your mind was a melted mess of memories of a blond Frenchman and all the broken promises between the pair of you. This was pointless. You were wasting your time with Peter. He was great and should have been everything you wanted but he just wasn't enough.

"I'm so sorry," you start, handing back the flowers. "I don't think this is going to work."

"Oh thank god," he says, shoulders drooping as he runs a hand through his hair. "I've been thinking the same thing, I just didn't want to be the one to say it." You both laugh, the tension ebbing from your frame.

"Don't get me wrong," he continues, "You're amazing. There's just no…"

"Spark," you finish. "Yeah, I agree. Friends?"

You stick out your hand and he shakes it firmly. "Sounds like a plan. No hard feelings. See you in class on Monday?"

"I'll be there."

You slip out of your heels with a sigh, glad you don't have to endure that form of torture any longer. For the first time in months, you allow yourself to scroll through Pierre's Instagram.

Instead of being flooded with personal pictures it had become mostly posed shoots.it was the kind of thing that seemed staged, like he was only posted because his PR team deemed it necessary.

As time went on the content became more and more clinical. He was giving fans less of an insight into his personal life and focusing on racing content. You knew he had probably thrown everything he had into the season in an attempt to move on and you couldn't blame him. 

If his Insta was to be believed, he had earned a handful of podiums in the four months since you had mostly lost interest in the sport. After Austin it had been nearly impossible to watch a full race and you had instead been getting your biased updates from Max, who conveniently left out all but the barest details of anyone’s race weekend but his own.

There was no point in trying to convince yourself you no longer felt anything for Pierre. Just scrolling through his page reignites the flame in your chest that had been burning far too dimly for far too long. 

Heart pounding, you double tap a photoset of him modeling for Alpha Tauri, the lighting accenting his eyes. Their distinct, rich blue had always been your weakness. 

Your fingers find their way to the charm at your throat. You hadn't taken it off once since the gala. It was pointless to deny the sway he still held over you all these months later. Maybe it was time you stopped pretending you were fine and finally give in to the pull. 

The past few months have given you plenty of time to reflect. The media would hound you like dogs but at least while you were in London they would leave your family alone. And really, enduring their scrutiny was a small price to pay if it meant loving Pierre.  

“I’m an idiot,” you mumble, pulling up his contact in your phone. Breaking up with him had been the dumbest decision of your life. You’d watched him from afar as he traveled from grand prix to grand prix, touring cities and sleeping everywhere except where he belonged: curled up next to you in your tiny London flat, whispering sweet nothings in your ear until you both fell asleep.

You couldn’t bear it any longer. Fuck what anyone would say. Nothing could be worse than knowing your soulmate was out there and you let him go.

Heart pounding, you type out a text. I miss you.

Shaking your head, you erase it. How are you? Seemed more appropriate.

"Here goes nothing," you murmur and hit send.

**********

 It started off as any other free Sunday did: Charles and Charlotte arriving at his apartment carrying snacks and beer which neither of them would tell their trainers about tomorrow and plopping in front of the television to watch the PSG match.

The trio roared at the screen at poor calls and yelled when a goal was scored, all completely lost in the sport.

Pierre absently registers his phone buzzing during the last few minutes of the match but ignores it. PSG comes out on top and he finally checks it, nearly choking on the pretzels he was eating.

How are you?

Pierre has to read it thrice before he’s convinced it’s real. 

"Holy fuck," he says softly, tipping the phone so Charles can see. 

"Told you mate." He takes Charlotte's hand and stands. Football match completely forgotten, Pierre lifts a hand in a wave as the couple leaves. His eyes are fixed on the screen as he tries to comprehend the gravity your words carry.

After months of waiting in agony and wondering if you still cared, you’d texted him.

He had no idea how he managed to keep his feet on the floor. He was completely weightless, reading your message over and over again until it sinks in.

He takes the three simple words as permission to finally delve back into your life, immediately scrolling through your instagram to catch up. He double taps every post save for the ones with you and some tall, handsome guy. His stomach twists. 

Fuck it. Even if you just wanted to catch up, he'd take it. If you told him you were with someone else and you were happy, he'd learn to live with it. He was starved of you and was prepared to beg for crumbs of your life.

I'm fine. You have time for a phone call?

It was a leap but he acknowledged and accepted the risks.

Yeah. That would be good.

You pick up on the second ring.

"Hey."

Pierre squeezes his eyes shut, pushing back the lump in his throat. Years of memories rush over him in the space of a breath. The shock in your voice when you found out he was a driver for the first time. Your smile and breathless laugh when you met him in the garage in Brazil after his first podium in Formula 1. The tentative glances he had thrown your way for months after he finally accepted that he had begun to fall for you. The way your velvet lips felt when he made a gamble and kissed you for the first time. The drunken lilt of your voice when you told him you loved him that night in London.

Before he can stop it the bad comes rushing back too. The memory of the terror on your face when he let it slip that you were together sends a chill through him. If there was one moment he could change, it wouldn’t be the time he fucked up and lost his seat at Red Bull. It would be to keep his damned mouth shut at that karting track and preserve the bliss of that day and tuck it away in a bulletproof case that he could pull out and look at whenever he wanted.

"Hey you," he manages, silently thanking whoever is listening that he keeps the tremble out of his voice. "Been awhile."

"Yeah," you say sheepishly. "Sorry about that."

"You don't have anything to apologize for," he says quickly. "You never need to apologize to me."

You were the last one that needed to apologize for anything. He should be the one beginning for forgiveness. It was his fault you’d panicked. He should have fought harder for you, proved that he could make it work and save you both from months of heartache. But then again, maybe you had moved on. He couldn’t expect you to wait for him forever.

He doesn’t realize he’s been silent for so long until you clear your throat. For the first time he can recall, the silence is thick and heavy with unspoken words. It had always been effortless, the stories and words flowing like a babbling brook between the two of you. Now the confessions on his tongue remain poised there, too terrified to give them the light of day. 

"How's your season been?" He’s thankful you break the quiet first but the question makes his stomach sink. 

"You haven't been watching?"

"Not really."

"Oh." It made sense that you would distance yourself from him and that was fine, but he couldn’t pretend it didn’t hurt. "It's been decent. Red Bull wants me to come to Milton for contract discussions this week, actually."

"You're moving back up?"

"Potentially." Horner had only called him earlier that week to discuss the potential of him returning to Red Bull next year. The informal agreement was that if he could make seventh in the championship in a midfield car, they would bump him back for the following season. 

It wasn’t a concrete guarantee- that’s why Horner wanted to speak with him in person. He had a year left in his contract and being in a Red Bull meant he would be able to prove his worth to other teams and potentially secure a world championship worthy seat at a team that actually appreciated his talent.

He draws a breath before continuing, "I'll be in London on Monday. You know- if you wanna get together."

You stay silent for a touch too long and he panics. It was too soon. He should have kept his mouth shut because now he’d driven you away again. “Nevermind, forget I said anything-"

"No," you interrupt, "no, I'd love to see you and catch up. I don't have classes on Tuesdays. Have any free time then?"

His eyes slide shut and he exhales. The flack he would undoubtedly catch for shuffling around a few interviews would be worth it to see you. "Yeah. I can swing by your apartment around seven?"

"Okay," you say, a touch of excitement lacing your voice. "I'll make myself presentable."

"I-" he stops himself before the words can slip past his lips. "I'll see you then."

*********

Pierre blows out a breath and adjusts his backpack. He stands at the threshold of your building, keys in hand, unsure if he should let himself in. The dilemma had kept him rooted to the spot for nearly ten minutes now, weighing the pros and cons of his options. 

“Hey you, blond fucker.” Pierre whips around and is met by Daniel’s girlfriend glaring up at him from the sidewalk. She tips her head to the side to study him. Apparently he wasn’t the only one that had to cancel plans to be here tonight. “You gonna grow a pair and go up there or just keep staring at the door all day?”

“I’m going,” he grumbles, “are you?”

“Oh, I was going to but clearly whatever you have planned is more important.” Her grin splits her face ear to ear. “About damn time she got ahold of you. I was getting sick of listening to her gripe about you twenty four seven.”

“Didn’t she tell you I was coming by? If you guys have plans I can come back later.”

She waves a hand and dismisses the offer. “Absolutely not. Go get your girl.”

“She’s not-” The glare she cuts him snatches the words from his mouth. She makes a shooing motion before setting off down the sidewalk, munching on whatever snacks were in her shopping bag.

Pierre shakes out his hands and tries to gather the courage to use his key. The hopeless romantic argued that you would expect him to use it because you would know he still had it. The rational side of him butts in to point out that it might catch you off guard if he showed up without warning. He settles on buzzing your unit, your answer fuzzy from the distortion.

"Pierre?"

Even with the warbly static in your voice, his name on your lips is the salvation he’s been dreaming about for months. "Yeah it's me."

"Don't you have a key?"

"I wasn't sure if I should use it."

You don't answer, instead letting the buzz of the electronic lock do the talking. He takes the stairs three at a time, barely winded by the time he reaches the third floor. He doesn't even have to knock, your door swinging open as he steps up. The sight of you knocks the breath from his lungs. 

It didn't matter that you were in a simple hoodie and jeans, feet bare and hair swept back in a low bun. You are the most beautiful person he's ever seen and after months apart he nearly falls to his knees then and there to beg for your forgiveness, to get lost in you until two souls became one and he never had to live another second apart from you.

"Are you gonna stand there or do you wanna come in?"

God, he had missed your teasing jabs. His fingers ache for contact with your soft skin and he curls them into a fist to resist the urge. “Coming in,” he says softly, purposefully brushing your arm as he skirts past you. Every inch of him sings from the barely there touch, his soul aching for more.

Just stepping foot into your quaint flat has the weight he had been carrying on his chest for months beginning to ease up. Nothing beat the elation of being back where he belonged, not even spraying champagne from the top step on a podium.

Determined not to scare you off before he could have a proper conversation with you, Pierre opts for falling into the same humor you had used earlier. The corners of his mouth twitch upward. "Is that takeout I smell?" 

You nod, your cheeks turning a pale pink. “I got you two orders of beef lo mein. I figured you might be hungry.”

As if summoned, his stomach growls. “Yeah. I haven’t eaten since breakfast."

“Figures,” you say, eyes glinting with mischief as you settle into the plush carpet and pull a takeout box towards you. "I got it from that place across town, the one you liked best." Pierre perches on the edge of the sofa and snags the plastic tray with his name on it, eyes never leaving yours.

Now that you were mere feet from him he found it increasingly difficult to deny himself the relief of kissing you here and now. He wanted to trace his thumb over your lips before replacing it with his own, to slot his mouth over yours until time was nothing and he was no one other than yours.

You clear your throat and drop his gaze first, sending him crashing back to reality. “So, ninth huh? Glad to see you cracked the top ten.”

Pierre scrunches his nose and spears a piece of broccoli. He was shit with chopsticks but you always got a kick out of him fumbling with them. “Not where I’d like to be but I’ll take it. Horner took notice obviously, but I’m not getting my hopes up.”

“I think an invitation to Milton Keynes is enough reason to hope," you say around a mouthful of sticky rice.

This interaction was reason to hope. The fact that you were once again on speaking terms, that things were finally returning to some semblance of normal, was enough for him to believe that one day everything would be back to how it was before. That maybe, just maybe, he could hold you in his arms again and fall asleep to the soundtrack of your heart beating in his ear. 

Remembering the guy from your instagram, he scans the room for any sign of a male companion. Finding none, he asks, “How’s your boyfriend?”

It probably would have been a good idea to go about this particular line of questioning with a bit more tact. Inquiring so blatantly betrayed his inner thoughts, laid all his cards on the table. He didn't have it in him to care, not when his world might be turned upside down by your answer.

“Oh, you mean Peter?” You sip your water, seemingly working up the courage to explain. Each moment that the silence dragged on it became more of a physical monster. Pierre could feel it growing until it threatened to sink his claws in him and drag him deeper into the pits of his insecurity.

“If that’s his name, yeah.” Pierre braces himself for whatever comes next, reminding himself to be happy for you no matter what you choose. It would take time but he could put aside what he still felt for you and learn to accept your choice if it meant staying in your life.

You shake your head. “He’s a friend from uni. He’s not my boyfriend. At least not anymore.”

“Oh,” he says, frowning down at his food to cover the way his heart skips. “But he was?”

He had expected you to move on, if he was being honest. No way in hell did you deserve to be as miserable as he had been since you'd left- you deserved all the happiness he couldn't seem to give you and more. And if someone else had been the one to grant you that happiness, he should thank them. 

“For a little while,” you say softly, like it would cushion the blow. “It didn’t feel right.”

He was familiar with that feeling. Nothing he did felt right after the break up. Just about the only thing that kept him sane was telling himself that you’d come to your senses sooner or later.

And now that he was here, his world was beginning to right itself.

“Earth to Pierre,” you say teasingly, waving a hand in front of his face.

“Sorry,” he says sheepishly. “I just- I’ve missed this,” he says, picking at his food.

“What, eating subpar takeout in my tiny apartment?” You laugh and stuff another bite in your mouth. God, you could be so oblivious. It was one of the many things he adored about you. 

“I do. I miss doing anything that involves you, actually.”

There it was. His heart laid bare before you for the second time, waiting to see how you would respond. You set down your chopsticks and wipe your lips. His eyes track their movement as you whisper, “I’ve missed you too.”

Four syllables and he melts. It takes all he has to keep himself from sobbing with relief. It was everything he had come here hoping to hear. He couldn’t endure this again, couldn’t lose you for a second time-

“Don’t say that unless you mean it,” he pleads, body thrumming with the need to wrap you in his arms. “Don’t put me through this again unless you’re here to stay.”

He wasn't strong enough to tell you to stop. He would let you wreck him and he would be completely powerless to stop it. He would welcome it if it meant you granting him a sliver of your time. It would ruin him for anyone else but he didn’t have it in him to turn you away.

You rise to your feet and pad around the low table until you’re standing knee to knee, his neck craned up to study your face. You just keep looking at him, the leash on his carefully controlled restraint slipping as he rambles, “Because I can’t take it if you leave me again, I won’t-”

You simply nod, as if that’s all the answer he should need. But it’s not enough. “Tell me,” he pleads. “Tell me you mean it.”

He didn’t care that he was begging. He didn’t care that you had reduced his normally impenetrably stoic mentality to a jumble of you. If he was being honest with himself, you were the light of his life, the reason he pushed so hard for results on track. Everything had gone black and white when you left and racing had been the only thing keeping him from falling apart at the seams. The need to make you proud still propelled him forward even if he'd had no idea if you still cared.

So no, he didn’t care at all that he was practically on his knees. He would grovel at your feet for his entire life if it meant you’d grant him one more day to be with you.

“I mean it,” you murmur and place a hand on his cheek. He draws a shaky breath, leaning into you. Home, home, home, his head screams, acutely aware of every square inch of contact between the two of you.

“I’ve had plenty of time to think about it, and I’ve finally come to terms with it- your lifestyle. If I love you, I have to accept it being public. I have to build myself a shelter to withstand the storm, but I’ll make it big enough for two.”

It takes everything in him to keep from crushing you to his chest and never letting go. He had to ask, had to be certain beyond the shadow of a doubt that it was forever. “Promise me you won’t leave again if things get hard. Promise me we’ll get through whatever they throw at us together.”

“I promise. I’m not afraid anymore,” you murmur. Pierre’s head falls forward to rest on your hip bone, your fingers threading in his hair. “Daniel’s girlfriend helped me see that it doesn’t matter what anyone says. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I haven't been the same since I…”

“Neither have I.” His thumb winds under your shirt to sweep over your soft skin. “You’re safe with me, you know that right? I can protect you from whatever they say and you’re right, it doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is this-” he finally lets himself look up at you- “what we have. I’ve never stopped loving you, not once.”

Your smile is soft and tentative as you climb into his lap. His hands slide up your sides to pull you closer, refusing to let an inch separate you now that you’d bridged the gap. “I promise I’m not going anywhere. I learned my lesson.”

You lean down to ghost your lips over his brow, his closed eyelids, his nose. He can feel himself reconstructing under your touch, that final piece of the puzzle clicking home after being lost for so long. “I promise that I’m yours until the last star falls from the sky.”

He had lost four months of time with you. He wouldn't allow another second to slip through his fingers. 

Anticipating his movements, you meet him halfway. Fireworks explode as his lips finally return home and his world is finally, finally righted. Your nails scratch lightly at the nape of his neck, drawing him impossibly closer as your body moulds against his. He had nearly forgotten how perfectly your curves fit against him after all this time. He was determined to memorize every mountain and valley of you by the night's end.

His hands grip your thighs and he stands. Your arms automatically wind around his neck to keep from falling. He carries you to the kitchen and sets you on the edge of the island, never breaking the kiss. Nothing mattered outside of this apartment; not his career, not any baseless gossip, nothing existed beyond the space where your skin met his.

Pierre pulls back long enough to remove his shirt. Your fingers dance over his skin, relearning the planes of his chest like you had all the time in the world. And you did; he would stay here as long as you let him, reveling in the way you drank up every inch of his body like it was the first time you’d seen it.

“I love you,” you say as he kisses along your jaw.

How many times had he dreamt of you whispering that to him the past four months? How many times had it echoed in his head before a race, taunting him? He could scarcely believe his mind wasn’t playing more tricks on him now. He had to be certain it was real.

“Say it again,” he breathes. “Please. Please, tell me again.”

“I love you,” you repeat, punctuating each word with a kiss. “I love you Pierre, my champion, my heart, my everything.”

Pierre groans against your mouth, knotting his fingers in your hair and tugging your head back to expose your throat. He nips at the soft skin, not caring that he was leaving a trail of tiny marks in his wake. His focus was entirely on the gasps he was dragging from you with each touch, your heels digging into his ass and begging for him to be closer.

"My sweet, kindhearted man," you continue breathlessly. He didn't know if the words were for your benefit or his. "My best friend. My one and only love."

In that moment, you could ask him to bring you a star from the midnight sky and he wouldn't stop until he found a way to make it happen. You could ask for his last dollar and he would hand it to you with a smile on his face, completely enthralled with the way his name sounds on your tongue, professing that you still wanted him as much as he wanted you.

You were his undoing.

“Off,” he growls, tugging at your sweatshirt. You obey instantly and fling it aside, neither of you caring when dishes clatter to the tile floor and undoubtedly break. Your jeans follow suit after he helps you slip out of them. He runs his fingers over the delicate black lace of your bra and panties and pauses to appreciate that you knew exactly where the night would lead.

His cock twitches as you reach between your bodies to run a knuckle over his clothed length. “Your turn.” You undo the button with practiced ease, taking your sweet time as his breath comes in ragged gasps. He’d had a taste of you and hadn’t forgotten how you’d felt around him. He needed you more than he needed the air he breathed, his desperation taking over as he swats your hand aside and strips off his jeans and boxers himself.

He drops to his knees and grips your thighs, pulling you forward until your center is inches from his face. The yelp that escapes you is intoxicating, your hands flying back to catch yourself. His teeth sink none too gently into the flesh of your thigh and he’s rewarded with a moan before he flicks his tongue over the hurt.

Your head falls back and Pierre places one of your legs over his shoulder. “Mon amour,” he purrs, garnering your attention. Your head lolls forward and he waits until you meet his gaze to speak again. “You know I love you, right?”

“I never doubted it,” you confirm, lips curling in a smile. “But why don’t you prove it to me again?”

He pulls your panties aside and blows lightly. You groan, thighs tensing under his fingers as your toes curl and he chuckles. “Sounds like a challenge.”

“Do you really want to tease me?”

“What I want,” he says sharply, “is to have you moaning my name until it's the only word you know.” His tongue flicks out to dance over your thigh, dangerously close to where he knows you want him. “What I want is to make up for lost time.” He rips through the thin lace of your panties and lets the ruined scraps fall to the floor.

“Those were expensive.”

“I’ll buy you new ones.”

He would buy you an entire lingerie store if he could rip every set of it off you. He didn’t care how much it costed, it was never too much when it came to you.

“What I want most, my love,” he murmurs, smiling when his hot breath curls over your dripping cunt and you squirm, “is to forget everything else and stay here forever.”

You cry out when his tongue finally flicks through your folds. Pierre hums approvingly at your reaction, one arm snaking up to pin your hips in place. He sucks lightly at your clit and your fingers tangle in his hair.

“P-Pierre,” you breathe. He pulls back and you whine at the loss of contact. He grins up at you, the wickedness of it dragging the moan from your lips that he was after. He was drunk on the sound, desperate to hear it again and again.

“There’s my good girl.” He runs his tongue flat over your sex, savoring the taste as you squirm under him. You let out a choked noise when he repeats the motion before fucking you with his tongue, his nose hitting your clit with each stroke.

He doesn’t miss the way your lip wobbles and Pierre knows you’re ready to cry with frustration. He decides he’s tortured you enough for now and relents, putting two fingers in his mouth to wet them before plunging them inside you.

His mouth is spelling his name on your clit a moment later, your walls already clamping down on his fingers as your orgasm nears. In the handful of times he’d taken you to bed, he had already learned that when your head rolls back like that and your breathing stops, you’re seconds away from climaxing. He doesn’t let up until you’re shaking beneath him, finally slowing to work you through your orgasm without making you hypersensitive.

“Baby,” you groan breathlessly. Pierre slowly withdraws his fingers and wipes them on his thigh before pressing a final, tender kiss to your center that makes you jump.

“Use my name,” he demands, uncoiling to his full height. He grips your wrist and hauls your boneless body up, wrapping his other arm around your shoulders to keep you upright.

“Pierre,” you murmur and he grinds his hips against you in approval. He captures your mouth with his, taking advantage of your hazy mind to lazily explore it. 

You hum into the kiss, managing to wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer. Suddenly the column of your neck is all he can think about and he wraps a hand around it, squeezing with enough force that you pull back with a gasp.

“Too much?” He murmurs, lessening his grip. Your brows knit together and your lower lips juts out, begging for him to take it between his teeth. He leans in and gives in to the impulse as he swipes his thumb under your jaw.

“Tell me if you want my hand on your throat, my love. I need to hear you say it.”

“Please,” you say finally. Your eyes are cloudy when they meet his. “Keep it there.”

He shows his approval in the form of a light squeeze. You angle your hips up, nudging his cock with your center. You reach a hand down to wrap around his shaft and drag the head through your folds, teasing him as he had done to you. The grip on your throat tightens to a point bordering blissfully between pain and pleasure, both a warning and an order to continue. 

If you knew how close he was to flipping you on your stomach and slamming into you, you’d call him crazy. Or maybe you’d like it, judging by the way your head falls back as he rocks his hips and inches into you.

You both moan when he decides the time for restraint has passed and he slams into you. You lift your hips to meet his with every thrust, clearly missing this just as much as he had. God, he’d lost months of fucking you, of feeling you clench around him and writhe beneath him. If he could stay like this forever he would, his hand around your neck and cock splitting you open as he laps up your moans like sweet candy.

“I’m- Pierre,” you squeak out, and he knows you’re barreling towards your second orgasm of the night. He pulls you up by your neck until you’re eye to eye and forced to look at him.

“Come for me,” he whispers, slamming into you again and again. “Come on my cock mon amour and I might just cum inside you.”

His words are your undoing, pleasure rippling from you in waves as your mouth falls open in a silent plea. He grants you no clemency as your cunt twitches around him, instead following through on his promise and following your lead.

You pants mix with his own as he struggles to keep both of you upright, his knees turned to jelly. Your head rests on his shoulder and he presses a kiss to your temple, slowly pulling out of you. A pitiful whimper escapes your throat involuntarily.

“I know,” Pierre murmurs, reaching over to start the kitchen sink. He wets a clean cloth and runs it between your legs, still supporting you as he doesn’t trust that your legs won't give out if he doesn’t. When it’s clear you can barely form a coherent thought, he scoops you in his arms and carries you to your room. He nudges the bathroom door open with his hip and sets you on the vanity.

The absence of his body heat makes you shiver when he goes to turn on the shower, adjusting the knobs until he’s satisfied with the temperature. He gathers you in his arms and steps into the tub, your sigh audible as the warm water hits your skin.

“Can you stand?” he murmurs before kissing your temple. You nod against his chest and he sets you down, keeping his hands on your waist just in case. You’re thankful for it when your knees wobble, a hand flying out to steady yourself.

“I’m okay,” you say after a beat and grin up at him. “I can stand, promise.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m taking my hands off you,” he says, grinning right back. “At least not for long.” He reaches over your shoulder for the shampoo and gestures for you to turn around. You obey, tipping your head back to wet your hair. A blissful sigh escapes you when his fingers meet your scalp, the cherry blossom scent blooming in the air as he works it into a lather.

Taking care of you was just as satisfying as the sex was. He cherished the intimacy of taking this small burden from your shoulders. The seemingly simple task was one of deep seated trust and it proved to him that your love ran bone deep. There was a level of trust in you letting him wash you that he didn't want to have with anyone else. It was reserved for you and you alone.

“Close your eyes,” he warns before guiding your head back under the water for a rinse. He cups a hand to your forehead to keep the soap from your eyes. Your smile is soft but unrestrained as you lean further into him until your back is pressed to his chest.

You both stay silent as he runs the creamy conditioner through the ends of your hair. His hand cups your jaw and tips your head back for a lazy kiss before he rinses that too and cuts the tap.

Once you're wrapped in a fuzzy white towel he finally dries himself off, fighting off a chill. He doesn't realize you're watching him until he turns around and notices you standing in the doorway.

"What?"

You push off the wall and pad back to where he stands to wrap your arms around his middle. His thumb traces patterns on your shoulder, perfectly content to stand there dripping on the tile until morning. 

When it's clear you're lost in thought he speaks up. "What's on your mind?"

"When did you know you loved me?"

"Like the exact moment?" He asks, caught off guard. You nod against his chest.

"When you visited me in Milan last summer," he says a few heartbeats later. That night insisted on making guacamole at two in the morning and woke me up because you couldn't find a lime. You told me you couldn't sleep because it was all you could think about after you saw that couple at the cafe eating it."

"Why then?"

"Because I knew I didn't have a lime but I was fully prepared to knock on every door in the building to find you one. Because in that moment all that mattered was seeing your face light up when I handed it to you and knowing that it was me that made you smile like that. I knew then that I’d do anything for you."

It still amazed him how a lime of all things was the tipping point. In that moment, a lime was important to you and it so naturally became important to him. If anyone else had woken him from his deep sleep he would have grumbled and told them off. But you, seeing your face inches from his, the light from the hall casting a warm halo around your frame as you whispered his name, he hadn’t cared at all.

"But then I found the juice in the fridge," you recall and glance up at him.

"Yeah, you did. And you felt so bad for waking me up- you had no idea that I had already fallen so hard that I had to keep myself from shutting you up with a kiss.”

The easy admission seems to stir something in you and you rise up on your tiptoes to press your lips to his. “I knew that time you sent food to my dorm at midnight when I was pulling an all nighter. I was studying for my calculus final, remember?”

Pierre nods. “I was in Barcelona. You weren’t answering your phone so I sent a message with the takeout guy.” He had been wholly enamored with you at that point, having quickly learned that trying to keep his feelings buried deep was an option that would never work. So he leaned into it, letting little bits of it shine through in hopes that you might pick up on it.

Your laugh rumbles through him. “It was the most thoughtful thing anyone had ever done for me. I hadn’t eaten all day. I was too nervous.”

“Took us long enough to figure it out didn’t it?” He untangles himself from you and leads you to bed.

“I’m just glad we did eventually.” You let him guide you to the mattress while he stays standing and goes to your closet. He hunts for the shirt he wants to see you in, praying you hadn’t gotten rid of it. He finally finds it tucked back in the corner and pulls it out, the cobalt blue fabric a little faded from how often you’d worn it over the years.

“I remember that,” you say softly as he returns with it and slips it over your head. 

It was the first shirt he had ever gotten upon entering Formula 1 and somehow you had wound up snagging it from his closet while he cleaned up the mess in the kitchen during that same trip to Milan. He had choked on his guac when you reappeared wearing it, eyes lingering on the Torro Rosso logo on the chest and his name splayed across your back like a claiming.

"I don't have sweatpants for you anymore," you point out with an apologetic wince. "I got rid of them."

Pierre just shrugs and hands you the shirt. "I have a change of clothes in my backpack. I was planning on working out to blow off some steam if…"

He trails off and you nod in silent acknowledgement. He didn’t have to voice the thought, you were already in his head and knew exactly what he meant. Unable to help himself, he kisses your head just because he can before retrieving his bag from the kitchen. "I have something for you," he says and lets the towel around his waist drop.

You let out a low whistle and grin at him as your eyes slide over every inch of his body. He takes more time than necessary to pull out his shorts, appreciating your gaze. You're still watching him as he slips them on and brings his bag to you.

"Do you wanna see what I got you or are you gonna stare at me all night?"

"I think I'll stare."

Pierre rolls his eyes and chuckles, plopping down next to you. "Close your eyes and hold out your hands."

You do as he asks but not before cocking a brow at him. Knowing the sound of the package will give it away, he does his best to draw out the first item as quietly as he can. The second he sets it in your hands a smile splits your face. He'd tear down the energy station with his bare hands to keep that expression on your face.

"It's candy." Your eyes open and you gasp. "Laffy taffy? But you can only get this-"

"In the states," He finishes. “I got as much as the store had.” The chewy, fruity candy was your absolute favorite and every once in a while you craved it. His backpack was currently stuffed full of it and various other packages of sweets, having been collected at every gp he had been to since Austin.

You tear into the package and dig for a pink one. You hold it out to him triumphantly and somehow, it’s that simple gesture that makes him melt. “You like the strawberry ones don’t you?”

“Yes baby, I do.” He lets you pop the sweet in his mouth - Pyry would certainly not approve- and grins at you. “If you eat too many before bed you won’t be able to sleep.”

“It’s still early,” you point out but don’t hesitate to set the sweets aside and cuddle up to him when he lays back. “Got somewhere to be?”

“I have to be at Milton by eight,” he says, wrapping an arm around your middle. “But you’re coming with me.”

@seasidetom @flashcal @limp-wrist-max @sunshinesewis @lifeofzoemichael @ninuffi @perfectfantasies22 @lamboleglerg @ladyperceval @0forgottenparadise0 @evie-pr @avsensio @ninuffi @ricciartodododo​ 

If you have asked to be tagged in the past and I missed you I apologize! Just comment below and I’ll get you added for future updates. Thanks for reading ❤

[writingbywatson]

Kaeya, Diluc and Xiao comforting you

So, I made this because a lot has happened to me the past few days and I just wanted some comfort stuff, you know? I'm doing a lot better now! Haven't edit this again, I lack the will the someone send me Xiao or Diluc

Kaeya

You can’t tell me that Kaeya isn’t the type of boyfriend that doesn’t tease his s/o

Never gets tired of teasing you since usually, you can handle it well

But today was a little too much, stuff has been going worse at your house and you were on the brink of exploding

You should have told Kaeya but you didn’t want to since you know he has his plates full already

He teased you a little bit but you told him you weren’t in the mood

Playful Kaeya would think it's one of those “I told you to stop but not really moments”

So when he teases you again, you just couldn’t take it anymore and you slap his hand away when he was trying to reach for you

“Hey what–“ Kaeya would not finish his sentence because he sees that you were already had tears streaming down your face

You would immediately leave and Kaeya would be too stunned to follow you

Diluc who was there to witness the whole thing would probably throw one jab at his brother “nice job”

Kaeya would feel so bad because he would think it was his fault

Kaeya would think for a while because he honestly thinks it's his fault

Would ask you to meet with him in his office so he can apologize

“I’m sorry for what I did, I didn’t–“

“It’s not your fault,” you would interject and you would explain what happened

Kaeya feels extremely shitty now since he didn’t pick up that you were having a problem

“Sorry if I made you worry and lashing out at you” - you

Kaeya would feel extremely relieved that he even has to take a seat for a moment but at the same time he feels extremely bad still because he should have been there for you

“Come here” - Kaeya smiling as he raised his arms to the side asking for a hug

You cannot tell me that Kaeya does not give incredible and warm hugs

His the type of hugger that would hum and continuously rub your back as you cry into his arms

“Next time, tell me about your problems okay?”

“You already have so much on your plate right now”

“That doesn’t mean that your concerns are less important than mine, I always have time for you y/n, no matter what.”

Jean would probably open the door into his office and see the two of you as this is a recurring event (ahemMAKINGOUTINHISOFFICEahem) she was about to scream

But Kaeya managed to shake his head at her before she could and the acting grandmaster immediately knew base on how worried he looked

Would spoil you once you let all your emotions out and would probably lay low with his teasing for a bit

Diluc

Diluc would always wonder how he managed to get you since you are considered as one of the nicest people in Monstad

You were also a knight and he respects that about you since he can see that you were doing your best to help everyone

Very proud but also would like it if you would leave the knights LMAO

With that being said, he never saw you with a dark expression on your face

And that speaks volumes considering that you were always there with him every day

Often at his bar, you just smiling at him while he mixes drinks

But today was a little different though and he noticed it right away

You were more quiet than usual, you would speak now and then but something in your voice doesn’t sit right with him but he can’t pinpoint it out

He also noticed that despite it being very late in the evening you were still there usually you would leave after about 5 hours at most

“It’s getting late, aren’t you going to go home?” Diluc would ask taking the empty glass in front of you

He would notice the shift in your posture and this is becoming a big concern for him “are you alright?”

You’ll smile and wave it off saying that, it was just a hard day at work

“You are right, I should go home”

When you left, Diluc took a mental note to tell Jean to lighten your workload

He was preparing to change shifts with Charles when the older male approached him as soon as he entered his bar

“Master Diluc, why is y/n sleeping at one of the benches in front of the Cathedral?”

“What?”

Would speed walk to the cathedral just a million things racing through his head

Would see you immediately and would walk towards you, he would sigh in relief because nothing bad has happened to you

Diluc would squat down and hold you hand, contemplating whether to wake you up or would he just let you sleep because he thinks that your workload is too much and your extremely tired that you end up sleeping on the bench

But you’ll end up opening your eyes and he saw the shock on your face when you see him

“What are you doing here?” - you

“I should be the one asking you that question, what are you doing here? The knights are overworking you aren’t they? Those incompe-”

“- I didn’t want to go home.”

Diluc would blink at you, “why?”

“My parents they-”

You’ll end up telling him and gradually your tears would just show and all the while he will wipe your tears away

Parents are a complicated topic for Diluc but he is smart and Diluc knows that all kids deserve loving parents but not all parents should have kids

He also feels bad since didn’t notice right away

“Would you like to stay over at my place? It’s safer than sleeping out here”

He would ask the maids to prepare you a bath and some clothes

He would of course join you at his room when he's done bathing himself as well (wha’cha thinking there?)

He isn’t the best when it comes to words, so he makes up for it with actions

Would cuddle with you and gives the best cuddles especially if his tired as well

If you aren’t facing him during your cuddle session, one of his hands is sure to be holding yours

If you are facing each other, he would have caged around his arms and his nose would be buried on top of your head

Xiao

Xiao is so used to your presence that when you don’t greet him or talk to him, his day is completely ruined

So imagine his mood when two days went by and you weren’t there

On the third day, you were there but Xiao decided to be petty and not greet you back because how dare you not greet him or acknowledge him for two days?

This would go on for the morning, you greeting him and him ignoring you

That was until after lunch, “Xiao, I have to go on a mission” you would say to the adeptus

He will nod in response

“See ya”

Did? Voice? Just? Break?

Xiao would immediately feel bad and boi, the speed that he reacted to catch your arm so he can apologize was the fasted state he has ever been in

When he sees that your eyes are glaze over by tears, he’s going to start apologizing not in a panic way but slowly like his trying to find the best words to say to you

When you cry even harder, he is left confused so he’ll stop talking and you’ll end up hugging him

Poor Xiao is so confused he doesn’t know what to do

He’ll just let you cry

However, when stop crying he also notices that your body has become limp and before you could even hit the ground he will catch you

He would check your body for bruises or if you were sick

Verr would rush to where Xiao is often seen and ask what was happening, she would try to reach to you but Xiao would unconsciously hold you together as a result

Verr would notice this and would not attempt to check on you, “I’ll prepare a bed for y/n, it might be due to exhaustion since they looked tired the past two days”

Xiao would now feel extremely bad

Would lay you down on the bed and would not leave your side, if anyone tries to come near you his growling

“Oh right, y/n has a mission today, what should we do?” - Verr

Xiao despite not liking people at all would end up going to Katheryne, I’m not saying that he threats so that they’ll give your mission to someone else but there might be a chance

When you wake up Xiao is at your bedside and is holding your hand

Even before you can say anything he's the one who is going to apologize first

You’ll feel bad because why was Xiao blaming himself for what happened to you? It wasn’t his fault!

You’ll stop him and explain that your parents have been fighting lately and the reason why you were exhausted this past few days was that you kept on thinking about that issue

You’ll apologize for neglecting him and Xiao feels bad still

Reassure this angry cat that it’s not his fault, please

He’ll bring you a plate of almond tofu to bed and you will realize your mission

Xiao would stop you and say that’s already taken care of

“Oh, you did my mission for me?”

“No.”

“Then how did you- you used violence didn’t you?”

“No, just some light threat. Anyway, get some more sleep.” -Xiao as he ‘gracefully’ avoids the issue

Would keep an eye on you as you rest all the while never letting go of your hand

[the-bau-quinjet]

I watched it begin again

Chapter 4 of In Breakable Heaven!

Summary: Reader runs into Spencer again a few weeks later!

Warnings: none

Word Count: ~1800

It was a few weeks later before you ran into Spencer again, literally. You stopped at the grocery store on your way home to pick up some snacks for the binge-watching you were planning for your evening. As you placed the third dessert item in your cart, you turned the corner and ran straight into something- no, someone. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” You exclaimed as you reached for the popcorn you had knocked out of his hands. “Let me get that for you.” As you stood back up, something about the scuff marks on this man’s converse reminded you of someone.

“Hi Y/N.” You finally manage to compose yourself and hand him the popcorn before stuttering out a greeting in return. Spencer glances at your cart before asking, “planning a party?”

  “What? Oh! No, I just had a kind of long day and I wanted to go home and hide from the world while indulging in some sugary treats.” A blush creeps onto your cheeks as you realize you just admitted the multitude of foods in your cart are in fact all for you. “I couldn’t decide what to get, so I figured a little bit of everything would solve the problem.” You laughed awkwardly as you try to explain your cart. It looks as though a three year old had free rein.

  “Trust me, I understand.” Spencer laughed with you. “I always have something sweet nearby. I am definitely known to have a sweet tooth.”

  “Oh, well would you care to join me?” You instantly froze when you realized what you said. You aren’t normally so forward. “I could use a friend.” You add on in hopes of diffusing the growing tension.

  “Um, yeah I’ll, uh, I’ll join you.” Spencer is rubbing the back of his neck as you begin walking through the store.

  “Great! You can pick the ice cream flavor!” You turned and started walking before you could come up with something even more awkward to say.

  You pick out a few more sweet treats before paying for your groceries and heading to your car. Spencer says he will meet you at your place after he helps you load the groceries into the trunk.

15 minutes later, you’ve returned home and put the groceries that need to be kept cold away. You move everything else to the coffee table so you and Spencer can reach whatever you want easily.

  You are reaching up to get some bowls for the ice cream when you hear a knock on your door. You glance through the peephole just to make sure it is Spencer before swinging the door open with a grin. “Welcome to the sweetest apartment in the building!” The two of you laugh as you close and lock the door.

  “Do you want to watch a movie or something?” You aren’t sure what to say now that he’s actually in your apartment. You don’t have the same barriers you had last time. You are both perfectly sober and neither one of you just went through a massive breakup. “Yeah, sure”

  “Got any preference?” You ask as you look through the available movies on Netflix and Hulu. “Oh, uh, no you can pick.” Great, you hate making decisions.

  After a slightly awkward few minutes filled with overanalyzing your movie choices, you finally decide on Mr. and Mrs. Smith because it had a bit of a comedy, action, and romance. “Well, dig in!” You don’t know how else to start the conversation as you rip open a zebra cake, offering Spencer the second one in the bag. He smiles at you as he takes it, easing the tension in the room.

  You fall into a comfortable silence as you both watch the movie. You find yourself sneaking glances at Spencer whenever you really want to see his reaction to a certain scene. You can’t really tell if he’s enjoying it, but he has laughed a few times.

  A half hour into the movie, you decide you want some ice cream. “I’m going to go change and grab some ice cream. Want any?”

  “Oh, yes please” Spencer sounds slightly surprised at your sudden question, but you just walk into your room to find some pajamas. You slip on some shorts and a t-shirt pulling on a pair of fluffy socks as you make your way back into the kitchen to get the ice cream. You decide just to bring the two bowls, whipped cream, chocolate syrup, and sprinkles with you so Spencer can add his own toppings.

  You somehow manage to balance everything as you walk back over to the couch. You are so focused on not dropping the sprinkles that you don’t notice Spencer has been staring at you since you exited your room. He blinks a few times as you set down the toppings exclaiming “it’s a build your own Sunday bar” as you hand him a bowl and a spoon. You sit back down on the couch, closer than before since you need to reach the toppings.

  “Can you pass me the whipped cream?” Butterflies form in your stomach as your hand brushes his.

  “Whipped cream as we know it today was invented by Charles Getz in the 1930s. Of course, hand whipped cream can be dated back to the 16th century. They would use tree or bush branches as a whisk to incorporate air into the cream.” You could listen to Spencer ramble for the rest of your life.

  You smile at him while you squirt enough whipped cream to completely cover the ice cream and then some. You look up to see Spencer staring. Quickly, you look away and hand him the whipped cream. “Sorry, I just really like whipped cream.”

  “No, you don’t need to apologize! I’m just happy.” A confused look forms on your face as you look back, urging him to continue. “I, uh, I’m just glad you feel comfortable enough to be yourself with me. Most people wouldn’t have even admitted this was their plan for the night. I’m happy that you invited me to join you. I absolutely love sugar.”

  “I’m happy that you’re here too. Who else would provide me with unending knowledge about all the sugary treats?” You laugh as you grab the whipped cream, pointing it at him like a weapon. “Now, tell me who invented chocolate or prepare for the consequences!”

  Spencer puts his hands up in mock surrender as he rambles on about chocolate. “Chocolate dates back to 450 B.C.. The Aztecs believed that cacao seeds were the gift of Quetzalcoatl, the god of wisdom, and the seeds once had so much value that they were used as a form of currency. Originally prepared only as a drink, chocolate was served as a bitter liquid, mixed with spices or corn puree. It was believed to be an aphrodisiac and to give the drinker strength. Today, such drinks are also known as "Chilate" and are made by locals in the South of Mexico. After its arrival to Europe in the sixteenth century, sugar was added and it became popular throughout society, first among the ruling classes and then among the common people. In the 20th century, chocolate was considered essential in the rations of United States soldiers during war.” He finished his ramble with a slight smile and a nod.

  You are so taken with his ramblings that you can’t form a response. In a panic, you decide to spray him anyway. Whipped cream goes flying all over the place as he flails in surprise. “Gotcha!” You shriek as he grabs the can and turns it on you. “Not fair, I answered your question! Now you have to answer mine.” He stops to think for a second before asking, “What language is the word dessert derived from?”

  “Now that’s not fair! You are a literal genius. I run a book store.” Spencer laughs at your feeble attempt to protest. “Just answer the question.”

  “Fine, ummmm, Latin?” You are completely guessing and by the smirk growing on his face, you are not correct.

  “Nope.” He says popping the p. “French!” You grins even wider as he sprays the whipped cream, landing some on your face despite you trying to block it with your hands.

  “Damn, I guess this is only fair.” You say rolling your eyes. He just stares at you in response, his mouth falling open just enough to be noticeable. Right as you’re about to ask him what’s wrong, he reaches over and brushes the whipped cream off your face. Before he can reach a napkin, you grab his hand. Pulling it toward you, you wrap your mouth around his fingers, licking all the whipped cream.

You have no idea what possessed you to do that, but instantly you are trying to back track. “Can’t waste any whipped cream!” The two of you had gotten much closer together throughout your whipped cream battle. Close enough that you can look into his warm hazel eyes. 

He leans closer whispering “I wouldn’t dream of it.” Something in his voice spurs you on. You whisper back “you have some on your nose.”

  Leaning impossibly closer, in an uncharacteristic show of bravery he replies “you better take care of that seeing as it’s your fault” in an equally hushed tone. 

You reach up and steady his face with your hands, leaning in to lick the whipped cream off his nose with a slight kiss. Your face flushes as you look into his eyes. You don’t know if you’re moving or he is but you are shifting closer and closer.  

  The sound of explosions break the moment as you both jump back and shift your gaze to the television. “You know, neither one of these two would make a good profiler if they couldn’t tell that their spouse was an assassin.” You laugh at how matter-of-fact that statement was, the moment on the couch drifting to the back of your mind.

  “You’re probably right.” You don’t know what to do with your hands anymore, so you pick up your ice cream. He pulls you back onto the couch and the two of you lean into each other as you eat and finish the movie.

  Two hours later, the two of you are falling asleep on the couch. After the movie ended, you put on random episodes of Parks and Rec. You finished eating and turned off the lights about 45 minutes ago under the ruse that you can see the tv better without the lights. You’ve been talking to each other pretty much nonstop as the episodes play in the background. Nothing too big, just random information about your lives. Your eyes fall shut, yet again, encouraging you to go to bed, but you don’t want the night to end. He seems to feel the same way, and the two of you fall asleep on the couch wrapped up in each other’s arms.

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