#france fanfiction

[theonottsbxtch]

I LOVED YOU FIRST | FC43

an: guys i’m so sorry for the atrocities i’m about to cause by posting this, i’m especially tagging @obxstiles to make sure they don’t miss it and that they cry muahaha there MAY be a part two to this

summary: for as long as she’s remembered she’s loved franco, wether those feelings were ever reciprocated she doesn’t know.

wc: 4.4k

She remembered the sound of wheels against gravel. Even as a kid, Franco was fast—kicking up dust and stones as he went, all edges and adrenaline. They grew up on the same street, a road that was more dust than pavement, cutting through a small town nobody had ever heard of, deep in the countryside of Argentina. Back then, he raced down that road on a beat-up go-kart that rattled and threatened to fall apart with every turn. But he didn’t care. Even at eight years old, Franco could talk of nothing but cars and speed and the shimmering, impossible promise of a life far from here.

She was the one who stood at the end of the road, cheering him on as he came barreling toward her, heart in her throat every time he cut it too close. She told herself that’s just what friends did—waited around to see the other one make it back in one piece. But there was more to it, even then. She’d never told him, of course. Franco had always been too focused on the next race, the next finish line, to notice much about her that wasn’t familiar. It was easier that way. They were friends. That was enough.

Years passed, and with them, his childhood kart became a racing simulator, then an actual car, then a series of wins that only proved what she’d always known—that Franco was going somewhere.

Last year, his parents sold their house so he could go further, could reach another level she couldn’t quite see. He moved in with her and her family when he wasn’t racing, and for a few months, it was as if they were kids again, laughing late at night, plotting his future as he spilled out every dream he’d ever had. That was the year she started imagining he might finally see her the way she saw him.

But he didn’t.

Instead, Franco saw everything she wasn’t: the girl from another world, polished and magnetic, with a face and laugh that gleamed like the trophies he’d already started to collect. She caught him, snared him in a way that didn’t even seem real.

It was this girl—her name slipped off his tongue so easily when he let it—who went to the big events with him, who stood beside him when photographers crowded around after his races, a reminder that he’d already begun to belong somewhere else. She wanted to hate her, this stranger who was everything she wasn’t, but what good would it do?

It was easy to tell herself she was Franco’s friend. His best friend. The one who’d been there since the beginning, the one who stayed up with him on those late nights when all his dreams felt heavy enough to drown him. She’d learned to wear it like armour—the friend, the constant, the steady hand on his shoulder when his voice cracked and his confidence faltered.

No one else knew the small things about him, the things that made him human. Like how he had a superstition about not putting on his helmet until the very last second before a race. Or that his favorite thing in the world was the sound of tires on wet pavement, a soft hiss of rain and speed. Or that he used to dream of buying back the house his parents sold and giving them something better.

The nights she couldn’t sleep, she’d replay those memories to herself, like scenes from a film she’d seen too many times. They were pieces of a person she’d built up in her mind so completely, so painstakingly, that she sometimes forgot he wasn’t hers. Not really.

Now, Franco was leaving again, but this time it was different. The call had come last night, and she’d been there when he answered it, watching the way his face shifted, lit up with something she hadn’t seen since they were kids. He’d been invited to join a Formula 1 team—a chance to race against the best, a dream finally realised.

And she’d been the first person he told. “I’m in,” Franco had whispered to her after he hung up, his voice hoarse with disbelief. “I’m actually in.”

He’d pulled her into a hug, and for a fleeting moment, she let herself believe this moment was for her too—that she was a part of the dream. But when he finally let go, she could already feel him slipping away, his mind racing miles ahead, far beyond anything she could reach.

And now here they were, standing on the same dusty road they’d grown up on, only this time the road was empty. She could almost see his silhouette against the horizon, an outline that belonged to no one, not even her.

“So… this is it, huh?” she murmured, trying to keep her voice steady, her hands stuffed deep into her jacket pockets. She knew this was her job now: to be strong, supportive, even as she felt her chest tightening with everything she’d left unsaid.

Franco glanced over at her and smiled, that careless, easy grin she’d fallen in love with a thousand times. “Yeah. This is it.”

There was a part of her that wanted to say something, to tell him what it felt like to lose him, to have spent all these years beside him only to watch him walk away. But she didn’t, couldn’t. Because he needed her to be his friend, his rock. And that’s exactly what she would be, until the moment he disappeared from sight.

“You’ll be amazing out there,” she said softly, swallowing hard against the ache in her throat.

“Thanks,” Franco replied, his gaze drifting to the horizon, to whatever was waiting for him. He didn’t see her watching him, didn’t notice the way she tried to memorise every detail of his face, the way she gripped the fabric of her jacket so tightly her knuckles turned white.

Because that’s what she was: the person who stayed behind, the person who would cheer for him no matter how far he went, even if it took him far beyond her reach.

His first race was in Monza.

And Franco had made sure she’d be there.

The roar of engines echoed across Monza, the air thick with the metallic scent of fuel and adrenaline. She stood just outside the paddock, watching the mechanics scurry between cars, drivers in their fireproof suits weaving through a sea of engineers and cameras. It was Franco’s first Formula 1 race, the one he’d been chasing since the days they’d spent on that dusty street back home. He’d called her a week ago, saying he’d arranged for her ticket, that she had to be there, that it wouldn’t feel right without her.

She glanced down at her pass, fumbling with it between her fingers, her eyes darting over the crowds, wondering if she’d see him. But instead, she saw her—Franco’s girlfriend, standing just a few paces away, a beacon in the busy paddock with her polished, perfect smile.

She thought about turning around, slipping into the crowd where she could cheer Franco on from a distance, as she’d always done. But then Franco’s girlfriend caught her eye, waved her over with an easy, welcoming smile, and suddenly it was too late.

“Hi! You’re Franco’s best friend, no?” she said brightly, as if she’d been waiting for this meeting. “Franco’s told me all about you.”

She managed a smile, trying not to let her surprise show. “Nice to meet you,” she replied, her voice steady but her heart churning. This girl looked so effortlessly perfect—too perfect, really. She wanted to find something in her to resent, a crack, a flaw, some hint that would make her presence easier to bear. But the girl’s smile was warm, even gentle, and there wasn’t a hint of cruelty behind her eyes.

“You know,” she continued, turning to look at the track where the cars were being readied. “Franco always talks about how you’ve been there from the start. He says he wouldn’t be here without you.”

It was a sentiment she’d waited years to hear, but hearing it now, coming from someone else, made it feel empty, hollow. She nodded politely. “He’s worked so hard for this. I just… wanted to support him however I could.”

The girl looked at her, a spark of admiration in her eyes. “That’s really special. I think it means a lot to him, having someone who’s known him for so long.” She hesitated, her fingers twisting a ring on her hand. “I think he’s planning to introduce me to his family soon.”

A prickle of something sharp and painful settled in her chest. She managed to keep her face composed, even as the words sank in. “That’s great,” she said, injecting her voice with encouragement. “That sounds really important to him.”

The girl smiled, her gaze drifting as if she could see the future taking shape right in front of her. “Yeah… he said he wanted to wait until we’d been together for a year. He’s so thoughtful like that, you know? He really wants things to be right before introducing me to his family.” She looked at her, a touch of gratitude in her expression. “I think he got that from you—from seeing how much his family means to you.”

It was a kind thing to say, too kind. She wanted to hate her for it, but she couldn’t. There was nothing false about the way this girl looked at her, no jealousy or possessiveness. She was just… nice. The kind of nice that made her ache with the unfairness of it all, because it made it impossible to hate her, even though she desperately wanted to.

“Well, his family will love you,” she said, meaning it even as the words felt like they were tearing something fragile inside her. “He deserves to be happy.”

The girl gave her a soft, almost sympathetic smile, a smile that made her wonder if maybe she already knew—if she could see right through her, if she understood the look in her eyes, the one she tried so hard to hide.

As the engines started up in the distance, the girl reached out and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Thank you,” she said, her voice warm. “For being there for him, for being his friend. I can tell he’s lucky to have you in his life.”

She returned the smile, feeling a heaviness settle deep within her. Franco was lucky, that was true—but not in the way she’d once dreamed he might be. He had everything now: the career, the future, the love of a woman who deserved him in ways she never could.

And as the cars roared to life on the track, she stood there beside his girlfriend, feeling like a silent ghost on the edges of his new world. She would cheer for him, just as she always had, but now she knew exactly where she stood—at a distance, a quiet fixture in his past, cheering him on from the shadows as he sped toward a future that had no place for her.

The race had ended hours ago, and the hotel was hushed, the lights dimmed in the halls. She was alone in her room, her suitcase half-packed, clothes folded neatly on the bed. She’d changed her flight back to Argentina; she would be gone by morning.

The evening had been a whirlwind—Franco finishing in P12 on his debut race, his crew and his girlfriend embracing him, his face beaming in a way she’d only ever dreamed of seeing up close. She’d stood in the background, clapping politely, just another face in the crowd, happy for him but feeling her heart splinter with each cheer.

A quiet knock broke her thoughts. She looked up, heart catching in her throat. Franco was standing in the doorway, his face lit with a warm smile.

“Hey,” he said, stepping inside, his hands in his pockets. “I was hoping you’d still be up.”

“Yeah, just… packing,” she murmured, glancing at the clothes on her bed. “I’ve got an early flight back.”

He frowned, like he hadn’t expected her to be leaving so soon. “I thought you’d stay a bit longer,” he said, a hint of disappointment in his voice. “It meant a lot to me that you were here, you know. I’m not sure I could have done it without you.”

She swallowed, trying to muster up a smile. “I’m proud of you, Fran. Really. You deserve all of this.”

He gave a modest shrug, his usual humility shining through. “It’s crazy, right? Like, it still doesn’t feel real.”

She nodded, unsure of what to say next, her hands clenching as she watched him, the words fighting to break free. But before she could speak, he went on, his face lighting up with excitement.

“Oh—and I wanted to tell you. Over the summer break, I’m planning to bring my girlfriend—” he gestured to the wall, where his girlfriend was probably just sitting in their shared room—“back to Argentina. She’s going to meet my family. I think they’ll love her.”

The words hit her like a punch to the gut. She felt herself unraveling, her heart breaking open. She couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“Why her?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Franco blinked, looking at her, startled. “What do you mean?”

“Why her, Franco?” She repeated, her voice trembling, louder this time. “Why not me? What is it about me that you don’t find appealing? Am I too loud? Too… different? Do I not fit into your world somehow?” Her voice cracked, the weight of her words finally spilling out. “What is it about me that you don’t love, that you love about her?”

For a moment, he just stared, taken aback, as if he was seeing her for the first time, really seeing her. But his eyes were filled with confusion, like he was trying to make sense of what she was saying.

“Wait—” he started, his voice halting, uncertain. “I… I didn’t know you felt—”

She cut him off, her voice fierce, raw. “I loved you first, Franco.”

He went silent, the words settling between them like stones in water, sinking deeper and deeper.

“What?” he whispered, his voice almost as quiet as hers had been.

“I loved you first,” she repeated, her voice shaking. She could feel the tears gathering, but she didn’t want to cry, not now, not here. “Since we were kids, since you were that crazy kid racing down dirt roads, I loved you. I’ve been there every step, every race, every victory, every failure. I was the one who held your dreams when they felt too heavy to carry. I loved you first.”

She watched him, waiting, hoping for some sign of understanding, some glimmer of the love she’d imagined so many times. But his eyes were wide with shock, his face torn between pity and discomfort.

He shook his head slowly, the words seeming to catch in his throat before he finally managed to say them. “But… I love her.”

The words were a knife, sharp and relentless, cutting through the last fragments of hope she’d held on to.

She let out a hollow, broken laugh, her vision blurring as she looked away, unable to meet his eyes. “I know,” she whispered. “I know you do.” She took a shaky breath, her voice trembling with a rawness she couldn’t contain. “But it doesn’t make it hurt any less.”

For a moment, they stood there in silence, the weight of years pressing down between them. She could see the guilt etched into his expression, his mouth opening as if he wanted to say something to make it better. But there was nothing he could say—nothing that could change the reality that he had chosen someone else, someone who wasn’t her.

“I never meant to… I didn’t want to hurt you,” he said softly, reaching out as if to comfort her, but she stepped back, her arms wrapping around herself protectively.

“It’s fine,” she said, forcing the words out, feeling them scrape against her throat. “I… I just needed you to know. I needed you to know that I was here, that I’ve always been here. But now…” She trailed off, her voice breaking, the words she’d held for so long finally running dry.

She looked at him one last time, memorising the shape of his face, the boy she had loved and lost long before he ever realised. Then sat back down on the floor and continued packing, folding each piece of clothing and putting it away in silence, each one a silent goodbye.

When she noticed he still hadn’t left, that he was just watching him, she looked up at him. “I hope she makes you happy, Franco,” she whispered, her voice barely a breath. “Really. I hope she gives you everything you’ve ever dreamed of.”

She looked back down not wanting to catch Franco’s look of pity and closed her suitcase as he walked out of her room.

Walking out of her life for what felt like forever.

It was the peak of summer, the air heavy with heat and the scents of wildflowers and sun-baked earth drifting through the open kitchen window. She was sitting at the table, picking absently at a bowl of sliced fruit, half-listening as her mother hummed while tidying up, when her mother paused and gave her a look she couldn’t quite decipher.

“I almost forgot to mention,” her mother said, wiping her hands on a towel, “Franco’s coming back to town soon. Said he’ll be here next week with his girlfriend, so they can meet his family.”

She looked down, letting the words sink in, feeling a familiar tightness bloom in her chest. She hadn’t spoken to Franco in weeks. Not since that night in Monza. Not since she’d finally let herself say all the things she’d bottled up for years, only to walk away feeling like she’d left a part of herself behind.

“Oh,” she murmured, keeping her tone as light as she could. “That’s… that’s good. His parents will be thrilled to meet her.”

Her mother looked at her carefully, her gaze soft but probing, as if she could sense the ache that lingered beneath her daughter’s casual words. “I thought maybe you’d be excited too,” her mother ventured, her voice gentle. “It’s been a long time since you’ve seen him.”

She forced a small smile, looking down at her hands as she fiddled with her napkin. “Actually, I was thinking about going to Buenos Aires for a bit. Just a week or two with Tía Blanca. I’ve been meaning to go see her.”

Her mother tilted her head, her expression somewhere between sympathy and exasperation. “You can’t keep running from this, mi amor,” she said, her voice tender but firm.

Her shoulders tensed, and for a moment, she didn’t know what to say. She knew her mother was right; every time she thought about seeing Franco, the old wound seemed to ache again, still raw, still fresh, no matter how many miles or weeks lay between them. But she wasn’t ready to face him yet. Not when the sight of him with someone else would only reopen everything she’d been trying so hard to let go of.

“I know I can’t keep running,” she said finally, her voice barely a whisper, her fingers twisting the napkin in her lap. “But I can now. And I can cope with that.”

Her mother sighed softly, reaching out to place a warm hand over hers. “Mi amor, one day, you’re going to have to stop protecting yourself from the things that hurt you. It’s the only way to truly move forward.”

She nodded, her throat tight, unable to meet her mother’s eyes. She knew her mother was right. But all she could think of was that moment in Monza, the echo of Franco’s words—But I love her. Words that still stung like salt on an open wound, even now.

“Maybe one day,” she whispered, more to herself than to her mother. But for now, Buenos Aires felt like the safest place to be—far from the memories, far from the impossible hope she still carried in her heart.

Her mother squeezed her hand gently before letting go, her silence filled with understanding. “Then go,” she said, with a small, knowing smile. “But you’ll know when it’s time to come home.”

And as she sat there, her heart heavy with everything she couldn’t say, she only hoped her mother was right.

A few days later, everything was sorted and she was ready to go to her aunt’s place.

She swung her bag over her shoulder, taking a deep breath as she stepped out of the house, the warm morning sun casting long shadows across the familiar dirt road. She was just two steps away from the car when she spotted it—Franco’s car, parked at the edge of the drive.

Her heart lurched, her mind scrambling, and she muttered under her breath, “No, no, no… please, not now.” She moved quickly toward her own car, fumbling for her keys as if speed alone could make her invisible. But before she could open the door, she heard his voice behind her.

“Oye, there you are!” he called, a wide, relieved smile on his face as he jogged over, his voice bright with the kind of joy she hadn’t heard from him in years. “I was hoping I’d run into you before you left. It’s been too long.”

She barely managed to keep her face neutral, clutching her bag as if it could shield her. “Yeah, well, I’ve got to get on the road. Don’t want to get stuck in traffic,” she said, opening the boot to toss her bag inside. She avoided looking at him, focusing on the small tasks—closing the boot, brushing off her hands, reaching for the door.

He took a step closer, his hand resting on the car door as if to keep her from leaving. “I’ve missed you,” he said, his tone softening. “You… you didn’t answer my calls after Monza. I didn’t know if… I just wanted to see you.”

She swallowed hard, glancing away as she forced herself to stay calm, the last words she wanted to hear sitting heavy between them. “That’s great, Franco,” she said, barely meeting his gaze, her words quick and mechanical. “But I really should get going.”

“Wait—” He looked at her, his expression slipping from surprise to concern. “Can we talk? Please?”

But she was already climbing into the car, her hands gripping the steering wheel as she turned the ignition. She couldn’t bear to stay, couldn’t bear to let him see her break again. “Take care, Franco,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper as she closed the door.

Before he could say another word, she pulled out, the tires kicking up dust as she drove away. In the rearview mirror, she saw him standing in the drive, watching her go, his face a mix of confusion and something close to sadness. She looked away, swallowing the lump in her throat as she focused on the road ahead.

But the further she drove, the harder it became to ignore the weight of all the memories tied to each familiar street and turn. Every signpost, every curve of the road reminded her of him—their childhood spent racing bikes and kicking up dust, lazy afternoons wandering these streets, dreaming of the future he was now living.

Tears blurred her vision as she drove, the memories rushing in like floodwaters, filling her mind with images she’d tried so hard to push aside: Franco at fourteen, laughing as he beat her in yet another race down the hill; Franco, younger still, sharing a quiet moment in the field just beyond town, his eyes bright with the dreams they’d both carried.

She wiped at her eyes, her heart aching as each memory pulled her further into the past, a past where they’d been inseparable, a past where she hadn’t yet realised what loving him truly meant. She could almost hear his laughter, feel his presence beside her, as if he were still the boy she’d known, before life had pulled them down different paths.

By the time she reached her aunt’s building in Buenos Aires, the weight of the drive had started to lift, the city’s pulse a welcome distraction from the quiet countryside. She parked and took a moment to gather herself, feeling the ache from earlier settle into something softer, something that no longer felt as urgent or raw.

Just as she opened the car door, a familiar voice called out.

“¡Mira! Is that really you?”

She looked up, startled, and felt her heart lift slightly. Standing by the curb was Angelo, an old friend from summers in the city. He had the same easy smile, his hair a little longer, his build a little broader, but his presence felt exactly as she remembered—warm and solid.

“Angelo!” She smiled, the weight on her shoulders easing just a little more.

He walked over, giving her a friendly hug before reaching into the car to help with her bag. “Let me help. You’re here for a visit?”

“Just two weeks,” she replied, trying to keep her voice steady as she glanced up at the familiar apartment building, a place that held a lifetime of summers, laughter, and memories untouched by the pain she’d left behind.

“Well, then,” he said, grinning as he hefted her bag easily, “we’ve got time to catch up.” His tone was light, but there was something else in his eyes, a quiet warmth that made her feel unexpectedly hopeful.

She followed him up the steps, comforted by his familiarity and the steady, unhurried way he moved, like he knew every corner of this building as well as she did. As they reached her aunt’s door, she felt her pulse slow, steadied by his presence.

The door opened before they could knock, her aunt’s familiar face breaking into a radiant smile. “There you are, mi niña!” She hugged her tightly, then turned to Angelo with a knowing smile. “And look who brought you all the way to the door! Angelo, you’re a sweetheart.”

He grinned, shrugging. “Anything for your family, señora.”

They all laughed, and for the first time in months, she felt a genuine ease settle over her, as if she’d left more than just a town behind—she’d left the weight of everything she’d been carrying.

As she glanced between her aunt and Angelo, the ache that had gripped her chest all day faded. The streets of Buenos Aires were bright outside the door, warm and humming with life. She breathed it in, feeling herself begin to let go of everything that had haunted her on that long drive.

Because maybe now that she was here, she could forget Franco.

to be continued…?

[kendyzzlewp]

Long Ass Break

art donaldson drabble

pairing: art donaldson x fem!reader

tags: fluff, domestic, married life, husband!art donaldson, tennisplayer!reader, tournament, coach!patrick

word count: 629

__________________________________________

Art was worried.

He watched as you ran off the court, your hand over your mouth as you tried for the life of you not to puke all over the clay court. Your opponent stood there frustrated, arms crossed over her chest, a scowl evident on her face.

Minutes passed and the murmuring of the crownd began to get louder due to your absence. Art looked around, his left hand scratching his head, a gold wedding band reflecting in the sun. No sign of you yet.

He was worried. He warned you about this happening, the pros and cons about playing in the tournament. You were stubborn, determined to power through because you’ve encountered worse. This was a piece of cake. Being your husband, he supported you but mostly, he just wanted to avoid your bad side.

Art glanced at the door you disappeared behind, his leg shaking in anticipation. You still hadn’t returned. The umpire was about to call the game. You were going to lose by default after being close to winning the whole goddamned tournament.

Fuck it, he thought and stood up to go through that fucking door. His heart racing as he pushed people from your team, muttering excuse me and thank you or whatever the fuck they needed to hear.

He reached the closed bathroom door, leaning closer to hear your retching as your stomach rebelled against you. His knuckles knocked on the bathroom door, as a courtesy and then pushed the door open.

Inside the bathroom, you were hunched over the toilet, clearly in distress. Art's heart clenched at the sight. He quickly kneeled down beside you, placing a gentle hand on your back.

"Hey sweetheart," he said softly, trying to offer some comfort. "Are you okay? What's going on?"

You looked up, tears in your eyes, and managed to croak out, "You were right,” you admitted. “I need a break.”

Art's heart sank as he saw you so distressed and vulnerable. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his comforting embrace. You felt a little better, the nausea still lingered around your throat but the urge was gone.

“You need to rest,” he whispered into your hair, sound muffled. “It’s starting to take a toll on you.

You sighed, tired, sweaty and defeated. “I know. Just take me home.”

Patrick burst through the door, concern and disappointment etched all over his place. “What the fuck is going on? Why aren’t you playing?”

You rolled your eyes as Art helped you stand up on your shaky legs. “I need a break Pat,” you said, leaning on your husband for support. “I need a long ass break.”

“A break?” He asked, crossing his arms in disbelief. “When have you ever taken a break?”

“Fuck off, Patrick,” Art grumbled at his best friend, turned your coach. “She needs a fucking break.”

Patrick scoffed, the sound making Art’s grip tighten around you. “How long is this break supposed to be?”

“9 months.”

Patrick's eyes widened in shock as the weight of your words sank in. He looked from you to Art, realization dawned on him. You shifted uncomfortably, wanting to just go home and sleep for the rest of the year.

"You're pregnant?" he exclaimed, his voice filled with a mixture of surprise and understanding.

You nodded, leaning more heavily on Art for support. "Yes, I am."

Patrick's expression softened, his initial frustration melting away as he realized the gravity of the situation. "I... I had no idea.”

“Now you do,” Art rolled his eyes, his own concern for you evident but the annoyance toward Patrick even more prominent. "I just need to take her home before she throws up all over you.”

Patrick stepped aside, offering you a supportive smile. "Congratulations, you fuckers. Take all the time you need. We'll handle the tournament."

[ultravioletbrit]

“familiar” - Jegulus microfic - @into-the-jeggyverse - 228 words

Regulus has been in France for six months. Six incredible months, but he was more than ready to be home. However, as soon as he stepped foot in London, something didn’t feel right. He just felt… off.

The journey to The Potter’s house wasn’t long, but Regulus couldn’t sit still the entire time. The taxi dropped him off and Regulus took a deep breath that didn’t reach his lungs. But he was certain that as soon as he was inside, he would feel like he was home again. 

Regulus opened the front door to the house that has always been his home, and everything was the same. The way the door creaked when he closed it, the subtle smell of vanilla and cinnamon, the various shoes lining the wall and the familiar jumpers hanging on hooks. The house was exactly the same, but Regulus didn’t feel like he was home.

Regulus felt a warmth against his back and strong arms wrap around his waist. He instantly melted into the touch as he felt soft lips graze his temple.

“Welcome home, stranger.” James whispered with a small kiss.

Regulus instantly turned to face James and wrapped his arms around his neck bringing him in for a tight hug and James hugged him back just as fiercely.

Regulus buried his face in James’ neck, and James was right; Regulus was finally home.

[goatunderthebridge]

"Is there someone special in your life?" The reporter asked chirpily, not really expecting an answer from the infamously emotionally detached Ushijima Wakatoshi sitting across from her. She was already scribbling an 'X' next to the question on her sheet, fitting in with the series of crosses and one-word answers she had accumulated throughout the entire interview.

But a look she couldn't describe crossed Ushijima's face as he considered the question.

"Yes there is." He replies simply.

The reporter stills, her pen stuck in her hand. It was still quiet in the room but Ushijima could suddenly feel more eyes staring at him than before. He shifted in his seat.

"Oh? What's her name?"

Ushijima looks directly at the camera facing him, imagining his special someone watching him back excitedly, and it almost makes him smile. He relaxes slightly in his chair.

"His name is Tendou Satori."

And all Hell breaks loose.

----

Or, the one in which Tendou tries to explain to Ushijima that a "special someone" means the person you're in a romantic relationship with. And not,,, you know,,, your best friend.

Ushijima does not understand.

[aldryrththerainbowheart]

HIIII OMG I LOVE YOUR WRITING. Its so comforting but also quite accurate to the character’s personality.

I wondered if u could make a part 2 of Drunk, with Adrian and the reader.

Be free with your imagination i am sure it will turn out great!

🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

Hi anon, sorry it took me so long to answer but I had no ideas what to write for this request. 😳

My writing has changed a little since I wrote part 1 of this. Hopefully, it'll be still up to standard.

Days after the incident, Adrian was still haunted by the things he had said and might have said while inebriated. It seemed rather silly, considering you haven't mentioned anything about that night, kind as you were. However, the son of Dracula was shaken after exposing himself to you, in more ways than one.

At the memory of him practically showing his naked chest in your face whilst rambling drunkenly about his loneliness, he could feel his face warming up. He undoubtedly has that unflattering shade of pink on his right now. Adrian lifted his chin from his steepled fingers, pressing his forehead against them instead. Instead of moping behind the wooden table, he should be making dinner as he watched bits of dust dancing in the last rays of evening sun streaming through the Tudor windows.

At this moment, you're probably getting both their beds ready for the night. Pulling back the bedspread and making a fire in the fireplace. You made a habit of slipping a stem of lavender from the garden and putting it under the pillows. He can hear you fussing about it, even though you're one floor higher. The dhampir's senses were finely attuned to your every breath and every movement. It came to the point where it was torturous. He wasn't just trying to dull away the pain of his past, but these pressing feelings as well.

Damn him, again and again, he's becoming attached to people only to be left every time. No doubt you will leave too, once you're able to. He'll be nothing but a fond memory...

"How's the dinner? I hope there'll be someplace left on the stove for teap-"

He's dragged away from his gloomy thoughts by the sudden sound of your voice nearing the door. You stopped mid-sentenced when you saw him sitting at the kitchen table, instead of working at the stove. He felt an immediate pang of guilt.

"Apologies I've seem to be a bit addle-brained today."

Adrian offered an apology as he started pulling the cutlery from its hooks. Hopefully with his back turned and his hands occupied, you won't notice his rather obvious fluster.

"Ah, it's alright," you waved him off in a placating manner as you rounded the table towards him. "Head still spinning from the vine, I see." you teased him as he made a fire in the stove, almost making him set his brows on fire.

As you walked past him, you gently put your hand on his back to make him step away. A whisper of a touch, yet he was tingling all over, his heart beating irregularly.

He clutched the edges of the stove, ignoring the rising heat. It can't go on like this. He has to do something.

You prepared the dinner in relative silence. You chopped mushrooms as he prepared pastry into small pans. Soon, bulky savory tarts were pulled out of the stove. He watched you wolf down four tarts in the row, while his plate was left neglected, safe for the few pokings with the fork.

"Adrian?"

His head snapped to you at the sound of your voice. He noticed you were looking at him in concern.

"What is it? You've been spaced out for days now." It was your turn to study your plate as you mumbled, "Is it...about the kiss?"

He was definitely blushing now. Adrian took a generous gulp of water from his chalice as he contemplated his answer.

"Yes and no."

You looked at him in confusion and he sighed in resignation.

"I'm sorry...my friend. The thing is..." He caressed the grooves in the ground glass. Would she even understand? What kiss meant to him?

"There have been several attempts in my life. There have been people who stayed in this castle pretending to be my friend and then turning on me as soon as I became vulnerable."

Adrian closed his eyes momentarily, chasing away the tainted memory of their hands coiling around him like vines of a poisonous plant. The pleasure, and the pain. So, so much pain... He opened his eyes and there were your eyes, filled with some much tenderness he had to suppress the urge to look away again.

"But last night, you didn't... and you could, easily so."

"I'd never-"

"I know, I know," he gently cut you off by putting his hand over yours. Your palm was much warmer than his, dainty fingers covered completely by his long ones.

"Believe it or not, but you singlehandedly restored a great deal of my hope in humanity. What once had been destroyed..."

He hasn't allowed his mind to wander to dark places, not this time.

"I don't mean to bring up such depressing subjects. But when one leads a life such as mine, you tend to... figure some things out."

"Things?" You carefully prompted, pity overrun by curiosity at last.

Adrian smiled in a self-deprecating fashion. "Well, for example, I have now discovered that in this entire world, I only have one close friend. You are my only solace, the only person that I can talk to regularly."

There was Trevor and Sypha, of course, but they found solace in one another, something deeper than friendship. Adrian understood now, what those feelings meant. His next words were full of emotion.

"I don't know what tomorrow will bring. I don't know if more demons will come and I'll be forced to fight them off. I don't know if the world will end tomorrow... and that used to not bother me. I used to not mind the idea of death. To slip into the quiet sleep..."

He trailed off, and you squeezed his fingers in encouragement. He squeezed yours right back, so you know he's not spiraling again.

"However, whatever courage I have towards that cause always sours at the thought of what comes after. What does come after do you think?"

You looked over his shoulder in contemplation, you traveled places far away from here, no doubt. Thankful you're entertaining his silly musings, Adrian patiently awaits your response.

"I'd like to think it's a place where I meet all my loved ones once more." You gave him a warm smile.

He chuckles at that. "Interesting response."

"What about you? What do you think?"

Adrian shook his head, golden locks tumbling over his shoulders, "As I said, the fear of not knowing that is the only thing that kept me alive for quite some time. But now, now that I've spent some time with you, it allowed me to clear my mind of that sort of dangerous thought. I think I may have an answer, maybe not a very good one but..."

He gingerly trails his hand from yours to the curve of your elbow and you let him. He leans closer, tone bordering on a soft whisper as he looks into your eyes.

"It doesn't matter what comes next, that shouldn't dictate our actions while we are still here. If you want something, chase it." He puts the other hand on your cheek, making his intentions clear with his actions and his words. Carefully, so you can pull away at any time.

Please don't.

"You have allowed me, to come to this mindset," he sighs. "The thought that what I want is worthwhile to pursue. So I will pursue that which I want. I will pursue... you."

It is evident that his words left you speechless. You stare at him with your mouth slightly parted. Adrian lets out a small breathless chuckle.

Is it really that shocking? After our lips have already become acquainted?

"I know...I know that I'm... half human, half vampire, so at the very least I know it can work, but it's up to you, really." His thumb caressed your cheekbone, "I will continue to pursue you for as long as you allow me."

He can see your eyes glistening with emotion, and he hoped his words touched the part of your soul he wanted them to. However you still haven't said a word and Adrian needs you to voice your desires, or lack thereof, directly.

"I bid you command me now. My devotion is solely placed at your feet. I truly cherish you. Every step you take and breath you breathe."

You close your eyes and choke back a sob as he places one small kiss on your forehead.

With a voice clogged up with emotion, you finally release him from his torment.

"I... would love... nothing more... than to be pursued by you." You say as you give him a watery smile.

He lets out a relieved sigh as he presses his forehead to yours.

"Then pursue you I shall."

It takes only a moment for the atmosphere to change around you. With hunger, you never saw in his eyes, he whispers to you hoarsely.

"Come here, you..."

The kiss is devoid of any sweetness the first one had. This one is full of fire and blood and passion that takes your breath away. You don't have time to react as he pulls you to his lap. His kiss goes down your throat and settles in your belly like a fine liquor.

[saturnville]

say it

pairing: jules kounde x black fem oc (she). warning: 18+ minors dni. summary: he asks her to say it, she gives an answer. author's note: inspired by @mauvecherie-writes + @emjayewrites who often mention how jules folds when his girl speaks French. tags: @mauvecherie-writes @emjayewrites @neewrites @saintslewis @boujiestpoet @vile-harlot @greedyjudge2 @cocobutterqwueen

“Say it,” he grunted in her neck. His teeth grazed her slick skin and captured it with a fierceness that made her yelp. 

She whimpered in response. Her words left her like a thief in the night. Her tongue betrayed her. There was nothing she felt she could say.  The sentiment she fought to say was stuck in her throat, lodged between a moan and a cry for release. So good. 

“Come on, chérie. Let me hear you…” His calloused hand cupped the back of her knee, pushing her leg closer to her head. The new angle pulled a delirious sound from her inner being. A deep moan and rugged groan that he deciphered with ease.  So deep. 

“Je suis…” I am. His insides stirred. She stammered over her words, continually cutting herself off. As a result, his movements slowed, and her eyes popped open. 

“Keep going. Say it.” 

Her tongue darted out to dampen her cracked lips. Once again, she said started, “Je suis…” Damn it. “Je suis à toi.” I’m yours. Oh, how he loved to hear her say it, no matter what language it came out in. He resumed his pace and smiled against the shell of her ear, singing his praises as his fingers slithered between their bodies to caress the pearl between the apex of her thighs. She squeaked out a cry. He welcomed it like a sweet melody. 

“Good girl.”

[sunnylolli]

I’ve written a little drabble along with this below, because I just- I just needed this

(”Marry me, Archie” by Flyte, sets the scene)

Arthur wakes to a crackling sound followed by a baby fussing and blinks himself awake.

He takes a deep inhale through his nose, turning his head towards the baby monitor then further to the alarm clock.

He sighs, lifting both hands to rub at his face, the skin of his palms dry and his face even more so.

4 hours.

Definitely a step forward, a new record.

"Qu’l heure…"

The fussing from the monitor continues, small cries taking on in volume. He’ll have to go in before Matthew wakes up as well.

“I’ve got it. Go back to sleep.”

Arthur mumbles groggily, pushing himself up reluctantly and pulling the duvet aside.

A warm hand brushes at his back and he pauses to sit at the edge of the bed. He eyes the monitor, then the open door ahead of him.

The house is cold and he shivers, counting to three then reaches behind him to give Francis’ hand a squeeze and a lazy kiss, before heaving himself to stand with a grunt.

The shirt he wore yesterday is the closest at hand and he pulls it on to ward off the chills until he can get back to bed and steps into the pair of slippers that stand by the door when he finally drags himself out of the bedroom and down along the corridor.

He runs a flat hand across his hair, brushing it out of his face and closing his eyes while he walks.

He refuses to turn the lights on, the house isn’t that dark and it’s maneuverable. The light always seems to disturb Alfred more than help him anyway, especially sick, he seems particularly light sensitive after waking.

His slippers drag against the wooden flooring and leads him to the room next door.

The door is ajar, a point they make to keep everything open and easy to access. He steps into the doorway, giving the door a gentle push.

He’s greeted by the softest of light from a winnie-the-pooh night light sitting in the outlet at the end of the room and Arthur thanks the heavens it’s as dull and old as it is, to shine so softly.

The first crib he sees is with Matthew. It’s silent, and he can glimpse him still sleeping, while a step further in allows him to spot Alfred.

Arthur looks at him squirming and making a rocus. He huffs exasperatedly.

“Hello.” He sighs, as he drags himself to the crib’s edge.

Alfred’s managed to wrap himself up in his blankets, lying on his back, he looks at the verge of a fit.

Upon seeing him approach, the fussing becomes the beginnings of sobbing and Arthur leans down. Outstretching his arms to begin freeing him from the blanket-prison he’s gotten himself trapped in. 

“Oh, I know. I know. You make some compelling arguments, sire.”

Alfred hiccups at that, binky lying abandoned in the array of teddies Francis’ showered him with after his last recovery and he seems like he’s missed it when Arthur places it back into his greedy little hands.

He probably couldn’t find it in his frantic attempt to unwind himself.

Arthur places both hands under his arms, lifting him up with a playful heave and a ho and places the lad on his hip.

He gives him a once over, checking his face and skin for anything out of the ordinary, but he’s just teary eyed and snot faced and really that’s not so bad, is it.

He gets a hitched breath and decides to get moving to warm up a bottle. A babbling of discontentment following him as he begins to walk.

“That right? Surely not, love, surely not. I bet you’re as tired as I am.”

Alfred babbles some more and Arthur nods in agreement, directing his gaze at his feet, to watch his step down the stairs. 

“Yes, yes, I don’t like sleeping hungry either. Here we go, downstairs.”

The last step creaks obnoxiously and Arthur reminds himself for the hundredth time that he should probably take a look at that.

Alfred continues to fuss and Arthur continues to humor him, jumping him up and down a few times, he goes to turn on the radiators in the living room before making the journey to the kitchen.

He turns on the light from the air vent, the yellow bulb flickers a few times before it comes on and he starts his nightly Alfred-routine.

He finds a pot, fills it with water and sets it to heat up.

Francis already prepared a bottle a few hours ago, ready to heat up and all Arthur has to do now is wait, as he places it carefully into the water to warm it.

The steam rises and begins to melt in with the air around it, and Arthur absentmindedly turns on the vent. It whirrs to life in a gradual ascent and Arthur sits Alfred down onto the counter and crouches down to be at face level with him.

Alfred’s stopped crying, but is still hiccupping and fussy, and he stares teary eyed into Arthur’s own, small scars from the pox still left over near his hairline.

“You must be nocturnal.” Arthur says, reaching his hands up to grab Alfred’s smaller ones and drive them around in circles playfully. 

“You sleep more during the day than you do during the night. What’s that about, ay?” 

He says, smiling in an attempt to get Alfred to as well.

“Are you sneaking out to dance in the moonlight while your pa and I are sleeping?”

Alfred continues to suck at his binky, but he does briefly smile and Arthur continues off of that.

“You do?” He makes an exaggeratedly surprised expression, and Alfred laughs through a hiccup.

“I didn’t take you much for a dancer, but I stand corrected. But as your father, I have to say you’re rather young for such nightly escapades, young man.”

Alfred does laugh for real this time and Arthur grins at him. About to say something else when a sizzling from the pot boiling over catches his attention and he springs up to turn the heat off. 

He keeps one hand supporting Alfred, the other mindlessly grabbing the hot part of the pot and eliciting a yelp at the burn. 

Alfred seems to find his distress funny, because he laughs at the way Arthur flaps his hand then fumbles to pull the pot away by the handle.

A little sadist, the lad.

“You little devil.” He says incredulously. “Laughing at your own dad being an idiot, I’m perfectly capable of laughing at myself, thank you.”

Alfred laughs, ironically, at that as well and Arthur figures it can’t be helped.

He’s just happy the boy isn’t crying anymore - God knows, he’s done too much of that.

Arthur picks him back up and grabs a tea towel for the bottle to dry it off and to hold it without dropping it.

He’s going to let it sit for a minute or two, to cool to bearable temperatures, so he can test it and finally let Alfred have it.

He’s being surprisingly cooperative, looking down at the pot, with his hand fiddling with his binky.

“Are you excited to eat something?” Arthur asks, resettling him to hold him with both arms.

Alfred keeps staring at the pot, but does move his hand and slaps it against Arthur’s mouth.

He closes an eye at it, leaning his head back and sideways, but it’s such commonplace it’s barely surprising.

“Alright! Alright, cheers, I’m done talking.”

They wait for the bottle with Arthur jumping Alfred and Alfred eventually abandoning the pot in favor of leaning his head to rest under Arthur’s chin.

He begins to fuss again when Arthur tests the temperature of the milk on his arm and when he brings them out of the kitchen to sit down by the dinner table.

The light from the kitchen mixes with the blue hue of the night and Arthur situates Alfred to lie down in one arm and positions the bottle with the other.

Alfred spits the binky out himself, reaching greedily for his nighttime meal.

Arthur leans back in the chair for the following minutes, moving his head side to side in an attempt to loosen out a knick and closes his eyes tiredly for just a few moments.

He doesn’t know how he’s gotten through the past 6 months.

First it was a lung infection, then the pox, then right back to another lung infection.

The doctors said he’s predisposed to illness, something about being too small at birth, they don’t anticipate he’ll make it much more than a year.

‘It just is that way at times with twins.’

Arthur opens his eyes and looks down at his son tiredly and misty eyed.

He is small, lying there in the crook of his arm with his eyes closed, falling asleep while eating.

All babies are small. They’re supposed to be small, that’s the whole point of growing. And Alfred’s been growing fine, he’s smaller than Matthew is, but he’s only half a year, he has plenty of time to catch up.

Arthur sniffs, turning his head towards his shoulder to wipe his face in it. 

He’ll catch up.

To hell with what the doctors say, he’ll catch up and he’ll make it past a year. Of course he will. 

A child doesn’t go out on nightly moonlight-raves at 6 months old, if they aren’t going to make it past one year.

Alfred will make it, and he’ll get to grow up and go to actual raves and Arthur’s going to support the hell out of it, because if Alfred wants to, then that’s reason enough to support it.

Alfred stops drinking with the tiniest bit left over and spits it out and Arthur sets it on the table quietly.

Alfred’s eyes are closed, and he’s breathing audibly, clearly half-asleep.

“Alrighty-o, lad.” He says, sniffing and wiping at his nose briefly to situate Alfred upwards. “Sorry to interrupt you, but you’re going to regret falling asleep without trying to throw up on me first, so let’s get that over with, shall we?”

Alfred stares at him sleepily in response and Arthur brings them back to the kitchen to get a small towel to put over his shoulder.

He sets the bottle to soak for the night and pats Alfred’s back.

He does burp a few times, but to Arthur’s relief, there is no reflux along with it.

He just lies there, and Arthur stands with him until he falls asleep, falling heavy and limp against his shoulder and that’s that for tonight then.

He turns the vent and the light off and stands for a moment to adjust to the dark.

He skips the creaky step on the stairs as he goes up and returns as quietly as he can to the nursery to set Alfred down.

The lad fusses briefly as he’s laid down, but settles just as quickly and Arthur watches him with the light from the nightlight for a time. Perhaps too long.

They should’ve waited with giving them their own room, it would’ve been easier to hear them from their own and Arthur wouldn’t have to feel so on edge he barely even sleeps anymore.

He runs his fingers softly across Alfred’s cheek. Stroking across the babyfuss and the drool and the stray streaks of milk that he wipes away, unbothered.

He begins to hum, ever so quietly.

“Close your eyes,” He mutters, voice terrible and definitely not made for singing. “Have no fear.”

He tries to think about the future where Alfred is bigger. Where he’s walking and running and biking, where he’s using the swingset right alongside Matthew out in their backyard, and tumbling and getting scrapes and bruises that won’t have the looming fear of being fatal.

“The monster’s gone, he’s on the run, and your daddy’s here.”

He begins to tear up, stroking Alfred’s hair back, he pulls the blanket over him to tug him in properly.

“Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful,”

Alfred stirs and Arthur retracts his hands. “Beautiful boy.” 

He hums the remaining tunes, letting them trail off to hear both boys breathing into the early morning.

He doesn’t bother drying his eyes this time, he doesn’t even know if he wants to go back to bed. He’s tired, exhausted, but he can’t stop worrying.

He wants to stop, but he can’t.

He crosses the room to check Matthew, finding him equally as asleep as Alfred, although instead of being wrapped in his blanket, he’s kicked it off entirely.

Arthur replaces it over him and runs his hand across his hair the same way, before standing back and rubbing the heels of his hands into his eyes and deciding he’s really going to be no help if he doesn’t sleep at all.

He casts a final look down at Matthew, lingering by both boys, before fighting himself back out into the hallway and creeping himself back into bed.

It dips softly and he falls onto the pillow with a sigh. He doesn’t bother taking the shirt off again and his side of the bed isn’t warm anymore either, so it’s just as well.

Francis moves beside him as he’s settled in, turning to face him and scooting closer to envelope him with the duvet.

It crinkles and warms him, Francis’ arm snakes over and around and he’s pressing a lazy, prickly kiss to his mouth that he doesn’t have the energy to return at all.

“I'll take the next one.” Francis whispers.

“You have not slept in days.”

“Nonsense.” Arthur mutters.

Francis half-heartedly slaps his back. 

“It’s like I’m taking care of three children, instead of 2.”

Arthur scoffs. “O, ye of little faith.”

Francis presses in for another kiss and Arthur returns it this time, albeit barely.

They settle down; At the verge of sleep.

The monitor goes off, and Francis groans. 

Arthur laughs.

[broomcolate]

I randomly wrote a fruk fic purely for the soul, read and don't sneeze

https://archiveofourown.org/works/56280922

[yawujin]

Do you think you can do the allies + axis (separate) x a bratty s/o that’s super needy but constantly try’s to demand stuff and boss them around and is just kinda a very run of the mill brat. Like how would they deal with them?..and can it be a bit nsfw….pretty please with a cherry on top..

hehe sure ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧ here you go ! 🪄

{ request } allies & axis x a bratty! s/o 💭 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

type/content warnings • nsfw content , established relationship , they/them pronouns used , mentions of bondage , marking , rough sex , sub/dom dynamics

allies ♥︎

america/alfred f. jones

he finds their neediness kind of cute, writing it off as something that just comes with being in a relationship with them. soon, he comes to find out just how bossy they are. usually, he's a pushover and it's fairly easy to make him do the stuff they want, but every now and then he doesn't give in, puts his foot down and reminds them he too can be bossy, in charge and, that he knows how to put a brat in their place. they must be careful with whatever sexual favor they ask him to do, because he might just turn around and make them do it instead (i feel like he'd be petty in that way, and use them for his entertainment) 'can't tell me what to do now that your mouth is full, huh? '

england/arthur kirkland

whenever his partner is acting up─if he feels like it─he'll take the calm route and plead with them. 'please, love, behave...' however, if he's feels they are demanding too much from him, his attitude will switch up. he'll be very domineering, crass and rather rough with how he handles them from then on.

'say it... who do you belong to?'

france/francis bonnefoy

he gives them what they want, within reason. if they demand too much, don't worry, he puts up a good bargain. when they continue to act up, he'll turn serious─giving them one final ultimatum. "do as i say, or you will be shown who is truly the boss here." knowing them, and how they act...france gears up to give them something he's sure to make them behave... at least for a little while

canada/matthieu williams

seeing as he is already bossed around by his colleagues, they can bet he is not going to take the same treatment from his own partner. he's quick to make himself known as the one in charge, faster than they thought. he tells them to 'shut up and quit with the brattiness before i fuck it out of you' in such a sweet voice, it sounded more like a loving promise than a threat.

russia/ivan braginsky

don't. even. try. he shuts that bratty act of theirs down so quick, they barely have time to start. he can only take being bossed around for so long , until he finally has enough. he has his hands wrapped tightly around their waist as he rests his chin on their shoulder. "please behave, won't you? it will make me very happy. you want both of us to be happy, yes?" and in case they couldn't tell, that's russian for don't fuck around and find out.

china/yao wang

he's very secure in himself that─he doesn't feel the need to intimidate them into submission. he doesn't do everything they ask of him, only the things he wants to do or wants them to enjoy. he has his own special way of dealing with them and that's getting them hot and bothered enough to try and rile him up. do things for him. that's right, china finesses his way into making them do something for him instead of the other way around. it usually involves promising them some type of reward for good behavior. but first, they must please him and act accordingly. "...you're doing so good for me." he praises.

axis ♥︎

n. italy/feliciano vargas

has a method similar to china's. it's a give and take relationship. italy does a few things for them, and in return they behave.

usually turning out really wholesome, with italy cuddling with them since they're soooo needy─he admits that it kind of turns him on when they boss him around so much. "i wouldn't mind being there anytime you need me." he sighs happily, burying his face deeper into their arms.

germany/ludwig beilschmidt

he usually likes it when they tell him what to do. he's a very organized man who is very good at following orders. he doesn't like it so much when they act like a brat, so he makes sure to take care of that ASAP. he's lowkey begging them to behave, telling them that he'll do anything to make them act right...not knowing that he's kind of allowing them to act up even more. poor germany...he's a lil' confused but he's got the spirit. "if i fuck you like this, then will you behave?"

japan/kiku honda

he's literally like no then goes on to use shibari as a way to torture them into submission. "if you keep acting like that, i'll have you tied up everyday from now on." it's a tempting threat but they know that japan's willpower and discipline could really mean that he'd have them tied up without relief for a long, long time. it's their choice on whether or not they want to behave, but they will always know what will happen if they don't. this makes it especially exciting for japan, with him knowing that their behavior will be unpredictable each day.

s. italy/lovino vargas

he lets them carry on throughout the day, holding himself back and pretending that their brattiness does not have any effect on him. that is, until the end of the day, where he makes them beg before him. he would want to hear them plead for him to not be so rough, when that was all he could think about the entire day. he ends up leaving a few marks behind to remind them what will happen if they don't behave. "mmm." he hums lowly. "this is what you get for trying to tell me what to do..."

prussia/gilbert beilschmidt

okay so, it takes him a while to get bothered by it because their brattiness is all just kind of a game to him. sure, he gives them what they want but as he slowly sees that they won't be satisfied until they get a rise out of him, he begins to think of ways he can tease them back, make them beg him to stop. he laughs when he sees his brat whine. "is this not what you wanted?" he grins. "i know it's what i wanted." prussia revels in his ability to make them act like this. he hopes that they continue simply because he loves the feeling of dominating them.

[ouiouibaguettt]

The Tattoo

Y/N - your name. Y/NN - your nickname. Y/LN - your last name.

request: r is new on the french squad and star struck when she meets gabby. They room together and they bond over their love for records, r ask if she could tattoo gabby if they win their games.

okay i did try my best, im sorry i didnt go with the fact that r could tattoo Gabby in case of a win.

You're POV:

You've been ecstatic ever since national team coach Jean-Aimé Toupane called you so that you could come to the Insep training camp before you had to start training for the 2024 Olympics.

At the same time, with the season you'd had with Basket Landes, how could he not call you, averaging 6.7 assists, 8.0 rebounds and 17.5 points per game, giving you an evaluation of 20.6. To say you were on fire would be an understatement.

Let's get back to the moment. You were finishing packing your bag, before heading off to the station with your clubmate Marie Pardon. Once there, and after greeting everyone, that's when your eyes met, only it's not the first time your breathing seemed to stop when you met her gaze. Gabby had the same reaction as you, breath cut off, cheeks flushed, it was Marine who helped her out of her trance before she looked like a psychopath.

During lunch, the coach assigned rooms. “Marine Fauthoux with Iliana” he said as the two girls jumped on each other making everyone laugh. “Marine Johannes with Alexia, Marie with Carla, and finally Gabby with Y/N” he added before handing you your room keys and taking your seats to let you finish eating.

Once the meal was over, the whole team decided to go back to their rooms to rest before starting training.

When you entered the room, you saw Gabby unpacking, the way her arms flexed, allowing her muscles to show. The sight immediately made you blush. However, you heard a clearing of the throat, bringing you back down to earth, and Gabby looked at you with a smirk when she saw where your eyes were blocked.

“I hope you're enjoying the view?” she said, laughing a little, not wanting to be the only one in this position you replied ‘It's the best view I've ever had’ you said, winking at her before unpacking your suitcase, leaving her speechless.

However, she snapped out of her trance when she heard the rhythm you were whistling. “You listen to The Neighbourhood too?” she asked. “Yes, I have almost all their CDs in my apartment” you replied. “Which one did you like best?” she added as she lay on her stomach, head resting on her hands, looking up at you. “Hm, I'd say 'Reflections', it's very close to my heart” you replied before adding ”And you? Which one do you prefer?” Gabby took a moment to think about it before saying “I'd say ‘Reflections’ too”. After debating for a while about your rather similar musical tastes, your tattoos, it was time of training.

TIME SKIP

Since the day you and Gabby were put in the same room, each day brings you closer. If you both were unaware of the feelings that were starting to grow more and more. Your teammates were all aware, some had even placed bets on when you would confess your feelings to each other.

Before, your first two preparation games against Finland, you had made a bet with Gabby. If Finland scored less than 100 points in two games, you let her choose your next tattoo while if Finland scored more than 100 points in two games, you would have to choose her next tattoo.

Spoiler alert, you won the bet. By winning the first game 129 to 50, and the second 117 to 59, Finland had therefore put 109 points in total in two games which made you the winner of the bet. However, you and Gabby decided to wait until the end of the Olympics to get her tattoo.

TIME SKIP

After qualifying for the final following the victory in overtime against Belgium where you and Gabby were on fire. The whole team celebrated well with the public, and in the locker room. Finally, when the celebration stopped, the players came out one by one to greet the public one last time before returning to the hotel. Once back at the hotel, you and Gabby decided to stay a little in the common room, you were showing each other tiktoks. However, when you looked up from her phone to her, you noticed how close her face was to yours and how beautiful she was.

When Gabby looked up, her eyes were going back and forth between your eyes and your lips, unable to wait any longer, Gabby kissed you gently, she placed one of her hands on your cheeks and the other on your hip while your hands ended up around her neck. Wanting to catch your breath, you separated a little but you left your hands where they were. "Wow-" you said still amazed by this kiss. "I really like you Y/NN, I like everything about you, your musical tastes, your tattoos, your smile, the way your eyes shine with determination in the middle of a match" Gabby confessed. "I really like you too Gabby" you confessed to her. "Would you do me the honor of being my girlfriend?" she asked you. "Of course I would do you that honor" you answered her, a big smile on your lips.

However, just as you were about to kiss each other again, Marine Johanness arrived in the room, she saw the position you were in, your faces betraying you since you were both red. Marine understood immediately what had just happened. "Did you just kiss?" she asked excitedly, you had turned red with embarrassment at the idea of ​​a teammate interrupting you, that's when Gabby answered "Yes but-" she didn't have time to finish her sentence that Marine was already on the phone with Alexia. "Alexia you owe me 20 euros" she exclaimed. And then, she went back to her room. "It was super random" you told Gabby once calm had returned, "Yes really" said Gabby starting to laugh at the situation.

After this beautiful moment in the common room, you and Gabby decide to go back to your room.

TIME SKIP

With only a few seconds left, you managed to send your pass to Gabby, who caught it and scored immediately. The basket being awarded, the referees went to see the video to see if it was a 2-point or a 3-point. The score being 67 to 64 in favor of the USA, a 3-point would allow you to snatch overtime.

However, the referee having viewed the video, declared that the basket was a 2-point, and blew the final whistle, declaring the USA the winner. Gabby collapsed in tears, you brought her in your arms to try to comfort her as best you could.

Once she was 'calm' enough, you went to congratulate the opposing team and greet the public before going to the locker room to prepare for the medal ceremony.

After the medal ceremony, Gabby seemed at peace with what had happened earlier, that's how you ended up in a tattoo parlor to finally choose her future tattoo.

Being the nice girlfriend that you are, you decided to get the tattoo too. After showing the tattoo artist the design, he first started with Gabby, and ended with you. Gabby was surprised but was very pleased with the tattoo you had chosen.

On her left forearm, and on your right forearm, rests forever, the upside down house, the symbol of the group The Neighbourhood.

[ithoughtiwasthegayone]

its so weird watching sram bc i started skam where the characters were older than me in 2016 then watched the remakes around 2018/19 where the characters were more or less my age and now in 2024 theyre younger than me!!

crazy

[allsouls-emma]

Léon Marchand x female reader and the use of oc.

A Léon Marchand fanfiction.

Warnings: swearing, DNI if under 18, 18+, PnV, Voyager!!, no mention of protection, lack of research of swimming, hints of dubscon. Defo not proof read enough.

It was a warm July Wednesday in Paris, and the city was buzzing with excitement as the Olympics were in full swing. Noelle, a brown-haired blue-eyed journalist known for her blunt and outgoing personality, had flown in specifically for the event. Her mission: to report on the swimming competition and interview the athletes for an Irish magazine .

As she took her seat in the Aquatic Center, her eyes immediately locked onto the French swimmer Léon, a three-time gold medalist. His blonde curly hair shimmered with droplets of water, and his chiseled body moved with grace and power as he glided through the pool. Noelle’s heart skipped a beat; she knew she had to meet this man.

After a dazzling performance, Léon emerged from the water, his muscular physique on full display. He waved to the cheering crowd, his blue eyes sparkling with joy. Noelle felt a tingle between her legs as she imagined those eyes looking at her with desire. She forced herself to focus on the race, knowing she would soon get her chance to meet Léon face-to-face.

Finally, the race concluded, and Léon emerged victorious once more. As he stood on the podium, his medals glinting in the spotlight, Noelle felt her pulse quicken. She made her way to the mixed zone, where athletes and journalists interacted post-event. Her heart raced as she anticipated the moment she would come face-to-face with Léon.

And then he was there, standing before her, his skin still glistening with beads of sweat and his breath slightly ragged from the exertion of the race. Léon was even more breathtaking up close, his body a masterpiece of athletic perfection. Noelle introduced herself, her voice steady despite the butterflies in her stomach.

"Léon, it's an honor to meet you, I'm Noelle . Congratulations on your win today. I'd love to ask you a few questions if you have a moment."

Léon's bashful smile took her breath away. "Bonjour, Noelle. The pleasure is mine. I would be delighted to answer your questions." His French accent sent a shiver down her spine, and she felt a twitch between her legs.

As they began the interview, Noelle struggled to maintain her professional demeanor. Léon's charm and good looks were distracting, and she found herself imagining what it would be like to run her hands over his sculpted body. She cleared her throat, forcing her mind back to the task at hand.

"So, Léon, tell me, how does it feel to be here in Paris, competing in your home country?"

Léon's eyes lit up as he replied, "It's a dream come true, truly magical. The support from the French crowd is incredible, and it pushes me to swim even faster."

Noelle bit her lip, her mind wandering to the night ahead and the possibility of a different kind of race—one that involved exploring each other's bodies. She shook her head slightly, determined to stay focused.

"I can only imagine," she said, her tone suggestive. "The pressure must be intense. How do you unwind after a stressful race?"

Léon's eyes darkened, and a hint of a smile played on his lips. "I like to take long, hot baths and just relax. Sometimes, I go for a run along the Seine to clear my head."

Noelle pictured Léon's strong legs pumping as he ran, his swimmer's body sleek and powerful. She fought the urge to reach out and touch his arm, her nipples hardening at the thought.

The mixed zone was beginning to clear out as the last of the journalists finished their interviews. Noelle knew this could be her only chance to make a more personal connection with Léon.

"Perhaps you'd like to show me your favorite running route?" she suggested, her voice low and inviting. "I could do with some fresh air, and it would be a pleasure to see the city through the eyes of a local."

Léon's bashful smile returned, and Noelle felt a surge of triumph. "I would love to. It's a date, then. Shall we say tonight at 8? We can run along the river and perhaps grab a drink after if you'd like."

Noelle’s heart pounded as she realized she was about to embark on a private adventure with the man of her dreams. "I wouldn't miss it for the world," she replied, her tone leaving no doubt as to her eagerness.

As they exchanged contact details, their fingers brushed, sending an electric current through Noelle’s body. Léon's eyes flicked to her lips, and she knew he was imagining kissing her as much as she was. The interview concluded, and they parted ways, both eager for the night ahead.

Later that evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of pink and orange,Noelle made her way to the meeting point. Léon was already there, a vision in casual attire, his blonde curls shining in the golden hour light.

"You look beautiful," he said, his voice husky as he took in her form-fitting yoga pants and tank top.

Noelle felt a rush of desire as his intense gaze swept over her. "You don't look so bad yourself," she replied, a playful smile on her face.

They set off, running side by side along the Seine. Noelle matched her pace to Léon's, their arms occasionally brushing as they ran. The city lights twinkled in the darkness, providing a romantic backdrop to their energetic endeavor. As they ran, Léon pointed out landmarks and shared stories of his childhood in Paris. Noelle listened, enchanted, enjoying the private tour and the intimate insight into Léon's life.

As they reached a particularly picturesque spot, Léon slowed to a stop, and Noelle followed suit. They were alone on the riverbank, the city's hustle and bustle feeling miles away. Léon turned to face her, his eyes burning with desire.

"Noelle, I've been wanting to do this all night," he said, stepping closer and cupping her face in his hands.

Noelle’s heart hammered in her chest as she leaned into his touch, their lips meeting in a passionate kiss. Léon tasted of mint and desire, and Noelle felt herself melting into him. Their tongues danced, and Noelle ‘s hands roamed over his strong shoulders and back, savoring the feel of his powerful body.

Breaking the kiss, Léon nibbled along Noelle’s jawline, planting kisses down her neck. Noelle tilted her head back, moaning softly as he found a particularly sensitive spot. Léon's hands moved to the curve of her hips, pulling her against him so she could feel his hardening dick against her belly.

"I want you, Noelle ," he whispered, his voice hoarse with need. "Let's find a more comfortable place to continue this."

Noelle nodded, breathless, as Léon took her hand and led her through the darkness to a secluded spot he knew of—a quiet park bench hidden among the trees. He gently pushed her against the back of the bench, his lips crushing hers as he kicked off his shoes. Noelle felt his hands sliding under her top, caressing her soft skin, and moaned into his mouth as his thumbs grazed the underside of her full breasts.

With a swift motion, Léon lifted her top over her head, breaking away from the kiss to admire her naked breasts. He lowered his mouth to her nipples, taking one, then the other into his warm mouth, teasing them with his tongue until they peaked into hardness. She arched her back, encouraging him to take more, her hands threading through his curls.

As Léon continued his sensual assault on her breasts, his hand slipped between her thighs, finding the wet center of her desire. He rubbed her clit in slow circles, his fingers sliding easily through her slickness. Her gasps continue , her hips bucking as pleasure shot through her.

"You like that, chérie?" Léon murmured, his breath hot against her ear.

"Oui, Léon, don't stop," Noelle pleaded, her head falling back as she surrendered to the ecstasy washing over her.

Léon chuckled, the vibrations buzzing through Noelle sensitive nipple, which he was still sucking and nipping at. His fingers worked their magic, slipping inside her tight channel, thrusting slowly as he brought her closer to the edge. Noelle’s body trembled, and she cried out, her orgasm crashing over her in waves of bliss.

As her contractions slowed, Léon straightened, pressing his body against hers and capturing her mouth in a passionate kiss. Noelle could taste herself on his lips, and it sent another pulse of desire through her. She wanted him inside her, filling her completely.

"I need you, Léon," she whispered against his lips. "Please, fuck me."

Léon growled, the primal sound sending a shiver down Noelle’s spine. He lifted her, positioning her against the bench, her ass on the edge, her legs wrapped around his waist. With one smooth thrust, he slid inside her, filling her completely.

Noelle moaned, her head falling back as she enjoyed the sensation of being stretched and filled. Léon's hands gripped her hips, guiding her as he began to move, his strokes deep and purposeful. Their bodies moved in unison, the bench creaking in rhythm with their passion.

"You feel so good, Noelle ," Léon groaned, his eyes locked on hers, glittering with intense desire. "Your pussy was made for my cock."

Noelle’s walls clenched around him at his words, and she met his thrusts with her own, eager for more. "Fuck me harder, Léon," she demanded, her nails digging into his shoulders. "I want all of you."

Léon growled again, his pace quickening as he gave her what she craved. The bench rattled with the force of their passion, the slapping of their bodies filling the night air. Noelle cried out with each powerful thrust, her breasts bouncing, her head thrown back in abandon.

Léon's fingers dug into her hips as he pistoned into her, his balls slapping against her ass with each fierce thrust. Noelle felt her core tightening again, her second orgasm building as Léon's cock hit all the right spots.

"I'm close, Léon, so close," she panted, her legs tightening around him.

Léon grunted, his eyes rolling back as he teetered on the edge. With a few more powerful strokes, he sent Noelle over the brink. Her walls clamped down on him as she cried out, her body shaking with the force of her release. Léon followed, his breath catching as he spilled himself deep inside her, their juices mingling in a heated rush.

Spent, they rested, their chests heaving as they caught their breath. Léon gently extracted himself from her, his arms supporting her as they straightened. Noelle felt his cum leaking from her well-fucked pussy, a testament to their passionate encounter.

Léon pulled her into his arms, and she snuggled against him, her head on his chest. They remained like that for several moments, enjoying the afterglow of their intense coupling.

"I should probably get going," Noelle said reluctantly, knowing the night had to end eventually. "I have an early start tomorrow."

Léon nodded, his hands gently caressing her back. "I understand. But perhaps we could arrange another... meeting? There's so much more of Paris I'd love to show you."

Noelle smiled, kissing him softly. "I'd like that, Léon. Paris is even more magical than I imagined, and I think a large part of that is you."

They parted ways, their clandestine tryst a secret they would both treasure. As she made her way back to her hotel, she knew this trip to Paris would be unforgettable, and it wasn't just because of the Olympics. Léon had shown her a whole new side to the City of Love.

End.

[neolxzr]

you know aira as a mixed race character could have been made SO much more interesting with this story if it was written. like the exact opposite of how it was written

so aira in japan was often assumed to be a foreigner because he's blonde and (supposedly) racially ambiguous looking. this bothered him because he didn't like people assuming that he was so much different from them when, in reality, he had pretty much the same childhood as any other japanese kid.

but imagine for this story, they travel to france but instead of immediately being mistaken for a local for some reason (how white is this boy supposed to look), he's instead ALSO assumed to be a foreigner while in france. he doesn't dress like a local, he's not speaking french, and his group of friends is a lot more obviously not white than he is. this should make him happy, right? since they're not assuming he's something he isn't, like they did at home. but it makes him instead just feel really... othered. if he doesn't fit in japan and he doesn't fit in in france, then where does he fit in? why is he too much of something for one group of people, but not enough of it for the other?

but does this not make him even more fit to stand at the side of alkaloid, the unit who's united by their shared experience of being othered? so maybe its alright if a lot of the people around him don't make him feel like he belongs. because he's already found where he's supposed to be.

[playbucky]

Speak of the Dead.

You manage to escape from your attempted kidnapping, an unexpected person shows up when the doctors call your emergency contact.  Characters – Reader, Reacher, Neagley, Chris, Karla Word Count - 1k.

‘Neagley -,’ you stopped when the larger person stepped into the room, ‘what’s he doing here?’  ‘He was with me when I got the call.’ She told you, you moved in your bed.  ‘Coulda dropped him off somewhere.’ You grumbled.  ‘I would’ve but you know he’s like a stray, always finds you.’ Neagley replied, you arched an eyebrow.  ‘What happened?’ Reacher quizzed.  ‘Pretty sure you’ve already asked the nurse.’ You told him.  ‘Y/N.’ He warned, you glared at him.  ‘Three busted ribs, fractured eye socket, broken nose, serve blood loss and a brand-new scar. It’s like Christmas.’ You replied sarcastically, you lifted your arms and shook them.  ‘Well at least they never took away your best quality.’ Neagley commented, you arched your brow the best you could with the swelling.  ‘Oh wow, tryna piss off the injured, real nice.’ You joked, she smiled and glanced to Reacher.  ‘You know who did it?’ Reacher quizzed, his brows were drawn together, you shook your head.  ‘Wore masks, generic height and build.’ You listed off your attackers.  You watched Neagley and Reacher share a look, you moved in your bed, a hiss escaped your lips. Reacher moved quickly, the space he had kept between you vanished, you raised a hand for him to stop which he did and glared down at you.  ‘I know how to draw them out.’ You breathed out as you got comfy.  ‘We’re not using you as bait.’ Reacher said quickly, you dropped your hand onto his forearm, his warmth spread over your palm.   ‘Good to know that’s where your brain goes but we are, or rather my body.’ You patted his arm.  ‘They’re after the team, so let’s give them the team.’ You suggested, you looked at Neagley who hadn’t moved from the bottom of the bed.  ‘Y/N.’ She said, head tilted as she had a rough idea as to where your thoughts were going.  ‘Pretty sure I was pronounced dead, so someone can work their magic and I can stay dead.’ You suggested.  ‘You’d want to be dead?’ Reacher asked, you sighed.  ‘Being alive hasn’t really lived up to what people have told me is should.’ You leaned back into the pillows to look up at him.    ‘You look like shit.’ Karla commented as she entered the motel room, you chuckled and moved from the bathroom to the chair. Reacher's arm moved at his side, Karla’s brows pinched slightly as she looked at him.  ‘Yeah, nice to see you guys again.’ You grumbled, a hand wrapped around your chest to try and ease the ache.   ‘Been up too much?’ Karla asked, you scoffed and shook your head.  ‘Just dying.’ You commented, you lowered yourself into the chair, she chuckled.  ‘Heard the pair of your got married?’ You said, Reacher looked to her and O’Donnell, his brows furrowed deeply as Neagley chuckled at his shook.  ‘Yeah, he’s had two kids as well.’ Karla commented.  ‘Oft, I'm surprised she’s put up with you for so long, two kids and an adult one?’ You said, an eyebrow arched as you looked at him.  ‘One on the way as well.’ He added happily, you smiled widely.  ‘Well congrats, boy or girl?’  ‘Don’t know.’ O’Donnell commented, he shrugged.  ‘Are they safe?’ You asked.  ‘Yeah, she knows what to do.’ He said, you nodded.  ‘Good, your husband?’ You asked Karla, she nodded which eased you slightly.  ‘He’s safe as well.’  ‘Looks like we’re set.’ You said, they all nodded, ‘Anyone fancy dinner?’ You asked and moved to get out the chair, Reacher held a hand out to stop you.  ‘Reacher and I will get it, you need to rest.’ Karla said, you looked at her annoyed, ‘Still the same toppings?’ She quizzed, you nodded.  ‘Keep -,’  ‘The door locked, we know.’ You, Neagley and O’Donnell said, Reacher looked defeated before he followed Karla out and shut the door behind him. Both their silhouettes walked past the window, Neagley slid the lock over.  ‘They’re the reason we never worked out, right?’ Karla turned to Reacher, who arched an eyebrow, ‘Y/N, you’ve always been focused on them.’ She continued, he didn’t reply.  ‘I don’t blame you, I guess I was naive for thinking anything would show between us.’ She added, Reacher focused ahead of him. 

‘What you doing back?’ You quizzed as he marched into the room, he set the carrier bag onto the small chair that sat at the window, he continued to walk towards you.  ‘I think I might stay awhile.’ He stated, you watched as he lowered himself into the bed next to you, his hand landed next to your knee, his finger twitched slightly.  ‘Reacher settle down? We must be at the end of the world.’ You joked, he looked at you over his shoulder.  ‘Not the end, just until you’re healed up.’ He said, your eyebrows jumped up.  ‘You’re staying for me?’ You asked, your hands moved from your crossed legs to your chest, he nodded.  ‘Shoulda stayed a long time ago.’ He admitted, you shook your head.  ‘I’m capable of looking after myself.’ You replied, his hand landed on your knee before he squeezed it.  ‘You shouldn’t have to be, I’m gonna be here.’ He told you, he didn’t break eye contact with you.  ‘Reacher.’ You breathed, you placed your hand on top of his, your thumb stroked across the back.  ‘Don’t try and convince me, I’m staying.’ He said, his gaze dropped to your joined hands.  ‘I was going to say thank you.’ You informed him, he looked up to you before you both smiled at each other. 

Tags (you all commented on my post) - @mariahill2001 @redpool @wolflover384 @jayblackpanther @incognito2252 @charmed-asylum @erajoie07 @midnightstar-90 @yourlocalnegroko @honestlysublimecherryblossom ~@annacavillsblog @cynic-spirit

[headingalaxys-spicy]

Heyyyy I love ur work so much!!! Can I request an allies x reader in which they go out on shopping and reader has the urge to buy something so ridiculous and maybe childish lmaooo like a figurine or plushie and is kinda embarrassed to admit it lmao I just wonder how the allies would react to their partner ❤️❤️

⭐️✨❤️💗 Fluff 💗❤️✨⭐️

Suitable for all so like yeah.

🇺🇸 America 🇺🇸

“Hey Y/N! Which pizza are you trying to-” 

The sandy blonde looked up from his grocery list to see that you were several paces in front of him, trying to rush off to the other side of the store. You were itching to get past a cluster of people blocking your path. This allowed Alfred some time to catch up. 

“Yo! Y/N! What’s the rush? The freezer section is to the left not all the way in the back!” 

“Yeah, I know…I uh…” Your eyes were estimating how much closer you were to the aisle you were trying to get to. “I just want to grab something real quick. You don’t have to-” 

“Well, I want to come, darlin’; show me what you’re so eager to get to.” 

You bite down on your lip, and your pace begins to slow. Alfred notes this and moves to your side, with the cart still in front of him. 

“Why’d you slow down? You were moving at breakneck speed earlier.” He playfully pokes at your cheek.

“I…..” You still had a little ways to go before you were where you wanted to be. “There this series of plushies I’ve adored since I was a kid & there is this re-release…” Your hands nervously rubbed the fabric of your hoodie. “And I really want one of them that I haven’t been able to find for the past couple of years so I can finally add it to my collection.” 

“Aw, babe.” Alfred pulls you into a bear hug and tousles your hair. “Hop in the shopping cart! Let’s get to the toy aisle ASAP!” It will feel like you’re playing a live-action game of Mario Kart with how he runs and steers the basket. 

🇨🇦 Canada 🇨🇦

As Matthew crossed out another errand that needed to be completed, he noticed that you’d been distracted by the directory. As he caught up with you, he couldn’t help but notice the excitement that began to blossom in your (eye color) eyes. His violet eyes trailed behind where yours were concentrating on. They landed on the specialty toy store that imported figurines from all across East Asia. 

“Y/N? Is that where you want to go next, maple?” 

You flinched a little when you realized that he was behind you. 

“Heh. Yeah…..” 

“Is everything alright Y/N?” 

“Yeah. I’m just worried about you judging me…. A little.” 

“Why would I do that, my sweet maple?” 

“Well, there is this one anime/manga series, and I have this collection of figurines that I’ve been trying to complete for almost ten years.” You turn your head to him so you can make eye contact with him. “And I’m just a little afraid you’ll like me less because of it. Or think I’m weird or something.” 

Matthew cocked his head to the side before he let out a polite giggle. 

“Oh, Y/N. I could never dislike you for something that makes you. YOU. Eh! Come on.” He grabbed your hand while he began to lead the way. “ I frequent this import shop. I know for a fact they just got in a new shipment this morning.” 

From there, Matthew will be comfortable enough to tell you that he comes here for all his oversized kawaii plushie needs for his secret room in his house. (He stays there when Alfred is visiting and needs to go MIA due to his social battery being dead.) 

🇨🇳 China 🇨🇳

“Come now! We have to hurry, or we’ll miss the shop before it closes for the evening!” 

Yao’s grip on your hand tightened as you made your way through the congested pedestrian traffic. Your attention was split between trying to concentrate on keeping up with him and seeing if you could spot that street vendor you’d seen before. 

So far, there has been no such luck until you saw it. The unmistakable pastel blues, pinks, and yellows that decorated the cart. 

“There!” You said absent-mindedly as your eyes lit up like a lantern. 

“Hm? Y/N the shop is at least two more blocks upwards.” Yao began to notice that walking with you while holding hands was like trying to drag a boulder. 

“Y/N! If we don’t hurry then-” When he turned around to see what had halted you in your tracks, his amber eyes immediately took note of the iconic pastel sign which read: “Chen Family Fluffy Handmade Companions.” Yao realized the look in your eyes demanded you to go over. He was about to complain about missing the chance to buy the remaining ingredients he needed to make tonight's dinner. He stopped himself when he felt his stomach rumble. 

‘Yeah, maybe it would be better to eat out tonight. I haven’t eaten since breakfast & I don’t have the patience to cook anymore.’

“Come on Y/N. Let’s go see if they have that one sparkly light-up bunny plushie I’ve seen you be mesmerized by a couple of times.” 

“REALLY?!” 

“Yes, Y/N. The last five times we’ve been to the night market together, your eyes have been glued to it.” 

“Is it that obvious?” You blush while evading his gaze to look at other illuminated signs. 

“Yes, but I find it cute. Why not just ask me to get it for you?” 

“I….I dunno….” Red consumed not only your face but your neck too.

“You’re so adorable, Y/N.” Yao removed some of the hair that had fallen in your face and tucked it behind your ear. 

“Let’s go get you that plush, then grab some dinner.” 

🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿 England 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿

The calm early evening atmosphere of the small tea shop temporarily put your nerves at ease. However, the closer it got to 18:00, the more your eyes wandered from your phone to the cobblestone, back to your high tea. Every few minutes, you’d see someone roaming in Brilliant Bright Bee merch. It was a small, internationally known brand of accessories and plushies that you had admired for a long time. 

Your eyes bounced back once more to the grandfather clock that was stationed near the entrance. 

“Y/N love? Is everything alright? You keep spacing out & seem antsy.” Arthur looks up at you from his Earl Grey tea. 

“Yes, I’m fine, Arthur really. It’s just…” Your eyes bound once again to the cobblestone path outside only to spot a cluster of 25-30 people all wearing similar BBB merch, outfits, and plushies. They were all headed in the same direction of one of the three BBB shops in all of the U.K.

‘With that group alone, they may clean out the entire shop….AND take all the Polar Bear n’ Bee  limited edition holiday plush I’ve been pining for since July!’ A frown had anchored itself to your face. 

Arthur’s eyes followed yours to look at the crowd that was beginning to head towards the Brilliant Bright Bee shop. 

“Looking at all those blokes preparing to battle it out over that new holiday collection from that popular indie brand.” As he spoke he noticed how your eyes had widened into cavernous pools of (eye color). They looked eager to join the battle. 

“Alright, love. Alright. But we get to redo high tea at midnight.” Arthur gives you a mischievous grin as he reaches for your right hand and places a scintillating kiss on it. 

“Pardon me, waitress! I need a shot of Expresso. I need to prepare myself for a retail bloodbath! Cheers!” 

[Arthur, my man Alfred’s energy be rubbing off on you. That or you are thinking bout yo pirate days ahahahah] 

🇫🇷 France 🇫🇷

Walking hand in hand with your flamboyant Frenchman through the Parisian streets felt like a romance novel coming to life. 

“So where shall we end the night? By the river? In a late-night wine shop? On the balcony at home?” Francis was shooting off ideas since, thankfully, he didn’t have work tomorrow. 

[A certain British man drank too much booze & needed to get his stomach pumped. JK headcannoning the reason he doesn’t drink caffeine is that while he benefits for the first five hours after having expresso of any kind later on he will be praying to the porcelain god for the next day.] 

You weren’t really concentrating on much of what Francis was chattering about. You’d gotten distracted by an ad that was for these handmade bears that would have a special charm sewn into them said to bring good luck. 

“Y/N, what could possibly be taking your attention away from Moi?” Francis says while playfully snatching your phone. When his blues land on the familiar stitching logo of the toymaker a Cheshire cat-like grin adorns his place. 

“Y/N, you didn’t tell me that you liked patches d’amour (loving patches)! I know some of the people who design and craft the bears….” Francis watched your face transition from shock to pleasantly surprised he knew being flashy in this instance was better. 

“I can pull some strings & get you one mi’amour.” He pulled you in close so he could plant a kiss on your forehead. Brimming over with happiness, you almost knocked Francis over when you thanked him with a big bear hug. 

🇷🇺 Russia 🇷🇺

“Which coat do you think looks better with my scarf Y/N?” Ivan placed one coat over the other as he looked at the floor-length mirror. Originally your attention was completely on him as you helped him find a new Winter coat. 

However, you gradually became more distracted. You continued to roam toward the front of the store & stay there for extended periods of time. Ivan heard your familiar footsteps rush back towards him near the dressing rooms. 

“Sorry about that, Ivan! I was just browning some other stuff that caught my eye!” When you turned the corner, Ivan’s violet orbs landed on your smaller figure. He could see that sweat beads were forming at the top of your forehead due to running back and forth so much. 

“Eye, see what you mean. It must be a ball because you run like dog to catch it.” Ivan says through a bright smile. 

“That's a very fetching joke.” You walk closer behind him. You get onto your tip toes so you can pinch his big nose. “But also, the coat in your left hand is very fetching too.” You rubbed your nose against his, before giving it a quick peck. 

“Thanks Y/N. But, seriously, what are you looking at, sunflower?” 

“Promise you won’t laugh?” Looking at him with a slight pout which Ivan always found amusing. 

��Da. Now tell me.” 

“Sooooo. You know that build-a-bear across the way?” 

“Da.” Immediately knows where you’re going with this. 

“They just dropped the seasonal sing-a-long Holiday Bear & I really want it!” 

Ivan giggles. 

“Hey! You promised not to laugh!” 

“Not at you or in a mocking way Y/N. You are the cuteness just like the things you want. Come.” 

Ivan tossed you over his shoulder. 

“Let me buy my coat & we can go get your bear.” 

[mistressheroine]

Rêves de la Dame Blanche by Mistressheroine

Coming Soon 🖤