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sunnylolli · 2 years ago

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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.

#Hetalia #hws face family #hws england #hws france #hws canada #hws america #hws fruk #Human au #hetalia fruk #hetalia fanfiction #north american brothers #They're domestic and they're fucking healthy #and I have more fucking lore and I WILL drop it after this #Domestic FACE au #Art tag

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broomcolate · 6 months ago

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

https://archiveofourown.org/works/56280922

#hetalia #hetalia world stars #hetalia axis powers #hws #aph #aph england #hws england #aph france #hws france #fruk #fanfic #fanfiction #silly sketch #arthur kirkland #francis bonnefoy #artists on tumblr

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yawujin · 8 days ago

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bwaaaah hetalia allies with s/o who's a virgin /// or, nsfw for their first time OUUUGGH!! also, what's ur limit for how many characters u write? I'd ask for both allies n axis but don't wanna bombard that many on u !! ^^

don't worry about that, i got youu ദ്ദി(ᵔᗜᵔ) enjoy!! 🤍

hetalia allies & axis | first time 💭 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

type | nsfw , smut , they/them pronouns used , established relationship , light hearted , first time trope

allies ♥︎

america/alfred f. jones

he's really excited and is prone to getting carried away.

it will take direct communication from his s/o to get him to calm down and take things slow. he can respect that, so he does.

he's making sure to be careful in everything he does, tracking his pace so he goes slow enough to not overwhelm them but fast enough to not bore them

he really really wants their approval...so he's doing the best he can (he wants that sweet praise after all is said and done)

england/arthur kirkland

he's like really anxious so if they're able to help him through that, that would be really great

he just has this fear that he'll hurt them so he is really gentle, it's an expectation that he's aware of so he just automatically does it

he's very encouraging and accepting towards mostly anything his s/o does during sex. he's the type to urge them to let it all out if they want to moan but are holding back. he also really wants them to grab onto anything of his, really. but only if they want to

he'll want to hurry and get them cleaned up as soon as they both finish, so they don't have to feel uncomfortable...especially after their first time

france/francis bonnefoy

he makes it very sweet, very loving, and makes sure that they feel comfortable before they even begin.

he'll give them words of affirmation, and letting them know they're free to back out at anytime. "if you want a break, just say the word and we'll have a break." france kisses their cheek

he's very vocal, complimenting them on their expressions, sounds and on their figure.

afterwards, he'll want to lie down and hold them. he'll tell them just how much he appreciates them and say what his favorite parts were. he'll ask them what theirs were, too.

canada/matthieu williams

he's shy but not anxious. being gentle is in his dna, so it comes to him automatically

"i never want you to feel uncomfortable..." he says. his voice is soft and sweet.

he's the type to guide them through it, putting his hand on theirs and placing it somewhere on his body. it's especially helpful if they're the type to not know where to touch.

i feel like he'd want to kiss them a lot, but he understands if they don't want to or get overwhelmed.

russia/ivan braginsky

first of all, he puts in effort to not look scary because he knows he can be intimidating

and since sex can be intimidating to some, he really tries to get them to have fun with it

he tries to do the same, and not take himself too seriously

he saves the sweet talk for after they both finish. for now, he wants to savor the moment with them and moan into their ear, watching how they react to all of it, all of him. he likes the fact that it's brand new to them, but he'll like it even more if he can please them...so he focuses on that.

china/yao wang

he's very well versed in helping people feel relaxed, especially during a moment that can be so overwhelming for some.

of course , it helps that he's experienced, too. that way he can reassure them and promise that he's going to make his s/o feel great

he's already prepared the essentials (i'll leave it up to the readers to guess what those are winkk)

he knows already that he's going to need to take things easy at first. it's really fortunate that he's good at tracking his pacing, and reading expressions. he keeps asking them if they feel alright, and if it's okay for him to continue. if they consent, he'll give them a quick kiss on the forehead before going back to what he was doing.

axis ♥︎

north italy/feliciano vargas

he's all smiles. he's just happy that he gets to be their first.

he's excited!! but he respects them completely, so he asks what exactly they want to happen.

italy is here to fufill their wishes. and that he does.

he can't help but hold them tightly in the heat of the moment, going in for a quick collection of kisses before pulling away for some air. he's getting desperate but he asks for permission before doing anything else.

germany/ludwig beilschmidt

he's nervous ngl but he knows what to do so he approaches this *situation* practically

he prolongs the foreplay just so he can give them a taste of what's to come also so he can get an idea of what they might like or dislike

he overthinks a lot of what people say and what their body language is so he takes that into account before they begin

he's the one to ask: "can i do this?" "is this okay with you?" before going any further. if they didn't know any better they'd think it's his first time with the hesistant way he goes about this (it's kind of sweet, since he's usually so direct)

japan/kiku honda

he's very sweet towards them, now more than ever

he says it's okay if they're nervous, but he really wants to know how they want to go about this

he urges them to talk about exactly what they want, so he can give it to them just as they prefer

he delivers; making them feel cared for from the very moment they start making out to the final moments where he's looking at them, even if they're too shy to maintain eye contact

prussia/gilbert beilschmidt

similar to his brother germany, prussia is direct and he uses this as a guide for them

he gently asks them if they can do a certain thing, letting them ease into it and letting them take the lead without so much pressure. he reminds them they can say no if he unknowingly asks too much of them

he does this because he'd rather not risk coming on too strong (he doesn't want to let his eccentricity get the better of him and overwhelm or scare his s/o ☹️)

he's happy with whatever they want to do and gives them a little bit of praise to encourage them further

south italy/lovino vargas

he tones down his usual blunt and outspoken demeanor just for them, reminding them that it's okay not to take themselves so seriously

he uses touch as a way to soothe their nerves, constantly holding any, and every part of them in one way or another

he goes ahead with touching them in the typical ways most people like, but tells them that they should let him know if they don't like something right away

as he gets accquainted with everything they do like though, he'll tell his s/o how amazing they feel, on almost every part of their body.

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ouiouibaguettt · 3 months ago

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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.

#gabby williams x reader #wbb x reader #wbb fanfiction #wbb fic #paris 2024 #paris france #paris olympics #gabby williams

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allsouls-emma · 3 months ago

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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.

#smut #leon marchand #léon marchand #fanfiction #olympics #paris france #olympics 2024 #jeux olympiques #swimming #Olympic swimming #Léon Marchand fanfiction #Léon Marchand fanfic #female reader #sports #rpf #swimming rpf #French

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ithoughtiwasthegayone · 19 days ago

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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

#skam #skam france #druck #skam espãna #sram #wtfock #skam italia #skam remakes #skam fanfiction

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neolxzr · 4 months ago

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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.

#cryn rambles #enstars #airaposting #sorry for writing enstars fanfiction on the dash lmfao #im not like. upset at this story yet or anything but when i stop to think about it it just doesnt make that much sense #how strong were those 1/4th french genes that hes just SO french looking that hes automatically assumed to be local #i dont buy it #also is not fitting in with either group your a part of perfectly not like. the quintessential experience of being mixed race #i feel like there was more interesting potential here #i still kind of wish he had a french last name. not that anyone in france would know his last name but like #the kids in his middle school wouldve #anyway. im rambling #lazer rambles

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saturnville · 3 months ago

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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.”

#saturnville #black!reader #black reader #original writing #original content #jules kounde #jules kounde x black reader #jules kounde x reader #jules kounde fanfic #jules kounde imagine #fc barcelona fanfiction #france national team #france nt

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playbucky · 9 months ago

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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

#reacher x reader #reader x reacher #reacher imagines #reacher fanfiction #jack reacher #reacher #frances neagley #malcolm goodwin #karla dixon #david o'donnell

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headingalaxys-spicy · 2 months ago

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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.”

#hetalia fandom #hetalia #hws america #ヘタリア #hws #headingalaxys sweet #headingalaxys writes stuff #alfred f jones #hws russia #hws canada #hws france #hws england #headingalaxys #aph allies #hetalia fanfiction writers #hetalia x you #hetalia x reader #hetalia fluff #matthew williams

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mistressheroine · 2 months ago

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Rêves de la Dame Blanche by Mistressheroine

Coming Soon 🖤

#VERY soon #bethyl #Bethyl in Paris #Bethyl in France #beth greene #daryl dixon #bethyl au #twd #the walking dead #otp #bethyl fanfiction

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shoezuki · 7 months ago

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Sampo likes to be vague about where they're going. It's kind of like a game to him, one that only he knows the rules to. Gepard asks, even though he knows it's nearly hopeless; where are we going? Is it a planet, a ship, a living creature? Which galaxy are we in? Is there oceans, deserts, forests? What kind of animals are there, what kind of people will they see?

Even when his questions go unanswered, Sampo's eyes gleam. Sometimes he shuts Gepard up with a kiss, a hand pressed over his heart, or teeth brushing over the column of his neck in a way that makes his breath stutter.

This time, though, Sampo is direct. For once, Gepard doesn't have to ask. Sampo wakes him up with instructions.

"Don't leave the ship," he instructs for the hundredth time as he guides the ship towards a strange, lone rock in the cosmos. The section of space they find themselves in is strange, a sweet, heavy feeling in the air. Their destination is in the midst of an asteroid field, metallic debris and chunks of meteors strewn and suspended about like someone strung them up randomly.

It's a bar, that much is evident. A sort of small, concrete building on a rough landform. It looks industrial, like someone had sliced a building out of a strip mall and deposited it here. There landform it's placed on is a small island, overrun with weathered docks made of scrap metal and decaying wood, anchored to nothing. various ships, dozens of them of all shapes and sizes, cling to the docks or are anchored to the landform itself, with ropes or chains or strange contraptions. For a desolate corner of the universe, it's packed. Yet Gepard doesn't see a single living person in sight.

"Gepard."

Sampo says his name with an uncharacteristic urgency that makes him jump, only then realizing Sampo had docked their ship as well and left them sitting in silence for however long. Sampo stands in front of Gepard now, hands on his hips and a rigid, towering figure. The starlight seeping in and the bright, flashing fluorescent lights on the bar glow from behind him, casting a shadow over his face. "Did you hear me?"

"Don't leave the ship," Gepard parrots, only half awake, with his legs crossed and a blanket draped over him. Sampo's jaw tightens. "Yes, but what else?" Gepard's sheepish silence is met with a low sigh, Sampo pinching the bridge of his nose. "Geppie, I'm being serious here, okay? This is important."

Gepard doesn't understand, but Sampo's tight posture, the pinched slant of his eyebrows, the way his stare feels intent, pointed on Gepard's skin, all makes secondhand unease curdle in his stomach. He bites his tongue and nods his head. Somehow that motion is enough to make Sampo sigh with clear relief, all but collapsing onto the rickety futon beside Gepard.

"Okay, take notes, Gepard. No-- not literally," Sampo adds on when Gepard pulls out his phone, making him blink and put it back down, attention fully on Sampo. "So, you will not leave the ship, under any circumstances. Got it? Never. You could watch the tavern collapse into itself and you still have to stay here. Don't leave and absolutely do not follow me into the tavern.

"But..." Sampo hisses between his teeth, as if pained to say more, "if for some idiotic, stupid reason that only the Aeons know of, you do go inside, there's rules you need to follow." He holds up one finger, intently watching him as if to make sure Gepard was actually paying attention. "First, don't tell anyone your name. Call yourself... the Captain, or something. No one can know your real name. Second, don't eat or drink anything. People will act all kind and hospitable or whatever and try and offer you drinks. Don't take any. Thirdly, do not dance with a single person. Don't dance at all, really. Just stay put somewhere and I'll... I'll find you, alright? Not that I’ll need to, since you won’t go in the Tavern, right? Okay? You got all that?"

Gepard frowns, chewing on his lip. This is the wrong answer, apparently; Sampo makes him jump by grabbing his shoulders, fingers tight where they dig into his arms. "Gepard, please. I'm being serious here. Do you understand?"

"Yes, of course," Gepard nods rapidly, repeating Sampo's rules in his head like a mantra. It's not the truth, though. Confusion prickles under his skin. "Why... are we even here? Wait, why are you going inside? Won't it be... dangerous for you too, then?"

Sampo's smile is sharp, a dangerous flash of pointed teeth. "I am technically a Masked Fool, y'know? And if we're gonna go through this neighbourhood of the universe, I need to, uh... partake in some revelry with the ladies and gentlemen in the Tavern. It'd be rude to walk through their house and not at least say hi!"

It's not the truth, or at least not the whole of it, but before Gepard can press anymore Sampo rubs his hand over his mouth, his words muffled into his palm. "And I gotta pay the owner of the tavern a visit, make sure he's upholding an old deal of ours."

Distaste, a sort of rancid discomfort makes Gepard stay quiet, simply watching Sampo as he gets up waltzes around the small bedroom on the ship. He hums something, talking to himself in cut off sentences like he often does as he gets his jacket, puts on his shoes. He feels different, though, a different kind of undercurrent below his skin. Sampo double and triple checks that his daggers are sheathed and hidden on him before turning to leave.

"Oooooookay! I'll be back!" He sings out, vanishing through the bedroom door and into the cockpit. He's leaning back into the door in less than a second, something in his eyes that makes Gepard sit straight. "Don't. Leave."

Sampo doesn't turn away until Gepard nods again, wiping around and vanishing like he'd never been there. Gepard hears the sound of the shuttle door opening with an airy hissss, slamming back shut.

He doesn't know how long he sits there, stewing in the silence Sampo left behind. The ship is quiet without Sampo's presence. His absence is always a sort of empty stillness, but now it feels suffocating. Gepard starts pacing, at some point.

Neon signs hang on the industrial cement walls of the bar, flashing images of two beer bottles colliding in cheers, an open sign that pulses blue and white. A massive, pink neon glowed the name 'The Green Chapel,' gaudy and far too bright. It makes his eyes hurt, but they still glow on the back of his eyelids when he tries to block them out.

Gepard doesn't see a single person, constantly walking around and up to the windshield, looking out at the other ships. Not a thing has moved, not another living soul has announced their presence. Gepard feels horrifically alone.

It's completely quiet. He can't hear any music, but there's a constant thump thump thump rattling in his bones, his heart, sending goosebumps rising on his skin. It reminds him of Serval's concerts, the times when he went to see Mechanical Fever perform; that sort of all consuming, booming sound of drums and bass that rattles the air.

He isn't sure how much time passes, but he knows it's far, far too long. It takes hours of worrying, of anxiety and unease making him feel nauseous, before Gepard realizes Sampo never said the tavern was safe for him, either.

It's deceptively easy, to leave the ship. Gepard makes sure he has his gauntlet on, properly dressed in jeans and a dark jacket. The air feels cold as he steps down onto the metal dock the ship is precariously perched on. Gepard doesn't hear a thing until he's standing at the old, weathered door, the fluorescent signs humming electric above him.

Gepard walks into the bar and is instantly engulfed by it, sound exploding around him. The music is electric, rhythmic harsh beats that crackle and surround him. It's massive inside, beyond what should be possible. The lights above pulse, the lights like living beings cutting through the darkness and bathing the crowd of writhing bodies in pink, purple, blues and reds. It's warm, a type of wet humidity in the air that smells of sweat and liquor and something strangely sharp-sweet that makes Gepard wrinkle his nose. He barely gets a chance to even recoil after stepping inside when a hand catches him, fingers on his elbow making him jolt away.

"Oh?" A woman, short in stature with long dark hair that glows blue-purple-pink under the throbbing lights. Her face is obscured by a mask, a pointed face with triangular ears. Gepard can almost make out swirling designs, the dark and light colours indistinguishable under the pulsing lights. He can't see her eyes, but there's a sharp tilt of her head that makes him feel small.

"You're new, aren't you?" She giggles, voice somehow cutting through the pounding music. "You are. I'd have recognized that handsome face if I'd seen it before." Gepard stands far taller than her, but somehow Gepard reels cornered, as if she's towering over him. She leans heavily into his side, a hand brushing over his clothed ribs. "Want to grab a drink? My treat, if you pay me back with a dance."

Gepard shoves her away without much thought. "No, I'd rather not," Gepard grinds out. She doesn't even flinch at his rejection, just stepping back. "I'm just looking for someone--"

"Aw, c'mon! No need to be such a bore. Just one dance won't kill you! Why not have some fun while you're here?"

Gepard bristles, overwhelmed and worried with Sampo's warnings swirling through his head. He narrows his eyes, goes to say something or push past her, but for a split second her mask shifts, the corners of its black eyes crinkling like paper. "Wait," she says, her voice burst of noise, "who are you looking for?"

Gepard catches himself before he can respond, clenching his teeth. Sampo had stressed he not say his own name, but what about Sampo's? He doesn't want to take the risk. "That... is none of your concern. Now, if you'll excuse me." He's uncaring as he shoves past her, gritting his teeth at the overwhelming lights and music, trying to stay out of the dancing crowd and keep towards the wall. He freezes when he feels too many fingers on his back.

“You're with him, aren’t you?” He doesn't know how he recognizes It to be her, her voice now distorted and muffled like she's underwater. Gepard spins on his heels and raises his fists on instinct, heart thumping in his chest--but she's gone. Gepard digs his teeth into his cheek and turns back, squaring his shoulders.

The dancefloor in the middle of the tavern is teeming with people, moving like one unified mass of laughter and cheering and screaming people. Gepard keeps to the wall, walking beside tables and booths filled with people all talking and taking shots, singing and laughing under the music. Many of them wear masks, indiscriminate things of varying sizes and shapes that Gepard can't decipher. Many of them don't wear masks, too, a cheerful gleam over their eyes. Gepard keeps catching glimpses of the bar through the crowd, against the far wall that's lined with shelves choke full of bottles. There's one bartender, technically; the person behind the bar is a humanoid figure in a clean blazer, their head gone with numerous grinning and crying and laughing masks spinning around over their shoulders. Their arms seem incorporeal, not quite real in a way that Gepard swears he sees two arms stretched across the bar collecting change, two more mixing a drink, one more talking with a customer like it's a hand puppet. It hurts his head to watch them move.

He has no idea how he's going to find Sampo in this. He should've asked more questions, especially what he's doing here. He tries to look for blue hair, green eyes, that smile he's come to know so well, but the hazy lights and constant movement makes everything blur together.

Gepard isn't looking where he's going, scanning the crowd and the filled tables and booths. His foot catches on the leg of someone's chair, nearly tripping him if it weren't for the hand that catches him by the shoulder. “Sorry,” Gepard gasps out, standing up. The man in the seat laughs, clapping a hand on his shoulder. His mask is more like a helmet, metal shaped into the face and crown of a king.

“No problem, my man!” He laughs loudly, throwing an arm over Gepard's shoulders in a sort of side hug, as if they're old friends. “No harm no foul! What's your name, friend? Come to watch the show?”

“Call me Captain.” Gepard blurts out, looking past him. There's numerous tables and chairs before him, all facing the wall that is covered in dozens of TV screens of varying sizes. They all seem to be showing the same thing; a first person perspective of someone seemingly in battle, fighting a gargantuan reptilian beast. They seem to be losing, someone out of the corner of their eye screaming for them. Many people are watching the screens, cheering and clapping despite the grizzly scene of claws raking across the person's chest. Gepard sees some people groan, others celebrating as credits change hands.

“It's just getting good,” the man pulls at Gepard's attention, motioning for him to sit down. Gepard holds against his tugging. “According to the script, the performer's love interest will watch them perish and go on a rampage to avenge them! Want me to order you a drink, too?”

Gepard's shaking his head before the man's done talking, watching the way the mask's eyes gleam and blink like melting metal. “No,” he says, glad that the man's grip melts off him like ice as he steps back, “no thank you, I'm--”

He's stepped too far back, colliding with someone dancing. Gepard jumps and spins to see someone with the face of a snake and hair like pine needles hiss at him. His heart leaps in his throat as they vanish into the crowd, looking around to find himself engulfed by the dancers, surrounded. The music is too much, warm bodies pressing around him. He can feel his shirt sticking to his back, his heading hurting from the lights and--

A hand, rough and tight and insistent, clamps down on his forearm. Gepard growls and spins around, raising his gauntlet and punching whoever has grabbed him. His attack is halted midair, their hand encasing his fist. Gepard tries to kick, shove and pull away only to be yanked forward towards them.

Off balance, he falls into their grip, arms around his shoulders and his head shoved down into the crook of their neck. He goes to lash out, heart running rampant in his chest. He only stills, though, when he catches a glimpse of blue hair, feels annoying but familiar buckles digging into his own chest. The mouth by his ear, the chin hooked over his shoulder, makes him relax.

“Gepard!” Sampo's voice is a hissed sound, low and only for him. “What are you doing here?” His tone is harsh, his body tense against Gepard's. Sampo's hands are flurry of panicked motion as he runs them over Gepard's back, his arms, his shoulders, his head. “Are you okay? You aren’t hurt? Has anyone tried to-- Why are you here? Seriously, I wasn't joking when I said you needed to stay put! This place isn't safe. This stupid, sorry excuse for a Tavern--”

“I'm sorry,” Gepard interjects, grabbing one of Sampo's hands in his own, the other light on Sampo's waist. He rubs his thumb over the back of Sampo's hand. “I know, I know what you said. But you were gone… a long time. I was concerned and decided to look for you.”

Sampo is quiet, simply standing pressed against Gepard. He feels the tension slowly leave his body, feels his shoulders drop as he lets out a sigh. He says nothing for a moment, intertwining his fingers with Gepard’s, his other hand on his shoulder as he starts to guide Gepard into a slow, swaying motion. He just goes along with it, let’s Sampo lead him into a slow dance that is wildly out of place with the music, the ecstatic crowd around them. Sampo is humming something soft and distantly familiar, his cheek pressed to Gepard’s.

The music is still constant, loud and vibrant, but Sampo’s presence makes it feel… diluted. Faraway and almost muffled, like there’s a bubble between them and the rest of the bar. Gepard glances around and notices it’s the same with the crowd, too; dozens of people around them, lost in their own worlds, now give them a wide berth, a few feet kept between the two of them and everyone else at all times. No one turns to look at them, Gepard doesn’t feel any eyes on him or note any quick glances towards them, as if looking at Sampo will burn their eyes.

“No need to apologize,” Sampo speaks up suddenly. Gepard turns to look at his face, but Sampo holds him chest to chest, keeping his chin over Gepard’s collar. His blue hair is vibrant in the light, his skin almost sparkling. “I shoulda just… brought you with me from the start, probably. Well I’d rather not bring you here at all but…” He sighs, clicks his tongue, leans into Gepard. “Duty calls! Or something like that.”

“Are you done here?” Gepard whispers. Sampo shouldn’t be able to hear him over the surging, vibrant air, but somehow Gepard knows he does. “With whatever it is you need to do here, I mean.” Sampo’s immediate response is a groaning sound deep in his throat, his forehead knocking against Gepard’s collarbone. “No, no. I still… ugh, this place sucks. Just give me a minute, please? And I’ll…”

“Okay.” Sampo leans into him so heavily and fully, like he’s trying to meld himself with Gepard’s flesh, into his skin. Gepard takes his weight without question, content to hold them both up as Sampo sways them in a slow turning waltz. Gepard’s head doesn’t hurt, anymore. The overstimulation has subsided, but the confusion and concern hasn’t, not fully.

“We’re dancing.”

“Mhm. Well, technically. Sampo Koski a better dancer than whatever this is, I assure you!”

“That’s not what I mean,” Gepard says with an amused snort, knocking his temple against Sampo’s head lightly. “I mean that… you said no dancing. With anyone.”

Sampo’s laugh rumbles Gepard’s chest, through his ribs and straight into his heart. “C’mon, Geppie! If you just don’t wanna dance, say so! I promise I’ll pretend it won’t break my weak, frail heart.”

“And you said no names. But you’ve said mine in here many times now.”

There’s a hesitation, one Gepard feels in Sampo’s stuttering step, his hand clenching so slightly around Gepard’s. “It’s… I’m just that exceptional, I suppose,” he says after a strained pause.

Gepard wants to ask. It is a need, a rising feeling that rises from his stomach to his throat. He wants to ask about the people, the masks, the way Sampo’s touch and his presence makes people keep their distance but makes his head feel clear. Gepard has never, really, been curious like his sisters, but Sampo makes curiosity envelop him; Gepard wants to know everything about Sampo, the good and the bad. The things Sampo won’t tell him. But not here, in this strange Tavern with these strange people.

“I’m sorry,” Sampo whispers out, and Gepard feels like he’s apologizing for more than it seems, “but I need to… connect with some old Fools.” Sampo lifts his head and cranes his neck back, scanning over and past the crowd. Gepard tries to get a look at his face but Sampo turns his head each time, the lights and shadows obstructing his expression. All Gepard gets is shimmering, smooth skin like porcelain and a glimpse of green eyes glowing in an indescribable colour.

“I can leave back to the ship,” Gepard says, “just… promise you won’t be long.”

“Sorry, darling, but, uh…” He clicks his tongue, jerks his chin towards where Gepard came, where the door should be. But Gepard sees nothing but chairs and tables, a tall, harsh wall decorated with paintings and photos and screens that make his mind spin. “You’ll have to wait to leave with me, so I can show you the way out. But I’d rather you don’t meet the Tavernkeeper…” He chews on his lip, humming in thought as he searches for… something.

“Aha!” Sampo suddenly jerks, jumping and yanking Gepard along with him. “Found him! C’mon, Geppie! You can hang out with my old friend while I, uh, go say my hellos.”

The crowd parts seamlessly like water, heads turned away from them as Sampo pulls Gepard along. Gepard keeps his head down, focusing onto the point of contact where Sampo holds his hand tightly, his grip protective and unwavering. He doesn’t look back at Gepard once.

A series of pool tables and poker tables envelop the corner, on a raised floor almost like a stage. Gepard glimpses poker chips, cards and credits and roulette wheels all in motion as Sampo guides him through it all to the far corner. A booth catches Gepard’s attention as they approach it, the seats filled with lifesized, off-white porcelain dolls, carved into various mechanical poses. Each has cards and chips in front of them, as if someone had set up a poker scene. The one, moving person sitting at the table makes his eyebrows raise.

“Gio--” Gepard says, clamping his mouth shut before saying his full name. The man’s head snaps up, the familiar mask meeting Gepard’s gaze. The black, indestructible eyes of his mask are dark and depthless. He holds himself upright and proper, gloved fingers clasping his own hand of cards. He tilts his head towards Sampo as they stop right in front of his booth.

“Ayo, Gio! Long time no see!” Sampo laughs, his tone sarcastic and light. He wraps an arm around Gepard’s shoulders, as if unwilling to let go of him in any way. “I didn’t take you for the kind to haunt around this Tavern, but I knew I felt you here! What have you been up to, you old Fool?”

“Brother Sampo, delightful to see you, as always.” His voice is a low, lulling tone, despite how he has to raise his voice to be heard over the constant din of music. He glances down at his cards, tapping the table before looking up again. “I’m simply passing through and staying here a moment before moving on. It’s, frankly, much more strange seeing you here. Business as usual?”

“Business as usual,” Sampo hums and nods, tilting his head in a harsh, jerking motion. “Sorry to, uh, interrupt your game, but I have a favour to ask you.”

“A favour?” There’s a pointed, sharp interest in his tone. Gepard stares at the smooth, two-toned design of his mask, suddenly jumping when he sees movement out of the corner of his eye. He looks to the mannequins, staring at them and challenging them to move again. “I don’t mind dealing in favours, especially with you, Sampo. I assume it has to do with…”

Gepard looks back at him, noticing the weight of Giovanni’s attention now on him. Sampo’s grip is tight, fingers digging into his shoulder. “Captain,” Gepard blurts out, “you can call me the Captain.” Sampo’s grip relaxes. The lips of Giovanni’s mask almost seem to lift. “Ah, the Captain, yes. It’s a pleasant surprise to see you here, Captain. Have you been well?”

“I’m doing well, G-Giovanni. It’s good to see you, too.”

“We’re on our honeymoon,” Sampo coos, making Gepard’s face heat up. Sampo gives him the opportunity to protest, but Gepard bites his tongue instead and lets Sampo squirm. “Uh-uhm, yeah! I’m showing him all the sights! The best places in the universe! Not this Tavern, though. This is an unfortunate pit stop I couldn’t avoid. You get it, Gio.” Giovanni just nods in response, lifting his hand and pointing to a mannequin across the table from him. He says a word that is static in Gepard’s ears, and the mannequin has vanished, a seat open.

“Gep,” Sampo whispers in his ear, pulling his attention. Gepard tries to look at his face--Sampo ducks away, just enough to cast shadows over his face. “You don’t mind keeping Giovanni some company here for a minute, do you? I’ll be back before you know it! Oh, don’t play poker with him, though.”

Gepard can’t help but tense, looking to Giovanni with narrowed eyes. “Why?”

“Because he’s a dirty cheater.”

“You shouldn’t project your own failings on me, Sampo Koski,” he says as he shuffles. The chips and the cards have shifted when Gepard wasn’t looking, Giovanni’s winnings now significantly lighter. “Would you like me to deal you in, Captain?”

“I’m okay, thank you.” He peels himself away from Sampo, sliding into the booth across from Giovanni. The music is instantly louder, now away from Sampo. “I won’t be staying long, after all.” Gepard says it with a pointed look in Sampo’s direction, making him snort. Sampo is looking away, only the portrait of his face visible. The little of his smile Gepard can glimpse looks stiff, plastic. “Thanks, Gio! I’ll be back before you know it, Captain.”

He turns on his heels but hesitates. Gepard frowns, goes to ask if he’s okay, only for Sampo to move and surge towards him. He’s quick, the lights making him a blurred movement. Gepard feels Sampo’s lips on his cheek, strangely cold and smooth against his skin. It makes his chest swell regardless.

“See ya!” Sampo spins around and marches off, the dancing crowd parting for him. Gepard watches him all the way, seeking him out when he loses sight of Sampo. He can see the bar in the back from here, the inhuman bartender behind it. Gepard sees a familiar head pause by the barstools, the bartender going rigid like a statue. They move, turn towards Sampo, leaving all their customers who were begging for their attention abandoned without a care. The masks spin, shivering, settling on a massive mask with its expression twisted in something resembling fear. Sampo gestures, shrugs, makes wide, clipped motions with his hands as he says something that makes the bartender recoil. Sampo opens a door Gepard swears wasn’t there before, making the bartender go inside before following them in.

“How has Belobog been?”

Gepard turns back to Giovanni. The lights are overwhelming once more, the music piercing through his flesh, to his very core. It’s hard to focus on the other man, who’s looking down at his poker hand intently. “It’s… yes, Belobog is doing well. Nothing out of the ordinary since you’ve left.” It’s a lie, one Gepard doesn’t feel bad about. If Sampo hadn’t mentioned what had happened to his friend, Gepard definitely wouldn’t be the one to bear both their chests open. “You’ve… been well? You said you aren’t here for long. You’re traveling, I assume?”

“I’m not one to stay idle for long,” he hums, putting chips into the center of the table. The mannequins keep moving out of the corner of Gepard’s eyes, making him jump and stare at their still figures. They’re only animated, fully formed people when he isn’t looking at them, seeing people holding their cards and matching Giovanni’s bet, only to go still once more. Their faces are painted on with what looks like makeup, lipstick spread over their doll-like lips messily.

“I am, frankly, surprised to see you away from your city, Captain.” Gepard looks back to him, watching as he collects his winnings from the mannequins. The sound of his chips clattering together sounds like bells. “Not to say I’m not glad. There is a lot of joy to be found in leaving home, seeing new things. I’m sure Sampo has treated you to some entertaining sights.”

“Honestly,” Gepard sighs, sinking into his chair just a bit, “I never thought I’d leave, either. I could never leave permanently, or travel forever like you do. But it’s been… phenomenal.”

“I’m happy for you.” Giovanni’s tone is the same, level and collected, but Gepard can tell he’s genuine. “Sampo Koski is well versed in… elation, after all. I wouldn’t have expected you to have found each other like this, moreso I’m shocked that that old Fool can settle, but I truly wish the best for both of you.”

He doesn’t really know what to do with this turn of conversation, covering his warm, blushing face with a hand. He laughs into his palm, watching talking mannequins just barely out of his focus. “Ah… thank you? It’s… we… yeah. Yeah.” He pauses a moment, the entirety of Giovanni’s words registering and making him frown. “What do you mean by that?”

Giovanni hesitates while shuffling, the cards in his hands slipping to the table. He huffs, dragging them back together in a clean stack. His movements are smooth, practiced as he shuffles, with unnecessary flourishes as he fans the cards, cascading them between his hands. It reminds Gepard of Sampo, the times they spent playing poker between the two of them, later with Seele once Gepard actually got the hang of it. Sampo is far, far more flashy with it, though.

“You have questions.”

Gepard does. Many of them, listless and disorganized in the confines of his skull. None of them are meant for Giovanni, though. “Are these actually people, or mannequins?”

“You know that’s not what I mean,” Giovanni says with a chuckle, dealing out cards. They glide across the table, settling perfectly in front of the mannequins. “Frankly, it is… unimaginable to me that Sampo would bring anyone here, let alone you.”

Gepard crosses his arms, sitting straight. “Why is that?”

“This place is… well, you see how it is.” Gepard doesn’t look away from Giovanni as he gestures out and around them. “Sampo has some… previous agreements that make him come here, but I know he would never set foot in this place if he could avoid it. But him bringing you to any Tavern? He has pulled risks in the past, but I thought he’d be more… careful.”

“I came in here of my own accord,” Gepard bites back, not hiding his defensiveness. “It’s my fault I’m even here. Sampo told me to stay away, but I came in myself.”

“Because you wanted in on the fun?” Giovanni says, “or because Sampo wouldn’t tell you why he’s here?”

“I came in here to make sure he was okay.”

“You truly don’t need to worry about him in any Tavern,” he laughs, clicks his tongue, shakes his head like he’s talking to a child. “I think you know that, too. Sampo isn’t in danger here.”

“You’ve called him old,” Gepard blurts out, digging his fingers into his thighs. It bothers him, for some reason, this strange and unimportant thing. Giovanni seems to expect this, maybe knew he’d planted that niggling worry into his head, tapping his fingers on the table. “Yes, I did.”

“Why.”

“I’m sure Sampo has been careful with you, considering you will return to your planet.” The tap tap tap tap of his fingers on the tabletop send a hammer swinging against his skull. “But Sampo and I are old, especially for Masked Fools. We tend to get too involved in our performances, especially tragedies. Fools don't live as long as us. We have been around this universe… many times. And time isn’t kind in every galaxy.”

“You’re not answering, Giovanni.” He grinds his teeth. He has the rising feeling that Giovanni is taking delight in this, and it makes his hackles raise. “Tell me. What do you mean.”

“How old do you think he is?”

“Gio--”

“You’re probably right,” he interjects, pulling more chips to himself. One of the out of view mannequins shuffles the cards, and it grates on Gepard’s skin. “In your assumption, I mean. He isn’t technically much older than you, but he’s been around longer.

“An example,” he hums, taps his chin, holding Gepard’s gaze. “I have an old business partner in the Klimt Republic. About five years ago, I left and journeyed across the galaxies to meet with merchants, business associates, sponsor the Interastral Tournament Festival, etcetera.” He leans forward, over his own cards and chips and towards Gepard. “I visited him, about a week ago. For him, 30 years had passed. He’d retired and his daughter was managing his business.”

Gepard doesn’t say a word, just watches the tight, careful way Giovanni raises his cards and throws them down on the table. Two aces stare up at them, vibrating on the table like they are going to take flight. Gepard hadn’t noticed the chips all collecting into the middle of the table, Giovanni chuckling lowly as he drags them towards himself.

“I don’t mean to alarm you,” he says without raising his head; Gepard doesn’t entirely believe him. “As I said, Sampo is careful when he wants to be. And knowledgeable, too. He knows the universe better than most do. If you haven’t noted any temporal discrepancies when messaging people, then there’s no harm, no foul.”

“Your name isn’t Giovanni.” Gepard’s words bubble over, not-quite questions that press between his teeth. His head hurts, his brain feeling too large in his skull. Giovanni shakes his head. “No, it is not.”

“Sampo Koski… isn’t his name, is it?”

Giovanni laughs, a full body cackle that sounds shrill and strange from the other man. Gepard grits his teeth, narrowing his eyes at the pulsing lights that taunt him from above. “Believe it or not, Captain,” Giovanni sighs, rubbing nonexistent tears from the eyes of his mask. He pauses to collect the credits the mannequins had bet, folding it neatly. “But it is. Out of every name he’s taken, it’s the truest.”

The cards have vanished, the chips gone, the mannequins nowhere to be found. It’s as if it had never existed, that Giovanni had been alone. Gepard stares down at the bare, worn table before looking back to Giovanni as he stands up, straightens his suit. “Sampo Koski is an exception.”

He almost wants to ask what in the Aeons he means by that, but Giovanni is making a shocked noise in the back of his throat before he can. He looks down and raises his arm, peeling back his sleeve and looking at his bare wrist. “Ah! Apologies, Captain, but I’m afraid the time has slipped from me. I best be going. Please give Sampo my farewells, and tell him I’m sorry.”

His eyebrows raise, going to stand himself. “Sorry? For wh--”

Giovanni doesn’t say a word, spinning on his heels and straight into the wall. Gepard’s mouth hangs open on his unfinished words when he watches the wall seem to crumble in on itself, revealing a door out into a bright, golden cityscape. It unfurls behind Giovanni and returns to normal in an instant. Gepard bursts to his feet then, hands flat on the table as he gapes at where the other man had once been. He stares a moment, before slowly sitting back down, his stomach in his throat.

He doesn’t know what to do, if he should do anything besides sit there. The bar is overwhelming now without someone or something to focus on, a headache clawing up the back of his spine and digging in behind his eyes. Gepard sinks into the seat, avoiding looking at the writhing crowd of laughing and dancing people. He finds himself looking back to the bar constantly, as if Sampo is waiting for him there. But he isn’t. The bar remains unmanned, numerous customers having climbed over the counter to help themselves now, standing on barstools and sending glass bottles clattering to the floor.

His anxious silence is interrupted quickly; “you look like you need some company!”

“No,” Gepard said instantly, looking up at the man leaning heavily on the table. He’s young, a thin but tall man practically holding himself up against the table. He isn’t wearing a mask, his grin still wide like the artificial smiles he’s seen on numerous predatory masks on other dancers. His eyes are fixated on him in a way that makes Gepard’s skin crawl.

“Aw, c’mon, don’t be like that!” The man coos, falling forward onto the table and leaning on his elbows, his chin in his palm. “Why’re you all alone in the corner like this? You should be having fun, dancing, drinking! No need to be all standoffish. I bet I can get you smiling in no time. What’s your name, friend?”

“I’m not your friend,” Gepard growls, standing up, “and I definitely don’t need you accosting me. Goodbye.” He really shouldn’t leave, should stay so that Sampo can find him easily, but the man keeps leaning closer and closer and Gepard feels like a cornered animal. He glances away, ignoring the man’s whined protest, squinting against his headache as he scans the crowd. He steps away, figuring he can just sit at the bar by the drunk, cackling patrons and wait for Sampo there.

He barely takes a step before a hand circles his wrist, fingers feeling cold like a chain, tight against his skin. Gepard bristles, his lip curled as he turns towards the grinning Fool. “Let. Go.”

“Why?” He giggles, pouts, tugs on Gepard’s hand. “Letting go is no fun! You know, you’d be happier if you just danced with me, let me buy you a drink. Why not have a good time, let loose, have some fun?”

Gepard responds by trying to rip his hand out of the man’s grip, but he falls forward with the movement, so close it’s suffocating. His breath smells of liquor as he laughs, eyes shining and too bright. “Ooooh you wanna slow dance instead? Why not just say so? I still haven’t caught your name, though. How ‘bout we trade? You can call me--”

“I don’t want to know,” Gepard growls out, lip curled. He flexes his fingers, feeling the cold swirl around his gauntlet as he clenches his fist and holds it back to strike. “Let go of me right now, or you’ll regret it.”

“How rude.” His smile is sharp, voice like a hiss. “Dance with me, and I’ll forgive you.”

Gepard gave in to the hot anger crawling up his throat, hoping that this wouldn’t cause Sampo too much trouble. “No. Don’t say I didn’t warn--”

He lungs forward as if to tackle him into the other crowded tables behind them. Gepard goes to meet him with his fist but doesn’t get the chance. There’s a surge of movement, a flash of red and purple and blue and the cackling, growling huff of indistinguishable words.that crackle in his ears. A clawed hand on his sternum pushes him back, the man flailing and shoved back like a marionette wrenched by its strings. The man yelps, something cracking as he’s shoved back onto the table and his head collides with the wood. Sampo towers over him as he yanks the man up by his shirt.

“He said no.” Sampo’s voice is a fierce, screeching sound. The fog in the air almost dissolves, the music and the lights secondary to Sampo’s presence. The people nearest have all gone inhumanely still, heads craned in their direction as they pause in their card games or conversations or dancing. Gepard finds himself stunned still, too.

“W-wait!” The man gasps, sounding choked on his own words. He goes to grab at Sampo’s arm but jerks away as if afraid to even touch him, struggling to kick back and away from him. “I-It’s-- I didn’t--”

“Did you not hear him the first time? Or the second?” Sampo grits out his words between his teeth, a sort of dangerous, humourous tone in his voice; a warning. “What makes you think you could grab him like that? Huh? Tell me.”

The man is shaking, eyes wide and manic as he breathes heavily, frantically. “I-I-I don’t--” He gulps, glancing around and behind Sampo as if for someone to save him. Not a single person makes a move, says a word, does anything but gawk with a sort of stunned, scrutinizing stare. His eyes landed on Gepard for only a second before Sampo shook him, saying something low that Gepard didn’t hear. “I-I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Please, I thought-- I didn’t know that he’s y-your toy already. Please don’t--”

“Toy?” Sampo’s laughter is something shrill and echoing; crunching glass between teeth, violin chords snapping, the echoing ringing of bells, a bellowing horn. It makes Gepard wince slightly, but the people around recoil and groan in pain, hands over their ears as they lurch back. The man in Sampo’s grip looks like he’s going to be sick.

“You are,” Sampo hums, his tight grip on the man’s shirt shaking, “are the worst kind of Fool. The kind who find their sick fun in messing with others? Toying with people and stringing them along. Is that right?” He accentuates his words with a chuckle, shaking the man slightly. Gepard is lost on what to do--until he sees Sampo reach for his dagger. “Is this really Elation, to you? Is there really any joy in making other people suffer, using them? You should thank Aha for not caring how you get your sick thrills, because I won’t--”

Sampo!” Gepard grabs his hand, his fingers a shackle around Sampo’s wrist and his other hand harsh on his shoulder. Sampo tenses and goes to twist towards him, giving Gepard the faintest flash of his face. His eyes are not just green, but swirling with specks of colour like confetti and glowing beyond what should be possible. His skin is too smooth, discoloured and unblemished and sparkling in a way that is entirely alien to Gepard. He sees his eyes widen, something sparking under his irises, before Sampo ducks his head away again. He’s rigid under Gepard’s grip.

“Sampo,” Gepard gulps, pulling back on Sampo’s arm, peeling at his grip around the hilt of his dagger. The man still held in Sampo’s grip whimpers and begs but Gepard ignores it. “That’s enough. Just put him down and we can leave and never come back, okay?”

“But--”

“I’m alright,” Gepard interrupts, already knowing the words caught on Sampo’s tongue, “this wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle. I’m fine. I’d be better if we’d leave, though.”

A muscle in Sampo’s jaw tenses. Gepard just watches him and ignores the weight of the attention on their backs. He watches as the tense, frigid line of Sampo’s shoulders slowly melts and softens. Gepard loosens his grips as Sampo sighs. He lets go of the men, unceremoniously dropping him and letting him fall back onto the table. He sucks in a panicked breath, not looking at either Sampo or Gepard as he scrambles frantically off the table, giving Sampo a wide berth as he bolts.

The music is dulled, a faint pulse in the air. The entire Tavern feels different, tense like everyone was waiting for Sampo to snap again, to attack anyone. Gepard ignores it all, ignores the way masked faces follow him as he takes Sampo’s dagger from his hand, runs a hand across his back. “You’re done with what you needed to do?”

Sampo’s response was a delayed nod. “Yeah. Yeah. Sorry for the wait.” Gepard just shakes his head, Sampo watching Gepard out of the corner of his eye as Gepard holsters his dagger, intertwines their fingers. “Okay, good. If you can show me the way out, then?” He squeezes Sampo’s hand; it takes a moment for Sampo to squeeze back.

“Okay,” he sucks in a breath, exhaling harshly and shaking his head, “okay! Let’s get out of here!” Gepard is all too glad to be pulled along by Sampo, his grip a reassurance as Sampo takes him through the room. Heads swivel in mechanical unison to follow them, people once again parting for Sampo as he tugs Gepard through the dancefloor, moving in a strange pattern until they escape the crowd, a familiar door in front of them. Sampo doesn’t look back at him once, but hesitates a moment.

He spins around, towards the back of the bar. “Hey!” He yells out. Gepard follows his line of sight to the bar; the inhuman bartender stands behind it once more, but they hold themself… strangely, now. Their numerous arms shiver and shake as they messily prepare drinks, and at the sound of Sampo’s yell they jump and recede into themself, the crying mask gyrating.

“Don’t forget our deal, my friend!” Sampo bellows out, one hand by his mouth. His teeth are just a bit too sharp when he smirks. “Or I’ll take matters into my own hands!” The bartender puts their dozens of hands over their mask before ducking behind the bar, Sampo’s laughter seeming to make the liquor bottles shake on the shelves.

Gepard doesn’t get a chance to ask, though, confusion bubbling up his chest. Sampo doesn’t look at him, just squeezes his hand again before turning and shoving the front door open.

It’s quiet outside, just as it had been before. Leaving the Tavern is an instant relief; the hot, too-sweet weight of the air had been suffocating. Gepard can’t help but breathe in deeply and let out a sigh, even as Sampo still drags him towards their ship.

Gepard enters the cockpit and collapses into the passenger chair, knocking his head back against the wall. Sampo’s movements are a relaxing sound, his presence enough to calm him down. Gepard just focuses on the scuffling sound of Sampo’s footsteps, the mechanical whirring of the engine coming to life, the thruming of the propellers lifting them from the dock and the clattering, rhythmic sound of the wings as Sampo guides them through the stars. The faint, dull ache in his head fades as time passes, as they get farther and farther away from that damned bar.

Sampo is the one to break the silence, his words making Gepard snap his eyes open; “I’ll take you straight back to Belobog. It won’t be long. Jarilo-IV isn’t technically that far from here and so I’ll make it quick--”

“What?” Gepard sits up quickly, snapping his head towards Sampo. The passenger seats are situated behind the pilot’s, leaving Gepard to just stare at the back to Sampo’s head. Stars and debris and various celestial bodies pass by them in streaks of colour, their movement a blur through the cosmos. Sampo doesn’t look back at him, doesn’t look at him at all as he speaks. Gepard desperately wants him to look at him. “Don’t worry ‘bout it, Gepard! You don’t… you don’t need to say anything! I’ll take you home as soon as I can and--”

“No.” Gepard bursts to his feet, marches to Sampo. The other man jumps when Gepard slams his hands down on the back of his chair, forcing him to spin around and face him. Sampo’s face is… back to what Gepard is used to. No signs of needle-point teeth or confetti eyes. But he still doesn’t meet Gepard’s gaze. “What in Qlipoth’s name are you saying, Sampo?”

“I-it’s-- you don’t need to worry, Geppie! I get it, okay? I get it. No need to say anything, I’ll… I’ll just take you back and be on my way--”

“What makes you think I want to leave you?” Gepard barks out, his voice a harsh noise. He grips either armrest tightly, leaning into Sampo’s space. Sampo cranes his head to avoid looking at him, making Gepard make a strangled, groaning noise in the back of his throat. “After everything, you think I want to return home now?”

“Yes! Obviously,” Sampo scoffs, finally meeting Gepard’s eyes. His expression is pinched. “C’mon, Geppie. That… that was too much, admit it. I put you through that, and now you want nothing to do with me.”

“You cannot. Decide that for me,” Gepard growls out, narrowing his eyes. “You can’t just decide for me, Sampo. It’s not your choice to make if I want to be here, with you, or not. And I do. There’s nowhere else I want to be.” Sampo’s eyes flash with something Gepard doesn’t quite catch, but his expression hardens again. Gepard claps a hand over Sampo’s mouth before he can say a word, his protests muffled against Gepard’s palm. “No! I’m talking now, so listen. I have no clue what happened in there, what that place was, what that place did to you. I’m frankly, confused, and concerned, and will absolutely ask you a lot of questions later. But that doesn’t make me want to leave you. And when I do go back to Belobog, you are coming with me, got it?”

Sampo is silent, completely still. Gepard doesn’t look away, doesn’t back down as Sampo traces his gaze over Gepard’s face, catching on his eyes. His eyes shine again, just the slightest bit. Gepard gives him just a moment before he breaks the silence again. “Do you understand me, Sampo? I’m not going anywhere.”

He feels him exhale against his palm, letting Sampo peel his hand off of his face with his mismatched fingers, holding his hand gently, reverent. “Are you sure?”

Gepard doesn’t hesitate: “Of course I am.” He stands back up, Sampo’s grip on his hand lingering a moment like he’s afraid to let go. Gepard just watches as Sampo looks away, his mouth a thin line, his brow furrowing and relaxing like he’s trying not to argue. Eventually he sighs and let’s Gepard go, his relief tangible in the air.

“Besides,” Gepard says with a slight grin, crossing his arms, “you still need to take me to the giant space turtle.” Sampo laughs, glad for the escape Gepard is providing him. His smile is still a bit strained, Sampo’s vulnerability still seeping through the cracks, but he doesn’t seem so… frantic anymore. “Of course, of course! How could I forget.”

He hums, spinning around to the control panels. Gepard still has no idea what Sampo is doing as he runs his fingers over screens, but he feels the ship slowing, halting a moment before shifting directions through the vacuum of space. Gepard collapses back in his seat as they set off once more.

“I do have one question, though.” Sampo tenses, making Gepard quick to finish his thought. “Are all Masked Fools’ Taverns… like that?” Sampo’s laughter is a cackle, his head thrown back. It’s soothing, comforting, familiar. Gepard’s smile is uncontrollable as Sampo looks back over his shoulder and smirks at him.

“I promise you, they are not,” he snorts. He hums a moment, rolling his shoulders. “Some of ‘em are just as unhinged as that, yes. That’s one of the worst, though. All a bunch of old fashioned Fools! None of them know how to really have fun, I assure you. Some other Taverns, though… they can be a lot of fun.”

“We should visit one. A good one.” Gepard tacks on quickly when Sampo wrinkles his nose at him, clearly teasing by the way he rolls his eyes. “Of course. Some of ‘em make some amazing cocktails! Ones you can have, by the way. Maybe in Epsilon, but… well, no, actually. Epsilon tends to have some half decent Fools in it, but they’d still try and, uh, bamboozle you.”

“Sounds like fun,” Gepard says drily, pointedly rolling his eyes when Sampo wrinkles his nose at him. Sampo continues on with a hum, looking up at the softly passing stars. “Uh… where could I… oh! I could take you to Avalon!”

“Is that a Tavern?”

“Yep! The tavernkeeper isn’t actually a Masked Fool. She owns it though, I think she won the place in a game of blackjack? I don’t know, that’s what her husband told me. I met the Queen through him, actually. He’s some former knight or whatever--the most populated planet in that galaxy has some sort of monarchy thing going on, I dunno. But he’s a clutz and I stole from him at one point. He carries a lot of credits on him at all times. But then he just gave it to me and invited me to dinner! I thought he was coming on to me and considering how much cash he had… but uh, anyways. I haven’t seen the Queen in ages! Last I saw her she said she was gonna take over the galaxy system her Tavern is in, and uh, honestly I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“She’s a Queen?”

“Well… I dunno. We all just called her that. She’s scary so no one questions it-- in a good way! A good kind of scary, I promise.”

“I’m not doubting you,” Gepard chuckles, “I’m just… it’s nice, hearing about people you know, places you’ve been. Before, I mean.”

“Before Jarilo?” He says it with a scoff, but Gepard can hear the fond tone in his voice. It makes his chest warm, a sort of contentment settling in his bones. Sampo likes to complain about it, the constant cold, the standoffish people in Belobog, the loss of his criminal history, but Gepard knows better. He sees it in the way he asks about Serval, questions if Gepard has heard how Natasha is doing, how his city is holding up in his absence. It’s obvious in the way Sampo’s ramblings have started to center around Belobog and the Underworld.

Sampo still pretends that he won't return, sometimes. That there's nothing left for him, that Gepard's planet doesn't have any reason for him to stay. Gepard knows it's not true, even now. Especially now. Because Gepard will always be there, wanting him. No matter how long Sampo has wandered the universe or what he's done before, who he was before.

“You know,” Gepard whispers, a secret. “Giovanni said something. Interesting things.”

“Giovanni.” Sampo hisses his name like a curse, slamming his fist on the control panels. The ship lurches to the side just slightly before Sampo corrects it. “That bastard! I can't believe he just left you there! Oh, if Gio thinks he'll get any favours out of Sampo Koski--”

“He said you're old,” Gepard continues, “well, kind of. That you've been around a long time. That time is… Strange, throughout the universe.” He pauses to watch Sampo, to see how he forces himself to relax, shuffling In his chair. “...and that you're old.”

“Don't worry.” Sampo's voice is a hushed tone. his expression as he looks back at Gepard isn't quite apologetic, Isn't quite sad. “I've been careful! Planned the routes out perfectly. Time won't escape you back in Belobog.”

It isn't what Gepard means. They both know it. That Gepard wants to know Sampo, to peel him back and see who he is, what more there is to him. Sampo is infinite, varied; Gepard feels like he could spool through what makes him him forever. He wonders, sometimes, if he can know him fully, if even Sampo knows the entirety of himself. He wonders, and finds it doesn't change how he feels.

“I love you,” Gepard says, because it's forcing its way out of him, from the depths of him. Because it's true. Sampo's smile is blinding, his ears starting to burn red. “Love you too, you softy.”

He hums, thinking a moment. “...what else did Gio say?”

“That he's surprised you could settle down with me, I think?”

“I'm going to murder him next I see him.”

“No. Absolutely not.”

#sampard #sampo koski #gepard landau #honkai star rail #fanfiction #in the bones #sampo is an emanator ofc in this. and it makes him freaky #theres a lot of like. hc type shit in this #also the 'green chapel' is a reference to gawain and the green knight #and the queen and her husband at the end are the fae queen and lanval in the lais lanval by marie de france #and like. avalon. ofc.#uhhhh what else did i shove in here. theres prob more but i dont remember #also this is 9317 words. i thought it was 6k. what the fuck #im postin it here in like . an embarassed anxious way before postin to ao3. since its so long #oh OALSO ALSO. i was torn between naming the tavern the green chapel. for the fae/green knight reference. or 'happy trail' from mp.100 #cuz that was funny to me

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