#ho hum reblogging this too

[fairysongs]

౨ৎ pretty scary﹕spencer reid .ᐟ

summary: you're having an awful day and your boyfriend is kind of the best person ever.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

includes: reader struggles with bpd, reader has slight mommy issues, reader is referred to with she/her pronouns, depictions of overstimulation (NOT the sexy kind), reader has slight mood swings, established relationship, silly fluff, spencer reid is the perfect boyfriend, hurt/comfort KINDA? (reader is upset, spencer soothes her), lowercase writing sorry it's a habit/my preference, Fiona Apple Mention <3

word count: 3.1k

a/n: omg.. hiiii! this is my first silly post on this silly blog and its a very self-indulgent one as someone who has bpd and is told OFTEN how irritable i can get -_- .. im so nervous.com right now bcos ive never posted my writing on here but also excited..? yes yes.. on a huge spencer reid kick so if u liked this and have any requests they are open!! likes/reblogs/any feedback much appreciated :3!

today was just not your day.

the morning started out fine. it was actually kind of perfect. you spent the night at your boyfriend’s place, waking up just in time to see him getting ready for work. there was a smile that crept over your lips as you watched him adjust the tie hanging around his neck. you propped yourself up against the pillows as he caught your eyes in the mirror adjacent to the bed. your heart swelled at the sight of a small blush spreading across his cheeks.

“why are you staring at me like that, weirdo?” there was a little morning gravel in his voice but his tone was lighthearted enough to make you giggle. you fell back against the pillows, tucking one under your arm as you kept your gaze on him.

“what? i’m not allowed to stare at my boyfriend anymore?” you replied, a yawn falling off your lips. he playfully rolled his eyes in response, walking over to your side of his bed. he sat at the edge, one of his hands brushing some of your hair from your face.

“actually, no. they just passed that law last night while you were sleeping through coraline again.” you bit your lip, vaguely remembering begging spencer to put that movie on only to fall asleep on his shoulder twenty minutes in. you can only assume at some point he carried you from the sofa to his bed. you blushed at the thought, as if he hadn’t done it at least twenty times by now. clearly you weren’t used to the ‘princess treatment’ he liked giving you.

“oh, my fault then. please don’t arrest me, mr. fbi agent.”

“it’s dr. fbi agent, actually.”

“right…” you giggled again, beaming as he smiled down at you. “do you know if you have a case?”

“paperwork day.” his fingers started tracing small shapes against the skin of your arm. “of course if that changes, i’ll let you know. but hopefully it won’t. you can come over again tonight if you want. maybe we’ll finally finish coraline.” his voice was soft, ringing harmonies in your ear as you let your eyes flutter shut in the comfort. “need me to take you to work today?”

you hummed, reaching out to your phone sitting on his bedside table. you quickly rechecked your schedule and shook your head. “no, it’s okay. i go in a little later. it’s close enough to walk.” you tilted your head as you felt him tangle his hand in your hair again. spencer scratched delicately at your scalp.

“okay, my love. i washed the clothes you left here the other day. they should be in the second drawer of my dresser.” you nodded in response as he leaned in to press his lips to your forehead. you caught his jaw in your hands and pulled him downwards, giving him a proper kiss on his lips. he laughed quietly as you both pulled away. “have a good day, angel.”

“you too, baby.”

well to put it simply you did not have a good day. you got ready for your job at a local cafe and made it to work fine. it was when you got there that it started going downhill. you genuinely loved being a barista. you definitely had the personality for it. friendly, outgoing, kind and patient. it’s actually how you met spencer in the first place. but sometimes it was hard. especially with certain needy customers. most of your regulars were chill. you were actually friends with many of them, always asking about the new things in their lives whenever they’d come in. of course, though, there were always a few bad apples.

like this one particular older man. he came in every now and then and ordered the same thing every single time. black decaf coffee with a blueberry scone. he was always in a rather grumpy mood, not even your tender words could help that. so this morning when you gave him a black regular coffee by an honest mistake he made sure to let you know just how stupid and idiotic you were. you stood there at the counter, expression apologetic as he continued to berate you. eventually your boss told you to go in the back for a bit while she took care of things.

you practically ran to the bathroom, locking yourself in the tiny space as you tried to control your breathing. you could already feel the hot tears spilling down your cheeks. you absolutely despised how sensitive you could get. through shaky breaths, you pulled your phone from your back pocket, unlocking it with a small sob. you had a few texts and one missed call from your mother. one of the texts was from spencer, letting you know it was just gonna be a paperwork day and inquiring what you wanted to order for dinner tonight. the other texts were from your mother, reminding you about a family party that was coming up soon. there was another text after her missed call.

- Guess you’re too busy to talk. Just let me know if you can make it.

you closed your eyes, feeling the passive aggressive tone through the message. the best way you could describe your relationship with your mother was that she was both your best friend and your worst critic. she tried to support everything you aspired to do, but also hated the way you did them. it was... complicated but her text was enough to leave you in a sour mood for the remainder of the day.

you felt like you couldn’t catch up. you couldn’t get over that bump setting you back from having a good shift. your head felt like it was elsewhere and no longer attached to your body, your movements becoming monotonous and your words dull. to make things worse, your eighteen year old coworker was coming in for their shift an hour before you were leaving.

and you loved them, you really really did. often times you would joke about them being your work child, taking them under your wing. but they talked. a lot. most days you could keep up no problem but with the way your mind was on a downward spiral today, all you could feel was immense overstimulation as they yapped in your ear about the latest tv show they were binge watching. soon it was all too much for you to handle and you end up snapping at the poor kid.

“dude i’m sorry but i don’t really care. can we just be quiet for, like, five minutes?” you interrupted them mid-sentence, tired eyes looking over with a slight glare. you immediately softened, eyes wide with guilt as they looked towards you like a kicked puppy. you tried your best to stammer out an apology but was met with silent treatment until you clocked out.

they would soon accept your apology in the next coming days and you’d go back to normal because that’s how you guys were, but the guilt would eat at you for quite a bit. when you were a kid, your parents often praised you on how self-sufficient and respectful you were. in your adolescent years, with the help of an untreated personality disorder and your regular teen hormones raging inside your cage of a body, your behaviour would suddenly change. you found yourself more irritable. more prone to overstimulation. you internalized a lot of what you were going through because every time you tried to bring up your feelings, your mother would shut you down and it’d turn into a fight.

you expressed yourself through slammed doors and screaming matches. you bottled things up until they overflowed. it was how you handled the thunderstorms behind your skull. you would eventually get better in time, finally attending therapy and finding solace in little things like journaling. and when you started dating spencer, he helped a lot too. your brain could sometimes make a lot of irrational judgements and spencer would help you see reasoning instead. he was also insanely patient with you. especially in the first two months of you guys dating where you broke up with him upwards of five times. each time because you didn’t believe you deserved him. (you still don’t believe it, but at least now you’ve stopped trying to fight the good coming into your life.)

you would never forget the first time spencer met your parents. the night was going well up until dinner time when your dad decided to pull out your old high school yearbook. at first it was just classic embarrassment as spencer looked at your school photos. but then your mother, after one too many glasses of wine, brought up your old struggles with anger.

“be careful getting on her bad side, spencer!” she had said, waving a finger in the air. “she’s got a scary temper for sure! remember when we had to replace her bathroom mirror because she threw her hairbrush at it?" she spoke like she was a comedian telling her greatest joke in the world as she turned towards your father. "i can’t even remember what made her so upset! but i remember how expensive that fix was…”

“oh i’m sure i’ve dealt with far worse at my job, ma’am. i think i can handle her just fine.” he was quick to reply and the hand pressing on your bouncing knee beneath the table calmed any nerves of him looking at you differently. later that night he’d hold you as you sobbed in his arms, retelling different memories of your past. he made you a promise that he’d never see you as a bad person as long as you promised him you’d talk to him whenever you started to feel like one.

you were finally walking home after this exhausting day and it wasn’t until you were changed into your comfy clothes and curled in bed that you realized you hadn't texted spencer back at all. with your knees pulled to your chest and a low hum of a fiona apple album playing from your record player you reached across your bed for your phone. you had four texts from him and one missed call.

- Hi angel. Haven’t heard from you all day, just checking in. - Hi, you should be clocked out by now. Just wanted to know if you still wanted to come over? We can order from your favorite italian place. - One missed call from spencer ♡. - Are you having a bad day, my love? Or did I do something wrong? - I’m gonna come over. See you soon, angel.

your brows furrowed together at the last text, sent just about ten minutes ago. you could feel your eyes well with frustrated tears. you felt like shit for unintentionally ignoring him. you couldn’t even think of what to say to him, but you had to think fast because soon you heard a gentle knock at your bedroom door. with a sniffle, you stood to your feet and slowly opened it.

you met spencer’s eyes, they were desperately searching your face. trying to figure you out, trying to see what was troubling your mind. you hated it sometimes when he profiled you, but most times you were grateful he could just know when you weren’t doing okay. saved you the shame of having to actually vocalize your feelings. you stepped back as he entered your room.

“your roommate let me in. she said you went straight to your room after work and have been listening to nothing but when the pawn… by fiona apple.” he was still in his work clothes, the same ones you watched him get dressed in just that morning. felt like an eternity ago at this point. before you could even let your face fall to the ground, his hands were holding your jaw, tilting it upwards and keeping it in place. he always held you like you were made of glass. “bad day?”

“you could say that.” you words were short and you didn’t mean for them to be. you were just so exhausted. “sorry i forgot to text you back. it’s just been…” you let your words fall off, waving your hands in the air with an annoyed huff. you pulled away from his touch, slumping back into your mattress. he just watched as you ran your fingers through your hair, eyes shut tight as if you were trying to talk yourself down. he bit his lip, taking a cautious step forward.

“you look like you’re trying to compute a million things at once right now inside that little head.” he shrugged off the sweater draping over his work shirt, tugged off his tie and kicked his shoes off besides your bed. you laughed sarcastically at his words but bit your tongue from replying with a snarky comment. “did you know that one of the brain’s primary functions is to collect and process sensory information? it’s kind of like there’s a little guy in there, sitting at his desk and filing through every bit of information that gets thrown at you throughout the day.” your eyes were still shut but you felt a dip in your bed as his voice grew closer to you.

“when there’s too much sensory input, it can make the brain think there’s danger, sending off signals to the body to escape. that’s when your fight-flight-freeze response gets triggered. aka that little guy’s desk is suddenly on fire and every file has been thrown all over the place and the little guy, well, the little guy is running around screaming for help.” you feel two arms wrap around your waist and maneuver your body until you felt your head resting against the warmness of his chest. soon enough you also felt slender digits running through the locks of your hair.

“you seem to resort to a fight response i’ve noticed. your body feels like you can overpower the danger your brain thinks you’re in. resulting in intense feelings of anger. which can lead to irritability.” you feel him tracing shapes, the same ones he made on your arms earlier that morning, deep into the small of your back. he always did the same movement pattern and you always wondered if that was intentional or just a coincidence. “do you wanna talk about what’s going on in here?” he poked an index finger to the side of your temple. you shook your head. “okay. we don’t have to. but i will ask about it later, is that okay?” you nodded this time.

you didn’t realize it when it was happening, but the combination of spencer pulling you into his arms and his soft voice spewing factual information at you was enough to make your head feel almost empty. your body was melted against his, curled up in his touch. you let out a shaky breath, slowly raising your head, resting your chin on his chest as your eyes opened. “how did you do that?” you whispered, soft hues scanning his face as he just smiled down at you.

“a magician never reveals his secrets, my love.” you rolled your eyes, laughing quietly as his hand lightly brushed your cheek. he tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. your lips twitched in thought, a tiny frown suddenly taking over your features. spencer tilted his head. “what is it, baby?”

your eyes fell to focus on his chest, your finger tracing over the fabric of his work shirt. “do you think i’m scary? like… when i get upset?”

“scary?” he repeated, voice in small disbelief that you’d even feel the need to ask. “no, i don’t think you’re scary. i think you’re beautiful. and i think your mind can be pretty mean to you sometimes. but that’s not your fault. hey, look at me please.” you let him guide your head back up, eyes meeting each other again. he smiled at you and it made you feel warm. “why do you think you’re scary?”

your shoulder shrugged with an exasperated sigh. “because it’s what i’ve been told my whole life. when i get too overwhelmed and i just feel nothing but anger i… i feel like i can get mean and i hate feeling that way. like, i always get too snappy and i always say something that’s gonna hurt someone i care about and i…” your breathing hitches. your lashes quickly blink, trying to fight any tears from spilling yet again. “i’m so scared i’m gonna get that way with you and you’re gonna leave me.”

he was shaking his head, thumb swiping underneath your eyes at the few tears that betrayed you and fell down your cheeks. he sighed out your name. “i don’t think you understand just how much i love you. if you think i’d leave you at something so silly like that. you know, i started reading up on borderline personality disorder after that night i met your parents. i wanted to understand it more. i wanted to understand you.” he continued wiping away your tears as they kept falling.

“i can’t even imagine what you go through inside your own head every single day, but i can acknowledge how hard you’re trying to cope with it. i see it all the time. i see it in the kindness you like to spread to strangers. i see it in the way you push yourself to learn new things and the way you stopped beating yourself up if it doesn’t turn out perfect. i see it in the way you love me, and more importantly in the way you’ve allowed yourself to let me love you back. you’re such a beautiful person, my love. it’s okay to have bad days and it’s okay to let yourself be a little mean sometimes.” he laughed quietly, noticing the way your lips were fighting a smile. he leaned in and pressed a sweet kiss to the corner of your mouth. “as long as you just communicate with me when you’re feeling bad. that’s all i ask.”

you sat there for a moment, admiring the way his big brown eyes stared at you. your eyes fell for a moment before picking back up with furrowed brows. “i snapped at my coworker today.”

“the teenager?” you nodded. “ah,” spencer’s hand resumed circling around your back as he hummed. “they’ll forgive you, i’m sure of it.” there was a pause and then a small hum coming from his throat. “are you hungry? hm? let’s order some food.”

he ordered you your favorite pasta dish from your favorite italian restaurant and you fell asleep in his arms in the middle of coraline again. he couldn’t help but admire you resting so peacefully in his arms and continued tracing the words ‘i love you’ over and over again into your back for the rest of the night.

[fairy-writes]

I HEARD GOODBYE

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

__________________________________________________________________________

Fandom(s): Kaiju No. 8

Pairing(s): Hibino Kafka x Reader

Word Count: 1.1k

Genre(s)/Tag(s): Female!Reader, Pregnant!Reader, Reader is smaller than Kafka, Arguments, Established Relationships,

Notes: Based on the song “I Heard Goodbye” by Dan + Shay and vaguely on the song “My Goodbye” from EPIC: The Musical (mainly the vibes).

PART TWO HERE

__________________________________________________________________________

Kafka should’ve known something was wrong when you kissed him goodbye that morning. But a lot had happened in the last few months, so he blamed it on the stress of everything. 

As soon as he got to work, he thought back on that morning and realized something was off. Something was missing. But he couldn’t figure out what. However, that was pushed to the back of his mind when he received the letter from the Defense Force about his initial exam score. 

He passed!

Kafka was on cloud nine up until he got home. He greeted you the same as he always did, with a kiss on your cheek and a hand on your slightly swollen belly. But the folded paper in his pocket made him giddier than he had been in a while. 

“You’re excited about something.” You mumble against his mouth, thumbing his wedding band before turning back to making dinner. Kafka takes a seat at the kitchen island and tries not to let his grin get much bigger. 

“Just got some good news at work today, is all. I’ll tell you over dinner.” He says, and you just hum. 

That should’ve clued him in that something was wrong. 

Things come to a head at dinner. You’re eating slowly as you are trying to prevent heartburn. You had gotten the idea from your doctor. Something about eating slower and smaller meals could maybe prevent heartburn. And with how often you got it, you were nearly desperate for anything to work. 

The two of you chatted aimlessly at first, with you updating him on your pregnancy and him profusely apologizing for not being there at your appointment. You revealed that your best friend (who had apparently gone with you) knew the gender, but you refused to learn—not until he was home to look with you, at least. 

“Now,” You begin abruptly when cleaning up your mess from making dinner. Kafka looks up from where he’s scrubbing the dishes. “What’s the big news?” You finish after a moment’s pause. Kafka hesitates for barely a second before turning off the sink, drying his hands, and fishing the paper out of his pocket. He hands it to you without a word, and you frown, unfolding the piece of paper and staring blankly. 

Then, you set the paper down on the counter and leave the kitchen silently. 

“Wait!” Kafka gives chase and finds you in the bedroom. You’re packing a bag. He pauses in the doorway, almost dumbfounded, as you continue to shove loose-fitting clothes in your duffel bag. You weren’t pregnant enough for maternity clothes yet, but your regular clothes were getting a bit tight. So you usually just borrowed one of his shirts to sleep in. 

“What are you doing?” He asks quietly, and you look up at him,

“I’m staying with Haru for the night.” You say, brushing past him to head for the front door. 

He’s too stunned to stop you.

You don’t contact Kafka for three days after that. In fact, he’s fairly sure you blocked his number, with none of his texts going through when he tried to talk to you.

It affects his work. He’s slower than usual, not nearly as gung-ho as he typically is. And people notice. Mitsuike notices. Mori notices. Tokuda notices. Hell, even Ichikawa notices! They try to comfort him in their own ways, but nothing helps because Kafka has no idea what he has done wrong. 

At least until you show up again. 

Kafka is sitting at the kitchen island, staring at his exam results—no longer excited when you aren’t there to celebrate with him—when he hears the keys jingle in the lock. He stuffs the paper in his back pocket and slides in slippered feet into the hallway just as you open the door. 

You spot him, looking spooked like a deer in the headlights. 

“I thought you would be working overtime tonight.” You mumble as you shut the door behind you and take off your shoes. You’re carrying a laundry bag full of what he assumes is dirty laundry. 

“They uh… Let me go home early.” He replies, voice petering off slightly near the end of his sentence. You frown,

“You never go home early.” You comment and go to move past him to head to the laundry machine situated at the back of the apartment. 

But he catches your arm. 

“Can we talk?” Kafka’s voice cracks, and you stiffen. 

“There’s nothing to talk about.” You say, your voice as cold as ice, and he flinches back. You shrug off his hand and make it to the washing machine before he manages to catch your attention again. 

“There’s a hell of a lot to talk about!” He reins in his temper at the last second, but you seem intent on ignoring him regardless. “Is this about the Defense Force?” He tries and sees you freeze as you’re dumping the laundry detergent into the machine.

Bingo.

Eventually, you sigh and lean on the washing machine as it rumbles, your wedding band glinting slightly in the flickering light of the laundry room. At least you were still wearing it. He didn’t know what he would’ve done had you taken it off. 

“I never wanted you to join the Defense Force.” You say quietly, and Kafka isn’t upset. Not exactly, at least. He’s just glad you’re talking to him. 

“Why?” His voice sounds broken and oh so small. You knew from the get-go that joining the Defense Force was his dream. You knew from the start that he would apply each year. And each year throughout your four-year marriage, you would comfort him when he got the bad news that he had failed. 

“Because everyone I knew who joined the Defense Force has died. My parents included.” You say bitterly, and he stops in his tracks. 

Your parents?

“I thought they were military?” He said, confused. You shake your head, 

“That was a lie. Because I knew how you felt about it. I had just hoped you would fail one more time and give up on this dream.” You whisper, and he sees a tear streak down your cheek. 

He hated it when you cried. 

But when he got closer, you cringed away. Your hands clenched into fists, and when you look at him with tears in your eyes, he feels his heart break. 

“Are you still going to join the Defense Force?” Your voice is quiet, almost so soft that he can’t hear you. His own hands clench into fists as he fights with himself.

He had made a promise to Mina. But he had also promised you when you got married.

The longer you stare at him, the more the light dies from your eyes. 

“I guess that answers that, then.” You whisper and push past him yet again. You tell him that you’ll be back for your laundry, but he can’t bring himself to move from his spot by the washer. 

Had he just lost you forever?

[kaisers-house-of-desires]

How about some tasty teacher/student sexy times with Divus Crewel (TWST)? Headcanons or writing drabble idc I just need that man FERALLY

Oh ho you're in for a treat, my friend~ We have similar tastes, and I've already got this little drabble in mind that I've toyed around with~

This can be read as either male reader or gender neutral reader as the drabble never specifies the reader.

Title: Private Lessons

Characters: Divus Crewel x m!reader/gn!reader

Contains: Pet play, collar, leash, oral/throat fucking

Fandom: Twisted Wonderland

Full request below the cut

All characters are 18+

MINORS, FEM ALIGNED, AGELESS/BLANK BLOGS DNI

Reblogs > likes

Sitting at the desk, Divus sighed as he scribbled away at the papers before him, brow twitching at some of the answers the students.

"Honestly, how idiotic can these whelps be...?"

Running his hand through his hair, he took a deep breath, thinking carefully. He reached into his lap, tugging gently on a leather strap that rested over him. A gentle jingle sounded into the air before it was replaced with a deep hum from the teacher. A tint of red adorned his face, standing out from the blacks and whites of his appearance.

"Mm...~ Let's see now...Last paper. Ah...(y/n)'s paper...Hm..."

Unlike the other papers, he took his time with this one, audibly noting which answers were wrong.

"Number three...number six...the entirety of number seven..." He sighed. "I guess we need to do another personal lesson..."

Without looking, his free hand slid under the desk, pressing the back of your head further along his shaft til his tip touched the back of your throat. All of your "personal lessons" from him had paid of in this aspect at least, allowing you to take him as deep into your throat as possible, though you'd still gag slightly when you weren't expecting it, like now for example. You just wished it helped out acedemically, but secretly, you weren't complaining.

You looked up at him with watery eyes, your hands placed firmly on the ground to keep yourself steady. You were so well trained to know where your hands reside when they weren't tied behind you, and the sight of you so obedient only made Divus throb in your mouth.

"Such a good dog~ I'd give you a reward for work here, but I'm afraid you have too many incorrect answers on your paper. Oh well..." He rubbed the back of your head, fingers running through your hair as he placed his pen down. You felt his energy shift when the now free hand joined the one in your hair, and your feelings were confirmed when a devious smirk grew on his face.

You didn't need him to say anything to know your punishment was imminent. The grip on your head was met with his hips thrusting at the same time, a pleasured breath leaving the teacher as the sound mixed with your struggled gulping.

"Th-There we go~ Hah...~ If there's...one good thing you're good at...i-it's having a d-delicious mouth to fill up~"

If any previous sessions taught you anything, it's that you'd get no reprieve until your lesson was learned.

[alistairtheyrin]

the bard of riverbrook farm, pt. ii

la belle dame sans merci, frank bernard dicksee

aemond targaryen x lowborn!reader

masterlist | ao3

summary | help with the harvest comes from the most unlikely source - the one-eyed man from the inn - and your curiosity about what he is hiding beneath his courtesies only grows.

tags | secret identity, soft romance, bard!reader, no use of y/n, hurt/comfort, angst with happy ending, discussions of trauma related to war, gender-neutral pronouns

wordcount | 3.8k

likes, reblogs & comments are greatly appreciated 💞 lyrics are not mine this time but from A Storm of Swords

The band of wandering men left empty-handed by the war moved on in the end, what work there was in the village done, what hospitality could be afforded to them spent.

You didn’t even realise the man with one eye from the inn had stayed until he came wandering up the lonely track to your farm.

You were bent over, pulling up carrots in the field, stopping only to mop sweat from your brow, and your back was aching. You always bit back on your complaints, though, because your parents were working on the next row over, swapping the baby in her wrap between them whenever it got too much to bear in the summer sun.

Your father was the first to notice a stranger's approach and passed off your gurgling sister so he could approach the man.

“Ho, stranger,” your father called, letting the one-eyed man know he was spotted in case that was enough to deter him. You recognised him from the inn, though, and felt a hint of a smile on your lips. No, you did not think this was some common thief.

“Ser,” the man, strangely formal as ever, inclined his head. Even when he raised his voice to be heard over the distance and the wind, his tone did not change from that calm, collected way he had. “The innkeeper in town said you might need an extra pair of hands for your harvest. I came to offer my services.”

Good Beck, always sticking his nose in, you thought, holding back a roll of your eyes. You made your way down the field, your half-full basket on your hip, and came to your father’s side. “I remember you,” you said, “from the inn.” You could still sometimes feel the ghost of his lips on your hand.

His eye met yours. He looked glad to see you but not surprised. “The bard,” he said, “have you finished your song yet?”

“Not quite,” you said, biting your lip to stop you from smiling.

Your father, for his part, looked wary. “You fought in the war?” he asked, and the man nodded. He did not ask what side. It was generally accepted that you did not ask that question in these parts when the peace remained new and uneasy. 

“Another pair of hands would be good,” your father said wearily, “if only so that one of us could focus on the babe instead. But I don’t have much to pay you.”

The man shook his head. “Food and shelter is all I ask for, ser.”

Your father hummed, noncommittal. “I don’t much like the idea of strange men under the same roof as my wife and children,” he said. “No offence meant, but you could be anyone. You understand.” Your heart dropped a little at the dismissal, but you noticed he was holding his shovel close to his body and sizing up the stranger. It made sense - men like this stranger were often bad news, driven to desperation by war or indulging depravities that had always been there, lurking just under the surface and only coming out now that the world had gone to hell.

“No, ser, I understand - I did not mean shelter under your roof. I could bed down by the plough horse. I was not clear in my speech; I apologise,” the man said, “but if it is still a no, I will be on my way.”

That spiked a slight panic in you, and you grasped for words. “For what it’s worth, father, he was kind at the inn,” you said hurriedly. “He wanted to ask me about my songs, the ones I write myself, but he was very respectful.” The man gave you a grateful half-smile for that.

Your father hesitated, considering both your words, just as the stranger was shifting to go. “Stop,” he said. You could see him thinking. The door to the house was always barred at night, and you and your mother had carried blades concealed in your clothes since the war broke out. It might be worth the risk, to get an extra pair of hands on the field and get this sowing of carrots up before any started to soften. Most would need to travel to Raventree Hall before they were sold, and the steward would not pay the full price unless they were fresh. Your father looked back at your mother, who was bouncing the baby on her hip, and she gave him a slight nod. “Okay, we’d like to have you on for the next moon or so. There’s a spare stall in the stable where you can bed down if you’ll help me clear some equipment out of it.”

The one-eyed man was visibly relieved and offered your father a hand to shake, which your father grasped firmly. “Thank you, ser,” he said.

“I’m no ser,” your father said, but he looked a little pleased to be addressed as such.

“There’s broth on for tonight,” your mother added helpfully, calling down the field and shading her eyes from the sun with her spare hand. “Bread was fresh yesterday.”

“Sounds perfect,” the man said, and for all the light in his eye at that, he seemed to say it genuinely.

Your father was clapping him on the shoulder and leading him off to the paddock that housed the small stable when you stopped them with your voice. “Wait! What was your name?”

The man stopped dead in his tracks, and you may have been mistaken, but you thought you saw his jaw go a little tighter and his eye a little wider. He wavered, then cleared his throat. “Uh, Luke,” he said.

Your mother and father did not seem to notice his hesitation, but you narrowed your eyes at him, and he had the good grace to swallow hard before he was led away.

Luke, you thought, testing the name on your tongue. You had a feeling that getting to know each other would be very interesting indeed.

— ∞ —

“You know, if you were going to lie about your name, you probably should have thought about that before someone inevitably asked what your name was.” It was the height of the day, and you were irritable, the collar of your shirt becoming damp and yellow with sweat, the basket on your hip growing harder and harder to lift.

It had been a few days since the man - Luke - arrived, and you had already learned to like having him around. He was an able young man, strong, and his pace of work meant that sometimes both your parents could afford to rest when the sun reached its peak. You were glad - they were not so young as they once were, and neither of them got to spend enough time with the babe anyway.

It was such a day today - the two of you were deep in the fields, pulling up the crops and loading your bounty onto a cart - and Luke gave you a bewildered glance. He was starting to do that more and more to you in answer to your pointed questions. “I’m lying about my name, am I?” He asked as though it was not already a foregone conclusion.

You huffed out a laugh. “Given how you positively shit yourself when asked the most simple question a person can ask you about yourself, I would wager so.”

“So you’re a gambler as well as a bard?”

“You can’t answer a question with a question,” you pointed out, huffing as you lifted your now-full basket onto your hip.

He raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t ask me a question; you just levelled an accusation at me,” he said, but there was no heat in it as he left his own basket for a minute to take yours off your hip and carry it to the cart for you. You did make to protest, but the sun was blazing, and you rather liked the way his shoulders could be seen shifting through his shirt as the sweat-soaked fabric clung to them.

“Fine,” you sighed, “why did you lie about your name?”

He gave you a look, rubbing at his cheek a little where his eyepatch sat with dirt-stained fingers. You wanted to tell him to take it off - it was chaffing him in the heat, and you had seen worse injuries over the years than a lost or damaged eye - but you didn’t want to push your luck. “My name - the name my mother gave me, it’s… recognisable. I told you I don’t know if I could face going home. If someone from my past heard my name being used around here, I don’t think the choice would be mine anymore - to stay or not.”

You thought that over and nodded. “I suppose that makes sense,” you said. “Many folks are running from their pasts ‘round these parts.”

He sighed. “You have an unforgiving way of cutting straight to the heart of the issue. Has anyone told you that before?”

“Mm,” you hummed, smiling. “It’s a useful skill in a bard. People have a way of burying a lead and telling themselves stories, but they’re rarely motivated by anything other than what’s in their hearts.”

He was watching you with something unnameable in his eye.

“Who is Luke, then?” You asked, not letting up for a second.

The look of levity on his face darkened at that, and you almost regretted pressing the issue. “A boy I killed,” he said simply.

You didn’t know what you expected, but you certainly hadn’t expected him to be so blunt. “You knew him?”

“We were family,” he said, passing you back your now emptied basket, but he looked a little distant now. “We found ourselves on different sides of things. He took my eye. I killed him. It was an accident, but it was still my fault.”

You nodded, a heavy feeling in your gut settling. Everyone had done things they weren’t proud of during those years. Every stale crust of bread or overripe apple you stole to feed your family could have been the one that starved your neighbours to death. “So you use the name… what, to keep him alive?”

He considered this. “I suppose it’s something of an apology, yes. I was a boy then - rash and angry. Now that I’m a man, I realise that no matter the wrongs he visited on me, he didn’t deserve to die. If I keep his name with me, I hope he lives on through me, yes, and I hope, wherever he is, he knows I have not forgotten him and what I did.”

“That seems like all you can do,” you said.

“Mm,” he looked away, “it still doesn’t feel like enough.”

“Everyone has done things they can’t make up for,” you pointed out.

He gave you a rueful smile. “I fear I have done more than most.”

— ∞ —

The next time you made your way down to the tavern, lute strung on your back, he followed you.

You pretended you hadn’t heard his footsteps until you were halfway down the village path. Then his boot struck a stone, sending it skittering, and you turned to look.

He was watching you, head tilted, and the look in his eye betrayed an appetite.

“You know, you could have just asked to come with me.”

He smirked, slowly drawing up to you. “I’m not much good at small talk. Thought it better I didn’t bother you.”

You hummed. “I like it when you bother me,” you said.

It felt like a leap of faith, but he was there to catch you.

The music fell from your strings and your lips so easily that night, flowing like honey, like gold, and you had the entire inn swept up in a reverie. There was dancing and laughing and singing along, and Good Beck was toasting to you over the bar and sending you mead faster than you could drink it as he struggled to keep up with his orders.

Your shadow, Luke, watched you from the back of the room all night. He’d bought a pint but didn’t seem to be drinking it, and he was surrounded by people but didn’t seem to be talking to them. He just… watched. Like you were some enrapturing creature singing a siren’s song.

You closed up with your own song, the newest one you’d finished. You’d written it by the fireplace in the evenings, gently rocking your sister’s crib with the toe of your boot. The warm glow of the embers brought to mind the glow of the day, the way his skin glistened, and how he smiled and laughed when you spoke even though he didn’t want to, like he couldn’t help it.

My featherbed is deep and soft,

and there I'll lay you down,

I'll dress you all in yellow silk,

and on your head, a crown.

For you shall be my lady love,

and I shall be your lord.

I'll always keep you warm and safe,

and guard you with my sword.

And how she smiled and how she laughed,

the maiden of the tree.

She spun away and said to him,

no featherbed for me.

I'll wear a gown of golden leaves,

and bind my hair with grass,

But you can be my forest love,

and me, your forest lass.

The song was the warmest of embraces: wildflower blooms in the air, the tickle of grass on your skin, and soft, hot kisses on your neck. You closed out the tune on your lute, and when you looked up, your regulars were roaring their approval, and other villagers were clapping for you. You pulled in ragged breath after breath, struggling after the full set, and when you met Luke’s eye, you didn’t want to fool yourself, but you thought him similarly… breathless.

You made your way from the little stage, lute on your back, free pints in hand, and jerked your head to the door, hoping he’d get the message. Fresh air was a must after a full set, as you were often overheating, and the smells and sounds of inside would become oppressive.

You set your tankards on an overturned barrel and sat down on the riverbank, away from any revellers also seeking fresh air. The brook was low right now—there hadn't been a proper rain in a moon—but the trickling sound was still soothing, still enough to reset the thudding rhythm in your chest.

“Just as mystifying as the first time,” his voice and cadence were becoming deeply familiar at this stage. You looked up, and he was setting himself down next to you, giving you a soft smile.

You waved away his praise with a hand and took a deep drink of your mead. It was sharp and sweet and cutting. “You should be ashamed of yourself, following me out here with a drink to ply me and sweet words on your lips; it’s so obvious,” you jested, and his cheeks went a delightful shade of pink.

He held up his hands. “I recall you beckoning me and supplying the drink. If anyone has ulterior motives, it is you.”

“You’re a strange one,” you said, looking away for a second to follow the path of two village girls stumbling home over the wooden bridge downstream, having overindulged in Good Beck’s homebrew. This place was a different world from what it had been only years ago. You didn’t think you could ever fall out of love with it. “What sort of conscripted village boy uses words like ulterior, anyway?”

He laughed. He’d left his pint he hadn’t been drinking inside, so you pushed the tankard you hadn’t managed to get to towards him. He made a face as he sipped but went back for more all the same. “When did I say I was a conscripted village boy?”

“You didn’t,” you said, with a slow wave of realisation. “I just… thought. The book thing - you’re educated and all that.”

He grinned, and his face in profile was something to behold. You didn’t think you’d ever found a nose so pretty. “Educated, but that never saved me from being a fool.”

“It never does,” you pointed out. “Sometimes, educated people are worse for being fools than farming folk. You’ve got all this extra… shite in your head that helps you make excuses for why you’re doing foolish things.”

“Concise, to the point,” he noted with a dry humour in his voice, drinking deeply from his tankard now. “How did one of the farming folk come to know what ulterior meant if it’s such a graceful, airy word?”

He had you there. You smiled and averted your eyes, taking another drink. It was like a game. Take a drink when the other person proves they’re fit for you, and you see how evenly matched you are in all the ways you never expected to be. “My mother is a clever woman, trained in a mummer’s troupe. She knew the plays, knows how to play this,” you said, tapping the lute strung to your back. “She gave up the mummer’s life when she was younger than we are now - she fell in love, found out she was having me. She says she wanted to build something solid, something permanent, and she wanted to do it with my father.”

He hummed. “My mother was just a girl when she had me, too. She was not in love with my father, though, and he was not in love with her,” he said. “It must be nice… to know you were made in love.”

You wanted to kiss him, then. Burned to. Being made in love was blessed, yes, but it was nothing you could not learn later if only you were willing to. You held back, though, if only because he looked sad and you did not think it was the right time. You reached out a hand instead and rested it on the back of his neck, sweeping your thumb over the base of his skull. He responded to your touch, pushing into your palm, and you smiled. 

“Why do you shave your head?” You asked. You’d seen him the other morning, studying his reflection in a bucket of water, scraping stubble off his scalp with a well-kept razor and a bar of soap. It had only been enough hair for you to see that he was fair-headed, but you’d thought that already with his pale skin and piercing eyes.

He screwed his eyes shut for a second, then peered at you sideways, trying out a half-smile. “Would you believe I am already balding horribly? My family is cursed with it, indeed-“

You burst out laughing at that, a terrible snort slipping out, but it made him snicker with you. “Shut up,” you said, “no, you’re not.”

“You’re so heartless, mocking my plight. My grandfather was bald as a coot at four-and-ten, I’ll have you know.”

You snorted again, and he was laughing into his mead, and it was beautiful. As you laughed, you lay back on the riverbank, pushing your mother’s lute to one side for now and pillowing an arm under your head. The night sky was twinkling down on you, broken up only by the glowing light spilling out of the inn, and you sighed. “I’m guessing it has something to do with you being recognisable.”

He sighed and lay down next to you. “Yes.”

Who is recognisable by their hair? You longed to ask, but you knew he would not answer. You rolled onto your side and used the hand not pillowed under your head to reach up and trace his cheek, under where his eyepatch sat. “And why do you never take this off? Even in the height of the day, when it chafes your skin.”

He watched you, either struggling to choose his words or struggling to find any words at all. “You would not mind if I took it off?”

You shook your head. “It causes you pain,” you said, “and I have seen… things.” You swallowed. “I have seen enough of war to know what is ugly in a person - cruelty, vengeance, rabid desire. No injury of the flesh could ever compare to that.”

“You say that as though I have no injury of the soul to match my injury of the flesh,” he said, quiet, solemn.

“I have seen nothing of it!” You answered, sharper than you intended, but you were so sick of him painting himself in such dark colours when you had yet to see anything of the sort. “I see a man tired and worn down by a life that has not been good to him and dealing with that as best as he can—the same as any of us. Only gods and kings are perfect; even then, it’s all just stories. You are doomed to fail if that is what you aspire to. Just… set your sights lower. If you make yourself feel good and you make others feel good… what else matters?”

He swallowed hard. “I…” he stuttered, “I have never aspired to something so humble, yet so terrifying.”

You were cupping his cheek, and the glossy look in his eye was breaking your heart. “What do you want? Right now?”

Maybe the mead made you so bold, or perhaps it emboldened him to choke out an answer.

“You.”

You pressed your lips to his cheek. “You have me,” you murmured.

He reached up, slowly at first, then faster, and pulled you closer. “Am I not… taking advantage? Of your parents’ hospitality?”

You smiled. He was sweet. “My parents only wish to protect me from wandering hands I do not invite. I am not a blushing maiden whose virtue must be guarded by a shining knight. I am just a soul, and I wish to be cherished, like all souls.”

His kiss was as sweet as a sigh, like waking up warm and comfortable with the sun breaking through the window. You gasped into his mouth as he pulled you close, almost on top of him, arms twisting around you like he was afraid you might vanish if he did not hold on.

He was shivering under your lips and the tips of your fingers, and you wrapped yourself around him, chasing off the cold. He kissed like he was savouring something incredible—slow and lazy, nearly forgetting to gasp for air. By the Seven, he was so severe, so earnest, he even kissed with seriousness and earnestness. Your breathing was haggard, and he broke the kiss at last, your lips shining and only an inch from his. He held your cheek, ran his thumb under your eye, and pressed a kiss to the bridge of your nose.

“Good?” You asked, your voice wavering and unsteady.

He smiled and kissed you again. “Glorious.”

a/n: experimenting with focusing on the writing more than the editing, so this might be pretty rough - let me know if you spot anything that needs fixed/improved!

taglist (dm/reply to be added): @dracaryxzs

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Special Interest 5

Warnings: non/dubcon, age gap, creep behaviour, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: Cole Turner, short!reader

Part of the Bookstore AU

Note: this one is a bit longer than I anticipated!

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

“Hmm, I don’t know Camila,” Cole picks out the washer, “I don’t think this will fix the problem. Sounds like a different issue than the pipe.”

“Yes, well, my husband said to get this,” she ho-hums, “thanks so much for helping me find this.”

“No problem,” He grins, his baby blue eyes deceivingly bright, “I know this place pretty well. We order most things in bulk but you can’t wait weeks when it’s an emergency. Especially with farmwork.”

“Oh my, you are so responsible. It’s just you and your parents on the farm?” She flutters her lashes. Maybe your dad should be concerned.

You stand off to the side, staring down toilet seats as they chatter. Neither of them have stopped and you’re not bothered fading into the background. Hell, you prefer they forget you entirely. You look down at the cactus in your hand, you could just sneak off with this new prickly friend.

“Yeah. Sister comes to visit but someone needed to stay behind. There’s too much work for just my dad and we never recovered fully from the recession. Can’t really afford a hand.” Cole explains.

“Aw, oh, how dreadful,” your mother gestures like a melancholy Victorian widow. “I’m sure your parents appreciate how helpful you are…”

You don’t miss her eyes as they stray in your direction. You give a scowl, you’re helpful. You take the garbage out and do the dishes. Hell, you’re the only reason the toaster works again.

“Yeah well, I know when I was younger, they probably didn’t feel the same. You know, you just gotta get perspective and learn what’s important.”

Okay, this is ridiculous. They are drinking the same flavorade and you’re more of a cream soda girl. You peer around evasively.

“Well, mom, you got the washer thingy, we should get going. Dad’ll be waiting,” you say.

“I suppose you’re right. Oh, and we still have to hit Eddie’s for dinner,” she recalls, “hm, what a long day it’s been.”

“Eddie's? Oh, I know that place. Owner’s a buddy of mine. I could probably get you a deal.”

“We’re good,” you insist as you step forward, “we got our cactus and our thingamajig. We can pay for dinner.”

“Honey, he’s just being nice,” your mother reproaches, “it is so sweet of you, Cole, but it would be a bit much.”

“You know, that’s a good idea. I should head down that way too,” Cole swiftly diverts her denial, “mom and dad love a good kebab. I always try to bring ‘em something when I come to town.”

“Oh, my heart,” your mother squees, “you are such a good son.”

You clear your throat. Your mother gives you a look. Cole glances over, his head tilted victoriously. He’s effectively making you look like a real bum and you just made a couple hundred.

“Look, I can tell you two are in a hurry,” he shifts suddenly, reaching under his jacket, “I’ll give you my card. I’m down at the market three times a week. If you need any tips about the cactus or maybe looking for a buddy for it, you can always call.”

“Wow, thank you, Cole,” your mom accepts with a fawning gaze, “oh, honey, you hold onto this,” she waves the card in your direction, “I’ll just lose it.”

You reluctantly step closer and take the card. More like rip it up. You pinch it between your knuckles and retreat. Again, Cole peeks over at you.

“I gotta go grab that sod,” he leans back on his heel, “see ya around… I hope.”

“You too, sweetie,” your mom preens.

He backs up, his eyes flitting between you and your mom. He gives you a smile and slowly turns on his heel. He struts away with a bit of a hop, almost as if he’s nervous. You scoff and shake your head. What a show.

“He is so nice!” Your mother announces shrilly, “oh my, and so handsome. And tall and dreamy. His eyes, god those eyes.”

“Mom, you’re married. You know, to dad?” You roll your eyes.

“Oh, hush, I saw you looking at him and he was looking at you,” she fans herself, “you would make the cutest babies.”

“God, ew, another word and you're getting the cactus,” you warn.

“What? You too would be adorable and I can tell, he’s single. He didn’t mention a wife or anything. And a farm? You’d be set for life, and your kids could run all around–”

“He’s a stranger and you’re talking about babies,” you sneer, “please, before I throw up.”

“That whole hard to get thing, it doesn’t work, honey,” she chides.

“I’m not– I don’t want him to get me. I’d prefer I never see him again. Ever. Forever.”

She giggles, “don’t be so dramatic. What did he do to you? He was perfectly sweet. Good manners. Good posture…”

“Really mom, should I be concerned for your marriage,” you snort.

“If only. I think I’m a bit too old for him,” she mourns with a swoon.

“If we don’t get something to eat soon, I’m going to lose my appetite,” you stick your tongue out.

“You are a brat. I’m your mother, you know?” You set off down the aisle next to her as she finally abandons the plumbing shelf. “Why can’t you be like Cole. Such a good boy.”

“Oh my god! Mom, you don’t know him. How do you even know he told the truth? What if there is no farm?”

“You don’t know him either, do you? So maybe, before you assume the worst, you should give him a chance.”

“A chance?” You puff out, “never. He’s an order number, nothing else. And old.”

Your mom tisks and turns towards checkout. You avoid looking at her as her disappointment radiates off her. She wiggles the washer in her hand.

“Where’s that card, I’ll put it in my purse.”

“Ugh, take it,” you flick it at her, “I was just gonna dump it in the trash.”

“Why, with how prickly you are, we shouldn’t need any more cactuses,” she chides.

[rebelwrites]

Sunrise And Realisations

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Maybe Summer Doesn’t Have to End

Summary: Charles knew you wasn’t a morning person but on your last day together he gets you out of bed at 3am to witness the sunrise across the city

Warnings: none just pure fluff

As always reblogs and feedback is highly appreciated ❤️ if you want tagging in future parts let me know ❤️

Charles stood leaning against the door frame of the bedroom taking on the sight before him, you were fast asleep in bed, the moonlight casting a soft glow across the room. It was a sight he would never get sick of seeing, but he let out a sigh as he realised that today was the last day you were in Monaco. The last night you would sleep in his bed, the last time you would share coffee on the balcony in the morning, the last time he would hear you get excited when you saw a dog, the last time he would hear you sing badly in the shower.

He didn’t want this break to end, he wanted to spend his time wrapped up with you. All his stress washed away when he was with you. Turning his gaze to the digital clock on his nightstand he smiled to himself as the red numbers blinked 03:00. It was time. He had planned this trip the other morning wanting to make your last day together as special as he could.

Quietly he moved across the bedroom, running his fingers down your exposed back, the slight groan that came from you made him smile.

“Sweetheart, it’s time to wake up.” He whispered, watching you stir under his touch.

“It’s still dark.” You mumbled into the pillow, refusing to move. “What time is it?”

“3am,” he chuckled, moving his fingers to your hair.

“Char, it’s too early.” You groaned, “come back to bed, baby.”

“We have plans. So you need to get out of bed.” He whispered, moving his hand as you rolled over. “I will go make you a coffee, and wear something comfy and warm.”

As he walked out of the room he chuckled to himself at your constant moaning that it was far too early to be up but a proud sensation washed over him when he heard you shout “C'est un putain de moment ridicule pour être éveillé. Tu es sûr qu'on ne peut pas se rendormir ?. This is a fucking ridiculous time to be awake. You sure we can't go back to sleep?.” Yes it wasn’t perfectly pronounced and you stumbled over your words a few times but the fact you were starting to be able to say full sentences in French caused his heart to swell.

Leaning against the counter he waited for the coffee machine to finish brewing, he pulled his phone out checking his social media. Another low chuckle escaped his lips when he saw that your tattoo was now making the rounds on Instagram. It seems like the fans were stalking your page.

He couldn’t help but smirk to himself as he stared at the screen, the black lines of your tattoo shining bright. He still found it adorable that this was the tattoo Rena chose for you. The outline of the F1-75 with the number 16 in the middle, it was simple but he loved it, he loved tracing the lines with his fingers when you were snuggled up in bed.

He was so lost in his thoughts he didn’t realise you were now standing in front of him until you pressed a kiss against his cheek.

The corners of his lips tugged into a smile as he took in your appearance, the hoodie you were wearing was obviously stolen out of his wardrobe judging by the size and how snuggled you were in it, your half asleep expression made the sight even cuter than it already was.

“This better be worth getting me up this early.” You mumbled, gratefully taking the travel mug of coffee from Charles.

“Trust me babygirl, it will be worth it.” He hummed, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Now come on, otherwise we will miss it.”

“Miss what?” You mumbled, as you both walked out of his apartment.

“You will see.” He smirked.

Charles knew the perfect spot to take you to witness the beauty of the sunrise, it was around a forty minute drive from his place. Glancing to his side his smile grew as he realised that you had fallen back asleep, the hood on his hoodie pulled up and resting your head against the window.

He found it so cute that you really wasn’t an early riser, especially the small pout that was permanently on your face from the moment he woke you up.

The only sound in the car was the engine and the low hum of the radio. Charles found peace in the quiet, something completely opposite to the fast paced life he knew.

Due to it being so early in the morning the streets were extremely quiet meaning the forty minute drive only took thirty and he was soon pulling up to the spot that overlooked the harbour of Monaco.

He had spent many mornings parked here, watching as the sun rose, the pink and orange hues casting a glow on the water. This was one of his favourite spots in his home country, one he had never shared with anyone else apart from now, with you.

It felt right to be here with you.

He quickly checked the time on his phone, smiling when he saw that there was only about a twenty minute wait for the sun to come up, glancing over to you he decided to let you sleep for ten more minutes before he woke you again.

Sinking into the seat of his Ferrari he scrolled through the photos that had been taken of the two of you, his heart racing that hit faster as he swiped through them.

Everything was perfect but there was still that feeling that this was coming to an end today, he really didn’t want to have to say goodbye to you and even though he vowed to himself would try and make the long distance work there was still a part of him that didn’t believe it would happen. He had seen so many relationships fall apart due to distance and he didn’t want either of you to endure that heartbreak.

Running his hand over his face he shook the thought out of his head, he wanted to cherish the final moments he had with you today not upset himself with the future. He just had to keep reminding himself that if this is meant to be then you would both find a way to make it work, distance or no distance.

Turning the engine off he reached over and placed his hand on yours, brushing his thumb over your skin.

“Babygirl, we are here.” He whispered, smiling to himself as you grumbled before lifting your head off the window.

“Where are we?” You asked, using your other hand to rub your eyes.

“My favourite spot in the whole city.” He hummed, pulling your hand to his mouth, pressing soft kisses against your knuckles.

Before you knew it he made a swift exit out of the car and was opening the passenger side door, offering you his hand to help you out.

As you climbed out of his Ferrari a long yawn escaped your mouth as Charles pulled you into his chest, pressing a kiss against your head.

Due to how early it was there was a chill in the air as Charles guided you towards the edge of what was basically a mountain. As soon as Charles was happy with the spot he laid down the blanket that you didn’t realise he had brought.

“You know I’ve never brought anyone to this spot.” He hummed, dropping to the floor before pulling you down in between his legs. “I didn’t feel anyone was special enough for this spot.”

“Char.” You breathed, snuggling back into him as he pulled another blanket over the two of you.

“This is the spot I come when I need the world to pause for a moment, when I’ve had a bad run with races, when I need to think.” He whispered, lacing his fingers with yours.

You didn’t know what to say as tears filled your eyes threatening to spill over your lash line.

No one had ever treated you the way Charles was treating you. He put your every need first, made you feel like the only girl in the world. Everything felt right with him. Nothing was forced and from the moment you met you clicked, even though you can only remember pieces of that night.

“I’m actually lost for words.” You whispered, playing with his rings on his fingers. “I don’t know what to say,” you breathed, “no one has ever treated me like this before.”

“Ma chérie, you deserve the world.” He whispered against your ear, his lips brushing the shell as his spoke sending shivers down your spine. “This was the reason I woke you so early.” He said softly, pointing out to the sky just as the sun was starting to come up.

The view took your breath away, you always loved sunrises but had never been able to drag yourself up that early to witness the natural beauty of it.

“It’s breathtaking.” You whispered, letting your eyes dart across the multitudes of pink and orange hues that were scattered across the sky.

“Even more breathtaking sharing it with you.”

A comfortable silence washed over the pair of you as you watched the sun rise across the city you had fallen in love with.

That’s when it hit you, and it hits you like a freight train. The realisation that Charles was the one for you. He had walked into your heart like he alway belonged there, taking down your walls over the course of the couple of weeks you had spent together and in that time set your soul on fire. The connection you had was something you couldn’t explain, it was like your souls knew each other, maybe from a past life.

You always used to laugh at your grandad when he told you that when you met the one you would feel it, but maybe he was right, maybe all the pain and heartache you had suffered in your past was your heart trying to find to find it’s one true love, it’s soulmate, it’s other half.

A smile crept onto your face as you thought about what your grandad’s reaction to Charles would be. You knew that he would love him the moment they met but you just hoped that they would get that opportunity.

This was only meant to have been a summer fling, a bit of fun but as the days passed the connection was getting stronger and you knew that the goodbye later this evening was going to be extremely hard and painful. As much as you wanted to stay in Monaco deep down you knew it wasn’t possible. You still didn’t have a job and weren't going to let Charles pay for everything.

Snuggling further into Charles you started fiddling with his bracelets as your mind wandered some more.

Charles wasn’t watching the sky anymore but his attention was solely on you, he could see you were deep in thought and he quickly picked up on the internal battle you were having. Pressing a kiss to the top of your head he squeezed you tighter.

He tried not to let the tears fall that had formed in his eyes. Tonight wasn’t going to be hard, seeing you slip through his fingers but he knew it had to happen and if this was meant to be you would both find your way back to each other.

Unaware Charles was having a similar internal battle you blinked away the tears, trying not to focus on having to say goodbye to Charles. Right now you need to make the most of your final hours together.

Taking a deep breath you opened your eyes, staring out across the city, that’s when the biggest realisation hit you.

You had fallen in love with Charles Leclerc and you had fallen hard.

@chibsytelford @dragon-of-winterfell @ohthemisssery @a-distantdreamer @sgkophie @stillbreathin @angywritesstuff @miamedyu @enchantedbytomandhenry @scribbuluswrites @dangerouspursepeachbear @micks-afterglow @livo676 @buendiabebeta @pleasedontfollowinlost @ferrarifwendvale @hungryhungarian @theplobnrgone @charlesleclercje

[masalalala-chaii]

🎊Host चाय ka blog🎊

Owner of @desi-gapshap-announcement and @desiblr-gapshap

*Cameras turning on* *intro music playing*

[Dil walo ke dil ka karar lutne me aayi hu desiblr walo ke dil lutne.]

"Soon aap sabke dilo ko sach me lut-" *pointing at the audience*

"Everyone hates your rude side, so work on that. To win everyone's heart... you have to work hard." Said @alhad-titli (my तितली bhabhi who is my co-host as well.)

"Ha ha thik hai ab logo ko sach hajam nhi hota to meri kya galati..."

*Ehem!!!* *Singing* "Aise host ki baato me koi kese na aaye? Ho chai ki chapad chapad.... Yes I'm a bathroom Singer and am learning guitar. Ha me flex kar rahi hu so what?"

*तितली giving me side eye*

"Anyway... Welcome welcome welcome.... Even though you couldn't follow your dream under your desi parent's pressure and were forced to follow their chosen career path, you can still choose to who you want to follow on tumblr.

So why don't you follow right things here instead of following someone who is too hard to approach? You don't have a guts to reach out to your favorite mutual? Worry not we are here for that.

We will help you out but for that Go and follow @desi-gapshap-announcement and @desiblr-gapshap right now. Don't miss the chance to have a surprise shout-out."

"Bohot promotion ho gaya... Ab meri baari So hello guys chai pi lo-" *my co-host तितली bhabhi giving me side eye again*

"pardon my chai obsession guys. Let's retake again... Cut!" *तितली sighing*

*Ehem!!!* (Masculinity at it's finest because I'm tomboy with girly heart who loves desiness.)

"Ram Ram. Aapka swagat hai mere host blog par. Vese to me ek sushil sanskari sundar kanya hu par-"

"Jaldi bol inhe scrolling karne bhi nikalna hai" said तितली from the side. "Hum yaha tera patni material hone ka interview nhi le rahe."

"Pardon my bak bak again... Kabhi kabaar idhar udhar nikal jaati hu. Ek aur baar retake kare ky-"

"Jaldi bol le warna me kisi aur ko co-host ki seat de dungi!" Said तितली strictly.

So hello guys I'm your hot host चाय. Yes चाय humesha hot hi hoti hai. No argument. Agar ye bola kisi ne ki thandi pite hai to we will have a problem..." *तितली glaring at me*

"So as I was telling you about my host blog... I will interview different celebrities of our desi side of tumblr and we will have fun conversation here. Sometimes I can be little mischievous so I hope you will forgive me."

"I will reblog question and answers of whichever guest I'm interviewing. And yes I will banter with my co-host as well. Which will be the behind the scenes."

You can send ask to be interviewed by me if you want, you can dm if you are too shy.

Definitely I'm turning anons off because I don't want creepy anons cause of past incidents here.

For more details go and check out our main blogs.

@desi-gapshap-announcement

@desiblr-gapshap

@alhad-titli ( who is my bhabhi as well as our co host )

*Cameras turning off*

"It was okay. Good thing I didn't expect much from you." तितली fixed her hair.

"Hehehe... Vese bhabhi itna kaam karva rahi ho salary discuss kab karen-"

"Konsi salary? Ja kar bartan manjh." Said तितली bhabhi with dead serious poker face.

*Heart broken**crying in corner* "Guys justice for चाय please!"

*Gun shot* "What justice?" तितली asked after borrowing gun from Om.

"Kesa justice?! I'm happy!!!! I'm so happy to be here hehehe..." *wiping sweat and following after her as तितली left in search of guests.

[imaginesbymk]

RESERVOIR DOGS PREFERENCE

PUTTING (EUPHORIA) MAKEUP ON THEM

Characters: Mr. White (Larry), Mr. Orange (Freddy Newandyke), Mr. Blonde (Vic Vega), Mr. Pink, Mr. Brown + “Nice Guy” Eddie 

Tags: swearing, tarantino characters not appreciating the beauty of makeup ??

Taglist: @locke-writes​ & @aryn-the-bearheart​

A/N: i am currently planning a reservoir dogs/pulp fiction x OC AU fic that's euphoria-themed, but i feel like its just hyper fixation and my untreated adhd will just make me abandon it entirely and bounce back to fixating on HBO war fics :P enjoy and leave a like/reblog/feedback <33 ^.^

( i added links to the makeup looks they have lol! its highlighted so you will see )

━︎ MR. WHITE ( LARRY DIMMICK )

He thinks you're joking, but you're so serious

Mr. White laughs out loud. "C'mon. Don't do that to me, y/n. I'll wear those things the day aliens land and go clubbing in L.A."

One time he's so drunk from the bar that he comes home and gets too curious when he sees you organizing your makeup station. "All right, I'll bite. Make me look like a doll."

He's not sober so he moves too much, and you're struggling.

"Finally done!"

He checks the vanity. You went simple but bold on graphic eyeliner. "Ho-ly shit!" He laughs. "I could pick up women and men at the bar if I went out like this earlier."

━︎ MR. ORANGE ( FREDDY NEWANDYKE )

Freddy has a nice eye shape, so you decide to give him a smokey eye look with glitter tears

He lowkey doesn't mind it, he knows he's good looking so why not add more shine to it?

"Stop moving, Freddy. You'll make me mess up."

He checks the mirror. "How do you come up with this?"

You take a lot of photos of him, and he keeps it on for the whole day that he'll forget that he's wearing makeup

Officer Holdaway from the police department visits him at the apartment with some case files he picked up for him. "What the FUCK happened to you, man?"

━︎ MR. BLONDE ( VIC VEGA )

He thinks it's too girly, and would only appreciate it if it was worn on someone attractive

Mr. Blonde mainly likes red lipstick and loves it when you leave lipstick stains on him

You're actually worried that he'll touch his face too much that it'll ruin his makeup (he touches his face too much)

He's so annoyed that he finally gives in and lets you experiment.

You let him choose the colours on the palette. "I dunno, that one."

He hums when he looks in the mirror. "Yeah. It's cool." He kinda likes it, but he immediately makes you wipe it all off.

━︎ MR. PINK

There is absolutely no way Pink is ever gonna wear makeup, let alone let you put a dab of blush on him

He will literally swat your hand away and try to throw you off the couch when you pounce on his lap with a powder brush in your hand

He's passed out on the couch and you slowly and carefully apply pink liner on him

He wakes up all groggy, annoyed, and confused as to why you're smiling and laughing so devilishly. "What's the fuckin' matter with you?" He goes into the bathroom and looks in the mirror. "Y/N L/N YOU ARE SO DEAD."

━︎ MR. BROWN

Brown will only say yes as long as you don't make him go out in public

"Fine," he huffs. "But I want a Madonna glam."

You agreed because he couldn't stop talking about Like A Virgin the whole day.

As he's watching you look at the eyeshadow palette, you decide on the neon colours for the 80s vibe.

"I can't believe I'm actually doing this," he says to you.

He keeps bombarding you with questions about the brushes. "There's a whole routine to makeup?! Jesus."

"I guess I do feel kinda pretty," he chuckles to himself in the mirror.

He messes up his makeup because he kept scratching his eyes!!!!

━︎ NICE GUY EDDIE ( EDDIE CABOT )

"No fuckin' way, y/n. Do I look like a lab rat?"

"I promise I'll make it look cool." You bribe him to do it. You'll do extra hours with Dove if he lets you do his makeup.

He's in his office chair and you're sitting cross-legged on his desk, working on his face like an artist with their canvas.

He's sweating and constantly checks the door because anyone can walk in, even Joe or the Dogs, and see him wearing makeup. He would have to crawl into a turtle shell and go into hiding for the rest of his life if his Dad caught him.

"Jesus, are you almost done?"

"Just about done." You put the lid back. "Do you like it?"

He checks the tiny mirror on the wall. "Oh." He nods. "Did you superglue gems on my face?!"

The door opens. Mr. Blonde is standing there, jaw dropped on the floor.

[namethat-i-oughttohavetoldyou]

There Are Many Benefits To Being A Matelot

Yo-ho, yo-ho, a pirate fic for @cryptidvoidwritings​ >:) First time writing the Raffish crew! At first I wanted to think up different names for them, but I thought it would be a little confusing and you did ask for Tuggerstrap in particular, so the Raffish crew happens to share the names of the cats who portray them during the musical. I hope you enjoy! :) Quick warning: alcohol and sex are discussed, but neither consumed or performed.  Love to everyone who reads, likes or reblogs! ♥♥♥

The screams of the seagulls almost tuned out the other racket going on above them, therefore, Tugger was as relaxed as one could be.

Although…

He stretched and threw his left leg over Munkustrap’s right.

Now he was relaxed.

Munkustrap commented this with little more than a soft huff of breath, eyelids heavy and ears flicking ever so often in half-asleep, drunken stupor.

Tugger turned his head to admire his companion for a moment, from the tips of his black ears to the equally black, folded paws that were resting on his stomach, down to his worn-out leather boots with the small lopsided heart carved into the left heel, courtesy of Tugger himself.

“Why not your initials?” Grumbuskin had asked while observing the shoe-carving almost a year ago.

“He can’t read,” Tugger had answered. Munkustrap had just sat there and giggled.

Well, maybe they just all drank too much too often. But then again, who would withhold this one last source of pleasure from them?

Or rather second to last source. One source was currently lying right next to Tugger.

Said source was also humming and somehow swaying even though he was laying down, so maybe they should really give the drinking problem a little more thought. Later, though. When they weren’t so drunk.

Growltiger and Griddlebone’s duet reached a new level of volume on the deck above them, and Tugger crossed his arms behind his head and wondered what it must be like to have a paramour.

Might be nice to have someone waiting for you at the shore. But then again, wasn’t it much nicer to have them right with you on the ship, at all times? Maybe he preferred having a matelot instead of a lover.

Tugger grabbed Munkustrap’s tail, who stopped humming for just a second to quietly huff again, then resumed humming.

Yeah, matelotage was much better. More benefits to it, too. Griddlebone probably wouldn’t inherit any property if Growltiger decided to kick the bucket.

(Not that Tugger was very eager to inherit anything soon. He had his own pair of worn-out boots, thank you.)

He petted the soft striped tail in his hands, smoothing down the fur and watching the tip twitch lazily.

“Don’t pull,” Munkustrap said without moving his lips, blinking excruciatingly slow.

“Would never think of it,” Tugger answered and pulled a little.

“Mmph.”

Tugger hid a grin in his shirt collar and turned his head to where Mistoffelees and Mungojerrie had long become an unorganized cluster of limbs. Skimble sat at the bulkhead and stared at the ceiling, fully immersed in the passionate singing that went on up there.

“You’re pining.”

Skimble startled and shot Tugger an offended glare. “Yes. And what about it?”

Tugger shrugged. “As long as Growltiger’s still alive…”

“Well, maybe we should wish upon a star, all of us together. Our contracts are far from over.”

That was true.

Piracy was great, all in all: sailing was fun and there was always enough to eat (and too much to drink), it was nice to fall asleep to the sound and movement of the waves, they had health insurance and what was matelotage if not the greatest invention ever? (Poor Skimble. Maybe they would have to consider polygamy, he seemed so dreadfully lonely sometimes.)

The only disadvantage was… well. They had a boss. And said boss was, frankly said, an asshole.

There was a reason why the crew only consisted of five cats. They were the toughest and most steadfast, and they survived getting bullied, shoved, kicked and punched just because Growltiger felt like it without much of a complaint. At least in Growltiger’s vicinity.

Tugger spent many hours of his day wishing for the Navy to catch up to them and simultaneously fearing what would happen to the crew if they did so.

“Kind of hard to wish upon a star when we’re down here, though.”

Skimble scratched his chin. Then he stared at the ceiling again. Tugger did the same.

Truth to be told, everyone was pining a little for Griddlebone; it was almost impossible not to. She was one of the most beautiful living creatures wandering on this green earth, that much was certain. Her voice was hypnotic and her sense of humour even more so, and she could drink tea in the most fanciest manner Tugger had ever seen, and he and the rest of the crew thought that to be highly impressive, not to say attractive.

If Growltiger did kick the bucket and Griddlebone was willing to go for a bit of mattress sport, Tugger wouldn’t think twice before accepting. He’d probably bring Munkustrap, though, just to have something familiar to fall back on should something not go according to plan.

…Yes, matelotage was much better than just having a lover.

“I made the right decision,” Tugger told Munkustrap, pulling a little on his tail.

“Ah,” Munkustrap said.

Then: “That’s good.”

“Yes.”

“…”

“Concerning you, I mean.”

“Oh.”

And then Munkustrap smiled, and smiled and smiled and smiled and Tugger pulled a little on his tail again because he could barely stand it. He would surely burst if he looked at the smile for even one second longer, so he continued with staring holes into the ceiling.

From the corner of his eyes, Tugger could see Munkustrap’s paws unfolding themselves, and the right one reached, grasped Tugger’s, held on and pulled back to refold with his left.

Tugger let go of Munkustrap’s abused tail and rested his remaining paw on his chest, absentmindedly playing with the loose buttons of his linen shirt.

“I’m glad you made the decision.”

Tugger silently noted that he said ‘decision’, not ‘right decision’ and squeezed his paw.

Munkustrap squeezed back.

“Me too.”

For a while, nothing was heard but the two lovers’ voices hitting new record heights, the seagulls and Skimble scratching his chin from time to time.

“What do you think of polygamy?”

Munkustrap’s eyes opened a little wider; he almost looked awake now. “Probably a lot of effort to manage so that nobody is jealous of someone else. Why do you ask?”

Tugger was about to lift his paw off his chest to point at the lone tomcat sitting at the bulkhead, when suddenly all hatches slammed shut at the same time with a BANG.

The tangle of limbs and fur that was Mungojerrie and Mistoffelees flinched and untangled at a breathtaking speed. At least that’s what Tugger assumed was happening, because with the closing of the hatches their only source of light had been decimated.

To be precise: it was pitch black, with only slivers of light poking through the ceiling beams.

Munkustrap’s wide yellow eyes stared back at him when Tugger turned his head back around, apparently very suddenly very sober.

A loud, wailing shriek rang out and made the Raffish crew’s ears press to their skulls. Then the ship vibrated with a lot of cats stomping about, a lot of screaming and several swords clashing, interspersed with a splash of someone falling into the water here and there.

“The Navy!” Mungojerrie breathed, at the same time as Mistoffelees whispered “It’s Gilbert!”

The noise kept up for several more long minutes, then there was a very big splash, and loud cheers of “Huzzah!” relieved the crew’s accumulated tension.

Growltiger had been defeated.

As their crewmates whooped and hollered, Tugger and Munkustrap looked at each other without a word. The hatches were closed; there had been no way for them to enter the fight and help, but they hadn’t really felt like it anyway. They could reach the gun deck easily, however, and the gun ports were most probably still open. A successful escape was more than likely.

Maybe they’d even come across Griddlebone, swimming around in the Thames somewhere.

Tugger squeezed Munkustrap’s paw, and Munkustrap squeezed back.

Matelotage was great.

Poor Griddlebone hadn’t gotten anything out of being Growltiger’s lover other than wet fur and a head cold, if she was truly unlucky. But at the moment, she wasn’t their problem, and they all enjoyed their sudden unemployment very much.

“Now, tell me, Skimble,” Mungojerrie grinned as the five of them climbed out of the gun ports into blessed freedom, whiskers blowing in the wind and sharp teeth bared to laugh at the moon, “how did that star you wished upon get below deck?”

All pirates are bisexual, I don’t make the rules. This was utterly and completely inspired by the time I saw Cats in Vienna; Everlasting Cat bless Dominik Hees’ pirate Tugger and his unstoppable urge to cuddle with Alexander Auler’s giggly drunk pirate Munk. ♥ Originally this thing was almost four times as long, but it got a little long-winded and world-building-y so I had to reduce it quite drastically XD It’s very probable that I’ll come back to it at some point, because I love pirates. You love pirates. Everyone loves pirates. Thank you for reading! ♥ Also:

[pavlovianfuckery]

i always feel a bit dumb reblogging my own fic so hopefully i don't do it too often, ho hum.

at least i only do it like once a week or less ????

[thekeatoncadet]

Just because it’s legal doesn’t mean ya ain’t nasty :/

[hotxcheeto]

the reader tops chloe with the strap >:) also if u want it can be like a pt.2 to rainbow and have some fluff >>:)))

━ 𝐌𝐔𝐋𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐅𝐔𝐍

𝙥𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜(𝙨) - Chloe Price x G/N!Reader

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 - Cursing, smut, use of strap on, kissing, hickies, fluff, top!reader, bottom!chloe,

𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙤𝙛𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 ? - Yeah/Nope

𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙧'𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚 - lowkey a sequel to this fic right HERE thank you for the rq though lmao sorry it took so long lovely!

REBLOGS ARE VERY APPRECIATED

"Would you actually fuck me with it?"

It had been two days since your little introduction to the fake cock that Chloe had bought. The rainbow colors making you squeeze your thighs together when you thought about her fucking you with it.

But she'd been so needy with you lately, you were beginning to take true to your words about doing the same to her. Watching her beside you staring at her laptop that played a youtube video that was funny to her, hearing her giggle or chuckle every few minutes.

Her head resting on your stretched out arm that had gone completely numb, your other around her waist, hand holding your own nice and tight to assure you she was still there as you slept.

You could see the screen over her shoulder, having been spooning her for the past hour while you were napping. Her ass pushing against your front once you woke up, digging your face in her neck while shifting around.

"Y/n?" "Hm?" She laughed at your groggy voice, head popping up into her view while she peeked over her shoulder. "Sleep good hotstuff?" You rubbed your eyes, hugging her closer to you while nodding. "Yeah."

She hummed at your answer, video now ended she rolled over to face you, just millimeters apart, lightly biting the tip of your nose to get you to smile.

"What time is it?" "Almost seven." You groaned, hand wrapped around her body to her ass giving it a light squeeze. "I had a really good dream." "Yeah, I see that." You sat up, limb still trapped up underneath her neck a shit-eating grin on her face while she snuggled into your forearm.

"I wanna fuck you." "For real? You just opened your eyes."

You stared at her with much seriousness, tilting your head a bit before she jumped up, pushing you onto your back. Straddling your waist watching your face lighten up at the feeling of her thighs squeezing your hips.

"But only if I get to use that new strap." You giggled, hands resting on her bare thighs as she nodded, leaning down to kiss you tasting the cigarette you both shared before you'd fallen asleep.

"Deal."

That's how you got here, lips on hers and fake cock strapped around your pelvis while Chloe continuously pushed towards you. Wanting more that you weren't quite ready to give her.

"I love you, you know that?" You smirked, the words sounded insincere from the way you spoke, teasing her with the tip of the dick. Running it along her soaked folds, circling her clit with the silicone head. "I– I lov–love you too you– fuck–" she panted staring down between her legs where her shorts and panties had been stripped for her and the plastic cock rested in your hand.

"Fuck Y/n.." "I love this." You muttered, fingers moving to massage her inner thigh, while the other circled her hole, slowly beginning to push yourself inside her.

"Oh fuck Y/n–" She breathed, grabbing your hand in her own as you began a to set a steady pace with her, moving your hips back and forth. Excitedly biting your lip.

"How's that feel?" "Good.." You hummed, leaning back down to kiss her once more, then down her neck towards her t-shirt that you both knew had nothing underneath it.

"Chloe, you're so pretty." You teased, seeing her flustered face when you moved back up to kiss her cheek.

Thrusting towards her faster making the entire bed and its frame begin to move.

"I love you so much." Her blush made you want to want to fuck her harder, her hands gripping your biceps while you drilled into her.

"Y/n– fu–uck that feels goo–ood–" "Oh yeah?" You pulled her shirt up exposing her pretty tits to you, the hand not holding yours moving down to play with her nipples, leaning down to take a little lick over her sensitive nub.

Continuing to screw your hips into her own, wet sounds and skin on skin slapping filling your shared bedroom up to the brim overflowing out into the rest of the apartment.

"Fuck you're amazing." You muttered, licking over her tit again before returning to her mouth, tasting the salty sweat on her lips and her lust for you. "Y/n m'gonna cum." Chloe groaned, head falling back against the pillows while gripping you as tight as she could, painted purple nails digging into your soft skin.

"Good girl."

Chloe liked to deny how much she liked when you called her that, whether it be a joke or you actually praising her for things.

Whether she was the dom or sub of the night, she loved it and loved to eat it up, turning red when you'd let those two little words slip from your lips.

"Fuck!" You took the moment she threw her head far back to bite and suck at her neck, continuing your animalistic pace into her pussy as her thighs squeezed you tight keeping you between her legs.

Finally beginning to slow she tried to catch her breath, clutching your upper arms as she came, hips stuttered and little whines spilling from her mouth.

"Aww... Chlo? You okay?" She knew you were teasing her, but it felt so good, looking at you with teary eyes and a light nod.

"That was really fucking good." You laughed looking down at where the fake cock was still snug inside of her. "That was really fucking fun."

"I'm ready to take another nap now, join me?"

"Wait, I wanna ride." You stared at Chloe for a minute. "Fine, only because you're adorable." "Y/nnn."

[supernaturalgirl20]

Not again

Pairings: Dieter Bravo x f!reader

Warnings: Smut 18+, explicit, angst and fluff.

Summary: you hate Dieter Fucking Bravo. You hate him you hate him you…love him! Things are complicated, and when he’s cast along side you on a new movie you are absolutely fucking furious. Heartbroken….Maybe a little turned on.

A/N: I have this written like a week and I keep changing it so I’m just posting it now and being done with it 🤣 writer problems 😳

Comments and reblogs really appreciated 🥰

To say you were angry was an understatement. You were livid. You were upset. You were…so turned on. Nope, not going down that road again.

This was a monumental fuck up, and you were going to kill Amber. How could she have gotten you into the same movie as him. Had you not made it clear you never wanted to see him again? Never even wanted to hear his name. He had broken your heart into a million pieces. You thought he loved you too, that you had changed his wild ways but you were so wrong.

The memory of that night still fresh in your mind.

***

Laying here beside him with your fingers running along his chest, his arm wrapped tight around you, you found it hard to control your emotions. This thing between you both had started as a casual fling. Something to take the edge off. Then you had to catch feelings, of course you did and you didn’t know if he felt the same. He’d told you once that he wasn’t seeing anyone else just you. Did that mean he loved you too?

“Dieter?”

“Hmm,” he hums. His eyes still closed as he fingers stroke the skin on your back.

“I…uh…I love you.” Biting your lip anxiously waiting for him to say something, anything. You feel him stiffen beside you, the movement of his fingers come to a halt.

Suddenly he’s sitting up abruptly and pushing you off.

“What do you mean you love me? You can’t. This isn’t what we agreed to.”

“I know but I can’t help how I feel. Come on you can’t tell me you don’t feel the same, I thought thing’s between us…”

“You thought what? That because I wasn’t fucking other women that I was in love with you. That you were special? Well guess what, you’re not! I don’t love you.”

Your breath catches in your throat and you begin to slowly back away from him. Fro a moment to swear you see a hint of sadness and guilt flash across his eyes but it’s gone in seconds. Quickly grabbing your clothes you try so hard to hold back the tears but they escape regardless. Before you close the door behind you, you take one last look at the man you love. He’s pacing the room his hands running through his hair. He doesn’t even glance your way as you say goodbye.

You spent the night in bed wrapped beneath your covers. Heartbroken. The following morning you arrive on set slowly making your way towards the make up trailer. Too caught up in your own head you fail to hear the moans coming from inside. A gasp escapes you when you open the door to find Dieter fucking the make up artist. Tears falling freely down your face you run off set failing to hear your name being called. Dieter stands there watching you leave, his heart aching with guilt for what he’d done.

“Fuck!”

***

“I’m so sorry Y/N, I didn’t know honestly,” Amber says rushing behind you as you storm off to your trailer.

“How did you not know? You know why I can’t work with him again.” Your breathing becomes erratic as your try to calm yourself. “My heart can’t take it Amber,” you say almost in a whisper. “I still…I still love him.”

“Maybe I can get you out of this! I can tell them an emergency has…”

“No! No it’s fine. I…I can’t avoid him forever right and maybe I won’t actually have to work directly with him.”

Those words should never have left your lips. This is Murphy Law. Of course you were his love interest, of course. The universe has conspired against you for some wrong you did in a past life you just know it. Sitting on your chair waiting for the crew to set up you decide to ho over your lines until you feel his presence on set. You try so hard to stay focused on the words in front of you, to avoid looking over at him but you can’t help it. Flicking your eyes over him you see him chatting with the director before his eyes are on you. Quickly turning back towards the papers in your hand you close your eyes and pray he doesn’t come over.

“Hey Y/N…you look…you look great.”

“Thanks.”

You don’t elaborate hoping he’ll get the hint and leave. Please leave.

He hops in the chair beside you and turns his whole frame towards you.

“It’s been a long time. I tried to…”

“What are you doing Dieter?”

“What do you mean?”

“This. Why are over here chatting with me? We’re not friends.”

“I know I just…I was just….”

“Y/N, Dieter! Ok so we’re going to start with the sex scene.”

Oh fuck!

Your heart is beating frantically within your chest and you can feel the sweet begin to drip down your forehead. Of course this was happening. Hopping off the chair you head to your trailer to prepare leaving a very sad looking Dieter staring after you.

***

You couldn’t look him in the eyes. Even as he lay in the bed beside you, naked except for his boxers. You were naked too. Just a flimsy thong that barely covered anything. The director was talking but you couldn’t focus on the words. Couldn’t focus on anything other then the sound of your heartbeat.

It wasn’t until Dieter gently pushed you back on the bed that you snapped out of it. His eyes were looking deep into your own. Those gorgeous chocolate brown eyes that you used to love staring at as you lay in bed.

“You ok?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you ok?”

“What do you care?” You say with a scoff.

“I do care!”

“What?”

“I care about you.”

“Don’t make me laugh.”

“And action.”

The scene called for the two of you, two lovers reunited after a long time apart, to make soft sweet love to each other. It wasn’t hard to pretend. You both have done this dance before. Know how each other sounds in the throws of passion. You both know each others bodies like the back of your hands.

“Oh,” you gasp. Is he hard? He grinds into your hips again and oh god it feels so good. He buries his face into your neck and whispers into your ear.

“How bout we give them a real show?”

You moan out again as he continues to grind against you, drawing you closer to that release.

“Yes!”

It was meant for him. He knows that. To the crew it’s just part of the scene. “You sure baby?”

“Yes please.”

You only now realise he isn’t wearing any boxers as he slides the thing to the side and lines up at your core. One thrust and he’s buried to the hilt inside you.

“Oh.” You both moan. The feeling of him filling you has you almost coming already. He begins to rock into you slowly. Your so lost in the moment you forget your on camera.

“I…I love you baby.”

Those words. The ones you longed to hear that night fall from his lips and even though you know it’s for the scene you can’t help the cry of his name you let out as you come. He’s not far behind as he thrusts once more before spilling inside you.

Your startled by the sound of clapping. “That was amazing you two. We don’t have to do a retake. Excellent.”

He pulls out of you and quickly fixes his boxers. He turns to talk to you but you’ve already wrapped yourself in your robe and are making your way to your trailer.

***

What did you do? Why did you let him do that to you again? He’s only using you.

The door to your trailer burst open startling you.

“Dieter?”

“Why’d you run off? I want to talk to you baby.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Please just hear me out.”

“Why? What was that back there? I..”

“We had sex is what happened. Mind blowing sex at that. God I’ve missed you baby.” He says moving closer to you.

“Don’t! Please!”

“Baby..”

“Just go.”

“No!” He says stepping closer until he’s flush against you. His hands coming to rest on your hips.

“I’m not letting you go again. I can’t it will kill me. I love you Y/N. I have for a long time, even that night you told me…I was afraid. I shouldn’t have acted like that, it’s no excuse but I was terrified. I don’t do relationships. My mom and dad weren’t exactly great role models. Look I’m sorry baby for hurting you like that. If you give me another chance I’ll never hurt you like that again.”

“Dieter I don’t know, you really hurt me I..”

“Do you love me?”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Do. You. Love. Me?”

“Yes.”

“Then that’s enough. I want to start again. Just you and me. I love you so much and I’ve been trying to get a hold of you but I couldn’t..”

“Yeah I blocked you.”

“Can’t blame you for that. It’s why I told the director to keep my involvement in this movie quiet. I knew if you found out you wouldn’t do it.”

“Your damn right I wouldn’t have done it. You fucking broke my heart. I wanted to just be with you, properly not just a quick fuck.”

“I know and I’m sorry. I haven’t been with anyone since you and I don’t want anyone but you. Baby your it for me, if you’ll have me?”

You stand there quiet. Unsure of how you feel about this. You love him always have, probably always will. Can you get over how he treated you.

“Just give us one more chance, please?”

“Ok but if you fuck me over again were done.”

“I won’t I promise baby,” he says pulling you close. He’s not going to fuck this up. The small velvet box in his pocket is a testament to that .

Permanent tag list: @lunaserenade @anaaaispunk @maievdenoir @elinedjarin @seasonschange-butpeopledont @alberta-sunrise @dihra-vesa @pintsizemama @athalien @loserrlauraa @thorins-queen-of-erebor @pascal-rascal424 @ikinmahlen @pascalisthepunkest @dindjarinneedsahug @almaeunice @jediknight122 @prostitute-robot-from-the-future @colorlesswhispersunknown @stevie75 @rosie-posie08 @hauntedmama @greeneyedblondie44 @prettylilhalforc @giselatropicana @phoenixhalliwell @sherala007 @its--fandom--darling @donnaa @javierpinme @luxmundee @littlemisspascal @hayley-the-comet @ezras-channel-rat @misspearly1 @writer-darling @misspearlssideblog

[meanscarletdeceiver]

Seeing as how crane steam engines are a thang, and not just somethign made up for the show: harvey head canons?

Ho hum, I wonder who could be on anon asking about Harvey? <3

Sorry for the wait but honestly I had to watch Season 6 a lot and some seasons beyond a little in order to get some ideas churning.

Now thanks to you I really like the lil bug.

First of all, I mostly am going to steal pretty much every detail of Feige’s Harvey HC post. It is all fire and you should all go read it and reblog it.

But the most useful bit, to me, is their notion that Harvey was not actually made circa 1900 but rather a one-off reproduction commissioned circa 1940. I dunno, it just feels right. I look at that face and I see a guy from the 40s.

I also love Feige's account of Harvey's pre-Sodor history. I modify it, however, to Harvey not going directly from Barrow Hemelite Steel Co. to Sodor in 1974. I see him arriving about a decade later, right around the time the TV series is launching. On the other hand I think it’s unlikely that he got another job anywhere else after ’74 so he might have spent a good deal of time just sitting around Hemelite waiting to be leased or bought. I should also mention the Furness Railway Trust might have played a role here in buying Harvey, even if they couldn’t afford or weren’t interested in overhauling him; they saved a diesel shunter from this same steelworks.

My “joke AU” where lots of non-classic episodes didn’t really happen but reflect the engines getting extremely Machiavellian about their own portrayals and pitching the stories to HiT? Well, it’s increasingly not a joke. Anyway “Harvey to the Rescue” didn’t quite go down like that.

It wasn’t the engines who were down on Harvey for “looking different,” it was the railway board. They spent much of the 80s and 90s enjoying the N.W.R.’s impressive new TVS-related revenue streams and getting a real bugabear about controlling their “brand.” They were very big on “branding.” God, the engines came to despise the word “branding” (so did the once-indomitable FC2, who decided to just effin’ retire because he was completely over of some of these big new shareholders within five minutes of their arrival). By 1990, they still hadn’t approved Harvey’s purchase and there were rumors that they were going to “pass” on him altogether. They just didn’t think he fit the “brand” (which mostly meant the RWS engines… and even back in the 80s, long before Gullane or HiT or anyone else, the railway board kind of wished Duck and really wished Toby just didn’t exist. They couldn’t get rid of them, but they considered them deadweight for publicity. They considered BoCo and Bear the same and that’s a whole ‘nother kettle of fish, let me get back on topic).

Anyway, the engines might have done the usual “frank and unflattering commentary when the see someone who looks different” thing, but they didn’t really give Harvey the cold shoulder because of that; that was just the usual light hazing.

Where Harvey did have an ongoing struggle was just… culturally. Industrial engines have a completely different etiquette from railway engines, who can also be casually classist about these differences. Harvey, bless him, did his best to adjust, but he couldn’t learn all the complicated ins and outs overnight and he kept inadvertently giving offense.

Some of the engines were more understanding than others. Guess which were which.

So yeah, Harvey once jumped the rails because he went too fast onto the loop line and tied up three trains, he (gasp) sorted trains in order of arrival instead of order of Importance, his eyes glazed over in boredom in a lot of yard and shed conversations making more references than he could keep up with…

… Add to all this that it’s generally very embarrassing for an engine when they make some mess that needs to be cleaned up; it’s worse still if you have to be bailed out of a jam by the new guy, and then if it’s “that ugly old hook-on-wheels”… oof.

Oh, then poor Harvey gamely tried to participate in the model-exchange method of bonding. He sent Murdoch a model of a Hornby 9F in B.R. black and Henry a wooden railway model of himself. For Christmas. Oh my God. Oh my God you guys. There was so much wrong here that it would take an essay just to unpack, although his biggest misstep was that the custom is supposed to be that you send your own model off to be accepted by the other. Sending someone their own model? What are you, some kind of creep?

(Henry did sort of spout off along that exact vein. In his defense, he’d taken a couple blows to his pride that year, and also he was very sleep-deprived due to some heavy timetables that month. But flippin’ Gordon and James put him in his place (“He didn’t give you his own model because he doesn’t have one, yeh big green plonker! Get a grip!”) Do you know how embarrassing it is to be schooled in empathy by James the Red Engine? Yeah. Henry finally woke up properly and realised that he was being an arse, that time. At the same time, Arthur was having a similar conversation with Murdoch, who realised that if Arthur was telling someone to lighten up about the rules of any particular thing, then maybe he should just grunt ’ah, thank’ee then’ and go back to sleep as the fastest way to restore peace.)

Then there were all Harvey’s many faux pas at washdown. Oh, washdown. Suffice it to say the politics of who cuts in front of whom at a railway washdown are immense. There are probably 28 different unverbalized algorithms by which the order is determined, and you might think that therefore reconciling all the competing factors is an art-form, but it’s not art, it’s a science and there is always only one correct answer. The North Western, if possible, has a pecking order even more labyrinthine than most railways because they’ve been mashing together rules from clashing cultures (different home railways, different B.R. regions, the sea-change that came post-dieselisation) for 70 years before Harvey even arrived. Even Duck can’t articulate why it is that Engine A goes ahead of Engine B but not Engine C, Edward won’t even try, Thomas actually was once the only engine pretty good at laying it all out in great, rambley detail but then again he hasn’t really needed to calculate it since the 60s because he’s tended to at Ffarquhar or he just always gets to jump to the head of the line, only exceptions ever being pending express engines or some sort of Special Special Special Special (that isn’t his own), and the workmen? They've given up trying to have the least say in it generations ago. “Back in the old days” they would have been in charge of maintaining this order, but it’s gotten completely beyond their ability to comprehend, and besides, they just don’t make ‘em as tough and stern as they used to, so now the engines sort it all out themselves. And while it’s possible to catch up engines whose ways were a little different, Harvey was completely lost and nobody could get him up to speed. Several different times, instead of trying, the offended parties just bitched at him. Harvey went through a phase of avoiding washdown completely, which only lead to getting written up.

This was a problem because, as said, by 1990 a significant portion of the railway board seemed to think the best course of action would be to send Harvey away. Him going around grubby and reluctant to pipe up did not help matters.

Finally… Percy Took Charge.

First, with the other engines. One day he just ran out of patience and flipped out on every single engine at Tidmouth, calling them out on what classist twats they actually were, had always been, had been to Percy for the past sixty years, and goddamn it he was not going to let them spend another generation putting down another useful engine just because he didn’t keep his pinkie out when he drank tea, FUCK Y’ALL. (This is paraphrased. I am taking this liberty, however: Percy was so pissed off that he had lost the powers of speech at different points in his rant and so a good bit of it was composed of angry whistling, hissing, clanking, and wheeshing that is incomprehensible to us humans. However, in engine language these sounds are all enormously eloquent.)

The paint fairly blistered off of them, the engines took this dressing-down with surprising mildness, a few even apologized to Percy privately for past slights, and, while of course it was impossible to unprogram themselves overnight, they made a conscious effort to be more considerate. After this, Harvey no longer felt like every day he was rolling into a social minefield.

In addition to Percy’s fury, the railway board’s indifference may have also helped Harvey’s integration into the N.W. family. Because by 1990 it seemed they were seriously considering “passing” on Harvey, even with the Fat Controller and other directors making it crystal clear what sorts of dark or dreary fates would probably await him. And, once the engines were filled in on this, they were most indignant. Even without having been schooled by Percy, they undoubtedly would have been on Harvey’s side. They were not okay with the idea that an engine (ESPECIALLY a steam engine!) could do good work for them for six years only to be sent away into the hostile world again. Sure, in the 1920s that sort of thing happened all the time, but now it was a chancy time to even be a steam engine, and the N.W. engines all knew it.

Besides, no one had “ol’ hook on wheels” ahead of “the foreign shareholders” on their shitlist.

Still, they were rather stumped on what to do. FC3 was already on their side, but there was a powerful faction on the board that he could not be guaranteed to shut down. And the last time they had sent a deputation to their “branding” board members, the board had formally voted to put it down the engines’ forwardness as a mark on FC3’s management.

So… Percy Took Charge, Again.

Knowing he was perfectly safe, he took a spill off the rails right within sight of the station where directors were disembarking for a board meeting, knowing Harvey would be dispatched to the scene.

Harvey was internally freaking out because his role is not supposed to be picking engines off the track and Percy you dumbass you didn’t.

However, Percy is a nice small thing, and Harvey was indeed just able to manage it. This rescue, right in the sight of a good portion of the railway board, did indeed do a great deal to lift Harvey’s reputation among them. This saved him from being “sent away” for some time.

But he wasn’t officially bought by the railway until much later in the decade when, with the issue still unresolved, the Famous Eight (well, actually minus Duck, who had some reservations about the propriety of this thing) put their funnels together and used their fictional personae For The Greater Good.

(They actually did a lot of this in the ‘00s. Long story. Well, many stories.)

Anyway, they found an ally in none other than Britt Allcroft, who agreed to start petitioning for rights to use Harvey in the TVS.

That changed the politics of the situation in a hurry.

In the end, the engines actually wrote most of “Harvey to the Rescue” themselves. It’s moralistic and preachy coz they wanted it to be a morality tale, both for children (they’d already had a good deal of practice in that sort of thing)… and for the railway board (they were sharpening their knives, y’all).

The young cleaners at Tidmouth—all teenagers—were drafted to transcribe their ideas. It wasn’t easy to parse what everyone was calling out and fussing among themselves over, but the cleaners had a ball. (They also teased Thomas greatly when everyone worked out Thomas’s “public-face” lines, reminding him how he would word this sort of thing when there were no kids around who might overhear!)

Percy was absent for the collaborative writing session. And he was pretty hacked off about his portrayal. (I’m afraid the others were pretty amused by their own cheek in the cutscene to Percy just getting shoved around and losing control of his trucks. “As usual… just another bloody Tuesday amirite…”)

Percy was on board for the engines’ rather savage detail that the railway board should be represented by half-a-dozen identical suit’d figurines. This idea was retained by David Mitton’s people with only minor adjustments:

Memetic.

The Sodor Gazette, about the only organ in the universe that had previously been terribly fussed over the camera-avoidant new N.W.R. boardmembers, was delighted. They now run that still as their photo whenever they report on railway developments that the venerable old newspaper is against.

The board was, as a whole, very displeased to be represented in the show, to have been preached to about how Special it is to be Different by the show, and to discover that this episode contained a writer credit for their own engines, whose writing endeavors they immediately banned from the show.

The engines have continued to pitch and draft ideas for TVS, albeit they never again were credited. (Even after the board was brought to heel, the show was no longer held in high enough esteem that the engines were that keen on taking the blame for some of the big-picture executive decisions. Instead any engines involved were simply “railway consultants.”)

However, despite the fury of some members of the board, there were quite a lot who now felt that there was plenty of rather public reason to onboard Harvey properly. So the purchase was at last completed, Harvey given an N.W.R. number, and there was no longer any thought that he would be sent away. Au contraire, he had a very good run of invitations to promo events by Gullane and HiT!

All this drama is now a couple decades old. Albeit it’s been a long and rocky road, Harvey is now quite happily settled on Sodor. He has been transferred to Vicarstown, where his crane comes in very handy when there are mishaps in the loading or unloading of car ferries, and he enjoys the rather undramatic company of engines such as Rosie, Murdoch, Neville, Molly, Sidney, and Whiff, who live there with him, and Arthur, who is often in and out with goods or passengers from Norramby. However, he is often drafted in to help when Tidmouth or any of the other harbors are facing a particularly busy spell, and he is perfectly content to be sent anywhere, for he’s quite one of the family now.

Ignore that CGI episode where Bill and Ben were able to get inside Harvey’s smokebox. It didn’t quite happen that way. They were pretty brash with their teasing during the one time Harvey was sent to cover for the Brendam shunter. Harvey is a pretty passive, easygoing guy, but he put a stop to that by 'accidentally' picking up Ben and swinging him about. (Accidentally! He swears it was accidentally! ... and it's Harvey, so who knows? Maybe it's even true. Maybe.) The trucks and the boats and basically everyone on site still haven’t let the twins live it down.

Also, yes, Harvey was well forkin’ aware that he could pull a damn train by that point. He didn’t need another well-meaning engine to tell him that. By God. Albeit his first venture onto the main line did basically go down the way it does in "Gone Fishing."

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Looking for a Place to Happen

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series), age gap, general stupidity.

This is dark!biker!Sam Wilson x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Series Synopsis: There’s lots happening in Birch and you find it all too amusing.

Sister series to Smalltown Bringdown, When the Weight Comes Down, Little Bones, and Fully Completely

Note: We’re starting Sam’s installment but this weekend I’ll probably only be catching up on my headcanons and drabbles because I’ve been a lazy bitch and I’m sorry to those who have been waiting.

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Chapter 1: I've got a job, I explore

💀💀💀

The sleepy town of Birch was awake. 

In those last weeks, the arrival of outsiders had roused the attention of many once passive residents of the timeless territory. Those brick buildings unchanged by the tick of the clock inlaid into the old tower above the library that chimed every hour on the hour. They still stood with only chips in the mortar but the air tasted different. The frost was more bitter and the sky more grim. An omen of something no one could predict.

It was the perfect setting for a screenplay. The isolated town with its unsavoury secrets and the visitors who threatened to bring them to the surface. It was inspiring to you, to imagine what was hidden behind the stern wrinkled faces of the town elders and under the jackets of those men who wore the cut of the local club. The bikers ruled the town covertly but everyone knew that Bucky Barnes’ palm was lined with the map of Birch.

As a bystander, an unnoticed observer, just another ant in the hill, you watched from the side and amused yourself with the drama of others. It was like a soap opera or another HBO hype machine. Those things you aspired to when you could be free of this ho-hum town.

The snows added to the natural gloom of the place. The deep heaps smothered the noise and harkened back to those days of colonial settlement. Forgotten, desolate, fearful. 

You ventured down in your heavy boots that stretched to your knees and pushed your chin down into your scarf. As a child, you ran and jumped in those piles, now you were out of breath just trying to walk past them.

You stopped in the bakery that doubled as the only café, a place where the owner, Babs, tried to to intimidate the last caffeinated trends. She was always a few seasons behind but you didn’t mind so much. 

You ordered the salted caramel mocha and waited patiently as the quiet woman fought with the steaming machines. She was older than you but you’d work with her for one summer during high school, only five years ago. She had the eyes of a child still, but there was something worn in her. As if she’d been exposed to far too much in her three or so decades in that place. She was a harbinger of what you didn’t want to become.

You thanked her for your drink and set out once more into the billowing winds. Birch winters were never kind but this one was crueler than most. Your teeth chattered as you blew the steam away from the lid and hugged it with your mittened hands.

You stopped short as you heard the familiar ding of the diner door across the street. You recognised the mechanic who kept to herself and once growled at you in the grocery store. She stormed across the street, followed closely and quickly by a black-haired man you’d only seen once before. He was one of those outsiders who came to deal with the club men.

You sped up as you sensed chaos brewing and pulled out your phone as you balanced your paper cup in your other hand. You flicked your camera on just as you got to the front of the shop and the man grabbed the mechanic. You let out an ‘oop’ as she turned on him and you aimed the lens at the couple as they fell into the snow, the man’s shoes giving little traction to his steps. 

You moved closer, stunned by the scene, and kept your cell phone rolling as you found a better angle around the snowy walks. As she choked him on the ground he elbowed her and she coughed as she rolled away. She snarled as he clamoured to his feet, slipping and sliding as he marched away.

You killed the recording and watched the man cross the street again, nearly wiping out as he did and when you looked back to the mechanic, she was gone behind the clattering door. You chuckled to yourself and tucked away your cell. It was prime footage for TikTok; with a bit of editing, it would be comedy gold.

💀

You stomped up the steps of your grandmother’s house, this time through the front door as you heard her chair rocking in the front room. You usually took the stairs in the back as you paid her to live on the upper floor of the duplex. You checked in with her daily, she didn’t get out much more than the occasional trip to the grocery store when you couldn’t or you dragged her out to join you for a tea at Babs’.

“You’re late,” she grumbled as you set your cup down and unzipped your coat.

“For what?” you scoffed.

“It’s after noon and you don’t even come down to say hello? A ‘good morning, nan’,” she harrumphed.

You chuckled and hung your coat before shoving your boots over on the mat. You grabbed your mocha and leaned on the doorway as you watched her crocheting in her chair, reruns of some court show playing from the boxy television.

“I was working,” you said, “sent in some stuff for review. Hopefully not much work to be done.”

“I don’t know how you make money on that interweb,” she bemoaned, “I don’t trust it.”

“Maybe you’d trust it more if you used the Netflix subscription I got you,” you crossed your arms, “then you wouldn’t have to watch trash daytime TV.”

She shrugged and muttered under her breath. She could be crotchety but you liked her sense of humour. Your aunts and uncles never came around because they just took it as spite. You were the only one who knew how to handle the jaded old lady.

“Maybe you coulda looked out the window,” you snickered, “quite a show going on in town.”

“Hmm, what’s that?” she stilled her needles and reached for her tea stained cup.

“Just a fight. You wouldn’t believe it, that lady mechanic beat the shit--”

“Language,” she huffed.

“Anyway, she had this guy in a chokehold. It was awesome.”

“What guy?” she squinted at you over her glasses.

“I dunno. Some out of towner. Remember I told you about that burly dude hanging around the library?”

“There’s more?” she sucked on her teeth, “those bikers have never been good news and now they’re bringing in more.”

“Yeah, well, what’re you gonna do?” you sniffed as you took out your phone and rewatched the scuffle with the volume down. You shook your head and opened up your TikTok. 

“I don’t understand why you’re always on your dang phone,” your grandmother pestered.

“I’m not always on my phone,” you smiled at her smugly, “there are those time when I’m listening to you prattle on or you know, making you tea, oh, and cooking you dinner. What was it I did last week? Oh that’s right, I got Pippin out of the crawlspace.”

“I’m too old to be chasin’ that cat all around,” she huffed, “where is he anyway?”

“He’s your cat, I don’t know? Last time I saw him, I sent him back out the window for shredding my charger.”

“He knows you need to give it a rest,” she laughed to herself, “got your nose to that screen too much.”

“And what do you do, old lady? Crocheting doilies to put where exactly?”

She gave you that dry smile, the one that said watch it but carried a hint of humour still. You hit post and put your phone away as you waved off her irritation.

“Well, you know what, I sit all day at my computer, doing who knows what and you know what it got me?” you taunted, “a large mocha!” you sipped as you sat on the sofa and grabbed the remote, “and it’s paying my rent and putting bullet points on my resume.”

“Mhmm,” she scowled, “just remember, real life ain’t online. Those videos you’re always laughing at like hyena, that’s not reality. You forget it and it’ll come back and bit you. ‘Specially with those bikers.”

“Oh, nan, you know too well, don’t you? Didn’t you have a fling with one back in your hippie phase?”

“Two, actually,” she raised her brows, “I was young and stupid. Not like you, but still.”

“I love you too,” you chirped and sipped from your cup, flicking the station to Jerry Springer, “that’s more like it.”

💀

Your usual TikToks were sarcastic and dull complaints about your small town life. The response was less than pleasing but it gave you an outlet to vent. You liked to goof around and document the very specific type of weirdos that resided in Birch. But the video of the fight in the snow blew up your phone and made it difficult to ignore the buzzing as you went back up to your room to eke out the last of your captions for the ad agency.

When at last you could call your day hard-earned, you logged off and sent in your hours to the agency. Social media promotion was easy enough but the working gigs for a thousand different companies was tedious. You hoped you could build your portfolio enough to manage a single corporate page as you continued to chip away at your creative outlets.

You picked up your phone as you waited for Netflix to load on your tiny smart tv and flopped onto your bed, not two feet from your desk. You hit the icon in the upper panel of your phone and scrolled through the notifications, pausing to turn on another episode of the cable sitcom from ten years before. You snorted as you read each comment but the number under the video made your eyes round. The thing was bound to go viral.

As usual, you went down to help with supper. Pippin, the orange tabby, returned to cry at his dish and you fed him too. Your nan peered through her glasses at a crossword as she tasted the tangy pasta sauce. 

“More basil,” she snipped.

“Well, I asked if you wanted to help,” you muttered, “I think it’s good.”

“Hmmp, I need milk,” she jutted her chin out, “for my after-dinner tea.”

“You couldn’t say something like three hours ago?” you blinked.

“I could have but I didn’t,” she snickered. You rolled your eyes and she took another forkful of penne and filled in another line on her puzzle, “ah, no hurry, girlie, you know I’m patient.”

“Patient? You?” you chuckled as you took your plate and shoved it in the microwave to keep it warm. The ancient thing had a dial and the door stuck, “I’ll just go get it over with.”

“Don’t forget your mitts,” she called after you as you tramped into the front room, “it’s cold.”

You pulled on your knitted cap and matching mitts. You zipped up your parka and shoved your feet into the deep boots. You grabbed your wallet and buried it in the spacious pocket. You bounced out the front door and down the steps as the sky sent down another coat of powder for the night.

You went up White Forge Street and through the short path behind the diner that led to the main road. You glanced over at The Asp, the beacon of the dull town, and turned towards the grocer. Like anywhere in Birch, the store was outdated and stuffy. It felt like stepping into another time with the paper bags and chunky tills.

You went down the center aisle and stopped at the fridge to search through the frosted glass. Your nan only drank whole milk and the last time you carelessly grabbed skim, she whined that even Pippin wouldn’t drink it. She was particular but that was just her nature. You couldn’t say you were any less fussy in some instances.

You grabbed a jug and the door slapped closed against the worn rubber seal. You headed up the candy aisle and brushed your woolly thumb over your chin as you considered gummy bears or Reeses’ Pieces.

“Hard choice?” The deep voice jolted you.

You snatched the box of chocolate and looked over at the man in leather, his chin tucked down behind the collar as snow dusted his shoulders.

“Sure,” you said as you brushed past him.

The cut of the leather told you he was better not entertained. While you thought the men amusing, you weren’t stupid enough to engage with them. You rarely listened to your grandmother but she was wise in her own way. 

You knew a girl in highschool, she was fucking around with one of the club men in her junior year, she ended up with a baby and no support. You didn’t think he was into you that way but he could hardly have innocent intentions.

“How’s the old lady?” Clayton asked as he rung in your order at the end of the belt, you moved along with the groceries and pulled out your wallet.

“The usual, you know? She’s tryna quit again. Don’t know how long it’ll last.”

“Oh yeah? I’ll keep a carton aside for her,” he kidded as you felt your phone vibing in your back pocket.

“Don’t encourage her,” you swiped your card and punched in your pin, “although I don’t know what’s worse; the smoke or her sucking on those mints all the time.”

“Oh, it’s not the bitchin’?” he laughed.

“That, too,” you scooped up the paper bag and put your wallet away, “have a good one.”

As you came to the end of the first counter, you were nearly cut off by the club member as he swept around from till two. His own purchase of a car magazine and jerky was tucked under his arm.

“Ah, sorry,” he smiled, a sparkling smile, almost charming.

“No worries,” you continued on and he followed close behind.

“Those mitts look real warm. ‘Specially in this weather,” he said as you pushed open the door.

“Uh huh,” you kept on as your boots crunched out into the snow.

“You know where I can get a pair. Leather isn’t exactly thermal, you know?”

“These? My nan made ‘em. I’m sure Clayton got some hung up back there,” you looked across the street as you stepped up onto the ledge of snow between the sidewalk and the road.

“Am I bothering you?” he asked.

You looked at him dumbly and almost laughed in his face. You glanced back across the street then down towards The Asp.

“Sorta,” you answered.

“Make you a deal. Leave ya alone for your name.”

You eyed him. He was older than you like many of the Commandos. At least a decade, likely more than that. You chewed on your hesitation and cradled the bag more firmly against your side. His eyes strayed as he tried to see through the thick layer of your coat.

“Nah, I’m not s’posed to talk to strangers,” you said and hopped off onto the road.

You heard him behind you as he struggled to follow and as you came up to the other side, he came parallel with you and kept stride with you easily.

“I know you’re young but you’re not a kid,” he intoned, “what’s the harm in a name?”

“It’s a small town,” you stopped short of the end of White Forge, “I think I know enough about you to avoid you.”

“Oh ho, is that it? Well, I’m Sam, I’m not a stranger now, am I?”

“Not interested, Sam. Sure there’s women your own age over at the bar,” you nodded behind him.

“You wanna come see? Maybe have a drink?” he gave a crooked grin.

“You don’t give up, do you?” you shook your head, put off by his forwardness.

“Well?”

“Not tonight, Sam,” you turned around and headed down White Forge.

“Then what night?” he asked but you didn’t answer and he didn’t follow.

You turned down onto your street and refused to look back in case. It would be best not to mention the run-in to your nan, she was paranoid enough as it was. Besides, you’d forget about it by the end of next week.

[rebelwrites]

Winner Takes It All || Fourteen: She’s Moved On

Charles Leclerc x Valentina Hendrix (OC)

Winner Takes It All Masterlist

Summary: The new Valentina is out to play, but Charles realises it might be too late for him.

Warnings: I don’t think there is any

A/N I might go hide behind a rock for this part 🫣

As always reblogs and feedback is highly appreciated ❤️ if you want tagging in future parts let me know ❤️

Five races had passed and with each one I was finding my feet, apart from my first race I was now finishing on the podiums and had caused a storm within the world of F1. My fan base had practically doubled overnight just like the news of my past had fizzled out.

Stepping out of the rental car the Miami heat attacked my skin, it was only around 29 degrees c but due to spending a lot of time in the UK I wasn’t used to these temperatures any more, instantly I could feel the beads of sweat form against my skin causing me to groan, I never did well with heat so to say I wasn’t looking forward to the race this weekend was an understatement.

Shaking the thoughts from my mind I double checked the car was locked before I started to make my way into the crisp white building that was the location of the second shoot of the week, this time for Chanel. I couldn’t help but laugh at how the two shoots I had with my new sponsors were the complete polar opposites of each other.

Before I could take more than five steps Hudson came strolling out of the with that famous smirk on his face.

“Knew you’d be late, sweetheart.” He chuckled, pulling me into a hug.

“I’m not late.” I pouted, pushing him off me.

“V the shoot started fifteen minutes ago.” He hummed, resting his arm around my shoulder guiding me into the building. “Luckily I managed to sweet talk them.”

“Of course you did.” I laughed, rolling my eyes at his comment. “What are you doing here anyway? Didn’t realise we were on any more shoots together?”

“Well my sweet angel, the moment Chanel caught a glimpse of our Harley shoot they practically begged me to join you on this shoot.”

I could practically feed the smugness dripping from his words as he spoke. He was everything Charles wasn’t, if I had to describe Hudson in one phrase it would have been bad boy.

“You are so full of yourself you know that right?” I asked, looking up at him cocking my brow. “You know this shoot is for their new perfume seduction right?”

“Why do you think I sweet talked them into letting me onto the shoot with you.” He grinned, pressing a kiss against the top of my head. “Look how hot the Harley shoot turned out, just imagine what we can do for this one.”

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Charles arrive with Carlos and for the first time in a while I realised that I didn’t want to burst into tears when I looked at Charles. This was a breakthrough for me ever since I decided the old Valentina was basically dead. I had noticed things were getting easier and this just proved it.

I could feel Charles gaze burning into my soul as he spotted me with Hudson, ignoring the feeling I turned my attention back to Hudson.

“Let’s get this shoot over with yeah?” I grinned, wrapping my arm around his waist as we walked into the building.

“Everything okay?” He whispered, looking behind us noticing Charles staring. “Is that the ex you told me about?”

“Yup,” I said coldly, letting the door slam behind us. “But he is my past so whatever.” I shrugged, keeping my focus on the six foot blonde that was by my side.

It was time I finally moved on. “I’ve got other things to focus on.”

“Come on then angel, we don’t want to keep everyone waiting any longer than they already have been.” Hudson laughed, leaning against the wall as he pressed the button for the elevator a million times.

Taking a deep breath I mentally prepared myself for the question I needed to ask him. Some things still felt extremely awkward, I hadn’t dated since Charles and even though this wasn’t technically a date I still felt my stomach churn from nerves.

“Ho bisogno di chiederti qualcosa e tu puoi dire di no, non mi offendo.” I babbled as we waited for the elevator to take us to the penthouse for the shoot.

“Sweetheart, I don’t speak Italian.” Hudson laughed, raising his brow at me. “I don’t have a fucking clue what you just said to me.”

“Oh shit, forgot you only know English.” I smirked, tightening my pony tail.

“Just because you know three languages.” He winked.

“Anyway, what I said was I need to ask you something and you can say no, I won't be offended.” I smiled, trying to block out the sound of Charles and Carlos entering the building.

“Ask away, beautiful.” He smiled, waving his hand signalling me to get into the elevator first.

“So I have a thing tonight, a work thing and I need to bring a plus one.” I mumbled, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear that had slipped from my hair tie. “I mean you don’t have to if you don’t want to but I don’t know who else to ask and don’t wanna be the only one to turn up without a plus one.”

The smile on Hudson’s face grew wide as he planted his large hands on my hips pulling me closer to his solid body, I didn’t miss his eyes dipping to my lips before looking over my shoulder, knowing full well Charles would be watching but I brushed that off, I was done moping over him and if Hudson was trying to make Charles jealous that was nothing to do with me.

“You are so cute when you get embarrassed.” He breathed, turning his attention back to me. “Of course I will be your plus one tonight but there is a condition to me attending.”

Raising my brow at him I watched his smile turn into a smirk. “And what would that be?”

“You let me take you out on a proper date.” He hummed, holding me closer to his body.

Taking a moment to take in what he said, letting out a shaky breath I quickly thought about if I was ready to start dating again. I had spent the last month trying to move on from Charles but I could never find it in me to go on a date until now.

“Deal.” I winked, pressing my hands against his chest as the doors closed.

We had now been here for around an hour, we had both been with the stylist for that time and the moment I glanced into the mirror I was amazed. I couldn’t lie that the makeup and stylist team had done an amazing job and I looked hot even if I said so myself.

But the moment I walked out onto the set of makeshift bedrooms my jaw dropped at the sight of Hudson. His team kept his outfit simple but goddamn effective, the tight black jeans hugged his legs and ass perfectly, the crisp white T-shirt clung to his pecs and abs.

“Sweetheart,” Hudson hummed, taking a few large strides across the small set, wrapping his arms around my waist. He was so close I could feel his breath on my lips. “You do realise you are staring.”

“Have you seen yourself?” I giggled, raising my brow at him.

“I can say the same thing about you.” He smirked, running his tongue over his bottom lip.

He was nothing like Charles but maybe that was a good thing, mentally I scolded myself for even thinking that. Pushing all thoughts of Charles from my mind I changed my focus onto Hudson.

The hours quickly passed and there was no denying that this shoot wasn’t hot, just like the Harley Davidson shoot. There was a connection between us, one that I couldn’t explain and I knew the company was lapping it up to create the perfect ad for the perfume.

Over the course of the day a shit ton of pictures were taken of you and Hudson in extremely intimate positions but my favourite had to be the the one where he was under the large window with me straddling him with one hand tangled in his blonde hair and the other resting on his neck.

There was something about this picture that screamed out to me, everything about it was perfect and encapsulated what the company was going for, it was innocent and sexy, the perfect combination.

“So sweetheart,” Hudson hummed, resting his head on my shoulder. “I know my favourite, which one is yours.”

“That one.” I smiled, pointing at picture that I thought should be the ad. “That’s my favourite.”

“Mine too.” He whispered before pressing a kiss against my cheek. “Now what do you say we go grab a coffee before we get ready before your work event.”

Charles’ POV

I couldn’t believe it, I didn’t expect to see Vali at the same place as mine and Carlos’ shoot was being held. The moment I saw her I wanted nothing more than to run over to her but as soon as I saw her in the arms of another man I felt my heart shatter.

Over the last month Vali had shut me out completely and I had no idea why, I thought we were good but obviously not. It wasn’t like I was expecting her to stay single but I always had that hope we would get back together, it was stupid but it was true.

All day the image of them wrapped up in each other arms in the elevator was burned into my mind, especially when the mystery guy stared right at me like he knew what he was doing.

“You need to hurry up otherwise we are gonna be late.” Pierre shouted as he barged into my room.

Looking up from the floor I shrugged at him, I didn’t care, I wasn’t feeling up for a party tonight, not after what I had seen today.

“What’s the point?” I sighed, running my hands over my face.

“Whoa, what’s going on?” He said lowering his tone, sitting next to me on the edge of the bed. “You were looking forward to the gala tonight.”

“I saw Vali today.” I admitted.

“And you will see her tonight as well.” Pierre chuckled, with a confused look on his face.

“You don’t get it, she was with another man.” I sighed, trying to break down in tears. “A six foot blonde model.”

“That will be Hudson.” Pierre nodded.

“You know him?”

“I met him on Vali’s shoot for Harley Davidson the other week.” He admitted the look on his face confirmed my fears until he spoke again. “There’s nothing going on between them, they are just working together.”

I could help but scoff at his statement, he obviously didn’t know the truth. “It didn’t look like a working relationship from where I was standing, they looked extremely cosy.”

Pierre let out a heavy sigh, slapping his hand down on my shoulder. “Come on, you need to get ready.”

“Fine.” I huffed, pushing myself to my feet, grabbing my suit bag and disappearing into the bathroom.

The moment I was alone I found tears burning my eyes at the thought of Valentina with another man. I didn’t know I had a jealous side but no one had ever come close to Vali. I didn’t know if she was dating someone else but the thought of her doing so caused my chest to constrict.

The entire time I was getting ready the pit that was deep in my stomach was growing, the sound of an Instagram notification pulled me from my thoughts.

My heart skipped a beat as I saw Vali’s Instagram name flash up on my screen. Yes I had notifications turned on for her and I wasn’t embarrassed about it. Turning my attention to my phone, opening up the app to instantly regret doing so.

The image that was staring back at me made my stomach churn and it confirmed my fear that her and this Hudson dude were more than friends.

I knew I had been staring at the photo for far too long when Pierre walked into the bathroom, sighing as he found me standing there with my shirt hanging on my shoulders still unbuttoned staring at my phone screen.

“I didn’t know, I’m sorry man.” He said softly.

“Not like I deserve her back anyway.” I scoffed, locking my phone before tossing it down on the counter not caring if I damaged the device. “I mean she stopped talking to me, she shut me out just when I thought I was on the path of making things up to her.”

“Tu sais comment elle est. You know how she is.” Pierre hummed, leaning against the bathroom counter. “Just give her time and she will come round.”

Silently nodding at him I continued to get ready for the stupid gala, my mind drifting back to the post and a small smile crossed my lips as I realised she misspelt gala, meaning that she was already a little bit tipsy.

All I knew for sure was this was going to be a long night.

-

The moment Valentina and Hudson walked into the room it was like someone had squeezed all the air out of my lungs, she looked absolutely phenomenal. The black dress hugged her body perfectly like it was made to her measurements.

Pulling my beer bottle to my lips I dragged my gaze away from her, I couldn’t bear to see her with someone else but I had made my bed and now I had to lie in it.

As they made their way across the room I tried my best to calm my heart rate but it was no use. The sight of her was driving me wild.

“Sup, losers.” She giggled, keeping her arm planted around Hudson’s waist to stabilise her.

“Combien avez-vous bu ? How much did you drink?” I asked, raising my brow at her.

“Urm,” she said pouting with a slightly puzzled look on her face which was just adorable. “About half a bottle of champagne.” She grinned with a shrug.

“Just don’t drink so much you throw up this time.” Pierre laughed, pulling her into a tight hug.

From where I was standing I could see him whisper something to her causing her to frown and shake her head at him.

“Okay so this is Pierre, who you’ve met before, Josh, Lorenzo, Charles, Carlos and Lewis.” She beamed, pointing at each of us. “Hudson meet everyone and everyone meet Hudson.”

I hung back for a moment whilst everyone greeted him, my chest growing tighter with each moment as I basically watched from the sidelines. The look she was giving Hudson broke my heart even more knowing she used to look me the same way before I totally fucked everything up.

It was official, I had lost all hope of winning her heart back.

She had moved on.

@chibsytelford @dragon-of-winterfell @ohthemisssery @a-distantdreamer @sgkophie @stillbreathin @angywritesstuff @miamedyu @enchantedbytomandhenry @scribbuluswrites @dangerouspursepeachbear @micks-afterglow @livo67 @buendiabebeta @pleasedontfollowinlost @ferrarifwendvale @hungryhungarian @theplobnrgone @charlesleclercje @sunf1owerrq @queenslife @panicforspec @inesramoss30 @justme2042 @liv67 @sessgjarg @derpinathebrave @idkiwantchocolatee @littleobsessionsandlifeslessons @alynoa @clcspeonies @pleasantducktimetravel @organasith @inchidentwithmax @raaaaabzzz @teamspideyman @marvelousmendess @mehrmonga