#so excited to begin journaling in here !! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cherry-leclerc · 2 months ago

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method acting ☆ cl16

genre: angst, yearning, humor, fluff, journalist!reader, established relationship

word count: 13.2k

There’s a lot of things you’d like to do differently in life. And the weeks leading up to that night is one of them.

inspired by this, this, and this !

cherry here!… hello there. sooo this was supposed to go up a few days ago, but silly me scheduled the wrong date, haha, so this is me formally apologizing for that. on a more lighter note: i’m so excited for you guys to read this one considering this is the re-written version of ‘method acting’ if you guys even remember the original version. love u all very much, and enjoyyy :)

From his boyish smile, to his dominant smirk—you knew it all.

The way it would slowly start to spread, but always ended with a dimple. You loved many things in life—many, many things—but nothing comes close to him. From the very start, he’s been gentle. A gentle giant, you’d sometimes joke with a teasing voice, to which he’d roll his eyes yet never deny.

The way he’d start every sentence with—honey—and end with—I love you. The way he’d cradle your face between his hands, kissing the corner of your mouth first before pressing down completely. The way he’d translate for you with all the patience in the world. Everything about him had been so easy to learn, so easy to love.

But here, in a room, staring at each other, you begin to wonder if you ever knew him at all. Because suddenly you don’t know what the frown on his face means. What the furrowed brows with the pinched expression interpret to. You don’t know any of it.

Why are you so surprised, though?

You caused this, anyways.

“I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that you don’t know how to use a USB, Lis. Aren’t you supposed to be, I don’t know—tech savvy?”

Lissie aims a harsh glare before tapping her nail against the computer screen as if that might make the process a whole lot quicker. “So what? I lied on my resume. Everybody does it.”

You chuckle. “Who even uses USB’s nowadays?”

“Apparently Grandpa Will. Oh, yay, it's done!” She shimmies. “I’ll see you later, m’kay?” With that, she zips down the paddock without a second glance. You sigh, gathering your stuff and making your way down the busy crowd, heading straight towards Ferrari Hospitality.

He’s on his computer when you first walk in, keys clicking. He nibbles on his bottom lip, knits his dark brows like he’s in pain. As soon as you tap your finger against the wall, he perks up, all his interest suddenly gone. He grins. “And to what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Lis,” you respond, claiming a seat next to him.

The Monegasque hums, leaning in to kiss your lips swiftly. “Thank you, Elisabella.” You giggle, sneaking a quick peek at his open screen. “Whatcha’ workin’ on? Wait—let me guess. You’re getting your marriage license annulled?”

“To be with you, yes,” he agrees, nodding enthusiastically. “How do you think Joris is going to take it?”

A playful shrug. “He’s just going to have to accept it, no?”

“I suppose.” Snapping the computer shut, he fixes himself, head pressed softly against your lap, closing his eyes. The sight of his even breaths and curved nose makes you smile as you start threading your fingers through his hair. He sighs, tense shoulders instantly rolling back. “Journling, and whatnot. It’s a habit that has a near expiration date, for sure, but is quite nice as of now.”

And though he can’t see you, your neat brows raise up in surprise. “Journaling on an electronic device? Why not an actual journal? You know—something authentic. I actually know of a place back in Portland where they sell some cute ones, ver—”

“I’m not looking for cute. I’m looking for security.” A beat. “I’d lose it in a week, and we don’t want that happening, now do we? My laptop works just fine. Plus, I feel more at peace knowing it’s not something I will just leave behind.”

“I wouldn’t put it past you,” you declare, enjoying the way his lips twist with a childlike snarl. “Anyways, I’m glad you’ve picked up on a new hobby. It’s good for you, Charlie.”

“Learned from the best.” You blush. “By the way, media shouldn’t last longer than an hour? Wanna go out?”

“Aren’t you tired?” you question, forcing his eyelids open as he squirms, pushing your hand away.

“A little. But I still want to do something with you.”

A tired sigh. “Cute, but I can’t. Lissie and William are out for today, so it’s just me, which means I have to conduct all the interviews by myself.”

The brunette bats an eye. “Why?”

“She forgot she had a deadline—hence why I was busy helping her—and Will still has to look it over. They have to send it in by midnight and it’s—it’s a lot.”

“Why couldn’t she just email it?”

“That’s what I’m saying!” you screech, causing him to flinch and squeeze his eyes. Sheepishly, you pat his head. “He insisted on a USB. Says he wants all work done like the olden days.”

“That sucks,” he mumbles. “And who even uses USB’s nowadays? They’re so outdated.”

“That’s what I’m—” You stop, mid-sentence, lowering your voice when he sits up and scoots away. “Saying,” you finish, whispering. You purse your lips, sending a slight grimace. “You get it.”

Charles nods, standing up and placing his laptop into his duffel bag. “I’ll come back and pick you up, yeah? Meanwhile, I can maybe cook something for us.”

“Honey,” you coo. “I love you, but please don’t.” His face drops. What the fuck? You giggle. “How about take-out?”

“How about,” he mutters, stiff as a statue when you press your lips down onto his jaw, but quickly melts. “Chinese?”

“Sounds good.” Another peck. “I’ll call you!”

If you remember—and you do remember—you fell in love with writing ever since you watched The Devil Wears Prada. It was a reset for you because before that you had seriously considered going to law. At first, you started with column writing in your school's newspaper. No one ever read it, you’d always find it on the floor after being trampled on, but you never cared.

Soon after, you started publishing smaller pieces here and there on your fashion blog that has since been taken down, but that was the moment you knew. Thing was, you wanted to nurture this into a career, you really did, but nothing to do with fashion, rather sports.

Maybe it had to do with the fact that every Sunday your Grandpa would beg for you to come over to his house and watch the races with him. They were extremely boring at first. Who willingly drives for roughly two hours in loops? Then, it clicked. Everything changed and you were enthralled.

After that, all you knew was that you wanted it bad. It was hard, studying over time in order to get done quickly and just start working, but it was well worth it. You met Lis the same year she started working with Formula One, so you both figured a lot of things out together, and for two years, it was just you and her, interviewing and writing about the drivers on the grid.

But he noticed you both years ago.

He first noticed the burn on the back of your left leg. He initially thought it was a band-aid by the way it healed, but later found out you had burned yourself with a curling iron back in highschool when you were rushing to get your senior pictures taken. Then he noticed your eyes and the way they always had a glimmer to them, even if something wasn't going your way. He respected the hell out of you after that.

How do you do that?

You freeze. Do what?

Stay so…so—optimistic. Happy, I suppose.

You laughed then, and he saw the way your hair fell over your shoulder like a silk curtain. He would have smiled if he wasn’t so stuck up on that. It’s all a facade. They way you see me—it’s not real.

Believe me, I don’t think you’re real.

You blush, looking back down at your journal where you’ve been too busy scribbling prior to his question. You just have to ignore them sometimes, you know? Remind yourself that they don’t know you and you don’t know them. Trust me, it helps.

And after that, you two never stopped talking.

Whether it was about work, or perhaps even the weather, you two always had something going on. Something everyone noticed, but never brought up. And at one point, you confessed your next dream.

Journalist of the Year, he repeated, a goofy smile slowly itching his skin. Yeah, I can see that.

It’s not that easy, though, you retort, exhaling heavily. I mean, I’ve been doing this for quite a while now and I haven’t even been considered once, which is fine, maybe I’m not good enough, but maybe it’s also time to…I don’t know—give up?

He kept quiet, kept his eyes focused on you, and frowned. If it’s something you want, then it’s most likely something you can have.

Pft, you scoff. Nah. Not this. It’s nearly unattainable for someone like me. Even Lissie has won, and we’ve been here for the same amount of years. Now I’m not saying she doesn’t deserve it, but that just comes to show that there’s always someone better. And I’m just here. You look up. It’s okay, you can laugh.

A beat. I could be a hypocrite to tell you that it’s not good to measure how talented you are or how talented you can be based on some award, but Jesus Chrsit, I do the same thing. I understand. And it’s because I understand that I’m telling you to keep working hard and prove yourself to them. You have it in you—I’ve known ever since we met. You smile. Your time will come, yeah?

And for the first time: you believed it.

A nod. Thanks, Charles. Yours will too.

About a month later, you two started officially dating. It almost seemed too good to be true at times, but wherever he looked for you in the crowd, you knew it just had to be.

But the start of your relationship was also the end of something else.

Interviews and articles?

He nods. Right. None of that.

You follow his actions, nodding numbly as you blink. So, no more working together? Because you want me to have a fair shot?

Yes, he confirmed. I just don’t want you to be nominated—because it’s only a matter of time, I have a feeling—and feel as if they picked you simply because of your dating status.

Who’s going to do all of that, then?

There’s plenty of other reporters. Lissie? Will? Maybe even Natalie. He took a step closer, grabbing your hands gently. What I’m trying to say is that I want you to feel accomplished. That what you did was simply because of your work, and not having to do with your connections because trust me, that doesn’t feel good.

But I love working with you. You give his hand a squeeze, tilting your head and smiling sadly. You’re my favorite person to write about and talk to…

And he genuinely seemed to be pained by your words, wincing.

But you suck it up because you know he’s right. I’ll always be your favorite?

Only the best.

A hum. Alright then. You take a step back, extending your hand for a professional handshake. He smiles, taking it and giving it a good tug.

It was nice working with you, Mr. Leclerc.

“I’ll never understand,” Lissie starts, pressing the elevator button for the twenty-fifth floor and chewing on a licorice. “Why you two ever create such a stupid rule like that?” A hard chew. “All I’m saying is that it could have definitely helped you out a whole lot. You probably would have won by now.”

You roll your eyes, but not without thinking how she might be right. You’ve definitely wondered about a world in which you two hadn’t taken this approach, and while it would have been nice, you also know that it would have felt a little less special knowing that being a nepo to Charles had something to do with it. Which is most likely what would have happened, let’s be completely honest here.

“You came to this arrangement, what? Twenty years ago, maybe fourty? And it’s not to be rude, but you haven't been nominated, so was this really worth it if it hasn’t made much of a difference?”

“Okay,” you grunt, ripping the red candy away from her and throwing it into the nearby trash as soon as you step out of the elevator. She pouts, following along. “I think we get it, I fucked up, very funny.”

“No,” she hums. “I never said you did, I was simply thinking, that's all.” You scoff. “But whatever. I have a feeling this is it. You definitely have it in the bag. They’d be crazy not to add you for a fourth time!”

Spinning, you smile bitterly at the Brit girl. She gulps. “Thank you, Lis, your mild support is very much appreciated.”

You turn back around, walking faster.

“Sheesh, sorry,” she hisses, entering the familiar office with a lost expression.

Carly, your manager runs over, practically jumping onto you and hugging you tight. “Lis, close the door!” You groan at the loud sound against your ear, but she's none the wiser, already embracing you harder. “You did it!”

“I told you!” Lissie shoots smugly.

You freeze, heart racing. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not lying—”

“Why would she be lying?”

Letting go, Carly lets out a delirious laugh. “Everything—all of it—has finally paid off. You did it, you’re on the list!”

“Holy shit,” you whisper in disbelief, playing with your necklace as you pace the spacious office. Lissie and Carly both grin at each other from ear to ear, nodding enthusiastically. You come to a halt. “Are you making this up because I said I would kill myself if I didn’t make it this year because, for your information, I was totally kidding!”

“It’s not a joke,” the redhead squeals, jumping again. “I’m so proud of you!”

“I am too!” Lissie shrieks, running and kissing you face as you try your best to swat her away even though you’re laughing. “Even after what I said in the elevator, I knew this shit was the real deal this time! Didn’t I tell you? Carly, I told her.” She twirls you, making you grin harder. “You won!”

“Okay, let's touch some grass, ladies,” Carly cuts in. “We can’t forget that this is just a nomination and that there’s still work that needs to be done in order to secure our best chances.”

“Right,” you respond, elegantly fixing yourself and nodding up and down. You freeze. “Wait, what work? I thought this was it?”

Carly shakes her head. “Oh honey, we’re just getting started.” A pause. “You have to write an article.”

“I am—confused. What do you mean by article?”

The Brit takes a seat in a nearby chair, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “It’s their one and only requirement. Show them why they should pick you.”

Carly nods, red hair bouncing. “Shouldn’t be too hard. You’re as talented as they come. Just do what you do, but…better!”

Color drains your face as you go back to pacing. “What do you mean better? This is all I got! There’s nothing left to show, oh God—”

“What are you talking about?” your manager yelps. “There’s always more!”

“Exactly,” Lissie hums, somehow munching on another piece of candy. “There’s always—that, yeah. More.”

Your eye twitches. “Okay, you already went through this and won. How did you do it?”

She pouts, tapping the licorice against her lips before clicking her fingers. “I wrote my piece on fashion and how it’s made its way into Formula One. Wasn’t even that hard. Well. Shouldn't be. Write what you know and it’ll come to ya, they say. Or maybe they don’t, but definitely still do that.”

Your shoulders drop, plopping down next to her and placing a pillow over your face. “Fuck. That’s genius.” It is, isn’t it? she mumbles, slowly chewing in deep thought. Screaming into the pillow, you feel the frustration you didn’t have a second ago finally erupt. “What am I going to do?”

“Sweetheart,” Carly starts, forearms pressed against her glass desk, and stern eyes trained onto you. “You have got to be one of the most raw writers I have ever worked with.” A beat. “Sorry, Lis.”

“Screw you,” she snarls, focusing on her phone now.

Your manager sighs, rubbing her temples. “And please take that as a compliment because it is. You don’t hold back, and you tell it how it is. That’s what makes you one of the best! And if it weren’t for you wanting this, I would have definitely sent an angry email on your behalf because you deserve this more than anyone.”

“Wow,” the Brit muttered, raising her dark brows.

“Sorry,” she mumbles, cringing. “But you’ve won already, Lis, and we supported you, and now…” She faces you again with soft eyes. “We’re doing this for you. You got it, m’kay?”

“But—” your voice cuts off as you blink rapidly, losing focus with the thought of failing, imprinting itself into the forefront of your mind. “I don’t know what to write about, which is weird because I always have an idea, at least. That’s simply a bad sign, that much I know.”

“It’s only bad if you think it is,” Lissie says, clicking her phone off and smiling gently. “But in all honesty, I think it’s actually quite good. That means you know what's at stake, and you know you have to make this the best goddamn article in your entire life.” A beat. “Write what you know, I’m telling you.”

“What she said,” Carly squeaks cheerfully, eyes crinkling as she starts pouring champagne and handing them one by one. “But just so you know, we have to get this in by October thirteenth because they make their decision by the sixteenth.”

“But that’s Charles’ birthday week,” you wail, rubbing your eyes harshly. “Fucking hell—”

“He’ll understand,” Lissie cuts you off, clicking her glass against Carly’s who shrugs, sipping neatly. “All of us know he will.”

“Okay then,” you whisper slowly. You curl your hand tighter against the glass. “Cheers?”

“Cheers, mate!”

Entering his Monaco flat, Charles lets out a tired sigh, taking his shoes off and flinging his keys to the nearby coffee table. The loud thud makes him flinch before running over hurriedly. A large scratch lays across the rich wood as he panics, kneeling down to inspect it carefully.

“Are you serious, Charlie?” he hears over his shoulder, jumping to find you with a frown on your lips and hands on your hips. “That was a gift!”

“I’m sorry!” he squeaks. “From your Grandpa, I know, I’m sorry!”

You let out a breath, shrugging. “It’s fine. How was your day?”

He eyes you suspiciously once before getting closer to you and kissing you hello. “Eh. Decent. Yours?”

Plump lips twist before flattening back out. “Decent.”

He squints, noticing the way you play with your necklace. “You’re lying.”

“No, I’m not,” you answer quickly. Defensively.

His brows furrow deeper. “Blow me.”

“Blow you?”

“Yes. Right here, right now—blow me.” He demonstrates, letting out a breath as if taking a breathalyzer test.

You let out a sore laugh, rolling your heels as you stumble back. What? Your laughing stops, though tears run down your face as you try to get your words out. “You mean breathe out, not blow you.” Your giggles pick up once again, making him blush deep red. “God, you need to learn a bit more proper english.”

He looks away, cringing at the sound of his voice replaying, and then turning with a stoic face. “Don’t change the subject.” A pause. “Breathe out.”

You freeze. “Why?”

“Don’t ask questions, just do it.” “I’m not going to do it.”

“Just do it,” he presses harder.

You glare. “No. I’m not.”

Taking one last glance, he leaps forward with zero warning and starts tickling you, making your squeal. Stop! “Breathe!” I am breathing, you twat! “Blow me—God damn it! Whatever! Blow! Breathe! Blow!”

“Fine, fine, just stop!” you screech, giggles coming to an end as he nods and stares down at you, which by now, you’re laid down on the couch with him towering over. You blush, breathing out lightly, nearly nothing. He rolls his eyes. Blow me harder. “Blow me harder,” you mimic, copying his accent.

He groans. “You get what I’m saying—”

“I don’t, though,” you joke, laughing harder. As soon as your eyes shut, he smiles down at you affectionately, but when they open again, he reverts his lips back into a straight line. Your lips wobble playfully. Letting out a big breath, he whiffs strongly. “Gross, Cha!”

“You smell like strawberry sorbet, relax.” A beat. “Open your mouth and stick your tongue out for me.”

“Okay, this is getting really kinky.”

He aims for a deadpan expression.

Rolling your eyes, you do as you're told and he lets out a scream. “What the fuck!”

“It’s red!”

“No duh, Charles!”

“Strawberry sorbet. The last pint. You ate it all, didn’t you?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“So that's a yes.”

You frown.

“And we always share, but when we don’t it’s because you’re going through something and you couldn’t help yourself.”

“Okay, Sherlock Holmes, we get it,” you grunt, pushing him off as you sit up. He does the same, staring at you, concerned. “By the way, does that upset you?”

“The ice cream? Nah.”

You nod, then yawn. “Why do you have to be so attentive?”

“Because I love you.”

You smile. “I made it onto the list.”

“The list?”

“The list.”

A wide grin dances across his pink lips as he jumps onto the coach, up and down, making you bounce and stare up with a soft look. “The list! Thee list. Holy crap, congratulations, honey!” Landing on the ground, he hugs you, digging his face into the crook of your neck and kissing it over and over. “You smell nice—congrats—is that citrus—wait, this smells really nice—”

“It is citrus,” you giggle as he separates from you. “And thanks. It means the most coming from you.”

Silence takes over for a second or two before his brows knit neatly. “What’s wrong?”

“No. Nothing.” They raise up higher. “I’m not gonna lie—I’m scared.”

Tugging you closer to his chest, he drags so you two are laying back down. You close your eyes at the feeling of his arms wrapping around you like some blanket. “About what? You totally got this.”

“Hmph. It’s just that, I, uh. I have to write an article on a topic of my choice, and—I. Don’t know? I have no clue what to write about.”

Listening attentively, he doesn’t interrupt as your words begin to pour out like a prayer. He doesn’t even interrupt when you say something along the lines of being “at best—mediocre”, even though he really wanted to. You scoff. “It’s a silly problem to have, I’m well aware, but…it’s the truth.”

The Monegasque picks your breathing patterns, mindlessly copying as you cuddle him. “You’ll figure it out.”

You swiftly look up, cheek pressed against his heart beat. “That’s it?”

“What else do you want me to say?”

What do you want him to say? Your lips open aimlessly, then close forcefully.

He grabs a nearby blacket, covering you both and hugging you the same he’s seen you hug your teddy bear. “I think you need to have a little bit more faith. In yourself, that is. Because your mind…” Green eyes connect with yours as your breath comes to a strong halt. He tends to make your body react that way, quite often. He sends a simple grin. Dimples and all.

“It's the most beautiful thing on this earth.”

Abu Dhabi 2021.

It’s been talked about too much already.

Spain 2016.

You’re kidding, right?

Fine. Azerbaijan 2018—

You let out a muffled scream. “Pierre, no! I need something better.”

“Better than all that drama?” he dead pans, genuinely confused as to why his ideas are being shut down.

You exhale, hair flying outward. “I love it too, but I need something new. Unheard of.”

The Frenchman pauses, curling a brow. “I’ve gone blank.”

You bite down on your tongue, shrugging it off. “It’s okay. I should probably come up with my own topic, anyways.”

Getting up, you wave goodbye and make your way to the ice cream truck that’s been rented out for the weekend. Smartest investment, you think to yourself as you twirl your tongue around the lavender spoon.

“This time I really do mean it—blow me.”

Squinting up at the sun—which so happens to be behind Charles like a halo—you chuckle, feeding him a spoonful. “Good, no?”

“Delicious,” he hums, going in for another. “Have you tried the funnel cakes?” They have funnel cakes? you squeal, eyes shining. He nods. “Want one?”

You deflate. “Later.”

Watching the crowd walk by, you two sit there, switching turns and enjoying each other's company. It’s amazing how no one comes up to Charles, either. Not that he would mind, but it’s definitely a nice surprise. Glancing over, he hands the spoon back to you. “Come up with something?”

“I have a few ideas, but nothing solid yet.”

Pistachio ice cream melts away faster. “I told Pierre to leave you alone, I hope he didn’t bother you too much.”

“He’s actually the reason why I have these ideas. Don’t let him know, though, I would never live it down.”

Watercolor eyes go wide. “Really? Pierre actually helped?”

“Weird, huh?”

“Without a doubt.”

“Don’t stress out too much, honey. You still have time.”

You purse your lips. “But the sooner I figure it, the sooner I can start and just focus, and do the proper research and try and—”

“You have time,” he reaffirms with a knowing look. You cock your head and he sends a sly grin. “Plenty.”

“Plenty,” you copy as he nods along. Extending his arm, he signals to the spoon. You shake your head. “You can have the rest.”

“You’re the gift that keeps on giving.”

Write what you know. Write. What. You. Know.

What the fuck does that even mean?

Biting down on your pen, you’re spaced out, staring at the picture frame. In it, Charles and Carlos smile, you can tell, behind their helmets. While the Monegasque’s eyes crinkle sweetly, the Spaniards are dilated and wide. Both nice, but nothing beats those green eyes.

You can slowly feel your sanity slipping away, day by day. There’d be times where you thought you had it figured out, but then you’d bring it up and Lissie would smile and say—

“Yes! Stick to that one! Start it. Right now.”

It wouldn’t seem genuine because you know she just wanted you to get it done given it’s due in less than two weeks. And even though it was good, it wasn’t good enough.

“I’m just going to brainstorm a few more ideas.”

She’d given up, mumbling beneath her breath and grabbing her keynotes and headed to her meeting. Well, technically it was your meeting too, but again. Time crunch.

Hence, why you’re admiring the picture and thinking harder than you were a minute ago. The door slides open then, the two Ferrari drivers back from their media duties. You rip your gaze away as soon as they make their way closer. “How does one fake their own disappearance?”

“Oi,” the brown eyed boy warns, toothy grin expanding. “Good question, though.”

“Oi, you,” your boyfriend warns back, glaring at his teammate. “At this point, I’m sure she’d go through with it.” He turns to you. “Honey, you’ve got to decide already, it can’t be that hard.”

“I know that!” you burst out, ears burning as you avoid their eyes. “But there’s just so much! I don’t want to jump the gun and make a mistake, is all.”

Carlos juts his lip, then rolls his jaw. “If only you took someone’s very good proposition.”

A scoff. “I wasn’t going to write about Papaya Rules, Chili.”

“It would’ve been so good, though!” A beat. “What about—”

“Nor multi-21.”

His expression drops, along with his shoulders, and strolls away, flipping you off. I hope you figure it out, then! A low chuckle makes its way as you exhale loudly. “C’mon, what’s the problem this time?”

You bite your lip, brows drawn in together as you gaze back at Charles. “I’m not entirely convinced.”

“Honey…”

“A-and I know I’m running out of time, but I just want it to be perfect!”

He smiles, throwing his arm on your shoulder. “And it will be, but you need a topic.”

“Yeah…” You raise a brow. “What happened to having ‘plenty’ of time?”

The Monegasque wiggles his brows. “You can’t take up too much advantage.”

I’ve decided.

That’s the lie you settle with because quite frankly, you’re done with the constant questions. If you were going to come up with the best matter to write about, then you need to have a clear head. Carly is over the moon, Lissie is ecstatic, and Charles is proud.

Great! What’s it going to be about?

It’s a surprise.

At first, they were all as curious as can be, but later when you insisted that it’d be better that way, they nodded, though the interest was still there.

Now—with only a week and a half before your due date—you lay, plopped on your stomach, fingers teasing the keyboard as you watch Charles jump into his race suit. You sigh, sitting up. “I think I’m going to stay in here today.”

He fixes the zipper. “Yeah?”

You nod. “That way I can work and watch you.” You point to the T.V. hung up on his room wall. “Is that okay with you?”

“Whatever you need to do in order to focus, baby.” A wink. “It’s fine by me.”

They’re in lap sixty out of seventy-five, the last time you check, and your page remains as white as a ghost and as bare as a newborn baby. It’s both amusing and mind-boggling. Groaning, you hit your head with the back of your hand before running it down your face. Then, to make matters worse, your laptop dies.

Shit, you grit as you look around and spot Charles’ placed neatly on top of a nearby chair. Strolling over, you grab and open it, typing in his passcode and signing into your account. A few seconds later, the blank page resurfaces. Blinking slowly, you spot it.

Notes.

You take a look around, but really don’t know why since you’re the only one in his motorhome, and then click onto the App, furrowing your brows with concentration.

Turns out, you really like to read because one after another, you skim through his journal entries without a second thought. Eagerly, might you add. Some things you know, others you don’t, but nevertheless, you’re caught off guard. How sensitive he is and how it portrays in every word. Not only are you amazed, but you’re completely engrossed.

And it sparks something in you.

With a large grin, the brunette makes his way back to his room, trophy in hand and handshakes and pats on the back all around. Grazie mille, he beams as he makes his way closer, sending a final wave before opening his door. Finding you with his spare helmet over your head, he laughs. You giggle, opening the visor. “That’s one good looking winner!”

He laughs, placing the gold trophy down and enjoying you the way you struggle to take it off. You let out a loud gasp as soon as he assists you, tugging it off. “Shit.” Another gasp. “How do you wear that thing for two hours?” Fixing your hair, you pat it down as you send him a sheepish smile. “Give me a kiss!”

“No thanks. Too sweaty.”

Pouting, you pinch his ear tenderly before he gives in, pressing his lips against yours. “You were amazing out there, Charlie. You really were, I want you to know.”

Green eyes soften as he tries his best to savor this moment. “Only cause you say so.” You giggle, hugging his waist and he drapes his hands over your shoulders and rests his chin on top of your head. “How far along were you able to get?”

A hum. “Quite far, actually.”

He lets out a whistle, making your cheeks glow. “Looks like we’re both having a good day.”

“Looks like,” you swoon. “Looks like.”

Tilting your head back, you match with his eyes as he sends a dimpled smile.

Write what you know, you think to yourself as he leans back down to kiss you. His lips greedily crash against your own as you let out a soft moan, playing with his hair, large hands making their way down to your ass. And you, my dear Charlie…

He groans, shuddering as soon as you grind back against his thigh. You smile, admiring his open mouth.

I know you very well.

You feel guilty when you start on your first page, but by the time you make it to your third, you’ve talked yourself out of it. You would explain. As soon as you’re done, before you turn it in, you would explain it all to him. Tell him that this is simply because you love him. How he’s your biggest inspiration, and how this wasn’t you using him, but rather you showing others how amazing he truly is.

He notices it right away—the determination. And he admires you for it because he hasn’t seen you like that ever since your writer’s block. So, he tries not to intrude in moments where you’re on a roll, and instead makes sure to have a bath ready for you. He joins you sometimes, too.

Cracking your fingers, you yawn, exhausted, and stretch like a cat. He chuckles, closing his book like a light thud. “Update?”

“Six pages.”

“Wow. You really got it going on.” You blush. “You deserve something sweet. What do you want?”

“But it’s so late, and you have to be up early tomorrow…”

He rolls his eyes, already grabbing your trench coat. “It’s a bit cold out right now.”

You smile.

It’s not that far of a walk, three miles. After buying you a hot chocolate—with extra whip—he takes your mitten covered hand and leads you out the small coffee shop. By now, not many people are out, so it makes for a calm stroll.

“Shhh—ah,” you hiss, tongue sticking out as your face twists with subtle pain. He laughs, eyes crinkling. Drink slowly, he says, voice laced with humor. “The cool air helps,” you murmur, blowing on the hot drink. “Are you sure you don’t want anything?”

He shakes his head. “I just wanted you to unwind.”

“You’re so thoughtful,” you coo, enjoying the way his ears turn pink. You giggle. “Why do I feel like you’re thinking about something, though?”

“I am. You.” A gust of wind dances. “Always.”

You purse your lips, taking a slow sip, lipstick painting the white lid. “I’m serious, Cha. You’ve been quiet ever since you got off that phone call two hours ago.” Neat brows knit together with concern. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes,” he answers, but it’s too quick for it to be the truth.

Giving his large hand a squeeze, you send a knowing look. His breath hitches. “You can talk to me—”

“Are you almost done with your article?” he asks, obviously changing the topic as he stares up ahead, and if not, down at his shoes. Pink nose twitches. “I miss you, and call me greedy, but I was hoping you’d be done before my birthday, at least, that way we could…I don’t know—” He shrugs. “You’ve just been really busy—which I get why, and I understand—but I miss y-you.”

Wincing, you chew your bottom lip a couple times before letting go. “Almost, but.” His shoulders drop, making your stomach twist. You panic. “I feel like I’m missing something. Like the final bang in order for it to be…” A beat. “I’ll be done before your birthday, you can count on that.”

Round eyes finally flicker up as he nods, a more relaxed look evident. “This makes me sound so needy,” he says. “Which I guess I am, bu—”

“Don’t apologize,” you cut him off with a reassuring smile. “But please, tell me what’s going on…”

The Monegasque stiffens. Despite walking, you can tell. You can feel it. Also, it doesn’t take a genius to notice. “They’re not renewing Carlos’ contract for next year.”

You stop walking, making him stop too. He’s still holding onto you, rubbing small circles against cashmere. “W-why?”

“Guess.”

Your mind races. The rumors have definitely been swirling—everyone’s heard—but really? “They’re actually doing it?”

He nods.

“Lewis,” you whisper like it the first time you pronounce his name. “This is, uh…wow. I mean, wow.”

“Yup,” he says, popping the p. “Wow, for sure.” Letting go, he takes a small step back, but still faces you with an uneasy look. “They brought it up as a possibility, but I don’t know why I never thought they’d be capable of…” He grimaces. “I can’t even begin to imagine how Carlos must be feeling.”

“Weren’t they just praising him last time during your guys’ team meeting?” You curl the cup towards your chest. “That’s fucked up.” Charles sighs, pinching the tip of his nose swiftly. Your eyes fill up with concern. “What about you?”

“I got an extension.”

You let out a breath of relief, nodding. “O-okay, okay. That’s good, Charlie, that’s really good.” When he keeps quiet, you pause all movement and blink feverishly. “Why are you upset, then?”

“I’m not,” he answers. “Only worried.” Listening closely, you silently wait for him to continue. He sighs, rubbing his eyes, suddenly tired. “It’s just that…he. He’s Lewis,” he finishes like that’s enough explanation.

You curl a brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

A weak chuckle. “It means he’s better, and the team is going to favor him over me.” A timid shrug. “I get it, though. If anyone can bring a Championship home for the team, it’s going to be him.”

“It’s going to be you.”

“No.” The light in his eyes gave out, slowly and painfully so. “It’s not.”

Berry lips open, then close lamely, analyzing him like the world's biggest mystery. Sternly, you narrow your eyes down like knives. “World Champion?”

He flinches.

You click your tongue. “Do you realize how crazy you sound?”

“What?” he says, puzzled.

You nod. “Why are you giving up so easily, huh?”

Sharp jaw clenches. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s because he’s a former World Champion, and I’m not.” He chuckles sourly. “It’s really not that difficult to figure out. I mean, I’ve been working for it for so long now, and look at me! I’m nowhere close to being there!”

Silence. Chest heaves. You never let go of your gaze, and he has no other choice than to do the same. He’s not mad at you—not mad at anyone, really—but he’s frustrated. And yeah. Maybe he is giving up the fight, but anyone else who was in his position would too. No one wants to be the laughing stock, no one wants to be compared.

“Listen to me Charles Leclerc, and listen to me closely because I’m only going to say this once.”

He waits.

“If it’s something you want, then it’s most likely something you can have.”

Pink lips turn upward as he tilts his head in the slightest of tilts.

Holding his face between your delicate hands, you raise your brows, shivering at the icy air. He can feel your hand vibrate against his skin as he grabs them, brings them up to his mouth, and blows hot air onto them. “I believe in you. Everybody does. Do you believe in that?”

And it takes a moment for him to answer. It takes a moment for it to register. He nods. Sure of himself.

“Only because you do.”

“A USB?” He frowns. “I thought you hated those?”

“I do,” you say, combing through your hair, staring at him through the reflection of the mirror. “But I feel like this makes it real. Physically turning it in, I mean. It’s dumb, but…” You check the time, shrieking and grabbing your things. “Carly is going to kill me! Okay, I’ll be back in an hour, and then we can go with your family for dinner, or I’ll meet you there, yeah?” You huff. “Red or white wine?”

“Sparkling water,” he ponders. “Maman is trying to get to ‘quit.’ Which is probably not the right way to put it because it’s not like Lorenzo, Arthur, and I are alcoholics.”

“Oh. Alright then, I’ll just get that instead.” Tippy toeing, you peck his cheek briskly, sweet perfume hitting him. “I love you.”

Adoration fills his watercolor eyes. “I love you, too.”

Who knew?

Who knew that’d be the last time you’d hear those words coming from him?

Entering the familiar office, you wheeze, crouching down to catch your breath before sending over a coy smile. Carly laughs, clearly amused, before signaling to the chair that sits right in front of her. “We could have done this any other day as long as it was before the deadline, you know?”

“No,” you pant, heart beat barely switching back to its regular pace. Well. Sort of. “I need to get this out of the way, I promised Charles I’d be free before his birthday. He said it was his one and only wish, could you believe that, he’s so cute, isn’t he?” She blinks. Pink dusts your cheekbones. “Anyways, here it is.”

Looking down at your extended hand, she almost lets out a snicker. “I get I’m older than you, but really? You emailing it to me would have been just as effective.”

“I didn’t want to risk it going straight into your spam folder.” That, and I don’t want to see when you actually read it because I have a funny feeling you’re going to disapprove, which is okay, fair. “Here.”

“Very well, then,” she mumbles, retrieving it. “Why don’t we proofread it together one more time before send—”

Horrified at the innocent suggestion, you leap up from your chair, pushing back. “There’s no need, I checked it about a thousand times.” She raises a sharp brow at your outburst, the defensiveness in it. You laugh nervously. “And I should get going, anyways. Pascale is cooking Cha an early birthday dinner, can’t be late.”

Placing her forearms against the table, she nods slowly, but still unsure. “I won’t hold you back any longer, then. Tell him I said happy birthday.”

Tight lips form a forced smile, uneven breaths expanding. “Of course.”

You’re expected in an hour, so when you should be up forty-five minutes early, Pascale is pleased, but a bit surprised. Hugging you hello, she opens the door wider, letting you in. “They’re out in the back. Dinner should be ready in a bit.”

“No worries. Do you need any assistance?”

She shakes her head, thin blond hair swaying. “I’ve got it all under control, chérie.”

Nodding, you put your things down and start making your way towards the sound, beers clinking. You let out a snicker. “And here you are claiming not to be an alcoholic,” you joke. Flustered, Charles turns to face your soft voice.

“It’s my first,” he squeaks.

“Third,” both Lorenzo and Arthur shoot, greeting you with a gentle nod.

“It barely even has any alcohol,” your boyfriend tries defending, but the crack in his voice makes everyone burst out with laughter. Blood rushes to his cheeks. “Weren’t you supposed to be with Carly?”

“I was, but we got done pretty quickly.”

“What’d she think?” he asks, tugging you onto his lap. You giggle, meanwhile Arthur gags and Lorenzo blinks unbothered. “Bet she loved it.”

“I wouldn’t know. I left before she read it.”

He cocks his head. “Seriously?”

You nod. “You said you wanted my full attention.”

“I didn’t say it like that—”

“Well, now you have it.” You kiss his nose gingerly. “Happy early birthday, Charlie.”

The Monegasque smiles deeply. “Thank you.”

“Arthur! Lorenzo! Come help and set the table!”

Arthur groans. “Why just us? What about Charles?”

Poking her head out the window, Pascale aims a stern look, making him dash up. You laugh, ideally going to stand up, but gets tugged back down onto his thigh. You roll your eyes. “I should help, too. But you stay here and relax.”

“I will, but only if you stay with me.”

“Pascale needs my help—”

“Right, but she has both of them already.” He gives your hair a gentle tug. “Stay.”

Sighing, you nod, resting your head on his shoulder as he holds you. From here, you can see the breathtaking view of Monaco’s sunset. The ocean, the trees. Filled with satisfaction in life, you kiss the side of his neck, making him squirm slightly. “Carly says happy birthday. Early. Early birthday.”

A hum. “Make sure to tell her that I said thank you, the next time you see her.”

The sound of waves crashing sings softly. He traces shapes down your leg. “When will I be able to read it?”

You’re sure you stop breathing. “S-soon. After Carly gives me the green light, at least.”

A beat. “I’m excited.”

Your stomach churns. “You are?”

“Mhm. Very. Didn’t you know I was your biggest fan?”

Fixing yourself to look at him, you open your lips, feeling how dry they’ve become. “Charles—”

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

A sore laugh. “They’re calling you.”

You reach towards your back pocket, pulling it out. Carly Freeman. Clicking it off, you shake your head. “It’s nothing.”

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

He wiggles his brows. “Doesn’t seem like it’s nothing. Answer her, it’s fine.”

“She’s going to have to wait until tomorrow,” you announce, standing up and dusting your hands off. “I’m here with you, and she's going to have to wait. Whatever it is, it can’t be more important than this.”

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

He sends a worried look. “Are you sure? What if it has something to do with your article? You should pick up—”

“I said I’m here with you,” you affirm. “Tomorrow. She’ll be fine.”

“Okay…” Standing to his full height, he sends a gesture towards the house. “Let's go?”

His hand reaches out, waiting for you. You smile, taking it. “Let’s go.”

Your phone keeps buzzing and it doesn’t let him sleep.

That, and Carly is a terrible liar.

Shifting in the bed as quietly as possible, Charles reaches for your phone, trying his best not to wake you. “Hello?” he croaks. The line stays quiet, static rolling. “I know it's you, Carly.”

“Charles! How’s my favorite driver?”

You twist, unwrapping your leg that was draped over him. He freezes, soothing you a bit before you settle down. Climbing off the bed, he walks out, gently closing the door and heading towards the living room. “I know your favorite is Fernando, what’s up?”

She laughs nervously, cursing underneath her breath. “Is my little journalist with you?”

“She is.”

“Great! May I speak with her very quick—”

“But she’s asleep.” She groans. “Why? Is something wrong?”

“Well…”

Sitting down on the couch, he leans back, placing his feet onto the coffee table. Normally, he wouldn’t, but you weren’t here right now, and lucky for him, he wasn’t wearing any shoes. He clicks his tongue. “Does this have something to do with your guys’ meeting today?”

“Yes. And no.” More static. “Do you mind waking her up for me?”

“Um…well I do. Sorry, Carly, but she needs to get some rest, she’s been working non-stop, and—”

“No, no, I get it!” she squeals. “I totally understand. Can you let her know that I need to talk to her as soon as possible? Like—urgent. Please and thank you and have a good night!”

“Wait,” he says, furrowing his brows and pushing the phone closer to his ear. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing to worry about. Too much,” she adds. “It’s just that I need a bit of clarification, that’s all.”

“Clarification?”

“Yup. On a tiny mistake of hers. But we can fix it together, she still has time, and if she hurries then we can still meet the dea—”

“She doesn’t make mistakes, though. Ever.”

A hiss. “It’s a tiny one, Charles—”

“Okay, tell me and I’ll tell her.”

“What? I can’t. I need to speak directly with her first.”

“Carly…”

“What now?” she grits.

“What’s the issue?” he presses harder. “I’ll let her know right now.”

The line goes quiet. For a moment, he begins to wonder if she’s hung up already, but when she clears her throat, he listens carefully, but can’t decipher her mumbles.

“She gave me the wrong USB.” That’s it? She groans. “Listen to me Charles—the USB she brought to be today only has her title written on it along with a few notes about what it’s supposed to be about. It’s the wrong one and I need the other one now.”

“Okay,” he mutters slowly, nodding. “I’m sure she’ll bring it to you once I let her know, but that’s going to have to be until tomorrow.”

She gasps. “You said you’d let her know right now!”

He winces. “I know I did, but it’s late! Trust me, though. I’ll tell her you called and I’ll even drive her myself tomorrow to drop it off. It must be around here somewhere right…” And it sure is. Sitting nicely on the coffee table, inches away from his feet. He sits up straight away, picking it up as if it were some sort of new discovery. Which in a way, it was. “Carly, why is this so important to you?”

“She’s my favorite client,” she answers without missing a beat. “I only want what’s best for her, and right now we need to fix this little mishap and get this article in as soon as possible.” A beat. “Also, maybe don’t mention the first part to Lissie, she’d totally kill me.”

Analyzing the black USB, he remains stoic, blinking only because he needs to. “Goodnight, Carly…”

“Yeah. I, um—goodnight, Charles.”

Once he hangs up, he’s quick on his feet, retrieving his laptop from the counter and sticking the drive in without a second to process what he’s doing. He shouldn’t. Probably. Definitely not. But the interest Carly clearly has was enough to poke his mind and for him to start wondering what on earth is so significant?

And it’s so obvious now why.

Charles Lecelrc: The Man Behind the Helmet

His eyes skim fast, narrowing sharply.

Like any other human being, he struggles with depression, though fails to admit. Many sleepless nights, many fights, many canceled therapy appointments, I begin to question: does every praise his fans give him make him think he’s above all these things? The truth hurts, but it's only because it's real. And Charles Lecelrc, you are nowhere close to being as perfect as everyone makes you out to be.

His heart stops, re-reading the last sentence. He wishes for it to say anything but that, but it never changes, and it only mocks him like a school bully.

Many assume that the death of his late-father, Hervé, and his late-godfather, Jules Bianchi, have made him stronger in a sense. That it has fed the drive in him to succeed. To be the best of the best, but what if that wasn’t true at all? Would any of you be surprised? Probably, but again, no one truly knows him the way I do. So, what feeds his determination?

The thought of failing the same way they did.

Anger bubbles up inside of him, grinding his molar until they crunch loudly against his temples.

But who can blame him for having that fear inherited down onto him? Tabloids also have a part in this, and so do unwanted changes. One way or another, we can relate with the latter, but never in the way he does. Reading and hearing rumors takes a toll on Charles, that much is true, but what can we expect when his next new teammate is a seven-time World Champion.

I guess the only question that stands in not only our minds, but also his…

Is he strong enough to come head to head with someone as talented as Lewis Hamil—

“Wake up.”

Groggily, you rub your eyes. “Charlie, it’s dark out, come on. Come back to bed.”

“Stop calling me that, and get up.” In a single movement, he rips the blanket away and yanks you from your wrist, forcing you to sit. You gasp, his change of heart sobering you up from your sleepy daze.

“What’s wrong with you?”

He laughs. “Me? What’s wrong with me? Are you serious right now or are you stupid?”

You flinch, taken aback. “Don’t talk to me like that, what did I do?”

“I won’t waste my breath explaining.” He drops his laptop on the bed, making you freeze as soon as you spot the familiar USB. “I'll let you re-read it.”

“Where did you get this from?”

“Really? That’s what’s important to you?” He rolls his jaw, rubbing it until his skin turns a light shade of red. “If you don’t want me finding it, then next time don’t leave it out.”

Your lips go dry, crawling to the edge of the bed, but as soon as you’re about to reach out for him, he grimaces, shaking his head and taking three steps back. “Charlie—”

“No,” he hisses, glaring at you with utter hatred. The sight alone makes your eyes well up. “You don’t get to call me that. You don’t get to call me that ever again.” A cry rings through the air as you cover your hands over your face. “A-am I supposed to be impressed by what I read or what?”

“It’s no—”

“Did I do something to upset you or w-why were you talking about me like that?” he questions, genuine confusion taking over as he furrows his brows until they cause his eyes to pinch up too.

Sniffling, you get up quickly, shaking your head adamantly until you get dizzy. “It wasn’t supposed to come off across that way! Are you kidding me?” Grabbing your heart, you soften your eyes. “I’m your biggest supporter.”

“Yeah? Well, that,” he snarls, pointing at the open screen like it's the most disturbing thing. “That doesn’t make sense with what you’re saying…” A beat. “Why would you do this to me?”

“Do what, though?” you whimper. “Everything I wrote about you is based on what you told me!”

“Exactly!” he shouts back, making the distance between you smaller, making you shrink. “I told you! Just you! I never once asked you to air out my business, and quite frankly, I thought that was common sense.” He lets out a dry chuckle. “You called me crazy and troublesome among other things. Are you my girlfriend or wolves in sheep's clothing? I’m trying to understand your logic here.”

You push your hair back, breathing hard. “You can’t just say that, there’s context behind that, come on…”

“Oh. Okay. My bad. I’m crazy because I talk to my father’s tombstone and Jules’. It's troublesome because I used to do cocaine in order to de-stress. I’m in over my head because I actually think I stand a chance against Lewis—a chance you convinced me I had!”

“That’s not what I meant!” you squeak. “You’re taking it all wrong, Charles, I would never say that about you!”

“But you did,” he states firmly. “And you know? If I’m so unready to face a friendly competition against my future teammate, then maybe I’m unready to face a lot of other things, too.” You freeze, dreading his next words as you plead him silently not to say them. “Maybe I’m not as ready to settle down with you as much as I thought I was…”

That does it. That seems to cut the little oxygen you had, off. Stumbling back, you feel the tears start to form again. “You don’t mean that…” You smile weakly. “You’re just a tiny bit upset right now, okay, fine. That’s fine. But you don’t mean any of that.”

Glaring until it hurts, he maintains eye contact. “Don’t tell me what I’m feeling, you don’t get to do that!”

You flinch. “I’m sorry.” A droplet slides down. “I’m sorry, okay?” More follows. “For all of it. For all of this. If I could take it all back, I would, you have to believe me, Charles, you know I would.”

His gaze lingers for a while longer, taking in your rosy nose. Your swollen eyes. Your wet cheeks. Everything that's supposed to make him feel better, but it doesn’t. “I really did trust you…” You breath hitches. “And I really did want you to win…” Pause. “And I still do.”

Strolling over, he disconnects the USB, making the screen go completely black, and hands it to you. Blinking down, you shake your head, too embarrassed to even look at it. “I don’t want it.”

“Yeah, well I don’t want it either…” Forcing your palm open, he places it down, instantly making your skin burn. “Journalist of the Year.”

You let out a wet sob, shoulders shaking. You don’t know exactly what you’re feeling, but what you do know is that this doesn’t feel good and that your heart breaks with every passing second.

Never in a million years did you think you would experience any of this, especially with Charles. The Monegasque cocks his head, curls following. “I’m glad you’re about to get everything you’ve ever wanted, I really am.” He chuckles softly, eyeing you intently. “I just can’t help but wonder what that must feel like.”

“I was going to tell you,” you whisper meekly. “And you were supposed to understand where I was coming from.”

And if any anger was gone, well fuck that, it all came right back.

“Understand where you were coming from?” he spits out, shocked by your choice of words. “You really thought I would understand? I planned my entire future around you, and this is how you repay me? You went behind my back to write an article I didn’t even know about! We made a choice years ago!”

“No, you did!” you retort, despair rising hard and fast. “You came up with that decision all by yourself, Charles, I never agreed!” You look down. “Not entirely.”

“Huh,” he scoffs, squinting his eyes. “I was simply looking out for the girl that I love given that the internet is a scary place and she probably wouldn’t have been able to handle it, for God sakes, I guess this is my fault now, isn’t it?”

“I would have been able to handle it, but you never gave me the chance!”

“Yeah, because reporting on a driver and driver who's your boyfriend are two completely different things that you can’t seem to comprehend!”

Trembling, you blink carefully, gulping. “I would have done just fine.”

“You think so?” he challenges, a sour smile forming. You nod. “Okay. Sure. Why not?” Closing the final distance between you two, your breath gets stuck as he sends a dirty glare, one that's meant to sting. “You’re not talented. You only have your position because of your dating status, when in reality, your work is utter shit. Everything is handed to you.”

There’s a mix of a whimper and a plea that comes out of you as you screw your eyes shut. “You’re being mean, Charles…”

He laughs, clapping his hands once with amusement. “That’s what the internet is! Maybe I was right, then—you can’t handle it.”

“I could…” you murmur, but it's no use.

The brunette catches himself wanting to comfort you. To apologize for everything. But then he figures—why? It’s not like he truly did something wrong.

“You’re the greatest disappointment of my life.”

Something ended the moment those words left his mouth—you both knew it. Sobbing hard, your shoulders vibrate violently as you seemingly gasp for air. He looks away.

“You know, our life could have been so good. So fucking good. But you went and ruined it.” Green eyes flicker back. “Why would you do this to us?”

“I never meant to hurt you,” you declare with wet lashes.

“You did a bit more than that,” he replies, wincing, blinking rapidly. He smiles. “If you wanted to write your article on me, you should’ve asked me. You should have talked to me. But no. And the thing is, I would have let you! God. I would have let you write whatever you wanted—but not like this. You stole an interview from me with no right, honey…”

Quickly, you flicker your gaze up at him, hoping to see any trace of love in that one word, but you’re not surprised when you don’t find any, deflating furthermore. He shrugs. Like what you did to him was no big deal.

“You took it from me. But I would have given it to you.”

“Are you sure you want to do this? You can always change your mind, babe, it’s totally fine!”

“No.” You fix your hair, posture straight. You smile. “I need to.”

Lissie shares a slow nod, nibbling on her bottom lip before handing you her keynotes. “Alright. Good luck.”

The idea first sparked when the Brit girl mentioned how she was the only one granted permission to interview Charles at this year's FIA prize giving ceremony. You had debated back and forth with what seemed like forever, both Carly and Lissie trying to talk you out of it, but you pleaded until they reluctantly agreed.

You haven’t seen him ever since that day.

It’s insane to think about, sometimes. You knew each other for two years, dated for three, and haven’t crossed paths for another two. And now, you’re here. He’d been upfront that day, didn’t even flinch with his one and only birthday wish, meanwhile you felt the last stab hurt more than anything.

I wish to never see you again.

Not long after, he grabbed his things and left. But not before turning around, sending you one last glance, dull, empty, and nothing like him anymore. You still recall.

Turn it in, he said, smiling warmly despite his better judgment. Despite not meaning it. Don’t let this all be for nothing.

Shaking your hands, you grin, fixing your silk dress. The Brit girl stares worriedly, but as soon as you wink, she hides it. Not that well, but enough. “He’s going to be so mad at me,” she jokes, but it’s probably true. He has a soft spot for her, and he only gave permission to her. No one else.

You wince, grabbing her hands delicately. “I really appreciate this, Lissie. More than you’ll ever know.”

Waving goodbye, you make your way to the private conference hall. It’s daunting, actually, the sight of the large table where he’ll be sitting and the small chair where you will. Quite the narrative. His picture is hung in almost every corner, from the beginning of his career to now. The latest one makes you smile as he lifts the trophy high up with a beaming grin, dimples poking out and eyes crinkled just the way you remember.

You thought about apologizing again. Better this time. Once things simmered down. You really wanted to, but as soon as Carly informed you that the article would need to be published in order for fans to engage with your content and for them to decide on a winner, you knew the gist of him accepting your apology was most likely never going to happen.

And you contemplated not posting it. Carly did too. Lissie did too. No one thought it was a good idea, but you still did it. Like he said—you couldn’t let all that be for nothing.

The hate came immediately, you expected nothing less. In their minds, you were a loyal girlfriend, but after reading your work, the comments came rolling in. You were honestly quite grateful because you know you deserved every last bit of it.

But somehow—somehow—you won Journalist of the Year.

You were shocked to say the least—bewildered. And you could see it in Lissie and Carly’s eyes too. So, while accepting the award with a forced smile, it hit you like a truck.

Did you truly earn this or was it all thanks to him?

Either way, does it matter anymore?

The door gently opens as he steps in, a loopy smile stretched onto his lips before coming to a complete stop. With your heart in your throat, you cough awkwardly, standing up and waving. You cringe, putting your hand down as soon as he furrows his brows, looking around.

“S-she’s not here,” you say, voice cracking. You blush. “You’re looking for Lissie, right?” Utter silence. He blinks, unresponsive and as stiff as a tree. You lick your lips. “I-I-I can leave if you want.” But you really hope he doesn’t want you to.

The Monegasque’s features strike with something familiar—something you knew not long ago. Then…

He smiles at you.

“It’s alright.” Carefully, he makes his way closer, scooting his chair right next to yours as you blink, sitting back down and staring with your plump lips slightly open. He cocks his head. “Y-you look the same.”

You giggle. “Is that supposed to be a good thing?” When he fails to answer, you bite down on your lip hesitantly. “You haven’t changed much, either.”

He clears his throat, averting his gaze. “I don’t mean to sound rude or anything, but why are you here and where is Lissie?”

You flinch. Okay. This was expected. You practiced hours for this very moment. “Don’t be mad at her, okay, I asked her to let me do this. I wanted to…see you, Charles.” The sound of his name leaving your lips makes his heart stop because it's been so long since he’s heard it. Too long. A subtle blush. “I’m here to apologize.”

“Ah,” he winces, scrunching his nose. “Don’t. We’re cool.”

“Are we, though?”

He stiffens.

Exhaling, you place your things down, pursing your lips. He watches the way your knee bounces up and down. How you play with your ring before covering it neatly with the opposite hand. That catches him completely off guard as he blinks rapidly, thinking he must be mistaken.

“I know I don’t deserve any of this,” you say nervously. “By all means, I should have been kicked out five minutes ago, but you…” Round eyes soften, lashes batting slowly. “You’ve always been a kind and generous human being, Charles.”

“Stop,” he whispers. You frown. “Saying my name, I mean. You can talk—we can talk, but please, just. Don’t say it.”

“O-okay,” you mumble, stomach churning. “I won’t.”

He lets out a tight smile, tilting his head. Years ago, his hair was a tad bit longer, fluffier even. Now, it’s still the same, but somehow more mature. His eyes are still young and naive, but with a hint of wisdom. He usually would wear mismatching suits, but now it matches. A lot of him has changed, and you weren’t there to witness it.

“Congrats, by the way,” you add happily. “World Champion, eh?”

Pink spreads across his cheeks, slowly but surely. “Thanks. I was close to losing my mind.”

You laugh. “Seven years later, but it’s well deserved. I’m so proud of you.”

And for a moment, he goes completely numb. He’s heard plenty of kudos ever since winning his first title—and they were nice, they made him feel nice—but this. You? It’s the first time it makes him feel accomplished. And that feels more than nice.

Playing with his bracelet, he nods sheepishly. “How have you—how, um…God. I, um, how have you been?”

“Oh.” You let out a genuine smile. Soft. Angelic. And everything he wishes to find in any other girl that isn’t you. It’s not something he should notice. “I’ve been well.” You raise your hand. “Engaged.”

“You sure are,” he mumbles, finally acknowledging the silver band before flashing an easy smile of his own. And maybe it was real, or maybe it wasn’t, but he wasn’t as upset as he thought he’d be. Just a tiny bit bothered, is all. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

You lick your lips awkwardly. “You remember Carly’s son?”

A tide hits him as he internally screams. “Grayson, right?”

You nod. “She, uh, set us up a while ago and we hit it off.” You wince. “I’m sorry, is that weird?”

“No. Of course not,” he replies, shrugging. “You’re allowed to build your life with whomever you want. What happened between us was…” He chuckles. “So long ago. I’m happy for you both, I really am.”

And he means it this time.

Admiring the oval-shaped ring, you swoon as if you’re thinking of the exact moment he proposed to you, and that’s the prettiest sight Charles thinks he might ever see. Even if it didn’t end up being him. Once you look back up, he looks away, feigning interest in anything else stupidly.

“Yourself?”

“Myself?”

A playful eye roll. “Are you seeing anyone?”

A retch. “Ha ha, no! No, that’s not—that’s not for me.” You frown. He winces. “Please don’t be offended, but after you, I sort of lost interest in meeting other people. Pierre calls it trauma, I call it precaution.” A sore laugh. “B-but maybe one day. Never say never, am I right?”

The lights reflect directly towards you, so that lets him see the rosy blotches beginning to hug your cheekbones as your lips wobble. He panics. “N-no! Fuck. I didn’t mean to—”

“I ruined your life,” you wail, throwing your hands over your face. “Oh my God, I wrecked it!”

“You didn’t!” he tries. “I’ve gone on a couple of dates, here and there!”

You’re tiny cries take a quick pause. Sniffling, you shoot him a look, shiny eyes beaming back at him. “You have?”

“Yeah,” he whispers, slowly relaxing against his seat. “Sort of. Kind of.” A horrified expression maps out against your face. He grimaces. “I-It’s just not my thing!”

“I’m sorry, Ch—” You pause, rethinking your words. “I’m sorry.”

The Monegasque shrugs, hoping that’d be enough for you to drop the topic. “It’s okay, really. It’s a decision I made long ago, and I’d like to keep it like that for a while, at least.” You bite down on your bottom lip, nodding halfheartedly. “But please, um, tell me, how far along are you? Heard from Lissie that it’s a boy.”

You let out a wet giggle, wiping your tears away to the best of your ability. “Nineteen weeks. I’m in my second trimester.” Gingerly, you rub your tiny belly before your eyes light up. “Give me your hand!”

“What?”

Leaning in, you grab his large hand and place it down on your stomach, looking up at him to watch his reaction. At first, he’s weirded out, you can tell. He makes a silly face he probably doesn’t realize he’s making, but seconds later his features soften. His green eyes go round, no tension behind them. His brows lay flat, then knit together in amazement. He laughs, rubbing his thumb gently.

“Does it hurt?” he whispers. “When he kicks?”

You hum. “Sometimes it can. But I suppose it’s more discomfort than anything.” You wiggle your eyebrows. “Cool?”

He nods rapidly. “Super cool.”

Pulling away, he can feel his adrenaline as high as a kite, and as fast as his car. He feels different, he notes, as if something has finally shifted inside of him. With this, he takes time to admire you in a way he hasn’t been able to ever since.

Your hair is cut into layers now, glossy and shorter than he remembers. Your lips, round, plump and berry tinted. Your eyes, doe, innocent, and pure in a way he can’t seem to wrap his head around. Smile, even, wobbly, and everything in between.

Your gaze flickers. “Question…”

“Answer,” he replies, studying your body language.

It’s harder than you had initially thought it would be, asking him what you’d been wondering for these past two years. Was it all that bad? The answer might be yes. Yes, it was. To him, perhaps. But it tugs your tongue, and it burns a bit, but you push through, focusing on him and his watercolor eyes.

“Do you—”

But he still knows you. He can still read you. Before you, it’s always him who understands your train of thought.

He shakes his head, dimples imprinting like a finger in sand. “No regrets.”

A peach seed forms as you let out a sheepish laugh. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes in life,” you admit, cringing slightly. “Just yesterday, I bought the wrong plane ticket. Got stuck in the airport for three extra hours.” He chuckles. “Totally unnecessary.”

“It happens,” he comforts you, clicking his tongue.

“I guess so,” you say, sighing. “But betraying someone you love? Yeah. That’s got to be the worst mistake of my life.”

He flinches, an old wound suddenly opening. “Hey, you—”

You raise your hand, pleading with him. “Let me just…” So, he forces himself to sit there quietly, to not intrude no matter how much he really wants to. It’s fine, he wants to say, I’m fine now, we’re fine now, seriously.

A wince. “Do you know how guilty I feel whenever Grayson polishes my award?” A scoff. “He means no harm with his actions, but it makes me feel like shit everytime I walk past it. I’ve begged him to put it away somewhere in the attic, but he’s as proud as can be. Say’s an accomplishment like that deserves to be shown off. That it’s proof of all my hard work.” You smile. “Much like you and your trophy.”

You exhale. “You were right, though.” A hum. “I don’t deserve it.”

“I never said that.”

“Sure,” you give in quietly. “But you did say that if I won, I’d always wonder if I was truly respected for my work or if I was respected because of you.”

He bites his tongue.

You shrug lamely. “And that’s just something I’m going to have to live with for the rest of my life…” Steadily, you ease your eyes back towards him as you find him already staring at you, listening close and curious. “And I want you to know that I’m fine with that.” A beat. “What I’m not fine with is you being mad at me for the rest of your life.”

Charles opens his mouth, feeling his tongue as dry as the desert and his throat as dusty as the highest mountain. “I’m not mad at you…anymore.” He sits up straighter. “I said a lot of things to you that night that I shouldn’t have said, but you have to understand that you hurt me a thousand times worse.”

Tears well up your eyes as you nod shamefully. He continues despite feeling the need to reach out for you. “I just wanted you to feel what I was feeling, even if that meant—well. You know. And, um…I tried to forget all of that, but I, too, felt guilty, so—I’m glad you’re here. That way I can say…I’m sorry.”

“No!” you wail, raising your arms up. “No, I’m sorry! I broke your trust, and I was a God awful girlfriend.”

“You did,” he chuckles before scrunching his nose in deep thought. “But you were also the best I’ll ever have.”

A wet sob escapes.

“I forgive you.”

“S-shit,” you let out. “You don’t know how g-good it feels to finally hear you say that.”

A gentle smile. “You?”

You giggle, standing up. “I have nothing to forgive you for, but yeah. Okay. I forgive you, as well.” You open your arms for a hug. He blinks. “It’ll make me feel better.”

Tsk. “You used to do this all the time wherever we fought,” he says, a hint of sadness wavering in his eyes before disappearing into thin air. Extending to his full height, he towers over you before going in to close the distance. He halts, coughing awkwardly.

You snicker, eyes crinkling with amusement. “Right. You're hugging two of us now.”

A wave of jealousy pangs his chest for a second. You’ve moved on, and he’s stuck in the year you were still in his life. Still his. He envies Grayson in every sense there exists, but he swallows down that pill because he’d always been a nice bloke the very few times he interacted with him. He needs to move on, too.

Even if it takes him his whole life to figure out how.

“The more the merrier.”

Your face has gone completely numb by now from how hard you're grinning from ear to ear. Wrapping your arms around his waist as he goes over your shoulders, you sigh contently as you catch the whiff of his cologne. His heartbeat quickened at the smell of your perfume.

“Question,” he whispered. You chuckle against his chest. Answer. He gulps, nose twitching. “Would it make me a bad person to say that you’re probably the only girl I’ll ever love?” Silence. He screws his eyes shut, gritting his teeth. Why the fuck would he ever say that—

“I’d only say that I don’t deserve to be her,” you respond. “Anyone but me.”

A flinch. “O-of course. You’re getting married, you’re having a baby, what was I th—”

“Honey…”

He freezes.

You lean back, holding his face between your hands and smiling. “It’s not your name…”

His voice catches. “It’s not…”

A deeper smile. Nostalgic. “A piece of me will always love you.” A pause. “You know me so well. Better than anyone. You’ve seen me naked. You’ve dressed me. You’ve seen me with makeup. You’ve seen me without. And…well—you’ve seen my good side. But you’re also the only one who's seen my bad.”

His palms quickly get sweaty as he tries his best to not do anything he might regret. And not because he’ll wish to take it back, but because you would. Neat brows draw in together as you graze his stubble with your thumb. As nurturing as a mother, which he supposes you already are.

“I’d say that makes us pretty close, no?”

“Not as close as I’d like to be.”

“You’ll find someone.” A beat. “Someone who’ll love you right.”

“You didn’t?” he questions before he can stop himself. “Sorry—”

“My love for you was honest. But I blew it.”

I’m still here, he wants to yell out. If you still want me like I want you, then I’m still here.

But he refrains from doing so.

“You’ve never done me wrong,” he attempts, kissing your palm gingerly before softening his gaze. You send a playful glare. “Except for that one time.” You snort. “But I don’t want to talk about it anymore because—because it doesn’t matter anymore…”

Maybe it's the hormones, you sort of wish it was, but you know it’s due to his gentleness. You don’t deserve his sympathy, you don’t deserve even a fraction of it. Crying, you kiss his cheek, hoping everything you feel transfers itself into the warmth of his skin. And you don’t know, but it does just that.

Closing his eyes, he prays to dream about this kiss forever. Have nightmares, who even cares. As long as he doesn’t forget.

You step away carefully, taking him in as his eyes flutter.

“Charles Leclerc, first time World Champion…”

He smiles. You smile.

His dimples pop out. Your eyes crinkle.

He loves you. You love him.

And maybe it didn’t work out in this life.

But maybe in the next.

“May I have an interview with you?”

taglist: @blueflorals @starmanv @coolio2195 @lovrsm @weekendlusting@chanshintien @brune77e @myownwritings @timmychalametsstuff @milasexutoire@alesainz @c-losur3 @darleneslane @togazzo @urfavnoirette @namgification @lpab @d3kstar @anniee-mr @nebarious @notkaryna @emmaxdelicate

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ladyloveandjustice · 1 year ago

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I saw a post in the My Adventures with Superman tag claiming that Lois "finally" has a character. I really like the show and it's version of Lois too, but I want to make this clear: Lois Lane has been around for over 80 years and she's always been a distinct, dynamic character with a lot going for her, every bit as admirable as Superman. This isn't a new thing!

Like any character Lois has had some bad adaptations, but she's been a great character from the beginning, and I wanted to show off some panels from comics over the years so anyone new to Superman lore can see why she's a beloved character and the MAWS portrayal is building on that, not starting from scratch.

Lois in the golden age comics (1939 through the 1940's) was shown to be a career-driven woman who didn't take shit from anyone. This was an era where a lot of women were entering the workforce because men were serving in WWII and there was excitement and change in the air, and Lois was meant to be a reflection of that. She fought against the sexism of her boss sticking her with the advice and gossip columns because she was a woman, and she was go-getting reporter out to get a real story. From the beginning she was fearless (sometimes reckless), driven, and had no patience for Clark Kent's (feigned) cowardice (and was always full of sick burns). She never let anyone push her around.

And she's been pretty consistently like this her entire run as a character. Of course, there were some bad writers, and there was a time in the 50s when all female characters had to be marriage obsessed (Lois wasn't the only one hit with this, Wonder Woman was too), but she reverted back to her firebrand self in the 60's and 70's, and when the 80's came along, characters started getting more filled in backstories, including her- this was where we started seeing stuff about her home life, her childhood moving around as a military brat, and her troubled relationship with her father and sister. She had an interior life, inner conflict- and she still kicked ass and always got the last word in. As someone invested in journalism, she is THE coolest fictional journalist to me.

This was also when comics started focusing on Clark being who Superman WAS rather than a pure act, and we got to see their relationship really grow and Lois fall for Clark, not Superman. So here, have some panels of Lois being great and see the scope of her own personality.

Lois also has lots fun little quirks and hobbies comics readers know about- she takes her coffee a certain way, she doesn't cook much because she's so on the go (so Clark is the one who cooks in the fam), she likes to sit on Clark's desk when they're talking (this happens in other Superman media too), she REALLY likes monster trucks and Clark REALLY doesn't but will support her anyway:

Also, she's always seen through to who Clark really is:

Anyway. Have more of my favorite Lois panels because I have a lot:

also this one because I'm gay:

#lois lane #superman #my adventures with superman #dc comics #clark kent

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naffeclipse · 4 months ago

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Charm Brought It Back

Reader x Witches!Sun, Moon, & Eclipse

Commission Info

I am so excited to present this Hocus Pocus inspired AU requested by the lovely @jackofallrabbits! The boys star as the witchy brothers who return once a fated reader lights the starry candle. They simply must show their gratitude! And what better day to post such a spooky and fun fic than on Friday the 13th?!

Content Warning: Suggestive themes, heavy kissing, and heavy touching.

———

You turn the key and cut the engine of your car. With a flick, you turn off the headlights. The beginning of a sunset swoops down onto your ill-adjusted vision. The horizon is drenched in purples and oranges as shadows begin to crawl off of trees and their yellowed leaves. It will take a minute or two for your sight to adapt, but you have tilted and revolved the structure waiting just at the edge of the forest within your mind’s eyes for days now. It’s beyond the dirt road you’ve pulled onto the shoulder of.

Blinking slowly, you find the house’s dark silhouette through the boughs of clustered trees, and you sigh at the beauty of its preserved history.

The building is an artifact dating back roughly to the 1630s. A post-medieval English-style home, it contains two stories with an overhanging jetty and stunning clapboard siding that has survived a little under four centuries of existence. Your eyes catch on the windows and your heart sings at the sight. Diamond-paned casement. And there, decorative pendants of celestial bodies, including iron-casted suns, moons, and overlapping symbols of the two. The steeply pitched roof is common for the era and is more renowned in its descendant the saltbox form, but this style boosts its spooky aura.

The Puritan colonists were the ones responsible for importing the style to America as they landed here on the eastern coast.

It’s no stretch of the imagination to think of witches and execution trials while gazing over the beautiful home. You’re particularly intrigued by the history of the Salem witch trials, and as a historian, you couldn’t deny yourself the chance to enter the building and feed the gnawing need to stand within a piece of history.

Stepping out of your car, a gust of wind carrying the bitter edge of autumn cuts through your brown sweater. You shiver and shut the door as quietly as you can manage. This is hallowed ground. This will supply your ever inquisitive mind which is always looking to the past with a curiosity most insatiable.

You face the home. A footpath lightly serpentines between the trees. Hooligans with destructive tendencies and teenagers on dares will venture here for a spooky, fun time, but are usually caught by the police because the building sits on private property. You asked for permission from the owner of the hundreds of acres of forest land that includes the so-called “Witch House” if you might enter the premises. Given your credentials, you were certain the owner would trust you with exploring the home.

Much to your relief, the owner agreed.

You look up, arms clutching your knitted sleeves to fight the chill of an October breeze, in awe and reverence.

From your pocket, you slip out a wrought-iron key with the symbol of the moon overlapping the sun to form a black eclipse and marvel again at the intricacy of ancient beauty. Your fingertips grow chilled in the late hour. The sun shifts from orange to dark, bleeding red like blood from a heart spilled across the horizon. You walk towards the home.

Perhaps you should have arrived sooner. You were caught in another historical journal depicting the specific timeframe of when this home would have been occupied by its original inhabitants.

The rumors even now speak of curses and cursed artifacts within the building. Some of it is true—you have confirmed with your own scholarly sources. The original owners were a trio of brothers. They were accused of witchcraft and hanged for the crimes. That much is historically documented and verified.

What is fantasy is the tale of the brothers casting a curse with their dying breaths, declaring they would one day return if a virgin lit a starry candle on the anniversary of their executions.

Superstition. Most likely, the fear of the townspeople transcended to their children, and their children, down and down until it became a tale to spin on Halloween night around these parts.

The door is black as you approach it. A stray branch catches on your sweater, pulling on a thread, and you yank yourself free and silently mourn the roughen fabric before returning your attention to what really matters. You must be careful. This entire place is iconic and in need of preservation.

You slip the key into the lock hole and turn it with a thick, heavy click before the black wood door groans and slides inwards as if inviting you into its sphere. You take a breath. Your boots cross the threshold and you enter the home.

As is typical of some homes built in the early seventeenth century, an open hall greets you. In the far back is the fireplace with a cauldron still sitting upon an ashy bed. An original wood-carve table and chairs are set to one side as a staircase climbs up into the darkness of the second level. What little red light leaks inside is narrowed and cut up into diamonds by the panes. To one wall, shelves contain dusty and forgotten cooking utensils, once glimmery copper pots, and dinner dishes with designs considered much too gawky in the Puritan era but it causes you to softly gasp.

Your hand covers your mouth as you gaze around you, overwhelmed with the beautiful intricacies of metallic chandeliers holding half-burned tallow candles, and to the other wall lies a bookshelf covered in cobwebs as if the spiders refuse to let anyone examine such precious reads. Your fingers already itch to gently pry out one manuscript and gaze at the original script of whoever wrote it.

But the light—it’s far too dark now. The red has given way to blue and pale indigo. You squint. You reach into your other pocket for a lighter and flick it on. The tiny flame spouts a delicate light. Never would you dare admit this out loud to a living soul, but you so desperately wish to see the home in its authentic state, lit only by the technology the brothers had at the time: fire.

There are thick, yellowed candles lying on the table and clustered together on the narrow window sills. You have no hope of reaching the metal chandeliers but you do spy a candelabra positioned near the bookshelf on a small end table. You light it first with a careful touch of your lighter flame. The wick catches, even after all of these years. You smile softly, your heart warm within your chest as you bask in the essence of this beautiful place.

A few more candles should suffice.

You slip to the table to light the thick and tall candles. The flames bloom and warm the space in rich light, casting thick shadows from support beams. You almost set your lighter away when you spy one last candle set upon a golden candle holder. The fashioned metal twists and twines with elaborate engravings of shooting stars and slices of sun rays were placed in the corner of the room almost out of sight. The curiosity within you urges you to take a step, then another, and another. You stand in front of the almost forgotten candle.

The tallow is black as midnight. Strange. How did they color this? Embedded within the darkness are speckles of white, splattering the candle like an array of stars. Your eyes stray in search of constellations before shaking your head.

It’s true. There is a starry candle. Perhaps the brothers did dabble in the occult, playing with cards and fortune telling, and being punished with death for their interest in unholy magic.

The wick is dark and untouched as if it were never lit before. You bring the lighter flame closer. Superstition might worry another, but you concern yourself with logic and reason—explanations of humanity rather than inexplicable forces beyond comprehension.

Something stirs from a nearby corner shelf. Two long ears twitch. You catch a glimpse of a rabbit with creamy white fur just before it leaps off of the shelf and directly onto your arm. You yelp. Nearly dropping the lighter, you scramble back as the rabbit hits the floor, collects itself, and sits on its haunches.

Green eyes glare up at you. The rabbit, small and bunny-like, stays firmly between you and the starry candle.

You stand with your chest heaving and your lungs scraping out air, almost burning your thumb on the lighter flame before turning around yourself. Where did the woodland creature come from? Did it crawl its way inside like a rat and become trapped within the colonial home? The shot of adrenaline still flowing through your veins leaves your hands shaking.

The rabbit is still watching you with uncanny eyes. Prey animals so rarely stare back at bigger, larger threats. Perhaps it’s a pet. A runaway pet that somehow ended up here, of all places.

You slowly offer out your hand, keeping the lighter away in your other, as you take a step towards it.

It thumps a foot once, as if in warning, then bounds away. You watch it disappear into the house, still reeling from the fright it gave you.

If Michael was here, he would have laughed and told you to leave with him, now. He never wanted you to go here, especially alone, but you shake such ominous warnings away. He said curiosity killed the cat. You disagreed. This house is a part of history, not a curse. Witches are mere stories, conjured out of historical unrest and the longing to blame bad luck and tragedies upon an individual or three.

There’s always an explanation for fear superstition or mistrust. It’s far more sad than it is spooky.

You shake your head, smooth out the creases in your sweater, and face the starry candle again. The lighter flame flickers softly as you draw near it.

It is the anniversary of the brothers’ executions. You remember now as the shadows from other candles drape over you like a veil. You are also a virgin.

You laugh to yourself, covering your mouth as you do so. Look at you! You’re getting so worked up because a rabbit jumped at you.

It’s only hocus-pocus.

You tilt the lighter until it engulfs the wick. The flame catches, and you at last snap the lighter shut and return it to your pocket. Your eyes squint slightly at the candle. The wick snaps and bursts into sparks. The flame is not yellow or orange or even blue—it’s pure white like a comet streaking across the sky.

A crack of thunder splits the night sky with a bellow so monstrous, you feel like a child again, fearing a storm. You drop low to the ground, shielding your head as if the very world was going to fall upon you. A spark cracks in the fireplace, conjured out of ash underneath the cauldron before it burns hot and bright. The cauldron immediately begins roiling and bubbling with water. Laughter, great and terrible, and filled with the most jester-like joy sweeps over the room.

The pulse in your ears drowns at any sense but the need to hide. You scramble into the corner, tucking yourself behind the stand of the starry candle and hunker down. Holding your breath, you grab a fistful of your sweater while clutching your chest, and watch the door to the almost 400-year-old house fly open.

Three figures stride inside, looking about the place with wide eyes and disk-like heads framed in jutting adornments not unlike sun rays or shrouded in a heavy, dark blue hood.

“Brothers! We’re home!” The first one, tall and dark with deep red hues to his form, accent in sharp orange sun rays and an eclipse upon his face, turns to face his brother with bright, cat-like yellow eyes. “Isn’t it glorious?”

Another figure steps forward, yellow and off-white. Pale eyes beam. His head is crowned in bright sun rays as well. His spindly fingers twindle together in exuberant energy while he glances about the room eagerly. “Oh, yes, yes! More than anything! It’s as if we weren’t gone for more than a day—though the dust and cobwebs beg to differ.”

He draws a claw—you suck in a sharp breath—along the table’s edge and rubs his taloned fingertips together in disappointment.

“We must get to cleaning at once.”

“No,” the last figure fixes his hood with silvery digits. Golden jewels hang down the back of his unusual skull, the last and most prominent adornment a thick, golden star pendant. His eyes cast around the room, scarlet, and searching. “We must thank the little mouse who lit the candle.”

He flashes sharp teeth within his wide mouth, shaping it into a hungry grin. You gulp.

“Where are our manners?” The red and dark one twists back to the room with a flourish of his arms. His yellow gaze sweeps over the shelves and floors with a blade-like glint. “Of course, we must thank one so lovely.”

A dark cape drapes about his person. Underneath, a white flowing shirt hangs loosely to his lithe and slender figure, causing you to balk upon staring at such an exposed chest. The other two are no different, wearing similar shirts and dark trousers, but the hooded one bears a thick, longer cape while the sunny figure shares a cape similar to the first.

The yellow one lifts his wrists and frowns at the red ribbons tied around them. Golden bells jingle softly in an ominous chord.

“How terrible a reminder of our current impermanence,” he growls low in his throat, all cheerfulness lost and causing you to squeeze your ribs in fear.

“Patience, Sun,” the red one speaks, though he too casts a narrowed glance to the black ribbons and golden bells adorning his wrists. “We will affix ourselves back to this world in due time.”

“Eclipse, what a delicious creature I smell.” The hooded figure steps deeper into the home. Blue claws scratch at equally blue ribbons knotted to his hand bones but his attention is terrifyingly fixed on the candle stand just above your hiding spot.

You shrink further into the corner.

“Yes, Moon? And how lovely?” Eclipse, you assume, asks. His yellow eyes flash.

“As lovely as the stars,” Moon answers.

You watch claws curl around the wooden side of the candle stand, scratching deeply into the wood before a half-moon face emerges from behind, teeth set like a predator’s upon the sight of a wounded animal. Your heart flutters like a bird with a broken wing.

“Hello, little mouse. Won’t you come and play with us?”

You scream as he leaps behind the candle stand, takes you by the arms, and pulls you to your feet. You struggle to free yourself, crying out as he grabs hold of your wrists and fixes you firmly in place.

“My, how sweet,” he purrs in a dangerously low voice that rolls in the back of his throat. “You are the darling virgin who lit the candle, no?”

“Let me go!” You thrash but Moon grins in delight, as if you’re simply too precious.

“You deserve proper thanks,” He lowers one hand, forcing you to submit with slightly bent knees. “Here is my gratitude, little mouse.”

You freeze as he brings your hand towards his mouth, and a hundred, horrifying visions of him biting your fingers off or sinking his teeth in your palm send your blood into a frozen sludge of fear.

The witch, however, presses a kiss to the center of your palm. The softness catches the gears in your mind and jerks them to a halt.

“Thank you for allowing us to return once more,” he rasps. His scarlet eyes find yours between the space of your thumb and forefinger, and a strange stirring takes hold of your middle.

“This isn’t real,” you breathe. Dizziness begins to take hold.

This must be a dream, a thought gone wild, or inhaled bacteria triggering hallucinations.

Moon’s grin widens. He lowers your hand, loosening his hold for one precious moment. You rip your hands free of his grasp. A low growl escapes him but you’ve already slipped away, your eyes upon the door and spilling with the need to rush out into the night, away from the impossibilities standing before you—

Arms snatch your waist and lift your feet from the ground. You gasp.

Held in the air, you squirm before a hot breath dusts the shoulder of your sweater. You fall still, your throat bobbing as a mouth presses into the corner of your neck and lays a kiss on the sensitive spot. Gooseflesh prickles up and down your body.

“I assure you, I’m very real, little mouse,” Moon purrs. His hands squeeze your hips once. “And as nice as this… attire is, I would dress you in blues and silvers. You would look proper and powerful, like my brothers and I.”

A squeak escapes you. You shrink against him, caught in his embrace.

“Brothers?” The word rattles out of your throat.

“This is our home,” Moon whispers. “And you are our most honored guest.”

You manage to pry off his hands from your waist. With a sinister chuckle, the blue and silver hands release you. Without looking back, you run, ignoring the twinge in your stomach that whispers it was too easy to get away.

You hardly get a few steps before the sunny one—Sun—steps into your path. He catches you in his arms and spins you in a waltz at breakneck speed, your feet never touching the ground, before stopping without warning as he dips you low. He looms above you, his smile filled with sharp teeth.

“Let me get an eyeful. Oh, yes, you look good enough to eat,” he simpers. His hand splays along the small of your back and you gawk up at him, still trying to regain your balance after the sickness-inducing whirl. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for you.”

“I just want to leave,” you whimper. “Please, don’t hurt me.”

“Hurt you? Sunshine,” he laughs, and it echoes with all of his heart—do once-hanged witches have a heart? There is no historical journey to give context to this very moment, you fear.

He lowers his sultry gaze to you. “I wish to only thank you. And I intend to.”

He pulls you back to your feet. You’re still clasped in his embrace like lovers on a ballroom floor. His hand hooks tight to your hip, and his other catches the side of your face. Heat spreads through the marrow of your bones.

On the tabletop beside you, something white moves across the plane of its surface, hunkering behind the thick stack of candles still burning.

His head lowers to your neck. You stiffen as he tilts your head away, opening you to his parting teeth. A tongue, dark and sinuous, flicks out of his maw. A gasp slips from your lips at the wet lick up the column of your throat. Eyelids fluttering, you start to sag as weakness fills your knees. He drags his tongue higher to taste your jawline and finishes at your cheek with a swipe for good measure.

Your hands find him and clutch tightly to his slender arms. He presses his lips to your ear and with a misty warmth, whispers.

“Thank you for—Gah!”

The white rabbit leaps up from the table, squirming directly between you and his chest, breaking you apart. Instinctively, you jump away just as Sun snarls. The heart-wrenching sound shakes your entire frame as he snatches the rabbit by the scruff before it can scramble back from his wretched claws.

“I’ll boil you alive!” he thunders. He steps towards the cauldron, back where Moon leans against the wall, watching the spectacle with an amusing twitch of his grinning maw. Behind you, Eclipse stands at the door like a sentinel, his eyes still hungry and even furious as he follows his brother’s movement to the cauldron.

Sun dangles the rabbit, now struggling and kicking but unable to find purchase against the witch’s hold, above the boiling water of the caldron.

“No!” you cry.

Sun’s eyes widen. He turns back to you just as you close the distance and scoop the rabbit in your arms. His claws, pale-boned and wickedly curved, clench around emptiness. Without thought, you turn and run again though there is little hope as you come to the door. Your boots stamp against the wooden floorboards.

The rabbit in your embrace turns its face up to you and mutters in a woman’s voice, “You have no idea what you’ve just done.”

You gawk, stunned before hands catch you by the shoulders. You’re brought to a dead halt. The rabbit leaps from your arms, drops to the floor, and races away into a shadowy corner of the room with only one glimpse of its fluffy tail before you’re left alone.

You twist and face the eldest witch’s attention. Eclipse. His yellow eyes go up and down your body, and you watch in muted shock as two additional arms emerge from the shadows of his cap. He forces you backward, one step after the other until your back is pinned against a dusty wall.

You stare into his eyes, chest rising and falling rapidly. Your pulse pounds in your eardrums.

“I don’t believe this is happening,” you utter.

The witch tilts his head with a wicked grin.

“We’ll make you a believer yet.” He promises, and his deep cords vibrate through your form. “My dear, we simply must thank you for all that you’ve done for us.”

His claws slip over your collarbones. Your breath quickens, a stirring you cannot name unfolding deep within your middle. His extra set of hands fall to your hips and begin caressing the bones. Daintily, carefully, his warm fingertips slip just underneath the hem of your sweater, touching your bare flesh. A shiver runs down your entire body, leaving you to squirm.

“Be a good little comet,” he says softly, “Let me pour my gratitude all over you.”

“I didn’t—I didn’t know it was true,” you stare into his face, marked with a red crescent over a dark shadow, and his eyes pierce into the very nature of your being. “You’re back.”

“Because of you,” he rumbles softly in his chest. His grin pulls higher at the corners.

His claws slip over the nap of your neck and card gently into the small, sensitive hairs at the bottom of your skull. You breathe in. His eyes brighten in pleasure before he slips his sharp but controlled talons over the shells of your ears and follows the arch of your cheekbone. His gaze drops to your lips. Your heart thumps and thumps against your sternum so powerfully, you fear he may hear it.

His lips pull over his razor-sharp teeth and you stop breathing.

His other set of hands begins working up the sides of your torso. He rubs slowly and gently, but you squirm despite this. He touches you far too intimately when you have never experienced such affections before. A mewl escapes your lips. You wriggle as he refuses to relent.

In answer, his upper hands lower and capture your hands together in one, and pin them above your head to hold you in place. He coos, chastising. A great roil starts in your stomach and expands upwards until your face becomes pink and flushed.

“Hold still, little comet,” he chuckles, and you whimper. “I’m not finished with showering you in all my adoration.”

“Eclipse,” your breath is harsh and hot.

“It is good to hear my name upon such lovely lips,” his voice lowers, husky and scorching. “I knew a virgin would light the candle. I swore it to my brothers as they set us on the gallows and draped nooses around our necks. You are our light, our savior. How could I ever thank you?”

In his words, his burning stare that singes with sincerity, it clicks into place. All at once, you believe what you are seeing with your own two eyes.

It’s true. He’s back. He and his brothers have returned with magic.

“I have questions,” you say hesitantly in your demureness, “I want answers.”

“Of course,” Eclipse agrees easily. “But first…”

A dark claw brushes your hair back from your face. The flutter in your heart can’t seem to hold still. Eclipse’s grin widens and his eyes soften.

“You have freckles like constellations,” he murmurs in the manner of one gazing at the night sky or one studying an ornate painting.

Before you can shape words to reply, to say anything that might free you from his grasp, his mouth is upon yours. A sound softly catches in the back of your throat. You fall still under his caressing hands still moving below your sweater. He traces the row of your ribs. You have just enough mind to wonder if he feels your skin prickle in your sensitivity. His other hand clasps your wrists tighter. You gasp against his teeth.

He pulls gently, hungrily, taking you as if a bite of honeycomb. You become melted honey, easily malleable between his teeth and then molded by his mouth. His tongue invades you. You moan softly at the claim he lays upon you until you become weak in the knees and almost fall. His kiss seals your fate.

He releases you from his maw. You sink slightly, and his arms fall out from under your sweater to properly catch you. He lowers your wrists, returns your hands, and brushes your hair once more from your face.

A chuckle emits from his lips, and you burn.

“You’ll stay with us, won’t you?” he asks, but he waits for no answer as he scoops you into his arms. Feet dangling, you have no choice but to cling to his shoulders and endure his brothers’ attention as he twists around and faces them.

The rabbit’s right. You are in trouble. Michael warned you. He said curiosity killed the cat.

But charm brought it back.

#naff's writing commissions #witches and rabbits and candles oh my #if michael was there he would be so mad at you for lighting the candle smh #hocus pocus au my beloved #witch!eclipse #witch!sun #witch!moon #charm brought it back #naff writing

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hamsternella · 5 months ago

Note

maybe headcanons of Bill Cipher being obsessed with us for being Ford's wife, but at first he feels jealous and gradually that changes as he finds we have equal things (e.g. we are blind, and that makes Bill start to want to get more intimate with us as he has with Ford because he finds that we have also been despised/put aside because of that difference), and maybe he wants to make a deal with us but we refuse out of loyalty to Ford and that makes Bill jealous- but now of Ford, not of us lmao sorry if that is confusing or too specific.

Are you going to write any Gravity Falls fanfic on the side? I've seen your poll and I'm very excited

HELLO, and no problem. Here it is, I hope you like it.

As for the fanfic, I do plan to write one. Actually, it's in drafts; I just need to correct what I have written. I don't know if I should make it long or cut it and put it in chapters.

PART TWO

Bill Cipher being obsessed with you [headcanon]

cw: fem!reader, non-con touching, possessed body, jealousy, maybe a bit of ooc(?

The reason Bill begins to feel his plan is threatened is because of you. As much as Ford has him on a pedestal, you are still the main reason for his early accomplishments. The special person who has been with him since his college discovery years.

You're not like McGucket; your judgment carries paramount weight in Ford's most decisive decisions. You're not a mentally dazzling woman, not like him, but your claws keep you firmly entrenched behind Sixer's back. Bill repudiates that—it makes no sense at all!

As if that weren't enough, the affair culminates with you being blind. Can there be anything much more repugnant than a romance fueled by misfortune? Ford is drawn to your sincere heart, and you support him unconditionally because beyond your husband's obsession, your love for him seems to break down the most terrifying walls. And how can you be afraid of something you can no longer see?

Bill feels he has the enemy breathing behind his back. For the first time he thinks he can't solve everything with a kick to the rock in the middle of the road.

The closest thing to a tantrum you get from him —unknowingly— are regular nightmares, a weak body and constant paranoia about unfamiliar sounds and sensations. Your home is suddenly a new world; frightening and strange. Because of this you become clumsy and unpredictable, and even your husband doesn't understand what it is that has you so off track.

Bill can't use his influence on your reality at all, but through Ford and other extensions, as well as fine print manipulations, he manages to reach you without arousing suspicion.

''I've told you many times, Bill,'' sighed Ford with his back turned, both hands placed on his journal. ''I don't think I can go through with this completely until I manage to find a way to help my wife.''

''Isn't this a sign that it's time to get her out of your way?''

"Excuse me?’’ The man turned his attention to the demon; his eyes laden with bitterness and desolation. ''What do you mean by that? I can't abandon my wife, Cipher—she would never do something like that to me.''

''Well,'' Bill chuckled, ''it's not like she's really done anything for you all this time. This project is our thing, Fordsy, and it shouldn't be interrupted by a little stumble that doesn't even belong to us. Or are you going to give up everything you've sacrificed for this?''

''You have understood me like no other, Bill; I admit that there is no person or creature existing on this planet who can do all that you have done for me,'' admitted Ford solemnly. ''But she's my wife—she's been around even before you, when I was nobody. When I had nothing. And even when I came to Gravity Falls and left everything behind she was always there. Bill, I... I can't, I'm sorry.''

Bill held back another complaint, beginning to notice that things were not working out the way he had wanted. Your clumsiness didn't kill Ford's patience or control, but what little sanity —if any— there was in him. It was humiliating; Bill Cipher losing to a human being, a random woman—blind, to make it worse.

The demon was beginning to withdraw in on himself, frustration rising to anger, when Ford's voice from the entrance to the room drew his gaze back. There was a different gleam in his companion's, and Cipher understood with annoyance where the conversation would end up now.

Your husband introduces you to the possible solution to all your problems: Mr. Cipher, a doctor and close friend of Stanford. A mysterious man with a booming voice that makes your hair stand on end, but at the end of the day a man of studies and degrees. Of course you were going to trust your husband's recommendation.

''What a coincidence that you happened to be passing by, sir! Thank you for offering to help me. That's very kind of you.''

Bill starts pretending to be your personal doctor in search of a miracle solution to your problems. It's not hard to avoid contact with you to hide the truth; Ford tries hard to keep the situation straight.

If the demon hated you before, now you better start praying.

Cipher understands that he needs to play along with Ford if he wants the project to stay on track, even if that means starting to help you heal while containing his desire to get rid of you.

Maybe if he possessed Stanford and took advantage of you during your naps.

Maybe.

But he knows better than that—Ford isn't stupid. Not stupid enough, at least.

It was humiliating to have to take care of what he himself had caused, but it's not as if Bill could afford any other way to get back on the project. Ford was all he had. Where was he going to get someone else capable enough? This had been fate; interrupted at the last minute by the appearance of a bad third. This was all your fault. Blind little rat—woman busybody with a sweet smile and giggly voice. Cipher understood why Sixer was where he was with you, on the one hand. On the other it was all the same: a whim that cost dearly. Who needed someone like you? What was the benefit? Sex, maybe? But Bill Cipher was a thousand times better than something so banal! Please…

Bill rolled his eye, snapping his fingers to undo the nightmare you were in. As soon as your dream was undone you let out an exclamation of surprise, jumping on the bed. You brought a hand to your face, feeling the sweat, and almost immediately moved your body to where he lay. Cipher held back surprise, finding himself genuinely intrigued.

''Doctor,'' you whispered hoarsely, ''good afternoon. I... Forgive me, I think I fell asleep—it was sudden, I don't know what came over me...''

''Did you know it was me here with you?''

The smile you gave him threw him off. A ''Well, yes, isn't it very obvious?'' kind of grimace.

''Does your husband know that you have these nightmares during our therapies?''

'Therapies' sounded fancy, but it was shorthand for the tortures Bill forced you to go through; a theater of supposed recovery to cover up his need to hurt you.

“He doesn't know, doctor. I haven't told him, if I'm honest,'' you replied. ''Please don't tell him anything.''

''It would be unethical!''

‘’Pretending to be a doctor is also unethical, sir,’’ you laughed. ''I am blind, not stupid.’’

Killing you was going to be the only solution to all of this—although from that day on nothing else ever happened.

Bill has to accept that you have a lot of tricks up your sleeve. You're not just any woman anymore; being Ford's wife had to have been warning enough for him.

You continue to not remind him of his charade and allow him to continue 'treating' you, while your husband resumes the plans for the portal.

Surprisingly, Bill seems to have found interest in something much more striking.

You.

The nightmares subside, your mood and judgment improve, and Cipher finds a strange pleasure in this new side of you: much more alert, more talkative and wittier. You have your charm.

But it's your husband who pulls the reins. Bill gets it right away.

Evenings with you aren't exactly revelatory like they are with Ford, who always has enough data and information to surprise everyone with. With you it's different; it's something much more intimate and almost forgotten by Bill. He knows so much that it would be impossible to be taken by surprise—but you manage to do it.

He is overcome with a nostalgic and unpleasant feeling, but which ironically keeps him alive as he decides to lie to Ford.

Bill doesn't want to let you go. It's strange. Maybe he got used to another glaring presence besides Sixer? Torturing you a little more in silence to keep you under his care should not be a stupid thing to do at all.

Cipher encounters another particular feeling: curiosity. He needs to know why you know what you know; and what it is, above all else, that keeps you here.

What keeps you with so much power over him, Bill Cipher.

''Are you saying that I have tricks up my sleeve? I don't get it, doctor...''

''Oh! Oh, please,'' Bill interrupted, thunderous laughter bouncing across the room. ''You know I'm no doctor; the title is ridiculous.''

''Should I call you 'Mr. Cipher' instead?''

Bill held back a sigh, rubbing his eye for a moment before orbiting around you. If you had noticed, you didn't say or do anything. Your eyes, white as opaque pearls, remained fixed on a corner of the room.

''Since when did you know I wasn't a doctor? No, better yet, since when did you know I wasn't human?''

''Well, it's not quite like that either,'' you replied under a soft laugh. ''You just revealed to me that you are not human. As for the doctor thing... Well, don't take this the wrong way, but I don't think that dream therapies and transverse snoring with citrus scent induction while dipping my feet in spoiled milk is something a professional would recommend.''

Bill pretended not to be offended.

''Besides that,'' you continued, ''I know my husband very well. I know that he hides dangerous things down there, where I cannot reach by myself, just as I know everything that has been happening is not the product of chance.''

''Did you know all this time that your nightmares and fears have been my doing?''

‘’No, not really. You just confessed it to me.''

‘’Oh, come on!’’ Bill shook his fists in the air, abruptly remembering that you couldn't see him. It was strange, you seemed to know the world you inhabited even though your eyes wouldn't let you. The thought made the demon orbit around you again, returning in front of you. Opaque pearls; gaze lost in the open. "I've had a majestic revelation at this very moment! Do you want to hear it, or will your big, bold woman brain let you know in advance what I have to say?”

"I have a slight feeling you don't like me.”

“Yes or no!”

“Of course, tell me.”

"I have to assume you weren't born blind; this must be the product of an accident," Cipher began to say. "That would explain why the hell you do everything you do, and why the fuck you know where I am.”

"That's right, Mr. Cipher," you nodded. "I've had an accident, though I suppose you know that because you've infiltrated me. Either that, or my husband told you.”

"So you did know that I'm a demon?”

“You just—”

“Oh, shut up! Don't fucking say it again.”

Your coexistence with Bill becomes pleasant, despite the early revelation of his nature and his having been the cause of your misfortunes.

Cipher comes to believe that he may have been wrong; maybe you were stupid after all.

But that would be crazy! Unlike with Ford, with you the feelings are extremely nostalgic and warm. There is no trace of some kind of farce or genuine morbid interest behind your words. You believe everything you say.

Bill, who despite not sleeping or dreaming, being haunted by the memory of screams and an old distorted and flat reality, finds in your company a comfort zone that makes him delirious.

Sadly, your heart and your judgment is still tied to Sixer—as if that brainiac cared at all!

Bill begins to drive Ford crazy; he feeds him extensive knowledge, possesses him more often to enjoy the benefits, and then alters his memories, making it difficult for him to know what is truth and what is a lie.

Where he can no longer meet your needs, Bill is always there to dazzle you.

You jumped in your seat, feeling your husband's warm hands wrap around your neck. Fingers, rough from machines and dust, caressed your skin awkwardly, drawing a chuckle from you. His breath came to you from above, as if he had just sighed in delight at your reaction. When you felt him rest his hands on your shoulders, you slowly brought one of yours to caress the back of his. You felt him tremble.

''I thought you were sleeping?'' you asked with genuine interest. ''Is everything all right? All these days you've been doing the same thing.''

''Do you mind, beautiful?''

You stifled a laugh.

''No, Ford, your company would never be a bother to me... Are you smelling my hair?''

‘’I just can’t get enough of you.’’

You felt him circle your body, delineating one of the chairs near you so he could relax his body in it. You didn't last long without his hands—as soon as he resumed his seat, you felt his fingers intertwining with yours. This time it was more consistent and comfortable; not like all those days where it seemed like your husband had forgotten how to use his own body.

''Oh, dear! Seeing you with these two orbs of nerves and membrane is amazing! You look even more dazzling.''

Although the comments without any context or sense were still there.

''I'm not that great,'' you said with a small laugh. A little shy. Ford didn't used to give you so many compliments. “How's your project going?’’

‘’That thing? Good, very good. Excellent, my dear! Maybe you could see for yourself—oh, well, you can't,'' he guffawed. ''Right. Whatever! Hey, uh, can I ask you a question?''

‘’Y-Yeah, sure, honey.’’ You cleared your throat. ‘’What’s the matter?’’

''Hypothetical scenario. You're married, but you're not quite fulfilled. Suppose someone comes along who is much better than your husband,'' he explained. ''He's smart, funny, multifunctional, powerful, extra-dimensional, or very soon will be, and also very stylish!'' Silence. Moments later an exclamation. ''Do you have a favorite color? His favorite color is yellow!''

‘’I… I mean, sorry, but I actually don’t understand at all where’s the question.’’

‘’Don’t be silly! Would you leave your husband for this entity—excuse me, for this person?''

‘’What?’’

‘’The heck.’’

Another booming laugh, and though you tried to accompany it with your own, the sound that came from you was choppy and awkward. This exchange was strange.

''I can't find a reason to leave my husband for this so-called mystery person,'' you replied. ''I am supposed to have married him for a reason which should be more than enough. Ford,'' you rushed on, ''is this regarding Mr. Cipher?''

''Why?'' he asked at once. ''Why do you think of him all of a sudden? Do you feel something forbidden about him in this marriage?''

''But of course not!''

''What do you mean ‘no’?!’’

His hands let go of yours. The chair in front of you seemed to be dragged, the wood against the floor squeaking with the sudden friction. The movement had taken you by surprise.

‘’Ford?’’

''Why are you so happy? Why, huh?'' he sighed, frustrated. ''Haven't I abandoned you every night in a freezing bed, while I prefer the company of machines? Cipher has been very kind to you and kept you company!''

''Ford, what are you—wait. Wait a moment... Bill, is this you?'' You covered your mouth, terrified at the discovery. Your companion didn't respond and you simply let out a shaky breath. ''Are you possessing my husband?’’

‘’Damn, that was fast.’’

‘’That’s awful!’’

"There was full consent!" added Bill with a chuckle. "This is a man-to-man thing, my pretty little fleshbag. Something between colleagues, plain and simple. You needn't fear—Bill Cipher is taking care of everything.”

"But it's horrendous anyway!" you exclaimed with your voice splitting. "It all makes sense now... The words, the touches, the way you acted—it was all a sham! You were using my husband!”

"Oh, please, little one. Wasn't it you who dreamed of being able to touch me?”

"You, not a substitute class using Stanford's body! Have you two been doing these kinds of exchanges all along?”

"It's just that there was a change of plans!”

“A change? What—”

“I mean, I tried to kill you; but it's not that easy now,” he laughed.

You tried to calm your breathing. Your heart was beating painfully against your chest, and your whole body was trembling. This wasn't right, obviously. It was like a vivid nightmare.

“Not that I want to do it, of course.”

“Why?” you asked after a long silence.

You felt the presence of your husband's body very close to you. A pair of hands rested on your cheeks, caressing them with his fingers very softly; the touches getting lost under the trembling of your figure when you heard again a sigh of delight. Something was up.

“You know,” he whispered, “I think we could make a deal. A little, pretty one, and just for you.”

“A deal? A deal with a demon, you mean. No, thank you.”

“Oh, come on! It will be fun!”

“And it makes no sense.”

Bill turned away from you, returning to his chair to take a seat across from your body.

"What exactly is it that Ford gives you that I can't manage to satisfy? Because very soon the little project will be complete, and I will have full disposal of many wonderful tricks to take care of you, my dear," he continued. "An eternity together! We'll be able to create and tell thousands of new stories; to travel across the world and let you experience hundreds of new sensations. We'll be unstoppable! Incomparable!”

"That's not the way things work, Bill…”

"Things work because of the strongest. I will soon be the only one with that title.”

"What will happen to Ford?" you asked haltingly. "What will you do to my husband?”

"He's my co-worker, dear.”

"You're hiding something from me.”

"So what if it is? He doesn't matter here! It's our time... You're mine.”

The way your husband's voice was beginning to distort sent a shiver through your body. You loved Ford—you missed him. The idea that you had been kissing the lips of a man possessed a couple of days ago was turning your stomach. Your silence seemed to feed something inside the demon; his voice thundered, totally changed, across the room.

"A few weeks ago you said you missed the stars," added Bill. "The last time you saw them was when you were a teenager. I miss the stars too—the ones I saw with a different eye. It's not the same anymore. Nothing is, since..." Silence. You didn't dare interrupt the creature who seemed to be drowning in bitter memory. It took him a while to pull himself together; a split laugh piercing your ears like an arrow. "Oh, the misery! I thought it repulsive the way you two looked so united over something so pathetic. Anyway, what does the past matter now, what does misery matter! There's no such thing being with Bill Cipher. You'll want for nothing.”

"I refuse, Bill.”

"And I refuse too," he laughed. "See? We can play the same game, silly. I don't recommend testing my patience, though.”

The touch of palms against the warm skin of your neck took you by surprise. The roughness of those fingers you loved so much were now forbidding you to breathe; the softness of moist lips pressing against yours, taking advantage of the way you parted yours to find a sliver of air. You soon struggled against your husband's body, desperate to deny the foreign tongue that flicked unseemly and inexperienced inside you. Bill was drowning in an unfamiliar feeling that felt too good. You were soft, fragile. Your flesh was tender and warm, quivering like an animal about to die—he was going to devour it to the bone. Was this what Ford had been doing with you? You liked it?

He could kill you. He could end your life when the portal was complete; he could take advantage of Ford, as he had been doing all this time, and keep the prize all to himself. Why was it so hard? What was it you had done to him? Was Ford a victim too? The thought burned like a fierce fury at the back of his mind—jealousy once again. The need to own even the crumbs. Ford wouldn't have the right to be your victim anymore. This feeling was too good for that brainiac to understand, surely he never did.

But Bill understood everything. He was incomparable. He could dominate your life and hold the reins as well as Ford had been doing. No. Cipher was going to do better! Did you miss your husband's domination? Bill would be your ruler; he would destroy obstacles and build better ones to keep you in check. Maybe a little training and you'd become a beautiful little bag of flesh and muscle—tight, warm and obedient. And who knows if you'd end up exceeding his expectations! Who knows if a little gift occupying your orbs would give you the chance to enjoy the same star-studded sky together.

"Don't think too much," whispered Bill pantingly. "There's plenty of other things to do than something as dull as that. Don't worry your pretty little head.”

You shook your head, surrendered to crying. Your husband's hands had left your neck, but now they wrapped around your wet cheeks, offering shy caresses.

"From now on you're going to use it when I say so. Everything will be that way, and you know why?”

A crooked laugh vibrated against his chest, reaching you through his hands.

"Because now you will be my new pet. A special one! The best of them all… You could say ‘muse’, even. Isn't that beautiful, dear?”

A cold kiss. The last one.

“Aren't you, above all, beautiful too?”

#fanfic #reader insert #reader #obssesion #yandere #angst #bill cipher gravity falls #bill cipher x reader #bill cipher #gravity falls stanford #stanford pines #gravity falls

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bluetimeombre · 1 year ago

Text

┊ ➶ ｡˚ 　　° Call it what you want to, part two

[people actually liked it!!! and i loved it so here's more. p.s, i love tom blyth ever since i watched ballad of songbirds and snakes (four times in cinema) and i've loved timothee from the beginning and that's something nobody can take away from me!!!! also, i have nothing against kylie, i do not keep up with the kardashians so i can't say anything, but let's just imagine....]

┊ ➶ ｡˚ 　　°

liked by... yourusername, rachelzegler, jacobelordi, hunterscahfer & others

tomblyth: hermes camp!

tagged: yourusername

781k likes 309k comments

user: they're together omg!

user: it's happening, it's happening !!!

user: what is a hermes camp?

yourusername: personally i'm more of an ares girl but i'll take it

user: PLS

user: she's just like us

user: they're literally in love

user: IM OBSESSED WITH YOU

user: i thought she was supposed to be in london

user: there's a thing called a plane

user: TOM I LOVE YOU

user: he's so bf ahhhhh

user: do you think she's leading tom on and then gonna go for timmy

user: parents!!!

user: pls be together, i can't be a child of divorce again

user: yourusername i love you!!

user: tchalamet

user: tchamalet

┊ ➶ ｡˚ 　　°

you are calling... 'timothee chalamet'

you: timmy help me i'm so lost and my phone is on 2%

timothee *laughing*: what do you mean? where are you?

you: i have literally no idea, i went to get breakfast

timothee: whaaaat, i went to get us breakfast

you *walking around london looking very lost* well you didn't tell me that

timothee *smiling fondly at you, but you couldn't see as you were looking around the streets* i did, i told you last night i'd get you your favourite

you: there was nobody in the hotel and i didn't know what to do. timothee please tell me you have a portable charger

timothee: i have a spare one for you

you: thank you! you're a star- omg i almost got hit my a black cab

timothee: hey, where are you?

you: i don't know, i think i've gone in a massive circle. should i get a taxi back to the hotel?

timothee *who had gotten excited to see you*: no! no-urm- oh hey, wait a minute hold on

you: my phone is on 2% please! *but you hold on, watching- or more so listening- as timothee greets what you assume was a fan, he keeps his phone on, and you're smiling at the screen (and pulling the occasional face) whilst you wait. he quickly hugs the fan and pulls his phone back out to talk to you* mr hollywood!

timothee: shut up, ok where are you?

you: i think i'm like *you look around you, missing timothee grabbing a quick screenshot of your facetime* i'm by _______

timothee: ok, i know where that is, or i think i do. wait there, i'll come to you

you: oh! there's a cafe, i'll get a coffee

timothee: i've got you one here!

you: i can drink two, i promise

you put the phone down, wanting to keep whatever battery you had and ordered yourself a coffee, taking a seat by the window. you were just lucky you had your journal to keep you satisfy while you wait for timothee to somehow find you.

(little did you know he was literally jogging to meet you in the cafe with a dying phone.)

you were half way through your coffee when the bell above the door rang and he walked in. you hadn't realised, leaning over the journal and scribbling away.

timothee noticed you- it was a relatively small cafe for london. he snapped a shot of you before quietly coming up behind you. he took his cap off, throwing it on your hair.

'you could've been anyone!' you say, closing your journal and turning to him.

'morning!' he grinned taking the seat across from you and shuffling in. 'how did you get lost?'

'there was nobody in the hotel and they said you'd gone out ten minutes ago, i didn't know you could get so far in ten minutes!'

timothee slid a bag over to you. 'i got your favourites.'

you had no idea how to act around timothee. working with him was fun, easy, you guys get along great. but after filming and after you'd been on another set and done separate things, it felt different. you guys weren't in your own little worlds anymore. you were with tom blyth and he was perfect, and then timothee would do small things, give you his jumper or his cap or pick up things he specifically knew you liked. but he had a girlfriend, he had kylie jenner! there was no way he was doing this in hopes of gaining your attention. maybe it was just how he was with friends.

'you didn't have to do that,' you said, taking off his hat and putting it between you two.

he shrugged, leaning over again. 'what? c'mon, course i did. it's a big day.'

it was premier day. wonka was premiering in london. this was your third premier, but was sure to be one of the biggest.

timothee grinned at you, watching your lips quip up. he pulled out a portable charger from his pocket, offering it to you. truth is, five minutes ago he didn't have one but when you told him you needed one, on the way to meet you he grabbed one.

suddenly, the barista approached your table and you grabbed the bag, thinking she was going to tell you guys off for bringing in food and drinks from somewhere else.

'I'm so sorry, i'm a big fan,' she said.

you laugh, throwing him his hat as he blushed madly at being caught. 'i told you! you can't go anywhere!'

timothee greeted the fan warmly before also introducing you. then, she recognised you too. it was still new to you, being known and people asking for pictures or something to be signed, but you were more than happy to oblige.

and the pictures came out. a few of the two of you with fans and in some, maybe a lot, maybe even most, timothee was looking over at you.

user1: GUYS I LITERALY MET tchalamet AND yourusername THEY WERE SO SWEET AND LOVLEY

301 likes 100 comments

user: OMG LUCKY

user: were they on a date???

user1: noooo, i think they were just meeting up

user: they always look so good

user: imagine just going to work and meeting THEM

user1: they were so cute, timothee literally brought her breakfast, saying he got her favourites which means he knows her favourites, like that's goals right there!

┊ ➶ ｡˚ 　　°

liked by... zendaya, tomholland2013, florencepugh, kidcudi, yourusername & others

tchalamet: WONKA IN LONDON!

tagged: yourusername

1.2m likes 901k comments

user: style icon!!

user: does he realise there's other people but yourusername in the movie?

user: OMG I SAW YOU TONIGHT

user: can't believe i missed it!!

user: the last picture !!!!

user: WHY IS NOBDOY TALKING ABOUT THE LAST PICTURE???!!! THE WAY HE'S LOOKING AT HER

user: yourusername is stronger than me, if timothee looked at me like that i would melt

tomholland2013: looking good mate, can't wait to see the film!

tchalamet: thank you brother, lunch soon 🙏🙏

user: tomholland2013, ariana, what are you doing here

user: he put a whole post up just for her

user: I WANT YOU SO BAD

user: her dress, stunning!!!!

user: he's literally so in love with her

user: ARE THEY DATING?

user: he's with kylie!!!

user: apparently she was there last night

user: she's stronger than me, i would not let my man look at another woman like that

user: is ship it

user: is this movie a god damn musical?

user: how can she be with tom one minute then timothee the next

user: EVERYONE PLS THEY'RE LITERALY FRIENDS, TIMOTHEE MAKES FRIENDS WITH ALL HIS CO-STARS

user: friends do not look at each other like THAT

user: they'd literaly be the hottest couple in hollywood

user: power couple

user: ❤️

user: <<33

user: yourshipname

liked by... oliviarodrigo, tomblyth, tomholland2013, tchalamet, gracieabrams & others

yourusername: wonka, london! thank you so much for all the love on the movie. i want you all to love daisy as much as i do! and thank you gucci for the dress and making me one step closer to harry styles x

1.1m likes 701k comments

user: SHE'S SO FUNNY WHAT

user: GORGEOUS

user: OMG

user: 🔥🔥🔥

user: the last picture is my new screen saver thank you

user: HOW DOES SHE GET THAT CLOSE TO TIMOTHEE

user: HAWT

rachelzegler: the prettiest girl ever

yourusername: stfu, don't make me kiss you

user: first tom, now timothee, next she'll get harry

user: GUCCI OMG SLAY

user: my mother everybody, my mother

user: flawless

user: ur so beautiful

tomblyth: beautiful

yourusername liked tomblyth's comment

tchalamet: afterparty!!!

yourusername: dude, get through the premier first

wonkamovie: we love daisy!

user: timmy is literaly in love with you

user: plssss date timmy

user: i love youuuuu

user: wonka sucked!

user: slut!

yourusername: great song by taylor swift

taylorswift liked yourusername's comment

user: collaboration of gucci between harrystyles and yourusername when?

user: is hugh grant cgi in this movie or can he actually just do that?

yourusername: no cgi went into the making of this movie

user: she's so funny for what!!!!

┊ ➶ ｡˚ 　　°

'Timothee Chalamet!' he had been yelled at all night, by fans, by press, by anyone and everyone. he'd already posed for cast pictures, getting in a huge line, holding onto each other and taking the pictures.

so what if he had reached across the director, paul king's, back to hold onto your arm. and surely nobody would notice if he looked over to gage your reaction and see you smile at him. it wasn't like there were hundreds of camera's around him snapping a shot of every moment.

he headed over to the woman who had called his name, pausing by the barrier to say hello. 'yes ma'am.'

'woah, don't you look amazing, as always. first of, who are you wearing tonight, you know i got to ask!' she said.

'this is my man tom, tom ford,' he answered, laughing awkwardly at the end. 'i almost went gucci- it was almost gucci, but i couldn't do that to harry.'

'you look good either way, have you had much time with your co-stars so far tonight?'

'yea i mean, i've seen hugh, spent some time with keegan, love to see the man. we all got some photos-'

his attention and the press's attention is distracted when you stroll up to answer some questions not far from him, close enough to see how radiant you look close up. his lips turned into a smile, his arm hovering somewhere between a wave and a nudge to try to get your attenstion.

'oh woah,' might have slipped past his lips as the press held the microphone up to his lips.

'doesn't she just look fantastic?' she asked.

'hell yea!' timothee smiled, focusing back on the interview, 'always.'

'now i know you got to go soon, so just one final question, would you like a bit of chocolate?'

his face lit up. 'chocolate, oh my god i would love some, thank you. can i take two?' he asked, knowing what he'd do with the other. he was offered two little chocolates and quickly said goodbye. instead of heading into the theatre, he headed for you.

as you were chatting with the press, he didn't want to interrupt. instead, he slipped by, gently touching your arm and reaching over to whisper: 'i'll wait for you,'. but your camera caught your blush and the way you couldn't answer properly after that.

once you were done with your questions, timothee was still there waiting for you. he hugged you immediately, rubbing your arms as goosebumps rose on them. of course he'd think it's from the winter evening, when it had everything to do with him.

'you look amazing, timothee!' you gush, pulling back.

'me? look at you, you're so beautiful!' he said, keeping a hold on your arm.

'oh shut up.'

the camera's flashes were brighter, bigger and the shouts increased as they caught pictures of the two of you. but neither of you would stop for pictures, heading into the cinema.

'here.' he gave you the other little chocolate and the two of you un-wrapped them, popping them into your mouths. 'at least you didn't get lost this time.,' he joked.

you rolled your eyes.

┊ ➶ ｡˚ 　　°

user: omg it's happening, it's happening

user: AHHHHHHHHHH

user: mom and dad just hard launched their relationship

user: rue, when was this?!

user: a couple days ago, after the wonka press tour and the premiers, they were seen at dinner together and making out!

user: i'm so happy

user: real life lucy-grey and coryo

user: FINALY OMG

user: what about timmy :((((( he's so in love with her

user: he has a gf

user: i feel bad for timmy

user: THE THIRD PICTURE HELLO? WHY DOES MY MAN KISS LIKE HE'S STARVING

user: he only kisses her like that

┊ ➶ ｡˚ 　　°

liked by... tomblyth, oliviarodrigo, louispartrdige_, lola.tung & others

yourusername: i love british boys (i'm literally just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her)

706k likes 201k comments

user: hard launch who?

user: they're so cute i can't

user: the caption, so real

user: omg it's so funny, do you think hugh has seen this?

user: she's back in london!!!

user: i love them please they're so cute

tomblyth: and i'm literally going to run into your press conference and ask you to be with me forever

yourusername: i'm sitting right next to you, clearly you're running nowhere

user: STOP they're so cute

user: i miss her and timmy!

user: notting hill!! she knows taste

user: i want her and timmy together

user: tom and her were made for each other, like have you seen their interviews

user: funny how timothee doesn't like pictures when it's featuring tom but he'll literally like all of her other pictures

liked by... yourusername, gq, tayrussell, emmawatson, selenagomez & others

tchalamet: thank you london! and thank you for making me a (honorary) british boy!

1.2m likes 771k comments

user: petty king!

user: plssss!! not after yourusername's post

user: he's so obessed with her i can't

user: i chose to believe yourusername took the first pic of him, it's laterally from the premier

user: COME BACK TO LONDON SOON

user: bring back little timmy tim!!!!

user: you were amazing in wonka!!

user: OMG MY MAN IS NOMINATED FOR A GOLDEN GLOBE

user: GOLDEN GLOBES BABY

user: i have the wonka soundtrack stuck in my head

user: is that yourusername in the last pic?

user: i love him!

user: marry me

user: omg he's so regulus black

user: how does he look good no matter what

user: DONT BE A FOOL AND GO GET YOUR GIRL TIMMY

user: in interviews, yourusername has literally said timmy is her celeb crush, girl same

user: how do you feel about tomblyth and yourusername?

┊ ➶ ｡˚ 　　°

582 likes

[comments restricted]

user: update, he follows one person on instragram and it's yourusername

#timothée chalamet #timothee x you #timothee x y/n #timothee x reader #timothee imagine #social media #wonka #wonka 2023 #tom blyth x reader #tom blyth

1K notes · View notes

luveline · 1 year ago

Note

IM BEGGING ON MY KNEES PLEASEEEE 🔥🔥🔥 NOTICE MEEEE

Really quiet and shy reader who’s new to the team and Spencer JUST got out of prison like a month ago and he comes back and sees the cutest girl he’s ever seen so young and new to the team and can’t help but tease her

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASEEE🧎🏾‍♀️🧎🏾‍♀️🧎🏾‍♀️🙇🏽‍♀️🙇🏽‍♀️

Unit Chief Emily Prentiss scares the fuck out of you, but you're still not as intimidated by her as you are by Dr. Reid.

Dr. Reid, and not Special Supervisory Agent Reid —there's a big difference— shouldn't be a scary guy. He doesn't have any tattoos or piercings, his haircut is tame, and you watch him pour enough sugar into his coffee to weaken the enamel of your teeth just looking at it. But while all or this is true, Dr. Reid just came back from a weeks long stint in one of the most tense prisons in the world. Emily assured you in her way that everything bad you may have heard about Dr. Reid would be false, and that anything positive is true.

He looks different to how you'd pictured him. Emily's promise aside, Garcia painted him as some sweater-wearing Teddy bear of a boy who likes chess and Doctor Who.

This is a man. Full grown, full suit, dark-eyes. You're not sure what to feel as he spots you. When Anderson gave you the desk across from Spencer's you'd thought you were lucky, getting treated as part of the team from the very beginning, but now you're not so sure.

“Hey,” he says, eyes on you as he puts down his coffee atop a stack of medical journals. His things were left untouched while he was gone, even though he was technically separated from the bureau. He's well respected. “I've been excited to meet you. I'm Spencer.”

“Dr. Reid,” you say immediately, standing up from your chair to meet him besides your desks.

“Spencer,” he says again. “I don't shake.”

“Oh, no, of course not,” you say, hiding your hands behind your back. “I know you were here long before me, but I can safely say how nice it is to have you back.” You smile. “They were all so worried about you.”

“You kept them in line while I was gone?”

“No, I was useless. I've never felt this stupid in my life.”

“That's just how it feels for the first year.” He isn't smiling, isn't frowning, a hint of amusement in his eyes and hands steady as he tucks them into his pants pockets. “It's not the others, is it?”

“No, there's just a lot to learn.”

“It shouldn't be hard for you, though, right?” He gestures to you like this means something.

“I don't…”

“You're what, twenty four?” Spencer picks up his mug and takes a drink. “If you're smart enough to be here now, you'll be fine.”

“You think so?”

“Don't tell me you're scared, Y/N.” His lashes flare ever so slightly in feigned surprise. After a second of your obvious flustering, he laughs. “No, you don't scare easily. I can tell.”

Absolutely nothing like you told me he'd be, Penelope. I thought we were friends.

“So what was your last case like? The Bentley driver?” he asks, nodding toward your desk. “How's your peer reviews going? They used to drive me insane.”

You startle and rush to sit in your desk chair, opening the case file from the last case to gather his approval. He flicks through pages, almost non-committal, though he gives a hum of approval when he reads your UnSub summary, and when he sees a comment you'd made that you'd believed to be particularly astute, he laughs. “Yeah,” he says, “you'll be fine.” The smell of him floats your way, cologne or aftershave that makes you feel dizzy. He looks down at you. “Something wrong?”

“Nothing, uh–” You bite your tongue rather than answer and trip over another useless sentence.

He touches the top of your shoulder lightly. “It will get easier,” he promises.

He means work, of course, but for a split second you wonder if he means being near him. If he's like this often, you doubt that that's true.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader

2K notes · View notes

taevjim · 7 months ago

Text

Marrying the Viscount (m)

18+

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

𝓢𝓮𝓺𝓾𝓪𝓵 𝓽𝓸: Romancing the Viscount (m)

𝓟𝓪𝓲𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰: Viscount! Jungkook x Viscountess! female reader

𝓖𝓮𝓷𝓻𝓮: romance, angst (maybe?), smut

𝓢𝓾𝓶𝓶𝓪𝓻𝔂: You had finally found your place in society, not only succeeding from the challenge of being asked for your hand, but from none other than a Viscount. In your mind, you were ready for a husband the moment you were let out into society, but now that you had the very thing you've dreamed of since you were a girl, right at your fingertips, you weren't sure if you knew where you stood in life at the moment. Would you live happily ever after, or would the pressure of being a Viscountess be too much for you to handle?

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

It had been a full week since Jungkook had asked for your hand in marriage and you were ecstatic, to say the least. Although you were probably one of the happiest women of the ton, not only securing a man, but a Viscount, you still couldn't help the way your eyes wandered as you walked through the street. You were constantly wondering what people were saying of you, wondering if you could live up to the status of Jungkook, if you could get used to all eyes being on you at all times.

Of course you've confronted Jungkook with your troublesome thoughts and you admired the way he never failed at coaxing you with kind words, and reminding you of your worth. You had to admit, his words managed to put you at ease but it never lasted too long before you were back to overthinking, allowing your thoughts to consume your mind, almost taunting you every second of the day. It was torture.

The thoughts in your head tormented you relentlessly and with Jungkook trying his hardest to not only be the Viscount everyone so loved and adored, you didn't want to put the pressure of your doubts onto his shoulders as it might become too much for him to handle.

You've seemingly been accepted with open arms by Jungkook's absolute lovely family. The excitement on their faces warmed your heart once he announced your unexpected engagement before them, only minutes after the two of you devilishly committed such sin in his carriage the night of the first season's ball. You've spent so much time in your life feeling sorry for yourself and wondering what you could've been doing wrong, all the while the Viscount had his eyes set on you all along.

The success you've longed for since you were a child was right before your eyes, right at the edge of your fingertips, yet it was still a bit difficult to accept the reality before you. To become wed to the Viscount, it meant more responsibilities piled onto your shoulders. Not only the responsibilities of being Jungkook's wife, but the responsibilities of becoming the Viscountess that this wedding would embark upon you.

In no way were you doubting the marriage, or doubting Jungkook. You love Jungkook with the entirety of your heart and you were practically itching for the wedding to get here so you could call him your husband. However, the doubt you had in yourself was beginning to weigh you down and the fear of drowning becoming a challenge you were afraid to face.

You currently sat at Jungkook's desk as you write in your journal, spilling your emotions out onto the pages as if they could listen to you and speak back. Writing had become a small part of your life in the past week, you deciding it would be best for you to write your thoughts down, instead of bombarding Jungkook with the trouble.

Glancing up at the clock, you sigh as you realize he still wasn't home. He had gone out for a bit of a hunting trip with the other Lords, all while his mother decided to take his two sisters shopping. She invited you to come along with them, which you politely declined, telling her you had some work to catch up on. In truth, you've been a bit skittish to step foot out in public without Jungkook by your side. He made you feel protected and secure with his presence, a presence you were undoubtedly addicted to.

Perhaps you were being a bit selfish choosing to lock yourself in his chambers as you cry to yourself on the pages of a journal. You had everything you've ever wanted, even more so than what you originally expected, and it seemed as though you still weren't happy. You've never really been faced with these type of hardships in your life, not while there was love involved, at-least.

You close your journal, deciding you were tired of pitying yourself for the day, and you stand to head out into town. You knew Jungkook's mother was probably at the modiste with her two daughters, for their debuts were coming up very soon and she needed to get them prepared for the time to come. You figured you would meet them there, suddenly feeling a little foolish for declining the invite of your presence.

The walk to the modiste was very quick, since it wasn't but only a block down the street. Besides, the weather was exceptionally nice today so you didn't mind and you needed the fresh air anyway.

"Oh my dear y/n, I'm so pleased to see you!" Jungkook's mother pleasantly greets you as you walk into the stop, wasting no time to rush over and land a kiss on your cheek.

You smile and slightly bow before following her over into the fitting room where her oldest daughter, Liliana, stood before the mirror. She was wearing an exceptionally elegant gown, a contagious smile on her face as she scanned over the fabric.

"It's beautiful," you compliment as you enter, earning an appreciative smile in return.

"Please, please come sit." Jungkook's mother rushes you over and sits you down on the sofa next to her, "Anna is up next. I think you'll absolutely love what she picked."

Jungkook's mother was always such a pleasure to be around. Although you've only known her a short time, you've never seen her with a sour face. You could tell she completely adored her children and raised them to the best of her ability. You felt complete admiration towards the woman as you watched the way she interacted with the two girls. They were incredibly lucky to have such a caring mother.

"Ohhh that is very pretty," you gush as Anna steps up onto the platform, giving a slight twirl to show off the gorgeous piece of clothing. She claps her hands in excitement, obviously very pleased with Madam Claire's work. She was a very talented modiste, after all.

Your future mother-in-law turns to you, capturing your hands into her own all while flashing you a beautiful smile, "I also have a surprise for you, my dear." Your eyebrows raise slightly at her confession and you turn to see Claire carrying a breathtaking burgundy colored gown into the room.

The color was so pleasing to the eye, making it difficult for you to move your gaze elsewhere. The bodice was a lacey material with a few crystals scattered about the surface, paired with mesh fabric sleeves that hung off the shoulders, and a slimming cotton skirt that cascaded down to the floor. For a moment you were speechless, completely taken off guard that Jungkook's mother would make such a kind gesture to have a gown made for you.

You turn to her, shock and appreciation written across your face. "Mrs. Jeon, this is for me?" you ask.

She lets out a small laugh and carefully reaches over to move a piece of hair from your face. "You are my future daughter-in-law," she states, "You mean so much to my son which means you mean a lot to me as well and you make him very happy. I wanted to show you some appreciation for being so wonderful."

Her words almost make you tear up and then you begin to feel awful for not coming along when she invited you out this morning. You were too busy moping about your, now, perfect life. In that very moment, you decided it was time for you to stop thinking of all the negatives regarding your future wedding, and start appreciating the positives.

"You are such an amazing woman, Ms. Jeon. Thank you." You slightly squeeze her hands that were still resting in your own and she quickly pats your shoulder, urging for you to stand.

"What are you waiting for?" she asks, "I want to see you try it on."

You didn't need to be told twice. You quickly spring to your feet and step up onto the platform, allowing Claire to help you change into the dress.

The dress was already stunning on it's own, but once you saw it on yourself, you couldn't believe a piece of clothing could make you feel and look so desirable. It fit like a glove and your heart warmed once again when you realized how thoughtful it was for Jungkook's mother to make sure she got your measurements perfectly without you noticing.

"Breathtaking," she claps her hands enthusiastically, clearly proud of herself for gifting you such a perfect gown.

"Now," she announces, standing to her feet, "We should start getting ready for tonight's ball."

Once the four of you exit the modiste and start the short walk back to the Jeon house, you begin making small conversation with Mrs. Jeon.

"Were you ever nervous?" you question, "About becoming Viscountess, I mean."

The corners of her lips upturn in the slightest way at your question, almost as if she was expecting for the two of you to speak about the subject at some point. She lets out a small sigh and hooks her arm through yours as you stroll.

"Of course I was nervous," she starts, "I didn't come from a wealthy family and it was quite difficult for me to make it into society. It took four seasons before I married and I was undoubtedly very discouraged."

Your eyes slightly widen at her statement. She was admittedly a gorgeous woman, probably more so in her younger years, so the thought of her having such trouble finding a husband was quite hard for you to believe.

"I can tell you're nervous," she continues, "But I don't want you to allow those feelings to overcome you too terribly. You will become an astounding Viscountess."

You feel reassured at her words, but you would be lying if you said the statement completely washed all of your worries away. However, you didn't feel alone. Learning that Mrs. Jeon struggled in society just like you have, comforted you in a way. It may have taken her four seasons to find a husband, but she married a Viscount and not only became an amazing Viscountess, but an extraordinary mother and woman.

"What troubles you?" she asks as she notices you staring off into the distance. You didn't want to dump all of your feelings onto her at once, but you realized she was the only one you were close to that understood the challenges that you were facing.

"I'm afraid," you admit, "I feel as though I've been looked down upon for so much of my life and I don't want to mess up. Truthfully, I don't know what I am doing."

You notice as the two of you arrive in front of the house and watch as Liliana and Anna rush inside, likely going to greet their brother, who should be home by now. You loiter behind with Mrs. Jeon and follow to sit beside her at a bench in front of the square.

"Honey, it's okay to not know what you are doing. How can anyone expect you to? Everything is new to you and I understand how overwhelming you must be feeling with your current situation. Jungkook will never fail you, nor will I. Don't be afraid to come and talk to one of us when it begins to feel too much, otherwise you'll suffocate from your own feelings." She caresses the back of your head as she speaks, and her words cause a wave of comfort to crash over your body.

"You're right," you admit. You smile at the woman before you, slightly leaning in closer to her touch. Having a mother figure in your life was proving to be very solacing, as you were ripped from that opportunity at a very young age.

"You know, when I married Jungkook's father, I had thoughts of leaving him." Her confession vaguely shocks you, not being prepared for those words to leave her lips. She slightly chuckles at your reaction, but continues speaking.

"I never thought I was good enough to be blessed with such a nobleman, much less to become a Viscountess. I struggled greatly in the beginning and I was ashamed to feel such a way, but I realized he needed me just as much as I needed him and I realized that he chose me for a reason. He saw things in me that I failed to see in myself and with his partnership and his love, I was able to become the woman that I currently am." Her touching words bring a tear to your eye and being the loving, yet caring woman she is, she reaches over to wipe it away before it falls.

"My son chose you for a reason," she says, "And I wholeheartedly trust his judgement that he has made an exceptional choice. It's okay to feel the things that you do, but I hope you can learn to put those feelings at bay before they consume your entire being."

You don't respond, partly because you don't really know what to say, but also because you can't trust that you can utter a single word without bursting to tears into her arms. She was probably the strongest woman you've met thus far and you wanted to make her proud.

"I hope you realize how much this talk truly means to me." Your words come out in a whisper, and once again she smiles at you with such adoration behind her eyes.

"I see the woman that you are and I know for certain you will make this family proud. You need not worry for how people will look at you, or what some may say as you walk by. You have a Viscount and not many can say that. You also have a pure soul and an impenetrable character. Promise me that you will come to me if you ever need anything." Her eyes sparkle so subtly as she utters such touching words, proving to you she truly meant what she was telling you.

You nod at her request and she plants a tender kiss upon your cheek before gently pulling you to stand from the bench. "Now let's go find my son and see what he's been up to."

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

The next couple days pass by in a blur, for all you could think about was your wedding. It was only three days away and although you were still quite nervous, the happiness you felt in your heart outweighed all the negative feelings you've had the past week or so.

Jungkook knew how you were feeling and he couldn't blame you for the emotions you've dealt with. He knew it was hard for you and he did an exceptional job at helping you any way he could, in fact, the two of you never really stayed home too much. Every day, almost the same time on the dot, you watched his carriage pull up in front of your home, ready to take you on whatever adventure had called on your names.

He had taken you to a number of places , whether it be out of town to some of the most popular theaters in neighboring cities, or a simple walk to the park so the two of you can read together and share your ideas on what lies in the next chapters to come. You had come to the conclusion a long time ago that he was a great man, but knowing him the way you did now made you fall more in love as the days pass.

You sit in the bay window of your home, a book in hand as you read the passages in front of you, occasionally giggling at something ridiculous one of the fictional characters said. You had plans to get a head start, as it was a book Jungkook had picked for both of you to read; you of course wanting to get further into the story before he did. It became almost a challenge between the two of you to see how many chapters the other could read before your next outing. It was a little childish, really.

The sounds of horses approaching draws your attention away from the pages and you look down to see Jungkook hop out of the carriage, immediately focusing his gaze upon you. A smile graces your lips and you hop up with an urgency, practically running downstairs so you could greet your fiancé.

Dana shakes her head, a playful smile across her face as she witnesses the pure puppy love you and the Viscount had shared. When you had broken the news to her that you were to be married, she was over the moon for you, the purest form of joy took over her as she had embraced you in a loving hug.

"I knew it would be your season. All that worrying you did for no reason," she had whispered to you that night, pulling you to sit with her so you could tell her all about it. You didn't spare the details either, trusting that you could tell Dana all about the time you had shared with the Viscount and not have to worry of her judging you.

"Please don't slip!" she calls after you as you dart down the stairs.

You don't waste a single second as you approach the front door and swing it open to reveal the most handsome man before you, the man you would soon get to call your husband.

His face lights up as he sees you and he pulls you into a comforting embrace, planting his pillowy soft lips upon yours in a quick kiss. "Are you ready?" he asks as he pulls away and scans your attire from head to toe.

Dana had styled your hair in a casual but classy updo, making sure to allow a few hairs to fall from the sides so they could frame your face in the most appealing manner. Your body was also adorned in a pretty pale green dress, one of your favorites of your collection as you adored the way it fit your body so snug, yet still allowing you great comfort.

Jungkook struggled to take his eyes off you, almost not believing that he finally had you after years of yearning for the woman that you are. He almost groaned at the way you looked up at him through your beautifully dark lashes, the look in your eyes almost challenging him to pounce on you right then and there. It was becoming much harder for him to control himself around you these days and most of his thoughts were consumed with the day you'll finally be married, so that he didn't have to hold himself back during such circumstances.

You say a quick farewell to Dana and hook your arm through Jungkook's so he can lead you towards his carriage. The two of you had made a quick trip back to his house, where he decides the plans for today would consist of a horse ride to the fields and a picnic.

You were practically buzzing with excitement, not having been able to ride in quite some time. In truth, you had been practically itching to get out into fresh air and enjoy the beautiful nature of the season. It warmed your heart to know how thoughtful Jungkook was to remember all the things you were interested in, doing everything he could to see your smile. It also felt nice to know you would be having some much needed alone time with the man, as the two of you hadn't had much luck for such an opportunity the last couple days.

The weather was perfect, the sky a captivating color of blue, and the breeze so subtle that your skin yearned for more of the feeling. You and Jungkook were sat under a tree, occasionally feeding each other the various fruits and sandwiches he had packed for the two of you.

You had giggled at a thought that suddenly ran across your mind and you pick up a singular grape, slightly scooting back a couple inches. "Open," you playfully demand.

He just chuckles at your obvious giddiness and opens his mouth, watching as you ready yourself to make the shot. You accidentally overthrow the small fruit, causing it to bounce off of his nose and land in the grass. Within seconds, you've fallen over onto your side, a fit of giggles escaping from your belly.

"Oh you think it's funny?" he questions, playfully offended that you would laugh about pelting him in the face with a fruit.

He rises to his knees and scoots closer to you to begin attacking your sides with his fingers, attracting more high-pitched giggles from your body. He begins to chuckle himself, watching as you squirm under his touch, only stopping when he deems his punishment was enough. You rise back into a sitting position, slightly breathing heavily as you make the conscious decision to pick up another grape and throw it at him.

This time it bounces off his forehead and you quickly stand to your feet and take off across the field, knowing he was most likely right behind you, chasing you down.

"Get back here, you little brat!" You hear him right behind you and you let out a squeal, attempting to pick your feet up faster.

"Nooo! You stay away!" You squeal again, refusing to look behind you because you knew he was right on your heels.

Before you know it, you feel his grip on your wrist and your foot slightly catches the bottom of your dress, causing the two of you to tumble into the grass. You're back to giggling furiously as his fingers attack your midsection once again, punishing you for your childish actions.

"This is what you wanted huh? You wanted me to punish you, didn't you?" he teases, his fingers in your sides not letting up, causing numerous high-pitched squeals to launch from your throat.

"Okay okay I'm sorry!" you accept defeat and he stops torturing you, not yet moving from his position atop of your figure.

You lay there under his weight, breathing as if you've just run a marathon and you look up at him. The playful gleam in his eyes is gone and replaced with a look of desire as he analyzes your features. Half of your hair has made it's way out of the pins that were meant to hold it together, and the strands lay displayed across the grass around your head. Your cheeks a deep pink, from all of the running and laughing you've done. Your lips were rid of the gloss you once wore from the many kisses Jungkook has stolen from you throughout your picnic date.

His eyes jump back and forth between your own, soon slowly making their way down to your chest. It rose and fell, as you lay out of breath, and he can't help but notice the way the tops of your breasts just barely spilled over the edge of your bodice. You were a sight for sore eyes and he could look at you for hours, never becoming bored.

He can't resist the urge to kiss you, so he leans down to mold his mouth onto your own. He can taste the strawberries you've consumed only moments prior, urging him to kiss you deeper as he chases more of the taste on your tongue. Immediately, you can feel pure heat flood down to your core, a whimper softly rolling off of your tongue and onto his own. He could feel his control slowly beginning to slip from his grasp, which causes him to slowly pull away from you before the thought of taking you right here in the field consumes him.

You let out a low whine, slightly disappointed that he was no longer touching you the way you craved. He reluctantly stands to his feet and outstretches a rather large hand into your direction, aiding you to stand on your own feet as well. The silence between the two of you was entirely too loud and the tension was a thick presence in the contrasting light breeze that rolled through the air.

Once you both make your way back over to the tree, the two of you begin to pack up your belongings. You catch sight of a couple grapes scattered across the grass and you can't stop the giggle that releases from the confinements of your throat. He lets out a chuckle of his own and shakes his head.

"You are going to be the death of me, y/n." The sound of your name rolling off of his tongue causes a blush to rise to your cheeks. He takes a step closer to you, carefully removing a leaf that had been stuck in your hair before he shoves it in your face to tickle the tip of your nose. You giggle at his actions and swat his hand away.

"Well you better get ready, Mr. Viscount because soon you will be stuck with me for the rest of your life," you teasingly stick your tongue at him and he quickly scoops you up into his arms, the sound of your giggles blessing his ears once again.

With a quick spin and loving kiss pressed to your lips, he sets you atop of the horse and pats your thigh over the material of your dress.

"I sure hope so," he says, a smile stretched across his pretty face, "I wouldn't ever dream of having it any other way."

He grabs your hand and raises it to his lips to place a soft kiss upon your skin before retreating to hop up onto his own horse so the two of you can make the short journey back to Jeon house.

As you ride back, taking in the beautiful flowers that stretch across the field and watch as the rabbits hop around the plush, green grass, you turn to see Jungkook's eyes already upon you. In that moment, you realize you've never been more happy and you couldn't wait for what the future had in store for you.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

The day of your wedding was upon you and you were proud to say you didn't have an ounce of nervousness in your body. All of the negative feelings you once harbored inside of you had seemed to vanish, as if they were never there to begin with. The only feeling you had now was one of excitement. You had been dreaming of this day for years since you were just a girl, and now it was finally here, almost whispering into your ear that you deserved this. You deserved to be successful and marry a high ranking nobleman who accepts you as you are, not wishing to change a thing about you.

You were in love, and although just two weeks ago you had only spoken to the Viscount for the first time ever, you wouldn't dare change a single thing about the day you met. You may not have spoken to each other until that day but the two of you longed for each other in silence for years prior, making this very moment even more sweet and victorious for you both.

You stood in the fitting room of the modiste, just staring at yourself for only a few moments which felt like a lifetime. You just couldn't believe the sight before you. The sight before you being the very reflection of yourself, sporting your dream wedding gown, realizing that there was no possible way it could've ever looked more perfect.

Your dress was quite poofy compared to the style you usually wore and the detail that danced down the fabric of your skirt was certainly difficult to look away from, the train becoming your favorite part of the dress as it stretched out a couple feet behind you. You went with quite wide mesh sleeves that hung off the shoulder, which left plenty of room between your skin and the material. The bodice was a similar material of the skirt with even more detail and crystals that were embedded to the fabric.

Claire and Jungkook's mother were both staring at you in awe as they stood to the side and locked hands with each other, seemingly proud of the sight before them. You really didn't know what to say, your words stuck in the pit of your gut, not able to make their way up to the barrier of your lips.

"This dress," Mrs. Jeon breathes out, "It was absolutely made for you, darling."

You shoot an appreciative smile in her direction, trying your very hardest not to start crying. You didn't want to ruin your makeup before you were able to get married.

"It's everything I've ever dreamed of wearing on my wedding day," you finally find the words to speak. You then turn to Claire and clutch your hands to your chest, "You have made a dream come true for me. I don't know how I could possibly thank you enough."

She comes over to stand next to you, a prideful smile stretched across her glossy lips. "How about you thank me by marrying that man and becoming the Viscountess that you were born to be."

You quickly embrace her in a hug and place a heavy kiss upon her cheek before pulling away.

"Oh!" she exclaims, "One more thing."

She suddenly disappears around the corner before emerging once more with a veil held between her fingers.

"If you are to be married, we certainly can't forget this," she says before sliding the clip into your hair and positioning the material in it's rightful place. She then circles around to stand in front of you, carefully pulling two strands of your hair from behind your shoulders to place over each side of your chest.

"Perfect."

Now you really looked like a bride and if you had to admit, this was a reality you could see yourself getting used to rather quickly.

Once you've deemed yourself ready, you step off of the platform and stand before Mrs. Jeon. "I would especially like to thank you," you start, "For being there for not only myself, but your son as well. I can tell that he adores you with every fiber in his body and i wholeheartedly trust his judgement that he's made an exceptional choice with making you my mother-in-law."

You utter the same words as she spoke to you that day outside of her home. Her heart melts at the realization and she pulls you into a comforting hug. "Thank you, dearest, for showing me another reason why I'm thankful to not have let my emotions get the best of me all those years ago."

She pulls away slightly, her hands now resting on your shoulders as she tenderly kisses your cheek. "Now," she announces, "I believe we have a wedding to get to."

The three of you quickly exit the shop, Claire deciding to close down for the day so she can be there for your special moment, and you all hop into the carriage that awaits for you outside.

The whole way to the church, the two women are messing with the fabric of your dress, moving a few pieces there and a few pieces here. You could tell they wanted this day to be just as perfect as you did and you couldn't have been more thankful.

As you arrive, you could feel your nerves kicking into overdrive, the urge to fidget with your fingers getting the best of you. Your feelings go unnoticed by Mrs. Jeon and she reaches over to rest a warm hand atop of yours, stopping your nervous tendencies.

"Everything will be okay," she whispers, "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere." Her words manage to sooth you and you take a deep breath, nodding your head. Her and Claire both help you out of the carriage, immediately making sure everything was in place before they gave the signal that you were ready.

Since you had no male relatives, you had made a request upon your engagement to have Jungkook's mother walk you down the isle. Of course she accepted, had feeling honored that you would assign her with such a special task. You had become so close to her now that you really couldn't picture it being anyone else to hand you off to her son.

Claire sneakily makes her way inside the church before you so she can get situated before the doors were to be opened.

Mrs. Jeon holds her arm out to you, to which you don't hesitate to take and hook your fingers into the crease of her elbow. She sends you yet another encouraging smile and you decide that you are ready.

The doors are suddenly opened for you and you remind yourself to breathe before the two of you begin your walk inside of the church. Any conversation that was had between your guests quickly silenced as you were revealed. The church was packed to the brim as no one wanted to miss the event of the Viscount becoming married and you quickly realized that all the looks of admiration were no longer aimed towards him, but towards you.

You shut your eyes for a quick moment, trying to stop them from nervously wandering, and as you open them again you are met with the site of your lovely Viscount standing at the alter. The look in his eyes was one of pure adoration, his graze not straying for a second, taking in all the glory of his future Viscountess.

As always, his tight-waisted skirt coat fit his figure to perfection and you had to prevent the whine that threatened to spill from your lips at the sight of him. You couldn't believe in mere moments you were to be his wife, the thought almost driving you insane.

You could feel everyone's eyes glued to you, impossible for anyone to look away. You looked like you had blossomed straight out of a fairytale from a storybook and you felt pride swell in your chest knowing that you had finally captured the eyes of the ton.

As you get to the end of the stretch, Mrs. Jeon places a soft kiss upon your cheek and hands you off to Jungkook, who reaches out to you immediately. You're finally standing face to face with him, his eyes wildly move across your face, completely starstruck at the beauty that stood before him. He's always thought you were beautiful, but seeing you in this moment was one he knew he surely would never forget as long as he lives.

The two of you can't take your eyes off of each other through the entirety of the service. It was as if the two of you were speaking a thousand words to one another all while your lips didn't move an inch. These were the moments you lived for. The moments where you could tell exactly what he was thinking, a single word not have been spoken.

You could feel his thumbs carefully tracing the smooth skin of the top of your hands, a touch so small that still managed to ignite a fire inside of you.

Soon, the words "You may kiss your bride." reaches your ears and Jungkook wastes no time pulling you in and locking his lips to yours in urgency. Everyone in the church cheers, standing to clap for you. The excitement that roars between the four walls of the church eggs you on to cup Jungkook's face, keeping his lips on yours for just a few moments more.

Finally, the two of you turn to the crowd and you can't help but notice the pure joy on everyone's faces as they now lay their eyes upon their Viscount and Viscountess.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Immediately after your wedding, Jungkook had his carriage ready to take the two of you to Italy for your honeymoon. You were thoroughly shocked, having wanted to go to Italy for so long, now you get to share the experience with your husband.

The journey was exceptionally long, but as you arrived in the streets of Venice, you couldn't take your eyes from the breathtakingly structured buildings scattered throughout the city.

Jungkook sits back in his seat, admiring how happy you looked. He thought it was adorable the way you pointed at something in passing with such excitement, urging him to look at what your sights had fallen upon. Venice was a gorgeous city undoubtedly, but as his eyes lingered over you, he couldn't imagine anything that was more gorgeous.

You've arrived at the hostel the two of you would be staying in and you stared up at the building in awe as you stepped out of the carriage. The weather felt much cooler against your skin and you shivered in delight, leaning your head back to breathe in the Italian air.

You both quickly make your way inside, Jungkook carrying both of your suitcases in either hand. He had refused to allow you to carry your own, so you trail behind him as you ascend up the staircase to the floor where your room would be.

The room was very spacious, already knowing that Jungkook most likely booked one of the best rooms they had. A king sized canopy bed sat to the left of the room against the wall, the bedposts extending so high, they almost reached the ceiling. A quite large bookshelf sat to the right of the room and your eyes trail up, taking in the rows and rows of books all the way up to the ceiling. There were also two chairs that sat on either side of the bookshelf and a lamp positioned in the middle, allowing a comforting setting to be able to sit and read a book. Lastly, an elegant patterned sofa sat against the wall straight ahead, next to a cherrywood desk.

The picture frames that covered the walls were photos that were taken of the city, each just as breathtaking as the other. You had never traveled as long as you've been alive, so you felt like a princess in such a wonderful location of the world. You were beyond grateful.

You don't notice that Jungkook had already set your things down, as you were too busy gawking at the beauty that was your shared bedroom for the week. Jungkook has traveled more times than he could count, so he was pretty accustomed to Italy by this point. He was more interested in looking at you, watching the way you made your way around the room, your eyes floating around the walls where different pictures of the city hung.

He slowly walks over to you, sliding his arms around your waist from behind. Your attention was no longer on the photos as you become focused on his touch. You close your eyes as he gently moves your hair from your shoulder, leaning down to press his warm lips against your skin. A sigh of relief escapes your lips and you bask in the feeling that was him.

His hands grip your hips, turning you around so that you now faced him. You had to look up at him due to the height difference and your arms take their place around his shoulders.

"You're so beautiful," he whispers, his eyes not once leaving yours.

You feel your cheeks get hot at his compliment and he wastes no time, bringing a hand to rest on your neck before he leans down to capture your lips into a kiss. His kisses were always so soft, so warm, and so addicting. You would never get tired of the feeling his kisses brought upon your being.

He seemingly becomes desperate, for the taste of you always drives him mad. He's tried so hard not to lose control around you, wanting to wait until you were wed before he does the things he's been yearning to do. Now that he had you, just the two of you alone, he couldn't hold back anymore.

A squeal of surprise leaves you as he lifts you into his arms, walking over to lie you down on the edge of the bed. You look up at him through your lashes and he groans at the sight. Out of everything that he desired about you, your eyes were the one thing that could bring him to his knees with just one glance.

His eyes trace over your form as you lay before him. He takes you in as if this were the last time he would ever see you and he finds it incredibly difficult to draw his gaze away. He quickly notices the way your dress pools around the middle of your thighs, your legs slightly spread to accommodate his form which stood between them.

A slight gasp escapes your lips as he carefully traces a finger across the skin of your thigh and he watches with hunger how his touch leaves goosebumps in it's path. You were just as crazy for him as he was for you and somehow, that thought drove him even more insane.

"Please," you whisper, begging, "Please touch me. I need you."

His eyes snap back up to your face and you shudder at the pure want that reflects from his irises.

Wasting no more time, he leans down into the crook of your neck, leaving wet kisses across your flesh until he reaches the shell of your ear, whispering oh so slowly, "I'm going to show you how much I love you, my pretty Viscountess."

His words leave you utterly desperate and you already knew your undergarments were rightfully ruined. You shudder once again at the feeling of his hand disappearing underneath your dress, immediately touching you where you needed him most. He smirks into your neck at the sounds that fall from your mouth out of your control, and the way you grip the back of his neck hopelessly gives him the permission he needs to sink two of his deliciously thick fingers into your core.

"Oh god," you breathe out, your back slightly arching off of the sheets.

"Relax for me, my love." You listen to his gentle words and allow your legs to fall open further, giving him more access to your body. He slowly drags his fingers against your inner walls, praising you for your obedience, "Such a good girl."

Your mouth falls open and your eyes shut momentarily as he reaches even deeper inside of you, drawing the most beautiful sounds from your chest.

He pulls away reluctantly, not ignoring the whine that you make as he does so. He carefully pulls you into a seated position and reaches behind you to unclasp the back of your dress. Your eyes stay on him, not faltering for even a moment as he pulls the material from your body, leaving you in your corset, your undergarments, and your stockings.

A growl is stuck in his throat, threatening to be released as his eyes take you in, having yet to have seen you in this way. As if a flip is switched inside of him, he rushes forward to capture your lips in a heated kiss. He doesn't miss the way your tongue darts from your lips and past his own, relishing in the warmness that his mouth provides you. His hands begin to make quick work of untying the back of your corset, loosening it just enough for him to slide it down your body.

The sight of your breasts almost make him choke. He'd never seen anything more beautiful. They looked so soft and smooth, he was dying to just touch them.

He gives into his thoughts and reaches forward, enveloping both of your breasts into his large hands and he groans at the way your soft, supple flesh felt beneath his fingers. His fingers gently pinch one of your pink nipples, causing your body to jerk so slightly. He copies his actions to your other nipple. smirking when he gets the same reaction from you twice.

Momentarily, he moves his attention down to your undergarments and wastes no time in sliding them off your legs. He decides to leave your stockings on, quite enjoying the way they looked on you.

You take notice of the fact that you were fully naked beneath him, yet he stood fully clothed. You sit up slightly, running your hands up and over the fabric of his coat until you reach the top button, popping it open with ease. He looks down at you as you unbutton the rest, never taking your eyes off of his, and sliding his coat from his shoulders.

Your fingers slide down to the waistband of his pants and you begin to pull the cotton fabric of his shirt from it's confines, then sliding it up his chest. He moderately lifts his arms so you could pull his shirt from his body completely, your eyes falling to his abdomen. You drink in the creamy tone of his skin and his muscles that have been hidden from your eyes all this time.

He takes it upon himself to practically rip the buttons to his pants open, pushing them down his legs in a rush, his underwear soon accepting the same fate. You can't help the way your eyes trail down his body and landing on the hardness that has been kept at bay underneath the fabric of his breeches.

Your mouth begins to water at the sight, not able to stop yourself from reaching forward and taking him into your hand. You moan at how heavy it feels, wanting nothing more than to pleasure him the way he had done for you.

At the feeling of you beginning to run your hand down his length, he abruptly stops you.

"As much as I'd love to feel your cute little hands pleasuring me, I need you." The look in his eyes are pleading you and you bite your lip at the sight. What a man, you think to yourself.

He falls atop of you once more, connecting his lips to yours and moaning at the taste of your mouth. Your fingers find their way into the silky locks of his hair and he groans into your mouth at the feeling. You could feel the weight of his length pressed against your core, slightly rubbing at any sudden movement, and it drew so many more sounds from your body. Sounds that he needed to keep hearing. He never wanted to stop hearing the sounds you make for him.

He pulls away, keeping his eyes on yours as he reaches down to position himself upon your entrance. You didn't know what to expect for what was to come, but you knew you were ready. You were more than ready for him.

A gasp falls from your mouth as he, very slowly, pushes inside of you. The sting was definitely there, but your want for him was so intense that any feeling of discomfort was gone within seconds and soon you were desperately whimpering for him to give you more.

He lets out a grunt, squeezing his eyes closed at the feeling you provided him. You were so warm, and tight, and he felt at home as he buried himself inside the walls of your body.

"Please," you beg him, "More. I need more."

His head falls to the crook of your neck and his hips begin to move against yours, pulling out only just enough until he's diving back inside of you again. The moans that slip from your lips cause his movements to increase and your legs to tighten around his waist.

"God I love you," he grunts into your ear, "So fucking perfect." You moan even louder at his words, your core tightening around him.

One of his hands reach up to cup your breast, the feelings of his fingers playing with your nipple heightening your senses more than you thought possible. Your back arches, pushing your chest into his grip further.

He continues touching you, rolling your nipple between his fingers, growing desperate to hear more of the sounds you make for him. You don't disappoint as another moan escapes you and the pace of his thrusting increases.

There's a familiar feeling building in your core and the grip you have on the back of his neck tightens. His kisses trail from your neck to the underside of your chin and eventually back up to your mouth. You kiss him back hungrily and you dig the heels of your feet into his lower back, pushing him deeper inside of you.

He grips the sheets beside your head and pulls away so he can look at you. He wanted to see the faces you make when you fall apart beneath him, a sight that was more beautiful than anything he'd ever witnessed in his life.

"Look at me, darling," he says, reaching up to softly grip your chin.

You open your eyes and look up at him through your lashes. This was what he wanted to see. He wanted to see your eyes; to look into your soul and watch the way these intense feelings you shared swam around in your irises.

The intensity with which you looked at him caused that oh so familiar euphoric feeling to begin building inside of him as well. He was a weak man when he looked into your eyes. Your eyes were surely going to push him to the edge.

His thrusts grow faster and harder, causing your mouth to fall open and your fingers to bury themselves into the plush skin of his back. That feeling inside of you grows more and more and you feel as though your head may spin off of your shoulders any second.

It only takes a few more of his thrusts and you feel as though you're floating beneath him. Your eyes never leave his and his name slips from your lips over and over, your thighs then tightening around his waist, your core tightening around him even more so. The way you're looking up at him, the way your walls squeeze him so tightly, and the beautiful sounds that fall from your lips cause him to lose all control he's ever had.

His large hands grip your hips and his face falls into the juncture of your shoulder followed by his deep moans releasing from his chest, all the while his pleasure releases inside of you.

You feel breathless, yet wonderful as you hold each other.

Both of you slowly come down from the pleasurable high you simultaneously shared, the room suddenly feeling very warm. Jungkook places a few more kisses down your shoulder and back up again until he reaches your lips. Your lips join in a kiss that lasts for a few slow moments, the two of you basking in the feeling of each other.

He slowly pulls away and looks at you with an endearing gaze as he pushes a strand of your hair behind your ear.

"I love you," he whispers.

Your heart swells and the corner of your lips raise before you lean back in, stealing another kiss.

"I love you too," you whisper back and run your fingers down the side of his handsome face.

For the rest of the night, the two of you lie in bed, limbs tangled and your hearts full. You no longer felt nervous or scared of what was to come in your future, for all you needed was your Viscount and the love he has never hesitated to give you. The fear and anxiousness you felt all melted away as you look over at the man who you got to share the rest of your life with.

Marrying the Viscount was the best thing to have ever happened to you.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

#viscount jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfic #bts jungkook #jungkook smut #bts smut #bridgerton

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inkdrinkerworld · 7 months ago

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𝓒𝓤𝓟𝓘𝓓'𝓢 𝓒𝓤𝓡𝓢𝓔

Synopsis: James can make your days trying to get a story for your company really hard, he gets under your skin and knows exactly what buttons to poke and you hate it.

cw: a bit of an axious!reader, rugby!james, i used the house names for the clubs but it is not at all set in the HP universe.

wc: 1.1k

-`♡´--`♡´--`♡´--`♡´--`♡´--`♡´-

Sports journalism is fun and rewarding.

You love going to the post and pre-match interviews and talking to the players and managers and getting all the insight you can to then write your story. What you don’t like is having to interview James Potter.

Everytime James sees you in the press room, he decides it’s his time to be the most non-descriptive, non-responsive to all of your questions and make it difficult for you to even write a story. He loves giving you vague answers that don’t answer any of your questions and it gets under your skin like nothing else.

It’s even more tiresome when he’s the team’s go to media-man because of his looks. He’s England’s current heartthrob first and their best flanker second. He’s beefy and burly, with curls that look like they’ve been ink dipped individually and dimples that throw a wrench into many a woman’s plan. It also doesn’t help you, mostly, that he’s the perfect gentleman the minute the cameras are on and everything he says takes on this sugary, colying tone.

Dread fills you as you walk into the media room, finding a few familiar faces before you sit to the back. You hope in vain that James isn’t on media today, maybe they’ll put his sweet teammate Remus on media duty. He’s always sweet and succinct, answering all the questions, no matter how ridiculous, with a grace and precision you suspect makes him perfect for being the team’s fly-half.

You’d even interview his rowdy teammate Sirius, possibly the best winger in the game right now, and endure his loudness and even his flirtations with the camera so long as you just got good answers.

Your hope is shattered when you hear James talking as he rounds the corner, your hands grow cold knowing that today is the day you write a half decent story about the Gryffindor team.

“Morning,” he calls as he enters, his eyes find you immediately and the smile he shoots you makes you scowl. It’s going to be a long press day. “It’s great to be back.”

“How have you and your team prepared for the start of the season? Knowing it’s a derby game must make it all the more exciting to be back.” One journalist starts, sweat already pebbling on your brow.

James answers perfectly, in depth and with the knowledge that you sometimes forget these players possess.

“What about the injured players from last season? Can we look out for their names on the starting squad? What sort of system can we look forward to this season?” You ask, hands shaking as you prepare for the worst. You hate how much anxiety courses through you nowadays in these interviews. They used to be far more fun.

“I can’t well say what we’re going to play this weekend, it’d be a bit of a helping hand to the Slytherin team.” The media room laughs and you have to bite your tongue to keep the scowl off your face. “However, we’ve got a lot of key players back in the squad, so I’ll say keep your ears open for some names you haven’t heard in a couple months.”

By the time you’re finished with the conference, you’ve got sufficient answers for the hopes of the beginning of the season but every other question was bypassed or you’d received a roundabout answer.

You’re picking up all your equipment, the other journalists all gone already. James hovers near the door, watching you for whatever reason but it makes your skin crawl. He has to know what he’s done.

“Can I help you, Potter?” You ask, lifting your head to catch a peek at him. His arms are folded across his chest and he’s leaning against the doorframe, something sort of like a smile on his face.

“Just waiting for you to be done. Wouldn’t feel right to just leave you in here alone.” There’s a bit of sincerity but mostly amusement in his tone and you roll your eyes. James laughs and pushes off the door frame moving towards you, “All done?” you huff and sigh, hoisting your bag over your shoulder and walking past him.

“Have a good training session, James.” he nods, watching you go with a smile on his face, one that spreads bigger when your perfume lingers in the room after you.

When you hit submit on your report you feel good but stressed.

What usually takes you an hour and a half to get done, took you twice as long because reports have been so slow during the off-season that you wanted to get it perfect before the opening match. Stretching, you make your way into the kitchen.

You’re sure half the worry was unnecessary and the other half was about impressing your boss. God knows you need that woman to be pleased with something you do this year.

Your phone rings before you can give in to that anxiety inducing thought, your stomach pits and the cup of tea you had to your lips lower. “This is Y/n.”

“Hi, I want to talk about the interview you just submitted,” Your boss is a bit of a hardass. She’s always harping about things being ‘perfect’ and stories being complete, so in the two years you’ve worked there, though you’ve climbed to higher and higher positions, you’re still the fresh and sort of peppy girl you were to her when you’d handed in your resume and appeared in her office in a blue suit.

“Sure,” you set down the tea and open your laptop, ready for a slew of changes or to change whatever she wanted you to.

“It’s great,” that’s high praise, yet you sense something in her tone. You’re almost certain she’s going to make you rewrite the entire thing to make the opening game of the season, a derby game no less, seem even more anticipated than it already is. “I just want you to add a little more about the history of both teams. Potter’s already brought in an influx of new fans, we want to make it easy for them to get into the season and get behind either team and feel the rivalry.”

That’s not what you’d been expecting. Not what you were expecting in the least.

“I’ll resubmit tonight by eight.” is what you say but inside you’re twirling and jumping around your apartment while morning sun streaks through your living and early 2000s pop music is blasting through the house.

James Potter and his non-answers be damned, you just got the best compliment of your work life.

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mystery-twin-mystery-bags · 3 months ago

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The plot thickens as new discoveries need to be made for the Mystery Bag 👀

The Mystery Twin Mystery Bags project is a Gravity Falls-themed fundraiser for Gaza aid. If you'd like to learn more about us, please check our pinned FAQ!

[Image Description: a graphic created to resemble Stanford Pines' from Gravity Falls journal pages, an aged page with coffee stains and ink splatters. The title of the page reads: "Family Day" fiollowed by the entry: "I’ve resigned myself to the basement since discovering the Mystery Bag. First a charm of Waddles, then a poster of the sheriffs doing what Mabel calls the 'Dirty Dancing Lift.' Even stranger, it’s beginning to summon people that call themselves 'Mods?' Stanley berated me for locking myself down here, saying that I needed a break and spend time with the family. He was right. We, along with the twins and Soos, visited the local arcade. Dipper taught me 'Fight Fighters,' and Stan helped steal an axolotl plushie out of a claw machine for Mabel. It was a nice distraction to see the family having fun. I will continue my investigations tomorrow on these so-called 'Mods.'" Next to the entry is a drawing of an excited Mabel Pines holding up a plushie of an axolotl. She is wearing watermelon earrings and a watermelon sweater. Written in crayon over her says, "BEST DAY EVER ~MABEL."]

Check us out on our other social medias: Twitter Instagram

#gravity falls #stanford pines #mabel pines #palestine #gaza relief #gaza fundraisers #gaza aid

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worldofkuro · 8 months ago

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Painted Smile

Painted Smile VI

<- Previous Chapter | Next Chapter ->

Pairing: Alastor x Female! Reader

Summary: You couldn't wait to meet new friends. What you didn't expect was this smiling little boy, only one year older than you, that would take such a big place in your life.

Notes: It's a long chapter because it's Alastor's Point of View from the beginning until the end of Chapter IV. There is dark theme here, like racism, blood, dark thoughts. But I guess you know about it, it is about Alastor's story ! Please enjoy and tell me your thoughts, if you like having a long chapter about Alastor's thoughts.

“ Do you promise to be a good boy bébé?”

Alastor smiled at his mother and nodded. He would always be good for his mother, even if he didn’t like what he was supposed to do. Today, his mother had invited an old friend of hers, someone she used to know before she married his father, and this woman would bring her child with her, hoping that they could play together. His mother was so excited.

He didn’t care about them, but if his mother was happy, he'd put on a show.

He went into his bedroom to be sure everything was clean, but mostly to be sure that his secrets were kept safe. He took his journal, where all of his thoughts were written down. He hid it under a pile of clothes, if his father were to fall upon it, it would be a disaster and frankly, he didn’t want to get into another beating.

He lifted his head up as he heard noises downstairs. So the parasites have finally come. He looked at himself in the mirror and smiled brightly. Easy. He tried different types of smiles before going downstairs quietly. He has learned not to make noises when he was walking, sometimes he could walk behind his fathers without him noticing.

And there you were. He tilted his head as he saw you took a photo and stared at it. You didn’t even sense him, you weren’t paying attention to what was going on around you. Your life must be so easy.

“ Do you not know that it is rather rude to touch others' belongings?”

He stopped himself from chuckling as you jumped, surprised. Heh, too easy.

“And it is rude to come unannounced behind a lady!”

A lady? His mother was a lady. Always proper, always smiling… You? You were… a naive, uninteresting girl so far. He did say to his mother that he would play nice… But he couldn’t help himself.

“ I see no lady.”

He wanted to laugh at your expression. How strange. You were giving him your reaction without faking it. In this house, everyone was faking it to make it out alive, even his Mother, faking a smile so his father could be “happy”. And when the emotion wasn't faked, it usually meant that problems were on their way. But you, you just expressed your expression out loud, without fearing it could put you in trouble. How strange.

He turned his head toward his mother who introduced you both. He was ready to go shake your hand but you came toward him and kissed him on both cheeks. The only person who kissed him like this was his mother. Who did you think you were ? His cheeks flushed with anger but he contained himself, not here, not in front of his mother… You wanted to play that game? Alright.

He waited for both of your mothers to go back in the kitchen before stepping closer to you, his face near yours. Hah, how you liked it when someone came too close toward you. He stared at your eyes, your eyes that seemed to say so many things, things he couldn’t comprehend, that he couldn’t grasp because he… he wasn't like you.

“ It’s rude to look at someone face this close!”

He almost coughed, you were the one who kissed him first but now HE was the one being rude? He easily made a lie saying he needed to be close to see. He saw your eyes relax and you almost seemed sorry. Were you watching him with pity? Oh no, he wouldn’t accept it. He’d prefer seeing you angry at him than watching him as if he was some kind of helpless kid who couldn’t fight for himself.

“ But now that I have seen you up close I can clearly say… I see no lady.”

He smiled when he saw your angry face.

----

Your parents were really curious about him. He didn’t really want to talk with them but he put on his mask and talked about school and other boring stuff. He almost lost his calm when he felt you kicked him in the shin. He stared at you as you were beaming with pride and joy because you were now the centre of attention. How naively cute.

His mother always told him to never hit a girl but… If it was an accident ? And you were the one to begin this war. He kicked you on the same spot you had kicked him. His smile widened when he saw you spilled your drink on the table. You were panicking so much and you had every reason to be.. if his father were to be here. He stared at you, drinking. You were a living experiment with your emotions shown so easily. You were still naive… But a tiny bit interesting.

He stood up from his chair when his mother invited you both to play outside. He walked in front of you but he was looking at your shadows which made it so easy to dodge your so-called kick. He looked at you with a beaming smile when he spotted your face. You seemed so surprised.. and a bit impressed.

“ So unladylike.”

He watched you as you stuck your tongue to him, he was sure you were thinking he couldn’t see you. How funny. He let you go toward the swing and watched you as you went higher and higher with each swing. He walked toward you as you closed your eyes and arched your back toward the ground. You seemed so light, like you could just fly at any moment. Now he was curious.

“Jump.”

You didn’t seem keen on jumping, saying things like you could hurt yourself or dirtying your dress. He kept his smile but felt kind of disappointed. Oh well, maybe you weren’t interested.

Or maybe you were!

He stared at you as you jumped when the swing was in its highest spot. He opened his mouth as he saw you, almost floating in the air, you seemed so free, so alive, so colourful, so… out of reach. He wanted to drag you down in hell with him. In his personal hell. In his life. Why were you so happy and he was–

“ Wow! Did you see that Alastor ! I did it ! Haha ! That was super amazing !” you laughed. He looked at you, you were looking at him like you wanted him to be proud of you. You were beaming, you were… cute. You just jumped off a swing because he dared you to do it and you did it. No question asked. Most of the people would have said they didn’t want to play with him and left. But you stayed. Strange…

He tried to suppress his laugh when you dared him to climb the tree. So easy. Once he climbed it he watched you. Now you were the one on the floor while he was near the sky. He looked at you as you watched him, impressed. It made him feel something so he decided to tease you once again.

“ I should thank you, now that I’m here, I don’t have to see your face.”

“ My face is pretty !”

Yes, it was.

“ Pretty ugly.”

“ Alastor !”

You played all afternoon, you always had another game to play, another riddle to solve. Your mind was always thinking about something new… But then you put your hand on his eyes and said that you had a great time with him. What kind of manipulative game was that? Saying a secret, trusting the other person to hold their tongue and never breathe a word of what you just said? How could you be so naive ? Life wasn’t fair. Sharing secrets would make you weak. Never reveal your scars, your secrets or your emotions.

He asked for another game, not wanting to see your face. Did you know that he could see everything in your eyes? Was that why you said your secret with a hand in front of his eyes, so he couldn’t see if you were in pain or happy?

He looked at you as you proposed a game of hide and seek. How cute. He would find you. He was a master of “hunting”. He closed his eyes and counted until fifty. He could already hear where you were going as you ran toward the forest. He smiled as he made you think he didn’t know where you were, he waited some time so you could be so sure of yourself you wouldn’t see him come.

And there you were.

“ Found you.”

You ran.

But what shocked him even further was that he couldn’t catch you. It was like you were flying through the grass, you weren’t watching where you were putting your feet while he was watching the floor, dodging the puddle of mudd, jumping over the branches that would have made him fall. He watched as you ran, he wanted to catch you. He didn’t know why, maybe to prove something to himself.

It seemed like it was time to say goodbye, he didn’t even see the time passing which was surprising, he always knew what time it was, knowing when his father would come back. You came toward him, you seemed sad.

“ Well.. Goodbye…”

Were you really sad ? How cute. But if it was the last time that he saw you, he would rather see you smile.. And , well , he wasn’t going to see you again right? He could tell you a secret. He covered your eyes.

“ I had fun and… you are pretty.”

He went to his mother as he watched you and your family leaving his house. When he went back home, his mother was watching him with an expectant smile. He tilted his hand, smiling at her, she seemed to have had a great afternoon, he was relieved.

“ Did you have a great time Alastor?”

He froze for a second. Did he? He stared at his hand, the hand that didn’t manage to catch you. Well, you were like a fresh breeze. Needed but short. He would have to live once again without feeling it.

“ Yes, I had a great time.”

—----

Alastor was doing his homework in the kitchen while his mother was cooking. Most of the time, his Father was away all week because he worked far from home, so his boss would give him a place to stay to avoid doing long travel. Which meant, when it was the weekend, his Father would do nothing but lay around in the house and if he had a bad week, well.. Let’s just say that his body remembered those days.

There, done!

He stood up from his chair, now that his homeworks was done, he could go and listen to his radio. He went to his bedroom and sat on his desk, listening to the radio until he heard noises downstairs. He didn’t remember his Mother telling him that they would have guests over… And then he heard them. Your footsteps. What was that feeling? His heart was beating louder as your footsteps were getting closer and closer.

He smirked when he heard his door open, did you really think you were being quiet ? He stayed silent waiting to feel you closer to him, and once he saw your shadow, he opened his mouth.

“ How rude, entering a boy’s bedroom without permission.”

“ I see no boy.”

He smiled as he approached his face towards yours making you blush. He didn’t know why, but he was… content seeing you in front of him with all of your emotions written across your face.

But he didn’t like this thought.

The fact that just your presence could make him feel things. You didn’t have the rights. That would mean that you had the upper hand on him, playing with him. No, you couldn’t know.

“ Why are you here?”

And there it was. You looked like a kicked puppy. He didn’t like it. He clearly didn’t like it. You were cute like this but he’d rather see you smiling even if he didn’t like what it made him feel. He suppressed his need to sigh at your face. You stuck your tongue at him, trying to hide the fact that he hurted you. You really were the cutest. Didn’t you see that he already saw your heartbroken expression? Seems like he needed to make things right. He touched your shoulder but you didn’t move. You were such an obstinate brat. He really was trying to be nice ! He sighed. Well…

He covered your eyes, smiling when he saw you flinching and spoke.

“ I didn’t expect…to be content to see you today.”

Your smile was really blinding. He wondered if you were aware of it? How could you smile so easily without fearing that you showed too much emotion? How could you trust him not to use the information you just told him with your smile: You liked being with him.

He was almost worried for your future. He looked at your hands as you raised it toward his face, clearly trying to cover his eyes. You really liked to touch him, didn’t you? He helped you as he took your hand and placed it in front of his eyes. Now what?

“ I wanted to see you too.” you confessed.

…

So that’s what it was.

He wanted to see you too.

How could you speak so freely? He took your hands off him and stared at you, maybe if he stared long enough in your eyes, he could get an answer. The only answer he got? He didn’t flinch when you kissed his cheeks not because he was scared but because didn’t feel the need to push you away. How strange…

He smirked as you told him about making him food. So you asked about him. You didn’t forget about him. Interesting..

He tilted his head as you ordered him to dance. He could dance, his Mother had teached him, he couldn’t wait but show you. He gave you a big smile and held his hand toward you but you went off script. You took his hand and just started to jump around, holding his hand. You encouraged him to do just like you but he was so confused. Was that dancing ? Maybe it was your way of dancing… Well, it was chaotically cute.. But let him show you how it’s done.

He took your hands and twirled you just like his Mother taught him. You seemed impressed once again, he really liked that. He didn’t know why but he wanted you to keep on watching him like this. You let go of his hand and walked toward his bed before throwing his pillow in his face. He didn’t expect it. He stared at your laughing face. You thought you were funny huh?

He took the pillow and ran toward you, pinning you on the floor and hitting you softly with his pillow. “ Rule number one, never drop your guard.” He hitted you with his pillow. “ Rule number two, I’m the strongest here.” he hitted you once again. “ Rule number three, give up.” He smiled as he watched you trying to sit up. You were really trying to get away ? He held the pillow above his head and then he saw it.

Your gaze fell on a bruise from his father. Ah, were you going to ask questions? What excuses should he invent this time? He tried to help his mother but failed? No, it was impossible. As he was swimming through his thoughts you took his hand, placed it on your eyes and began to talk. You talked and talked and talked, you really couldn’t stop huh?

But he listened.

To every word.

He stood up and helped you when he heard his mother calling you downstairs. He followed you to the sofa and sat down, listening to your mothers talking. Seemed like you weren’t as patient as him, he could already see boredom settling on your face. But then you ran off the living room saying stuff about a kitty. He smiled at the ladies and went outstairs, staring at you and the cat. This bloody cat who was always hissing at him…

Maybe if he stopped affraying it, the cat would calm down? Huh…

He came closer and as expected the cat began to hiss but then it hurted you. He stared at your bleeding hand and took it in his. You were trying so hard not to cry. Why? You’ve been showing him every single of your emotions since you have met, why would you hide something that he wanted to see? Why did you not want to share yourself with him? He didn’t remember the last time he or his Mother cried. What would you look like? Without even being aware he dug his nails in your cut making you scream. He stared at you, you didn’t seem angry at him, but confused.

“ Don’t be ashamed, you can cry. I… I think I want you to cry.” Now he was the one being confused. Why would he want to see you cry? Because that means you trusted him enough to show yourself at your weakest. You began to cry, louder than necessary for such a little cut. But he let you. You were crying in front of him without feeling ashamed. You trusted him not to hurt you even more. You were an open book for him, a book he wanted to keep on reading.

But he’d rather see you smile.

He opened his mouth, ready to make a joke but he froze once he heard his voice.

“Alastor.”

He kept you against him. He remembered his Father hitting him because he was crying, he needed to hide your tears from his Father. He didn’t deserve to see you in that state. He didn’t trust his Father and neither should you.

“ Why is this chick crying ? For God’s sake, what have you done boy?”

“ The cat scratched her.”

“ This stupid cat… I’ll shoot it next time.”

He stared as the man went inside the house. It was going to be a hard night… He didn’t want to explain everything to you about his Father, you didn’t need to know. All you needed to know was how to be safe from this man. He covered your eyes with his hand.

“ Never cry in front of this man.”

He didn’t let go of you until you nodded. Then he took you to his Mother so she could clean your cut. Better safe than sorry.

Before leaving you told him about the pizza that you made with your Mother. He sneaked with you to the kitchen, he knew that his Father would eat all of the food you made so he wanted to share it with you before it could be stolen from him. You were so eager for his feedback, he almost wanted to say it tasted bad but after what he did to your hand he decided to be honest and made the promise to cook you something next time. You beamed and kissed him on both cheeks before leaving with your Mother.

—--

He was so excited.

His Mother had told him that you would have a sleep over while his Father wasn’t home. It was perfect! He also had another game he wanted to play with you. His Mother had bought him a microphone thanks to his good grades at school. He wanted to do a radio broadcast with you. He wanted to share his dream with you just like you shared your emotions with him. He was in his bedroom, re-reading his note to be sure that everything was perfect. He asked his mother to do his hair like adults, so now his hair was slicked back. He looked at himself in the mirror. That would do.

“ Can I come in yet?” you asked, outside Alastor’s bedroom, waiting for him to open the door.

His grin got even bigger. He opened his bedroom door and stared at your outfit. You were cute, as always. You kissed him on both cheeks, like usual and he tugged you inside his now radio booth!

“ Welcome to my humble Radiobooth !” He said with glee as he shoved you on a chair. “ Welcome New Orleans to Alastor’s podcast ! Thank you for tuning in, today I’m thrilled to announce that I will not be alone, I am blessed with the best singer in all Lousianna !” he claimed and shoved the microphone to your face. You gave him a big smile and began to introduce yourself even saying he was the best radio host of all New Orleans. He couldn’t help giggling, you were playing your part perfectly. Maybe when he would have had his own radio station he would invite you as a very special guest.

He kept talking as you read the notes he had just given you, he kind of expected you to fumble but once again you surprised him. You were natural, talking about what was written on his notes but then you went off script and made him laugh. You were amazing.

He kept doing his part as the radio host, explaining about why your sleepover has to be delayed to this day. You didn’t ask much more information but was happy he punched the boy who badmouthed his mother. Calling her such a disgusting word…

You both kept playing, sometimes he would forget about your presence, but when he noticed that his voice was the only thing he could hear he would turn toward you, ordering you to talk. You had a pretty voice, why not use it?

Well, he didn’t expect you to raise your voice against him when he said he couldn’t understand people liking sweet things. You were so convinced that there was something wrong with him for not liking sweets. Well, shouldn’t you feel appreciated ? You were the sweetest thing he ever laid his eyes upon and he kept you by his side, didn’t he? He closed his eyes still smiling as you kept blablating with his Mother’s laugh echoing in his bedroom. He liked it. He really liked this moment, if he could, he would like to record this moment so he could play it again and again.

After his Mother’s departure he went toward the letter he wrote with questions for you. You thought the game was over? Think again.

He asked you many questions, well of course the questions weren’t from him, but from the audience ! You answered to all of them honestly and there came the last one. He took the letter and read it to you.

“ And now, our last question before our guest’s performance. What do you think about our dear radio host Alastor ?”

He could see your answer in your eyes before you even opened your mouth. He already knew what you were about to say. He already knew. But he was waiting eagerly so you could say those words he desperately needed to hear. Say it, say it, say it…

“ He is the best!”

Yes, and so were you.

And you needed to know it.

He tugged you downstairs saying you needed to sing or the broadcast couldn’t end. He sat in front of the piano as you were flustered with his microphone in your hands. He smiled at you and then closed his eyes. He wanted you to feel powerful. But first, he needed you to be less insecure about your abilities. So the first lesson would be: singing.

And sing you did. When you stopped being a coward and really sang like the singer that you were, he couldn't help but open his eyes to admire you. Even if some of the notes weren’t the best, you were giving it your all. You were giving him all of you at that moment.

He couldn’t be more proud.

You were the best.

He couldn’t stop himself from crushing you against him as he said goodbye to your audience. Everything was perfect, you were here, his mother too and there were smiles on every lips.

—--

“ We are still playing with Alastor! When we are finished, I will join you.” you said with a shy smile, holding a plushie. He was behind you, waiting for his Mother's command. Truthfully, he didn’t want you to go to sleep with his Mother right away. He still had other games he would like to play with you. As soon as his Mother accepted, you ran into his bedroom with him following you. You were on his bed with this…

“ What is it ?”

“ Well, first of all, it’s a He and he is a deer.”

He listened to your story. So you didn’t know how to swim, he would have to train you. You shouldn’t have so many weaknesses, it was dangerous. But then you started talking about how your deer plushie was protecting you. What were you saying, were you so tired that thinking was too difficult for you?

“ So, a deer saved your life from drowning…”

“ Yes, so my parents bought me this deer plushie so now, when I'm scared I can just squeeze him and feel safe!” you demonstrated your words by squeezing your plushie against you. “ Do you want to try it?”

Did he want to try to squeeze a plushie? Not really. Not at all.

“ How can he protect you?”

You rolled your eyes at him before pushing your plushie in his arms. You forced him to hug it, once you were satisfied, you nodded and looked at Alastor who was clearly confused. “ Now, squeeze him !”

Once again , you were looking at him with those eyes he couldn’t refuse anything. He suppressed a sigh and squeezed the deer against him and closed his eyes. It has your scent. He could feel himself relax. Yeah… It felt nice. If he were to hug you like this, would you also be this soft? He was getting taller than you, have you noticed it? Maybe one day, he would be able to hug you just like this plushie? Would you feel safe in his arms? Or would you try to run away?

“ Mister Deer could be our very first guest in our radio show?”

Our.

He opened his eyes, staring right in your soul. Ah, you were panicking. Did you think he didn’t like that you use “ our” instead of “ his” ? You were so cute!

“ I’d like that.” he whispered with a soft smile. “ Our first guest.”

You both laid on his bed, he still held the plushie against him. He really needed to find him a name, names are important. He listened to you blablating about how he was supposed to take care of the deer. It looked like a fawn for him but whatever.

“ Now that I have Mister Deer, who will protect you?” he asked, with no trace of fatigue on his face, he was used to not sleeping, because of nightmares or just because he needed to be aware of what his father’s doing in the house. You smiled tiredly at him, putting your head on his pillow.

“ Well, because you hold Mister Deer, it’s your job to protect me now.”

It was his job to protect you..? He would do it. He would protect your smile, he would protect your dazzling eyes that seemed to never lose their sparkes.

“ … So, do I need to hug you?”

“ M-maybe but…Do you want to …?”

Does he want to?

He covered your eyes with his hand. Within the next five minutes you were asleep, he took off his hand and stared at your face.

Did he want to hug you?

He looked at the fawn in his arms. You were cuter than your plushie, so that made you huggable. He touched your cheeks with his finger but you didn’t move. He nudged you with his feet but you stayed asleep. You must be feeling very safe to sleep like this. He would awake at any noise in the house.

Did he want to hug you?

He wasn’t touching you but he could feel your body warm from here. Were you too hot? Did he need to take off the blanket ? But maybe you liked being warm? You were so problematic, did you know that? He stared at the ceiling, he knew he wasn’t going to fall asleep soon…

Did he want to hug you?

He put the fawn between his body and yours, whispering in your ear. He hoped you would stay asleep, he didn’t want anyone to witness what he was going to say.

Did he want to hug you?

“ Yes, if you hug me back.”

—-----

He was blushing as his Mother was asking him if he slept well. She had a teasing glint in her eyes, she must have seen! When he woke up, he had you in his arms. He quietly left the bed, leaving the fawn with you.

“ Alastor, this was a very cute scene!”

He didn’t care if this was cute, it was embarrassing ! He hid his face in his Mother dress. Could she just forget about it?

“ Don’t worry, I won’t tell a soul.” she kissed the top of his head with a beaming smile. He smiled at her, his mother seemed happier since she found your mother back. He liked it. He decided to go back to his room to see if you awakened but what was surprising was that he saw you with his microphone, talking with the fawn. How could the fawn protect you, it looked like you were the one protecting it with the way you were holding it against you. You were so strange.

“ I knew you would play with it.” you blinked at him. He looked at your bed hair and couldn’t help but smile. You looked silly like this ! “ Eamon told me you were using the microphone.” You tilted your head.

“ Who ?”

“ Our deer. He needs a name, don’t you think?” he stroked your plushie’s head while mumbling “ even if he looks more like a fawn than a deer…”

“ He is a deer ! I’m sure you never saw one !” you huffed as you squeezed Eamon against your chest.

“ Actually, I did when Father took me hunting.” he tilted his head as he saw your horrified face. Why did you take a step back?

“ You killed a deer ?”

“ No, I saw one. And most of them have brown fur, not like ours who have a white one.” Why did you seem so confused?

“ But… Why is your father taking you with him.. to hunt..?” you asked, confused.

To kill of course.

But he couldn’t tell you that. His father wanted him to be a man, and man went hunting. His father showed him how to kill while threatening him.

If you don’t want to end up like this, shut your trap.

When he first went hunting , he was terrified but now, he would just stare at the dead animal wondering if he will be the target next time. So far, he was alive. How lucky ! But once again, he couldn’t tell you that, could he? Would you be worried for him?

“ It’s not for little girls, that’s for sure. You wouldn’t bear it.” He teased you.

“ Hey! I saw things too, I’m not a little girl!”

Did you? Were you like him? Did you see things that made you reconsider your morals? Did you see things that made you throw up? Did you see things that made you want to run away and never look back. Did you–

“ My father tried to eat my mother one day.”

…

Now, that was horrifying.

—--

You went downstairs to eat breakfast as he went to the bathroom to wash up. He stared at his body. The bruises were no longer on his body, that was nice. He went to the kitchen and sat next to you. Strange, you were looking at him like you knew something that he didn’t. Did his Mother tell you what happened ? No, she wouldn’t. So why–

“ Next time, we should have a sleepover at my house ! I could show you my room !” you smiled excitedly.

He tensed. He would love to go to your place, being able to see your house. How did you decorate your room? But he couldn’t leave his Mother alone with his Father. What if he decided to come back drunk and beat his mother while he was enjoying himself, free of worries, at your place. No, he couldn’t. He looked at you and there was the kicked puppy stare…

“ I… I don’t like leaving my mother alone at home.”

“ But we will choose a day where your father is home!” you nudged him, trying to coat him to come with you at your house. “ Please Alastor… I really want you to come.” you pleaded as you held his forearms with your small hands. “ You don’t want to..?”

I want to.

He bit his lips, he wanted but he couldn’t. Wasn’t it the meaning of his life? Wanting without having the power to be able to do what he wanted. Fortunately, his Mother had sensed his discomfort and she offered to come with him for your next sleepover.

He relaxed. Yes, like this, it would be perfect.

The day went on as you both “gossiped” as his Mother called it. But unfortunately, it was time for you to leave. You asked Eamon to take care of him and then you asked him to take care of Eamon. You were cute but as asked, he would take care of your Fawn.

—-------

He was in the forest with his Father, holding a rifle. It was a familiar feeling to hold the weapon in his little hand. He was used to it now. He was walking, alongside his father who was making so much noise, how could they hunt like this?

“ Here, be a useful brat, shoot it.”

He shot the partridges which fell down near him. Should he be afraid of himself ? He couldn’t feel anything as he watched the life leaving the animal’s eyes. It was almost boring, he was stronger so he won. It was that easy.

Would you be scared of him?

He stopped himself. You were the first real friend he has ever made. If you were to see him like this, would you be afraid of him? Would you let him explain? He turned his head toward his father as the man pointed to a deer not too far. He could shoot it. It would be easy.

But then he saw your face. He knew this deer wasn’t the one who saved you but this time, for you, he would not kill it. He knew you wouldn’t forgive him.

“Alastor, shoot it..!”

He just stared at the beautiful beast not too far from him. He stared into its eyes as the animal saw him before running off. How he envied the animal right now…

He heard his Father before feeling the punch in his face.

Ah, today it was going to be harder than usual.

“ You brat!”

A kick in his stomach.

He wondered if you were sleeping right now? You always fell asleep so easily, he was almost envious. Maybe next time, he’ll ask you how you manage to find the sweet relief of falling asleep.

“ How useless!”

Another kick in his stomach.

Ah, his Mother was going to be so sad once she saw him. Maybe his Father would let him wash himself up in the water?

“ You nigga !”

Aand there it was. That disgusting word. He felt his Father grabbed a fistful of his hair and dragged him toward their home. His Father threw him inside his bedroom, Alastor’s head hitting the wall.

Seemed like his mother was out buying groceries. Good, she wouldn’t have to see that. He stared at his Father, smiling. The man took off his belt and began to hit him on his back, forcing him to lay on his belly. Alastor stared in front of him and saw Eamon, staring back at him. He didn’t know why, but he moved. He stood up as his Father shouted at him to stay in his place. He took the plushie against him, keeping his back toward his Father but he stayed standing.

His father hit him on his back with his belt once again but Alastor didn’t fall on the ground. He crushed the plushie against him as he closed his eyes.

It was going to be over soon. He would see you this weekend, you would play together, you would show him your neighbourhood, you would give him something sweet to eat.

He opened his eyes and saw with sadness that Eamond was dirty with his own blood. He touched his nose, oh yes, his father did punch him in the forest. Aah, he needed to clean it before you came back.

His back felt wet and stinky. Was he sweating that much? Normally he could handle it better? He sniffed.

Ah, blood.

He didn’t remember when he passed out but when he woke up, Eamon was still in his arms.

“ ça va aller mon bébé, regarde Maman.”

He looked at his Mother, her smile wobbling. He just closed his eyes and squeezed Eamon, the plushie didn’t have your scent anymore, but it has his blood’s.

—---

He didn’t know why, but each week his Father would hit him with his belt on his torso or back even when his Mother was begging for him to stop. He had to go to school with bandages all over his body but his face. But he never cried, nor asked his Father to stop. He would just think that soon, you would come and the Hell he was living would come to a pause. Each time, he was thinking.

Next week.

But you never came.

It’s been almost a month. Did something happen to you? Were you sick? Maybe he could ask his Mother to see if you were okay? He was on his bed, clinging to Eamon, his back was hurting so much he almost wanted to bite off his hand from the pain.

But no, he just stared in the void, losing his smile. And then, a thought struck him.

Was killing a human any different than an animal?

His eyes widened, but before he could deepen his thoughts on the subject, he heard footsteps downstairs. Yours footsteps. It was you. He was sure of it. He heard the door smashed open, well, weren’t you full of energy today?

“ So unladylike. I could recognize your footsteps anywhere.”

He frowned when he didn’t hear any witty come back from you. Well?

“ I.. I made your favorite dish..” you whispered, your voice trembling with each word as you tried to speak out loud.Why did you sound like that? “ Can… Can I see you?”

You wanted to see his pathetic self right now? You really had a bad timing, you’ll have to work on it, really.

“ No.”

“ Please…” you begged, it sounded like you were crying, why were you crying?. “ I was so worried… My father told me what happened–”

“ What did he tell you?” His voice was colder than usual. He didn’t want you to know. He didn’t want anyone to know.

“ That… That you went hunting with your dad and–” you approached the bed and flinched when you felt his hand covering your eyes. So you were crying, he thought. He could feel your tears wetting the palms of his hands. “ Because of your father you- you have been hurt.” you cried, holding his wrist with one of your hands. “Alastor, I was so scared..!”

Me too, I was so scared.

“ Keep your eyes closed.”

He couldn't help himself. He hugged you. You were finally here. Hell was over for some time. He wanted to see you so bad. He wanted to see you…

“Yes, I wanted to see you.”

“ Are you hurting?”

“ No. Remember Rules number two: I’m the strongest here.”

He smiled as he heard you laugh. Yes, everything would turn out nicely. He just had to be more careful. To be more observant. He would be the strongest for you. You’ll never have to worry for him to the point of crying. Nobody would keep your friendship from you. He sighed in relief, you were here…

“ I want to see your face.”

Mhn.. Well, as long as it is just his face. He stepped back and smiled at you. You didn’t have to worry.

“ Be my guest.”

His smile widened when he saw your confused face. You must have thought he would have injuries on his face heh?

“ You said you wanted to see my face, not my injuries.” he smiled cunningly at you while holding Eamon against his chest.

“ Why do our deer have pink…red spots on him?” you tilted your head, stroking its fur.

Ah, right. His Mother had tried but she couldn’t wash all the blood he had lost on the fawn each week. Were you going to be upset ? He didn’t protect your fawn even though he told you he would take care of it. Were you going to be disappointed in him?

“ I’m sorry. I bled on him.”

He watched as you sat next to him and gently kissed his cheeks, resting your lips against his skin. Did you know it was the spot his father had punched weeks prior ? Of course, you wouldn’t know. He only could feel your lips, the pain in his back wasn’t there anymore. He squeezed your hand. He missed you… He missed this…

“ I missed you.” you both said.

He smiled softly, as you began to explain all the week he has missed. He felt his heart soared when you explained how you had made a scene so you could come and see him. He had to tease you, because if not, he felt like he would explode with happiness. You have missed him, his presence was something you wanted, he was important for you.

Unfortunately, you had to go.

Well, Hell is forever, right?

He went downstairs, keeping his hand around yours. You seemed so worried. He looked at you after your mother asked about his well being. Why were you so quiet ?

“ I promise, I’ll see you soon.”

“ You promise? How do I know if you are going to be sick, or injured once again?”

Oh that’s why.

You were so cute. Unfortunately, he couldn’t promise to never be injured again, he would be breaking his promise tonight. What kind of promise could he conjure that would make you both ties to each other forever.

“ Let’s make a deal.”

He approached his face close to yours and kissed your forehead. You blushed and he couldn’t feel bad about it, red suited you.

“ You always kiss me good morning, so now, I’ll kiss you goodbye. Now, you owe me a good morning kiss.” he smiled at you teasingly as he took a step back. “ Do we have a deal?”

Please, say yes.

“ Deal.”

He smiled, now he knew that even though he would suffer because of his father, you would always come back to him, healing him without being aware of it. You were his special.. Something. You were the one painting a true smile on his lips. You were his special person.

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