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multifandoms4 · 7 months ago

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Secrets

Lando Norris x Leclerc!Reader

Word count: 1.2k+

You and Lando have been together for about a year now, but no one knows. You kept your relationship a secret because of how the press can be and more importantly your older brothers. You love your brothers but sometimes they can be a bit much, like now. Lando had accidentally left a hickey on your neck and your brothers saw it before you could hide it. And now, they were practically interrogating you.

Charles was pacing around the room, Lorenzo was just sitting and staring at you and Arthur was asking you questions. "Who have you been seeing?" "How long has it been going on?" "Why would you not tell us?" You kept silent and didn't answer any of their questions which only made Charles more angry. Your phone started to ring, but Charles grabbed it and saw it said “Baby❤️” then answered it. “Hey baby, when are we meeting up today?” Lando asked before Charles could say anything. “You’re dating LANDO?!” He yelled at you then he started yelling at Lando who just hung up on him.

You looked up at Charles to see him fuming. “Cha, please listen-” “No, I asked one thing of you years ago and that was to never date another driver. And what do you go and do? Exactly that.” You could feel the tears building up as Charles shows his anger and disappointment towards you. Eventually you got up and walked to your room and started to pack a small bag of clothes. You grabbed your keys and looked at your brothers, “You may not agree or be happy about me being with Lando but it is my choice and I love him. So when you are done throwing a tantrum, come talk to me then.” You grabbed your phone and left.

Lando was parked outside and opened your door for you. “Thank you Love.” You murmured and gave him a small kiss. He closed the door once you were in the passenger seat and got in the car. The ride to his house was mostly quite and he didn’t know what to do. “I’m sorry that I caused us to be caught.” He whispered. Lando felt terrible that your brothers were rude to you because he had left a hickey by accident. “It’s okay Lan, the truth would have to come out anyways.” You told him. “I just want to forget about it.” You whispered. He nodded and when you got to his house, you changed into a hoodie of his and laid down.

He got into a pair of sweatpants and laid down with you. Lando pulled you into his arms and you buried your face into his neck. “They wouldn’t let me explain and all I could see was Charles’ anger and disappointment.” You whispered. He pulled you closer to him and held you there. “I’m sorry baby, I wish I could do something to help.” He said and you could tell he was upset at your brothers. “Just being here is enough.” You told him and slowly drifted off to sleep. Right before he went to fall asleep, your phone started ringing. He saw it was your mother and answered it.

“Hello Mrs. Leclerc, this is Lando Y/n’s boyfriend. She is currently sleeping.” He waited for her response afraid she was going to yell at him. “Can you please tell Y/n that I want you and her here tomorrow night for dinner. I’ll keep her brothers at bay but I would like to meet you.” Lando was shocked that was what she called about. “I’ll let her know, thank you so much Mrs. Leclerc.” He replied. “She seems to really trust you if your who she went to when she’s upset. I’ll see you two tomorrow.” She ended the call and Lando finally drifted off to sleep.

Once morning rolled around and Lando took you out for breakfast, he told you “Your mom called last night and told us to be at dinner tonight.” You slowly put your fork down. “She did what?” “She called and I didn’t want her to worry over you so I answered and told her you were fine. Then next thing I know, she’s invited me to your family dinner tonight.” You smiled at him “At least maman seems to be happy I’m dating you.”

~time skip to dinner~

Lando had went out and bought your mom her favorite flowers and he was nervous to say the least. You opened the door and yelled out “We’re here.” Then you heard footsteps which turned out to be your mother. “How are you doing dear?” She asked you. “I’m fine maman, really.” She smiled then turned to Lando “These are for you Mrs. Leclerc.” He handed her the flowers. “Oh they are so pretty! Come on in, dinner is almost ready.” You gave Lando’s hand a squeeze and followed your mom.

Your brothers were already sitting at the table and you could tell they were not happy. “Lando, these are my other two brothers Lorenzo and Arthur.” You pointed to them and they just stared back at him. “Guys this is Lando.” You said trying to get someone to talk. Once you realize that they weren’t, you went to the kitchen to help your mom. “You can come with me if you want.” You told Lando. He nodded and grabbed your hand. His hands were a little unsteady due to nerves. “It’s okay baby. The only one whose opinion matters is me and of course my maman’s.” You joked with him. He gave you a smile and a laugh. You smiled up at him and pulled him down for a quick kiss.

Dinner had gone smoothly thanks to your mother but she truly loved Lando and that was all you could ask for. Both of you were currently sitting on the patio in the back yard. “I told you you had nothing to worry about.” You teased Lando. He rolled his eyes playfully and you laughed at him. “You’re always right aren’t you?” He joked with you. “Something along those lines.” You remarked and pulled him into a kiss. It lasted a few minutes before you pulled away and rested your head on his chest. Arthur and Lorenzo really like Lando once they got to actually talk to him but Charles seemed to hold onto his anger. At least until now.

He was watching you and Lando and he could see how good you are for each other. He looked down and started to feel guilty for yelling at you over this when you had always been supportive of his relationships. Once Lando decided to call it a night, Charles stopped him on his way out. “I know I’ve been rude all night but you make my sister happy and you seem to treat her right. That’s all I can ask for.” Lando nodded “Thanks man, that means a lot to me.” Charles pulled him in for a hug and it made you happy to see that.

After Lando left, Charles apologized to you about how he acted and handled the situation. “Definitely could have been handled better.” You joked with him. “I’m just glad that you came around and aren’t going to try to kill him every chance you get.” You smiled and gave him a hug. “How long have you two been together anyway?” Charles asked as you walked to your room. “About a year now.” You stated and shut your door. “A YEAR?!” Charles shouted and it made you laugh.

—————

Author’s note:

Hey, this is my first time writing an image so please ignore any mistakes. I’ve been wanting to write things for a while but finally decided to do it. If you have any feedback please let me know but please don’t be rude about it. Hope you enjoyed it!

#lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris x y/n #lando norris x leclerc!reader #f1 #f1 imagine #charles leclerc #formula 1

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shunsuiken · 1 year ago

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HOW THE GENSHIN MEN FIND YOU DRUNK

pairing(s). kaeya, diluc, zhongli, childe, ayato, thoma, tighnari, kaveh, wanderer x gn!reader

genre. fluff + mentions of alcohol use ofc + reader is a lightweight (welcome to my life guys <3)

wc. 400-800 for each character

an. SOOOOO this was inspired by a cdrama i watched back in 2021 and when i saw it i just HAD to write about it <3 also i think i had a bit too much fun on zhongli’s and childe’s i hope its not so obvious dear god. also??? for some reason the ones i had the hardest time writing for ended up being the longer parts omg

kaeya alberich

after spending some time upstairs with a couple of treasure hoarders who were completely unaware of being thoroughly deceived by the cunning cavalry captain, kaeya decides to head down and run over the knowledge he collected with mond’s famed beverage, death after noon.

but as he walks down the staircase, he spots a familiar figure sitting by the bar. he squints his eye slightly, almost not believing the sight in front of him. is that y/n? on the high stool by the bar? dozing off to only a few shots of liquor? tonight just became even more interesting. now he’s starting to wonder what things you would say under the influence—for no shady reasons, obviously, as he genuinely enjoyed your company and witiful mouth. he’s just a curious man with the goal of unveiling a few other things about you.

he makes a beeline to the bar, setting himself on your right side so you’re in his line of vision. glancing around, he motions for charles for his death after noon. kaeya only turns to you once his drink arrives, quickly giving you a once over. seeing as how it looked like you came to angel’s share after work he might as well stir up a conversation.

your vision is blurry but you can definitely feel the presence of another person beside you. as you lift your head from your crossed arms, your brows crease in irritation. which imbecile decided to disturb your time alone? you’re literally brooding over the fact that captain kaeya would never be yours, so you irresponsibly decided an hour ago that some liquor would magically help you forget your worries.

you’re ready to scare the person off with a glare but what you’re met with is quite literally, much worse (because your glares don’t work on him and also because he's part of the reason you’re in your drunken state).

kaeya chuckles at your expression. “why the long face? it’s just me.”

you rub your eyes, groaning from the bitterness lingering in your throat. of all people, you weren’t expecting him. “you never stop by on wednesday’s. is something up?” you ask drowsily as kaeya watches you pick up your glass, clumsily squinting at the bottom of it to see if there was any more of your liquor left.

kaeya dodges your question, humming, “y/n sweetheart, you look like you’re on the brink of passing out.” he tilts his head, observing your flushed expression. if you can’t handle your liquor, he doesn’t mind taking you back home if it means securing your safety.

“am not,” you reply, turning your gaze to him. it’s all thanks to the alcohol that you can do so when in reality you actually struggle to maintain eye contact with him. “you… you haven’t answered my question yet. why’re you here?” your voice is hoarse and you’ve made enough voice cracks to entertain a crowd, but kaeya finds it rather endearing instead.

kaeya could reply honestly. but this conversation is one to be forgotten after you woke up tomorrow morning. he could lie and you would never know he did, but for a reason unknown the lie he was supposed to tell never left his lips. instead he blurts out the plain truth.

“somebody has to be responsible for you, y’know,” kaeya teases you with a grin but his actions are the opposite of his tone. he stands from his seat, pulling your arm over his shoulders to support your weight even when you attempt to resist his help. he keeps your body close to his so you don’t fall over. hopefully you’re drunk enough to be oblivious of the erratic beats of his heart alongside the cautious and warm touch of his hand on your waist.

diluc ragnvindr

he still can’t believe he has such a massive crush on you. it’s almost embarrassing to let others know about this secret because nobody would expect someone like diluc to have a thing for you. it’s even harder to hide that fact when you’re sitting at a table with venti and kaeya. they’re laughing their asses off at some joke you told them.

“cheers to y/n!” venti hollers, cheeks undeniably pink. “you are paying for this, right?” he leans back down momentarily, making you release another burst of laughter from your lungs at the way he mentioned it. “of course!”

after chatting, you decide to greet the man of the house by the bar. it’s been a while since you’ve seen the master diluc of dawn winery anyway. as you get up from the table to make your way over, you accidentally bump into a crowd of big, brawny adventurers who’ve just arrived.

“oh—!” tripping backwards, your hands fail to find something to keep yourself on your feet before your fall is cushioned by someone.

they hold onto your shoulder as your back collides with their chest. the force from being pushed aside has you breathing unsteadily, and it doesn’t help that you’re pretty tipsy right now too. however, despite how tipsy you are, you feel as though air is sucked right out of your lungs when you spot a tuft of crimson red hair from the corner of your eye.

you stand right up immediately, facing the person you fell onto.

“master diluc!” the dazed and naive look on a drunkard's face normally doesn’t appeal to diluc but this expression on yours actually makes you look rather adorable. your eyes are half-lidded and your smile is lopsided, and oh if he could squish those cheeks of yours-

“uh, master diluc?” you blink, toning your voice down a bit.

“oh.” diluc slides out of his mindscape, paying attention to your words. “yes? would you like a drink on the house?” because if you actually asked that, he would have sent one your way on the spot.

you wave your hands dismissively. “n- no no, not that! i was just asking how you were doing. you haven’t stopped by angel’s share since last month, i thought something was up so when i heard you were here today i…” you trail off, realising that you’re rambling and that diluc probably didn’t want to be greeted like this after taking a month off but when you look back at him, he’s still looking at you (and has been since you fell into his arms).

diluc raises his brow when he no longer hears your voice. but when he sees an expectant look in your eyes, he offers you his arm with a smile. “how about you tell me everything by the bar? that way i can serve you properly.”

your cheeks burn like a wild bonfire as you take his arm, now struggling to find excuses to somehow change the topic of conversation because if you continued your sentence from a minute ago, you would have exposed your secret attraction for the man in front of you.

(funny how you don’t even need kaeya or venti to expose you, you’re already the man for the job!)

diluc senses your sudden nervousness at the invitation. he does his best to bite away at the fond smile making its way to his lips. if he can help calm your nerves then maybe you’ll tell him about how much you missed his company at the tavern.

zhongli

zhongli didn’t know that his late night stroll around the streets of chihu rock would include witnessing your drunk state at third-round knockout. the streets have thinned out and it’s rather late too. he wonders what brought you over to the distinguished tavern.

the curious adeptus makes silent haste to peer over your shoulder. a cup in your hand and your head is lolling over. putting two and two together, you must have had your fill of alcohol for tonight.

zhongli finds himself chuckling before neatly folding his hands behind his back. “i wonder how y/n is faring on this wonderful night?”

your head snaps out of your drunken state momentarily, the coherent cells in your brain recognise that voice immediately but your vision is blurry. so instead of being able to greet the gentleman with dignity and grace, you end up tripping over the levelled bricks below you.

“oh—!”

zhongli is quick to open his arms and catch you, his reflexes still polished despite his retirement as the geo archon. your head bumps into his chest as you grunt at the slight fright. and after regaining your foothold on the bricked ground, it comes to your attention that your body is flat against the man in front of you. more specifically, his arms are wrapped around your waist to keep you steady and your hands are fumbling awkwardly in the air because you don’t know where to put them.

looking up to meet zhongli’s eyes is exactly what you expected but you can never maintain eye contact with him. it’s not your fault he’s so handsome! his kind gesture makes your cheeks warm up, and he probably doesn’t even mean anything out of it but sometimes your mind likes to be a little creative and indulges you in a variety of impossible scenarios.

“archons, zhongli i’m sorry—i didn’t see you i—”

“it’s not a problem, y/n. shall i walk you home?” zhongli offers, voice gentle and non-judgemental, like you didn’t just trip over a couple of bricks.

you shake your head, earning a raised brow from him. “i only live a few minutes away. plus, look at the time, we’ll look weird.”

“holding you in my arms will not make us look weird, rather i believe this is appropriate for us both. don’t you think?” the way zhongli tilts his head to the dominating tone in his voice makes you feel so small.

“i mean—sure but,” you reply, not daring to look directly into his eyes unless you were going to expose your hidden feelings for him. “but i’m drunk. it’s my fault, i can take myself ho—” your words are caught in your throat when zhongli lifts you up into his arms, carrying you bridal style down the steps and continuing down the street to bring you home.

this extra pinch of boldness is something that lays dormant within zhongli. but it always comes alive when you’re around. he has spent enough time around mortals to pick up the signs of the heart. your reactions to his touch, your flickering gaze and the heat from your face is no brainer. however, he will have to properly communicate with you when you’re sober.

for now, he only hopes that you will disregard the warmth radiating off his neck when you lean in to rest your forehead there.

childe

he’s dancing. dancing to his heart’s content. the band plays the second to last song but the harbinger barely feels like he’s lived up to the heights of the night. he requires more vigour, more energy from his dancing partners. sure, they were all wonderful dancers but he’s really only waiting for someone else to enter his field of vision.

childe knows you’re around here somewhere, you told him personally a week before the ball that you and your father were invited. after all, only the most distinguished noblemen and women were eligible to attend. and you, being the one and only child of one of the leading snezhnayan trade merchants, are an obvious guest on the list of invites.

childe dances, switching and gliding between different and eager dance partners, secretly hoping that the next gloved hand he would take would be yours. unfortunately, for the second to last song, he still doesn’t manage to find you amongst the crowd of participants dancing. so when the music stops he makes sure to return everyone a wave and entertain those who greet him warmly, doing everything in his power to stop the itch of impatience showing on his sweaty face. thankfully, he manages to maintain a calm and composed expression.

childe’s head perks up to a certain sound. amongst the music, the cheers and the clings of wine glasses he recognises a laugh. a laugh, to the extent of his knowledge, only he’s able to get out of you. he brings his wine glass away from his lips, licking the remnants of it from his bottom lip as he captures the sight of you chatting away with other guests.

scanning the guests’ faces, he concludes that they’re harmless thanks to information he was told prior to the event. so he makes his way over, smoothly including himself in conversation just to make an excuse to the other guests to ‘borrow your attention’ for a moment.

you take his arm that he offers you, holding your wine glass in your other hand. childe has always been a gentleman towards you, such a passionate person with excellent manners. you’re almost always guaranteed to have a grand time whenever he invites you out (obviously as friends, which you two have made known to the entire town).

“so ajax, tell me about your journey to liyue—” your throat interrupts your speech with a very clear hiccup. “—harbour.” your cheeks burn, quickly apologising for your lack of manners under your breath.

childe hums, loving how you used the name he told you to use when it’s just you and him. “your grace, are you drunk?” he gazes at your flushed face and how your styled hair looks more undone. he thinks you look better this way actually.

“i might be,” you sigh, wanting to hand your glass over to a butler but childe stops you before you can, taking your glass to quickly down the last sips of your beverage.

“ajax, what are you doing?!” you tap his arm repeatedly with concern, telling him to slow down.

you just got that glass a few minutes ago! but besides that, he’s drinking the wine you just had?! what if his lips touch the part yours did on the glass? not that you mind at all—you wouldn’t dare say that out loud but your thoughts are as clear as day on your expression.

childe enjoys the look on your face, satisfied and relieved that you didn’t show a hint of dissatisfaction. “i’ve not had the honour to dance with you tonight.” he passes the empty glass onto a passing butler’s tray. “shall i have the pleasure now?”

kamisato ayato

by this time in the evening, you, thoma and ayaka are probably done playing the hot pot game. which is alright since ayato knew he would return home from business later than usual tonight, but that doesn’t stop him from checking up on all of you. so when he slides the door open to see his faithful retainer, his sister and you sleeping soundly in the designated hot pot room at komore teahouse, the lord cannot help but stifle a fond laugh.

it then comes to his attention that the room reeks of alcohol. oh dear. that explains why everyone’s blacked out.

“‘yato?” he watches you lift your head from the table. ah, you’re still awake… and definitely drunk. no wonder you dropped the formalities all of a sudden. if you were sober you would have rushed to greet him by the door and refer to him by “my lord” despite all the protests he’s made to call you by his first name instead.

ayato hushes you gently, ignoring how his heart skips a beat at the mention of his first name leaving your lips and sits himself beside you. he’s almost taken aback by how you immediately lean onto his body for support. he knew you were an affectionate person but you normally asked before proceeding with anything just in case he felt uncomfortable (surprise! he never did). so seeing this side of you is rather refreshing to his eyes.

“what’re you doing here?” you blink hardly at him but it’s to no avail as the alcohol in your veins distorts your vision.

he brings you closer, gloved hand rising to caress the back of your head. “i just came to visit. however, it didn’t occur to me that you would all have so much fun without my presence.”

“nonsense!” you claim dramatically, a satisfied smile immediately appearing on ayato’s face at your predictable reaction.

you poke his arm you don’t realise is already sat on your waist. you’re too ready to defend your lord from his own words to notice anyway.

ayato scans your face. lavender eyes find your plumped lips, the thin sheen of sweat along your cheeks and your hair attempting to escape the confines of your hairpin—hold on a moment, he got you that hairpin!

the way ayato has to physically restrain a grin from showing on his face is uncharacteristic of him. he’s noticed that he uncovers new parts of himself whenever you’re beside him. such an interesting person you are…

“we were waiting for you—hic—however, we got a little distracted.” you admit, gesturing at ayaka who sleeps soundly on thoma’s jacket. you look up at ayato through your eyelashes, giving him a lopsided smile.

“i remembered your—hic—advice when you said ayaka can’t drink more than a glass. she might even have it worse than me. but thoma, on the other hand, was a completely different story. that man was a mess!” you move your head to look at thoma’s body sprawled over the floor, ugly giggles leaving the back of your throat at how much of an idiot he looks like right now.

your hair tickles ayato’s chin but he pays no mind to it when he’s so immensely amused by your relaxed nature when drunk.

thoma

thoma mentally checks his list of things to do before retiring for the night. his lord is in his office, accompanied by a freshly made pot of tea, his lady should already be sound asleep and the other retainers are also readying to retire too. he sighs to himself, patting his jacket down as he heads to the kitchen to finalise his cleaning.

when he enters the kitchen, he is baffled at the sight in front of him. he stares blankly for a moment to process it.

there’s remnants of sake dripping out of a tipped-over tokkuri and his lover who plays with the o-choko absentmindedly with their finger, drawing invisible lines along the rim. thoma stifles a giggle, a curled finger covering his lips.

his giggle sends your consciousness back into focus. you only have the power to tilt your head ever so slightly to the right, your movements pausing on the o-choko when your gaze falls upon the view of your lover.

“tho—ma,” your cracked voice calls for him, making him rush toward you in such fondness so he could pinch your cheeks.

“oh, y/n, what are you doing?” thoma asks as giggles leave his lips, watching you squint at him dazedly. “it’s dripping from the corner of your lips as well!” he takes a napkin, sitting next to you to wipe it away gently.

“wh- where’ve you been, pretty?” your words are slurred but thoma hears you perfectly well.

the pet name makes him blush, but you’re too drunk to notice. “i’ve been doing my job—oh, honey—” he huffs when he brings you to lean on him instead. the longer you lay your head on the table, the more you’ll want to throw up later (and thoma makes sure to prevent that from happening).

you giggle at the little voice crack you hear when he calls you by your pet name, leaning onto his chest as your head rests on his shoulder blade. taking advantage of this position, thoma presses a cool ceramic cup filled with water by your lips and when you lazily open your eyes, you see that it’s the glass that’s been sitting on the side from earlier.

“drink up, honey.” you can’t refuse such a request when it’s mumbled so affectionately by your ear. you’re probably even warm at your cheeks from it, but then again, the sake has kept your cheeks warm for a while. you can’t even tell anymore.

after taking a few sips of water, your throat feels fresh and renewed—if thoma heard your thoughts, he would deadpan at you and say “y/n. it’s called getting hydrated” in a sassy little voice. this scenario amuses you and it causes a small laugh to leave your lips.

above you, thoma is confused. “what are you thinking about?” he asks curiously with a smile.

as you rest your head on thoma’s shoulder again, you reply, “you. i’m just thinking about you.”

tighnari

a shout from outside tighnari’s lodging brings his attention away from his documents, brows furrowing and pushing himself up from his chair to see why his forest rangers are making such a fuss at an ungodly hour (yes, tighnari was awake at said ungodly hour but that wasn’t because he was with his fellow rangers after a night out!).

“tighnari, we’re back!” a drunk forest watcher waves and yells at the figure of tighnari, who has his arms crossed in front of him.

a sigh leaves tighnari’s mouth, one of exhaustion, to be precise. “do you intend to wake all of gandharva ville up? go find yourselves home and rest.” he turns around to head back inside until another forest watcher pipes up.

“wait, tighnari! y/n’s black out drunk!” a female forest watcher, who’s eyes can’t even look at a single point any longer due to the alcohol running in her veins, displays your figure with your arm dangling over her shoulders. “you need to take them back, i don’t know where they live!”

tighnari raises a brow and chuckles, shaking his head. “yet you’re sober enough to tell me this.” he walks towards the group of drunkards and collects you easily from the forest watcher, carefully placing your arm over his shoulders while his other hand holds your hip.

you barely know where you are and what’s happening but it appears that your assigned guardian angel for the night has retired and put you in more capable hands—or, arms. you blink in an attempt to gather knowledge of your surroundings but it’s to no avail when everything is a blur of darkness with hints of warm light from the dew lights.

a grunt escapes your lips in slight frustration as you walk away with this other person, but they’re quick to hush you gently and in a soft voice you hear, “i promise we’re almost there, just walk with me, okay?”

“yeah, okay,” you reply promptly but to tighnari’s ears, he’s never heard such a tone in your voice ever since you were recruited. his heart skips a beat and his ear twitches along. it’s rare to see you so vulnerable and he can tell you have no idea that he’s the one carrying you back to… well, his lodging. because your lodging is simply too far away (it’s only a bridge away) and he can’t have you walking any longer when you look like you’re on the verge of passing out!

he doesn’t know what’s gotten into him when his gloved hand holds onto your forearm to keep your body steady against his as he walks you to his lodging. his body is going against him and his heart can only take the blame for such ridiculous delusions. what does he think he will get out of this?

he’s just your chief forest watcher, that’s all he will ever be to you—is what tighnari thinks. but in reality, you only went out with the others to spiral in alcohol due to your failed attempts of romancing your handsome superior. it seemed that the sumeru roses and the letter you left at his doorstep were blown away by the wind (you had to commit blasphemy on that day and curse the anemo archon), the pita pockets you made for him were stolen away by some petty treasure hoarders when you weren’t looking and overall, your thoughts were a mess thinking about your failed attempts. it was like your beloved archon forgot to bless you with wisdom to avoid these situations.

“see! i told you he had a soft spot for them!”

“it’s so obvious the feelings mutual, i can’t believe they didn’t believe us.”

“they’re literally the only one who can’t see it!”

tighnari clears his throat loud enough for the group to hear him. he turns around and gives them a pointed look until they’re all skipping away to their respective lodgings.

he glances at your drunken face for a brief moment and smiles to himself, continuing to walk you back.

it appears that all his worries were meaningless.

kaveh

the sight of you leaning against the door to his home almost makes his soul fly right out of his body.

“hello y/n, i thought we were meeting for dinner?” but when kaveh finally makes it to where you are, you are nowhere near sober. no wonder your figure was leaning against the wood so flimsily. you were akin to a ragdoll at this point. “great heavens, is the end of the world upon us? why are you drunk before me?” he hesitantly collects you in his arms while mehrak hovers beside him. he can’t have you just leaning like that!

“went to… birthday party… drinks…”

that’s enough information to bring kaveh up to speed with the situation. but also… why did you decide to go to his house?! was it instinctive?

kaveh cringes at his thoughts and opens the door with his free hand while his other hand supports you by your waist (he can feel his palm warming up to the touch on your body and it’s making the poor man sweat). “come on in, let’s sober you up.”

when you’re sat nicely on the couch, your eyes are still closed with zero awareness of your surroundings. how your head suddenly tilts backwards at such speed almost brings the most horrific yelp out of kaveh, he’s relieved to know his reflexes are still sharp enough to have caught your head before it snapped right off your neck.

“archons, you’re going to give me a heart attack!” he holds the back of your head and somehow manages to bring your body to lean against the spine of the couch. he doesn’t forget to put a pillow behind your back either, because you being drunk doesn’t mean you’re drunk enough to not feel discomfort.

after collecting himself from that scare, he returns with a cup of water, hands carefully hovering it in front of your lips. “here, drink up,” he says but you keep moving your mouth away from the cup that it’s slowly beginning to irritate him.

“y/n, you need to sober up if you’re going to walk home later,” he tells you in a more serious voice which makes you groan, throwing your head forward into your hands.

“you don’t understand.”

“what don’t i understand?”

what am i doing here? i swear i was in front of my friend's place… how is it that my drunk feet led me here? out of all the places on this continent, why did i take myself to the one place i’m trying to avoid?!

kaveh raises a brow and puts down the glass of water. “is something wrong, y/n? i haven’t even seen you since last week.”

“i’ve been… busy…” trying to keep my feelings at bay!

“i see,” kaveh responds before adding, “do you still feel drunk?”

“i wouldn’t say i’m drunk to the point of passing out—i did feel like that earlier but now that i’m sitting i can at least participate in conversation.” you remove your face from your hands.

why is his face so pink? you think to yourself, grabbing the glass of water from the table to take a sip before leaning back with your free arm supporting you. you grin to yourself, feeling a little cheeky.

you offer the glass of water you just drank from to kaveh, hovering it in front of his lips and you swear you almost watch his eyes fall out of their eye sockets.

“what—what are you doing?!” kaveh’s voice shakes and you let out this cute drunken giggle that makes his heart leap.

“i know i’m the one drunk, but for some reason you look drunk without even having drinks!”

kaveh touches his face and he purses his lips. his cheeks are so used to being hot from being in your presence that he didn’t even realise!

“allow me to assist you.” you lean your body a little closer so you can press the chilled glass of water against kaveh’s cheek.

his bottom lip falls and quivers when you lean closer towards him. last time you were this close, you were putting medication on his face after a run in with fungi.

the coldness of the glass somehow gives him time to think to himself—rationally. maybe in this moment right now he could…

“thank you, y/n.” you’ve never heard this tone in kaveh’s voice, it’s unfamiliar and so… tender. what he does next makes you finally meet his scarlet eyes.

a warm hand wraps around your wrist that holds the glass to his cheeks, your skin immediately lights up in fire at the contact. it makes you gulp so embarrassingly loudly before him.

he leans into the coolness of the glass, gazing at you with such gentle eyes that it’s tempting you to look away. as his thumb gently caresses your skin, he smiles. “it helps.”

wanderer

wanderer returns to his home a little later than usual tonight. he made sure to leave a note on the dining table to let you know of his whereabouts for the day. he knows you have the propensity to worry about him, despite his claims that he’ll be perfectly fine because of how well-versed he is in the arts of defence (and nasty attacks). which is why he left the note on the table, and he acknowledges how it was moved to another spot on the table from this morning.

you’ve seen it. he thinks to himself and now he wonders where you are. you’re not normally out at this time and from your cute daily schedule reports you tell him before bed, he doesn’t remember you mentioning that you would be out until this time. or if you were going out with friends.

that’s alright. wanderer can wait.

the tapping of his own foot is driving the man on edge. it’s been two whole hours—the sun is far beneath the horizon and the birds are already snoring. where the hell are you? wanderer cannot do this anymore, he rises from his seat and takes flight with his anemo abilities.

the city is rather easy to navigate at this height. in the dark, the city is at least still lit up by streetlights and with the help of one nearby lambad’s tavern, he spots your curled figure sitting on the floor very easily.

he hovers over the cement before landing smoothly on his feet. “what are you doing here at this time? it’s so late,” wanderer remarks with irritation, standing in front of you with his arms folded. he stares at your figure with a frown.

“h-huh?” your voice comes out hoarse, lifting your head and your eyes slowly make out the figure of wanderer. “o-oh it’s youi… where’ve you been?” you manage to say despite how the world shakes around you.

“tch, what do you—” wanderer stops himself, raising a brow then finally taking the time to scan your face and posture and it hits him.

you’re fucking drunk.

“you’re insane,” wanderer scoffs, kneeling down to silently take a closer look at your face and body for any drunkenly bruises. “do you even know what time it is? i was waiting for you.” he doesn’t exactly know what to do with his hands but he decides to offer you one to help you get up on your feet.

“you think i’m insane but really, you’re the one doing insane things all the time! you know, like fighting fatui agents in the rain… to avenge a bird!” you put emphasis on the word ‘bird’ and wanderer scoffs at the finger you point at him.

“it was in danger,” he replies simply before sighing, “but that’s not the point. you’re drunk outside at a time like this so i’ll be taking you home now.”

talking to him magically makes you more sober with every passing second. you decide to play with him a little, leaning back on the brick wall as the crease in your brow melts away. “ooh, shouldn’t you take me on a date first?”

wanderer groans, pulling his hand back. he’s never had to deal with you drunk before! so he thinks for a moment, and he stands tall on his feet, turning his head the other direction. “if this is how you will continue to act then i will leave you to your own devices, however if you come back crawling to me—”

wanderer almost gasps at your figure suddenly standing beside him, steady on your feet as you give him a hard and long stare. “you don’t have to tell me twice about how you wait for me at home, i’m well aware of that. complain all you want about me but your words aren’t consistent with your actions, my love.” you slide your hand down his arm to reach for his hand as you lean your head on his shoulder.

you feel him tilt his face in the other direction. curious, you briefly lift your head for a moment to spot your pretty artificial lover gritting his teeth as a sheet of pink blankets his cheeks.

“fool,” he whispers, but there is no malice behind it.

#kaeya x reader #diluc x reader #zhongli x reader #childe x reader #ayato x reader #thoma x reader #tighnari x reader #kaveh x reader #wanderer x reader #genshin x reader #genshin fluff

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eccentricwritingbaby · 7 months ago

Text

thank you

charles leclerc x reader

summary - reader has been stressed from work, leading charles to give her comfort.

masterlist

letting out a deep sigh, you begin your long trek up the stairs to yours and your boyfriends shared apartment. work had been kicking your ass recently, and charles knew it - it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure it out.

you had been lightly moody, working later hours than usual, tired, quiet, and so much more. it visibly countered your usual personality of bright and bubbly, passionate about your work, and confident in your ways.

charles held an understanding and empathetic response to your recent behavior, he too had rough relationships with work - he knew how draining it can get. and everytime he broke, you were there to pick up the pieces - you were his rock and now it was his turn to be yours.

it was the beautiful give and take that prospered in your love, when one of you could only give thirty percent in your ways, the other made up the seventy. your recent loss of effort, not for lack of trying to give your all, had made charles step up to the plate.

your jingle of keys outside alerted charles of your entrance before your presence even appeared. once inside, charles looked up at your slumped figure leaning against the wall, struggling to remove the heels on your feet.

he slid off the couch, meeting your form at the door, and dropping down to a knee. his left hand slid up your right calf and placed the heel on his knee. his hands began to remove your shoe and once the right heel was discarded, he tapped his leg again and motioned for your other foot. you switched weight to your right and placed your left foot onto his knee as he began to gently remove the other shoe. with the heels safely placed on the ground and off your aching feet, charles brings himself back up to his full height and begins to remove your jacket and purse. with those then hung onto the rack by your door, he reaches behind you and locks up, proceeding to then grab your hand softly and lead you to the bedroom.

you trail behind him quietly as he opens and shuts the door to your bedroom. once inside, he guides you to sit on the chair of your vanity in the room because according to yourself ‘outside clothes are not allowed on the bed’ which is heavily enforced in your home.

charles begins to disappear into the shared closet and reappears with your favorite loungewear, his tshirt and his sweatpants. once you were fully dressed, you were finally comfortable enough to break the comfortable silence between you two.

“thank you,” you whisper, looking up at your boyfriend through your lashes. he stalks over to you, pulling you closer by your waist, giving you a chaste kiss to your lips.

“not necessary, amour,” he replies, “what do you need from me, y/n?” sincerity and concern are laced in soft tones throughout your boyfriends voice. you could tell he was yearning to help you, aching to give you comfort, hoping his actions would bring you back with light. you wanted to give it to him, wanted to feel like yourself again - but you couldn’t.

and charles understood that with one look into your eyes. “okay, amour, okay,” he replies to your non-verbal answer.

“i’m sorry, char,” you fell into his arms fully, him quickly reacting by wrapping his own around you tightly. he presses multiple kisses to the top of your head and drops one hand to run it down your back.

“you have nothing to be sorry for, feeling like this is normal. i just ask that you take care of yourself - that’s all i want,” you reposition your head as he speaks to you in order to look up at his face, he tilts his head down and gives you a small smile, “now how about we get some food into you, huh?” he adds on with an encouraging smile.

“i’m not that hungr-”

“nuh-uh,” he cuts you off, “you’re eating,” he shakes his head as he looks down at you, still holding his smile, “now i don’t care what you eat, but you need to eat, ok?”

and for the first time that entire day, you smiled. a real genuine smile. charles felt as though his heart grew as it rapidly beat in his chest. two and a half years together and you still gave him butterflies, even after a simple smile.

“okay, i’ll eat,” you answer, “what should we have?”

“anything you want, baby,” charles gave you a light tap and squeeze to the bum as he ushered you out of your bedroom and into the kitchen.

your mood had instantly increased since you walked through the door of your apartment. trading the bright fluorescent lighting in the office to the dim, candle and lamp-lit apartment that your boyfriend had kindly arranged. the little things that he constantly did always left you at ease. even if it were as simple as the lighting.

you both walked into the dimly lit kitchen as charles led you to sit at the stool in front of your kitchen island. walking around the counter, your doting boyfriend began to rummage through the cabinets in search of a proper meal for you both.

“love, i think we have some ramen in the top cabinet,” you offer up, “i am not going to feed you ramen after your tough day, y/n,” he gives back.

“but i like ramen,” you whine lightly. and you did. was it what you preferred after a day of only sneaking bites here and there of your breakfast bagel and stale black coffee? no. but neither of you cook perfectly, and you were not about to leave your apartment after your day.

“fine, but just know that i protested,” he held his hands up to feign his innocence before he continued, “i like ramen too, but you deserve the good restaurant ramen after the day you had, not the packet that we don’t even dress up well,”

“then let’s dress it up!” you cheer, giving charles what he had been wanting this past week - your sparkle. it’s in your eyes, your smile, and your soul. he can feel the real you, the bright you, coming to the surface - and he would be damned if he didn’t do everything in his power to keep it there.

“okay, cherie, get the eggs and spring onions out of the fridge for me, please,” he laughs out his request because of your lightened behavior.

you hop off the stool and head to the fridge with a skip. charles admires you as he retrieves the pots and pans for your cooking adventure. he knew you both wouldn’t be able to do the food justice, but the time together was everything he always looked forward to. low music on in the background, dim lighting and candles lit, quiet instructions being passed between the two of you, horrible dance moves being executed, butchered singing and corny jokes. it was his favorite time with you. your work, his work, fan drama, family drama - it was all forgotten. you both had entered your self care bubble and were working on gaining joy back into the commonality of life.

after the noodles and other ingredients were simmering on the stove, you reached around charles to grab bowls and chopsticks for your dinner and his hands found home to your waist. the bowls and utensils were then set on the counter and you spun in his hold. charles bent down, reaching your lips with his own and you hummed in approval.

when you broke for air, his forehead stayed connected to your own and you whispered once again, “thank you,”

“always, amour”

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taylor-titmouse · 4 months ago

Note

When a story has a kink you like, what writing flaws does it take for you to find the portrayal of it unerotic? Is there anything writers should keep in mind while maintaining eroticism, or is that so specific-reader-dependent that it's futile?

everyone's least favorite answer: "it depends". when you get into the specifics of eroticism, what makes one thing erotic or unerotic depends entirely on the context it exists in. let's use bdsm as an example, because most people grasp the basics of it.

you have a dom, a sub, and (if you're responsible) some pre-negotiated rules determining how they both should behave. simple enough.

a good author who wants to include bdsm in their work will take into consideration the way the characters involved are likely to communicate, but also the cultural context in which they exist. two men in regency england do not know what a safeword is, traffic lights aren't a thing, and they may not want to have a difficult conversation spelling out what they want, because they're men in england in a period before therapy. they will talk around it, or come up with something in the moment that suits the need. a real example from kj charles' a seditious affair, which i consider the best use of bdsm in a historical romance: the dom commands the sub to hold onto the bed rail while he fucks him, and if he lets go, he stops. or another example, these characters don't usually refer to each other by name. referring to the top by his name makes him stop. these are things that naturally make sense based on their relationship, and would make sense for two men in their circumstances and point in history. they do have some conversations about it, but only after they've opened up to each other enough that they'd have a real conversation about it at all, and now it's a vehicle to show the growth of their relationship.

a weaker writer who wants to include bdsm in their work might include the rules for safe bdsm without thinking about their context. another real example, which i won't name, is a romantasy between a big gruff laborer and the twinky wizard he works for. they've been antagonizing each other, and it all comes to a head in the stables, and the laborer is finally going to give it to the wizard... when he stops to establish a safeword for spanking him.

folks, i do not believe a curmudgeonly old laborer in a feudal fantasy world understands a safeword. i do not need him to understand safewords, and i don't need that conversation to happen at all. i am ready to see the wizard get spanked, the wizard is horny to get spanked. we are all on the same page. but the author has pulled the brakes for the sake of a conversation they think is necessary, but truly isn't. if your goal is to show that he cares underneath the spanking, show that during the aftercare, show it in how he's considerate of how hard he hits, or where he hits, or have him stop if the wizard says 'stop'. like a normal person would. you only need a safeword if 'stop' is not actually 'stop', and if this is your first time having sex with this person, and you care, you are going to stop if they say stop. and if the characters aren't even going to USE the safe word you make them establish, what are we accomplishing? if this element of the story never comes back, and only exists in this scene, why is it there?

i guess this is a long way around to saying eroticism is intrinsic to context and character, and if your eroticism feels like you layered it on top of the characters, rather than built it from their behavior, you're not doing it right.

#tt talks writing #tt asks

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coloursflyaway · 6 months ago

Text

Good Enough

Pairing: Edwin Payne/Charles Rowland

Rating: T

Word Count: 4.000

Read on AO3

So, Edwin is in love with him.

Edwin loves him, and Charles genuinely never even considered the possibility of this, of them, before.

It might be because, back when he was still alive, his dad would have beaten the notion right out of him, but then again, his dad has been wrong about most things in his life, so fuck him.

So, Edwin is in love with him.

It’s… quite flattering, actually. To think that Edwin, who is beautiful and intelligent and educated, who can recite his favourite Keats poem by heart just as easily as tell you his favourite Mozart aria (it’s Konstanze, dich wiederzusehen from Die Entführung aus dem Serail, Edwin told him that, years ago), who knows spells and can read ancient Aramaic, who is the kindest, most brilliant person Charles has ever known, would love him.

Now, Charles knows that he is easy enough on the eyes, good with words and people, and has one hell of a swing if you give him a cricket bat, but the only reason he knows any Mozart aria is because Edwin showed them to him.

The only reason he knows Keats’ poetry is because Edwin would read them to him on slow, warm summer nights in the early 2000s.

The only reason he is here, is because Edwin let him stay.

So, it’s special, having someone like Edwin love him.

It’s fucking terrifying.

Because Charles is now holding the heart of the person he loves most in the world, and it’s a bigger responsibility than any he has ever taken on before.

He can’t fuck this up.

The thing is that nothing changes between them at all.

Charles isn’t sure if he expected it to, but what he is relatively certain about is that it most likely should. After all, it was an unexpected revelation, probably to both of them, definitely a shift in their relationship.

And yet, when Charles looks at Edwin, who is reading a novel whose name he cannot make out, curled up on the couch they have gotten for Crystal (and sometimes Jenny), he doesn’t feel different at all.

It’s still Edwin, his best mate, the boy that read to him when he was dying so he wouldn’t have to do it alone, who tries to smile whenever Charles shows him a new song he has fallen in love with, and occasionally fails hilariously at, who Charles would protect with his life and his soul and his cricket bat, no matter how high the stakes.

I love you the most, Charles thinks to himself, and smiles, because nothing about that has changed, either.

He has told Edwin that they would have forever to figure out the rest, and it’s the truth, technically speaking.

However, Charles doesn’t, because it’s Edwin and he has given Charles his heart and he doesn’t deserve to wait that long for an answer. It would be cruel in a way Charles cannot comprehend, and if there is anyone who doesn’t deserve more cruelty in their existence, it’s Edwin Payne.

The only problem with that fact is that Charles doesn’t know the answer.

He’s been thinking about it a lot, but the thing is, he’s never been in love before.

So he doesn’t really know what to compare his feelings for Edwin to, because, of course, they are greater than for anyone else, of course, Charles would sacrifice anything and anyone for Edwin, especially himself, of course, making Edwin smile is his favourite part of any day.

Because he loves Edwin, everything about him.

But is he, could he be, in love with Edwin?

Charles doesn’t know, nor does he know how to find out. It’s not like he hasn’t tried, but every novel he has paged through, every silly romcom he has watched, has been talking about butterflies in someone’s stomach, of seeing them in some new, golden light, of hearing violins playing when they speak, and Charles very much doubts that Edwin feels any of those things for him.

Otherwise he wouldn’t raise his eyebrows like that when he thinks Charles is being an insufferable little prick, he wouldn’t roll his eyes and tell him, “I know, Charles, you have told me a thousand times before”, whenever Charles brings up how much he wishes he could still taste things, or groan whenever Charles attempts to convince him to just try and let him put on some eyeliner.

(It’s just that Edwin would look so pretty like that, some kohl to bring out the warmth of his eyes, making them stand out even more than they do anyway.)

So all this talk of violins and sparkles and the need to give someone roses, if Edwin doesn’t feel that when he says he is love with Charles, then it’s pointless to consider, and anyway, those books and films describe people who have just met, not those who have known each other for twice as long as they were alive.

Maybe if he had just met Edwin, he would be hearing violins, Charles definitely thinks it’s possible.

Especially the violins in Konstanze, dich wiederzusehen.

“I just need some time alone”, Crystal says, putting on her jacket, while already opening the door. “And I am aware that that is a novel concept for the two of you, since you are basically attached at the hip, but for me, an alive human being, it’s really important to occasionally have a second of peace between almost dying and whatever we will have going on next.”

She stops to put on her shoes, almost falling over in the process, and Charles and Edwin share a look, a smile, and Charles thinks, I love you the most.

“Don’t follow me”, Crystal tells them, especially Charles, and it’s kind of cute, actually. “I’m going to get the biggest frappuchino Starbucks is legally allowed to serve me and I will not tolerate any ghostly company while doing that.”

Charles holds up his hands, still grinning, indicating his surrender in a battle he wasn’t aware they were fighting, and Crystal gives him a single nod before she walks out.

“So”, Charles starts, and turns around to face Edwin, who is already looking back, “what do we think this frappuchino she was talking about, is?”

Actually, there is one thing that changes between them after all.

It’s subtle, at least at first, but looking back, Charles isn’t quite sure how he managed to miss it for the few weeks that have passed. Maybe it was the shock of almost being forced to move on to the afterlife, the chaos of getting Crystal and Jenny settled in London, the fact that it seems to increase only slowly, incrementally.

Edwin has never been a physically affectionate person, completely contrary to how Charles is.

If it had been up to him alone, he would have hugged Edwin much more often, would have leant against him when they were looking through a book together, would have held hands to keep them from losing each other when things got hectic. But it wasn’t, and that was fine, so it was occasional touches instead, a hand on Edwin’s upper arm, his back, ruffling his perfect hair when he was doing something kind of dumb, kind of cute.

(That one always made him duck his head and smile, glance up at Charles through his lashes and allow a second to pass before he started fixing his hair again.)

Now, however, it’s… it’s not getting better, because there was nothing wrong with it in the first place, Edwin’s aversion to physical affection, but it is changing now.

It’s less that he initiates it, more than he allows it to happen more frequently. Sitting down next to Charles on the sofa instead of taking the armchair, allowing Charles’ hand to linger on his arm for a moment longer than expected, letting their shoulders brush when walking.

He’s not asking to be touched, not really, but something about it still makes Charles irrationally happy as soon as he catches onto it. Because Edwin deserves all the affection the world can offer, and Charles will always be here to give it to him.

So he reaches out in the morning, when the sun has just started to rise, and puts his hand on the curve of Edwin’s shoulder, right where it meets his neck, and points out that the clouds are turning the most beautiful pink. He throws his legs across Edwin’s lap when they settle down on the sofa at night, a book in Edwin’s hands, the tablet Crystal made him buy in Charles’. He pushes his fingers through Edwin’s hair, not to ruffle it, but just to pretend he can feel its softness against his skin.

It makes Edwin duck his head again, give Charles a little smile when looking up, and Charles thinks, I love you the most.

And thinks, I want to love you the most in every way you will have me.

“Jenny, I have a question”, Charles starts as soon as he has phased through the walls of her new butcher shop. It’s to her credit that she hardly reacts; the first time he had done that, she had thrown a meat cleaver right through his head. “What do you know about love?”

Instead of a knife, Jenny just throws him a weary look, an eyebrow elegantly arched. It makes Charles think of being scolded by the headmistress, a sensation that should be much more unpleasant than it is.

“Nothing”, Jenny answers and brings her cleaver down with a dull thud, separating flesh from bone, before looking up at Charles again. “No one ever knows anything about love and if they try to tell you otherwise, they are lying.”

There is a certain sense of finality in her voice and Charles knows he has been dismissed, no detention this time, but don’t dare to push it.

“Great”, he mutters, more to himself than to Jenny, “that doesn’t help me at all.”

“You should look at this, Charles”, Edwin says and turns the book towards him.

It’s late at night, Crystal having long since gone home and they are sat on the sofa, shoulders touching while they do their research. A new case has come up, and Edwin is trying to learn more about ancient Celtic runes, while Charles is pouring over a map of London’s underground; now, he looks up and at the page Edwin is showing him.

“We could add this to your bat”, Edwin explains, “it’s a rune for physical strength. Supposedly, it doubles whatever force you put into a hit.”

“Edwin, mate, are you trying to tell me I need help with hitting people?”

Charles is grinning, obviously teasing, and Edwin just scoffs, rolls his eyes.

And that is what Charles means; this isn’t birdsong and candle light, this is just how they always have been. This is what makes them them, even.

“Charles, do be serious”, Edwin replies, but there is affection in his voice, there is love. “I am perfectly aware that you can hit things very well, but that doesn’t mean that hitting them even better wouldn’t be an advantage.”

“I know. This is brills”, Charles concedes, and on a whim, nothing more than that, presses a quick kiss to Edwin’s cheek.

For a moment, he almost expects Edwin to admonish him, because this isn’t exactly something that they do, but instead he stares at him, before he ducks his head; Charles isn’t sure how he knows this, but if Edwin could, he would be blushing.

And it does something to Charles’ head, the thought that he would be able to make Edwin blush. It makes him stop dead in his tracks, look at Edwin not like he is seeing him for the first time, but like he could be looking at him for the rest of his existence and not get bored of it.

“Do you wanna do the honours of carving it? Since you were the one who found the thing?”, he asks just to say something, aware that his voice sounds slightly off, and thinks, I love you the most. I love you the most. I love you the most.

“Very well done, Charles”, Edwin tells him and clasps a long-fingered hand on Charles’ shoulder, peering down at the leprechaun he knocked out clean with his bat a few seconds before.

The rune really makes it pack a punch.

“I don’t think this will pose any further problems”, Edwin continues even as he crouches down to examine the passed-out form crumpled on the ground. He prods at it gently.

“It fucking better”, Charles replies, resisting the urge to pull Edwin away from the leprechaun, just in case that touching it might have some kind of magical side effect. “And if not, I’ll punch it right back out. I’ve got an Edwin Payne-improved bat after all, it won’t stand a chance.”

Just for good measure, he twirls the bat around once, twice.

This has always been one of his favourite parts of the job, the simple pleasure of knocking someone out before they get the chance to hurt his friends.

Edwin looks up at him from where he is crouching, and Charles grins at him, metaphorical adrenaline running through his non-existent veins still. He would punch out a bear if Edwin asked it of him.

Before he can say anything else, though, Crystal clears her throat from behind him, sounding decidedly less impressed.

“That’s really cool, yeah. New bat, I get it”, she says, walking around Charles so she, too, can see the unconscious leprechaun. “But you do remember that we actually wanted to talk to him, right?”

They get to talk to the leprechaun in the end, who turns out to be about as obnoxious as expected, but does admit to stealing the heirloom they were looking for for his pot of gold.

He even gives it back, but only after Charles has started twirling his bat again.

“And another satisfied customer”, Charles comments as they return to the agency, flinging his backpack into the corner.

“Client, you mean”, Edwin corrects, but still smiles at him, and pats the space next to him as soon as he sits down on the sofa. Charles flings himself down without a second thought, legs landing somewhere across Edwin’s laps, one of his hands settling on Charles’ ankles.

This is new, at least to some extent, and Charles loves it, the feeling of Edwin’s fingers on him. It feels right, somehow.

I just really love you the most, he thinks.

“Yeah, whatever”, he concedes and looks over at Crystal, who is watching them with something in her eyes that Charles cannot quite place. Not bad, per se, just…. Strange. “Doesn’t sound that good though, does it? And anyway, the most important thing is that they’re satisfied, right? Passed on right to the afterlife, no worries keeping them here any longer.”

“As if it’s only worries that could keep one here”, Edwin replies, his tone as dry as the desert, but making Charles laugh anyway. “We should be the best example for that.”

“You know what I mean!”, he shoots back, “It isn’t like with us, is it? Don’t think that the client was kept back by meeting the love of their life, were they now?”

It spills from his lips like nothing, without Charles thinking about it for a single second.

He’s still laughing, but Edwin’s fingers have stopped where they were gently stroking across the arch of his foot, and then Charles realises it, and for the first time, hears silence.

For the first time since they got back from Hell, they part when Crystal leaves.

The conversation had been stilted after Charles’...slip up? blunder? confession? and although it had been obvious that all three of them had been trying, it had been impossible to get things back on track.

So, Charles leaves with Crystal, telling Edwin he will walk her home, although that is something he has never done before, and Crystal lets him, although he is fairly certain she wouldn’t under normal circumstances.

She doesn’t need anyone protecting her from the city she grew up in after all.

“How do you know you’re in love with someone?”, Charles asks after they have walked in silence for a few minutes. He can’t think of a way to cushion the question, how to make it less awkward to ask, so he doesn’t bother with it at all.

“This is about Edwin?”, she asks, seemingly to clarify, and Charles nods mutely, not looking up at her. “I’m not sure. Especially not when it comes to the two of you. For Edwin, I could have seen from miles away that he was in love with you, even if he hadn’t reacted like he did when we first met. For you… you love him, anyone with eyes could see that, but if you’re in love with him, I think you have to figure that out yourself.”

“Do you know how it feels, though? Being in love?”, he asks, just in case Crystal can at least tell him that.

“I’m not sure”, she answers after a moment, then links their arms together, pulling Charles closer. “I think that’s different for everyone. But I’m sure you’ll be able to figure out what it feels like to you if you let yourself.”

He walks Crystal home, but when she asks if he wants to stay, Charles just shakes his head.

Edwin is back at the agency, and Charles isn’t sure exactly in which state, what he is thinking, and Charles cannot allow that. At least not for long.

What he does, though, is taking a little detour to the park not too far from their building.

It’s the first time he really pays it any mind, even if it’s most likely not the first time he’s been there, but now, Charles lays down on the grass, looking up at the night sky.

London is too bright for him to see many stars, but there’s a few of them; Edwin would surely be able to point out a constellation or two.

And that’s the thing, isn’t it.

Edwin isn’t here, and yet he is with Charles anyway, always, in every moment of his existence.

Sighing, he scrubs a hand down his face. There’s no way around it, it has to be now, and it has to be the right answer, the one he truly means, because Edwin deserves nothing but that.

No false hope, and no heartbreak that might be taken back along the line.

So, he thinks of Edwin, of his elegant hands and the swagger in his walk when he feels confident, of the colour of his hair and of his eyes, of the curves and slopes and sharp cuts of his face.

He loves that face, has seen it with every possible expression painted across of it, and still loves it.

The stars above are dim and partly hidden behind the clouds, so Charles lets his eyes slip shut, and imagines coming home to the agency and taking Edwin’s hands in his.

They would be just a little smaller than his own, his fingers slender and yet so capable, and if he could still feel, Charles is convinced they would feel cool against his skin.

He imagines pulling Edwin close and holding him like he has always wanted to, burying his face against the side of Edwin’s neck and pretending he can breathe in his scent. Having Edwin sneak his arms around Charles’ waist and cling to the back of his jacket, like he doesn’t want to let go again.

In his imagination, it feels a little like the hug they shared after being granted asylum on Earth, but it would be entirely different, because it wouldn’t be out of relief.

Instead, it would be just them, embracing to feel the other close.

And he thinks of pulling back from the hug, seeing Edwin smile and kissing the curve of his lips, nipping at them until he can make Edwin laugh and teasing his mouth open to lick into it.

It would be like kissing Crystal, kind of, only that-

Only that it wouldn’t be like that at all.

He runs back to the agency, as fast as his spectral feet can carry him.

Edwin is sitting right where he left him, almost like he hadn’t moved an inch since Charles walked out of the door, and he hopes to all deities he can think of that it isn’t so; knows, at the same time, that it is.

“Hi”, Charles greets, because he doesn’t know what else to say, and Edwin nods and gives him a smile, brittle and unsure and hopeful, all at once.

“Hello, Charles. Did Crystal get home safe?”, he asks, and it’s so painfully polite it makes Charles cringe.

“Yeah. Yeah, sure, of course she did”, he responds, trying to figure out how to begin saying what he needs Edwin to know, but Edwin beats him to it.

“Did you mean it?”, Edwin asks, breathes out the question like he still has lungs to do so, and it’s in that moment that Charles is more certain of his answer than anything else he has ever thought, because Edwin sounds small, sounds vulnerable and breakable and yet so fucking hopeful, and Charles wants to pick him up and cradle him against his chest and never let go again.

“Yes”, he says, and it’s sunrise and violins and bouquets of roses all at once, it’s a single word that changes the world around them. “Kind of. Let me explain.”

And Edwin nods, sits back with his hands in his lap and all Charles can think about is that those same hands belong holding a book, resting on the top of Charles’ legs, which should be flung carelessly across Edwin’s lap, just because Charles wants to be near him.

“You’re the love of my life, no matter what”, he starts, crouching down in front of Edwin so he can take his hands; they look so lost. “You have been for decades. I love you the most of anything in the world. I will always love you the most. Every time I look at you, it’s just that on repeat in my head. I love you the most.”

He ducks his head, laughing softly, because it sounds silly now that he says it out-loud, but when he looks back up, there are tears brimming in Edwin’s eyes, making them shine even brighter.

His lips are parted and for just a moment, Charles thinks about kissing them.

“And you know, I still can’t say that I am in love with you back, because you don’t deserve a lie, but what I can say, what I can promise you, is that I could fall in love with you. And that I want to. More than anything.”

A single tear rolls down Edwin’s cheek, glistening in the dim light, and Charles looks at him, and thinks, I do. I am. I love you the most.

“Could that be enough?”, he asks, squeezing Edwin’s hands in his. “At least for the start?”

And Edwin nods so frantically that more tears spill over, wetting his face, and Charles can’t help but laugh; how strange to think that making Edwin cry for once is not his biggest fear, but something that fills his heart with joy to the point of bursting.

“Okay. Brills, that’s-”, he replies, and can’t keep himself from smiling so wide it would hurt if he was still alive. “So, um. Can I kiss you? I really want to kiss you right now.”

Again, Edwin nods, and he is smiling, too, looks so happy that Charles thinks heaven must be overrated, because nothing in the whole of existence could compare to this.

He thinks of the scene he pictured in the park of holding Edwin close and how much in pales in comparison to this, to holding Edwin’s hands and watching him glow with love and hope and warmth.

And leans in to find out if the same is true for kissing him.

(It is.)

#dead boy detectives #dead boy detective agency #dbd #edwin payne #edwin paine #charles rowland #painland #payneland #paynland #chedwin #charles x edwin #edwin x charles #i have written 10k for them now it has been 4 days since i watched the show #what is happening

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laura1633 · 5 months ago

Note

I can't stop thinking about 8. with Omega Max and Alpha Charles, except that it's not slick but milk. I'm just a little obsessed with his chest and the thought of him lactating around his crush, oh my

First up for the omegaverse prompt game (I do have lots of your prompts and I will pick through as many as I can)

This was a wonderful adjustment to the prompt anon 😍. I do firstly have to apologise because this did turn into lactation kink which I have no idea how to write 😂

These omegaverse prompts are mostly just going to be rough and ready rather than fully fledged fics so hopefully you will all forgive me for that and still enjoy them for what they are (this one was was a little longer than intended)

Tags: Lactation kink

The first time it had happened Max had assumed it was a coincidence.

He had been chatting to Charles in some fancy bar when his nipples started tingling and his breasts felt as if they were slowly starting to swell. It was strange. Not strange enough to concern him immediately though. Charles always made him feel funny. Butterflies in his stomach. Slick in his panties. It was only when noticed that there were wet patches forming on the front of his shirt that he had squeaked and scurried off to the bathroom to clean himself up.

He’d been expecting his top to be damp with sweat so the discovery of milk trickling from his nipples had set off a whole array of alarm bells that resulted in a mad dash down to a late night pharmacy to get his hands on a pregnancy test.

It had come back negative which he really should have known. Other than letting one of his pit crew go down on him after his win in Vegas he hadn’t engaged in any sexual activity for at least the last nine months. Still, he’d only ever heard of omegas lactating when carrying or nursing a pup so it was worth ruling the possibility out.

He’d hoped it had been a one off. A bizarre experience that he would laugh about one day, but it kept happening. Over and Over but always around Charles. The Monegasque would only need to smile in his direction and Max would feel slick dripping from his pussy and milk leaking from his tits. He may as well have been melting into a puddle on the floor, it probably would have left less mess.

He had tried his best to get things under control by himself. He’d taken to wearing extra layers and using nursing pads to soak up the worst of it. It was only ever masking the problem though, Charles was still making him leak even if it was now happening under four layers of clothing. So, after much deliberation Max had hauled himself off to a doctor’s to get check out.

He had been expecting a complicated diagnoses. What he had received was an elderly beta doctor looking him square in the eye and asking him if the alpha in question was one he would like to be bred by. Max had of course, like any self respecting omega, shook his head vigorously in response but the flush of crimson on his face was seemingly more convincing an answer.

It was true. The image of Charles breeding him was one he’d conjured up many nights whilst laying out in bed with a silicone knotting device pushed up inside him. He’d just never expected his fantasies to make his breasts leak.

The official diagnosis: On set lactation resulting from an urge to be bred by a particular alpha.

The cure : to talk to said alpha.

The prognosis : Not good. There was not a single chance in hell Max was going to tell Charles that his tits leaked milk whenever he came close.

And so Max had tried his best to carry on as normal. He joked around with Checo in the garage. He played padel with Lando in Monaco. And he leaked fucking milk out of his tits around Charles.

It had been absolutely fucking fantastic. It had never been as bad as right now though.

Max fidgets around trying to make himself comfortable as he tries to ignore the fact that he’s been placed right next to Charles at the FIA gala ceremony. Despite all of the omega’s successes he really was starting to feel like the universe hated him. There seemed no other logical reason why his white shirt was darkening against his nipples as he waited to go up on stage and collect his trophy.

It really didn’t help that watching the ceremony was about as interesting as watching paint dry.

“You okay?” Oscar leans in from where he’s sat on the other side of Max and gives the Dutch omega a look of concern.

“Fine. Why?” Max tries to keep his eyes focused on the stage ahead. He’s almost certain that he’s blushing but right now the colour of his cheeks are the least of his problems, Charles’ alpha scent is filling his nostrils and making his tits feel like they’ve swollen to the size of footballs. If it goes on any longer Max’s chest is going to feel so heavy he’ll probably tip over if he tries to stand up. He supposes he will at least have two pillowy breasts full of milk to cushion his fall.

“You’re whining” Oscar says gently as he lets a hand rest on Max’s thigh and gives it a reassuring squeeze, “Are you sure you’re fine?”

“Just nervous” Max tries his best to smile. If he was going to speak to anyone about his little problem then Oscar wouldn’t be such a bad choice. He doubts the younger Omega would make any huge dramatics out of the situation.

“What’s going on?” Charles leans right across Max to join in the conversation, his earthy scent flooding Max’s nostrils once more and Max is sure that the fabric of his shirt stretches in response to his expanding chest.

“Nothing, just nerves” Oscar gives Max’s thigh another reassuring squeeze before turning his attention back towards the stage.

“This never gets any more interesting does it?” Charles giggles. The alpha is so close that Max can feel the warmth of his breath as he laughs, “We have another hour before it’s our time.” Charles inches himself back in his chair much to Max’s relief. Most of the damage has already been done though, Max’s panties are soaked and he can feel milk trickling down his chest all the way to his stomach. As he chances a glance down he realises that his shirt has turned see through where the material is damp.

The omega pulls his jacket around himself and tries to hold it across his body. He has at least had the foresight to bring a spare shirt with him to change into before he gets up on stage but he’s determined not to slip into it yet or that will also be drenched by the time his moment in the spotlight arrives.

It’s starting to feel uncomfortable though. His nipples itch as his shirt rubs against them and his breasts feel heavier each time Charles talks to him. As much as he was hoping to avoid the indignity of having to try and milk himself in a bathroom stall he’s not sure he has much choice. If his breasts swell any further his shirt is going to rip at the seems.

“We should maybe go for some food or something afterwards?” Charles mumbles quietly against Max’s ear. Unfortunately Max’s response is a lot less discreet, the omega keens happily but his happiness is short lived as he feels another gush of milk leak from his left breast and he’s quickly brought back down to reality. He can’t sit opposite Charles in s restaurant in this state.

He’s pretty certain that other people must have noticed something odd going on. The milk doesn’t have the strongest smell but there is something rather soapy about the aroma and the scent is starting to spread outwards. The omega jumps up from his chair and sprints out the room as quickly as he can as he bolts towards the bathroom and shuts himself away in a stall.

Shit.

When Max slides off his jack and looks down to see what the damage is he finds his shirt soaked at the front. None of this seems remotely fair.

“Max? Are you in there?”

Max yelps as he hears Charles’ voice and his breasts tingle and expand on cue like some unwanted new party trick.

“Did I upset you? Sorry I didn’t mean to. We don’t have to go out, I just thought - “ Charles trails off and Max realises its because he is whining loudly from where he has shut himself inside the toilet cubicle, “Max I think you need to let me in or I need to go get Oscar or - “

“No” Max whimpers, “Please, it is just - “ The omega sighs as he tries to work out what he can possibly say that will explain this all away. There isn’t anything though. He’s a complete and utter mess. There is one thing he is certain of above all else, he can’t go on like this. The thought makes him want to sob. The omega steels himself before opening up the door and coming face to face with Charles.

“Max -“

“I had a sort of accident.” Max mumbles. His jacket and bowtie still hung on the back of the door leaving his crinkled wet shirt on full display as it stretches wet across the broadness of his chest.

“Oh my god” Charles immediately shuffles himself into the stall and closes the door behind him, “What happened? Are you hurt?”

“It’s milk” Max keens helplessly.

“You’re pregnant?! Who got you pregnant?” Charles’ eyes darken as his chest puffs out.

“I’m not pregnant!” Max reaches out and runs his hands over his stomach to show how flat it is and then, because he can’t hold it in any longer, he blurts out the secret he has been trying to hold in for so long, “This is because of you.”

Charles freezes. He looks surprised, startled, confused.

All of which Max thinks are perfectly valid repossess to an omega telling you that you are the reason they are currently lactating.

“Me?” Charles’ mouth opens and closes a few times as if he’s trying to elaborate on his question. Instead he just settles on repeating himself “Me?”

“I always do it when you are close to me. Always with the milk and the swelling and the tingling,“ Max pauses before starting to babble to fill up the silence once more, “My body wants you to breed me.”

It’s not an eloquent explanation. Nor is it the way Max had wanted to explain his little affliction to Charles.

“You want me to breed you?”

“My body wants you to breed me?” Max tries to draw some sort of distinction between his brain and his body. In reality they are both pretty much on the same page, Max goes all mushy brained whenever Charles is close and he’d quite happily let the alpha fill him with one or two tiny Leclerc pups if Charles was up for it.

“I don’t understand.”

“Whenever you talk to me or smile at me or come near me this happens” Max looks down to the ever growing wet circles around his nipples, “It is because I want you.”

Max’s breath catches as he hears the low rumble coming from Charles. The alpha’s scent has shifted again, it’s not sour notes this time, it’s thick and warm enough to make Max want to melt right into Charles’ arms.

And Charles -

Well, Charles doesn’t look immediately put off by all this.

“Does it hurt?” Charles lifts his hand and reaches towards Max’s chest but stops short of actually touching the omega much to Max’s dissatisfaction. Max lets out an unhappy little sound and tries to push his chest towards where Charles’ hand is lingering. It’s in that moment that Max finally accepts that when it comes to Charles he has almost no control over what his body does. He’s just a walking ball of hormones falling apart every time he is close to the most handsome alpha he has ever seen.

Charles cups his hand against Max’s breast and the omega tries his best to bite back a desperate whine as his shirt rubs agains this erect nipple.

“Shhh it’s okay” Charles coos softly, “You want me to help you get cleaned up?”

Max nods meekly as he lets Charles slowly start to unbutton his shirt. There is a steady rumbling coming from the alpha now. Louder and louder. The vibration like an engine revving. Max is sure that the only time he’s ever made an alpha rumble this loud before was when their cock was inside him.

“Fuck” Charles growls as he eases the shirt off and soothes his hands over Max’s breasts . There’s still milk trickling down, his skin sticky and wet. Yet far from looking disgusted Charles is licking right across his lips. Max tries not to let himself get carried away by trying to work out what exactly that means.

“This is all because of me?” Charles growls again, low and possessive. The alpha’s hand cups and squeezes against Max’s right breast and the trickle of milk starts to build in to a stream.

“For you” Max mumbles but the words come out as little more than a breathy moan as he sees the milk dripping down over Charles’ fingers and hand, white liquid splashing against the Monegasque’s jewellery. It feels so obscene yet Charles’ eyes are just widening in fascination and he’s bringing his own fingers to his mouth to lick them clean.

Max holds his breath. The milk tastes sweet. Sugary even. Max knows because he tasted it in one of his weaker moments. Charles’ tongue licks over his fingers again, lapping up the last few drops that have dripped down to his knuckles.

“You taste beautiful” Charles looks up, his eyes flickering as they meet Max’s gaze, “so good.”

Max feels his skin tingle. His chest tight. Body vibrating. He tries to hold as still as possible. Nothing feels real. The lactating. The sight of Charles licking milk off his fingers. The sound of clapping and cheering filtering in from the room next door. It’s like a fever dream.

Charles puts his hand back on Max’s tits, massaging and cupping the flesh and watching the way the drops of milk form and then drip down.

“This is - “ Charles squeezes again and watches another bead of milk form, “Fuck you’re so pretty. Such a pretty omega.”

Max’s legs shake as Charles leans closer and starts to lap up the milk that is falling down over the curve of his breast. The alpha’s tongue is warm and wet against his skin.

The omega arches his back and pushes his chest closer to Charles’ mouth. He has never been an overly dominant omega when it comes to sex, he prefers to encourage rather than demand but his hands are twitching by his side as he considers tangling his fingers into Charles’ hair and pulling the alpha down on to his nipple.

“All for me?” Charles looks up and grins excitedly as he runs his tongue around where Max wants it. The movement slow, deliberate, in control.

It’s too much. Not enough. Max isn’t even sure anymore. He’s leaking from more than just his chest, his panties are soaked and there’s slick racing down his thighs.

“Please” Max’s voice is breathless, his cheeks burning red as he watches Charles’ mouth close around his nipple. The alpha latches on and Max groans happily at the sudden rush of relief and pleasure he feels.

Charles sucks the nipple in his mouth and pulls off with a wet slurping popping sound, his lips now glistening wet.

With milk.

With Max’s milk.

With Max’s milk that he’s just sucked out of his body.

“Alpha!” Max whimpers and arches his back as Charles dives back in, this time massaging his hands against the flesh as he purses his lips and sucks more firmly. Over and over until Max can feel the milk spurting right into the alpha’s mouth.

It makes him feel light headed. His nipples seem to have a direct line to his pussy. Each time Charles sucks and flicks out his tongue Max feels the sensation go right through his body until there is more and more slick gushing out of him. His tits throb. His clit throbs. His toes curls in his shoes. The sight of Charles attached to his tit - lapping, sucking, wet and filthy - makes him whine unashamedly.

Charles pulls back to take another breath, the alpha panting, milk dripping down off the roughness of his stubble. When he goes back in he goes for the other breast, mouthing around the area before wrapping his lips around the nipple and sucking it into his mouth.

Max almost buckles this time, his legs barely keeping him upright.

Charles is growling around him. One of the alpha’s hands cupped to his breast and the other -

The other is -

Max moans and throws his head back as Charles’ hand dips below the waistband of his trousers and down into his panties. The alphas fingers brush lightly against his clit. The faintest and briefest of touches before Max is coming, his whole body spasming as he feels another spurt of milk shooting into Charles’ mouth and sees it drip down from side of the alpha’s lips.

His body feels lighter. Floaty. Wet. So, so wet.

Charles groans as he pulls back. His pupils blown. Face damp. He look stunning. Hair ruffled. Cheeks red.

Max lets his own instincts take over as he gets his hands into Charles’ hair and pulls the alpha into a kiss. It tastes sweet as he licks up and into Charles’ mouth and tastes his own milk.

Charles is hard, the alpha’s cock pushed against Max’s leg. Nice and big as it presses into the fleshy part of the omega’s thigh. Max can’t help but wonder how much bigger it gets when it knots. The thought alone makes his breasts tingle.

“Forget going for dinner” Charles tugs at Max’s bottom lip with his teeth, “Come back to my hotel with me.”

Max nods without hesitation. His body is already dripping all over, his pussy slick wet and ready to take the alpha’s knot, milk still dripping down over the curves of his breasts and down the contours of his body.

He’s not ashamed anymore though. How can he be when he sees how much it’s turning Charles on. If anything he realises that maybe it’s been some sort of courting ritual all along. His body providing something his alpha wants. Because Charles is surely his now. Fully and completely.

“Perfect little omega” Charles praises, his eyes wild as he goes back to smothering Max’s chest with warm wet kisses.

Max closes his eyes and purrs as he hears the low possessive growl Charles makes as he continues to lick up the milk made solely for him.

#Lestappen fanfiction #Lestappen fanfic

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popodoki · 2 months ago

Text

Me @ myself: bestie you have this idea in your head, that's great. Did you remember by chance that you can actually write it yourself?

Cat King wearing a dress and lipstick and looking pretty, Edwin agrees, they smooch about it x

pretty tame but still NSFW Catwin

It's nsfw because I mention their boners ok :)

“Thomas, what time are you leaving again, for your- ah.”

Edwin freezes, halfway through the mirror, sending ripples across the surface.

“Hm?” Comes the distracted hum, in lieu of an answer, as Edwin’s eyes flick between blood red painted lips and fingers deftly capping the stick of lipstick. Sitting in front of his own mirror, the Cat King’s lips tout, purse and press together, while Edwin follows the mirrored view of fingers until they move out of view, as the Cat King tucks the little stick into what looks like one of several pockets, hidden within the folds of silk and lace that adorn his lover’s frame. An altogether delicate looking ensemble, made all the more striking by the eye-catching dissonance between the Cat King’s toned, lean physique, and the soft, luxurious and most noticeably copious amounts of fabric that despite their overwhelming presence manage to only covering half of said lean, toned frame.

Deliberate on multiple fronts, Edwin knows. All par of the course. Edwin swallows, hard. He doesn’t recall fully stepping into the room, but notices he must now be several steps closer all the same, to be able to enjoy the softness of the dress’s fabric underneath his fingertips. As his palm gently traces the curve of the voluminous red skirt spreading out in an arch off of the bodice, Edwin let’s his brain restart with all the patience of someone used to being struck at a loss of words around his lover.

“What kind of gathering was this, again?” is all he can eventually manage, but it’s enough, or at least allows his lover to indulge him in response, the colour slowly rising in the Cat King’s cheeks, framing his lips, the lipstick, the knowing look in those golden eyes, the lips, the lipstick.

"I thought you said you had research tonight? In London. Your office.” The Cat King mouths the words ‘Do not disturb’ at the end of his sentence, taking great care and equal pleasure in moving his lips slowly.

“Yes, but it’s of no matter,” Edwin mutters, waving his free hand dismissively, “I had a book here I wished to collect for it actually. But it can wait. I’ll get right back to it, later.” He steps forward.

“Get back to Charles, you mean.” The Cat King smirks. “Poor thing, I normally would’ve been ready and gone by now. Leaving him alone for extended periods of time, are you sure that’s responsible, Ghostie?”

This isn’t the first time the Cat King’s gone out, like this, while Edwin’s out, he realizes with a jolt. The lipstick, the way the dress sits on him. His lover does this, and Edwin rarely gets to see it. A pang goes through his gut. It’s still taking some getting used to, the soft ever-present heat, radiant comfort of what this is between them, the most important thing is that like the Cat King knows how wholly Edwin loves him, Edwin needs him to know he loves this too.

“Research can wait. You look so good.” And more so does the cheeky grin Edwin gets in response.

“I do, don’t I?” The Cat King purses his lips again, a warm palm covers Edwin’s hand, pulling it slowly up, from where he’d kept it buried in the soft folds of fabric this whole time. His lover’s lips are even softer, Edwin wills his touch to be as gentle as he can make it, as he traces the red painted lower lip with the pads of his fingers.

“Can I kiss you?” He whispers.

“You’d better.” The Cat King breathes against his fingers, and Edwin leans in.

It’s a kiss that starts out more cautious than usual, a more tentative build into the comfortable heat they’ve settled into. Edwin threads his fingers through his lover's soft hair, lets his other hand travel gently down the back of the dress’s bodice, to rest on the Cat King’s waist. The stool in front of the dressing table wobbles precariously as the Cat King surges into the kiss, Edwin’s hands moving to hold him steady.

“I’ve got you.” Edwin murmurs against his lover’s cheek, hand rubbing circles into a bare shoulder.

The Cat King gives a little laugh, into Edwin’s mouth, pulling back only to gaze at him from up through his long, blackened lashes. “You’ve got lipstick on you, is what you’ve got.” he states with a pleased purr, smudging it further around Edwin’s lips with his thumb. Edwin inhales sharply, pressing his body closer.

“Can I have some more?” He whispers back.

The Cat King lets out a small chuckle, gleefully letting it grow into a louder bout of laughter, then kisses Edwin, harder, harder and harder each time, letting Edwin taste the very colour of his lips, the joy, desire. He pulls away for only just a moment, to take in Edwin’s half-lidded eyes, his panting mouth, all smeared with lipstick. Golden eyes flit from Edwin’s own eyes, to lips, to neck, to the collar of his shirt with the top few buttons left open.

“Hm, Ghostie.” The Cat King leans in, runs his nose along the line of Edwin’s jaw, trailing kisses down his throat. “What time d’you reckon you have, before-?”

“I can be late.” Edwin says, hands flying down, hitching the Cat King’s dress up, so he can wrap one hand around each thigh, each leg, dragging his lover to him as he steps even closer. And of course, the Cat King’s not wearing anything beneath the dress, his half-hard cock pressing against Edwin’s full erection, bulging and straining against his trousers, the moment their hips meet.

“You’re sure? I don’t want to keep you from your research.”

“Thomas.” Edwin cups the other’s chin, his chest heaving. “Keep me.”

When the Cat King smirks, and moves to pull the stick of lipstick out from between the folds of his dress, Edwin makes a mental note to at least make sure to return to London with the book he needs for their research, seeing as how nothing else was going to be getting done tonight, save for himself.

#dbda #catwin #cat king #edwin payne #dead boy detectives #dbda fanfic #me writing dressing table when its a coiffeuse but y'all ain't French siiiiiiiigh

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cupidskissx · 11 months ago

Note

Thanks for the fics! Are you thinking about writing something Christmassy? If you use this ask for that, I wouldn't care...lol

kisses and happy new year

Hello sweet anon,

Happy belated Christmas to you and those that celebrate!

I started this yesterday with no intention or direction whatsoever. By some Christmas miracle it’s the first thing I’ve “finished” in 6 months. I hope you enjoy ~1k of something for you ❤️🎄

***

When Max’s phone vibrated on the glass-top table the last thing he expected to see when he turned it over was a notification from Charles Leclerc.

Merry Christmas 🎅

He stared at the simple message, unsure what to make of it. They hadn’t spoken since before Max missed their padel game — his previous one line apology left unanswered.

Twisting his wrist, he checked the time and did the calculation. He frowned, it would be past midnight in Monaco, he couldn’t reply and wish him a happy Christmas now.

He picked up his phone and excused himself from the conversation. He walked inside while opening Charles’ contact and clicking call. Max didn’t know why he felt so compelled to speak to him, but it was too late now, he was closing the door to the guest bedroom when Charles answered.

“Hey,” a muted rustle followed Charles’ greeting, likely him rolling over in his covers.

“Hey,” Max sat on the end of the bed. “How was your Christmas?” Max asked.

“Nice, how was yours?”

“Yeah, nice,” Max didn’t know what else to say, maybe calling wasn’t the best idea.

“That’s good,” Charles stifled a yawn, then he asked, “How’s Brazil?”

“Hot. How’s Monaco?”

“Chilly.”

“Checks out.”

“When do you get home?” Charles changed the subject, taking Max by surprise that he’d want to bother keeping up their stilted conversation.

“Err, in a couple of days.”

“We should catch up before I head to Maranello.”

“Really, why? Have you missed me?” Max joked.

“A bit. Which is weird.”

Charles was kidding, surely, Max was the one who was left on read, “How much did you have to drink today, mate?” Max laughed, until he registered Charles’ mumbled response.

“Not enough.”

Oh. Max laid back on the bed and stared at the crack running through the plasterboard ceiling.

“I guess I just miss racing,” Charles clarified, now that is something Max can relate to. He supposed he missed Charles too, in the same way he missed Sunday morning briefings. Because setting the strategy meant driving, and driving meant racing and racing had always meant Charles. Except Charles didn’t only mean racing. Not anymore.

“I really am sorry I missed that game.”

“No you’re not,” Charles was the one to laugh that time.

“Okay, not the match so much, but I am sorry that I let you down.”

Charles was quiet for a long moment, “How’s Kelly’s family?”

Max closed his eyes. “Most of them are drunk and diving into the pool, not the best combination.”

“No, not the best.”

“How’s your family? How’s Arthur, I heard he lost his seat?”

Charles rustled on his end of the line again, “Yeah, he’ll be okay, but it’s still shit. We tried not to talk racing at dinner and that helped.”

“And your mum?” Max asked. The vision of Pascale in his mind was still the one he formed at karting tracks when they were young. When Max was shorter than her and she’d bring a pack lunch in a wicker picnic basket, an old thermos full of coffee never far from reach. One miserable afternoon in Italy she’d let Max hold it to warm his hands while they waited for the rain to clear.

“She’s good,” Charles answered, “Having us all home together makes her happy.”

“Because she can keep an eye on all of you at once for a change?”

“Yeah, definitely,” Charles sounded like he was smiling, Max wouldn’t have sounded much different when he replied.

“My mum is the same, she’ll pop her head in to my room at 6am just to watch me sleep.”

“Mum has definitely walked into whichever room I’m in to make sure I haven’t evaporated if I’m quiet for too long.”

“Typical mums,” Max rolled his eyes fondly at the same time Charles said: “I guess we’re the lucky ones.”

“Yeah, we are,” Max agreed because Charles had a way of making him more honest with himself.

“Will you go see Sophie for Christmas?”

“I’m flying up after New Year’s.”

“So you’ll be in Monaco for New Year’s Eve?”

“If everything goes to plan. Will you?”

“Yeah, I don’t leave until the 3rd. You should come over, I’m doing a small get together, nothing crazy.”

“I’ll check and let you know.”

“Good.”

“And if I can’t make it?”

“Then I guess I’ll see you when the season starts.”

Max’s heart performed a peculiar acrobatic act against his ribcage. “You won’t be home in between?”

“Not really.”

“Well I suppose I do owe you a game before you leave, if it can’t be New Year’s.”

Charles all but giggled on his end of the line, “So now you want to play?”

Max opened his mouth, the words: no, I want to see you nearly tumbled out but he caught them before he had to think too hard about what they meant. “I wanna beat you,” he said instead.

“Naturally. We’ll see,” Charles said but Max didn’t appreciate the open-endedness.

“Afraid for a little one-on-one, we both know Tom carried you last time.”

“You talk big game for someone who lost.”

“Guess there’s only one way to—” there was a single knock on the bedroom door before it creaked open, “I better let you go.”

“Oh, okay, yeah, see you soon then.”

“Yeah, book a court and I’ll be there,” Max started to pull his phone away from his ear when he was called back.

“Max?” Charles asked, voice wavering.

“Yeah?” Max’s brow pinched as he kept his eyes focused on the ceiling. Not quite ready to sit up.

“Get ready to lose again.”

Max snorted, “Yeah, yeah, keep dreaming.”

“I will,” Charles was smiling again, “Night.”

“Night,” Max ended the call. He settled his smile into something less cheesy and pushed himself up onto his elbows to find himself alone in the room.

#what even is their dynamic here I don’t know you can decide #lestappen fic #lestappen #max verstappen #charles leclerc #mentions of Kelly Piquet #I guess I wasn’t over padel date 2.0 #Writing and Rambles

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beachy--head · 5 months ago

Text

AU drabble set in season 9, because a) Mercy West forever, and b) both Jackson and April deserved to have friends they could confide in and that could have avoided us some angst.

___

He’s been an attending surgeon for a few months already, but Jackson still feels a little something when he sees his name and those of his residents class marked as lead surgeons on the OR board. Part of it is pride to have made it, part of it is just plain incredulity, like they’re all children playing pretend doctors for the day and are not old enough to be trusted with a scalpel.

“Dr. Adamson.”

Next to him in the OR, Reed Adamson, old friend and brand new ortho attending, only grunts in response to his greeting.

“Hmph.”

Reed is often gruff, so he lets it slide, but she doesn’t say one word during their whole surgery, except when she answers the interns’ questions, and that is very uncharacteristic of Reed. Two hours later, they’re scrubbing out, and she still hasn’t said one word to him.

“Okay, spit it out.”

She gives him a dirty look that makes Jackson ever more annoyed.

“What?”

Reed rolls her eyes and turns to him.

“What are you doing with April?”

“What am I doing with April?”

“I spent last night at Joe’s listening to her rant, and she didn’t talk specifically about you, but the poor girl is so confused, and we all know it’s because of you.”

“Oh really?” he says sarcastically, because the last thing he needs is for Reed to get involved in his thing with April.

“You’re acting like children, and it’s going to end badly.”

“Because you’re such an expert in relationships and human connections?”

Reed ignores him.

“I’m just saying. Don’t break her heart.”

He stops rinsing his hands and shoots his friend an incredulous look, speaking before he can stop himself.

“‘Don’t break her heart’? How about she doesn’t break mine?”

Shit.

“What?”

Reed can be pretty perceptive (when she’s not busy staring daggers at you), and he’s just given her ammunition. Great. He has to backpedal, and fast.

“I’m just saying. Her heart is not breaking, she only wants sex.”

His friend is small, but fast. In one second, she manages to roll her eyes, finish washing her hands and whack him on the back of the head.

“Ouch!”

“Jackson. Are you actually really dumb and have been hiding it the whole time?”

“What?”

“How long have you known April? Type-A, neurotic, has-a-life-plan-pinned-above-her-bed April?”

“Isn’t she supposed to be your friend?”

“You think that suddenly, she’d be chill with a no-strings attached relationship? That sex with you is so good she’d throw away her wedding scrapbook, white-picket-fence dreams? I had to teach her what ‘friends with benefits’ meant, and now you think that’s her life goal?”

“I don’t know what she thinks, okay? It’s not like we spend our time talking, you know?”

Reed’s face contorts in a grimace of disgust.

“Okay, ew, no, I don’t know, and I don’t particularly want to. Despite what April is saying, I don’t need the visuals, thank you.”

“I’m just saying, I don’t know what goes inside her head!”

“Have you tried just asking her?”

“Have you tried talking to Charles about whatever it is you have with him?”

It's a low blow, but he's ready to try anything to change the subject.

“Leave me and Charlie out of it. Grow a pair and talk to her. We used to never be able to shut the both of you up. What happened?”

What happened is feelings, very, very big feelings, feelings he’s not sure he’s ready to handle yet, because in his experience, people you love tend to leave after a while, and why would he put his heart in the hands of someone with the power to crush it?

Reed still seems annoyed with him, like she can’t believe her best friends can be so clueless, but seems to soften.

“You’re not teenagers anymore. I know you’re both afraid to ruin the friendship or whatever, but you’re going to have to talk about it sooner or later. Sooner would be better.”

Jackson sighs and passes a hand on his face.

“I know, I know. Thank you.”

Reed bends her legs in a mock curtsy, and he suddenly remembers something she said.

“Wait, April has been talking about me? What did she–”

“Talk to her, Avery!”

#drabble #japril #april kepner #jackson avery #mercy west forever

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lovingperfectionsblog · 2 years ago

Text

The Dreaded Question

Carlos Sainz Jr x Reader

Summary: The classic, would you love me if I was a worm?

Warnings: Drinking, mentions of death, mentions of the Devil and God, mentions of tentacle porn.

Word Count: 1067

Author's note: A silly little drabble about a silly little scene based off of THE QUESTION :D. Forgive me for jumping onto this bandwagon.

______________________________________________________________

“Baby, before you go” Carlos called out to you from the lounge, a very heated and very drunken discussion between him, Charles, Lando and Pierre taking a quick pause, “I have a super important question to ask you!” There was complete silence other than your high heels clicking across the floor as they waited for you to enter.

“You need to be quick, I’m five minutes away from being late to meet Lewis” you busied yourself, getting your purse ready for a night out of drinks with one of your oldest friends.

“You’re dressed like that to meet Lewis?” The question hadn’t come from your boyfriend, but instead his best friend in the form of little Lando.

“Is that your question?” Carlos knew that you were actually asking was if he was genuinely allowing his friends to question how you were dressed to meet one of your oldest friends for drinks, but the quick shaking of his head and a kick to Lando’s knee was an indication that it was by no means what he had wanted to ask at all.

In response, you nodded and continued to look around for your keys, patiently waiting for the question. It was not even close to what you had expected. You’d expected a questioning of where you were going for the evening, what time you were getting home, what were your plans for the rest of the weekend, anything, but not,

“Would you still love me if I was a worm?”

You stopped your rifling and just stared at your boyfriend, all four of the boys looking back at you, waiting for your answer in anticipation.

“Would I still love you if you were a worm?” You repeated his question, all four nodding in response as if you were addressing the collective, “No, I would not.” Your answer clearly displeased the lot of them, a look of hurt across your boyfriends and a look of anger across the others.

Before any of them could even begin to protest, you held up your hand to stop them, “this is not a conversation you want to get into with me.” You made your way over to the kitchen table, an attempt to look for your wallet now too, convinced your keys would be with it.

“This is the exact conversation I want to get into with you” Carlos' voice seeped in pain.

“Yeah, why wouldn't you love him if he was a worm?” It was Charles' turn to interject into the dynamics of your relationship this time, and truthfully, you were surprised it wasn’t Lando, he always had something to say in defense of Carlos.

“Well, because he’d be a worm, he wouldn’t be a cognizant thing, how do I love something I can have absolutely zero interaction with?” You thought this would all be obvious, but judging by the looks on all their faces, this answer was not a good enough explanation, “and if you were a cognizant being, like I could talk to you, then god no, that would be even worse, because then we’d have to have the conversation around like, tentacle porn, and worse, and did you know a worms entire skin is basically a mucus membrane, and did you know salt hurts them, do you know what our skin secretes? Salt. So no, I would not love you if you were a worm.” Although your reasoning was entirely sound, and none of them could truly fight you on it, there still looked like there was some damage control that needed to be done, Carlos turning away from you, a clearly hurt look on his face.

“But, can I answer the actual question?” Carlos cocked his head, the only response he was going to give.

“What actual question?” That was the exact answer you had wanted to hear, albeit it came from a confused Pierre.

“Well, Carlos isn’t asking me if I would love him if he was a worm, what he’s actually asking me is, if he felt like he was nothing, if he had nothing to offer other than exactly who he was, all the dark, nitty gritty parts of who he is, would he still be enough for me, would I still choose to love him?” the silence urged you on, all of them waiting to hear what your response would be to this.

“And my answer would and always will be, that God himself could come down right now and whisk me away and tell me that he is going to give me a thousand full lives, of nothing but utter joy and peace for me to experience, but I’d never be able to see you again-” you’d made your way to stand just behind the couch that Carlos sat on, his eyes boring into your own, “-and I would spend the rest of my days hunting the Devil himself down, and on hands and knees beg him to take my soul and every single second of every single one of those lives in exchange for just one last day with you” you carded your fingers through his hair, eyes never leaving his, “So no, I would not love you if you were a worm, but I would love you for every second the Devil himself ripped apart my soul in the very depths of hell.”

“It’s unfair, you’re a writer” you couldn’t help the laugh that ripped out of you at your boyfriends quiet words.

“I’m late, I’ll see you,” you showed the keys as you began to leave the room, “behave and have a good night!” you shouted out through your giggles as they could do nothing other than watch the door close behind you.

“Can we all agree to never mention her answer to anyone, because I am not sure I could top that one” Pierre was the first to speak after you’d left.

“I warned you that this is what you were gonna get for dating a writer” Lando just chuckled out.

“Can’t wait to hear the warning you’re going to give me when I tell you I’m going to propose to her next week” Carlos had finally stopped looking at the door and instead was now addressing Lando directly, mimicking the grin on his friends face as Lando realized what he was saying, his friends laughter only getting louder.

“Your vows are gonna fucking suck compared to hers.”

#carlos sainz junior #Carlos sainz Jr x reader #Carlos Sainz Jr x You #x Reader #Lando Norris #Charles Leclerc #Pierre Gasly #f1 imagine #F1 reader #f1 fanfic

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yanderepuck · 9 months ago

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WE GOT ANOTHER ONE FOR THIS WHOOOORREE. It fits so well for him bc he's just so rough and doesn't care what happens to you as long as he feels please.

I love him on a sexual level and that's about it. Well let's thank @evil-quartett for this wheel prompt. I normally don't use dialogue prompts but something about this was so good.

Decided that it's going to be semi of a sequel to the last one I wrote

Prompt: "you know I love you, right?" "Yeah" "good, because I'm going to fuck you like I don't"

You wrap your arms around him from behind. Too short to look over this shoulder you move your head around him to see what he is doing.

"Whatcha working on?" You definitely want to bother him.

Faust jumps slightly from your touch. "When did you get back?"

"Just a few minutes ago. Seeing you was the first thing on my list," you smile at him as he sets his things down, turning to look at you.

He puts his hands on your cheeks and kisses you

"You were gone too long. That old bat isn't allowed to keep you that long again."

You had gone to the mansion for a few days per Comte's request.

"I'm sorry. But I'm back now," you smile and stand on your toes to kiss him. "But I'm glad to know you missed me."

"Of course I missed my meerschweinchen," he smirks at you, wrapping his arms around your waist. "Who else was I supposed to play with?"

"Charles was still here," you tease. Faust doesn't look amused however. "It was nice to see everyone there. I've missed them."

"All of them?" Faust knows some of the guys there are a tad... questionable.

"Yes all of them. Even if all Arthur did was flirt and Theo kept calling me a dog," you groan slightly. "He kept telling me to bark when he would ask me something."

Faust glares slightly. Oddly enough Theo is the one he dislikes the most. You would have bet anything it would be Arthur considering how much he wants to bite you, and how many jokes he makes about sleeping together.

"I hope you didn't spend too much time with him," he tries to stop himself from growling by biting his tongue.

You thought for a moment and that was the only answer he needed.

"I think i spent time with everyone equally. Though I guess I tend to spend more time with Theo and Arthur. They like to drag me around with them."

"That's it," Faust picks you up, setting you on the table behind him. "You're not going over there again."

"You can't ban me from the mansion, silly," you let yourself be picked up. On the table you are just a little above eye level for him.

"But I can stop you from leaving this castle."

He stands between your legs, his hands resting on your thighs. He's being so touchy today, you love it. Maybe you should leave more often.

"Are you going to trap me here like an evil witch," you giggle and drape your arms over his shoulders.

"Something like that," his hands slide up to your hips.

You begin to play with his hair as you lean closer to kiss him. You didn't mean for it to be rough, but Faust's kiss in return was.

You moaned and he pulled you closer to the edge so your bodies were pressed together.

Without waiting for your response, he was already in unbuttoning your shirt. He wanted to feel your skin. He wanted to squeeze you, pull at your flesh. Anything to feel you.

He already has you half undressed before you even started working on his clothes.

"They better not have touched you," he growled

Now you sense it. He's jealous. More than just because you left as well. You decide to play into it, wanting to know how far he'll take it.

"Not in a bad way, no. I got some hugs. Theo did get a little drunk and clung to me at one point," that was really Isaac. Some drinks got mixed up and you had to help him to bed.

You could feel Faust get tense as he grabbed you harder.

"Don't worry. No one bit me," you kiss him, finally getting his coat to the floor.

"They better not have," he gets your bra off and roughly gropes you, forcing a moan out of you. Just that squeeze made your mind go fuzzy.

"You're already wet for me, aren't you?" He smirks. He tries getting your skirt and underwear off. You rock your body every which way to get the fabric out from under you. In seconds you're fully naked on his table while he still has most of his clothes on.

You whine and get his shirt fully unbuttoned. "Why must you have such complicated clothes," you pout, glaring at his stupid amount of belts.

"Fine, fine," normally he likes to watch you struggle with taking his clothes off, but he does it for you this time. In seconds he's standing there naked, between your legs.

Your hands rest on his waist, keeping him close to you. Leaning forward, you kiss him. Immediately getting rough. His hands go all over your body, squeezing any bit he can while your hands go down to his cock.

He gasps between the kisses as you get him harder, wrapping your hands around his length. Pumping him, he gets harder and harder with more precum coming out of his tip.

He bites your lip and gets closer. He reaches behind you to move anything in the table that might be in the way.

His lips go down to your neck, kissing and nibbling at your skin. "You know I love you, right?"

You moan and keep working his cock, moving your head to the side for him. "O-of course."

"Good," he nibbles at the front of your neck, taking your hands off of him. You feel his tip press against your hole. You're eager for him. If you could suck him in you would.

"Because I'm going to fuck you like I don't," he growled in your ear and pushed himself all the way into you.

You gasp, falling back on the table. With a death grip on your hips he doesn't give you time to adjust. Now that he's in you he won't be kind. He pulls you closer to the edge to make sure he's as deep as he can get.

You can already feel bruises forming at your hips. Pushing your legs further apart, he thrusts into you roughly, only caring about his pleasure. Not only is he holding you close to the edge, but he's holding you down against the hard table.

"You're mine, got it!"

The air was practically fucked out of your lungs and you're still trying to catch up. "Y-yesss," all you could say.

"You're staying here. I will fuck you until you can't walk to be sure of that," his hips snapped into you harder.

You barely got time to moan before you were screaming. His tip is slamming into your cervix and he keeps trying to drive deeper and deeper into your hole.

You hold onto your tits, squeezing them yourself. Your body starts to squirm. It's too much. You squeeze your eyes shut and pant.

Your toes curl and your nails dig into your own skin. The table under you shakes with each thrust. Faust doesn't seem to be bothered by a few of his tools rolling around.

You knew he was the type to get jealous, but you didn't think it would be this bad. Your legs try to close. He's going so deep that you already feel sore

He forces your legs flat onto the table, holding them down.

"Stay or I'm tying you down," he bares his fangs at you, keeping his hands on your legs, digging his fingers into your thighs.

You scream again. As much as you'd love to be tied down, you don't force your legs against him.

In moments you clench around him, coating his cock and your walls in cum.

He moans now that he's able to slide in and out quicker.

He goes to take his glasses off, barely slowing down. They kept sliding and the chain was getting annoying. He holds you tightly again and gets harder.

You squeeze your flesh more, screaming in pain and pleasure. Now you're able to tell the difference from when he's using his vampire strength. He holds back more than you realize normally.

"Mine," he growls before cumming into you. You didn't expect it, and he didn't slow down at all as it shot out. He just fucked his cum deep into you. Even once his load was fully out he continued to keep the pace and force.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head and you could barely hold onto yourself at this point, half of your body fell limp.

"That's right. Just lay there and let me fuck you."

Tag list~

@kissmetwicekissmedeadly @fang-and-feather @xalxtusxiao @namine-somebodies-nobody @ana-thedaydreamer @evil-quartett @ameyoruakiikemenseries @yrenesposts @p1nkpandomium @tele86 @damekathearasi @lokis-laugh @candied-boys @breadmercury @aquagirl1978 @xenokiryu @nightghoul381 @floydsteeth @vampiricpancake @tako-cafe

#ikevamp #ikemen vampire #ikevamp faust #smut smut smut

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dilemmaontwolegs · 1 year ago

Note

Hey love! I really enjoy your writing specially another lie it was so good and i really loved it and enjoyed the two endings but can you please give us maybe a drabble about what charles' reaction to the 'announcement' maybe from charles' pov? No pressure if you don't wanna do it and thank you for giving us such a great work!

A/N: not proof read and written on my phone. It’s my baby girls birthday this weekend so I’m mostly offline 💕

Another Lie (Blurb) ||CL16 {5.1}

F1 Masterlist || One || Two || Three || Four || Five (Max’s Ending) || {5.1} Blurb || Five (Charles’ Ending)

Charles had never accepted that you were no longer his. Not even marrying Max had stopped him from thinking that one day you would be back where he knew you belonged. He refused to acknowledge your surname even two years after it had changed to Verstappen.

But this announcement crumbled those dreams.

He should have paid more attention. He knew your body better than his own yet he had been blinded to the changes. He should have questioned why you backed away from him, why you gave up the fight he knew you were always up to having. It was narcissistic but those arguments were the only time any of your burning passion was spent on him, so he would take the acerbic lacerations from your tongue just to have you speak to him.

There would be no more arguments.

Charles couldn’t shake the image of you standing with his son, exactly as it should have been. But those were not your features on Jules face and it was all his fault.

You would never be the mother of his child. You were already a mother to Max’s.

Charles fist collided with the tv screen in front of him, the image of Max kissing you suddenly turning to jagged lines of purple hues as it broke. “Fuck!”

Knowing why you backed away from the fight only made him feel worse. Had you really thought he would hurt you? He flinched as he remembered how your hand had floated across your stomach when he released your wrist. He had hurt you in so many ways, but he would never do that.

If he wasn’t so caught up in the anger he held towards Sapphire he would have noticed how the material of your shirt hung differently, or how your breasts were larger than the last time he saw you. He missed the signs that were right in front of him.

“Charlie? Have you seen Jules?” Sapphire asked with that grating voice of nails on a chalkboard.

“Where the fuck have you been?” he growled as she stared at the broken tv screen and the blood running down his knuckles. “He was roaming the fucking paddock alone!”

He didn’t need an answer as she tossed her bleached blonde hair back ready to make an excuse. The evidence was clear. Purple marks littered her pale neck, marks he knew didn’t come from him.

“Fucking whore.”

“Get off your high horse, you’re no better than me,” she scoffed, pulling her hair back into place.

Charles open his mouth to give his scathing response but he had none. His cheating was the very reason he lost the greatest thing he ever had and now any hope of repairing what he broke was gone.

“Get your shit and go,” Charles said quietly as he turned back to the broken screen, flickers of your face fading in and out. This flashes were just enough to catch the glimpse of pure joy for moment before it was gone again. He looked at his fist and sighed in defeat. “My lawyer will be in touch with a settlement and custody agreement. You’ll be taken care of, just get the fuck out of my sight.”

“You can’t be serious. Is this because of her?” she asked as she pointed to the TV.

“I don’t love you, I never have. In fact, just the sight of you makes me sick and the only good thing to come from you is Jules.” He took a step closer with each brutal slap of honesty, but it was all for nought as she knew this already. “We’re done.”

“I’m glad,” she spat as she stood a little taller and looked down her nose at him. “She is never going to choose you. Who would? You’re never going to be world champion.”

“Take your shit and go, Sapphire,” Charles growled as he took a step forward, forcing her to take a step back to the doorway. “Don’t bother saying goodbye to Jules, he won’t even notice you’re gone.”

#charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc angst #charles leclerc x y/n #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fanfic #f1 angst #f1 fic #f1 rpf #f1 fanfic #formula one imagine #formula one fanfiction

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angywritesstuff · 2 years ago

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Levitating

Summery: You are Charles’ celebrity crush... or are you?

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x reader. (This has nothing to do with my Smau series… it’s just a one shot I couldn’t stop thinking about)

liked by prideofgypsies and others

itsMeYn ...LEVITATING... OUT... NOW!

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YnMyQueen I’m obsessed already... obsessed

iloveyn Oh my god! yes!

yourbestfriend Finally bitch!

itsMeYn shut it

yourmom So proud of you honey

ItsMeYn ❤️

liked by itMeYn and 123,446 others

vogue Your new album is out today, what has inspired you to write it?

Y/n Y/sn speaks to Vogue about her new album, how she come to write it and new love.

“The last couple of years have been complicated but a full ones too: full of emotions, new experiences and happy memories. This album is a complex one because for me it’s about moving on, finding love when you weren’t expecting it and where you weren’t expecting. But all I want is for people to want to dance and have fun whenever they listen to it at the same time”

Levitating has just been certified with Platinum, what are your favorite lines of the song, if we can ask?

"-If you wanna run away with me, I know a galaxy, And i can take you for a ride.-

yeah I really like the beginning"

Visit the link in bio to read the full interview

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Y/nfan Oh my god, my baby is in love....

Ynmyquenn I’m so happy for her after her last break up... she deserves it

iloveYn do we know who is she dating?

YnmyQueen she did’nt say, I only hope whoever it is treat her like the queen she is

Yourbestfriend well look at this beautiful baby

ItsMeYn look who is talking

Charles.leclerc.fanclub

Interviewer to Charles: “Who is your celebrity crush?”

Carlos (before Charles can answer): “He can not say it, he has a girlfriend”

Charles: “No I don’t”

Interviewer: “So you have to answer”

Charles: “Mh… Y/n Y/sn”

So this happened and I’m so confused… is he in a relationship? Is he not in a relationship?

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Yn.leclerc So yeah... it's just been one minute but I'm ready to die for this ship already

YnMyQueen He is cute, but I'm sorry to say Y/n is in a relationship

Yn.leclerc Nooooo really... my poor boy, with whom? YnMyQueen We don't know yet, but some of the songs of her new album are about her new relationship Yn.leclerc So you're telling me, my ship is dead already? well one can always dream

liked by scuderiaferrari, charles_leclerc and others

ItsMeYn Is this enough red? I don't know... @scuderiaferrari what do you think?

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scuderiaferrari It's a good start. We're gonna cover you in ferrari merch soon

Yn.leclerc Look at our boy supporting his crush in red. @charles_leclerc we can see your likes

ilpredestinato She is a ferrari guest at this week gp just saying yn.leclerc Are you telling me they are gonna meet? Hell yes. This ship is ready to sail evelyn.leclerc This ship is not sailing... she is just an attention sicker YnMyQueen What are you even doing in her comments if you only want to bring hate

Spotted Spotted Y/n having fun with some friends

There are no responses to the current rumors about a relantionship between @itsMeYn and @charles_leclerc. What do you guys think?

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YnmyQueen why can’t you guys leave her alone? She deserves some privacy

IloveYn My friend met her and she was so nice... I can't be sure but my friend noticed a new tatoo under her ribcage, it seemed like a moon and a sort of number or a writing. she couldn't see it whole

Yn.Leclerc Imagine if it is Charles’ number… “you, moonlight, you are my starlight”

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charles_leclerc I could spend all my days listening to you sing

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danielricciardo Mate.. that was fun @itsmeYn thank you for having us

itsMeYn You guys can come whenever you want, you know it IloveYn Y/n giving all times free tickets to all F1 drivers is a mood 😂

Yn.leclerc Oh my god, he was at her concert

formula.one.fan Not only him, like half the grid was there. They all were seen backstage speaking with Y/n after the concert charles.leclerc.fanclub I saw Pierre's stories, they seemed to have a lot of fun

Yn.leclerc I just don't understand if this is Charles confirming the rumors or just crushing hard.

YnmyQueen Who cares... let them be

ILoveYn I don't know, but what I can tell you is that, I was at the concert and I saw Charles covering Pierre's eyes everytime Y/n got closer to them. In particular when she was singing Pretty please 😂 PierreGasly That was uncalled for @charles_leclerc, I'm a good boy

ItsMeYn ❤️

yn.leclerc Y/n singing "Love Again" while looking at Charles, you can tell me what you want but they are together and they are super cute

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ItsMeYn Always present even when you are away... Love you baby @charles_leclerc

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Charles_leclerc ❤️

Scuderiaferrari Happy birthday

YnMyqueen Happy birthday queen

Yn.leclerc The confirmation we were waiting for... I'm happy now, happy birthday

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ItsMeYn Post concert fun

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Charles_leclerc @yourbestfriend why are you touching my girlfriend's boobs?

Yourbestfriend She has amazing boobs Charles_leclerc I know that, but it doesn't answer my question Yourbestfriend Hey I was here before you, @itsMeYn control your boyfriend ItsmeYn I can't leave you two alone... not even for a second PierreGasly Does this mean that all your friend can touch your boobs or is just a @yourbestfriend thing? Asking for a friend Charles_leclerc @pierregasly you are an idiot ItsMeYn @PierreGasly 😂😂 it's mostly a charles' thing only, @yourbestfriend just like to rile him up Charles_leclerc I knew it Yourbestfriend @charles_leclerc you make it so easy 😂

Your story

English is not my first language so I’m sorry if there are any mistakes

What are we gonna do after this weekend race 😭

FEEDBACK IS ALWAYS WELCOME AND APPRECIATED 😘

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antebunny · 6 months ago

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as a huge fan of the original ACD canon, I desperately want to hear your elaboration about why you don't like BBC's Sherlock :D

hi OP I hope you're ready for a monster essay in response because that's what I ended up with!

For ease of reading I've divided up my answer into four sections: 1) explaining Arthur Conan Doyle's Sherlock with historical context, 2) analyzing BBC Sherlock/Moffat's Sherlock using a cross-section of Watsonian and Doylist techniques and sheer spite, 3) my thoughts on Johnlock, 4) comparing & contrasting Doyle's Sherlock with Moffat's Sherlock. Disclaimer: I'm not a historian, although I do I have some understanding of the history of detective fiction. Mostly I'm just an avid reader/fan.

Part I: Original Sherlock

To start with! I will talk about the characterization of Arthur Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes. Here's something which people who have never read the stories don't seem to know: Sherlock is kind.

He's not particularly nice, I'll give you that. He tends to think he's the smartest person in the room, and you know what? He almost always is. He has plenty of dry and sarcastic comments for the London police, for clients who don't bring any evidence, etc. But he goes out of his way to be kind. My favorite example of this is the Boscombe Valley Mystery.

The Boscombe Valley Mystery is far from my favorite Sherlock story in terms of mystery-solving, but one of the best in terms of characterizing Sherlock. To summarize: two wealthy, widower landowners, John and Charles, are next-door neighbors with one kid each–John, a daughter named Alice and Charles, a son named James.

Sherlock gets called in when Charles is found murdered, and everyone suspects James of doing it. Of course, it's not that easy. It turns out that twenty years ago, John was a highway robber in Australia, and he robbed Charles but left him alive. John then left the life of crime, started a family and settled in England a wealthy man. Then Charles moved in next door, recognized John, and proceeded to blackmail him for money, land, etc. This escalated until eventually Charles demanded Alice's hand in marriage for his son James. John refuses, and eventually kills Charles to protect Alice and to free himself from Charles' blackmailing/tyranny.

(The problem is that James is actually a decent person, and he and Alice are secretly in love, but there's also a bar maid involved and it's complicated and not relevant. Anyways).

Of course, Sherlock being Sherlock, he figures out that John is the murderer. But here's the thing: he defends John. He doesn't turn John (or his signed confession) over to the authorities. In fact, Sherlock goes to court to protect James by arguing that there's not enough evidence to find him guilty. Sherlock catches a murderer, goes "you know what? He was kind of right tho" and looks away.

Do you understand how radical this is for Victorian England? This is the 1890s. People still believe in God over gravity. The idea that a criminal isn't a criminal for life? That a highway robber can turn over a new leaf? That a murderer can be in the right? [Now would be a good time for a source] Like this is so new, I can't think of a way to translate it to the 21st century.

And it's key to who Sherlock is. He puts his reputation on the line for this case. He says that he didn't manage to solve this case, even though he did. His professional pride and reputation is worth less to him than protecting John, a MURDERER, and James, his son who admittedly is a nice guy whose worst crime is making dumb decisions in college (see: the bar maid).

Because here's the thing about Sherlock's "professional pride:" it's not "I'm the smartest person" or "I'm always right." Sherlock genuinely believes in his deduction method, not as a superpower which he alone possesses, but as a tool which anyone can use if they apply themselves. Which brings me to my second example: Irene Adler.

If you (general audience) only know Irene Adler from BBC Sherlock, I'm gonna ask you to forget all of that right now. Arthur Conan Doyle's Irene Adler is an American opera singer who used to be in a relationship with the future King of Bohemia. The king asks for Sherlock's help retrieving an incriminating photograph that Irene Adler has threatened to send to the king's future wife (a Scandinavian princess) and her family. (Irene Adler is currently in England, getting married to some guy named Norton).

Sherlock promptly gets outsmarted by Irene Adler. She leaves for America with Norton and the photograph, though she promises not to use it against the King of Bohemia, and keeps her promise. Because here's the thing about Irene Adler: she's not a criminal. She's not a bad guy in any way. She doesn't blackmail the king. She had a fling with the King of Bohemia, eventually moved on with her life and married Norton. When Sherlock came sniffing around for her private property, which she was under no obligation to return/give up, she got the hell out of England.

Despite this, Irene Adler is often framed not only as a criminal but also as Sherlock's love interest in adaptations. (And I'm not even talking about BBC Sherlock, trust me, we'll get to that). I think this is due to a fundamental failure or refusal to understand the nature of Sherlock's interest in Irene Adler. He explicitly states that he is not romantically attracted to her. (And neither is she to him). He is impressed by her intellect. It is rare enough for Sherlock to be outsmarted; I think Irene Adler may be the only example in the original stories where the person/group who outsmarted Sherlock was not a career criminal or other type of evil-doer (such as the KKK, in The Five Orange Pips, yes that KKK).

For all intents and purposes, Irene Adler is an ordinary woman, trying to do an ordinary thing (get married to Some Guy), who just so happens to get one over Sherlock in a case where he is arguably in the wrong. That is what makes her so special. Sherlock believes that his deduction methods can be implemented by anybody, but here's somebody, actually implementing them! And she was trained as an opera singer, not as a detective or some such field! And she's not using it to systematically murder or blackmail or anything else, she just wants to live her best life away from this Bohemian nonsense!

Sherlock is excited when someone outsmarts him. And it is so rare for there to be no horrific crime taking away from that excitement.

In summary: Sherlock Holmes is a perfectly well-mannered English gentleman (the social class, not polite descriptor) with shockingly progressive morals for the 1890s, a need for brain puzzles and adventures, and a non-debilitating addiction to crack cocaine.

Some other notes about original Sherlock before I move on to the next section:

Sherlock indirectly caused someone's death in The Adventure of the Speckled Band, and does not feel at all broken up about it. Honestly? I respect that.

Doyle was not perfect. Irene Adler was smart "for her sex." All of the stories mentioned above contain examples of foreigners importing struggles to England. Violent Americans from Five Orange Pips, armed robberies from Australia in Boscombe Valley, loose(?) Bohemians(???) in A Scandal in Bohemia, a mercenary and violent "doctor" from Calcutta (though English by birth) in Speckled Band, etc. I could go on. And I am sure that he made some claims later proved to be scientifically inaccurate.

Aside from Doyle's biases, the Sherlock Holmes stories are also prone to the same real-world changes as any other famous series. Doyle famously killed off Sherlock only to bring him back due to the public outrage. The many, many short stories vary quite a bit in quality, and a little in consistency. Sometimes you just have to throw your hands up and go with the Doylist (heh) reading. We'll get back to this.

Sherlock would not be caught dead in Buckingham Palace wearing only a bedsheet. He often disguises himself in the short stories, as a grandfatherly figure, faking a Cockney accent, as all a manner of (typically older, and therefore less threatening) men. Part of his strength as a detective is his awareness of social circles and the workings of society. He uses it to his advantage, he doesn't provoke public scandal.

He's a private person. He didn't ask to be famous, or to be memorialized as a genius, and again, he doesn't go around looking for adoration or outrage.

Sherlock scorns romance, yes, but not in an internalized aphobia, "I'm suppressing my emotions/desire for the sake of The Case" kind of way, but in an "I'm the only reasonable person here, the rest of you are just weird" kind of way. We'll get back to that one.

Sherlock did have Moods. He also did drugs. But drugs didn't have the social context of drugs now.

Sherlock was superhumanly strong, for no particular reason? There's one story where someone threatens him (in his own flat, no less!) and he remains very polite and unflustered by it. Once the man leaves, he picks up the metal poker that the man bent and straightens it.

Honestly the disguises and the hand-to-hand combat made original Sherlock so OP. I'm not projecting modern values onto old characters, you are. Send Tweet.

Doyle was a spiritualist?!?!?! Like a committed believer in ghosts. Like so committed it ruined his friendship with Houdini. Yes, Harry Houdini. This is not relevant, I'm just impressed that an author so spiritual could write a character so famously and firmly rational.

Okay that's the important bits for original Sherlock. I could easily double the length of that section, but I hope it's clear enough now why I consider original Sherlock to be Very Cool and Interesting.

Part II: BBC Sherlock

Boy oh boy oh boy oh boy. Where to start with this one. Well, here's hbomberguy's 2-hour video essay on why BBC Sherlock is trash, to start. It's been a long time since I watched it but I recall it focusing more on its creator, Steven Moffat (and what that man did to Doctor Who as well, God sometimes I just lay awake thinking about every precious thing Moffat was allowed to put his slimy hands on). So I will attempt to focus on a few key things I don't remember hearing in that video essay.

First: The Trope of the Autistic Genius. I'm sure you (general audience) have seen this in some form of media: a socially awkward or unaware character, perhaps outright on the autism spectrum, perhaps just Weird™ who is a genius in a particular field. It's related to the Idiot Savant trope, thanks TV tropes, and portrayals range from a cute fictional romance with an autistic lawyer in Extraordinary Attorney Woo to the somewhat real-to-life story of John Nash, a real mathematician who made incredible contributions to the field of economics and also had incredibly difficult personal relationships due to his schizophrenia.

For some reason, Moffat decided to use this trope for Sherlock Holmes. I say "some reason" but it's pretty clear why: Sherlock is a genius. And there's a long tradition of "genius as a curse" characters where their intelligence comes at a cost: their ease of relationships with other people. Sometimes this is an explicit curse where the character traded power/intelligence/money etc. for the ability to feel (romantic) love (see: Howl's Moving Castle the movie). For the autistic genius, usually the price of their ability to grasp concepts (usually math or some type of science) beyond the understanding of Mere Mortals is their ability to understand people and social cues.

The thing is, the way Moffat does this with Sherlock makes no damn sense. He's a detective. His whole ass job is to understand social cues, human behavior, motivations and generally what makes people tick. There's probably a good way to make Sherlock autistic. However, the way Moffat does it creates this inherent contradiction, where Sherlock swings wildly from totally missing social cues to perfectly understanding people's desire and motivations. Make it make sense. Make up your mind. Is your Sherlock a tortured genius who cannot understand or relate to normal Molly Hooper, or is he a brilliant detective who Gets how people work? You (Moffat) can't have it both ways. It doesn't make any sense.

Second: the Reading People as Superpower thing. Moffat fully subscribes to the idea that you (general) can just look at somebody and deduce their whole backstory. This one pisses me off personally because it leaks to real life all the damn time. The phone charger is probably the most infamous example of why this doesn't work. (Fun fact, if the area around your phone charger is scratched from you repeatedly failing to plug it in, that doesn't mean you are an alcoholic!)

But it occurs both in BBC Sherlock and IRL. Usually IRL people are nice enough to only say out loud something that they think is positive. But here's the thing: they're almost never right. I've had nice little old ladies tell me "I can see that you are XYZ type of person" in the most well-meaning of ways and be completely off the mark. Not a single person who has guessed my race (out loud) has gotten it right. But I'm not just saying "don't make assumptions for the big things like race/sexuality/religion etc." I'm saying, we all make those assumptions when we first meet someone, whether we like it or not. But we have a choice whether to act on those assumptions. Reading people is not a fun thing smart people do in media, it's a common thing all of us do despite not having a higher chance of being correct than Moffat was with the phone charger thing.

The "you can read into anything because there's secret meanings behind everything" that BBC Sherlock encouraged led to one of the funniest and most pathetic phenomena in fandom: The Secret Good Sherlock finale. There's a good 1.5 hour video essay about it and how a portion of BBC Sherlock fans deluded themselves into thinking that the horrible, horrible ending of BBC Sherlock couldn't be real, and that there was a real finale coming if you just followed the clues where Johnlock was canon (more on that later). Because they just couldn't accept that this show which portrayed itself as so clever and Moffat as a 4D chess-master always fifteen steps ahead, was just Not Good.

(Side note: I missed all of the BBC Sherlock fandom experience despite watching the show, because I watched the show with my family. We all knew Doyle, you see; my father read those stories to my siblings and I as bedtime stories when I was little. I still remember his reading cadence and the character voices that he did. So when we heard about BBC Sherlock, we thought "hey, we know that guy!" and settled in to watch it as a family. I distinctly remember thinking that it was…fine? Like, just okay. But nothing about it was better than the original, and I would how much worse it was years later).

Third: Sherlock is just weirdly mean? All the time? In BBC Sherlock. I can only assume this is some sort of power trip fantasy, where the author self-insert (we'll come back to that) Sherlock is the most perfect boy who is always right and correct and so much smarter than everyone else that he just doesn't have to put up with their stupidity.

Like many of the gripes I have with BBC Sherlock, what I hate the most is how Moffat's portrayal seems to have influenced the general public's perception of who Sherlock is. Would this type of Victorian Sherlock exist without the type of arrogant monologuing that Moffat favored? I mean, maybe. I can't prove it. I just feel like they're related. (To be clear, I like Sherlock in that scene. I just think it's inconsistent with original Sherlock's interactions with the police, but to be fair, original Sherlock didn't have a little sister in jail for murder).

Fourth, IRENE ADLER MY BELOVED I WILL AVENGE YOU ONE DAY I SWEAR.

So Steven Moffat cannot for the life of him write a female character I'd feel bad for him if it wasn't so painful to watch in Doctor Who, Sherlock, and basically everything else he's ever done. Moffat, like many adaptors of Sherlock, was dead-set on making Irene Adler a femme fatale. She's not only a criminal, she's also sexy and very weirdly interested in Sherlock (again, the author self-insert strikes again. All the women must be interested in me I mean my most perfect boy!)

I am far from the only person who noticed this. Here's a Reddit post which calls Irene Adler out for basically sexually harassing BBC Sherlock throughout that episode. I don't disagree with the substance but I disagree with the reading. That post takes a Watsonian approach: Irene Adler repeatedly expresses sexual interest in Sherlock, who does not reciprocate. Despite this, the characters around him assume he reciprocates and at the end of the episode his brother Mycroft blames his nonexistent/unconfirmed interest in Irene Adler as the reason why she got one over him. When he does his dramatic "I am Sherlocked" reveal, he is saying 1) that he's really not interested, 2) that she didn't get one over him, and 3) that her emotional/sexual investment(?) in him is why she lost.

Here's the Doylist reading: Moffat's fantasy is the sexiest/coolest woman (Irene Adler) chasing after his author self-insert (Sherlock) who remains coolly aloof despite her advances, because he's cool. Everyone else's assertions that he's secretly interested stems from society's need to smash two dolls together and say "now kith" regardless of what the dolls in question are saying. At the end of the episode Sherlock makes the points that I made above, yes, but Moffat's also reaffirming that no one is allowed to outsmart his most special, most perfect boy (/self-insert), not even the character that CANONICALLY OUTSMARTED HIM. (Although to reiterate: original Irene Adler was not a criminal, did not blackmail anyone, and was not interested in Sherlock. Also she was American lmao).

There's one key scene (which I loathe with all my heart) that demonstrates how Moffat sees Irene Adler, and that's her introduction scene. Why? Because she walks in naked. Why? Because that way Sherlock cAn'T rEaD hEr. (Which brings us back to point #2, Reading People as Superpower).

This is mind-bogglingly, mind-bafflingly stupid. If Irene Adler really wanted Sherlock to """"not be able to read her"""" she should've just stolen the clothes of the first woman she saw that was her size. Or men's clothes, not her size, and not hers. That way any traces of character left on the clothes (i.e. coffee stains, hems worn down from constant worrying, cat fur, etc.) would've belonged to someone else, thus throwing Sherlock off even more.

And it's not like the body lacks marks unique to the person. Jesus Christ. Surgeries leave scars, as do accidents and injuries. Birthmarks, bite marks, stretch marks, scar marks, people drawing reminders or hearts on themselves with sharpies, tattoos, the list goes on and on and on and on and on. Bodies are not blank canvases.

There is no good Watsonian reading for why Irene Adler walks in naked. There is only a Doylist reading: Moffat thought it'd be hot for his femme fatale to meet his self-insert butt-ass naked. That is why I disagree with the Reddit post I linked which I assume you (general audience) read. Irene Adler's actions don't make sense when framed as "she's smart but obsessed with Sherlock despite never having met him before." I mean, it's possible? But it makes her far less intelligent from the very start than the show tells you she is. Her actions only make sense when framed as "Moffat thought it would be hot." (Dear Moffat: it's not).

Fifth, and finally: The Big Bad. This is not Moffat-specific: the need to have one main villain, to have everything in a series building to the big showdown with the Big Bad exists all over the place. Episodes are getting longer and longer while seasons get shorter and shorter. Sherlock, originally a series of short stories (with some long-form stories, my favorites <3 thrown in the mix), is perfect for the 30-45 minute 12-16 episode seasons. Instead it got…BBC Sherlock. With Moriarty as The Big Bad. Who Irene Adler is working for? For some reason? And has come back to life maybe? It's dumb. Bring back my case-of-the-week type stories :(

There are plenty more gripes I could list about BBC Sherlock, but those are the main ones. This is already getting much longer than I intended, so onto part three: my thoughts on Johnlock.

Part III: Do I ship Johnlock?

No.

Part IV: Just kidding!

Well, I don't not ship them. A friend asked me recently if I shipped them, and I thought about it for a minute and eventually said: "Honestly? I am so thoroughly neutral about them."

You could convince me of Johnlock. However, I remain unconvinced by the vast majority, if not all, of BBC Johnlock. It essentially feels like a derivative form of a derivative and vastly inferior form of the real Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. Basically: the Johnlock that you (general BBC Johnlock shipper) are a fan of are just two people who happen to share names with the characters I know as the great detective Sherlock Holmes and the good doctor John Watson. But they're not actually Holmes and Watson, thus what you're shipping isn't even "real" Johnlock.

There are two parts of Johnlock's dynamic that I think are missing from the broader conversation (which is not to say that they're not talked about, just that they should be talked about more).

First, we're back to Watsonian vs Doylist readings, this time with the origin of the term in mind! (My literary analyst heart cackles in delight). You see, the Doylist reason for Watson's existence is to chronicle Sherlock's adventures. Genius characters are near-impossible to write from their perspective. The mystery and ingenuity vastly improves when explained by Sherlock to Watson after the fact. We, the audience, need John Watson to exist for the stories to be enjoyable. He is a plot device.

Now, I'm not saying that because John Watson exists for plot purposes, we can't consider the emotional connection between him and his flatmate. The Watsonian reading, according to Johnlock shippers, is that Sherlock and John live together because they are gayandinlove.

Which brings me to part two of their dynamic: the QPR-ness of it all. I think there's a lack of conversation about anything between "straight" and "gayandinlove" when there's so much gray area to discuss. Johnlock, in both the original and in my preferred version, strike me as a very comfortable queer-platonic relationship. It feels wrong for Sherlock to have a wife, husband, boyfriend, lover, etc. because it is so contradictory to who Sherlock is. I just can't picture him engaging in any modern or Victorian-era dating or courtship ritual. And not just because he explicitly derides and expresses his lack of interest in romance in the originals. After all, it's impossible to separate Sherlock's bachelorhood from the part where it was obviously impossible for him to marry a man in the 1890s; the institution of marriage simply didn't mean then what it does now. He certainly never and would never speak about sex, or his sexual preferences. I am sure they were assumed to be Good And Heterosexual. Which isn't to say that Victorian times were less queer than modern times. Doyle's contemporary, the Irish poet Oscar Wilde (1854-1900) was very famously (/infamously) gay. The author Rudyard Kipling (1865-1936) is also rumored to have cheated on his wife with her brother/his publisher.

No, I've always seen Sherlock as aroace just because…he comes across as very aroace? I don't know how to explain it other than "read it and tell me I'm wrong." And Johnlock always came across as very comfortable to me. Like there was a total lack of yearning. Don't get me wrong, I totally understand projecting into characters, so if you (general Johnlock shipper) add yearning to your Johnlock I'm not criticizing you. (And no, I'm not getting into Mary Morstan and her differing characterizations because then we'd really be here all day).

I also don't subscribe to the idea that Sherlock is aromantic because of his genius, his detective career, or his suppression of natural instincts in favor of the aforementioned reasons. It's aphobic and it's not how Sherlock works. The man is not judging himself for his lack of interest, he's judging you (aphobe) for thinking there's some deeper cause or something wrong with him for not being interested in romance.

And I can't fathom him engaging in sex except as an intellectual exercise. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I always thought BBC Sherlock was so weird about the concept of being gay. I mean, there were gay jokes galore but They Were Not Gay and Moriarty was gay-coded but John was definitely not into Sherlock and Sherlock was not gay but he wasn't into Irene Adler either, but that didn't make him asexual either, just…a genius?? Apparently??? Like he's straight but he's also too smart to be fooled by Irene Adler's wily wily feminine wiles. Like Straight 2.0 where they make you pay more for the same product with ads this time.

Which finally brings me to the last section: comparing original Sherlock and BBC Sherlock!

Part IV: We all know where this is going

Honestly most of this section has written itself already.

Original Sherlock Holmes was remarkably progressive for its times; BBC Sherlock was somehow less progressive despite being made centuries later. Its portrayal of women was somehow worse than the thing written in the 1890s. I'm a big believer in judging things with historical and social context in mind, which makes original Sherlock all the more astounding, and BBC Sherlock all the more regressive.

Original Sherlock Holmes was an excitable bloodhound who believed in his rational method and was genuinely delighted when he met his match. He was irritable and moody and indirectly killed a man with no remorse. BBC Sherlock is an arrogant, self-obsessed jerk who constantly belittled and mocked the intelligence and achievements of others. He, despite not understanding people, popularized the "you wear that sweater to remind you of your dead mother. You feel lost without her and are seeking a substitute in Macys Mother's Day line products" type of armchair psychoanalysis.

Original Sherlock loves a good case but sees his clients as human, at the end of the day. BBC Sherlock cannot stand to be wrong.

Original Sherlock and John are companions, comfortably; not normal/regular friends, though I would never say "more" than friends. Maybe, in a modern era, they'd be romantic partners of some sort, maybe not; I don't really care. BBC Sherlock and John are…friends but you gotta believe Moffat when he tells you that they are Definitely Not Gay. Like Not At All. Not Even A Little.

In conclusion: I loathe BBC Sherlock with all my heart. It is an insult to the legacy of Sherlock Holmes. A regression in the face of how radical Arthur Conan Doyle was. i genuinely feel sorry for all the people who have watched that show but never read the originals because they have no idea who Sherlock is, and original Sherlock is so damn cool.

#ask #sherlock holmes #bbc sherlock #sherlock fandom #arthur conan doyle #apologies this has not been proofread at all #essay #This is probably not what you (indigotigress7) expected as an answer #Context for you (general reader) is that I posted an Enola Holmes fic two days ago and whined about BBC Sherlock in the author's notes #i hope this is coherent but i know in my soul it is not

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