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mariclerc · 17 days ago

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Falling for you (pt.4) | cl16

Summary: thanks to a debt owed by your father you have to marry the boss of the mafia.

Warning: mafia au, fluff, 5 years age gap, insecure reader, mafia boss!Charles and a bit of suggestive content.

Part 1, part 2, part 3

After what happened at the casino that night, you and Charles returned to Tuscany and everything was going on as usual - he with his sweet gestures towards you, divine food and barefoot walks in the villa's garden. But, putting that aside, you feel a slight emptiness in your chest.

What happened with your father doesn't hurt you in the slightest, because it's what someone like him deserved a long time ago, but something that is not so easy to forget is the constant humiliation and hurtful words about your physique that he said to you almost daily when you were still living with him, months before you married Charles.

Right now you're standing in front of a large, ornate mirror, your reflection staring back at you. You're wearing a simple pink silk nightgown, the thin fabric clinging to your small frame. A sigh escapes from your lips as you critically examines your reflection, just like your father would do to you daily.

You're petite, with curves that don’t quite fit the stereotypical model image... Your thighs are thick, your breasts small, and the words your father had spat at you in the casino echo in your mind every single day since that night, a cruel reminder of his constant criticism of your appearance.

“He’s probably wondering why he’s stuck with someone so damaged like me.” you whispered softly to yourself.

A pair of strong arms wrap around your waist from behind, pulling your back against a warm, solid chest. Charles’ familiar scent of sandalwood and aftershave fill your senses.

“Stuck with you? Oh, cara mia, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” (my darling)

He rests his chin on your shoulder, his warm breath tickling your ear. You shivered involuntarily, a mixture of nervousness and pleasure coursing through your veins.

You turned slightly in his embrace. “You don’t have to say that, Charles...”

“Oh, but I have to, tesoro.”

He gently turned you around to face him, his hands cupping your face. His gaze is intense, filled with a warmth that melts some of the ice around your heart.

“You’re beautiful, y/n. Absolutely stunning!” he whispers softly.

He traces the curve of your cheek with his thumb, his touch sending a shiver down your spine... You blushed under his gaze, your shyness battling with the unfamiliar flicker of desire you feel in his presence.

You looked down at your feet. “I’m not… I’m not like the other women you… you’ve been with.”

He chuckled softly. “Other women? They’re just… shadows. You’re the real thing, piccolina, you’re the sun, the moon, the stars… all rolled into one person.” (little one)

He gently lifts your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. “These thighs…” he runs his hands along your thighs, his touch sending a wave of heat through your body. “…they’re perfect for holding onto, and these breasts…” he gently cups your breasts in his hands, his touch is surprisingly tender. “…they’re perfect for… well, for everything.”

He leans in and kisses you softly, a slow, lingering kiss that makes your head spin. When he pulls back, your eyes are wide with surprise and a flicker of something more.

“You’re perfect, y/n. Every inch of you! And I want to show you just how beautiful and sexy you are in my eyes.”

He pulled you close again, his arms wrapping around your waist. You rest your head against his chest, the steady beat of his heart a comforting rhythm against your ear. The insecurities that had plagued you moments before begin to fade, replaced by the warmth of his embrace and the sincerity in his voice. You're still shy, still uncertain, but a flicker of hope begins to ignite within you.

He whispers against your hair. “My sweet little melody… my delicious temptation…” he kisses the top of your head. “So precious and exquisite.”

He continues to murmur sweet and sexy nicknames against your skin, each one sending a fresh wave of heat through your body. His hands gently caress and worship your body, slowly chipping away at your shyness and insecurities and replacing it with a growing sense of desire.

The Tuscan sun streams through the window, illuminating the room and casting a golden glow on your intertwined bodies, the morning stretches before you two, full of promise and the intoxicating possibility of something more.

You and Charles and surrender to the rising tide of passion. His touch, initially hesitant and exploratory, becomes more assured, more possessive, yet remains infused with a tenderness that melts away your remaining inhibitions. He kisses you deeply, his lips moving against yours with a slow, deliberate rhythm that sets your senses ablaze.

He lifts you gently, carrying you as if you weighs nothing, and lays you down on the plush bed. The soft silk sheets cool against your heated skin, he leans over you, his eyes burning with a mixture of desire and adoration. He continues to kiss you, his lips trailing down your neck, across your collarbone, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

He whispers against your skin. “You’re so beautiful, tesoro. So perfect for me.”

His words are a balm to your soul, erasing years of insecurity and self-doubt. You arched your back, your body instinctively responding to his touch, the unfamiliar sensations both exhilarating and slightly overwhelming. This is the first time that you surrender completely to someone, and the feeling is exciting.

Your voice is breathy, almost like a sigh. “Charles… it… it feels…” you struggled to find the words to describe the sensations that are coursing through your body, the warmth that is spreading from your core outwards, the fuzzy, almost dreamlike feeling that is enveloping you.

He smiled softly, understanding in his eyes. “I know, cara, I know... Just let go, let me take care of you.”

He continues to touch you, his hands exploring the curves and valleys of your body with a reverence that makes you feel cherished and adored. His touch is gentle, yet firm, igniting a fire within you that you never knew existed. The pleasure builds slowly, steadily, like a crescendo of music, each touch, each kiss, each whispered word adding to the symphony of sensations.

Your voice is soft, almost a moan. “Charlie... It… it feels so good.” you closed your eyes, surrendering to the wave of pleasure that washes over you. You'd never felt anything like this before, this intoxicating blend of tenderness and passion, this feeling of being completely and utterly connected to another human being.

Charles whispered against your ear. “That’s my girl. Just relax baby, let it go.”

He continues to move against you, his rhythm slow and deliberate, building the tension, drawing you closer and closer to the edge. You clinged to him, your fingers digging into his back, your body arching against his. The world outside fades away, replaced by the intoxicating sensations of his touch, the warmth of his body, the sound of his heart beating against your ear.

He watches you closely, his eyes filled with a mixture of passion and tenderness, making sure that you're okay, making sure you're enjoying every moment. He murmurs words of encouragement and reassurance, his voice a soothing balm against the rising tide of pleasure.

“You’re doing so well, tesoro. So beautiful, so perfect.”

His words fuel the fire within you, pushing you closer and closer to the precipice. The pleasure intensifies, building to an almost unbearable crescendo. You cried out his name, your voice a mixture of pleasure and surrender, as you're swept away by the wave of ecstasy that washes over you.

In the aftermath, you two lie tangled together, your bodies still intertwined, your breaths coming in ragged gasps. The Tuscan sun continues to stream through the window, bathing the room in a warm, golden light. You rest your head against his chest, the steady beat of his heart a comforting rhythm against your ear. You've never felt so vulnerable, so exposed, yet so safe, so loved, so completely and utterly cherished.

The sheets are tangled around you two, a silent testament to the passion you’ve just shared. You take a deep breath, the air still thick with the scent of arousal and something sweeter, something akin to intimacy.

A wave of emotion washes over you – relief, wonder, and a profound sense of gratitude. A single tear escapes the corner of your eye and traces a path down your cheek.

You speak, your voice barely a whisper, thick with emotion. “I… I can’t believe I... I finally…”

You trail off, the words catching in your throat, the years of your father’s harsh criticisms, his constant belittling of your appearance and worth, and the things he forced you to do had left deep scars inside. The fear of inadequacy, the belief that you wasn't good enough, had haunted you for so long... But in Charles’ arms, in the aftermath of your shared intimacy, those insecurities begin to dissolve, replaced by a nascent sense of self-acceptance and a burgeoning confidence.

He tightens his arms around your waist, his touch reassuring and protective. “Shhh, amore. There’s nothing to be ashamed of, you were… magnificent.” he gently brushes away the tear that lingers on your cheek, his thumb caressing your skin with infinite tenderness. (love) “My little vixen… you set my soul on fire.”

He leans down and kisses your forehead, a soft, lingering kiss that speaks volumes. He then trails kisses down your temple, along your jawline, to the sensitive skin behind your ear.

He nips playfully at your earlobe, sending a shiver down your spine. You giggled softly, the sound muffled against his chest. The tension from earlier has completely dissipated, replaced by a comfortable warmth and a playful intimacy.

He kisses your neck, his lips lingering on the pulse point at the base of your throat. You arched your back instinctively, your body still humming with the aftershocks of your shared passion.

The ghosts of your past begin to recede, replaced by the promise of a future filled with warmth, acceptance, and the intoxicating knowledge that in Charles’ eyes, you're not only beautiful, but cherished, adored, and desired beyond measure.

***

The Tuscan sun streams through the kitchen window, illuminating the vibrant colors of the fresh produce scattered across the countertop. You are humming softly to yourself as you moved gracefully around the kitchen, a vibrant sundress swirling around your legs. The dress, a cheerful yellow with delicate white floral patterns, accentuates your figure, clinging to your curves in all the right places. The air is filled with the tantalizing aroma of simmering tomatoes, garlic, and basil – the promise of a delicious homemade pasta sauce. A couple of days have passed since that first intimate encounter between you and Charles, which has practically been a before and after in the lives of both of you, and insecurities no longer torment your thoughts as usual.

Charles enters the kitchen, his arms laden with fresh herbs gathered from the garden. Rosemary, thyme, oregano – their fragrant leaves release their intoxicating scent as he brushes past them. He stops dead in his tracks, his gaze fixed on you, the sunlight catches the golden highlights in your hair, making it shimmer like spun silk. The sundress, so vibrant and alive, accentuates the gentle curve of your hips, the subtle swell of your breasts, the elegant line of your neck. He stands there for a moment, captivated, his breath catching in his throat.

His voice husky, almost a whisper. “Dio mio… you’re breathtaking amour.” (my god) (love)

He sets the herbs down on the counter, his eyes never leaving the sight of you. He walks towards you slowly, his gaze intense, almost reverent... He reaches out and gently tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering on your cheek for a moment.

“That dress… it’s… it’s a crime against humanity... It’s too distractingly beautiful.” he leaned in, his breath warm against your ear, and inhales the scent of your perfume, a delicate blend of floral scent and citrus, mingled with the aroma of the simmering sauce. “You smell delicious. Almost as delicious as you look.”

He pulls back slightly, his eyes twinkling with amusement. You blushed under his gaze, a mixture of pleasure and shyness warming your cheeks.

You smiled softly. “You’re just saying that.”

He shakes his head, his gaze unwavering. “No, tesoro. I mean every word, you’re… radiant... Like the Tuscan sun itself.” he reaches out and gently traces the curve of your jawline with his thumb, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. “I can’t take my eyes off you. It’s like… like you’re a work of art... A masterpiece.”

He leans in and kisses you softly, a slow, lingering kiss that speaks volumes. The taste of you, sweet and intoxicating, mingles with the savory scent of the sauce, creating a heady mix that makes him dizzy with desire.

He pulls back slightly, his voice husky. “I’m going to have to taste you later... Along with that pasta sauce, of course.”

He winks, and you laughed while blushing, a genuine, carefree laugh that fills the kitchen with warmth and joy... The tension from the previous days, the lingering insecurities, they all seem to melt away under the heat of his gaze, replaced by a growing sense of confidence and a deep, abiding love.

You smiled playfully. “You’ll have to wait your turn, Mr. Leclerc... Dinner first, dessert later.”

You turned back to the stove, your heart fluttering with happiness. The rich aroma of your pasta sauce fills the Tuscan villa, mingling with the sweet scent of the herbs Charles has carefully chopped and added to the simmering pot. You two work together in the kitchen, a comfortable silence punctuated by the occasional playful banter and stolen kisses. The initial awkwardness of your arranged marriage has faded, replaced by an easy intimacy that feels both surprising and utterly natural.

As the sauce simmers, Charles pulls you close, his arms wrapping around your waist. He rests his chin on your shoulder, inhaling the scent of your hair.

“You know, cara, I never thought I’d find happiness like this.” his voice is soft, almost vulnerable. You turned in his embrace, your eyes searching his.

“What do you mean?” you asked him softly.

“Before you… life was, well… different. A whirlwind of parties, fleeting encounters. It was… empty, meaningless.” he gently cups your face in his hands, his thumbs caressing your cheeks. “But you… you’ve filled that emptiness with something… real... Something… beautiful.”

He leans in and kisses you softly again, a slow, lingering kiss that speaks volumes. When he pulls back, your eyes are shining with unshed tears.

“I feel it too, Charles. I never thought… after everything… that I could ever feel this way.”

The “everything” hangs in the air, a silent acknowledgment of the years of emotional abuse you endured at the hands of your father, Charles’ eyes soften with understanding. He pulls you close, holding you tight against his chest.

“You deserve to be happy, tesoro. You deserve to be loved. And I promise you, I’ll spend the rest of my life showing you just how much you mean to me.”

He kisses you again, this time with a fierceness that takes your breath away. The kiss is a promise, a vow, a declaration of the love that is blossoming between you two, a love born not of obligation, but of genuine connection and mutual respect.

The forced marriage, the initial awkwardness, the lingering insecurities – they all seem to fade into insignificance, replaced by a sense of belonging, a sense of peace, a sense of coming home. You looked at Charles, his face illuminated by the flickering candlelight, and a smile spreads across your face. This man, this mafia boss with his dangerous charm and unexpected tenderness, has become your sanctuary, your safe haven, your home.

***

Inside your shared bedroom, bathed in the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the sheer curtains, you and Charles prepare for the night. The remnants of the day’s laughter and shared intimacy linger in the air, creating an atmosphere of comfortable warmth and quiet affection.

Charles is sitting on the bed as he watches you brushing your hair, the moonlight catching the golden highlights and turning them into shimmering strands of silk. The simple act, so mundane yet so intimate, fills him with a sense of contentment he’s never known before. He walks over to you and gently takes the brush from your hand, his fingers brushing against yours. And then he started to brush your hair, his touch slow and deliberate, each stroke a silent expression of his love for you.

His voice soft, almost a whisper. “Your hair is like spun gold, tesoro.”

You lean into his touch, your eyes closing as you savor the feeling of his fingers against your scalp. The simple act of him brushing your hair feels incredibly intimate, a silent acknowledgment of the bond that has grown between you two.

“You’re spoiling me Charlie.” you say softly with a shy smile.

“Only the best for my beautiful piccolina.” he chuckled softly.

He finishes brushing your hair and gently places a kiss on the top of your head. He then pulls you close, his arms wrapping around your waist. You two stand there for a moment, embraced in the soft moonlight, the silence filled with unspoken emotions.

His voice husky, filled with longing. “I can’t get enough of you, mon bébé.” (my baby)

He leans down and kisses you, is a slow, deep kiss that speaks of passion and tenderness, of vulnerability and trust. You responded in kind, your arms winding around his neck, pulling him closer. The kiss deepens, becoming more urgent, more demanding, a reflection of the desire that burns between the two of you.

You suddenly break apart, breathless, your eyes locked in a silent conversation. He lead you towards the bed, your hands intertwined. And you two undress slowly, each touch, each glance, charged with anticipation. As you lie down together, the soft sheets cool against your heated skin, he pulls you close, his body molding perfectly against yours.

The night unfolds in a slow, languid dance of love and intimacy. Your shared whispers mingle with the soft sounds of your lovemaking, creating a symphony of shared pleasure and deepening connection. The moonlight continues to bathe the room in its soft glow, a silent witness to the blossoming love that is transforming your lives.

In each other's arms, you have found solace, comfort, and a sense of belonging you’ve never known before. The arranged marriage, once a symbol of obligation and duty, has become a sanctuary, a safe haven, a testament to the unexpected power of love to heal and transform.

#f1 x you #mafia!au #charles leclerc x reader #formula one x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fluff #charles x reader #charles leclerc #charles x you #charles x wife #charles leclerc x wife #mafia!charles #mafia!f1 #mafia!charles leclerc #mariclerc fics

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chrisevansonly · 1 year ago

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𝐦𝐨𝐦 & 𝐝𝐚𝐝 | 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐞𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐨

✯social media au

✯daniel ricciardo x female reader

✯everyone calls you and daniel mom and dad, so here’s some snippets of mom and dad on vacation

✯my first danny ricc post!! i hope you all enjoy it! i’ve been having a lot of fun with the smau, i do have a fic with carlos coming soon! i’m also taking actual writing requests for the drivers too if anyone is curious<3

yninstagram

liked by danielricciardo, redbullracing, kellypique and 887,000 others

first stop: vineyards of tuscany, we spent all day touring this beautiful family run vineyard in the tuscany hills! we spent the day wine tasting, touring and of course taking lots of photos♥️

tagged danielricciardo

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username look at mom and dad on their vacation🥹

username tuscany looks beautiful on you y/n!!!

username danny’s smile😭

landonorris come home the kids miss you (i.e me)

>yninstagram aww lan, we’ll be back soon!

danielricciardo don’t know if the view or you looks prettier…?

>yninstagram choose your answer wisely sir

>danielricciardo 😁😁

username MY PARENTS

yninstagram added to their story

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yninstagram

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second stop: paris france!!! only my favourite place in the world and also where Danny and I are celebrating our 5th year together!! there is no one else i’d rather laugh with, cry with and dance in the rain with, thank you for loving me the way you do for all these years♥️

p.s. don’t worry lando we’ll be home soon<3

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username 5 years of mom and dad😭

username NOW GET MARRIED

charles_leclerc how do you put up with him for 5 years

>pierregasly i’m wondering the same

>carlossainz55 yeah how do you do it?

>yninstagram lots and lots of patience 😃

landonorris good, it’s unbearable without you both 💔

username baby lando in the comments

danielricciardo i love you my sun❤️

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danielricciardo

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forever sounds pretty perfect to me, there is no one else i’d rather have by my side to push me around when i turn 95 and to laugh at my horrible (they’re actually good) dad jokes all the time. I love you so much y/n❤️

tagged yninstagram

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username OMG STOP THEYRE GETTING MARRIED

username MY PARENTS ARE ENGAGED😭

landonorris i’m crying, yep crying

>yninstagram me too lando me too🥹

yninstagram i love you so much danny, thank you for bringing such warmth and love into my life♥️

>danielricciardo i love you more squish

username SQUISH😭

maxverstappen1 congrats guys!!

redbullracing yay congratulations!!❤️

yninstagram added to their story!

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yninstagram

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off to london with my boys, don’t worry danny and I didn’t forget to bring our son with us this time🫶🏻

tagged danielricciardo, landonorris

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username lando really is their son idc

username LANDO IN THE LAST PHOTO😭

username why is this so cute🥹

landonorris this was cute until the last photo 🤨

>yninstagram we could have left you at home?

>landonorris fair😁

danielricciardo family vacation round 1

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username i love this three so much

username mom, dad & baby lando

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multifandom--mess · 10 months ago

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Hannigram Fic Recs!

These are just a select few of my personal favorites. I'm sorry if these are too long but I mostly only read long fics

Shark Tank by xzombiexkittenx (71k) (Explicit) - Will and Hannibal meet in prison. Hannibal is still the Ripper, Will is still a profiler who had encephalitis. Only now they're cell mates (SO GOOD and i love love the ending of this one)

Five Times Hannibal Visits Will and One Time He's Already Home (or: Coffee Cake) by bones_2_be (82k) (Explicit) - When Will tells Hannibal to leave at the end of Digestivo, he goes. And then, a few years later, he shows back up. They have long conversations, drink a lot of wine, at the end of it all they find something that works.

In Sickness and in Health by BonesAndScales (76k)(Mature) - Everyone knows that Will and Hannibal are married. Not everyone knows that they are married to each other. (SO CUTE)

Letters to You by Wr4tttttthh (17k)(Explicit) - Will and Hannibal want to learn to love. It isn't easy, it never was. (Post-Fall where they both keep a journal and they write letters to each other. There's some angst but its so so so sweet such a good read)

Time Waits for No One by Shotgun_sinner (104k)(Explicit) - After Will turns Hannibal away in Digestivo, he does not surrender to Jack. Instead, he heads to Cuba with Chiyoh, where he recovers from emotional and physical wounds. Hannibal was resolved to let Will go, and he does. Until he reads a Wedding Engagement announcement, that is. (THIS ONE IS SO GOOOD)

On Hiatus by Observe_or_Participate (197k)(Explicit) - AU where Abigail and Hannibal met in similar circumstances to those narrated in S1, only without Will being in the picture. They bonded. 4 years later, it's early summer 2021. Hannibal and Abigail are living in Tuscany as father and daughter, where they run a high-end bed and breakfast in a remote location on the hills... amongst other things. FBI profiler Will Graham, on leave from work after the restrictions caused by the Covid-19 pandemic worsened his already iffy mental health, arrives on the premises, for reasons he is not fully ready to admit to himself. An incendiary attraction between our two boys is inevitable, but how honest can they really be with each other? (THIS IS SO UNDERRATED OMG)

between here and there by deadratz (78k)(Explicit) - Will's name is the last word Hannibal spoke in his presence. That was two months ago, directly after the fall, and Hannibal has not said a single word since. Now Will has to navigate through their lives together without Hannibal's voice to guide him. (PLEASE READ THIS ONE IT IS SO BEAUTIFUL)

Falling Away with You by Shotgun_sinner (191k)(Explicit) - Will Graham is a private detective with a fiancée who doesn't understand him, his empathy disorder, or his obsession with catching the Chesapeake Ripper. His night terrors force him into an ultimatum; couple's therapy, or their relationship is done. Will meets his new therapist, Hannibal Lecter, and his entire world is turned upside down. (this is one of the first hannigram fics i ever read and i still come back to it often it is so good)

Dianthus Barbatus by Cynthia_Cross (84k)(Explicit) - Set 10 years before the start of the show, Will and Hannibal meet in the dead of night while dumping the bodies of their respective victims in the same place. (THIS IS SOME GOOD SHIT HERE)

With a Crown of Stars by romanticallyinept (33k)(Explicit) - When the call connects, Will says, “I know what kind of crazy I am, but I’m not this kind of crazy.” “Will?” Dr. Lecter says. “Yes, hi, sorry,” Will says. “It’s me. There’s a baby on my porch.” (A cute kidfic to end with. I was grinning the whole time)

I hope you guys enjoy these. If you read any of them(or have read them before) tell me your thoughts. I feel like i don't have anyone to scream with about fics

@imthebisexual @mildlyinterestedcreature

#hannigram #hannibal #nbc hannibal #will graham #hannibal lecter #hannigram fanfiction #hannigram fic #murder husbands

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604to647 · 6 months ago

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Scherzo (a Barón Tovar Takes a Wife one-shot)

3.1K / Bridgerton AU Regency!Pero Tovar x fem!reader

Scherzo - a short composition – sometimes a movement from a larger work such as a symphony or a sonata

Summary: Your husband takes care of you when you get hurt during your travels.

Warnings: None! All fluff, though reader gets cheeky with her husband cause I mean, it's Pero? Protective!Pero, Soft Husband!Pero (I NEED HIM). A little bit of violence is described where reader gets physically hurt, nothing graphic.

A/N: This was written for @morallyinept's Flora & Fauna challenge; please see #jettsflora&faunachallenge for all the other amazing works by some wonderful authors (I didn't do much with the meanings of the flowers, was just going for ✨vibes✨ - hope it's okay!). I tend to always miss my babies after I complete their series, and can't help but write little one-shots for them to see what they're up to. This is our Regency couple from Barón Tovar Takes a Wife, but you don't need to read it (although it would be cool if you did - I'm kind of proud of this one 😭) - just know our happy Barón and Baronesa are doing what they love the most, which is travelling on the high seas together.

Beautiful Bridgerton inspired dividers by @saradika-graphics 🥰

Truth be told, Naples is not one of Pero’s favourite places to visit in Italy; the Barón much preferred the rolling vineyards of Tuscany or the cultural diversity of Milan. At least it will be a short stay, too short to even arrange for lodging in the city; it was much easier for everyone on the ship to remain staying in their onboard quarters while he oversaw some Royal fleet business with the Italians. It would be just three short weeks before they're set to raise the sails again, this time charting a course up the western Italian coast to the Civitavecchia Port of Rome. He realizes the last time the two of you were in Rome had been when you said your final goodbyes in his youth, parting ways and not meeting again for over ten years; Pero looks forward to strolling the cobblestone streets together once more, this time with you as his bride.

In the meantime, he would try to expedite the matter before him – if the Italian dignitary sitting across from him would acquiesce, perhaps he can still save enough of the day to take you to do some sightseeing before nightfall. Just as the stout man’s mustache twitches at something he’s read on the document Pero gave him, someone bursts into the office, violently banging open the door.

Recognizing one of his trusted footmen, Pero exclaims, “Miguel, could this wait? Signor Romano and I are in the middle of something.”

“No!” cries Miguel, alarmingly, “My apologies, Barón! It is the Baronesa...”

Pero reacts with blinding speed, his chair knocked to the ground from the force with which he stands, “What has happened?!”

“There was a commotion in the square, my lord. Your wife was hur-”

Pero is already out the door, running as fast as he can towards the city square where he knows you and your lady's maid, Lucia, had planned to do some exploring while he was away at meetings. Wind rushing past his ears, he can hear behind him the faint thundering footsteps of Miguel the footman trying to keep up with his master.

When he gets to the square, Pero is stunned to find it in a mild state of chaos – several shops have been vandalized and an overwhelming number people seem to be in a state of mild panic, crying. He scans the crowd and when he finally spots you, he nearly falls to his knees. You’re sitting on the ground next to Lucia who is crying loudly, comforting her the best you can; and while Lucia is clearly emotionally distraught, she appears to be physically unharmed - the same cannot be said for you. Your dress is torn in several places and covered in blood; whose blood Pero does not know, but he realizes, stomach dropping, that some of it at least must be yours when he sees the long bleeding cut down your left forearm. Your beautiful face has at least one messy scrape across your cheek that he can see even at this distance and your lip looks like it’s starting to discolour and swell.

You spot Pero when he is a but few steps away and instantly feel a wave of relief wash over you at the sight of your strong, handsome husband (though you do hate to see the look of panic and terror on his face). Dropping down to your side, Pero immediately cups your face in his warm, bear paw hands, careful not to disturb any of your injuries, “Dulce! How are you?”

You don’t want to tell Pero that your heart is still beating fast from how scared you had felt during the stampede, or how the cuts on your arm and face sting and that your sides and back have started to ache. You know that doing so will only make him feel worse - but you’ve never lied to your husband in all the years you’ve known him so you simply say, truthfully, “Better now that you’re here, Pero.” Melting into the soft tender kiss he presses to your mouth, you try not wince when his soft lips meet your bruised ones but fail miserably. Trying not to shatter in front of you when he hears your pained whimper, Pero wills himself to pull back with a silent reminder to handle you with more care; as he starts to check over your injuries, he asks delicately, “What happened, mi amor?”

One of the sailors who had joined the footmen in accompanying you and Lucia starts to explain before he’s silenced by a glowering look from your husband; Baronesa Tovar is not a woman who needs others to speak for her.

You give the poor sailor a reassuring smile before drawing Pero’s attention back to you and recount for him what happened in the square earlier. Noticing that the Barón's hands have been cold in the mornings as of late, you had headed out today with a mission to purchase your husband some gloves made with the fine leather craftsmanship that the Italians are known for. While admiring the buttery softness of a pair of large leather gloves handed to you by a lovely stall merchant, a fight had broken out across the square between a mob of over twenty large and angry Italian men. The fighting horde continued their bout while moving across the square, barreling into families and unsuspecting people just trying to go about their day. Caught unawares, the pedestrians scattered and ran panicked in an effort to get out the way of the oncoming melee. The fleeing crowd had ran in your direction and you and Lucia could not get out of the way fast enough – pushed down to the ground, in your attempt to shield Lucia as the two of you tried to crawl to the side of the street and away from the mob, your dress had been torn by the flurry of feet as runners stampeded, your body kicked more than once. At one point, someone had produced a pistol and shot at several buildings; and while that effectively ended the fight, several windows had shattered and some of the errant glass had fallen and cut your arm.

Pero feels absolutely sick at the picture his mind conjures of you being physically pushed and kicked, imagining how scared you must have been; he wants nothing more than to sweep you into his arms and comfort you, but without knowing the extent of your injuries, he settles for pressing his forehead to yours and whispering that everything will be okay now. You believe him.

With some difficulty, Pero helps you stand and brings you back to the ship; both of you agreeing that when the doctor is called, it should be to the safety and comfort of your own quarters. Though ever gentle with you, the fearsome scowl on Pero’s face clears a path from the square down to the docks – the deep furrow of his brow accentuating the faded scar over his left eye, as if to challenge anyone who would get between his wife and her safe haven. Calling out for medical supplies and hot water as soon as he’s onboard, Pero leads you to your chambers and sits you on your shared bed before falling to his knees in front of you. Slumping, tension in his strong frame finally dissolving, Pero lays his head in your lap and lets a few tears fall at the relief of finally getting you back home, safe. You stroke your husband’s soft curls lovingly, understanding all of him and letting his devotion wash over you - it brings you a calm that you haven’t felt for several hours now.

In silence, you let Pero tend to your cuts and scrapes, eyes never leaving his handsome face as you watch him concentrate on being gentle with his big, sometimes clumsy hands. Pero washes your face and hands, wiping away all evidence of the time you spent on the hard stone streets of the square, then takes care to thoroughly clean your injuries. When you hiss at the sting from the salve he applies to the cut on your arm, Pero murmurs, “Be good for me, Baronesa,” and distracts you momentarily from the pain with that sweet smile of his that he knows makes you melt.

Finally comes the point that Pero has been dreading; he undresses you carefully to tend to the injuries on your body, hoping none will be too serious. Once he has you stripped to the barest of your undergarments, he takes in the bruising that’s starting to show on your legs, hips and back and thinks he might cry again; his beautiful wife, so brave and strong – he cannot believe you sustained these injuries and still allowed him to move you about as he has without complaint. As if reading his mind, you run a finger through your husband’s scruff that you love so much and try to lighten his mood; nodding towards your discarded dress on the floor, you joke, “I do not think I will be wearing that dress again.”

Half serious, Pero replies, “I think I will bring it to the Polizia tomorrow, when I demand answers for how they allowed what happened in the square to transpire.”

“Pero.”

“Or we throw it over the side of the ship,” he shrugs, a little bit a light returning back to his eyes when he sees your good humour is unscathed; permitting himself to hold you close, Pero breathes his first calm breath since Miguel interrupted his meeting, inhaling your soft perfume. Seeing Pero in a better mood instantly lifts your spirits, and while in the safety of his loving arms, you give him a playful little wiggle and press your barely clad body to his.

“Dulce,” he warns, voice dipping low at your giggles. To show him it’s just a little bit of teasing, you straighten up immediately and allow Pero to run the warm cloth over your body and finish cleaning you up before dressing in your most modest nightgown without any more shenanigans.

The doctor who is called leaves a short while later, declaring that both you and Lucia will be fine and that a few weeks of lightened activity and rest should heal your injuries without issue. It’s not something you’re looking forward to, but you agree with Pero that for the remainder of your time in Naples, it would be better if you recovered from the safety of the ship.

For the first few days, you enjoy the calm and quiet of your vessel, many of the sailors and staff taking the opportunity to enjoy some leave while docked. But as the days go on, with Pero away for most of the day on business, you find yourself getting restless. You read your books and write your letters. You play your piano and even entreat Lucia and whomever remains onboard to play cards with you. From the ship’s deck you can still see much of the city, and even though you have no particular wish to return on this trip (your experience in the square still too fresh), it unfairly beckons to you like a siren. You’re bored. And despite loving your ship, you’re starting to feel cooped up.

Pero does his best each day to finish up his work as quickly as possible so he can return to you, enjoying the warmth of your company and checking for himself that you’re recovering properly. The Barón brings home delicious treats and pretty trinkets for his wife everyday, leaving no doubt that you’re ever on his mind even when apart. And while you love your husband dearly for his thoughtfulness, you cannot help, while enjoying his gifts from within the boundaries of a ship that once represented freedom to you, feeling a bit envious at being unable to go out and procure them for yourself. Pero can tell that you’re feeling a bit out of sorts, not your usual cheerful self; he so hates to see the wings of his pretty dove clipped – it saddens him just as much to see you try to hide your melancholy from him. And although he cannot agree to lift the current restrictions on your movements, he deeply wishes for a way to make your so-called confinement as pleasant as possible.

The morning that marks the start of your last week in Naples, you wake to an absolute ruckus coming from the ship deck; for a moment you feel a stab of fear, unused to such loud noises and voices without having been given some forewarning. You must still be feeling some effects of your recent scare, you think; upon listening a bit more carefully, you relax to the realization that the voices are primarily instructive and even calm. But it’s still much too early for this level of activity from the deck – the footsteps and voices you hear must be from at least double the amount of people you would normally expect to be up at this time of day. Also unusual is that you’ve woken up to an empty bed; every day following the incident in the square, you’ve woken up to your husband curled around you, arms and legs thrown over your body like protective amour. You don’t think you particularly like today’s change, but it makes sense – you can’t imagine whatever is going on outside to be taking place without your Pero’s permission. Not especially looking forward to another day of doing the same things again within the same confines of the ship, you lay in bed for a while longer, at least until the noises start to die down and your curiosity gets the better of you.

The sight that greets you as you open the door to the deck nearly knocks you off your feet. Somehow, it’s not a wooden ship’s deck that you’re now gazing upon, but a colourful and enchantingly idyllic scene, something that could have been painted by a great master of the arts. For a moment, you have to pinch yourself, is this a dream?

You step through the doorway from the ship’s hold into an ethereal garden – blooming flowers have overtaken every inch of the ship’s deck: thick braided garlands of roses, violets, and peonies wrap wondrously around every one of the ship’s railings, big bright pots of lilacs, azaleas and irises line the sides of the ship and surround a makeshift sitting area where some garden furniture you’ve never seen before has been arranged. Even the mast has been decorated to look like a spring maypole, intertwining vines of clematis and jasmine crisscross all the way down from the crow’s nest so tightly you can barely see any of the dark wood that normally centres your great vessel. Every bow is positively dripping with wisterias, reminding you for a moment of your beloved Bridgerton House. You walk slowly through the dreamlike scene, weaving between the lush plants and the fresh, bold flowers. Brushing your hand over the railing as you meander, your fingertips flutter at the soft feel of the blooming petals and your eyes brighten at the rainbow hues that paint every perimeter inch of the ship. Your nose breathes in the sweet and intoxicating floral scent that now dances lightly in the air. You close your eyes and inhale. Your eyes open again with a soft exhale. Repeat.

You’re turning around slowly, trying to take in the entirety of your magical surroundings when your eyes land on your beaming husband, standing like a handsome faerie king holding an exquisite bouquet of your favourite peonies in his hand, waiting for his pretty queen to take in all his hard work. Despite the residual pain you still feel a bit in your sides, you launch yourself into Pero’s arms, throwing your own around his neck and passionately press your lips to his. Mouth opening, you let Pero lick in and explore, before pulling yourself up onto your toes and suck on his tongue eagerly. Pero pulls you in tightly and when he feels your tongue stroke behind his teeth, lets loose a deep vibrating hum of want that reverberates through you, straight to your core. With a quick nibble to your bottom lip and a few chasing flutter kisses, Pero reluctantly pulls away; he’s sure there are curious eyes all over the ship deck, even if they are currently concealed by the splendid greenery that’s overtaken the space.

When he steps back look at you, the expression on your face almost gives Pero enough reason to throw modesty and decorum out the window, grab at your enticing curves and throw you down amidst the lush fauna he’s brought onto the ship to have his way with you. Almost. Your eyes shine bright and twinkle, there’s a fresh glow to your cheeks, and your smile is the widest that he’s seen in weeks: you’re alive again.

“Pero,” you cry in bliss, “what is all this?”

The Barón gently cradles your head in his hand and reverently strokes the soft hair of his beloved Baronesa, “Mi amor, I could tell that staying confined to the ship has not been agreeing with you. If you cannot go out to explore and play in the wide world, then I will do my best to bring the wide world to you. Now, instead of a cold, dreary ship deck, I hope you will enjoy the remainder of the week before we set sail in your own private garden.”

You could cry – what did you ever do to deserve the love and devotion of your perfect husband? He forever thinks of your comfort and the wellness of your heart – but he does so much more than just take care of you or do things that make you happy, he’s the reason for your joy, for your very being. You cannot stop murmuring, Thank you thank you thank you, into his chest as he holds you close, not only to him but for him.

The flowers last a week which is precisely how long you need them to last. During those final days before your fleet sets sail, you find yourself soothed every time you enter or sit in your personal secret garden; second, by the tranquility and peacefulness of your botanical hideaway, and first, by the knowledge that you have the love of the kindest, sweetest man on earth.

Leaning now along the once again bare wood railing, with the salty sea wind blowing through your hair, you feel a pair of strong arms wrap around your waist. The patchy facial hair of your husband tickles your cheek as he presses a sweet kiss to your temple and whispers in your ear, “Happy to be on our way, Dulce?”

Turning in his arms, you snuggle into his safe hold; tucking yourself under his chin, you sigh into Pero’s neck, “Just happy, mi amor.”

#jettsflora&faunachallenge #pero tovar #regency!pero tovar #pero tovar fic #pero tovar fanfiction #bridgerton au #pero tovar series #pero tovar x you #pero tovar x f!reader #pero tovar x reader #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #no y/n

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constantinerkives · 1 year ago

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PAIRING: Yoo Jimin x Fem Reader _________________ WARNING: Mafia AU, gang AU, organized crime, dark Karina, age gap: Karina is in her early thirties while you are in your mid-twenties. Separation of parents, power struggle, corruption, home invasion, blackmail, E2L, TENSION, I made Karina half-Russian so-*gunshot*, but please, let me know what you think of half-Russian Karina - it's for research purposes, usage of Russian endearment, betrayal (not from Karina), Karina is slightly obsessed with OC, OC is reckless but dangerous, suggestive at the end. _________________ SYNOPSIS:

I hate you," You breathe into her mouth, your thoughts are muddled by nothing but her. Her scent, her abysmal eyes, her beautiful black hair, her devastatingly gorgeous face - all of her.

"I hate you so much that I can't think of anything else but you."

Karina chuckles and softly pecks the skin of your neck, sending shivers down your spine as her hands caress your body.

"If that's the case," She rasps against your skin, and you softly gasp as she squeezes your hips.

"Then give me one night to convince you otherwise, my love."

_________________ WORDCOUNT: 10, 214 _________________

A/N: Sorry for making you all wait this long, my exams were in the last week of May and due to the uncooperative weather - were moved to the second week of June.

Thank you for waiting. Enjoy reading!

And also because:

You asked, I shall deliver

Russian-translated words are here.

Dynasties are a succession of people from the same family who play a prominent role in business, politics, or another field.

And like all dynasties - they fall. Either by sickness or by each others' hands.

In your family's case, however. It's the latter.

Greed and ambition can make a man overlook crucial things, such as researching land in Tuscany before seizing its valuables and burning the farm. And as for the valuables in that mansion, most of them were sold, some were kept, and the rest were disregarded. For months, your family made a fortune out of it.

It was only when masked, tall men broke into your family's vacation home, killed all the guards, and forced you to kneel beneath the barrels of their guns.

Your watch from the back of your parents as your assailants part to make way for a woman, her face covered by the shadows, but you see her eyes. Black and devoid of warmth.

"Who are you?" Demanded your father, "And how dare you attack my family in my home?"

Silence permeates the air. The woman spoke: "Hae Jinwon," Her voice was alluring yet sharp. There was a noticeable rough accent in her tone. "Capomandamento of the Haewon Clan." She mused. "Who the fuck are you?" Your brother spat beside you. The woman moves her gaze from your father to your older brother, Hae Jinyoung. "It was you, who led your father's men to my property in Tuscany, am I correct?"

"Yeah?" He challenged, "And what about it?"

"Ublijudok," She sneers and points the gun at him.

Your eyes widened as your parents spat out cries of panic while Jinyoung visibly pales at the sight of the latter's gun. "Fools," She jeers as she redirects her aim and pulls the trigger. Your ears ring at the sound of her bullet wheezing past you and hitting one of your mother's vases, shattering it; pieces of ceramic fall on the floorboards. Your skin prickles at the sound as the woman points her gun at your father.

"Do all of you have any idea how many enemies came into my home at this hour and threatened my family?" She snarled and walked forward, allowing you to see her face - beautiful and twisted with wrath and contempt. She wore an all-black attire, an overcoat, a turtleneck, trousers, and boots. Your eyes trailed to her gloved hand where she was holding a gun. "For months, we were hunted like animals." She grimaced, "And when they had their fill, they left us to rot. But I refused my family to succumb to that state and found the fuckers behind it."

She circles your family like a lioness examining her prey before killing it.

"It's insulting," She scoffs, "To have everything I built destroyed by a minor family and reaped our benefits." She stops behind your father and digs the muzzle against the back of his skull. "I should kill all of you right here, right now." The perpetrator growls and applies pressure against the trigger.

Your ears couldn't register the cacophony of your family's panicked cries. Only you remained silent, watching with wide eyes as they struggled against their bindings while they plead for their lives. And she cackled - the perpetrator cackled. "That's right," She mused sickly, "Beg for it - your lives until no one understands what you all are saying." She moves in front of Jinyoung and crouches to meet his gaze.

"You're the oldest, right?"

His lips quivered. The woman was losing her patience and glowers at him. "Answer me, svin'ja."

Jinyoung gulped, "Yes,"

"Then that means you'll take over once your father is out of commission, yes?"

"Yes?" He answers tentatively.

The latter hums, "Do you know who I am, Hae Jinyoung?"

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. The woman clicked her tongue, "Answer me immediately, boy." She pointed the gun at you, and you flinched. "Or else your sister's brain will be riddled with bullets."

"No!" He exclaimed, "No, I don't have a fucking clue who the fuck you are-"

She hits him with the butt of her gun, silencing him as your father exclaims. "Jinyoung!" He roared, "You bitch-"

"We're done here," She declared, and her men vacated the house one by one - except for her. "Why spare us?" Your mother questions. The woman didn't say anything at first as she moved her gaze toward you and answered:

"Because it'll be too easy. You took away my family's foundation - so I shall take away yours." A cold smile settles on her lips, "And finally, we're even. What's the fun of ending it quickly when you can leave them alive so they can suffer for it?"

None of you made a sound, and she took it for her cue to leave.

She didn't return after that.

But true to her word, your family did suffer for it.

Enemies came left and right. They robbed your family of its treasures, stole opportunities from the Haewon Clan, and even turned your people away from you. It got to the point that your parents separated. Your father kept your brother. He was the heir: while your mother took you. You never saw your father or your brother ever since. You thought that you'd turned over a new leaf, forgetting that humiliation that left you seething with anger and resentment for your father's stupid choices and for allowing his greed to put you and your mother into that position.

But no, it remained.

Evidence of that showed when your grandfather - your father's side of the family visited you at your university when you were nineteen.

"Excuse me," You blinked at the older man, "You want me to go where?"

"Come back to us, Y/N." Your grandfather coaxed. You scoffed at him, "And do what?" You demanded, "Is my older brother not good enough to lead this god-forsaken family?"

A wry smile graced his thin lips, "Yes,"

You paused, "What?"

A sigh left his lips, "After returning from Italy to fix the mistakes my son and your brother made. I've concluded that neither is fit to lead the Haewon Clan."

You knew where this conversation was going. Yo arched a brow, "And you think I can?"

"An old man can hope." Another scoff of disbelief leaves your lips. "Take your hopes with you and leave, grandfather." You sneered, "My mother and I want none of them." Without another word, you walk past the latter with a dark expression.

"Don't you want to settle the score?" He called out. You stopped.

"Don't you want to get even with the family who did this?" He added, and you ground your jaw so hard that you thought it was going to break. You balled your hand into fists and peered over your shoulder, "What makes you think I'd be interested?"

You didn't move as he made his way to you, "Your eyes say it all, granddaughter. I don't have to explain it, do I?"

You turn to him. Your expression was unreadable, but your eyes burned with vindication.

"Under two conditions."

His eyes light up. "And what's that?"

"Allow me to finish college, and in the meantime - teach me what I need to know." He furrowed his brows, "Wouldn't that distract you from your studies?"

"I'll manage it," You snapped, and he nodded. "Alright, what's the other one?"

"I won't take your name." You tell him firmly, "I refuse to be associated with the name: Haewon. Instead, I'll take my mother's last name, Han."

"Very well," He gives in, "Y/N Han."

And for years, you rebuilt what your family had lost: money, security, fame. While you repair your foundation, you bid your time into researching the family that destroyed you and retaliated. It was small at first until you began stealing their clients, information - all of it. One by one, you stole from them.

It's only a matter of time before the new capomandamento takes matters into her own hands and captures you for your deeds against her family.

Upon further research, the family you're holding a vendetta against is a Russian-Korean family named the Zakharov Clan.

And their two children - Ilina and Karina Zakharov.

Ilina, the woman who broke into your home, died three years ago after one of their men turned against her in an attempt to start a coup by shooting a bullet to her head. But he was swiftly killed by her sister - Karina, earning her Ilina's status and authority as the new capomandamento of the Zakharov Family a week after her sister's burial in Moscow.

Karina is fifth-generation old money. Her family is a mix of Russian kingmakers that made a fortune importing illegal goods during The Great Depression in 1929 and later established a globe-spanning empire in organized crime. A family long since retreated from public view, but their dominance endures to this day.

"The only gap we have in that family is that we don't know anything about the Zakharov's new capo." Your consigliere admits with a sigh, "No photos, records of any kind. Just the name."

You put the dossier down and locked eyes with the latter, "That's good enough for me, Kazuha. Send out the invitations."

She looked apprehensive, "Are you sure?"

"Yes," You tell her with finality. "I've made my move. I will await hers."

Kazuha didn't say anything as she took the dossier, "Before I forget, someone sent you a package." You arched a brow, "A package? What sort?" She shook her head sideways, "I didn't open it."

A hum reverberates from your throat, "Where is it now?"

"I sent it to your room, and before you can ask, it didn't have a return address. I suggest that I open it while you watch." You guffaw, "And I thought you were just a consigliere, not my guard."

"You are my employer and my friend, Y/N." She insists, "And I've made a promise-"

"To my mother, I know." You finish for her as you stand up. She follows your example as you gesture a hand toward your door. "Lead the way, Miss Nakamura."

"It's a dress," You mused as you stood beside her, your eyes lingering on the top cover. "From Givenchy. Is it from Jaehyun?"

The younger woman furrows her brows, "That man can't pick a dress for you to save a life, Y/N." She closes it, "Perhaps he asked a stylist to pick it for you." You hum and gently take the box from her and open it to see the dress. It was a black one-shoulder draped dress in crepe with a fluid skirt and a long slit in the front. "There's also a jewelry set," Your consigliere mused. Your eyes moved to the jewelry box nestled within.

"Jaehyun must've paid extra for these," You remarked as you carefully put the dress down and opened the jewelry box. It contained a necklace with golden-finish metal links and a bracelet in golden-finish metal with Swarovski crystals.

"Return this to him." You put the dress and accessories inside the box and turned away from the gift.

"I already have a dress in mind for next week's gathering." You tell the younger woman as you walk past her.

The first time you met her, she played you at your game.

Music plays through the speakers, accompanied by cheerful yells and self-indulging conversations as you watch all of these play beneath you from the elevated interior balcony of the venue with a glass of champagne in your hand and your consigliere standing to your left, her eyes sharply examining the attendees of the event. For tonight's event, you wore a black deconstructed cape cocktail dress featuring slashes, lapel detailing, and two flap pockets on the sides, finished with a single-button fastening and heels.

While Kazuha wore a navy blue monogram shirt dress and boots.

She leans close and whispers through the blaring music, "How would you know if she's here?"

You take a swig before replying: "People talk big about themselves in events like these, Kazuha. One of them is bound to slip."

The younger woman blinks at you, "You don't know?"

You flash her a grin before descending the stairs. Kazuha follows your figure with disbelief etched in her graceful features. "Y/N, this is dangerous-"

"Jaehyun!" You call out as you see a familiar towering figure donning a two-piece suit and black hair conversing with a group of benefactors. The man turns to you and grins, "Y/N," He then looks at his audience and excuses himself before coming to you with open arms, his double-breasted blazer wrinkled. "My - you look delectable!"

Once you're at arm's reach, he takes your hand and kisses the back of your palm. "To what do I owe the pleasure of having your attention tonight?" He queries as soon as you retract your hand. "How are the acquisitions for the farmland in Tuscany?"

Jeong Jaehyun, a family friend and your business partner since your return, is your man when it comes to international profits and investments. He was also the one who helped Kazuha in finding information about the Zakharov Clan, albeit it had gaps.

"The owners are still deciding on it, Y/N." He says as he walks beside you with Kazuha trailing behind, "But I guarantee they'll sign the papers."

"Good," You peer over your shoulder. "Leaves us, Kazuha. You have the luxury of mingling with our guests." The younger woman doesn't protest and bows before leaving.

You crane your neck to study your attendees. Jaehyun follows your gaze and chuckles. "Looking for Miss Zakharov?"

"I don't even know who I'm supposed to look at," You comment, and Jaehyun frowns, "You're endangering yourself, my friend."

"It's a long shot," A grin graces your lips, "But worth a try." Before he can reply, you cut him off. "By the way, that dress you sent me a week ago was nice." His frown deepen as you continue, "It's a shame that I already have a dress for tonight's event."

He stops, and so did you. "Y/N, what are you talking about?"

You mirror his frown, "You didn't send me a dress?"

Your business partner grasps your arm. "Y/N, I stopped sending you dresses the moment you said my taste for women's clothing was questionable." Your face blanks at the revelation, "So you're not the one who sent me a dress from Givenchy?"

"No," He hisses, "It wasn't me-"

"Jaehyun!" Another voice interjects. You both snap your heads toward a younger gentleman, and he flushes. "What is it, Mark?"

"Mingyu wants to talk to you."

"Alright," Jaehyun sighs before looking at you. "Be careful, Y/N. We'll talk later."

"We will," You tell him, and you steel your composure.

"Now go." The man obeys as the music changes to a livelier beat - on cue, your guests gather to dance with a partner next to them. You watch with a slight smile gracing your lips as you take another swig of your glass before placing it atop a random countertop.

You felt a presence beside you, and with careful eyes, you regard the stranger - a woman with tall stature and pale skin. She wore a black wrap-over top with a plunging neckline, allowing you to see her carved collarbones and pale skin, flared tuxedo pants, a buckle-thin belt, and leather zipped boots. Her hair is black and luscious, cascading down to her waist with her slender fingers securing the stem of her champagne glass.

"You didn't wear the dress I sent for you." She tells you with a distinct accent - Slavic.

You arch a brow; she sent you the dress?

"And who might you be?" You are bemused, and the woman finally looks at you.

Beautiful is an understatement. The woman standing beside you couldn't be older than thirty-three, small-shaped face, a v-shaped jaw, a sharp upturned nose, red lips, and abysmal, obsidian-hued eyes. Beautiful, but there's something amiss.

A smile made its way to her lips as she timely placed her half-finished drink atop the tray of the waiter and gestured an open palm toward your direction.

"How about I answer that with a dance?"

A wry smile made its way to your lips. "What makes you think I'd want to dance with you?"

The latter smirks, "You'll regret it if you don't." You frown at her response.

She turns to you, allowing you to see her perfect proportions. Her attire compliments her lean figure as she places a hand atop her right breast and bows. She lifts her head to look at you expectantly. "So what will it be?" She holds out her hand toward you.

You narrow your gaze at her, "I'm in no position to refuse, am I?"

The woman grins, "Da,"

Without another word, you take her hand, and she swiftly sweeps you off your feet as she leads the dance. Her left grasps your hips while the other intertwines with your right. Your left-hand hooks onto her broad shoulder.

"Your photos don't do you justice, dorogoj," She tells you with a smile, "You look prettier in person."

"Who are you?"

The enigmatic stranger doesn't reply and gracefully spins you, pressing her front against your back, eliciting a sharp gasp from you as she traps you against her body. "Y/N Han, formerly known as a Hae, daughter of Hae Jinwon."

"That information is given." You tell her as you turn around, returning to your first position. "Who. Are. You."

Her lips curl upwards, "Do you know 'The Red Shoes,' written by Christian Andersen?"

"And what does that have to do with who you are?" You retorted, patience waning as she coaxed your body to turn. "Oh, pretty girl." She purred, "It has something to do with your relationship with me."

Your brows furrow, "What do you mean?"

Instead of directly answering that question, she replies with a different narrative:

"The little girl wore her red shoes everywhere she went, even to a God-fearing church. Once you wear those shoes, your feet start dancing on their own. And you can never stop dancing or take off those shoes. But even so, the little girl never gave up on those shoes. In the end, the executioner had to cut off her feet."

Her expression changes to a cold, harsh one as she continues: "But those two feet that got cut off continue to dance in those red shoes."

A blood-curdling smile curls on the woman's lips as you stop dancing. Her hand snakes around your hips, flushing you against her while the other cups your cheek. You stood frozen still as you try to comprehend what she just said.

"You see, dovol'no devushka," She sneers as she caresses your cheek. "You stole from my family - it was small at first, but I began to notice it." You ground your jaw as the atmosphere becomes heavy and foreboding. "I see that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

You sneer at her, and your hands finally move by digging your blunt nails against her shoulder - her pupils dilated with twisted excitement as you lean close, finally smelling her scent; top notes of mulberry and black peony followed by middle notes of jasmine and tuberose with hints of black musk and vetiver base notes.

The scent suits her; sultry, dark, and alluring.

"Karina Zakharov," You rasped, and she grins, "Pravil'no,"

Before you can react, she effortlessly manipulates your body to a dip, just as violins soar higher. Your nails shamelessly claw her attire, and the woman visibly lights up with twisted delight as the shadows mask her face.

"Your obsession with finding me has come to fruition, Y/N." Karina husks as she lifts you back up, "You wanted my attention - fine." She leans close - and you let her. Her cold breath fans the left outer shell of your ear, and you muffle a gasp.

"I shall share your fixation. I'll hold you captive beneath me while I take what you most treasure on this earth."

She growls as she tightens her hold around you.

Karina's other hand goes up to the back of your neck, reaching to your roots and purchasing a handful of your hair, and pulls it back. You muffle a groan as you glare at her while she looks down on you condescendingly with contempt.

"Oh," Her chest rumbles as she chuckles, "Don't look at me like that, moya ljubov. You brought this upon yourself." She leans close, lips almost touching yours as she speaks in full Russian:

"Ty pozhnaesh' to, chto seesh." Karina jeers, "You reap what you sow."

And before you know it, you feel something pierce the side of your neck. You look at her, appalled as the dancers surround you and Zakharov's capomandamento. Your body feels heavy, and your eyelids heavier. You stagger in her grip, "What did you..." You trailed off as your speech slurs. You peer over her shoulder and spot Kazuha and Jaehyun marching toward you with alarmed expressions, your guards following behind them.

Karina chuckles as she brushes a stray strand of your hair behind your ear.

“Your obsession is noble and beautiful, Y/N.”

“What did you do to me,” You stammer as you feel your grip on consciousness slipping.

“And I’ve finally found my red shoes.”

With that, your body shuts down.

The sound of metal scraping the floor jerks you awake, your fight or flight response activates, and blood rushes all over your body - forcing you into consciousness.

Pain follows second.

A groan leaves your lips as your head throbs and your legs feel sore. Your arms were bound behind your back, clasped together by chains that rattle with every move. Flashes of last night's events replay in your memory like a broken record - your face burns at the memory. But rather than throwing a tantrum in your new-found cell, you held your breath before exhaling slowly and examining your surroundings.

Your senses heightened.

Cement walls surround you, four walls devoid of warmth. The lighting is poor, only consisting of a bulb hanging over your head. The atmosphere is damp and cold. You look down at your dress; no doubt it was wrinkled and tattered by the people who dragged you here. You move your head upwards and spot a CCTV camera focused on you.

You hear a set of footfalls approaching from behind. Questions flooded your thoughts - how could you have missed that? This god-forsaken place is dark. You should have heard a sound - anything.

"You're awake," Your skin prickles at the familiar accent. Your expression darkens as Karina approaches you from the shadows. Her features are poised and relaxed in contrast to yours.

"How long have I been unconscious?"

A wry smile graces her lips, "Seven hours - I was beginning to think I overdosed you, dorogoj."

You sit on the back of your legs and shamelessly run your eyes down her body. Unlike her attire last night: Karina's wearing a white, buttoned-dow shirt, black tapered pants, and loafers.

"Eyes up here, velikolepnyy." She mused, "Otherwise people might get the wrong idea of our dynamic."

A scoff leaves your lips. "I'm not interested."

She lets out a dark chuckle as she stalks toward you, the glint in her eyes changing to a menacing gleam as she bends and grabs your jaw, forcing you to look at her - the distance between your faces is only inches apart, and the atmosphere thickens. You held your breath at her proximity as her eyes trailed your features, from your eyes down to your lips.

"I could tempt you," She rasps against your lips, and a wolfish grin creeps on her lips. "But I don't fraternize with thieves."

You mirror her grin, although mockingly. "Oh?"

"$10,000,00.00 Y/N." She bemused, and her eyes shapen with contempt. "That's a large sum of our income." She tightens her grip on your jaw, but Karina doesn't dig her nails against your skin.

"If that's the case, then I'm sorry." You jeer as you dig your nails against your palms.

There's a pregnant pause, and silence permeates the air so heavily that you were tempted to break it, but she beats you to it.

"Don't be," Her tone changes, and those black, abysmal eyes swim with twisted mirth. "If anything - I'm impressed." The older woman lets go of your jaw and turns around. You use this opportunity to stretch your jaw and clamp it shut when she turns to you and folds her hands behind her back.

"Does that mean you're letting me off the hook, Zakharov?"

She guffaws and grabs you by the collar, startling you as she bares her teeth. Your chains rattle at her sudden action.

"Nyet,"

"I'm assuming that's a no," You hiss as she violently lets you go. "You're correct," She fixes her shirt. Before you can choose your words wisely, you blurt out:

"Are you going to kill me for it, then?"

She stares at you, her expression unreadable, before replying in a monotonous tone: "No, but my sister would." She inclines her head to the side, "But I am not Ilina." She leans down. "I am worse, Y/N." Karina chortles, "Why did you have to come back to this kind of life?" She steps back.

"You had your chance to live an ordinary life, dorogoj. You chose this, and now you deal with me."

There's something in her eyes that unnerved you.

"What are you going to do?" You inquired, but your voice sounded distant.

She didn't answer and turned around, "Behave yourself, Y/N. My capo bastone will send you your food. Don't do anything stupid if you want your family to stay alive."

Your face burned at her statement. "Don't you dare-"

"I've told you, pretty girl." She sneers, "You made your move, and I will make mine. You are in no position to threaten me."

Your blood boils as she continues: "Especially when you're the one who is in chains."

Then she walks away from you. You dig your nails against your palms so hard you thought they'd bleed in an attempt to soothe your urge to bash someone's head in anger.

"Don't you dare touch them," You whisper as she leaves you in the dark.

Winter Kim is Karina's capo bastone, the underboss. Short-haired, pale, and brunette - socially inept too, given that Winter's impervious to conversations, only saying yes, no, or I can neither confirm nor deny that.

She's the one bringing you food and water for the past four days.

But you refuse to eat what's being handed to you, even if they loosen your binds so you can eat better. That did nothing. You'd rather starve than be poisoned by your captor.

One day, Winter and a couple of guards enter your holding cell. She stands in front of you while her guards release you from your binds. "What's going on?" You question as they grab you by the arms and force you to stand up, your legs wobbling from sitting and kneeling for the past few days.

"Don't do anything stupid," She replies, "We're taking you to her."

"That's probably the longest sentence I've heard from you." You jeer. The brunette ignores it and gestures a hand toward the shadows. "Take her out."

They obeyed and escorted you outside. The brightness hurts your eyes, and your ears buzz with the sound of nature as they drag you out of your detainment. You look over your shoulder to see the structure of your 'dungeon,' it is a modest-sized house with no second floor.

A few paces later and they take you to an elaborate garden surrounded by gardeners trimming bushes and wiping statues.

In the center seats a figure eating her food with gusto. Your eyes narrow, and you ball your hands to distract your hunger as the figure looks up. "Ah, there she is," Karina puts down her utensils, wipes her mouth with a napkin, and gestured a hand at a vacant seat across from her. "Be seated, Y/N."

The men drag you to the seat, but you stop them with a glare.

"I can do sit by myself - let me go." They look at her for permission, and she permits it with a nod. The guards let go of your arm. You can feel Winter's gaze following your movements as you sit across the older, raven-haired beauty.

The latter gestures a hand towards your plate: "Reverse sear steak," She tells you as you look down at your food. You ground your jaw as your nose catches the whiff of the dish - your stomach growls. "I had my finest chef cook it for you."

You look at her dead in the eye, "I'm not hungry,"

A scoff leaves her lips as the older woman crosses her arms. "That's a lie, dorogoj. You haven't eaten."

Her statement elicits an arched brow from you, "Aw - you're worried."

Karina's lips curl upwards, "I don't have any use of you if you're dead, Y/N." Her gaze sharpens, "Eat,"

"And how do I know the meals you have been sending me aren't poisoned?" You countered. She blinks at you, bemused. "Poison is a coward's weapon, Y/N."

You incline your head to the side, "I need a guarantee, Zakharov, not assurance." The latter hums and uses her fork, wipe it with a napkin, stabs one of your steak cuts, and brings it to her mouth. Her eyes never left yours as she caught the meat between her teeth and ate it.

"See?" She spreads her arms, "Now will you eat?"

Without saying a word, you take your utensils and eat under her watchful eye. "A meal like this instigates negotiation." You put down your fork, "What do you want, Zakharov?"

Karina chuckles, "You're quick. I like that."

A wry smile decorates your lips, "We don't become heads of our families' business for nothing."

"I agree," She knots her fingers together. "Leave us,"

The gardeners and her guards obey, except Winter. Karina looks over your shoulder. You assume that's where Winter is - behind you.

"That includes you, Winter Kim."

You didn't look back, but you heard receding footfalls. "Now that we're alone. I need you to act civil with me."

You cock your brow upwards, "What makes you think I'm interested in being civil with you?"

A chuckle reverberates from her chest, and her hawk-like eyes study your face before speaking: "Because your stunt in stealing my fortune and assets earned us both enemies."

You frowned, "We earn new enemies every day, Karina. What's new about that?" A vicious smile graces her lips as if she knew a terrible secret. Your skin prickles and your gut churns uncomfortably as she drops her voice an octave lower.

"I heard that your grandfather is withdrawing his support after I abducted you, dorogoj. And he's cutting ties with you and stole almost all of your assets-"

"That's ridiculous-"

"Oh," She scoffs, "It's true, and I have the evidence to prove it, Y/N." On cue, she takes out a ledger and opens it. "These are your grandfather's offshore accounts. See the amount? It doubled."

"Impossible," You clench your hands into fists, "My grandfather would never-"

"But he did," She jeers and shuts the ledger close. "And now, he's leaving you with me. Truth be told he is smart for a man going senile, taking your assets assuming that I've killed you, and leaving the Han clan out in the open for everyone to target."

You scowl at her, "My men-"

"Has already defected, dorogoj." She finishes for you, "Even your consigliere and your money man - Jaehyun, was it?"

Your chest heaved as you try to calm your nerves, "Where did it all go wrong? You might ask?" She grins dubiously, "It all started when you planned that event, Y/N." Karina guffaws, "I'm appalled that your grandfather would sell you out. He must've thought that he'd lose like last time."

She returns her focus to your shaking figure, eyes wide and lips formed to a thin line, dark and unreadable.

"Now, don't be sad. Y/N." She cooes, "You have me."

You didn't reply, and her phone rang. The latter takes it while never taking her eyes off you. You sit there and blocked out your surroundings as you feel the heavy weight of your actions taking a toll on your focus as Karina ends the call.

"You know," She sighs and puts her phone on top of the table. "You should count yourself lucky that I've decided to kidnap you. Your warehouses were ransacked by your old enemies-"

"Shut up," You tell her with a shaky breath, "Shut up."

Her face shifts to a faux show of sympathy and concern. "I'm merely telling the truth, Y/N."

"What do you want from me?"

Karina plays with her steak knife. "Your cooperation."

"And if I don't want to cooperate?"

"Oh darling," She purrs, "You are in no position to refuse - this concerns you, after all." Your tongue pokes your inner left cheek, "Give me time to-"

"No," The older woman cuts you off, "It's either you agree or rot while I clean our fifth." There's a dangerous edge to her voice. You give her a dirty look while she shoots you with a challenging glare. "So, what will it be, dorogoj?"

"Fine," You say through gritted teeth.

Karina purrs in satisfaction. "Clever girl, you got promoted from prisoner - to my guest. You will have one of my guestrooms. The rules still apply: do anything stupid, and I will deal with you. Do you understand this, Y/N?"

You felt like a child underneath her gaze, your eyes burned with silent wrath as you answer with a curt:

"Yes,"

"Yes - what, pretty girl?"

"Yes," You hiss, "Karina Zakharov."

"Very good," On cue Karina's guards and Winter return to the garden. She stands up. You follow her example, unblinking as her guards seize you by the arms. You recoil at their touch as if they burned you.

"Be gentle," She instructs them, "She is now my guest."

They acknowledge her command with a bow before carrying on with what they are bid to do.

"I'll cooperate," You tell her, "Under one condition, a simple condition."

Karina clicks her tongue, "Let's hear it, then."

"That you'll protect my mother." The latter pauses, "Very well, your mother will be under my care." She turns to look at the short-haired brunette. "Winter, escort her to her new room. The rest of you, return to your stations."

You allow the second in command to lead you to your new room.

Karina's manor is of neoclassical design. Neat and spacious. You follow Winter through the labyrinthine halls until she stops before an intricately carved white double door with guards standing on both sides.

"This will be your room," She tells you blankly while one of the guards opens the door to reveal a spacious, clean room. "If you need anything, just call for the guards."

Without saying anything, you enter the room and study your surroundings. The door closes behind you - the room contains your typical setting for a bedroom. But still, you inspect the place making sure that there are no hidden cameras.

There was none.

You sink into your knees and let out a shaky breath to calm your nerves. Your body feels numb and lightweight as you try to think clearly, but your mind is riddled - racing with thoughts more than your brain can take.

And you pass out.

For the next 72 hours, you observed the guards standing on the opposite side of your room.

They change shifts, and the time lag is five minutes due to the long halls of Karina's manor.

Darkness has befallen, the white halls dimmed to the color of the wall lamps, and your guards just left their posts.

Five minutes

Your head peeked through your doors, eyeing both halls before slipping out, careful to avoid Karina's men. Your heart hammers against your ribs, and you can feel your pulse pounding against your head as you maneuver silently.

While sneaking out, your eyes caught a huge family portrait hanging near the marble staircase.

It's also been taken recently due to you spotting a familiar face. Karina was seated next to her older sister. The youngest Zakharov wore a black, sleeveless high-neck dress. Her hair was styled to a fishtail bun with her bangs resting on the sides of her face, while Ilina wore a black cut-out midi dress, and her hair was styled to a half ponytail.

You move your gaze to the parents you hailed them.

Karina took her mother's features, while Ilina had their father's. But both sisters exude power and grace, a beautiful, powerful family.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Her voice cuts through the silence, and you swiftly turn to her with wide eyes.

There she stood from behind. Karina Zakharov is wearing a black buttoned-down shirt, straight-cut jeans, and sandals. Her hair was let down.

"It's a decent photo," You stiffly tell her, "No," She scoffs, "Don't I look great in that photo?"

You roll your eyes in reply while she chuckles and stands beside you. Your posture bristles and stiffens as she folds her hands behind her back.

"It was the last photo we've taken before one of her men shot her." She tells you, "I'm sure you're relieved to hear that, am I right, dorogoj?"

The air suddenly becomes heavy and stifling as you feel her move her line of sight toward your unwilling figure. You avert your gaze elsewhere. You don't know how to respond to that. You held your breath as you try to think of a reply but you blurt out:

"My condolences," You say to her monotonously.

She tears away her gaze from you, looks at the picture, and hums a tune that holds no consequence. "I don't need your condolences; she died a long time ago."

Silence hangs between you before she speaks again, "And relax, Y/N." You shift your gaze to her with furrowed brows. "You're free to roam my halls so long as you stay out of our private rooms." A smirk coils on her lips, "And don't do-"

"Anything stupid," You finish for her through gritted teeth, "If that's the case, may I go to the garden?"

The older woman regards you for a moment before nodding. "I'll take you there."

You arched a brow. Karina catches on. "As you can see, Y/N, I'm the only one present in this room - and if I call my men or Winter I'd have to waste my breath and call for them." She pauses, "I think it's perfect that I'll take you there just in case you decide to run away." Her smirk returns, "But if you did, I'll be the one to capture you - I like to give chase."

An exasperated sigh leaves your lips, "Shut up and take me to the garden."

She guffaws, "Follow me, dorogoj."

What's with the Russian words? You didn't ask her and followed the raven-haired capo. "By the way," She adds, "My clothes look good on you."

Your eyes subtly widen as you look down at your borrowed clothing. "Your clothes?!" That came out as a squeak. The older woman shoots you a wolfish grin before leading the way.

"It's either that or you walk around my property naked, pretty girl." She teases, and you hold every fiber of your body not to hit her head. "No wonder why they felt big on me." You cringe as your footsteps echo through the dimly lit halls. It didn't take a minute for you to spot a familiar short-haired girl coming toward the two of you.

"Winter," Karina acknowledges while the younger woman bows her head, "We received Giselle's report on the import at Port Elizabeth, New York."

Giselle? As in Uchinaga Giselle? The New York mobster?

"Very well, did you send a copy to my consigliere?"

The shorter woman nods, "Yeji has it. She's heading on her way as we speak." There's a pause. You feel out of place in their conversation and avert your gaze elsewhere. "If that's the case, then you'll entertain our guest here." You snap your head to the two. Winter pursed her lips before bowing her head, "Of course. Where shall I take her?"

"To my garden," She answers before looking at you with a small, distant smile. "Be a good girl, and don't give Winter a hard time, yeah?"

Without saying another word, Karina turns to the opposite hallway while Winter leads the way to the garden. You follow the brunette, but you look over your shoulder, your eyes locked on the disappearing figure of Karina. True to her word, Winter took you to the garden. You sigh as you revel in the cold breeze lightly nipping your skin and the ivory glow of the moon. A refreshing sight from the usual four walls of your room.

A wry smile creeps on your lips at the realization. Despite being moved to a much more hospitable accommodation-

"A golden prison is still a prison." You tell yourself while Winter stands behind you. Her sharp gaze never leaves your figure as you bask in the beautiful glow of the moonlight.

Meters away from the second floor of the manor, there stood Karina on her balcony with her slender, well-manicured fingers holding the stem of her wine glass. Despite Yeji discussing the keys of Giselle's report, Karina's eyes were glued to your figure, before disappearing inside her study.

"Y/N," Winter regards as you get out of your room.

"What are you doing here?" You inquire the younger woman unkindly as you walk past her. The younger woman follows you, "And why are you following me around?"

"Haven't you heard?" You feel Winter's gaze move to your striding figure. "Miss Zakharov has assigned me as your guard." You stop in your tracks to look at her, "She assigned you to be my what?"

"Your guard," She tells you.

You open your mouth but you shut it close and continue to walk. "Where are you going this time, Miss Han? To the gardens again?"

Turns out, you are being held captive in Italy. The northern Italian province of Lombardy is home to Milan and other fashion hubs.

"Where else?" You grumble, "But I'm getting tired of it. Can't a prisoner have something to entertain herself?"

Winter balks, "You're no prisoner."

"A golden cage is still a cage, Winter." You bemused. This is the first time the short-haired brunette initiated a conversation with you.

"Do books interest you?" You scoff at her, "What? I can't use the TV?"

"We don't have that," She tells you honestly, and you gawk at her. "What kind of founding family has all the money and resources in the world but has no TV?"

The latter coughs, "Karina is too busy with her work to watch."

"You make it sound as though I am a lazy capo." You snark before the realization dawns on you. You're not a capo anymore. "Anyways," You quickly regain your composure, "She has a library?"

"Yes, follow me." Without waiting, she turns around, leaving you to follow her.

After minutes of wandering through the halls, she stops before two tall doors and gestures a hand. "Inside, Miss Han."

You regard her for a moment before pushing the door open. Karina Zakharov's library is spacious and shelves rich with books. How could she possess such a magnitude of books?

As if sensing your question, Winter speaks up: "This library was the congressman of Italy's gift for her."

"I see," You mutter as you brush the pads of your fingers against the spines of the books. Winter watches you closely as you turn to the bookshelf and grab two books, one of Slavic folktale and the other a Russian-to-English dictionary.

Winter regards your choice of books, "I'll be outside if you need anything."

You didn't answer and instead take a seat on the nearest couch before burying your head in between the pages, getting lost in a paradise of words to pass the time. You hear the door close.

"You didn't eat the fruits I sent you." An amused voice cuts through the silence, forcing you to tear your eyes from the page and then look up at the owner of the voice.

Karina stood a few meters away from your seated figure with her arms crossed against her chest. Her tall figure leans against one of the bookshelves as her eyes watch you.

Your eyes fall to a tray of cut fruits beside you. One of her men, or Winter must've placed it beside you, you just didn't notice.

"Ah," Is all you can say while the older woman chuckles and strides toward you, and gracefully picks up an apple. You watch her with intent, she holds your gaze as she takes a bite, and hunger suddenly pangs against your stomach, but your lips traverse to her lips as she licks them clean. You clear your throat softly and avert your gaze, you didn't see the smirk playing on her lips.

"What are you doing, Zakharov?"

"Just showing you that it's not poisoned, dorogoj."

Your face flushes at the pet name. You bared your teeth as you snap your gaze toward her. "You do realize that you've been calling me 'darling', right?"

Karina laughs, and your gut churns. "Ah, old habits."

"You call your prisoners that?"

A teasing smile plays on her lips, and you want to smack it out of her. "No, just you." Your cheeks change to a shade of light pink, and you once again look away from the half-Russian capo.

She moves her line of sight to your books, "I see that you've taken an interest in my language and culture. That's adorable."

"Shut up," You snap at her, "I'm reading."

The latter curls her lips upward, "That one's boring, dovol'no devushka." There she is again. The capo of the Zakharov family takes a book near her and approaches you and hands you the book. "Read this instead."

You give her a sideward glance. "What I read is hardly any of your business, Zakharov." She scoffs at your snark, "Just read this, printsessa."

"Don't you have your responsibilities to take care of?" You retort, and Karina rolls her eyes. Her Slavic tongue dominates her English accent. "I have my consigliere stepping in. I gave instructions - they will execute." She waves the book at you, "Now read."

"Fine," You huff as put the book down and snatch the book from her hand. "What is it about, anyway?"

"Why don't you read and find out, dorogoj?"

You scowl at her before opening the first page. "And by the way," You sigh and look at the older woman. "What?"

"The Uchinagas are hosting an event."

"Okay, and?"

"Your grandfather will be there," Your eyes sharpened as she continues, "And so will your father and older brother."

You thread your words carefully. "And what does this have to do with me?"

A sly smirk graces her plump lips, "This is your opportunity to get even." A pause, "You're coming with me to New York as my plus one."

Your brow raises, "Is that your way of asking me on a date?"

The raven-haired beauty chuckles, "No, I'm not asking you, Y/N. I'm taking you." You gawk at her as she walks away. "Our flight's in three days. Prepare your valuables." You scoff. You don't have any as you scheme through the pages while Karina peers over her shoulder and exits the room.

While browsing the pages, your eyes stumble at a sketch. It was a side view of a woman, no older than twenty-five holding a flute champagne, the dress looks familiar, as if you wore it during-

Your eyes subtly widen as you study the details of the sketch - it was you. The night before you were captured.

"What the," You mutter as you snap your head towards the direction where Karina left with your hand gripping the sketch tightly with thoughts racing in your head, and one stands out:

Why would she sketch you?

For the next four days, you observed Karina Zakharov - especially when she interacts with you.

Whenever you throw a jab or a snark at her, she smirks and continues the conversation as if you didn't irritate her. It made the acids in your stomach boil.

You tested her patience, and she merely chuckled or smirked. She'd walk beside you with a small smile creeping on her lips as if she didn't abduct you. It irked you. Because why would she have time to check on you when Winter or one of her guards can do that?

You are merely a capo left with nothing - if it was any capo, they won't even give you a second glance, but why does she-

Why would she give her time to go to you?

Why

Why?

You have nothing to offer, you have nothing left in your name - you are her prisoner. You were just given the privilege of roaming free and reading whatever's in her library.

What is she getting at? What was she trying to accomplish?

What does she want from you?

"Ah, and who is this fine woman you're with, Karina?" You broke from your reverie as a smooth baritone voice fills your ears. You turn to the gentleman wearing a black suit. His hair is styled to a perm. He's handsome, almond-shaped eyes, light brown-hued eyes, an upturned hose, and slightly thin lips. Classical music plays faintly in the speakers, accompanied by the clinking of champagne glasses as the underworld's elite gather to attend the Uchinagas' event - it's to celebrate a successful partnership with the Sicilians.

"Taehyung," Karina regards the gentleman as her hands land on the small area of your back. You held a gasp. Despite the fabric acting as a barrier between your skin and her fingertips, you can feel her cold touch - and it sends shivers throughout your body. "This is my date, Y/N Han."

"Han?" He muses as he looks at you while you regard him with a bow. "My, you're gorgeous!" You reply with a chuckle as Karina looks at you with a well-practiced smile, "Says you, Mr. Kim. You look dashing."

The man shifts his weight to his other foot. "An interesting pair, you two. Have you come to good terms?"

Karina responds this time, "Yes, we've decided that a pointless grudge is a waste of energy and time." You cocked a brow as she continues: "So we've agreed to a truce."

Taehyung hums, "I'll drink to that, have a nice night."

Once he's out of earshot you turn to look at the older woman who hasn't removed her hand from your back but you chose to ignore it.

"Was that a personal attack?"

She snorts, "A - what?"

"Nevermind," You roll your eyes at her as you look around to spot the thieving trio that stole from you. You can feel Karina's gaze and decide to tease her: "Take a photo, it might last longer."

She scoffs, "Why would I do that when I can draw you with perfect accuracy?"

You glance at her, face unreadable. "Yes, no doubt."

She cocked a brow, "Oh - I don't like that tone."

You hid a smirk and grasped her arm, "Let's divide and conquer -or you know what? Leave me to my devices. I'll hunt those three down."

"Alone?" She muses, "I doubt it."

"You wound me, Zakharov." You mocked, "How could you doubt my skills with a knife?" Where's the lie? There's a knife strapped to your thigh - concealed by the dress Karina bought for you, and it is easily accessible via the long slit of your dress.

Her face was unreadable, but you could see the turmoil in her eyes. It made your eye twitch with irritation.

Don't look at me that way. I am capable just as you are.

"Very well," She concedes, "Winter is around to help you if you can't do it."

You scowl at her. Since when did she care?

"Alright," You answer harshly, "Do enjoy the party."

Without waiting for a reply, you walk away from her.

You weave through the crowd like black smoke, your eyes sharp and senses heightened as the event continues. And just when you thought you'd never seen another familiar face, Kazuha shows up. Your eyes widen as you come face to face with the former consigliere of the Han Clan. Kazuha mirrors your shock and her hand covers her mouth.

"Zuha?" You squeak, "Y/N," The younger woman gasps as she grasps both your arms, "How did you-" She sputters, "Oh my god, Y/N I am so sorry, enemies flanked us left and right we had to escape, I'm sorry-"

"Kazuha," You tell her gently, "I understand. You don't have to apologize."

"But-"

"It's fine," You sternly reassured her. "You're better off alive than trying to defend what was left of our business." A bittersweet smile graces your lips, "You look gorgeous tonight. Did you get a new job as someone else's consigliere?"

"Yes," She answers shakily, "As Giselle's consigliere. How did you escape her? Karina - I mean." Before you can explain, you see Kazuha's eyes visibly sharpening, and her resplendent countenance twists to a scowl.

"Karina," She growls as a figure approaches you from behind. Your skin tingles at the familiar touch; the older woman's hand drapes around your waist as she regards Kazuha with a polite smile. "Miss Nakamura," She greets, "A pleasure to meet you tonight."

She eyes her hand around your waist, "I wish I could say the same, Miss Zakharov." Karina's lips curl upward as your former consigliere continues:

"What is she doing being this close to you, Y/N?"

"Relax," Karina jeers, "She's with me as my date."

The younger woman's eyes slightly widen as she looks at you, "Is this true?"

Karina cuts you off, "Yes, it's true - even if you wring it out of Y/N, she'll agree with me." Kazuha glares at her while Karina's beautiful features twist to a challenging look while her hand pulls you closer to her. Your gut churns and goosebumps arise - her touch has you in a trance, tantalizing and blissful.

"Easy ladies," You hissed as you quickly removed Karina's hand from your waist. She looks at you, aghast, but says nothing. "I'll explain everything if we meet again, but for now, I need to find my grandfather and his son and grandson."

"I saw your grandfather in one of the private booths on the second floor."

Excitement drums in your veins, and you thank the consigliere before she begrudgingly leaves you and the youngest Zakharov. You move away from Karina, eyes set on your goal now that Kazuha informed you about your grandfather's whereabouts as you make your way to the marble stairs, your hand is itching to grasp the dagger while weaving through the guests, no longer caring if your brushing or bumping past them.

"Now," You grumble as your eyes study the closed rooms. "Where are you?"

"I don't think charging there with a dagger is intelligent, Y/N." Your face contorts to a scowl at the familiar voice. You snap your head toward her, "This does not concern you, Zakharov." You snark at her with toxicity lacing your voice. "This is between me and my grandfather. Stay out of it." Her face remains calm, and it irked you - so you turn away from her, only for Karina to seize you by the wrist and pull you towards her. Karina Zakharov's face was only inches from yours as her cold breath fanned against your dainty countenance.

"And I'm telling you, Y/N, it's dangerous for you to go there alone."

You bared your teeth at her, "Why do you care?"

She doesn't answer, and your patience thinned. "Let. Me. Go, Zakharov."

The latter ignores this and tightens her grip around your wrist, keeping you in place. You curse at her and snap your head towards the private booths, one opens, revealing a familiar figure that scorned you. Your other hand twitches, you can throw the knife from here. It is thin after all. He's open, and so is your window of opportunity before he surrounds himself with potential collateral damage.

"Karina," You warned without looking back at her, "Let me go."

"What's the use of killing him now," The raven-haired beauty coaxes. "When you can let him live to suffer for it, Y/N?"

You grit your teeth. Those words are familiar to you. "I don't fucking care," You hissed.

"Let me go, Karina Zakharov." You turn to her almost pleadingly, and Karina's face glows with resolve.

"No, Y/N." She tells you, her voice a whisper. "I won't."

And your window of opportunity closes.

You've lost your chance, and you look at your grandfather helplessly, but it quickly dissipates as wrath seeps into your body faster than poison. And without thinking, you swiftly turn to the woman and harshly remove your wrist from her pale hand and use the side of your arm to press it against her throat, startling her, but you don't allow her to think as you quickly push her inside a vacant lounging room and shut it by swiftly pushing the older woman against the door and grab your knife, pressing it against her throat.

Karina's eyes widen with macabre delight and doesn't make a move. Those black abysmal eyes of hers gleam with curiosity...and something else that you couldn't decipher.

No, that isn't the reaction you want from her. She was supposed to look threatened, not curious. She is supposed to beg for you to keep the knife away from her face - to beg for her life.

But she doesn't, and it makes your blood boil and your gut twinges uncomfortably. You ground your jaw so hard you thought your teeth would break.

"I hate you," You spat at her while your eyes burned, "I hate you so fucking much."

A cruel, soft smile graces her lips as she reaches out a hand and wipes-

Your tears?

You gape at her, surprised at the tender gesture as she cups your face. Her skin feels warm against your tear-stained cheek.

"I hate you," You tell her again but this time, your voice sounds distant and meek.

Distracted, the older woman hastily, but retains her grace as she pins you against the door and disarms the knife from your hands, and pins your wrist on both sides as she flushes her body against yours.

You let out a shaky breath while Karina's eyes are glazed and hooded, her breath ragged as she leans her face closer to yours. Her scent invades your sense of smell, intoxicating you. She leans close to the outer shell of your right ear. Karina drops her voice an octave lower.

"Say it to me again," Her Russian accent is hot and rough against the skin of your face.

"What?" You breathe against her as you try to pry her hands off your wrist but to no avail.

"That you hate me, dorogoj." Her voice hoarse, "Say it to me again, moya ljubov'."

"I hate you," You say, but the words come out like a caress. A litany. An enchantment. A ward against what you feel. "I hate you. I hate you. I hate you-"

And she cuts you off with a searing kiss, catching you off guard. The older woman tilts her head to deepen it, and it didn't take a while for you to respond by matching her fervor that her lipstick smudges against yours.

She pulls away with a batted breath. Her eyes are dark and ravaging as her grip on your wrist loosens, and you shake it away from her grasp, only to grab her by the lapels of her suit and pull her for another one. She kisses you harder.

Karina's right-hand grasps you by the back of your head while the other rests against the small area of your back, her nails dig against your skin, eliciting a gasp from you, and she uses her opportunity by slipping her tongue, swallowing you whole before pulling away.

"I hate you," You breathe into her mouth, your thoughts are muddled by nothing but her. Her scent, her abysmal eyes, her beautiful black hair, her devastatingly gorgeous face - all of her.

"I hate you so much that I can't think of anything else but you."

Karina chuckles and softly pecks the skin of your neck, sending shivers down your spine as her hands caress your body.

"If that's the case," She rasps against your skin, and you softly gasp as she squeezes your hips.

"Then give me one night to convince you otherwise, my love."

Fin.

#karina x reader #constantinewrites #aespa x reader #kpop oneshots #kpop imagines #female reader #aespa #yoo jimin x reader #yoo jimin #one for my enemy

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fayes-fics · 1 year ago

Text

Call Me

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, modern AU

Summary: When you are parted from Benedict, he guides you through pleasuring yourself....

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, phone sex, dirty talk, masturbation, use of sex toy.

Word Count: 3.5k

Authors Note: this is a very belated request fill for the talented and lovely @broooookiecrisp from her ask HERE, where Benedict guides the reader through masturbation. She also chose the pic above, which looks very modern Benedict in Tuscany :) I hope you enjoy this story, my lovely. Thanks to @colettebronte for reading this through & @eleanor-bradstreet for the title. Enjoy! <3

The Facetime call connects as you recline, wearing your noise-cancelling wireless headset.

“Hello darling,” that familiar smooth voice greets, “I've missed you.” His sigh is deep and heartfelt. With the volume up, it sounds like he is lying right with you, but then it's in both ears; the stereo effect makes your tummy feel warm.

“I've missed you too,” you hum, toying with the corner of the duvet you lay under. You are so happy he secured an artist retreat residency in Tuscany for the week, but you miss him terribly. He's only been gone a few days, but it feels like forever.

“I'm sorry this has to be an audio call; the wifi here is shockingly slow and the phone reception non-existent; I thought it better to sacrifice a blocky video for crystal clear audio,” he explains. “You will just have to imagine my face,” he adds with a soft laugh.

Indeed, your mind fills with images of his handsome face; you can even picture the gentle, lopsided grin you can hear in his tone.

“Are you somewhere private?” you ask, a little nervous.

“Yes. Why do you ask?” his question shifting into that lower cadence that fires all the butterflies.

“I miss you,” you offer again, hoping perhaps he can intuit what you are asking for, drawing your knees up, the cotton sheet catching on your heels as you do so.

“I miss you too,” he echoes again, “but I don't think that needs to be said in private,” his tone laconic.

He knows exactly where your thoughts have slid, but he's playing innocent. He always goads you into pushing to speak your mind, to voice your desires, and tonight is no different—gently coaxing you to profess what you want.

“I want you to talk to me,” your voice with a slight waver that betrays a hidden meaning in the words.

“I am,” the timbre makes the little earphones in your ear almost vibrate, and a frisson runs down your spine.

“No…” you hesitate, “talk to me,” emphasising the word.

“If you want something from me, darling, all you have to do is ask,” his tone a dark lilting tease now.

“Talk to me like you do when we are intimate,” you rush out on an exhale.

His rich chuckle makes your nipples pebble without so much as a touch. “Now we are getting somewhere….” he buzzes. “Are you going to touch yourself for me while I do, hmm?”

You bite your lip but can't disguise the whimper that escapes. You close your eyes and flick the volume up two notches on your phone, throwing it aside so both hands are available.

“I want you to tell me what to do,” you breathe, pushing the duvet down your body, feeling heated.

You hear the noise that catches deep in his throat; it's thick and desirous, and you thank the technology gods for headsets with this level of quality.

“What are you wearing?” he rumbles.

“Nothing…” you confess, knowing it's breathy and wanton.

“Oh god, yes,” his rushed response, a reflex that makes you clench your thighs together, loving how affected he is just by that simple statement. “Where are you?”

“In our bed.”

“Under the covers?”

“I was, but now I'm feeling hot, so I've pushed them aside. It's just me… naked… uncovered… alone… resting on your pillow…”

With each little phase, you can hear his breathing getting more pronounced. “Why my pillow?”

“It smells like you,” you answer.

“Does that turn you on?” his voice going tight.

“Yes, oh god, Ben, yes, it does.”

He growls lightly when you say his name, the noise in your ears so loud it makes you squeak, a hand straying to your breast.

“Guide me, please; I need to imagine it's your hands on me. “Draw me a mental picture as clear and evocative as one of your beautiful paintings.”

“Hmmmm,” his thoughtful hum runs right through your body with the volume up. “How about we take this slow, build to something? I have a painting I worked on earlier today. Would you like me to describe it to you? Describe how I would paint you into it?”

“Yes! Yes, please,” you enthuse quickly, desperate for his artistry in all senses of the word.

“It's Tuscany, a sun-drenched summer’s day,” his storytelling is always spellbinding, so you settle back into the pillows as if listening to a private audiobook made just for you. “The sky is azure blue; the fields are bright, verdant green. Olive trees dot the rolling hills all around. Right in the middle is a small vineyard. A gentle slope of neatly rowed vines, the leaves canopying bunches of ripened grapes, drooping heavily, ready for harvest.”

As he speaks, you spider your fingertips over your collarbone, imagining the heat of the sun on your skin.

“The grass between the vine rows is lush and thick, a balm from the heat,” his sonorous voice continues at a lush pace. “That is where I would paint you, lying on that hillside. The cool blades tickling your back as the sun bakes your skin.”

“What am I wearing, Benedict?” you inquire, gently biting your lip as your hands stray lower onto the swell of your breast, so enchanted by the picture he paints.

“Exactly what you are right now,” he responds with a slight hitch.

“Nothing?” you gasp, the idea suddenly so risque but more beguiling.

“That's right,” he rumbles. “I would paint you utterly nude.”

You brush lightly around your own areola, writhing gently under your own touch.

“Are you with me, Benedict? In this vineyard?” your breath quickening.

“How else am I going to paint you unless I am there too?” he teases gently. “And guess what I would be doing while I'm painting?”

“What?” goosebumps on your arms with anticipation, your fingers moving concentric circles.

“I would tell you to touch yourself, just as I am now. There is nothing I want to paint more than you in the throes of ecstasy,” he exhales raggedly. “You are beautiful, wild, glorious….”

“I want that too,” you rush out. “Why have you never done it before?”

He chuckles richly; the sound feels like a shimmer over your body. “Because it would be impossible to be near you when you are naked and not to touch you,” his admission is almost rueful.

“I wish you were with me,” it’s wistful.

“I am,” he assures. “just remember hmm? Sunny hillside, naked, the sun on your skin and me there with you. Now, darling, I can tell you are already doing something; I can hear the quirk in your breath. Tell me, tell me in detail.”

“I’m..” you hesitate, “...I’m touching my nipples,” you rush out, finally letting your fingers trail over the nub, pebbling hard as he moans lightly.

“Oh yes,” he stutters, “don’t stop. Give them a gentle pinch for me. Between your finger and thumb…” he waits for your little hiss, and then he hums, “Mmm, does that feel good?”

“Yessss,” you hiss.

“Imagine it’s my fingers, darling,” he requests, and you do.

You think of how it feels when his hands cup your breast, as you do now, and tease your nipples until you beg him to stop. You hear his breath catching in his throat as you make tiny little needy noises and tilt up a fraction off the bed, teasing yourself as he does.

“That’s it,” he encourages. “Now wet your fingers, suck on them…”

You know he can hear the wet, suckling noise right in his earpiece as you do as commanded, returning your fingers and painting the dampness over your skin as it puckers heavily under the sensation.

“Now pinch yourself just a little harder; imagine it’s my tongue and teeth; I know how much you like it when I suck hard and just a gentle bite….”

“Ben…” you murmur his name as you move, your head rolling on the pillow, eyes fluttering.

“Fuckkk,” you hear him mutter, losing his composure. It makes something inside you catch fire, a tingle between your legs buzzing harder.

“What next?” you beseech, wanting this to go quicker but at the same time to never stop.

“Slide your fingers down over your ribs, my love,” he stumbles a little, and you hear a squeak as if he is changing position.

“Tickles,” you giggle, and Benedict laughs softly with you.

“I know. I love to run the tip of my nose there,” he divulges, “or I may use a firmer touch. Do that, darling. Sweep your whole palm down, and feel the rise and fall with your breathing as you go.”

You do as asked, the heavier touch centring you somehow as your hand slips onto your tummy.

“Take your time, but don’t stop moving lower, darling,” he lectures. “You know I never do.”

It is so low it echoes around your whole being. Your thighs fall open, a trickle escaping your body.

“Oh god, I’m burning for you, Ben,” it’s out before you can stop it.

“Where?”

“You know where,” you obfuscate.

“I'm not there, remember? I need you to paint me a picture. I know you can do it. Don’t worry. No one can hear us; it’s just you and me. Missing each other.” His gentle, loving reassurance is the push you need.

“Between my legs,” you stutter under his coaxing.

“Are you wet for me?” he queries, panting a little.

“Yes,” you disclose quietly.

“Are you touching yourself?”

“Not yet,” you swirl your fingers through the patch of hair, almost as if waiting for his permission to touch.

“You want me to tell you exactly what to do, don’t you?” He intuits.

“Please,” you croak.

“Okay. I just have one condition…” he tapers off, temptingly, knowing he has you on tenterhooks.

“What?” the question is breathy, impatient.

“You have to be loud for me,” he petitions. “Don’t you dare hold back; I want to hear it all.”

“Okay, I promise,” you whisper, your clit pulsing, aching to be touched.

“Alright….” He begins as you hear more sounds like he is getting into position in bed himself, a slight rustle of cotton. “Bend your legs, bring your heels up high right near your bottom…”

You do as instructed.

“Now, splay your knees out wide.”

Again you follow to the letter, feeling the cool air swirling around your exposed, damp slit.

“Reach behind your head and then slide my pillow under your hips…,” he continues in that sinful tone.

“Why?” You check even as you do as asked.

“Because I want my pillow to smell like your pussy when I get home,” he snarls. The untamed way he says it, so loud in your ears, makes you squeak. He has no shame in being explicit, even if you often flounder to do the same.

Now, with your hips raised, it’s easier to touch yourself; likely, he thought about that, too.

“Mmm, are you comfortable again?” he checks.

“Yes,” you confirm, hand slipping to where it was before.

“Good, now take your middle finger and slide it lower,” he instructs. “Keep going until you find that little clit of yours,” you swear he has entered an even throatier register now, each word like dark silk cloaking you.

As your finger pad slides over that spot, you can’t help the little ohhhh that escapes your lips.

“Oh yes, you’ve found it, haven’t you? Now slide a little lower, hook that finger, and pull back up.”

You do as told and moan as your finger immediately snags the most sensitive spot.

“Oh fuck yes,” you can hear the shudder in his tone, how affected he is, making you fizz too. The self-consciousness melts away as his precise instructions root you into your body, letting your mind shut off all the thoughts and worries—just focussed on the present.

“Swirl that finger gently for me, baby,” he compels, “anticlockwise.”

Instantly, your body responds as if it were his touch. You breathe deep as you keep moving, the slickness of your desire easing your motions.

“Are you swelling just a little?” he sounds more urgent now.

“Yes,” you confirm, your clit swelling under your touch as you picture him, his face hovering over you, imagining his fingers teasing you as his lips slid hot over your neck.

“Oh god, I love when you get all swollen and puffy and flushed right there for me,” he groans lewdly, and it’s a beeline straight to your pussy. It convulses around nothing, leaking over your bottom cheeks and onto his pillow. You call his name louder, squirming bodily, something tugging inside. Your body craves him—to be fucked, invaded, pushed open, pounded until it aches from that delicious stretch.

“Fuck I need you, Ben,” you moan as your fingers move faster, sliding over that little pearl. “I need you to fuck me so hard.”

“I want that, but not yet,” he grits out, your declaration seeming to fuel him. “Imagine it’s my tongue, darling, lathing against your clit, drinking up all that beautiful juice. You always taste divine, like a slightly tart peach, sweet but sharp.”

Your mind supplies images of just that, his slightly stubbled jaw rubbing against the sensitive skin of your labia as he has to use both hands to hold you open to his onslaught, your legs reflexively wanting to close up around his head at the powerful sensations you feel, your fingers running into his lush head of hair, nails scraping along his warn scalp, praising his skill.

“When I tell you to, you grab your vibrator, baby.” he interrupts your reverie.

“Yes,” you comply, knowing it is tucked safely under your pillow beside you.

“For now, keep rubbing for me; go faster,” he implores. “Let me hear you, your beautiful voice….”

You speed up, changing motions as he guides you to do so. Softly chanting his name as you notch higher up that invisible ladder. But he knows your body so well—knows with absolute precision when to shake things up, as he does now.

“STOP!!!” he instructs harshly.

You instantly halt ministrations, whining, hearing his laboured breaths loud in your ear, your fingers frozen inches above your folds.

“Oh, are you pulsing baby? Are you so close to coming?” he sounds proud, almost smug.

“Yesssss… please let me continue,” you plead, lungs heaving.

“No,” he menaces as your hand wanders over your thighs to stop the temptation to defy him, feeling the quiver in your muscles.

“Where has your other hand been?” he quizzes.

“Gripping the sheets,” you admit as he huffs a laugh about your honesty.

“Now swap. Touch your clit with that hand,” he tutors.

“What about my other hand? It's soaked,” you confess abashed.

“I know, baby, we are going to put it to good use. Slide two of those soaked fingers inside your pussy for me,” he instructs, so low that every word buzzes in your bones.

You call out his name as you slide two fingers deep into your own soaked pussy, rippling around your touch, a lewd, squelching sound as you do so.

“Oh fuck… I think I heard that,” he inhales sharply.

“You,” you assert, “you did this to me.”

He makes a feral noise in response, breathing in harsh gusts.

“Fuck yourself,” he growls, “fuck yourself with your fingers.”

Your movements are instinctual now, following his words to the letter. Shame melted away under the heat of desire. For him, for this. To come so damn hard you scream the walls down. Plunging your fingers as deep as you can reach, over and over. Your hips are pushed high off the bed, shoulder blades and feet taking your weight as you race greedily towards your peak, forehead and the back of your neck dewy from the exertion. Thinking of his fingers buried inside, of how, when it’s him, he holds you down with a solid quad muscle over your thigh, doesn’t let you buck up as you are now.

“Please, Ben. I need your cock,” you bumble, uncensored, whimpering that you can’t quite reach as deep as he can, reach that spot that makes you babble utter nonsense and white out with pleasure.

“Grab that vibrator y/n. Fuck yourself properly,” he orders gruffly.

You release your clit and fumble under your pillow for it, a slight sound of victory catching in your throat as you do so.

Without preamble, you thrust it inside yourself, just as he would with his cock when he knows you are this mindless. The stretch isn’t as good as him, not the same weight and heat, but it still feels like a heavenly sensation in your heightened state. Your noises staccato as you take it all on board, pausing slightly to get used to the invasion.

“Did I say you could stop?” he interrogates.

Without riposte, you scramble to obey, withdrawing the vibe then sinking it back in, attempting to ape one of his rhythms, the sense memory of him moving inside you making you moan loudly.

“That’s it. Does that feel good?” his voice practically a purr.

“Yes, but not as good as you,” you answer, missing the feel of him surrounding you when you are fucking. Skin, sweat, scent, weight, the feeling of another body covering or moving under yours.

“I know, darling. I promise it will be me soon. I’ll be home in a few days,” he pledges, breathing hard.

“Will you fuck me as soon as you are home?” you implore, wanting nothing more in this moment.

“Yes, baby. I’ll take you in the hallway if you want,” he vows, his cadence desperate.

“Please…” that word is all you can stutter as the hand controlling the vibe becomes a frenzy, your pussy clinging to its mass as if it were his cock.

“Don’t forget that engorged clit,” he reminds. “I need you to rub it as hard as you can with that other hand,” his voice is becoming more broken. “Im fucking you right now,” he avows roughly, “It's me, darling, fucking you so hard. And you feel so so good clenching around my cock…”

You belatedly realise he may be touching himself, may have his cock in his hand as he walks you to orgasm. It makes your thighs tremble and clamp around your hands.

“Are you touching yourself too, Ben?”

“Yessss”, he hisses. Below the sound of your joint panting, you can hear the faint sound of skin slapping lightly as he fucks his fist.

It’s that image in your mind - him sprawled naked on a bed, skin sunkissed against the crisp white sheets, in a thick stone-walled Tuscan villa, the scent of wildflowers and the lush sound of crickets wafting through the open shutters - that hurtles you towards completion. Imagining yourself right there with him, gripping the wrought iron bed frame as he fucks so deep you can’t help but scream his name and shudder as it is his fingers snagging over your clit rather than your own.

The next few moments are a frenzied blur as, after some last gasps, you emit a long, loud scream as you come so hard, convulsing around the facsimile of his cock, your clit jumping under your touch, dimly aware he is still streaming filthy, needy encouragements that descend into gruff noises as he follows you over, the tell-tale sound of that final moment when he comes so loud against your eardrums as if he is right there slumped around you, his lips hot on your neck.

There is nothing but gulping breaths as both recover, feeling no shame, just a bone-deep satisfaction that makes you languid and heavy, not wanting to move, just curl up and sleep, a t-shirt of his you grabbed earlier your companion in his absence.

“Fuck I came so hard,” he sounds almost sheepish as it sounds as if he is cleaning up his torso.

“Me too,” you concur, little ripples of fire still running down your legs and arms, oversensitive to any stimuli; even the bedding feels almost too much.

“I want you to come again, but you sound sleepy,” he assesses correctly, and you hum in agreement.

“Too sleepy,” you slur the words as you turn onto your side and fling away the toy to be dealt with another time.

His amused sound is rich and warm. “Curl up, my love,” you once again find yourself carrying out his bidding without conscious thought.

“How long until you are home, Ben?” you mumble after a stifled yawn.

“Thirty-three hours,” you can hear the affectionate, lazy smile as he says it.

“Too long,” you lament gently into his t-shirt, the citrus-woodsy scent of him a comfort.

“Next time, come with me; it's beautiful here,” he murmurs ardently.

“I may love it there too much,” you jest, “I may never want to leave.”

“If you were here with me, I may never want to either,” he imparts softly.

You just hum contentedly. “Will you stay on with me?” you ask quietly, “until we fall asleep?”

“I never planned for anything but,” he responds fondly, a warmth blooming behind your ribs at his words.

And that is how you drift off, whispering sweet nothings as you slip into a restful slumber. The call only disconnects hours later when your batteries run out as you both sleep soundly.

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @amygdtjhddzvb @0x1harmonia0x1

#benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton smut #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x female reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #bridgerton smut #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader

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pinkcreamypeach · 4 months ago

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Teehee Mareach and Luaisy fan children

(Didn't feel like drawing so used picrew for these + why they're POC? Because I made princess peach, Daisy and most of the Mario characters POC for my Au. Gave Daisy a last name too, Daisy Azalea)

1. Peonia Pera L’Albicocca Toadstool (18 years old)

2. Molise Giacinta Toadstool (11 years old)

3. Lusia Tuscany Azalea (18 years old)

Have info for these three if y'all wanna read.

Firstly Peonia

Peonia, the elder daughter of Mario and Peach, is a strong-willed and independent young lady who is passionate about racing and competes in roller shaking competitions. Despite her sweet demeanor, she can be quite sassy and stubborn, especially when it comes to protecting her cousin and brother. Despite her love for girly things and her admiration of vintage fashion and makeup, Peonia is also an adrenaline junkie and loves high-risk taking. She is a champion roller shaker and often hangs out with a group of friends at her school, some of whom are gyaru girls.Peonia's physique takes after her mother's side of the family, giving her a thicker body structure, and she was bullied for her Italian accent as a child. Despite this, she has embraced her curly hair as well as the tooth gap that she is self-conscious about. She is a fan of horror shows and movies, especially those that involve horror romance and found family storylines. Peonia's favorite dessert is strawberry shortcake, and she enjoys watching magical girl shows in her spare time. She loves to playfully embarrass her siblings, especially her baby brother, and is fiercely protective of them.

Secondly Molise

Molise, the baby brother of Mario and Peach, is a child.At times, he can be a bit of a brat and wants to take control of situations, leading to him being quite bossy. However, he means well and is genuinely naive and smart even despite his young age. Despite his occasional bratty behavior, he has a kind heart and cares deeply for his family and friends.Molise shares some of his mother's traits, such as his pointy ears, and blonde hair. He's a bit of a neat freak and prefers to wear protective gear whenever he plays outside, so his clothes remain clean and dry. He has a blunt and honest personality. Also prone to being quite clingy and a bit spoiled at times. He also likes to keep himself entertained by watching cartoons and cheesy TV shows from the 90s and early 2000s, and playing card games. However, he's not a fan of horror movies, and in fact, he hates being scared or feeling spooked in any way.He is quite picky and tends to stick to the foods he likes. His favorite snacks include cookies, and he loves sharing Cassata ice-cream cake with his family. He's also not a fan of fart jokes or gross humor, finding them to be immature and childish.

Thirdly Lusia

Lusia, the only child of Daisy and Luigi, is an avid sports enthusiast and lover of literature. She shares some of her mother's fiery determination but is also known for her nervous nature, something she inherits from her father. Despite being a bit self-conscious about her appearance at times, Lusia finds solace in the fact that she has a sassy cousin in Peonia who helps boost her self-esteem.Lusia is particularly passionate about baseball and archery, two activities that she enjoys thoroughly. Though she loves sports and reading, she can sometimes overwork herself and is guilty of comparing herself to others, especially with respect to her body type. Lusia is a lean and athletic woman, stands 5’8ft tall and wears braces thanks to a childhood habit of eating metal. She has sharp fangs, and also has freckles with light black spots due to acne. Her favorite outfits are sporty ones and hates wearing dull and boring clothes but on weekends she prefers comfort and rides her skateboard while sipping her ice slushie. Lusia strives to live a comfortable and relaxing life, but sometimes she just can't control the urge to be active and adventurous.

@bberetd @maceincognito @house-of-xiii @magnas27 @peaches2217 @awesomewolf27

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inevitably-johnlocked · 9 months ago

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Five Fics Friday: March 8/24

Happy Friday everyone!! It's a shorter weekend for those of us in North America, so may as well spend all the time you got with one of these fantastic fics added to my MFL list!! Enjoy! :D

RECENT MFLs

Freeing from the Chains by writingismydivision (G, 1,552 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TFP, Angst with Happy Ending, Good Friend Molly) – It was like being held by chains, to be in love with him.

Echoes of the Heart by reveling_in_mayhem (T, 4,478+ w. || 3/8 Ch. || WiP || Magical Realism AU || Hurt/Comfort) – Sherlock Holmes is nine years old when he makes a wish. John Watson is twelve years old when he starts to dream of a boy with sad eyes. Sometimes, the wishes we make come true. Sometimes, eventually, we wish for something different. This is the story of how one wish changes the lives of two boys forever.

My heart is yours by Lock_John_Silver (E, 5,864 w., 2 Ch. || Holidays, Established Relationship, Marriage Proposal, Fluff, Light Dom/Sub, Wedding, Love Poems, Wedding Rings) – During the holiday in gorgeous Tuscany, John makes a decision for this year's Christmas. Their last night in Italy doesn't change his mind in the slightest.

Oyster and Mushroom Soup by meet_me_in_samarra (M, 8,922 w., 3 Ch. || Pining Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock, Awkward Flirting, Oblivious John, Humour and Crack, Internet Seduction Advice, POV Sherlock, Clueless Sherlock, Getting Together, Cooking) – What does a helplessly pining but absolutely clueless Sherlock do in order to woo an oblivious John? He turns to the internet for advice on the art of seduction and notes the experiments in his secret laboratory journal. Sherlock's second try to win over John involves a lot of special cooking recipes. Part 2 of the Sherlock´s Secret Laboratory Journal series

The Acquisition Of One John Watson by lookupkate (E, 17,976 w., 16 Ch. || Serial Killer AU || Serial Killer John, Vigilante John, BAMF John, Infatuated Sherlock, First Kiss) – Sherlock watched John looooooong before they ever met. John has a secret.

#five fics friday #johnlock fic recs #my fic recs #marked for later fics

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mariclerc · 2 months ago

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Hi girrrl, I liked the "mafia Charles" series I think it's so amazing!! I would like to know if you will do a third part where they meet the reader's father at an event or something like that.

Omg hiii, I love that people like it!! Here is your request!!

Falling for you (pt.3) | cl16

Summary: thanks to a debt owed by your father you have to marry the boss of the mafia.

Warning: angst, mafia au, mentions of blood and gunshots, swearing, 5 years age gap, mafia boss!Charles, murder.

Part 1, part 2, part 4

The casino is a glittering spectacle of lights and sound, you and Charles stand at the entrance, your eyes taking in the extravagant decor. You are back in Monaco because you were invited to an event, and obviously as a good couple, you had to attend even if it meant leaving the villa in Tuscany... Going back to Monaco wasn't the problem, the problem is that you fear seeing your father again since you feel a little more vulnerable due to the confession you made to Charles.

“Are you ready to face the crowds, amore?” he says while smiling. (love)

You smile nervously and nodded. “As ready as I'll ever be.”

He nods. “Okay, just let me know if you are uncomfortable or something like that, okay? So we can leave.” he says and you nodded.

As you enter the casino, you feel a surge of anxiety because of the not so pleasing memories of your childhood, spent in this very place with your father, are bittersweet... But Charles' warm hand on your lower back calms the storm of thoughts in your head a little.

As you make your way through the crowd, you catch a small glimpse of your father. He's standing at a jack black table, surrounded by a group of men and a chill runs down your spine, you hadn't seen him since days before your wedding with Charles.

“Charlie, there he is.” you whispered softly to him.

Charles follows your gaze, his expression hardening. “It's okay, tesoro. We'll just stay away from him.” he says gently. (darling)

You nod, but your heart is pounding on your chest, as you two try to navigate the crowd, your father catches sight of you and Charles and he approaches, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Well, well, well... Look who's finally decided to show their faces.” he says smugly. “The perfect couple!”

You tense up, feeling a surge of anger and disgust, Charles steps in front of you, protectively.

“Leave us alone, you old man.” he says coldly.

Your father laughs, a cruel, mocking sound. “Or what? Are you going to protect her? Really? This little bitch who thinks she's so above it all?” he says smugly.

Charles' face turns red with rage. “Don't you dare speak to her like that! She's a woman, and deserves respect! Just like everyone else.” he says roaring.

The crowd falls silent, watching the confrontation with a mixture of fascination and horror.

“Oh, But I will continue talking like this... She's a spoiled little brat who thinks she's too good for her own father... Such a little whore, looking for attention. Don't you think, Leclerc?”

A tear rolls down your cheek, but you refuse to let him see your pain. “That's... enough...” you say with a trembling and shy voice.

Your father laughs. “Enough? Oh, no, i'm just getting started little princess.”

He turns to Charles, his eyes filled with a cold, calculating hatred.

“So, you think you can steal my daughter away from me? Well, think again, because she's mine, and I'll do whatever I want with her.”

Charles' eyes narrow, his fists clenching, his face is a mask of fury. “That's fucking enough!”

He grabs your father by the collar, his grip is so tight that your father struggles, but Charles' hold is too strong.

“Let go of me you little maniac! Help!” says your father panicked.

A group of casino security guards rush over, trying to separate Charles and your father. Charles is seething with anger, his eyes filled with a dangerous glint.

“Sir, this is a casino. There will be no violence here.”

Charles lets go of your father, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Your father glares at you, his eyes filled with hatred.

“This isn't over, young lady! You and your little husband will pay for this.”

As your father is escorted out of the casino, you turn to Charles. He's still shaking with anger.

“Charles... Are you okay?” you ask him gently. “Did he hit you or something?” you asked again.

“I'm fine, bébé... Let's just get out of here, okay?” he says while gritting his teeth. (baby)

You and Charles leave the casino, the night air a welcome relief from the tension-filled atmosphere inside. As you walk away, you can hear your father's voice echoing behind you, shouting threats and insults.

“You heard what I said back there, Charles? You hear what I said about her? About your little slutty wife? She's mine. Mine!” he yells with anger in his voice.

Charles stops in his tracks, his fists clenched at his sides. He turns and faces your father, his eyes filled with a cold, calculating hatred.

“I'm warning you, old man... If you ever speak to her like that again or ever touch her, I'll rip your tongue out.” he roars.

Your father's face pales, but he doesn't back down. “Oh, is that so? Well, then I'll just have to find another way to get back at you.”

With that, your father turns and walks away, disappearing into the night. Charles stands there for a moment, his eyes filled with a dangerous glint. Then, he turns to you, his expression filled with concern.

“I know he didn't hurt you, but I can't help but wonder if you are you okay, tesoro?” he asked softly. (darling)

You shake your head, your voice trembling. “No, he didn't hurt me Charles. But… it was awful, I can't believe he would say such things about me... His words are... Macabre, how can he talk about me like that?”

Charles pulls you into a tight embrace, his warmth a comforting shield against the cold of your father's words.

“I know, chérie, I know. But don't let him get to you... He's just a pathetic old man.” he says soothingly and you lean into his chest, your eyes filling with tears. Charles strokes your hair, his touch gentle and tender. “I'll make him pay for what he said about you... I swear it.” he whispers. (honey)

***

Charles pulls up to the grand entrance of the mansion, the moonlight casting an eerie glow over the estate. You turn to him, worry etched on your face.

“Charles, please don’t do this.” you said with trembling voice.

Charles looks at you, his expression a mix of determination and concern. “I have to, amore. He can’t keep getting away with it.” (love)

You reach for his hand, squeezing it tightly.

“Just promise me you’ll be careful... Please.” you say shyly and softly.

He nods as he brings your hand to his lips to place a kiss on the back of it, his lips are so warm and soft.

“I promise, darling. Just stay inside and lock the doors, okay? I'll be back soon.”

You reluctantly step out of the car, watching as he drives away, a sense of dread washing over you.

You know that Charles is a man of his word, he has shown it to you on several occasions with actions and words, and you know perfectly that he is not going to stay quiet with this. He knows how much your father has hurt you, whether with his poisonous words or his macabre actions, you know that he is going to make him pay for everything he has done to you during your life.

Charles arrives back at the casino, his heart pounding with adrenaline, but he's not scared at all. He scans the parking lot, spotting your father leaning against a sleek black car, a smug look on his face.

“You're back for more, Leclerc? I thought I scared you off the first time.” your father says with a smirk on his face.

Charles strides forward, fists clenched at his sides.

“You think you can just walk around here and disrespect her? Make her feel uncomfortable? Because I don't think that's what makes you a real fucking father.” says Charles in a low, hoarse voice.

Your father chuckles darkly, unfazed by Charles' anger. “And what are you going to do? You’re just a mafia kid playing with fire, so immature.”

Charles steps closer to him, eyes blazing with fury.

“Oh... you have no idea who you’re dealing with... Not for nothing do they tell me le diable de monte carlo. Or do you want to be the first to know why they call me that?” says Charles in a low and very serious voice.

Suddenly, Charles throws a punch, connecting with your father’s jaw. The impact echoes in the still night air, your father stumbles back, surprised.

“You little punk! You are just as much of a maniac and a son of a bitch as she is.” your father says furiously. “You are made for each other! A match made in hell.”

He lunges at Charles, but he sidesteps and delivers another blow, this time to your father’s stomach. The older man doubles over, gasping for breath while Charles hits him with all the force of his being, his hands are now red and full of blood and some scratches on his knuckles thanks to your father's struggle.

Charles stands over your father, breathing heavily as he grabs him by the collar.

“You’ve tormented her for too long. And that shit ends tonight.” says Charles spitting out the words.

Your father sneers, wiping blood from his mouth. “You think you can take me down? You’re nothing without her!”

Charles' eyes narrow as he pulls out a gun from his jacket pocket—an unexpected move that sends chills down your father’s spine.

“Maybe I am nothing without her… but you made her life a fucking living hell, and I'm going to make you pay for every single time you hurt her.” he tenses his jaw. “You think she's a pawn in your fucking game? Because she's not, you screwed her up so much and I hope that's so damn clear to you.”

He raises the gun, steadying his aim at your father’s chest.

Your father pleads. “Wait! You don’t want to do this!”

Charles' grip tightens on the weapon as memories flash through his mind—your tears, your pain, when you told him about the times your father hurt you, the derogatory words he said to you back at the casino.

The atmosphere is thick with tension as Charles stares into your father’s eyes, searching for any hint of remorse or regret for his actions.

“You think you can just walk away from all the damage you’ve done?” Charles said in a deep voice.

Your father shakes his head, desperation creeping into his voice. “I’m your father-in-law! You can’t do this! We have a fucking deal!”

Charles scoffs, stepping closer.

“You lost the title of father-in-law and title of father the moment you laid your dirty, disgusting and fucking hands on her.” Charles said in a growl. “Besides, the agreement didn't prohibit me from killing you if I found out what you were doing to her and forced her to do, did it? Because I don't remember that shit.”

With a swift motion, Charles pulls the trigger. The sound of gunfire pierces the night air, echoing through the parking lot while he shoots several times. Your father’s eyes widen in shock as he collapses to the ground, blood pouring everywhere out of his head.

Charles stands over him, breathing heavily as silence envelops the scene. He takes a moment to absorb what he’s done—what he had to do.

He glances around, ensuring no one has witnessed the act before slipping the gun back into his jacket and walking away towards his car.

***

Back at the mansion, you sit on the edge of your shared bed, anxiety coursing through you as you wait for Charles to return. The clock ticks loudly in the silence, each second feeling like an eternity.

A sudden noise startles you—a car door slamming outside, you rush to the window, heart racing as you see Charles stepping out of his car.

You run to meet him outside, relief flooding over you as he approaches you.

“Charles! Is everything okay? Are you good?” you asked him a little bit panicked. “I... I was so worried.” you whispered.

He steps closer to you, pulling you into a tight embrace. You can feel that his suit is a little bit sticky from the blood spatter, and his hands with dried blood and scratches on his knuckles.

“It’s done, amore. You are finally safe, we are safe.” He says in a low, soft voice as he hugs you. (love)

You pull back slightly, searching his eyes for answers, although the answer was more than clear. “You did it, didn't you?”

Charles looks away momentarily, guilt flashing across his face before he meets your gaze again.

“I made him pay for everything he did to you, he deserved it.”

Your eyes fill with tears, but none of them are of sadness, not at all, they are tears of relief perhaps.

You sit together on the couch, silence hanging heavily between you. Finally, you break it.

You speak in a low, soft voice. “And how do you feel? Are you okay?”

Charles exhales deeply, running a hand through his messy hair. “To be honest with you, honey... I feel... Satisfied in a way, I mean, he deserved it.” he says in a soft voice.

You nodded. “I know love... Thank you.” you say shyly, he smiled and kissed your cheek.

“It was nothing, my love... For you I would do it as many times as you want and need.” he whispered.

You look at him, his impeccable black suit is dirty with drops of blood, as are his hands which have some scratches, his hair is disheveled and his face is sweaty for the exhausting work he did... But, even after committing a murder, he looks so handsome and so good.

You get up from the couch. “Come on, let's go up to heal those ugly wounds on your hands, okay?” you say in a soft voice and he nods as he takes your hand.

You guide him to the room where you look for the first aid kit and get what you need to treat his wounds, some alcohol, cotton and an antibiotic ointment. You sit on the bed next to him and he extends his hands to you and you can see the dried blood and scratches your father made as an act of defense.

“Okay, this is going to hurt a little bit.” you say as you put some alcohol on a cotton ball and rub it over his knuckles, to which he reacts by closing his eyes and sighing. “You know? For having killed someone a couple of hours ago, you're such a baby for something so normal like this.”

He lets out a little laugh. “Yeah, I'm sorry babe.”

You shake your head. “Don't be sorry, I already told you. Thank you for doing it... I had never thought that someone was going to attack my father or kill him, I always thought that I would stay with him all my life doing whatever he wanted until the end of my days.” you say in a whisper as you continue to heal his knuckles.

“I told you it was nothing, mio cuore. I repeat, if I had to do it again, I would do it without hesitation.” he says while looking into your eyes. (my heart)

After finishing treating his wounds, he takes off his black suit and white button-down shirt and throws it into the laundry basket. Showing off his somewhat muscular and defined torso.

He watches you struggle with your dress. “Oh, let me help you with that, mon chéri.” he says in a whisper as you nod and then proceed to unzip your dress. (my darling)

When he finished, you turn around and look at him shyly, he approaches you and cups your cheeks with his now clean hands and then gives you a kiss on the lips, it's a pretty slow, gentle kiss, but soft enough so that you don't feel the need to use words right in the moment. Perhaps the night took a totally unexpected turn, but it was still inevitable that something like what happened at the casino was going to happen sooner or later.

In that moment of vulnerability, you realize that while darkness has enveloped both of you tonight, there is also an undeniable bond that has formed—a bond forged in love and protection.

#formula one x reader #mafia!charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #f1 x you #charles x reader #charles leclerc #charles leclerc angst #charles leclerc fluff #charles x wife #charles leclerc x wife #mafia!f1 #mafia!charles leclerc x reader #mafia!au #mafia au #charles leclerc imagine #charles x you #mariclerc fics

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inchidentally · 11 months ago

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that person has me blocked so I'm guessing I shouldn't link to the post but I got the picture from it (I tried finding the original source but just got a dead link to pinterest)

but god yes I would love to talk about Oscar's beautiful face, holy shit

I did a very small amount of research and apparently the primary region of Italy that's produced Piastris is Tuscany - which was also why I have my vampire AU of Fernando discovering Oscar as a youth in Renaissance era Florence and that's also where I have his family set for my F1 royalty AU.

and when you look up 'people from Tuscany' wowwww you can see how much Oscar's features come from there:

and like holy shit the expressions on Modigliani and Botticelli?? that is Oscar's proud little lift of the head and cool appraising eyes !!

idk the other people but they're the ones closest in particular to Oscar's features with the almost heart-shaped face, high cheekbones, soft and sleepy looking almond eyes, a high nose bridge that ends in a soft round tip. and apparently gorgeous hair is pretty common in Tuscany wowwwww.

but I think apart from the soft romantic looking eyes my favorite features - especially for his profile - are those straight brows on a very low brow ridge which tbh make the unwavering stare even more unnerving bc his eyes aren't hooded or shaded at all and the light always catches his eyes

and the little flat cursive 'm' of his mouth with lips that are actually pretty plush and sit in a pout when he isn't speaking

which actually also adds to his look being kind of unnerving because his lips don't thin out at all when he smiles they just stretch wider and look so pretty. the only time his face is disarmed is when he does a full body laugh (Lando gets that out of him a lot as we know). otherwise his expression settles back into that eerily beautiful look that apparently is very traditionally Tuscan.

so going back to that first image it's why I love the way softness and sweetness is in his nose and his pretty mouth but then it's set in this very fine but well-defined bone structure and then those intense eyes and straight eyebrows. it's why vampire Oscar works so well to me bc he has that seductive stare but his face is so pretty that you think he can't possibly be dangerous!

that's when he gets his sharp top and bottom biters into you

#inchreplies #this was so fun #ty anon #mine #vamposcar #op lore #my writing

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sequinsmile-x · 5 months ago

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Even Statues Crumble if They’re Made to Wait - Part 4

She can't stop thinking about the fact she isn't even meant to be here. That she's still supposed to be at home on maternity leave instead of sitting in a church in Colorado wondering if she'd ever see her husband or her little girl again.

A Minimal Loss AU with a Young Hotchniss twist.

Part 4/4

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

-x-

Hi friends,

Sorry for the slight delay on this last part. Work has been kicking my ass this week (the return to corporate Vic after Era's Tour Vic was a rough one haha) but I really hope you like this last part of this.

I got an ask on here asking if I'd consider making this a little universe of its own - and it specifically mentioned this version of them going through LoFi/Mayhem and Demonology. Let me know if that's something you'd like to read because I *love* writing young them, and would use the opportunity to do flashbacks to get more detail about their life together.

As always, let me know what you think <3

-x-

Words: 3.7k

Warnings: Injury/canon typical injury

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

September 2004

“I just don’t see it.”

Emily chuckles as she sips her cocktail, the burn of the tequila at the back of her throat satisfying as she shakes her head at Penelope.

“Well, we’ve been married almost 11 years,” she says, smiling as she thinks about her husband, how he was already on his way to pick her up from the bar because he didn’t want her to get a cab home, and she feels her cheeks warm up with her love for him, “So I don’t know what to tell you, Pen.”

Penelope sighs as she shakes her head, resting her chin on her hand as she looks intently at Emily, “You’re just…so different.”

JJ laughs, smiling wryly when they both look over at her, “Trust me, the longer you get to know them, the more it makes sense,” she says, her smile only getting wider when Emily narrows her eyes at her, “What? I was confused as hell when I met you too. I thought Rossi was kidding when he said you were Hotch’s wife.”

Emily rolls her eyes and has another sip of her drink, “David Rossi is prone to exaggerating.”

“Exactly,” JJ says, “So when he told us Hotch’s wife was a spy at Interpol we thought he was lying.”

“I am not-”

“You’re a spy?” Penelope asks, her eyes wide as she looks back and forth between her new friends. She’d suggested this night out to JJ a few days ago, trying to get used to her new job and the people around her, and JJ had in turn suggested inviting Emily. It was only when they got here she realised Emily was her new boss's wife.

“I am not, never have I been, a spy,” Emily says, raising her eyebrow at JJ, unable to stop her smile as she shakes her head before she turns her attention back to Penelope, “I used to work in intelligence gathering at Interpol-”

“Spy.” JJ fakes a cough to cover what she’s saying, her smile wider when Emily carries on as if she hasn’t interrupted her.

“I recently transferred to the FBI in the counterterrorism team.”

Penelope tilts her head curiously, “Not the BAU?”

Emily smiles, sighing as she shrugs, “Hopefully one day. But there was some concern about me working for Aaron. I guess I have to prove myself first.”

She knew Aaron was furious when his request to add her to his team was denied. Gideon had certainly had something to do with it, his doubt in Aaron’s ability to be level-headed when it came to Emily well known. She was angry too since she’d had her hopes up about joining the team, but she was happy to take it one step at a time.

“Did you work abroad when you were a spy?”

Emily smiles at her new friend, “No. I did domestic intelligence only. I was offered a covert role in Tuscany, but I would have been away for months, potentially years,” she smiles wryly, her cheeks going pink as she thinks about her husband again, “I didn’t want to spend that much time away from Aaron.”

“Oh that is so cute,” Penelope exclaims, seemingly waiting until Emily takes a sip of her drink before she carries on, “So, when are you going to have kids?”

Emily does a spit take, choking as she covers her mouth to stop it from going anywhere. She feels her cheeks flame in embarrassment as JJ and Penelope laugh at her.

“One day,” she says simply, unable to fight her smile at the thought of it, “We’re not in any rush. We always said we wanted plenty of time just the two of us before we started having them.”

It was something they both knew they wanted but they both wanted to be more established in their careers first. She knew some people found it odd, especially since they’d married so quickly, but it was right for them. As soon as she had children she’d prioritise them, make sure they were at the centre of her world and that they knew it. She wouldn’t stop working, she wasn’t sure she ever could, but she’d make sure she was home as much as possible. It was why she wanted to be part of the BAU as soon as she could be, well aware that both she and Aaron couldn’t be once they had a baby.

She hears the bell over the bar’s front door ring and she turns, her smile getting wider as she spots Aaron walking in. She jumps down off of her stool, only realising how tipsy she is when she stumbles a little.

“Aaron!”

He smiles as he wraps his arms around her, his eyes flicking to JJ and Penelope as he stamps a quick kiss against her lips, “Hi sweetheart.”

“Thank you for coming to get me,” she says, cupping his cheeks and dragging him in for another kiss, “You’re the best husband in the world.”

He chuckles and hooks his arm around her shoulders to lead her back towards the table, “Thanks, Em,” he replies, smiling politely at JJ and Penelope, “Do either of you need a lift home?”

They both shake their heads and Penelope looks at them back and forth, her smile nothing short of delighted as she watches them, her eyes fixed on how Emily leans as closely to Aaron as possible, “I get it now.”

Aaron frowns, his confusion only deepening when Emily laughs, the sound hidden in his neck as she presses her face into it, “Get what?”

“I’ll tell you later, honey,” Emily soothes, kissing his neck before she pulls away, “But first, take me home. Via McDonalds.”

He nods and waves goodbye to JJ and Penelope before he turns his wife around to lead her to the exit of the bar, “Whatever you want, Em.”

___

The explosion almost knocks her off her feet.

She stumbles, reaching out to grab at something that isn’t there, every cracked rib screaming at her as she finds her footing, the breath she sucks in scraping harshly against every bruise. Her ears ring, all other sound fading out until all she can hear is her own heartbeat and the shaky sound of her breathing. Time slows down around her as she turns to look at the church with wide eyes, backing away from it slowly, the flames almost cruel in their beauty as they destroy everything and everyone that hadn’t made it out.

She’s brought back to herself, time speeding back up around her, in a split second. Someone lays a hand on her, a soft grip on her arm that makes her jump, flashes of the last time someone touched her, the violence of Cyrus’s skin against hers, forcing her to try to pull by instinct. Her body acting against the exhaustion she could feel in her very bones.

“Em, sweetheart, it’s me.”

She looks up, her eyes wide and shining as they meet his, and it feels like her chest collapses in on itself, all of the stress and trauma over the last few days finally making it give way, “Aaron?”

He nods, the hand not on her arm cupping her cheek, his thumb gentle as it scrapes along damaged and swollen skin, “Yes, baby. It’s me. It’s Aaron.”

Something about the way she looks at him makes him think of when they first met. When she was 22 and full of fire that had never dulled in the time they’d known each other. He never could have known then how important she’d become to him, how his very happiness would rest on her shoulders, how his home would be somewhere he found between her collarbone and her heartbeat. He’d come far too close over the last day or so to losing her, to having to accept it as a reality, and knows it would have broken him. He would have picked himself back up, would have done his best for his daughter, the little girl with her mother’s face who would always remind him too much of the love he’d lost, but he never would have been the same.

How could he have been, when the only person who knew where all the pieces of him went would have been gone.

“I love you so much,” he says, kissing the top of her head, holding her as tightly as he can without hurting her.

“I love you too.” She collapses against him, her head against his chest as he gathers her as close as possible. He presses his face into her hair, the smell of smoke and sweat replacing the usual lavender scent that followed her around, and he breathes her in, feels her shaky, uneven, breathes pass from her chest into his as she grasps at the back of his shirt. She pulls back to kiss him, her lips firmer against his than he expected. “Where’s Alice?” She asks, wrenching herself from him, her eyes nothing short of wild as her eyes meet his, “Is she okay? What-”

“She’s fine, she’s at the hotel with JJ,” he assures her, cupping her face in both of his hands, pressing his lips against her forehead, ash and sorrow passing from her skin to his, as he tries to convince himself that she was really here, that all of his worst fears from the last few days had been unfounded, “JJ said she’d bring her to us as soon as you were safe.”

She nods, her grip on him tightening as she turns around, guilt flooding through her as she thinks of Spencer, immediately chased away by relief when she sees him standing several feet away looking every bit as shell-shocked as she feels. He smiles at her, a quick flash of a thing, and in different circumstances she knows she’d limp over, that she’d break his usual embargo on hugs and pull him into her arms, their shared experience something that no one else could understand. But she can’t bring herself to pull away from Aaron, to remove herself from the warmth she had longed for since she’d last seen him.

The compound hadn’t had air conditioning. It was stiflingly hot in the room she’d been kept in, their air thick and cloying, making it even harder to breathe, her lungs burning with it against fractured ribs she knew would take weeks to heal. It was the opposite of the heat that came with her husband. His was a comfort. Something she’d reach out for even on the warmest days of the year, opting to curl around him with the covers bunched up at the end of the bed, his heavy arm laid over her waist better at helping her drift off to sleep than any high-count thread sheets ever could.

“Can we go?” Emily says as she turns back to him, “To the hotel?”

Aaron shakes his head, running his thumb back and forth over her jawline, “We need to get you seen by at least an EMT first,” he says, his eyes flicking to the dried blood on her sleeve, the bright red skin and cut visible beneath the torn material, “Maybe even a doctor.”

“No,” she mutters, shaking her head, the desire to see her daughter overriding anything else, “I’m fine. I don’t need to see anyone.”

He’d never been very good at saying no to her and she knew it, but he knew he had to put his foot down, that he had to make sure she was okay, “Sweetheart-”

“I’m fine-”

“I heard everything,” he says, his voice firmer than it usually would be with her. It stops her from arguing, her insistence that she was fine stuck in her throat, “I heard him beating you, Em. So I need you to let someone look at you, okay? Can you do it for me?”

He knows it’s playing dirty, that using her love for him against her was unfair, but he knows she’d never do it for herself. She presses her lips together and drops her head, sighing as she shakes her head, her teeth clenched together before she nods, a short, sharp thing that gives away her irritation.

“Okay,” she says as she looks back up at him, “Let’s get this over with.”

___

The paramedics make her go to the hospital.

She’s momentarily furious at her husband for making her speak to them in the first place, anger she knows he doesn’t deserve licking at her insides. If it was him that was hurt, when it had been him that was hurt, she’d done the exact same thing. It wasn’t all that long ago, when she was still pregnant and when he’d been hurt in the explosion that had killed Kate Joyner, when she’d yelled at him for trying to leave the hospital just because the case was still ongoing. The stress of it all, of briefly not knowing where her husband was, if he’d died in the explosion, started contractions that kept her at home once the case was over. A dramatic end to her time in the BAU, to working by her husband’s side, that had taken her a while to get her head around.

She shifts in the bed she’s lying in, propped up by pillows to relieve some of the pressure on her ribs, the scratchy hospital gown she’d been forced to put on rubbing against her sore skin. She felt on edge, every one of her nerves fraying as she waited for Aaron to come back. He’d stepped out of her room, pausing the vigil he’d started to keep over her, to meet JJ in the waiting area. He’d called her as soon as Emily was admitted to the hospital for the night. She was connected to IV fluids for her dehydration, something she’d only agreed to when she was told her milk supply would be at risk if they didn’t rehydrate her, and antibiotics the doctor had insisted on the moment he saw the cut on her arm. Aaron knew if he didn’t get Alice here to see her his wife would leave against medical advice, that she’d tear the cannula delivering her meds from the back of her hand and walk back to the hotel herself if she had to.

Emily looks up as the door opens. The relief that floods through her when Aaron steps in, Alice held against his chest and her diaper bag over his shoulder, is palpable. She thinks if she wasn’t lying down she would have stumbled because of it, the thought that she might never have seen her again suddenly so heavy she can’t breathe.

“Look, Princess,” Aaron says, dumping the diaper bag on a chair in the corner, “It’s Mommy.” He adds, and Emily tries to sit up but winces, her hand pressed against her chest as she breathes through it, “Careful, Em. I’ll bring her to you.”

She nods, frustration at her own body, for it not working as she wanted it to, flaring through her. It’s immediately chased away as Aaron sits on the edge of her bed and adjusts his hold on Alice so he can lay her on Emily’s chest. She places her hand on her baby's back and presses her face into her hair, inhaling the sweet scent of her shampoo, “Hi, sweet girl. Mommy missed you.”

Aaron places his hand over hers on Alice’s back, providing the support she’d never ask for, already seeing the tension in her shoulders that the embrace was already creating, “She missed you too.”

Emily hums, the sound giving way to a chuckle as Alice starts to root, her face rubbing against her chest, her tiny fists clasping and unclasping, “Well, she missed part of me.”

He stamps a kiss against Emily’s lips, “Need any help?”

She wants to say no, to prove to herself that she’s fine, but the desire to do so fades when she looks up at him, lingering fear shining in his eyes. She nods, her smile tight as she nods.

“Can you untie this?” She asks, pointing to the ties of the gown on her shoulders, her arms not cooperating with her, every movement of them that brought them above chest level enough to make fire burn through her chest, the flames of it catching on each fracture Cyrus had left behind on her ribs.

He springs into action, his touch delicate as he unties the small bows, impossibly gentle with hands she knew could be capable of so much more. It was one of the many things she loved about him. His gentleness, how he’d worked so hard to be soft after his childhood, intent on being everything his father wasn’t. On chasing the violence he’d grown up around out of the world. She watches as his jaw tightens when the bruises on her abdomen are revealed as the gown falls open, his shock no less evident than it had been when he’d helped her shower just an hour ago. She knows he blames himself, something she won’t be able to talk him out of yet. She wouldn’t get anywhere with it until they were home, safe and content in the house they’d bought together, so she simply smiles at him when he looked back up at her face, a failed attempt to cover his reaction forcing a smile onto his.

“Can you help me get her into position?” She asks, even though she’s sure she could do it herself. He nods, immediately helping her shift their daughter into place. Emily winces as she latches on, blowing out a shaky breath at the sensation, “Jesus. At least the antibiotics will help with any infection I guess,” she says conversationally, stroking her fingers back and forth over Alice’s back as she eats. Emily looks up at her husband and watches as he rubs at his ear, something he’d done for weeks after the explosion in New York, and her eyes go wide, guilt for not thinking of his damaged hearing sooner, “Crap, the explosion. You should get your ears checked.”

He shakes his head, “It’s fine, Em. Just a little sore-”

“No, your eardrum could have burst again,” she says, speaking over him as she reaches for the call button, “We’ll get a nurse to-”

“Em,” he says, firmer this time as he squeezes her knee, drawing her attention back to him, “It’s fine. If it carries on hurting I’ll speak to my doctor when we get home okay?” He squeezes her knee again, his grip tight as he reassures himself, “You’re the one who was…” he clears his throat, shaking his head at himself as he looks down at the bed, “I’m fine.”

It hangs in the air around them, everything he hadn’t said but they’d both heard filling the room, making the silence heavy and thick.

“It’s not your fault, honey,” she says, reaching out with the hand that wasn’t securing Alice to her chest, squeezing as hard as she can as she links their fingers together, “None of this was your fault.”

He looks back up at her and the bruising on her face makes his stomach swoop. The swelling and mottled skin somehow looks worse in the lighting of the room and he feels nauseous, flashes of a life he had left behind appearing over the life he had now.

“I’m the one who asked you to go.”

She sighs and tugs him closer. There’s hardly any force behind it, her body exhausted and sore, but he follows anyway, never having to be asked twice to get close to her, “The person responsible for this is dead, Aaron. He’s dead. I need you to know I don’t blame you for any of this.”

He wants to believe her, knows she hasn’t lied to him before, but he can’t get past the heavy rock of guilt low in his stomach, something he knows will fester. Something that would take root and grow over the next few weeks, with no chance of going anywhere until all of her bruises had faded, something he’d think about in years to come when he looked at the long silver line on her arm that the cut would one day become.

He nods despite himself, swallowing thickly, because he knows now isn’t the time, that he simply wants to spend time with his girls when, not that long ago, a part of him was convinced he’d never get to do so again.

“Okay,” he says, pressing his forehead against hers, “Okay.”

She stamps her lips against his, “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Alice cries out from between them, her face screwed up in a frown as she pulls away from Emily, making both of her parents laugh.

“We love you too, baby,” Emily says as Aaron rearranges her gown for her, leaving the ties slightly looser than they had been before so she can pull them open herself. “I think we can convince Daddy to lay with us for a bit.”

He frowns, already shaking his head before she’s finished speaking, “Sweetheart, I don’t want to hurt you.”

She looks at him with wide eyes he’d never been able to say no to, and she angles Alice to face him too, the baby already half asleep, “Please.”

He sighs and stamps a kiss against Emily’s forehead and then the top of Alice’s head as he stands up, “The day she masters that look too I’m never winning an argument in our house again.”

She laughs, wincing as it makes her ribs jump and she lightly shakes her head at him to let her know she’s okay.

“Oh honey,” she says, shifting just as much as she can to let him slip into the bed behind her. She leans back against him, sighing contentedly as she finds true comfort for the first time in days, settling into his embrace as he wraps his arms around her and Alice, “When was the last time you did win an argument?”

-x-

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