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saintescuderia · 3 months

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pancakes (pt. 1)

welcome a new multi-chapter fic. enjoy.

AKA - the story of how the naive australian rookie befriended the gym junkie F1 hospitality worker with the shoe collection - and inadvertently broke the grid's most treasured and unspoken rule: you don't go for y/n.

series masterlist here :) // the pancakes recipe here :)

P1 - bulgarian split squats

Really, the only way to survive Formula 1 was by going to the gym.

The gym addiction was something that had existed long before joining the circus of a motorsports paddock filled with politics and rumours, as well as the slim fitting uniforms that always seemed to be accompanied by, in your opinion, ugly ass shoes.

Sure, Puma was the offical sponsor but couldn’t they get anything other than the Speedcat? And what even was that name? Speedcat? It was on brand, sure, but at what cost? Really? If Formula 1 was trying to grow its popularity they could honestly start with their dress code. Seeing Christian Horner in Skechers really took the intimidation out of him when you served him his double espresso during the Spanish Grand Prix that one time last season.

One of the perks of working in Hospitality - and there were very few far and in between - was that uniform was not so strict. F1 Hospitality only required an all black service with ‘comfortable shoes.’ This you took for interpretation. Dunks. Jordan 4s. Maybe 1s. Never 13s. Forces were good for a night race - that usually meant more stairs - and Vans were what you reached for in the morning when you knew you’d be working the barista shift. Converse were for ‘throw away’ races.

These were the races where you knew the shoe-care was not important. For example, Silverstone with its torrential UK drinkers who were likely to throw up on your beloved sneakers. Alas, you had learned the hard way when you almost lost your job by rushing to the kitchen to start scrubbing the vomit off your blue and red Cortez during peak lunch.

Never again.

Admittedly, you did try to keep at least one pair of Converse in good care since they were the renowned shoe come leg day.

Another perk of working in F1 Hospitality was that every circuit’s map layout had been drilled into your head. Meaning you always knew exactly where the communal driver’s gym was located at and could therefore get your daily dose of dopamine before dealing with… well, everything.

You silenced the shrill horror that came from the iPhone alarm. 4:00 read the lockscreen, the light shining brightly into your face. It didn’t help that your wallpaper had a photo with a clear blue sky, making the light even harsher in the darkness. You could’ve very well changed it and avoid the pain you routinely go through every morning. But it was this very photo that reminded you why you were getting up in four in the morning in the first place.

You had snapped it during a free practice in Italy that had miraculously lined up with a break in your shift. The sky was clear and the red car was small, but clear on the circuit. Ferrari, of course. You still remember the buzz that circled around the paddock staff that day. No matter who you routed for or whatever bias you had, there was a unanimously acknowledgement that Ferrari winning at Monza was special. He was special.

Then again, you’ve known that long before he stood on that podium in Italy and was given his infamous nickname.

It didn’t even take you ten minutes until you were out the door. Your gym clothes (pump cover included!) were on the one limpy chair that decorated your poor little hotel room, your shaker sat on top of your gym bag with you black high top Converse right beside it. By the time you had made it to the gym, it was a little past 4:15 and you had already scooped in pre-workout into your mouth ready to get through the oncoming pain.

Your hips were a little tight, as per normal. The left side even more so. The hood of your hoodie was up, headphones on and blasting the hardstyle house music that would see you through the next two hours. You went through your usual stretches but with today’s added focus on the lower body.

And then you went about destroying your legs.

It was about an hour or so that Oscar finally sleepily arrived. You weren’t actually sure what time it was but you were up to doing bulgarian split squats - and hating life - and that was usually at the hour mark. You gave him a curious once over, noting the odd choice of clothing. It was a little odd to see a driver in the paddock wearing athleisure that wasn’t their team uniform.

“Bro, it’s five in the morning.” Oscar groaned, shuffling over to come and sit on the bench next to you. You gave another three more reps - Oscar silently watching you groan in pain through the last two - and then finally dropped the dumbbells. You reached over to take a sip of water and checked the phone for the time.

“It’s five thirteen in the morning.” You corrected. It had been just about the hour mark. “Are we training today or?” It wasn’t the first time Oscar had joined you. The reason his neck was getting stronger was because of you. In your opinion, the trainer Alpine had assigned Oscar was a fucking idiot.

“You’re doing legs.” Oscar pointed out, as if that was enough of an answer. He leaned to lay back down on the bench and stared up as he continued to speak. “Drivers don’t need bulky legs. We’ve been over this.”

You had. Many times. You knew he was right. It still would be nice to have someone to go through legs with you, though.

“So train with light weights.” You offered, trying. Oscar just gave you a look that made it clear he was not picking up any type of weights. You shrugged, not deterred. “I’ll do calisthenics with you. Or we can work on plyometrics.” Oscar’s response was to close his eyes and let out a deep sigh. “Fuck it man, do some cardio.” You came to the last resort, coming to kick his legs as you walked past to load up the smith machine with some different plates.

“Piss off Tezza.” The Australian-ness continuing to shine through with the nickname that Oscar had specifically designed for you in respect of your shared citizenship to the ‘land down under.’

Except unlike the blond caucasian boy who loved AFL, grew up in Brighton East and attended Haileybury, your Australian-ness was less obvious. Your accent, for one, wasn’t as prominent since your parents were African immigrants. This, of course, didn’t just influence your speech patterns and accent.

Dark skin, dark eyes and dark hair, you weren't exactly the picture of a 'true blue Aussie.' The rite of public school bullying from those who did look 'Australian' (whatever that meant) had you scoffing at vegemite and preferring to follow EPL and La Liga than whatever the fuck was Aussie Rules Football.

Why is it called football if the players pick up the ball?

Still, when a homesick Oscar Piastri overheard one of the Hospitality staff yell out that that they were going for a 'Macca’s run' between the practice sessions on his very first F1 race weekend, he instantly picked up on the Australian-ism. And he didn’t let it go. And cue the beginning of a friendship that had Oscar Piastri calling you ‘bro’ and shortening your last name as per Australian rite.

Even if you had sworn off that sort of thing.

“Oscar, man, if you ain’t here to train then why are you?” You said, locking the plates in place on the smith machine. You lifted up your hood up and ducked under the bar to rest the metal against you shoulders, the hood acting as a cushion. The starting weight was light enough that you wouldn't have to worry about music for your first set. Besides, if Oscar was here, he could be the entertainment for this set. “You forget that this is a driver’s only gym. You could get in trouble." The sarcasm was all too clear in your voice.

No one used the ‘drivers-only’ gym. It was something that every Grand Prix had set up. Mobile, communal and high-end, it had enough equipment to rival the local 24/7 studio franchise gym that seemed to exist in every neighbourhood. Despite the fact that every driver preferred to train at their own motorhome gym - or that every team had their own mobile gym set up in conjunction to the motorhome - F1 still went about packing up and moving their own studio gym to every single location come race weekend.

If anything, it was a nice stop during the presentation walk during the sponsorship lunches where good old Stefano Domenicali would show off all the amazing resources that the Grand Prix space has to offer.

So, no. F1’s Driver Gym was not used.

The only reason it wasn’t gathering dust was because every weekend it was packed up and moved. That and you woke up at 4am every weekend to destroy your muscles in the familiar red and black equipment.

"You're here." Oscar reminded you. "And not a driver."

You ignored him and just kept up with your repetitions, focusing on engaging your glutes and keeping your core tight. Oscar was silent as you finished your first set. When you finished your last rep, he stood up and came round as you locked the machine. He knew you well enough to pick up the 10kg and help add it to the sides.

"Thanks." You said. Oscar nodded and added the weight to the other side. There was a quiet air for a moment and you went to pick up your headphones to put them back on. Things were getting heavier and you would need music to get through the next few sets.

“I might be leaving Alpine.”

You looked up at Oscar who dropped the bomb and then looked back at your headphones. You sighed and then dropped the headphones back to land in your gym bag. Headphoneless, you went back to the machine and Oscar took your invitation.

“Zak Brown approached me yesterday and suggested something about picking me up for next year.” Oscar said.

You just kept squatting. Oscar was far too removed to yet be aware of - well, everything.

“And with talk of Fernando quitting, I know that Alpine will be calling me up but do I trust that? Honestly Lando has been doing so well and Ocon has always pissed me off.” Oscar watched as you started to struggle.

He stood up and came around to help you but you just shook you head. You pushed through one more rep and then called it.

“He does have a punchable face.” You said, now out of breath. Esteban had always annoyed you and before meeting Oscar, you used to dread the weekends where you were put on Alpine.

Your friend handed you the water bottle sat beside your gym bag before you could even ask. You gave a two finger salute in thanks as he continued on.

“And Lily and I got into this massive fight again! Apparently I don’t communicate enough!” He huffed. “But I sent her flowers and chocolates because she’s going through finals and she likes daisies and Cadbury."

“Yeah, but is that her love language though?” You asked, dropping your bottle and going to stack up the final set of weights on the smith machine. Oscar stood up again to help you.

“Her what?” He asked, handing you the plate.

“Love language.” You answered, still panting, and explained, “You’ve got physical touch, gift giving, quality time, words of affirmation and acts of service.”

“Are you saying people love in specific ways?" Oscar asked, quick to process new information as always.

“Exactly. You did something nice for her, an act of service. Maybe all she wants is a nice, long phone call or maybe some texts complimenting her or something.” You shrugged and then brought up your headphones.

Oscar accepted this, knowing the last set would require music.

He watched you as you settled back under the smith machine bar and went on squatting more than his body weight. He shook his head and ran a hand over his face. He really shouldn't have been surprised at your lack of surprise. Little shocked you. That or your might’ve already known and just kept it to yourself. F1 Hospitality were a part of the Formula One Group and, therefore, were not associated to any one team. They had rotations across all teams and, therefore, every member of staff were required to sign an NDA. Not that ever did anything in this damn place.

Still, Oscar knew that you were one of the few genuine people left in this place.

He knew that there would’ve been so many opportunities where you could’ve easily done something for yourself by recounting something you had overheard while pouring Toto Wolff his coffee or serving Mattia Binotto his lunch. It was the reason why so many teams hired their own internal hospo staff.

It was also the reason why Oscar felt comfortable coming to tell you about Alpine and McLaren before he had even told his own parents, or Lily. The argument with his girlfriend had prevented him from getting any sleep, mulling it over in his mind for hours. Oscar knew you would be able to help him through it all.

And that you would be the only one awake at this godforsaken hour.

By the time you had finished your first set, he was Googling love languages and having a quick read through.

By the time you had finished your second set, he was halfway through doing the love languages quiz.

By the time you had finished your third and final set, he was seeing what the problem was between him and Lily.

“I think Lily is words of affirmation and I'm acts of service." He said, coming up to the machine as you stepped back and pulled down your headphones. You blinked and nodded, still put of breath. "I think I forgot to check in with her and send her some compliments. Tell her I'm proud of her for getting through exams. Especially because she never is one for gifts, really."

You held out your hand to him. "There you go. Growth."

"I don't know what to do about Alpine."

"Call a lawyer."

Oscar pursed his lips and then considered this. That wouldn't be his first move but thinking about it, it was probably for the best. "That's actually a good idea."

"Isn't that why you're here?" You retorted. "Since you're not here to train. Speaking of which, the fuck is that?"

“What?” He asked and realised you were looking at his feet.

“Zak Brown isn’t going to hire you if he finds out that you’re wearing fucking thongs with socks.” You said, finally recognising the flip-flops he wore with some white socks that really needed to be washed.

“You’ve been a great help, thanks.” Oscar smiled. You rolled your eyes and went to your gym bag. Pulling out a pair of white Adidas Sambas, you tossed them to Oscar.

“Put these on.”

“Is my footwear really that offensive to you?”

“We’ll go run the track.” You said then gestured to all of him. “It’ll help you burn all of this off.”

Oscar sighed and did as he was told. He laced up the shoes you'd given him that surprisingly fit his large feet and followed you out to the track. He used his pass to get through since a driver running the track at 5:30 in the morning would just be seen as the dedication to the grind. A Hospitality staff member would just be accused of breaking in.

“Maybe it’s a good thing you’re going through a crisis. I’ve always wanted to do a morning run on the track.” You said with a grin as the pair of you came to the starting line that, in a matter of hours, would be full of mechanics, engineers, reporters, camera crew members and, of course, drivers.

“If I get a seat at McLaren, you can be my trainer.” Oscar said as you both started warming up into a light jog.

"Ha." You snorted. "As if you could afford me, bro."

next ch [2] >

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golden-cherry · 4 months

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deal - cl16 (22/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: This friendship is off to a great start. Or something like that.

Warnings: fluff, fluff, fluff because you all deserve it, tiny but of angst (because it wouldn't be my work if there wasn't angst in it), google translated French

Word Count: 2.9k

series masterlist

previous part

A/N: tadaaaaaa. did my best and I hopefully have time to update this story weekly. feedback is appreciated!

The other side of the bed is empty when you open your eyes.

Sunlight beams through the window and warms your face as you stretch your arms and lie back. A loud yawn escapes your mouth, but you are so well rested and relaxed that you don't care who can hear you.

Charles is probably hanging around the apartment somewhere and you can't help but smile at the thought of him.

You didn't expect you two to talk so soon, but now that the weight is off your shoulders and the secrets - both your unemployment and the Formula One thing - are out in the open, you feel a lot better. You slept well, snuggled up to Charles with his arm wrapped tightly around your middle. His warmth gave you security and comfort and although the road to this moment has been quite bumpy and rocky, you're glad you've finally arrived at this point.

Pure friendship.

It's the right thing to do, you tell yourself. This friendship is more important than anything else in this world. I'll be damned if I'm going to destroy the only good thing I have.

You lock your feelings deep inside you, bury them under many and thick layers of friendly affection so that no daylight can reach them. What remains inside you is silence, a pleasant, comforting silence.

You don't have to worry about what his pet names mean to you. You don't have to worry about eventualities that will certainly not become reality anyway. You can be there for Charles, as a friend - as someone who is there for him.

You swing your legs over the edge of the bed and stand up. There are some fresh clothes for you on a small chest of drawers - a turquoise shirt and short gray Puma sports shorts - which you quickly slip into. As you open the door to your room, the smell of batter fills your nose.

"Bonjour," Charles smiles at you as you enter the spacious, modern kitchen and sit down opposite him at the kitchen counter. Unlike last night, this time he's wearing a shirt and gray sweatpants, which hang low on his hips but still let you feel a little sigh of relief. With spatula in hand, he scrapes the pancake out of the pan to put it on a plate and slide it over to you. "How did you sleep?"

"Very well," you answer him and reach for the Nutella that is already in front of you. "And you?"

"Likewise." He turns off the stove and sits down next to you with another plate of pancakes. His knee nudges yours, but neither of you pulls your leg away. "The recipe is from my teammate. He says they're the best pancakes ever and I thought we could try them together."

As you spread the Nutella evenly on your pancake, you hand him the jar. His fingertips gently brush your hand. "So if they don't taste good, it's not your fault?" you grin and use your knife and fork to cut off a small piece before popping it into your mouth.

Charles watches your every move. "That's right. So? Did he lie?"

You shake your head. The pancake in your mouth is warm and soft and fluffy, vanilla is definitely one of the ingredients and as you swallow the piece, a little of the delicious taste remains. "It's really delicious," you reply and spear another piece with your fork. "But I think it's also down to how the pancakes are made. The batter can be as good as it wants to be, but if it's made incorrectly - nope. Then it can't be saved."

Your Monegasque friend pours a little orange juice into the empty glass in front of you. "Was that a compliment to the chef?" A grin spreads across his face and he waggles his eyebrows.

You playfully punch him in the shoulder with your fist. He pretends to almost fall off his chair. "My statement is to be considered purely objective."

Something flashes in Charles' green eyes, but before you can pinpoint it, he turns his gaze back to the breakfast. "I've heard you say that before," he mumbles before taking a bite. "But it really tastes great. I'll have to tell him when I see him again soon."

"What does your nutritionist say about you smearing so much Nutella on your pancake?" When he puts his index finger to his mouth, you have to smile. "Do you have to go back? To Italy?" The thought of Charles leaving you alone here in this big apartment makes you swallow hard. You only really talked to each other a few hours ago, does he really have to -

"No," he unintentionally interrupts your train of thought. "I don't think they want to see me there again so soon after I left yesterday. But that's just the way it is." He shrugs his shoulders. "More time for us." Before you can ponder the meaning of that sentence, he continues. "I know we've already talked this morning about what to do next, but I think we should discuss it again."

You raise an eyebrow in confusion. "What do you mean?"

The brunette purses his lips. "You said that you still want to be friends with me despite my job - and I think that's great - but you should really be sure."

"I am sure," you reply without hesitation.

"But you have to know what all this would mean for you if you take this," he points first to you and then to himself, "on. Dealing with all this is more difficult than you can imagine."

"All right," you reply, shoving the last piece of pancake into your mouth before washing it down with orange juice. "Go on then, Mr. Charles Leclerc."

He looks at you with a look that can't mean anything other than "Really?" before clearing his throat. "I've been in the public eye since I was little. It used to be karting, now it's Formula One. I'm used to people recognizing me, approaching me on the street and wanting to take photos. It's normal everyday life for me."

"Sounds a bit conceited," you joke, but Charles' expression suggests he's not in the mood for fun. "Okay. Je suis désolé."

"As soon as I leave the house, people talk about it. What I'm doing. Where I'm going. Who I'm spending time with. And my friends are set on the fact that when we're out and about, we can never be fully undisturbed." He chews on his lower lip for a moment. "With my female friends, things are a little more complicated."

"Meaning?"

He takes a deep breath. "As a Formula One driver, it's quite difficult to maintain friendships with the opposite sex. As soon as you do something together without anyone else around, it's portrayed as a date in the press or on social media. According to TikTok, I've had four new girlfriends since Annika and I split up. But nobody cares that they are the wives and girlfriends of my best friends. People see what they want to see. Even if it doesn't reflect the truth at all."

Without hesitation, you reach for his hand and stroke the back of it with your thumb. His skin is soft. "I'm terribly sorry about that. It must be awful."

Charles turns his hand a little so you can intertwine your fingers. "It's nothing new for me. It's more difficult for my friends. They are insulted, called names, judged. And all because they want to spend time with me, because that's what friends do. It's not fair. Not for anyone."

Now you understand why it's so important to Charles that you know this. His friendship has a price. And from what he tells you, it's not exactly cheap.

"The pressure on you would be huge. People will have opinions about you that you won't like. And no matter what you do, no matter how good you are - you won't be able to change them. And at some point, you'll be approached on the street without me, just because we're friends. The first time Joris was asked for a photo, he was completely taken aback."

You can see how much this is taking its toll on him and you don't even want to know how many friendships his name has already cost him. It's understandable that not everyone wants to take this risk, this life.

You squeeze his hand twice to attract his attention. When he looks at you, you smile. "Doesn't sound so bad," you try to cheer him up. The attempt fails miserably.

"I don't think you understand me." He shakes his head slightly and removes his hand from yours. "That's no small sacrifice. And there's no turning back once you do. You'll have no privacy once you leave this apartment. You'll be the talk of the town. About what you do, what you say and what clothes you wear. And all because we're friends."

You raise an eyebrow. "And what's in it for me then?"

He lowers his eyes again. His voice is quiet. "Just - me."

Your heart breaks for him.

How can he not know how wonderful he is? Ever since you've known each other, Charles has always given you the chance to get out of things. He's let you have the bed, driven your rickety Renault to protect you from the public, pushed you away - disgustingly, but still. And all so that you could have a choice.

You'd like to take him in your arms and hug him tightly, hoping you can patch up his shattered parts. And so you do. You get up from the chair and wrap your arms around him so tightly that he gasps in surprise. He slides off his chair into a firm stance so that your hands slide a little lower down his back. A moment later, when you feel one of his hands on your spine and the other in your hair, you press your cheek against his hard chest.

"I wish you could see yourself the way I do," you murmur against the soft fabric of his shirt, whereupon he presses you a little closer to him.

"How do you see me?" he whispers against the top of your head. You feel his lips on your scalp. "Like a crazy, jealous guy who shows up at your place in the middle of the night and starts a fight with your ex?"

"You're an idiot." You lift your face from his chest and tilt your head back so you can look at him. He looks down at you. "You're such a wonderful person, Charles. And I would be honored if you wanted me as a friend."

"Are you really sure?" His warm breath brushes over your face. "There's so much you -"

"I'm sure," you interrupt him.

"There's a series on Netflix you can watch so you can get a better understanding of -"

"I'm sure."

"Y/N, please -"

"Don't you want to be my friend?" You want to take a step backwards so you can really look at him, but he's so comfortably warm and his gaze is so heartbreaking that you don't want to let him go under any circumstances.

"I want nothing more than that. Really." The hand that was in your hair a moment ago rests against your cheek and your thumb strokes it gently. "But there's so much you have to give up. And just for me."

You nestle your face against his warm skin. "You're all I have. And that's all I need."

His gaze softens and he gently kisses your forehead before holding you close one last time and then letting go. "The Netflix series isn't that good anyway. It doesn't reflect what really happens on race weekends." He sits back down at the counter and grabs another pancake.

You join him. "I'm not surprised. Netflix will do anything to make money and twisting reality to make it more marketable is nothing new." You copy him with the pancake.

"Exactly. And if you want to know anything, you can ask me. Your friend - the Formula One driver," he grins, shoving a bite between his two jaws.

"You said yesterday that this season has been a throwaway. What do you mean?" you ask him, emptying the bottle of orange juice into your glasses.

Charles shrugs his shoulders. "The car and the strategies didn't work as they should have. The Scuderia made more cock-ups than you can stand."

You have to suppress a grin. "Then wouldn't it be smarter to call it the Screwderia?"

His gaze is emotionless as you look at him. "That's the worst joke I've ever heard." He smirks. "But you're right about that."

It's obvious that your friend feels a lot more comfortable now that he's told you the truth. The passion with which he talks about the sport is infectious, and you listen to him as attentively as you can. There's a sparkle in his eyes, his smile almost reaches your ears as he talks about his victories and podiums.

How could you not want to be friends with him?

When you're done with breakfast, Charles sends you to explore the apartment while he does the dishes. After brushing your teeth and getting a bit more ready - you keep your clothes on, they're comfortable and Charles' after all - you wander through the rooms.

The living room is kept simple, with white furniture and a comfortable-looking couch where you can watch the second part of Cars. Next to it on a shelf are several trophies and even helmets, which you take a quick look at.

There's even a white piano. A red rose arrangement with the word Love is placed on it. As you run your fingers over the wood of the instrument, you hear Charles enter the room.

"The roses are from Annika. They're not real, so they can stay longer." He steps from one foot to the other.

"Why haven't you thrown them away yet?" you ask him as you turn to face him.

He shrugs his shoulders. "I haven't gotten around to it yet. And Annika was still living here until yesterday. So..."

You nod weakly and change the subject. "Have you been practicing here?"

"Yes. Unfortunately, I don't have much time to play because of Formula One. It was good to play in the bookshop. Even if it was completely improvised."

You remember every single note. The passion he poured into the keys to create an incredibly beautiful piece of music. The passion he felt. How beautiful he looked in the warm light. "It was beautiful. It really was."

"It's your song." He smiles lovingly. "It's as beautiful as you are."

Like magnets, you move towards each other. As he holds out his hand, you place yours in it so that he can gently turn you in a circle before pulling you close. Your hands rest on your chest and you feel his strong heartbeat under your fingertips as you smooth down his shirt. His hands are on your lower back, pressing you against him so that you arch towards him.

"Charles."

"Mm-hmm." His gaze flickers back and forth between your eyes and your lips, making your heart beat faster.

You hypocrite, you hear your conscience say as your one hand slides to the nape of his neck and plays with the fine hair there. Charles closes his eyes and something you can only categorize as a moan escapes his throat.

"Please don't stop," he whispers and leans his forehead against yours. The tips of your noses nudge against each other.

"With what?" you ask softly, even though you know exactly what he means.

"Touching me." His voice sounds almost like a deep groan. "Tu me fais tellement de bien.“ you feel so good.

You would never stop. It seems like an invisible boundary was torn down last night and you haven't been able to stop touching each other since. His knee against yours at breakfast. Your embrace. Your half-naked bodies pressed together a few hours ago when you were talking.

Even if you wanted to, you couldn't stop touching him.

Hypocrite, repeats the annoying voice in your head.

Without thinking about it, you arch towards him another inch and Charles draws in a sharp breath.

"Charles?" A woman's voice sounds from the hallway and the Monegasque opens his eyes. „Chéri, tu es à la maison?“ darling, are you home?

Your eyes search his as he suddenly breaks away from you and takes a step back. Panic is practically written all over his face.

"Who's that?" you ask silently, but get no answer.

The footsteps from the hallway come closer and when you turn around, a woman is standing in front of you, looking first at you and then at Charles before her gaze lingers on you. "'Qui avons-nous là?“ who do we have here? she asks, walking towards you before grabbing your hands and giving you a kiss on the left cheek, then the right.

"Maman, que fais-tu ici?" mom, what are you doing here? Charles asks hesitantly, taking a step towards you both.

Maman?

next part

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc prompt #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc blurb #carlos sainz jr #lando norris #charles leclerc imagines #scuderia ferrari #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc fanfiction #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc cute #f1 smut #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 fic

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okiedokrie · 28 days

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Epiphany

Summary: Joshua has always been very comfortable with his sexuality and romantic orientation, he's straight, and monogamous. At least, that's what he thought up until his best friend, Jeonghan, wanted to explore a more romantic relationship with a mutual friend. Only then did he realize two things, he's not as straight as he thought he was, and he definitely wants both of them.

Characters/Pairings: Non-idol!Joshua x Fem!Reader x Non-idol!Jeonghan, other svt members mentioned in passing

AUs/Trope info: Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Poly!AU, Slow Burn

Genre: Angst, Fluff, (Optional smut chapter)

Warnings: Explicit Member x Member content, AFAB reader, no smut but still adult in nature, mentions of dysphoria, mentions of religious repression, heavy angst, more chapter specific warnings

Rating: 18+

A/N: Banners done by @kwanisms!!

A/N 2: The biggest reason why I chose for this series to not have smut is the theme itself, discovering your queerness and realizing love doesn't inherently have to be sexual, I wanted to show intimacy as a choice, not as a carnal desire. Still, as a smut writer, I felt the need to also emphasize that just because I chose not to include smut as an integral part of the story, it doesn't mean in any way that I am demonizing or demoralizing sexual intimacy. Which is why I still have one optional chapter planned.

Playlist // Chapters:

Soft Porn - Puma Blue // Joshua x Jeonghan (Prologue)

Want Me - Puma Blue // Jeonghan x Reader

Opiate - Puma Blue // Joshua x Reader

Super Soft - Puma Blue // Joshua x Jeonghan

Lust - Puma Blue // Joshua x Reader x Jeonghan

All I Need - Puma Blue // Joshua x Reader x Jeonghan (Smut)

#okiedokrie #epiphany #seventeen #svt #seventeen x reader #jeonghan #joshua #jeonghan x reader #joshua x reader #jeonghan x joshua #svt smut #seventeen fanfic #seventeen smut #seventeen fic #yoon jeonghan #joshua hong #hong jisoo

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detroitbecomeonline · 1 year

Text

EP: In which Puma admits she could've killed Connor, but decided not to.

"Instead, I'd like you to kill someone for me." — Puma (PM700)

#dbh #detroit become human #mine #becomeonlinemodgallery #pm700 #puma pm700 #dbh puma #friends or ship idc #connor & puma #connor x puma #connor/puma #con700 #rare pairs week feed

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hoonvrs · 1 year

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ENHA AND THEIR PARTNER PRIVILEGES

req for 1k event!

PROMPT enha and the types of partner privileges they’d give their s/o

PAIRING enha x gnr

GENRE est. relationship, fluff

WARNINGS swearing, delusions

W. COUNT 0.6k

S. NOTE i loved writing this omg

LEE HEESEUNG

( going into his bedroom unannounced )

ever since hee got his own bedroom everything changed

god forbid any of the members go into his room without asking first

even if they go in to tell him something they have to knock first

so imagine the shock on their face when they saw you one day just go in

no knocking, no nothing

and hee didn’t even get mad?? didn’t even bring it up to you

made all the members (especially niki) sulk cause why could you go in whenever you please whilst they couldn’t

PARK JONGSEONG

( touching his guitar set )

the way jay is protective over his guitars you’d think he birthed them himself

one of the members could simply breath next them and he starts losing his shit

can’t even be near it cause “what if you trip and fall into it”

next thing you know here’s jay trying to teach you guitar

you didn’t even know he acted like that until the members made it seem like you killed someone when you randomly took it out of the case one day

they all told you how he acts whenever they go near it

cue the offended gasp when they find out jay has never acted that way with you

SIM JAEYUN

( sleep together )

as much as jake is a physically affectionate person

he hates sharing a bed

he’s just always preferred sleeping without having fight someone over his own blanket

but with you he insists to sleep together

he’s even kicked out niki one too many times out of his bed

and even if you do sometimes (read: most of the time) end up stealing the blanket, he uses that as an excuse to cuddle you for warmth

PARK SUNGHOON

( ruffle/touch his hair )

one of hoons biggest pet peeve is when someone touches his hair

and if someone even so much as comes near his hair once he’s styled it

be ready to deal with a pissed off sunghoon

the amount of arguments he’s had with the other members over this is crazy

so, when you decided to on day ruffle his hair in front of the boys after they watched him spend 15 minutes on it, they were prepared for an argument

surprise surprise he just laughs at your antics leaving the boys offended because “what happened to bros before hoes”

KIM SUNWOO

( be physically affectionate )

as much as jake is physically affectionate with everyone, sunoo isn’t

he’s always been someone to be a little uncomfortable with any show of physical touch

thus, never initiating it

cue the members pouting as soon as they see sunoo run to give you a hug

all start complaining how he never hugs them, or even returns their own hugs

confuses you a little cause sunoo has never not been affectionate with you, even before your relationship

YANG JUNGWON

( cry in front of you )

as the leader of enhypen, jungwon has always believed he has to be the pillar of the group

or where he basically never shows when anything is bothering/upsets him to his members

as much as all the members keep reassuring him that it’s okay to cry in front of them

you’d never catch yang jungwon dead crying

except you apparently

to you, jungwon had always seemed to be secure with his emotions, and maybe the members are jealous who knows

NISHIMURA RIKI

( babying him )

no matter how many times niki will insist he’s ‘mature’

he’ll always be your baby

doesn’t matter if you’re older or younger than him

boy doesn’t even let the members baby him as the maknae

they could simply call him a cute nickname and suddenly he becomes defensive

everyone was shocked to find out he willingly lets you call him ‘baby duck’ after ranting to the whole nation that he is a puma

perm taglist @mesopret @tnyhees @haknom @shinsou-rii @redm4ri @lacimolela @llama-lyna @chiyuv @lazysmushi @flwoie @kocokookie @kyexvly

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eneiyri · 8 months

Text

PAIRING: Boyfriend!Riki x GN!Reader GENRE: Fluff, established relationship, Y/n and Riki are on a date, first snow (= first love) SYPNOSIS: In which Y/n calls Riki by his name for the first time while on a date (In Japan it is respectful to call someone by their last name, and since y/n and Riki are in an established relationship I thought it would be a good idea)

“That movie was good,” Riki yawned, stretching out his arms as you both walked out of the theatre room.

You lift an eyebrow, “Nishimura, you didn’t even watch it properly. I swear ninety percent of what you saw were your arms, scaredy cat.”

He clears his throat, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He says, and you laugh.

Riki soon takes something out of his pocket as you rummage through your things, looking for your phone.

When you finally find your phone, you look up at him to show him, but he holds something up.

Your boyfriend watches as your eyes widen immediately, “Arcade cards?” You let out, clearly excited.

Riki’s smile is wide when he gets the reaction he wanted from you. “Yeah, I bought them a couple days ago.”

You take them into your hands when he passes them to you, “We have to play the claw machine.”

“Of course,” He rolls up his sleeves dramatically. “Just tell me which one you want and I’ll get it for you. Just name it.”

You chortle, “Is that so?” You raise an eyebrow at him, taking in the challenging expression of your boyfriend. “Then the duck. I want the duck.”

He furrowed his eyebrows, “The duck?” He repeats in a questioning voice, making sure he heard you right.

“Yes, it’s so cute.” You tell him, leaning against the claw machine glass watching your boyfriend’s lips press together confusingly. “Looks like you,” You add.

He shakes his head, “Don’t you think the Puma is cuter, baby? Doesn’t that one look more like me?” He looks at you.

You take your turn to shake your own head, “Nope, you’re a duck. Especially with those cute lips of yours, baby.” You say, emphasising the last word in his tone of voice.

“Come on, don’t—“ “Unless you think it’ll be easier to get the Puma, Nishimura. Then that’s okay with me too.”

Riki stills at this, before looking at the claw machine and swiping the card. “Oh, I’ll get you that duck.”

“Nishimura, you’ve spent nearly two cards on this game, you really don’t have to get it.” You tell him, tugging on his sleeve.

He shakes his head, “No, you want the duck so I’ll get it for you.”

“It’s okay, really. Anything will be okay.” You say, watching his expression concentrate on the claw machine.

You get so caught up in admiring Riki’s face that you are taken aback when something comes in between the both of you.

The duck plush is pressed softly against your face, and Riki moves it aside to show his own. “Told you I’d get it.” He smiles at you, patting your head with it.

You shake your head at him with a laugh, “Yeah, you did.”

He hands it to you, and picks up his (two) arcade cards from the ledge of the claw machine. “Took me a lot of tries, but it was worth your reaction in the end.”

You process his words, “Thanks, Riki.” A huge smile forms on your lips as you tug on the boy’s sleeve, holding the duck plush in your arms. “You really seemed to like to play it too s—“

“Wait, what did you just call me?” Riki cuts you off, making your body go frozen. You slowly turn to look at him, reading that his eyes were widened in shock. You look down, overthinking and quickly assuming the worst.

Letting go of his sleeve, you step back, deciding it was best to keep your distance. “I’m sorry, it just slipped out.” You mumble, suddenly shy and anxious. “I should’ve been more caref—“

Riki steps closer to you, taking your hand into his as he tugged you closer. This makes you look up at him in surprise. “Nishimura, I—“

You fall into his arms, your sentence ending with a muffle as he wrapped his arms around you. The warmth of his hug slowly calms you down, and you try to pull away to get a look at Riki’s face. “Nishi—“

“No it’s ‘Riki’.” He says, looking down at you with doe eyes, wide in entertainment. “Say it again.”

You whine, pressing your face into his chest, “You’re totally making fun of me.”

His shoulders shakes against you, and you hear his laugh as he tightens his hug around you. “Come on, you’re so cute.”

You push away from him again, and he makes sure you stay close. “Riki.” You mumble with a huff. “Happy?”

Riki tilts his head, before shaking it. “Didn’t hear that, what’d you say?” He squints his eyes at you.

You swear you could punch this boy when you repeat it, “Riki.”

A shit eating smile forms on his face, and he’s quick to pull you in again, a slight squeak of surprise leaving your lips.

“Bro,” He lets out, voice almost like he was breathless. “You’re so cute, holy sh—“

You step on his foot, making him groan and pull away from you. You cross your arms, frowning at him, “You’re teasing.”

Riki smiles widely at your reaction, reaching out for you once more. He puts an arm around your shoulder, and pulls you with him as he walks.

You walk quickly, trying to keep up with your boyfriend, “Riki, slow down. Three of your steps match one of mine, you giant.”

He laughs, slowing down for you. “Okay, I’ll do anything as long as you keep calling me by my first name now.” He looks down at you, pressing a kiss on your forehead before letting go of you.

You huff, watching your breath in the cold air. Riki is busy adjusting his scarf, and you watch him admirably. He catches your stare, and he smiles for the nth time that day. “Want a picture?”

You roll your eyes, “Shut up, Nishimura Riki.” Grabbing his scarf, a gasp leaves the boys lips as you pull him into a kiss.

The kiss is sweet as you both stood in the middle of an empty parking lot, the cold air surrounding the both of you.

Riki is quick to wrap his arms around your waist when he realises you’ve gone on your tippy toes, pulling you in for support.

After a couple seconds, your grasp on his scarf loosens, and you laugh against his lips when you feel something land on your face.

Riki then opens his eyes, and smiles against your own lips when he realises why you were so happy (other than because of him).

He lets go of you slowly, letting you land flat on your feet as you both reach your hands out, “Snow.” He spoke softly.

You laugh, stepping away from him and looking up in the sky. “It’s so pretty,”

“Like yo—“ “Riki, if you finish that sentence I’m breaking up with you.”

He laughs, then grabs your wrist softly. “As if you’ll break up with me,” He rolls his eyes.

You catch his eye roll, laughing harder. “Yeah, you’re right.”

He smiles warmly at you, “Let’s go, Y/n?” He takes off his scarf, deciding to put it on you instead.

You take in his expression, feeling warmth surround you quickly. You knew it wasn’t because of the scarf, the earmuffs or the gloves you were wearing.

But it was because you were with him, Nishimura Riki. “Yeah. Let’s go, Riki.”

A/N: As I wrote this I kind of had Ao Haru Ride (Blue Spring Ride), the anime, in mind… I couldn’t stop thinking about that part in the manga where Kou was so excited about Futaba’s reaction to him buying her flowers :( I love my Shoujo manga clichés <3

#nishimura riki #riki x reader #enhypen fluff #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #enhypen imagine #enhypen #riki fluff #riki imagines #riki scenarios #enhypen riki #enhypen niki #niki fluff

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elliotsblunt · 11 days

Text

Girl in New York | FINAL PART

pairings - art donaldson/reader | challengers au!

"__"= Y/N

masterlist | last chapter

sypnosis - Art gives you an ultimatum.

warnings - none, angst

authors note — this is the last part!!! i hope everyone enjoyed this short fic. it was a fun journey to write a complex character such as this one. enjoy the last chapter and stay tuned for my other works in the future! (NOT PROOFREAD)

word count - 1.5k

You didn’t get to see your friend June before her game, so you took a seat in the front row and anxiously waited for her match. It hadn’t been your first time at a tennis event, and you very much enjoyed the sport. But the only reason you felt a strain of dread building within you was because of who else was playing today. But you tried your best not to think about it—you were sure Art had already played. Well….

…..you had hoped.

It was considerably sunny outside. The sun shined without mercy onto your slightly damp skin. Sunglasses perched on your nose, you took a sip of water to cool your nerves and throat.

And then a voice ran throughout the court on a microphone announcing the first set. A very thin man who was so pale you he was translucent walked into view. He must’ve been the one to go against your friend. You didn’t like to judge books by their covers, but considering he tripped while walking onto the court—you didn’t worry to much for June.

Speaking of her, she made her way onto her side of the court, wearing a cute lavender two-piece skirt set. You noted to ask her where she got it from before the game started. Her eyes briefly swelled the crowd before landing on you. You held your hand up and smile, in which she returned the gesture before beginning the game.

Her strokes were exquisite. You had suddenly remembered how talented she truly was. Apparently teaching academies for professional Tennis teams reach out to her to train the newbies—and that Puma uses her as one of their sponsors.

It was a quick game. After about thirty minutes, you had assumed correctly. She didn’t only beat him, but kicked his ass.

It was now the next set’s turn. June jogged off the court, smile beaming, as she wiped her sweaty sunkissed skin with her own white tiny towel. “Oh my god, _ _!” She pulls you into a sudden hug as you stand up. “I’m soooooo glad you made it. There’s this guy I wanted you to meet. He’s like, god level. I think he’s playing right now.”

You laugh, wind blowing your hair out your face. “I’d love to—but I doubt he’s better than you. I mean…you totally killed it out there for sure.”

June had pretty brown eyes, almost as if she was a bunny or baby deer. Very soft and youthful looking. She was really popular with the guys when you two trained together, even the instructor himself. You wouldn’t doubt the guy you’re about to watch flirted with her already. At your compliment, she grabbed your hands whilst her smile grew even bigger if possible. “I’ve missed you so much. We should def hang together more often! Once again, you don’t understand how much it means to me that you came.”

You smiled at June before the match begun. The announcer had already introduced the players whilst June and you were talking—so when your eyes fell upon a certain blonde…

…..you didn’t know if you could do it anymore.

It was him. The person June had personally wanted you to meet—who was amazing at Tennis. It was Art.

“I’m sorry.”

Your hearing was muffled, as the blonde boy walked solemnly onto the court. Your fists balled at your sides, standing up onto your feet, June looking up at you with a confused expression. It seemed impossible to look at him for another second—so as you tore your eyes away from him, Art spotted you in the crowd since you were stationed close to the front.

Before turning to walk away, you glanced at him again. His eyes were already trained onto you, his lips slightly parting as the wind kissed his hairs. Your throat grew dry. Why did you feel so betrayed? Damn him. He was a parasite that had burrowed into your brain, and had completely taken over your senses and thoughts.

He felt so far.

So far.

You couldn’t believe he had bad mouthed you.

You turned to walk away, muttering to June you were going to the bathroom. But in reality—you were going to go home and end up calling her telling her you threw up or something. You don’t know, all you knew is that you had to get away from there. From that stupid building with that stupid fucking man.

As you’re about to exit the hallway, and make it to the front entrance, a hand wraps around you and yanks you back. You gasp, hitting a rough chest, locking eyes with the devil himself. Shock hit you like a freight chain. “Art…you’re supposed to be playing.”

Subtly glancing down at his hands, you noticed bloody nail marks indented into his palms. Something twitched in your heart as Art released a shaky breath. Dropping your wrist, his chest heaves. “I’m sorry, _ _. I’m sorry for being a fucking idiot. You’re more….important than a match. Please just—meet me at our place tonight. If you wanna give us a chance…and if you don’t…then I’ll get the hint.”

His words were frantic and incredibly vulnerable. He looked completely hopeless. Biting on his lip, he watched as you gulped before slowly nodding. His nostrils flared before you turned around and walking away, Art’s words sinking into your brain.

“You’re more important than a match.”

It was growing closer to nightfall. You sat by your window in your bedroom, blowing another life of your cigarette out the window.

June hadn’t been mad about you taking off. She said she understood and actually wanted to get together soon again. You agreed with the idea and thankfully saved your friendship. But as bad as it sounds, you didn’t even fret about the situation with June today. Your mind was consumed about Art’s offer.

“If you wanna give us a chance…”

Didn’t he have a girlfriend?

Did they break up?

Did Art…break up with Tiffany…for you?

Because of the things she said?

Your heat pounded in your chest. Deciding to call up Pat, you dialed his number before hearing the line ring. In a few moments, it picked up. “Hey bitch. Bad time—I’m eating toaster strudels right now.”

He earned an irritated eye roll from you. But he couldn’t see it, so instead, you scoffed. “Food over your cousin? Fat ass. And no…I need advice.”

You heard him laugh on the other line, snickering before random shit cluttered on the other line. It sounded like he was re-adjusting before his voice popped out again.

“Okay okay. What happened?”

Jesus. What didn’t happen?

You picked at your nails anxiously. “There’s this guy I’ve been hooking up with—“

“Art? Oh—honey that’s old news.”

Your eyes bulged, “What? How?”

“Because he basically drooled whenever he looked at you. I also caught him getting hard and checking out your ass literally every thirty minutes.”

Your face twisted, the sound of it being nice but not from your cousin. “Gross. But yeah…he asked me to meetup with him tonight.”

“What about Tiffany?”

You shrugged, but realized he couldn’t see you.

“I dunno. He didn’t mention her.”

He hummed on the other side. “I think you should do what feels right. If you like him, then yeah.”

It was odd. When he mentioned you liking him, you didn’t shudder in disgust as usual. Instead, something warmed up in your chest and made your cheeks bloom.

“And if you ask me, I think you do. But I know you don’t do relationships so.”

And then you make a decision. Just from that sentence.

“Pat. I gotta go. Thanks. Love you.”

“Loveuwyou.” His voice was muffled, sounding like he had been chewing. The phone line clicked as you hurriedly grabbed your keys and leave your house. It was peculiar how excited you were, hastening your pace and already on your way to the tennis court.

The night was calm. Clouds were clear from sight, the full moon shining brightly in the dark sky. Your fingertips drummed on your steering wheel as you made sharp left and right turns, humming lightly to the random tune on the radio. Your mind flashed with images of the first time Art and you had kissed. It was when it had been raining, the image of him soaked with wet hair covering his eyes making your throat hitch.

And as if on cue, drops began to hit the surface of your windshield. A shocked laugh escapes you, shaking your head. You hoped he showed up.

Slamming your car door shut, only wearing some sweats and a long sleeve. Your hair instantly got drenched as rain soaked the strands on your head. It felt as if cold needles kissed your flesh. Wiping the water away from your eyes, you jogged to the spot.

"I hate how you make me feel. You're like a parasite for fucks sake-“

"Fucking dreamed about this," he groaned, watching you cry out as his teeth pierce the flesh of your nipple. Something flashed in his eyes at the sound-grabbing your throat with his hand and looking you dead in the eyes.

"Get in the fucking backseat now."

"Art-"

"Fucking mine," he growled out, your other hand gripping onto his chest. His hips stuttered as you began to twist your wrist towards tip of his cock.

His words were a fire in your brain, and with every gas filled thought, it continued to cascade as you grew closer to him. You weren’t cold at all, the adrenaline keeping you warm as you finally make it. As you walked up, you saw him….

….standing there under the rain…..

….looking at you.

You did something that shocked the both of you.

You smiled.

THE END .

#art donaldson blurbs #art donaldson imagines #art donaldson smut #art donaldson #smut #patrick zweig challengers #challengers fic #challengers smut #challengers fanfic #challengers #mike faist fic #mike faist fanfic #mike faist imagines #mike faist smut #mike faist imagine #mike faist

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elliespassagerprincess · 7 months

Note

Can you maybe do post man Abby with Mrs.postman- Black pumas

Mrs. Postman - (abby anderson x reader)

Hi anon! this was so weird to write because where I'm from we don't have people who deliver our mail, but i hope i did you justice. I hope you enjoy:)

This story is based off the song Mrs. Postman by Black Pumas, if you can please listen to the song as you're reading:)

Pairing: post man!abby x fem!reader

requests are open again! send me your silly thoughts:)

warnings: none

Summary: in which you fell for the post lady

authors note: first abby fic that isn't hcs??? let's fucking go dude. My second post for the day, I'm blessing yall before I leave till god knows when lmao.

Every tomorrow brings sunshine in my neighborhood since you've been in it

Oh-oh, here comes Mrs. Postman

She's thicker than blue blood and a message from her spirits, high descendant

Oh-oh, it's Mrs. Postman

This commonality won't let her be fooled by low conditions

Oh-oh, says Mrs. Postman

Your love reside in me but other feathers seem to flock together

Oh-oh, Mrs. Postman

You hated this stupid fucking city.

You don't even know why you moved here in the first place. It was fucking hot. Everything was expensive. You hated this place so much.

The Jackson sun was high in the sky, as you stood at the window drinking your morning tea.

You had moved in a couple of weeks ago, and today was finally the day you would be able to get your mail.

You finally heard the knock at the door, and with excitement you ran towards it. You almost tripped but no one needs to know that.

As you opened the door, you thought you stood in front of a god.

Her blonde hair, was pulled back in a tight braid, she was staring at you with her beautiful eyes, and her smile was just fucking perfect. Her uniform sat tight against her skin, showing her body is just the right places.

Holy shit.

Postman or Postwoman? You don't even what to call her.

"Hi, I'm Abby! You must be new" she said with a bright smile.

Now you knew why everyone is Jackson was always so happy in the morning, their fucking postman was a ray of sunshine.

"Yeah I am" you said with a small smile, opening up your hand to take the package from her hands.

"Have a good day ma'am" Abby said, before she walked away.

Maybe Jackson wasn't that bad after all.

If you want it

Go and get it, you can have it Mrs. Postman

That's alright

Can we spark it? Effervescence, let the flame burn Mrs. Postman

Right on

When it rains just know that every little thing is alright

All the same, I know that everything will be right on time

as the weeks went by, you realized that Jackson wasn't such a bad place.

The people were nice, it was a safe area. The Postlady is really hot. Things were looking up.

You found yourself waking up earlier in the morning, just to make yourself look prettier. You would sweep your front porch daily, to make sure that Abby would come to a clean place. You found yourself baking cookies, and giving it to her every morning.

What was happening to you?

Even when you didn't have any mail, Abby always made a turn at your place. Her visits always made you feel special.

The days Abby didn't come, you always felt the lack of her presence. She'd become a part of you routine. She's become a part of you.

Over time you learned small facts about the blonde.

Her dad was a surgeon, she had one dog, her favorite color is blue, she works 5 days a week, and she's trying to get into college.

You could say the two of you had established a friendship.

You saw whatever you had as more than that. You guys weren't a friendship in your eyes. You felt that there was more.

Your crush on Abby grew by the second, every interaction, every smile and giggle she let out had an effect on you.

god you were down bad for your fucking Postwoman.

Today was like no other.

You woke up, took a showers and you put on brand new blue sundress you bought to hope fully catch Abby's eye.

You sat in your living room, staring at the clock, counting down the seconds of Abby's arrival.

You heard a knock at your door, and you jumped up, cleaning your throat as you walked towards the door. You took a deep breath as you opened the door and you were met with Abby's smiling face.

You saw her eyes wonder down your body as she looked at your outfit.

She thought you looked fucking beautiful.

"Hi Abby" you muttered shyly.

Your eyes met as, and you felt a spark.

"Hi" Abby smiled.

"Do I have mail?" you asked.

"Yeah a letter" Abby handed it to you.

You thanked her and the two of you stood there for a while.

"Aren't you supposed to go Abby?" You asked unsure of why she still stood there.

"Open it"

with a raised eyebrow you opened the letter.

The page was complete white, but in the middle of the page there was some words written in black ink.

Will you go on a date with me?

From your favorite postwoman

Abby <3

You looked up at her with eyes wide, and she awkwardly brought her hand up to scratch the back of her neck.

"So?" She asked unsure.

She looked terrified.

"Fuck yes" You breathed before you leaped forward bringing her in for a hug. You gave her a kiss on a cheek as you pulled away, her face was red.

You made her so fucking nervous.

"Can we go out tonight?" Abby looked at you with a hopeful smile.

"See you tonight ms postman"

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