#the british word for cigarettes hint hint | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

evanpeterswhoresblog · 5 months

Text

Linger

Sirius Black x rockstar! f!reader

warnings: smut, p in v, rough sex, like pretty rough guys he bites you till you bleed, underage drinking, underage smoking, a lot of smoking tbh, drunkish sex, kinda has a plot so yeah lmk if i missed anything

summary: you and your band mates decide to go out to a pub, where you end up meeting the most handsome boy you’ve ever seen.

word count: 4.2k

a/n: guys i’m so bad at these summaries holy. this is probably my favorite fic i’ve written. the flirting and the tension like omg. trust me. also, let’s pretend The Runaways are british and let’s pretend everything id accurate hahaha. enjoy ;)

~~~

“Do you think we’ll be recognized tonight?”

You turn to your bandmate, Joan, and shrug. “It’s fifty-fifty.”

“What pub are we going to again?” She asks.

“The one where they let underage people in, of course, you’re still the only one who’s twenty-one in the band you know,” you reply.

The other two members of your band, Sandy and Lita, are ahead of you, engulfed in their own conversation. You slide your hands into the pockets of your jacket and try to keep up. You’ve been in the band for a few months as the new lead singer. Their old one left to start her own band, claiming it to be more successful. Yet your band is the one that’s gotten sold-out shows, interviews on television, and pictures in magazines. Sometimes you like to think it was fate that she left, and you just so happened to be in town the night they were holding auditions. The fans surely enjoy your voice more, they make you out to be the leader even though you’re only seventeen and the newest member. You don’t mind though, and neither do your bandmates.

It’s almost ten when you arrive at the pub and thankfully no one has recognized you yet, or they have and simply haven’t said anything. There’s no one at the door to check IDs just like Sandy had said. The four of you enter fast and find a table. The music is loud, the lights are low, and people are dancing all over. You like it, a lot.

“Drinks?” Lita questions a few seconds after you sit.

“You know it!” Joan replies.

“I’ll be right back then.”

Sandy takes out a pack of cigarettes. “Care for one?”

“Obviously,” you answer, holding your hand out. She hands you one, you’re quick to light it and stick it between your lips, inhaling a deep breath of smoke. “How come the police haven’t found this place?��

Joan rolls her eyes. “They have.”

“And? Why don’t they shut it down?”

“They have people who come here, of course, sons, daughters, you know that sort of thing. It may be illegal but it’s trustworthy,” she explains. “Why do you care anyway?”

You shrug. “Just curious I suppose.”

Lita arrives back at the table, four glasses held in her arms. You take yours fast, eager to taste whatever liquor she got for you. It’s bitter, with a hint of sweetness in it. Based on the color as well, your guess is some sort of vodka mix. You drink it despite the awful aftertaste it leaves in your mouth. The cigarette between your fingers helps a bit. The four of you talk for a while and enjoy the peace of having no fans around.

“You should go to the bar y/n,” Lita says after some time. “Or well it might be too late now, but when I was there, I saw a boy your age, remarkably handsome.”

Sandy laughs. “You’re trying to send her home with someone already?”

Lita nudges the other girl with her shoulder. “No, I’m only trying to get some new song material.”

“We’ll see if there’s any potential,” you say, taking the last sip of your drink and getting up. You brush down your hair. “Do I look alright?”

“You’re always beautiful,” Joan answers, letting out a cloud of smoke.

“Wish me luck.” You chuckle before heading to the bar.

With every step you take, you feel eyes on you. Most belong to older men who shouldn’t even be paying you any mind. You’re used to the feeling of being watched, with all the fans and paparazzi that corner you before and after gigs. So, you move through the pub without a second thought about it.

In the back of your head, you curse yourself for not asking Lita what the guy looks like. For a moment you question how you’re supposed to find him, but then your curious eyes find one guy who stands out. He’s leaning on the wall, a glass in his hand and a cigarette between his lips. Based on his face, you figure he can’t be more than nineteen. And oh, how right Lita was. His hair is dark and long, almost reaching his shoulders. He’s dressed in a simple white tee shirt and baggy jeans. Despite the distance, you swear you can make out a sliver of a tattoo on his shoulder. He’s gorgeous, almost too gorgeous.

You approach him carefully, thinking of different opening lines in your head. Would it be wrong to use your fame to get him to take you home? Probably. But you’ve seen Joan do it plenty of times. She always says it’s simply a tool and that you should use it to your advantage. You’ve never done it though. Perhaps it’s your little amount of consciousness that remains that tells you it’s wrong. You don’t know and the alcohol in your system doesn’t help. So, when you reach him, you say the first thing that comes to mind.

“Hi.”

He looks at you, the cigarette dangling between his lips. “Hello.”

“How old are you?” You ask, immediately feeling stupid for such a question.

“What are you a cop?” He chuckles.

You feel your cheeks heat up. “No uh... sorry.”

“It’s fine love, just not a very good pick-up line,” he replies. He takes his cigarette out, his eyes locked on yours. “Especially since you look like you’re sixteen.”

“Seventeen actually.” You correct him.

“Ah, well there’s something we share then.”

Something about the way he’s looking at you comforts you. There’s no recognition in his eyes at all. You can tell. To him, you are just another girl. Not the lead singer of The Runaways. Just a simple girl.

“You can try again if you’d like,” he says. You look at him, confused. “Try another pick-up line.”

You gently smile and think for a few seconds. Nothing better comes to mind.

“Come here often?”

He laughs. “Somehow I think that was worse than the first one.”

“Sorry. Usually, I’m better at this sort of thing,” you reply. You put your hands back in your pockets, suddenly feeling very hot with embarrassment.

“Don’t be sorry, it’s cute.”

There’s a moment of silence. He takes a sip of his drink; you stare at his hand. The way it looks wrapped around the glass makes your stomach fill with butterflies. You hate how much you want him to take you home. You don’t even know his name. But he’s handsome, so much so it makes you unable to think straight. You need to know more.

“Are you from around here?”

He nods. “Born and raised in London. You?”

For a split second you wonder, if he’s from London how come he doesn’t know who you are? Sure, your band isn’t on the same level of success as Queen or ACDC but you’re also not underground. You push the thought away.

“Originally from Westchester but now I’m here in London for... work,” you answer.

“Work? I thought you were seventeen.”

“Yes but, eighteen next month. I already finished school.”

He takes another drag of his cigarette. “Wish I could say the same, I still have another year left. Though, I rather enjoy school, gets me away from my dear parents.”

“Oh, where do you go?”

You notice the way he shifts his posture. “Out of the country, you wouldn’t know of it.”

“Like a boarding school?”

“I suppose you could say that.”

You look around the pub, a slight feeling of awkwardness blooming within you. You don’t know why you’re so nervous. You’ve done this before. You decide to blame it on the cheap vodka because really, you’re better than this.

“So, what’s your name then?” You ask after a few more minutes.

“Does it really matter?” He replies, catching you a bit off guard. He flicks the ash off his cigarette, his dark eyes on yours. “All of it’s the same.”

“I don’t know what you’re referring to,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Don’t play dumb love, I know this isn’t your first time. I’m sure you’ve chatted up many other lads and had them take you home.” There’s something about the tone in which he speaks that has your knees almost wobble.

“Why would you think that?”

He sighs, leaning over to a small table discards his cigarette in an ashtray, and leaves his glass. When he leans back on the wall, now with both of his hands-free, he buries them in the pockets of his baggy jeans. He looks down at you with an expression that could send your morals far out of mind. You want him, terribly. And you think he knows this.

“Besides the fact that you said you’re usually better at this, you’re also possibly the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen,” he eventually answers.

You can’t help but roll your eyes. “I highly doubt that, but nevertheless thanks for the compliment.”

“I mean it. Most girls I see still wear those long skirts and sweaters, but you, you’re dressed like you could pass as a rock star.”

Your face heats up once again. You know he’s right. With your leather jacket, flared jeans, high-heeled boots, and small tight top you know it’s clear what kind of person you are. Your makeup only adds to it, black smudged eyeliner and glitter on your eyes. It’s a toned-down version of what you wear on stage. He doesn’t need to know that though.

You give him a smile and shrug. “Rock is my favorite genre, what can I say? You sort of got that look too though, not quite as intense.”

“Not a gentleman?” He chuckles.

“No.” You laugh, shaking your head. “At least I hope not.”

“I see. You don’t fancy the good boys. Well fortunately for you, I’m a bit of a troublemaker. At least, that’s what my schoolmates and family say,” he mentions. “What’s wrong with the good boys anyway? They could treat you like a lady.”

“Too gentle, I’m not a fan of it,” you answer honestly.

He smirks, sending warmth straight to your core. “So is your intention to get me out of here and treat you... not gently?”

“My intention is simply to buy you another drink, maybe enjoy a dance or two. What happens at the end of the night is not particularly on my mind right now. I’m more focused on learning your name. Why? Is that what you’d fancy?” You counter, looking up at him through your long lashes.

It has the effect you hoped for because he stands up straight, his back finally off the wall. He offers his hand to you, and you take it softly in yours. It’s so much bigger, so much warmer. You try your hardest to kill all the thoughts of where else you’d like him to touch you with his hand.

“Sirius Black,” he introduces himself.

“Like the star?” You question without thinking.

“Yes, like the star. Now what’s your name.”

“Y/n y/l/n,” you say.

“Charmed. So, how about that drink?”

You smile. It’s going to be a good night, you know it.

The next few hours go by in a flash. You and Sirius drink more than you probably should and dance to the many different songs that play on the jut box. A few different times throughout the night you find the eyes of your bandmates, each of them giving you big smiles and thumbs up as they watch you with Sirius. At one point Joan makes a lewd hand gesture, and you barely get a chance to see Lita smack her. It’s past twelve when you find yourself outside the pub with Sirius sitting on a curb sharing a cigarette.

“I hate these bloody shoes,” you mumble as you dig your heel into the pavement. “They make my feet sore.”

“Then why do you wear them?” Sirius asks, amusement evident in his tone.

You exhale a long breath of smoke, passing the half-burnt cigarette back to him. “I dunno. Beauty is pain.”

“For some, but I’m sure even without those things you’re just as pretty. Actually, I would bet pounds on that being true,” he replies.

“I think I’m rather plain without all this. Would you think the same of me without my makeup and outfit?”

You watch him smirk. “I should think you look even prettier without all of that on. Especially the clothes.”

Your stomach fills with butterflies for the thousandth time tonight. Your shyness left hours ago when you took your first shot. So, instead of simply blushing and looking away, you stand and look down at him with your own smirk.

“Quite the charmer. How about you find come back to mine and find out for yourself?”

He takes one last drag of the cigarette before standing, flicking it to the pavement, and crushing it beneath his sneaker. You watch helplessly as he releases a cloud of smoke, his hand now held out to you.

“I’d quite like that. Lead the way.”

~~~

You don’t know how you keep your composure the whole way home, especially with Sirius’s hand handing yours the entire time. On the train, as you sit, your head on his shoulder, he rubs his thumb across your knuckles. It’s a gesture that makes you glad you aren’t standing because your legs feel like jelly. And on the walk up to your apartment, he lets go of your hand and instead places it on the small of your back. You almost fall down the stairs at the contact.

Once you’re inside you immediately take off your boots, leaving them somewhere by the front door. Your jacket follows, only it’s hung on one of your kitchen chairs. When you turn to look at Sirius you find his eyes wandering all over your apartment, examining the details you assume. His sneakers are off, his hands are in his pockets.

“You must have a special job, this place is wonderful,” he says.

“My mates help me with the money, it’s not all mine,” you reply. It’s true, they do help you earn money from performing. You step closer to him, your hands behind your back. “And it’s really not that big. One bedroom, one bathroom, and one very tiny living room combined with the kitchen. But it’s more than enough for me. Would you like the tour?”

“Of course, if the tour starts in your bedroom.”

You can’t help the blush that takes over your face. “Follow me.”

The walk is fast, with every step you feel your heart rate increase. You’ve done this a few times, but for some reason, this time feels different. Perhaps it’s because all the other guys can’t compare to Sirius’s beauty in the slightest. Or perhaps it’s because you already like him a bit more than you should for a one-nighter. You don’t know. And you don’t care to know because you’re about to reach your door.

You open the door fast, letting him in first, and closing it behind you. It’s dark, the only lights coming from outside your small window. You don’t reach for the lights though. Instead, you step closer to the boy, the sound of your breathing suddenly far too loud for your liking. His silhouette moves closer to you as well. It’s almost like there’s an invisible force pushing the two of you together, and you find yourself liking it.

He touches you first. One of his hands finds your waist, he guides you to him faster. Soon enough, you’re practically pressed against him. You can barely breathe from the proximity. You’ve never felt something this intense. You look up at him, your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Still want me to not be gentle?” He asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I want you to ruin me,” you say, pressing one of your hands to his chest. You’re happy to find his heart is racing just like yours. “Don’t hold back.”

“Alright.”

Before you can even think of another thought, his lips are on yours. You kiss back instantaneously, your hand moving up into his hair. It’s soft, like you expected. He’s far from gentle with his kissing, and you’re glad. His lips move fast on yours, his teeth scraping your tongue. He bites down on your lip so hard you whimper, and the metallic taste of your blood clouds your senses.

Still, despite the pain, when he pulls back you almost whine from the loss of contact. But his hands move fast to pull your shirt up. You help him get it off, then move to his. Through the darkness, you can see the few tattoos he has on his chest and shoulder. They’re dark, they’re beautiful. You run your fingertips over them as he leans back down and connects your lips once again. You begin to guide the two of you towards your bed.

When the back of your knees hit the mattress, you allow yourself to fall back onto it. Sirius doesn’t follow you though. Instead, he stands between your legs at the foot of the bed and begins to undo the buttons of your jeans. You watch in awe, lifting your hips to help him drag them down your legs, leaving you only in your bra and panties. You sit up, your eyes on him, as you start undoing his belt.

After his jeans are on the floor he pushes you back down on the mattress, climbing over you this time. You kiss him deeply, dragging one of your hands down his warm back, and weaving the other through his hair. That warmth deep inside you has grown, consuming you entirely. You can feel the wetness between your legs, surely staining your panties. You’ve never been so turned on by a guy in your life.

He suddenly parts your kiss, his lips beginning to move down your jaw and neck. You moan, throwing your head back to give him more access. When he bites down on you, so hard you can feel a stinging from it breaking skin, you pull at his hair, sounds of pleasure escaping your swollen lips.

Eventually, after leaving many hickeys and bite marks on your neck, he pulls back entirely and flips you over onto your stomach. You smirk against the mattress as you feel him unclip your bra. To help get it off, you lift yourself on your hands, and the straps quickly fall. You throw it off without even thinking about it. You’re about to turn back but Sirius presses a hand between your shoulder blades, silently telling you to stay as you are. You don’t hesitate to comply.

You feel him move and instinctively you lift your hips in the air. He places a kiss on your back, it almost makes you shiver. Then his hands are on your hips, pulling your last piece of clothing off. You normally would feel some sense of vulnerability at this point. Completely naked with your ass in the air. But the alcohol mixed with the utter need you have for Sirius takes control. You feel him shift.

“Do you have a rubber?” The sound of his voice makes you squeeze your legs together.

“Unless you have a disease, you don’t need one. I’m on birth control,” you answer, looking over your shoulder at him.

“No diseases I swear,” he says.

“Then proceed.”

You get up properly on all fours, the anticipation killing you. When he positions his tip at your entrance, you inhale sharply. He rubs his cock through your wet folds for a few seconds, brushing against your clit ever so slightly, before thrusting inside you in one quick, hard motion. You can’t help the moan that leaves you. He’s big, stretching you in a way that’s on the brink of being painful. It’s perfect.

He fucks you hard, very hard. Each thrust hits that spot inside you that makes your legs shake. At one point, your arms give out and your face presses against the mattress. Your hands twist in the sheets, your moans muffled by the bed. Sirius doesn’t like this. He twists one of his hands in your hair and pulls you up, the pain only adding to the building of your orgasm.

“Sirius,” you gasp. “Fuck Sirius.”

He’s relentless. He fucks you through your first orgasm, not faltering for even a second. He only stops when you can’t hold yourself up anymore, pulling out and flipping you onto your back. You scratch your nails down his back as he begins to fuck you in missionary, your lips on his.

You don’t know how long passes by the time he tells you he’s close. What you do know is that your second orgasm is not far either. With tears in your eyes, you let him switch positions once again, this time you’re on top of him. Your muscles are weak and sore, but that doesn’t stop you from riding him as well as you can. Sweat covers your body, and incoherent words drip off your lips. You can barely take it anymore.

“I-I’m almost there,” you mumble.

“Me too love,” Sirius replies, his breath ragged. “Finish us both off.”

You struggle to hold yourself up, a tear rolling down your cheek. “I don’t know if I can.”

“You can, just a few more minutes,” he assures you, running one of his hands through your hair.

Much to his word, in a few minutes, he finishes. Hard. He moans your name in an indescribable tone, and his cock pulses inside you so intently, it causes your second orgasm to occur. As this happens, you lie on his chest, both of your breathing very uneven. He holds you tight against him.

Eventually, you roll off him and stare at your ceiling. You try to comprehend what just happened. Never in your life have you experienced something so intense. Most of the time when you told guys to be rough with you, they’d be turned off. But Sirius... You turn to your side to face him.

“Want a smoke?”

“Certainly.”

~~~

It’s safe to say, you don’t let him go all summer. You spend every second you can with him. Most of the time in your sheets, but a good amount doing other things. You paint his nails black, teach him how to wear eyeliner, and how to dress more like yourself. You enjoy every second you get with him.

He never does discover your fame, at least he never says so. You think he would know. Each time you go out you try your hardest to be unnoticeable and you always hide away magazines and switch the channel whenever something about your band is shown. But he never does say anything. Sometimes at night, you sing to him softly and you always laugh when he tells you that you should take it professionally.

You learn how much he hates his family, except for his little brother. You learn he loves Queen and David Bowie. You learn his favorite color is ironically black. You learn as much about him as you can and with each fact you do learn, you only fall more for him. But you never speak of it. You know the inevitable ending.

On the night before he goes back to school, the two of you lay in your bed, a thick silence between you. As usual, you pass a cigarette back and forth. Only this time, there are no words accompanying. Until he speaks.

“For once, I’m not looking forward to going back.”

You turn to your stomach and look at him. “I wish you didn’t have to go.”

“Me either,” he agrees. He holds the cigarette to you; you take it fast. “I can phone you if you want. You know, while I’m there. Or send letters.”

“Do you think that’s a good idea?” You question.

“I think I really fancy you, and I don’t want to leave on a bad note.”

You give him a weak smile and press a kiss on his bare shoulder. “Oh, Sirius.”

~~~

A few months later...

“Five minutes till show time,” an assistant tells you.

You’re sitting in your dressing room backstage. Joan, Sandy, and Lita all have their own space now. You find it funny how much The Runaways have blown up since the summer. Now, everywhere you turn you see yourself in a magazine or a news article. You can’t go anywhere without being recognized, or without the paparazzi showing up.

As you look in the mirror your mind travels back to Sirius. This happens a lot. Right before a concert, you think of him. Sometimes you wonder if maybe he’s out there listening. You haven’t heard from him since he went to school. You aren’t angry, only a bit sad. You’re mostly grateful though. He inspired most of the songs in your number-one album that got the band all the new attention.

You stand from the vanity and sigh. Tonight, your performance is being televised worldwide. Beside the door is your guitar, you pick it up as you begin your journey out to the stage. You’ve got a good lineup, even a small intermission for a happy birthday song. You hope wherever he is he hears it.

After all, it is November 3rd.

292 notes · View notes

queen-of-the-avengers · 2 months

Text

Taking A Chance

Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.2k

Warnings: fluff

Summary: You go and get a tattoo done by the grumpiest of tattoo artists.

Squares Filled: tattoo shop au (2021) for @lokibingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

Why am I being such a pussy? Just go in and ask for it. I’ve wanted this for a year. God, if my mother could see me now, she’d be disappointed.

You look up at the tattoo shop’s sign and see the last letter flickering on and off. You have the money. You can get this tattoo done. All you have to do is go in and ask for it. This is the second time you’ve been outside this tattoo shop because you couldn’t go in the first time. It’s not a fear of pain; you can handle pain pretty well. It’s the fear of something being permanent on your body.

You won’t be able to take this off. Anyone who says lasering it off works is wrong. There will always be a scar to remind you of the mistake you made. Stop being such a baby. This is for Mom. This place has been highly rated as one of the best tattoo shops in your town. If you’re going to get a tattoo, may as well go to the best.

You push the door open and walk inside only to be greeted with a hint of smoke and a lot of Axe body spray. Four very attractive men stand behind the counter just chatting amongst themselves. You’ve seen them in town before. They often frequent the local bar so you know exactly who they are.

Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, Erik Killmonger (pretty sure that’s not his legal last name), and Clint Barton. As soon as they hear the small bell above the door go off, they stop talking and look at you.

“Can I help you?” Steve asks.

“Yeah, I’d like to get a tattoo today, if possible.”

“Did you have anything in mind?”

You hand Steve the paper you’ve been saving since your mom died. She drew a delicate vine of her favorite flowers, orchids. She was always a good artist so she drew this as a reminder of her before she died. It’s very precise and delicate line work, and the only person who can do this kind of style is Loki Laufeyson.

“The only person who can do this kind of work is Loki. I’m sure he’s around here somewhere.” Speaking of, Loki walks out with an unlit cigarette in his mouth and a lighter in his hand. “Loki, care to help this pretty lady out?”

He shows Loki the picture but the artist barely gives it to two seconds of his attention.

“No. I’m going for a smoke.”

He has a thick British accent that’s hard not to blush at.

“Sorry, kid,” Steve says and hands back the picture to you.

“No, it’s okay,” you glare at Loki who has yet to leave the room. “I get it. His lungs are as bad as his tattoo skills.”

All four men snicker from your jab while Loki finally locks eyes with you. He takes the cigarette out of his mouth, pockets it and the lighter, and opens the back door with a slight smirk.

“Fine. Right this way, Darling.” He takes you to his section of the shop which is pristine and very clean. He douses a few squirts of hand sanitizer on his hands before getting out the necessary equipment. “Where do you want it?”

“My ribs.”

“Is this your first?”

“Yes.”

“You want your first tattoo to be on your ribs? That’s gonna hurt.”

“I can take pain,” you glare.

His mouth twitches as he looks you up and down. After a beat, he nods and sits down on his wheelie chair.

“Shirt off,” he demands.

You do but keep your bra on. You made sure to wear something loose like a bralette that still keeps everything covered but won't be a hindrance to the place where you want the tattoo. You get onto the table and lay on your back, putting the side you want it on closer to Loki.

Loki gets set up and prints a stencil of the drawing you have. After putting it in the place you want it and confirming you like it there, he starts the tattooing process. The pain is sharp like a thousand needles being placed into your body at once, but it’s a dull pain compared to some of the other things you had to endure in life.

Loki has his left gloved hand on your body to keep you still while his right moves the needles right where he wants it. You don’t know where else to stare but at him, observing the way his eyes rake over your body to his hands which are delicate against your skin.

You had a full meal before you got here but this is making your head spin. It’s not because of the needles, it’s Loki. You’ve never met anyone like him. You basically insulted him to get what you want. Loki doesn’t have many clients because they always say the same thing: he’s rude, arrogant, and only accepts what he wants to do, not the other way around.

However, when you challenged him earlier, he knew you were someone he wanted to tattoo. Not only that, but he wants to get to know you. He's not a big talker so he doesn’t know what to say to you, and you’re not going to pry into his personal life like that. You squirm a bit from the pain, and he places his large hand over your stomach to keep you from moving.

“Be a good girl and stop moving unless you want me to fuck up,” he says and looks at you.

You quickly look away in hopes he didn’t see you checking him out, and you nod.

“Sorry.”

You peek at him to see a smirk on his face indicating that he did, in fact, catch you. You don’t want any color so the process doesn’t take long. He’s done with the tattoo in less than three hours since it’s only line work, and he rubs off the excess moisture so he can apply a patch of SecondSkin. Before he does it, you admire his work in the mirror.

See that, Mom? I’ll always have a piece of you with me wherever I go. I miss you. I love you.

“How do you like it?”

“It’s not bad.”

“Not bad?” he scoffs.

“Better than your lungs, I assume,” you smirk.

There you go again, making him want you more. He chuckles as he grabs the SecondSkin and cuts a piece off. He applies it directly over your tattoo and smooths it out.

“Come back in tomorrow where I’ll clean it and replace it with another patch of SecondSkin. Then, come back in a week and I’ll remove it for good. It should be healed then.”

“Okay,” you whisper and put your shirt back on.

“If you ever want more, call me,” he smirks.

He hands you his business card with his personal phone number on it.

“If you’re lucky,” you smirk and leave his office to pay in the front with Steve.

“I haven’t seen you smile like that in a long time,” Bucky says from the doorway.

“Shut up,” Loki grumbles but smiles when he hears your laughter come from the front of the shop.

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

#loki #loki x reader #loki fic #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki fluff #loki fiction #loki fan fiction #loki fan fic #marvel fanfiction #marvel fic #marvel fanfic #marvel fan fic #mcu #marvel fan fiction #marvel #mcu fanfiction #marvel fluff #marvel fiction

97 notes · View notes

casscassypng · 20 days

Text

Silhouettes at Sunrise: A Monaco Encounter -LN4

In the glamorous world of Monaco, Formula One driver Lando Norris and the enigmatic Amelia share a fateful encounter at a lavish gala. As their romance blossoms amidst the splendor of the French Riviera, they find themselves drawn into a whirlwind of passion and intrigue.

Lando Norris had always been more at home with the roar of an engine than the murmur of high-society conversations. The British driver for McLaren found himself increasingly invited to events that celebrated his rising stardom. Tonight, however, was different. The summer gala in Monaco, hosted by a prominent sponsor, was a spectacle he could not refuse, even if the opulence felt like a gilded cage.

Arriving at the grand venue, Lando was greeted by the sponsor, his wife, and their daughter. It was the daughter, Amelia, who caught his attention. She was a vision in a black dress that hugged her figure with an elegance that seemed almost otherworldly. Her eyes met his with a knowing depth that left him momentarily breathless. Throughout the evening, his gaze involuntarily sought her out, despite the endless speeches from his fellow drivers, including the ever-talkative Max.

Amelia was no stranger to the world of luxury and power. At twenty, she was already carving her own path, her intellect sharp and her demeanor composed. Living in Monaco under the shadow of her father's success, she navigated this glamorous life with a grace that belied her age. She was young and beautiful, but not naive; she knew precisely what she wanted and how to achieve it.

The gala, an annual highlight in the social calendar, brought together the elite of the racing world. Amelia played her role with poise, her enigmatic smile a constant companion as she engaged with the guests. She noticed Lando immediately, the rising star whose reputation on the track was matched only by his growing fame off it. There was an air about him that intrigued her, a blend of confidence and vulnerability.

As the evening progressed, Lando grew restless. The lavishness of the event was suffocating, and he sought refuge in the cool night air. He found his way to a secluded balcony, where the summer breeze carried the distant sounds of the sea. Leaning on the railing, he let the tranquility wash over him until a soft voice, tinged with a french accent, broke his reverie.

"Escaping the festivities?"

Turning, he saw Amelia, her presence almost ethereal in the moonlight. "Just needed some air," he replied, smiling. "And you? Sneaking around your own party?"

A light laugh escaped her lips, blending seamlessly with the night.

Their exchange flowed naturally, each word laced with subtle flirtation. Amelia took a cigarette from her purse, offering it to him. He declined but accepted the lighter, their fingers brushing in a touch that sent a shiver through him. As he lit her cigarette, their eyes met, and for a moment, the world seemed to pause. She took a long drag, exhaling smoke that mingled with the scent of her vanilla perfume—a combination that quickly became intoxicating.

"Who are you hiding from?" she asked, her eyes studying him with genuine curiosity.

Lando shrugged, a playful smile on his lips. "The noise. You?"

She smiled, a hint of mischief in her gaze. "I guess I was looking for someone worth sneaking away with."

Their conversation deepened, moving from playful banter to more personal topics. Amelia spoke of her life in Monaco, her studies, and the complexity of balancing her passions with her obligations. Lando shared stories from the racing circuit, his journey from a regular British upbringing to the high-octane world of Formula One.

"I’ve watched you race," she said softly. "There’s a grace in what you do."

"Good thing I have never seen you then in the paddock. Would have been too distracted to actually race."

"Well, then, I might as well attend every race now. I have always been more of a Ferrari fan anyway."

He chuckled, his admiration for her growing.

Their connection grew with every word, every glance. The garden could not conceal them forever. Lando suggested they leave together, but Amelia proposed a more discreet exit. They made their excuses and met in the parking lot, where Lando's car waited.

Driving away from the glittering lights of Monaco, they found a secluded beach. The night was theirs, the champagne she had smuggled out a shared indulgence. As dawn began to break, casting a soft glow over the horizon, they sat on the sand, their conversation flowing as naturally as the waves.

Lando leaned in, their lips meeting in a kiss that tasted of champagne and possibilities. The rising sun bathed them in its light, a new day dawning with the promise of more to come. It was just the beginning, a moment that hinted at a future intertwined in the most unexpected and beautiful ways.

#lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris x y/n #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 fic #lando norris imagine #lando norris fanfic

22 notes · View notes

agendabymooner · 11 months

Text

l'azienda di famiglia (e le donnole dell'isola) ! daniel r. and f1 drivers x ofcs - mini wedding series part 3.

"the family business (and the weasels of the island)"

summary: nobody seemed to warn lester and danny that good things come with the most difficult journey. OR it's wednesday, and all the couple wanted was for the grid to stay away from the italian's sisters. (1)(2)

characters involved: lando norris, george russell, pierre gasly, carlos sainz, alex albon. fictional including the alessandro siblings, trish alonso (see masterlist) and the hearth sisters (and their kids!)

content warning: written part (HELLA LONG). hurt/comfort and a hint of crack fic! mentions of possible infertility, conceiving/pregnancy, mental health, therapy. thirsty!grid singles, lando norris x alessandro!ofc, george russell x alessandro!ofc. minor scenario with cigarette, use of explicit language and google translated italian.

note: got my etsy danny ric shirt. felt good. was writing a feel good part of this series but then decided last minute "hey let's add some sadness into this" and voila. bon appetit xx

masterlist

“Good morning, lads and ladies,” Daniel Ricciardo was the sunshine of the remote island— no matter how exposed the land and the beach were to the sun. The Australian driver could show up in the most depressing place and still manage to paint it yellow.

But that didn’t apply to all that Wednesday morning.

The usual suspects — Pierre, Carlos, Lando, George, and surprisingly Lance too — were still hungover from last night. Apparently, from what Daniel had witnessed last night at the bar stand, Valtteri makes a mean cocktail. The first one to believe him was Lando, who definitely asked for more because “he was parched.” Then the usual suspects continued to drink as they begged Bottas to make more. So the grumpiness from the five this morning was just a result of Valtteri’s talent in mixology.

Lando just grunted quietly as he ate his breakfast. He was cranky, but it was only because Lewis had a vegan option while he and the other lads weren’t allowed to eat much carbs. Lando could really use some nougats.

“So, not good morning then,” Daniel chuckled before he walked up to the kitchen, looking for the morning shift chef. It didn’t take much longer for Lester to enter the dining hall with the wedding coordinator, Garcia. They were talking amongst themselves before catching the sight of her friends.

Lester paused from walking before waving, “Morning!”

Everyone waved back at her, except for the five who only nodded. Lester frowned, “…Okay.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Aimee Hearth, the youngest sister of the Hearth family and Charles’ girlfriend, waved off as she joked, “they had a Taco Tuesday night.”

Sylvie then looked at Lester and made a drinking gesture, leaving Garcia and Lester to hum in realization.

“Okay,” Lester giggled, “I’ll tell the chef to have some juice for you, I suppose.” Then she and the coordinator continued to walk towards the kitchen.

Lando slumped against his chair and sighed, “She’s so weird.”

“Weird how?” Sylvie asked, now looking at her best friend with a scowl.

“This week made her weirder than she usually is,” Lando whined, “she’s all smiley and giggly— it’s creepy. That’s a Danny Ric thing to do, not a Lester Allie thing.”

Lester’s friends sat to Lando’s left and laughed at the remark. Damiano David leaned forward to look at the British man. “Lando, it’s her wedding week, dumbass.”

“I think I’d rather have her shitting on my life instead of giving everyone a happy smile,” Lando shifted in his seat.

“And she didn’t want to get her sisters’ photos sent to your grid group chat, but we can’t always get what we want,” Thomas sassed. His Italian accent seemed to be a little too loud, he thought, because at the last word almost half the grid stared at his direction. He saw the watching eyes and shrugged, “Hey man, Lorelei speaks. There’s no way anyone could hear a screaming guy down the hall and not ask a question about it—“

“Okay, okay!” Lando protested with a roll of his eyes, “Damn, there’s no need to expose me.”

“What do you mean, expose you?” Max and Lewis snorted. “Everyone by the lounge room could hear you. You sound like a dying hyena, bruv.”

The chef came out of the kitchen with jugs of juice— mango and orange, leaving the door open as the couple and the coordinator discussed the agenda for today. The chef came pouring some juice for the guests while the men listened in to the conversation.

“Mrs. Wolff and her family will be arriving later today with Mrs. Hamilton and the baby. We’ve had their rooms set up— and I can assume Sir Hamilton has already set up the crib for the baby?”

“He should be.”

“Right, sounds neat. Now what are we looking at… let’s see…”

“Dinner, perhaps?”

“The caterers will be serving lunch at 12:30, just half an hour after your families arrive. They’ll serve dinner for the guests at the dining hall while the evening chefs will serve dinner for the family dinner at the villa.”

“Great,” Daniel said, the eavesdropping lads hearing the smile from his voice alone, “that sounds like a plan.”

“If you don’t mind me asking: there will still be portions made for the kids’ right?” Lester asked. She was so polite, never demanding— perhaps that’s what Daniel didn’t like so much. He wanted her to demand for more. But that’s maybe why he also loved her so much.

“Yes! Of course, it will be for six, yes?” Garcia asked. A hum of agreement came from the kitchen.

“Psst, Lando, psssst~” Max tried calling the Brit, but he wasn’t having it.

George and Alex glared at Max and told him to shush. Max looked at his girlfriend and Lewis with his jaw dropped, as if he was asking, “Can you believe this shit?”

“It should be, unless you count Lori’s brother- ow, never mind,” Daniel groaned, “I forgot I’m not entitled to make such jokes yet.”

“Would you like anything else from the kitchen?” The chef asked kindly, making Lando look at her with a smile.

“Some fruits, perhaps?” Lando suggested, feeling slightly irked that he couldn’t listen in to the conversation in the kitchen.

“That should be confirmed as of your arrival two days ago,” Garcia said, “and if you would like, we can always set up a table for the littles so you can have some time. It should be safe for them to go around the villa. And we can also get them some colouring pages and crayons to keep them occupied during the dinner.”

“Of course,” the chef nodded, “just going to chop ‘em up for you.” She then walked off, allowing Lando to continue with his eavesdropping.

“That sounds good!” Lester eagerly said, “I should have thought of that before.”

“I came prepared, Lester, so don’t worry,” Garcia chuckled. “You’ll have more kids at the reception so we’ve made a little table arrangement for them.”

“Maybe this is a time for her sisters to take a break,” Daniel laughed. “God knows what two children could do to each of them.”

“Yeah, hearing that they’re single parents made me admire them even more— and I’ve not seen them before!”

Hearing the conversation, Lando whipped his head towards the direction of the other drivers. His eyes twinkled in excitement and the grid singles seemed to share the same sentiment.

Valtteri had only shaken his head, wondering what he was just roped into. Lewis caught a glimpse of his reaction, reaching out to pat him at the back.

Man, were they ever ready to meet the Alessandros.

The arrival of the Ricciardos was exciting, the grid singles said, but the Alessandros were a different story.

The singles had decided to do a roll call and relaxed at the beach. The rest (being Sebastian, Fernando and his family, Lewis, Charles and Max with their partners) remained in the palace, some opting for the central air conditioning while the Alonsos hung out at the pool by the west entrance.

The boys already greeted the family before going back to whatever they were doing. The port was near the palace itself, making it easier for anyone to get to their temporary shelter fast. The beach was also near the port, which gave the boys some access to see who arrived and who had left.

Then came the Alessandros.

“Mio caro! Come on, ‘urry!” Pierre’s head was the first to snap in the direction of Lester’s yelling voice, then it was followed by the rest. “They’re here!”

“I’m coming— that doesn’t sound so right,” Daniel replied back.

The boys could see the couple standing in the docks as the guests arrived through a boat. The littles had arrived first, jumping up on the arms of Danny and Lester.

“Oh man, Franco— you and Andrea are heavy!” Daniel hoisted the boys up. “Geez, Lina— what do you feed them?”

“Men who like to be unkind to women.”

The boys were close enough to be able to hear the arriving people. So their conversations were loud enough for the boys to eavesdrop.

“My kinda breakfast.” Anyone with two eyes could say that she was… hot. Pierre Gasly had seen her face once or twice in magazines but not once did he care enough to get to know her. He didn’t think that he’d see her in person though, radiating the same energy that she had on those pictures.

Pierre looked back at the boys, volleyball in hand as he nodded in the direction of the docks. “Jacquelina,” his French accent said loud enough for the men, “she’s the eldest, oui?”

“Yeah,” Lando confirmed.

“Dio abbia pietá,” God, have mercy. Pierre muttered beneath his breath before turning back.

“Same here,” Lester said as she juggled the toddler and the infant in her arms. “Theo and Maris have grown a lot this past year! Don’t tell me you’re feeding them the same thing as Lina, sis?”

“No,” another woman stepped out of the boat, trying to balance her way down as she laughed heartily. “They like racists for dinner.”

“Still hilarious as ever, Nora,” Danny laughed aloud, hugging the brunette as a greeting. The woman kissed him on the cheek before moving on to Lester.

Kara Eleanora Alessandro. That was the 30 year old sister of Lester, then. She was the businesswoman who runs a boutique in Tuscany and Milan.

Pierre was stupid for that. Why didn’t he go out to shop more often?

“Ever the genius, Dan,” Nora chuckled, kissing her sister on the forehead. “I hope the groom’s treating you nicely, tesoro?”

“A malapena,” barely. Lester laughed softly, making Daniel turn towards his fiancée with a huge scowl on his face.

“The accusations, bellezza,” Daniel scoffed, “on our wedding week.”

“Yeah, keep that up then there will be no more weddings happening,” Nora said, reaching for her children as she carried them. “Is there any place the bambinos could freshen up in? Theo and the boys were rather excited about swimming when we said beach. They can’t swim on the beach just yet because we just arrived – they need to nap.”

“Ah yes! West and east entrance,” Lester told her sister, “Garcia will show you your rooms, then you can have lunch if you’d like.”

A tall figure exited the boat, making his way down to the dock as he exclaimed, “Danny!”

“Mateo! How’s it been?” Daniel slapped the boy’s back and greeted. “How’s college?”

“Shit,” Mateo Alessandro stood there with his 6 '1 being. He was dressed on a blue short sleeved linen shirt and khaki shorts, his bucket hat eccentric.

“Oi, stop swearing,” Lester scolded her little brother before giving him a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek. “I didn’t raise you like that, bambino.”

“You’re only four years older than me,” Mateo rolled his eyes.

“MATEO! YOU UTTER PIECE OF SHIT!” A scream escaped a girl’s mouth as she exited the boat, stomping down as if the boat wasn’t shaking.

“NICOLA! Don’t be foolish! Stop shaking the boat,” Lester hissed, the younger girl not caring as she smacked Mateo in the arm.

The slap was so hard that even the drivers from afar grimaced. Crikey.

“Alright, cut it out,” Daniel told the girl before Mateo could even retaliate. “Use your words, kids.”

“Look at what this testa de cazzo did to my face,” dickhead. The girl whined as she turned her head to the side, suddenly catching a glimpse of the drivers who then looked away after being caught by her.

Daniel and Lester leaned over and saw what she was pointing at.

A penis was drawn on the side of her head. Right on her temple, in fact.

Lester glared at Mateo, who couldn’t contain his laughter any longer as he cackled hysterically.

Of course, Daniel took this as a chance to joke.

“If anything, you’re the dickhead,” Mateo wailed at the joke that Daniel made, trying to catch his breath.

“Don’t encourage the boy,” Lester nudged her fiancé harshly before turning to her sister, “Do you think you can take it off easily?”

“I sure hope so,” Nicola Alessandro was everyone’s favourite, being the youngest and all that. Truthfully, Mateo and Nicola were the favourites of the Alessandro family. They could get away with anything and get something with a snap of a finger if they asked for it. So their foolishness was just a natural thing to happen.

If you put them in the same place, you’ll have nothing but chaos.

“It’s washable,” Mateo finally stood up from laughing too much, wiping down the drawing. “See?”

“You need to stop doing shit that’ll get you in trouble, Mateo,” Daniel paused, “Actually, don’t do the shit that’ll get me in trouble. They already think that I’m influencing you.”

“So we can’t talk about the po—“

“No! We didn’t even do that,” Daniel protested, “stop being a shithead. I love you, man, but you need to stop concocting something heinous at this early time of the week. I’ve got to marry your sister.”

“Ma should have adopted him out and stuck to being a girl mother,” Nicola shook her head before walking towards the direction of the palace.

“Oi! You’re a bitch, you know that.”

“Stop throwing that word around, Mateo! The kids can hear you!” Lester huffed as she and Daniel watched Mateo walk away.

The couple then turned towards the direction of the grid singles, Daniel crossing his arms and Lester resting her hand on her hips. Her eyes narrowed at the sight of the staring drivers, obviously acting like deers caught in the headlights as she pointed at them.

“Don’t try it, boys,” she warned them.

Daniel also said, “We mean it.”

They both walked off, heading to the palace as well.

The drivers only looked at each other, silence filling the air. Bottas then guffawed and was followed by the rest of the group. They had a hard time keeping a straight face as they were being told off by the couple. Those two were the most cheerful couple to have existed in the paddock, so to see them look serious? Yeah no.

They all had to laugh.

pierregasly posted on his story !

An hour hadn’t even passed since the Ricciardos and the Alessandros arrived at the island, and if you were to ask any of the drivers they were starting to feel bored by the lack of activities done. Most of them had gone off to somewhere inside the palace after Lance told them about the entertainment den at the basement level.

Everyone left the beach but George Russell. He decided that he should stay and spend some time listening to the calming waves of the low-tide water, under the umbrella with his shirt undone and his chest and abdomen exposed to the world.

This was the life he wanted to live after the 2023 season. He hadn’t really wanted to party for two days straight, but most people were his friends and they’ve never taken the energy out of him. So really, he’s winning either way.

His eyes were closed the entire time, his ears listening closely to the sound of the waves. But he drew his attention to the rustling of the sands as he shot up and turned to his right, looking towards the direction of the footsteps.

“Buongiorno,” he was so happy his sunglasses were on because his eyes trailed down the legs of the petite woman before looking back at her. “How are you?”

Shit, George thought as he gulped, she’s actually talking to me.

“I’m great!” It wasn’t as if he had a choice— he had to talk to her instead of fearing that he’ll be screwing it up one way or another. “How are you? Liking the island so far?”

“Ah yes,” she nodded before peering down the empty spot next to him, “may I sit?”

“Yes, yes, do,” George nodded eagerly as she smiled gleefully and sat on the empty outdoor chaise lounge, sighing in joy. Forget about her wearing a black beach dress that barely covered her red bikini, her smile was heavenly.

“Thanks,” her Italian accent was the same as Lester’s, George noticed, and her fluency was much better, “I haven’t had a time to sit down for a moment until the little ones settled.”

“I’ve got a niece and a nephew,” he chuckled, “my sibling struggles a lot too.”

“It’s good that they’re out for a nap,” she said, “because I get to see the beach peacefully before they start causing havoc later.”

“It must be something you’ve missed,” George laughed. “Having a peaceful time on the beach.”

“Yes,” she nodded in agreement, “having two under six is not exactly suitable for struggling mothers.”

“Sorry to hear that,” George spoke softly. He really did feel bad for her.

“Meh, that man is a coward,” she stated with a shrug, “he left because he can’t handle a woman who’s doing a much better job in business and in parenting— sorry, I did not catch your name?”

“Oh! Yikes, that’s true,” George grimaced before sticking his hand out, “‘m George. I’m one of the poor souls who have been causing problems on the island since Monday.”

“Ah, that explains why you’re here in the silence,” she joked as she reached out to shake his hand. “Kara Eleanora. I am one of Lorelei’s older sisters.”

“Really?” George’s eyes widened, pretending as if he hadn’t seen her hop out of the boat earlier. “So you are the Nora that Daniel talks about.”

“I have a feeling that he is talking about me in a poor manner,” Nora laughed quietly.

“No, no,” George shook his head, “he tells us a lot about Lester’s siblings— he loves all of you, really. He recently told us about your baby’s christening.”

“He is Marisa’s godfather,” Nora grinned, “my Gabby’s godfather was his father’s friend, and I have trusted Daniel more than I had trusted the pezzo di merda’s asshole friend.” piece of shit.

“He is trustworthy,” George nodded. “At least you know that he’s a permanent fixture.”

“I can’t help it; he’s in every group chat our siblings have whenever we’re all away,” Nora laughed loudly as George followed along, “nobody wants to be as involved in their partner’s family as him— it’s no wonder why Pa allowed him to propose.”

“So, Nora, tell me more!”

Lando Norris didn’t like snitching, he swore. He wouldn’t do it purposefully, he’d do it because his big mouth couldn’t stop itself from doing so.

So when he made his way back to the beach to see how George was, he hid behind the shrubs when he caught sight of the tall British man walking down the shore alongside a woman who was a foot or two shorter than him. He gasped quietly, trying to grasp the scene in front of him.

The McLaren driver did not like snitching, but his fingers acted faster than his brain did when he sent a message to someone. Or rather… some people.

Lando: The Prince is with a lady. I repeat, THE PRINCE IS WITH A SISTER!!

It didn’t take long for Carlos Sainz, Pierre Gasly and Alex Albon to arrive, leaning down at Lando’s level before the British man nudged his head towards the direction of the duo. Wordlessly, the three men looked at the walking figures.

Then they took off, with Lando begging for them to come back and don’t do something stupid. But it was too late for that.

“Oi, George!” Alex hollered, making the couple turn around with a frown, “I thought you were alone here?”

“I was,” George said slowly, his face etched a look of confusion before it turned into a glare, “but the three of you obviously decided that I shouldn’t be anymore.” His glare said not to screw it up for him while Nora remained on his side, but the three weren’t about to let him win.

“Oh, hola,” Carlos said politely, putting on his trademark smile as he offered his hand to shake, “I’m Carlos. What’s your name, hermosa?”

“Kara Eleanora,” she grinned charmingly before shaking his hand, “you’ve got quite the accent— are you from any other country, perhaps?”

“Spain,” Carlos grinned smugly at the boys.

It only started there. Lando didn’t even want to replay their Wednesday after that first encounter with an Alessandro sister. Only wanting to replay the one that he had with the youngest one.

The night seemed to end early for everyone. By the time the sun began to set, the Wolffs arrived on the island with Stevie, her newborn and Daniel’s best friend, Scotty and his wife Chloe Stroll. They arrived rather fashionably early than expected and truthfully, Lester and Danny were more than grateful.

Stevie had introduced Lottie Hamilton to everyone just as the model arrived. The baby was only 8-week old yet she already stole the hearts of the adults on the island. Danny and Lester spent their time around the baby with some of their nephews and nieces hanging around them, asking the adults if Lottie would race too– because Lina’s son Andrea would like to race like his Zio Daniel.

The time seemed to pass by quickly, because the couple’s endless conversation with the Hamiltons lasted longer than expected. Daniel and Lester waved goodbye to the two before they got ready for dinner.

During the Alessandro-Ricciardo dinner, Lando took it upon himself to walk around the island. Had it been for the pathways made and lights outdoors, he probably would have gotten lost on his little adventure. It was during that time when he accidentally stumbled upon the villa where the dinner was occurring, and as always, he had accidentally listened in on the conversations shared between the family.

Meanwhile, the Alessandros sat on one side of the table and the Ricciardos on the other. The kids were occupied on their own table and had no intention of talking to the adults anytime soon. Daniel’s nephew, Isaac, had taken it upon himself to keep an eye on the little ones - to which Daniel thanked him and swiftly handed the child five euros and 20 Australian dollars, telling him not to tell his mother about the money.

“I don’t know if this is like a coincidence but Mom’s name is Grace,” Daniel’s sister, Michelle, started, “and Lori’s mom is…”

“Grazia!” Lando heard Mateo’s laugh throughout the location followed by others as they laughed along. “And you know what, Michelle? Her maiden name is even funnier.”

“Oh no,” Lester laughed, “right, mio caro, remember what I told you about Mama?”

“The maiden name? Yeah, how can’t I,” Daniel snickered, “Mom, Mama’s maiden name is Riccardo.”

“Really?” Lando would pay to see the shocked look on Mr. and Mrs. Ricciardo’s face. “Is it really?”

“Sí,” Grazia responded, “my papa’s family business happens to be Siena’s famous local winery– La Vigna E La Cantina Di Riccardos. It’s been running for many decades now. The Riccardos are very famous in our town.” The Riccardos’ Vineyard and Winery.

“I would have gotten a deal to produce wine from their business with Lori’s uncle,” Daniel told them, “if she had told me in the beginning.”

“Am I just the means of your successful business, mio tasso?” Lori said. She hadn’t really needed to tell him that. She and her siblings did not have much connection with the winery, after all. Her mother, Grazia, worked there briefly and had earned enough in the place. She owned parts of the winery, of course, but there was only enough to do and enough money to earn in the place. So Lester didn’t feel the need to tell him about it if she’s not involved in the business.

“No,” Daniel shook his head and huffed, earning a giggle from Lori, “stop twisting my words around, love. You’re going to get me in trouble. I only mean that they have better… taste?”

“But we don’t have an I on our Riccardo,” Grazia chuckled, “that’s not confusing, no?”

“You’re an Alessandro,” Lester’s father, Giacomo Alessandro, laughed aloud, “you have not been a Riccardo for years.”

“Besides,” the eldest Alessandro sibling, Jacquelina – or Lina, piped up as she sipped on her sauvignon blanc, “We will only have one Ricciardo by the end of the week. Two– if you include Daniel himself.”

“I like that idea, Lina,” Daniel snapped his finger before he pointed at Lina excitedly, “thank you for reminding us. See? You don’t have to worry about many Riccardos with and without the letter I when it’ll just be me and Lori!”

“Give it a month or two, then there’ll be three of them,” Michelle said, while she wiggled her brows at the couple. The couple shared a look before laughing nervously, their reaction masked as amusement.

“We’re just saying,” Nora clinked her glass with Michelle’s before sipping, “it would be very nice if the bambinos have a baby for a cousin.”

“We have Maris,” Lester shook her head in disbelief, “isn’t she adorable enough for a cousin?”

“Yeah but, I have heard Isaac and Isabella ask for a baby cousin,” Michelle suggested with a scheming smile.

“I’ve been hearing it for more than I can count,” Michelle’s husband groaned, “it’s not like it’s easy to shoot a baby out of a woman, you know? It’s hard to explain to them that it takes a lot of work for that to happen.”

Unbeknownst to everyone, the couple had been trying. Nobody knew just yet, because they didn’t want to make a fuss out of it. It had taken a toll on Lester’s mental health, as well, but it wasn’t something that she spoke of aloud. Daniel had taken notice of it, and had immediately sat her down to have a conversation about the matter. She cried so hard that day.

The memories of negative results were still fresh for the bassist, if you were to ask her. She hated tossing out the pregnancy tests knowing that she had to tell Danny that she hadn’t done it. Everybody talks about the wonders of conceiving and pregnancy, but why didn’t they warn Lester about the disappointing and draining part of it? Clearly, they only advertised the positive side of it but provided very little support for those who kept on trying.

Going to her gynecologist became a constant thing, and hiding it from Danny wasn’t easy. What was she supposed to do? She was already failing and she wasn’t even a mother yet. Daniel didn’t know how terrible it was until the day she declared that she was going to see an online therapist during her tour. He couldn’t even believe that his fiancée was suffering from this. He remained proud of her, still. He told her that they’ll find a way. He expressed his admiration for keeping a brave front throughout all of this – telling her that she would be the amazing mother bear that their kids would have.

The therapist wasn’t a secret to anyone, but trying to conceive a baby was. Danny wanted her to have the peace she deserved after those stupid pregnancy tests had failed her. He was upset himself, but Lester was the one blaming her own body for not doing the thing she expected it to do. He could only be there for her, trying and trying. He could only be there for the treatments that she may need, and for the worst things that could happen in the process.

Squeezing his hand below the table, Lester shot him a smile. I’m here for you.

He took notice of her smile and grinned back at her, squeezing her hand back. And I will always be here for you.

Lando was so caught up in his own little world that the only thing that brought him back to his senses was a smell of smoke coming from behind him. He turned around and nearly jumped and screamed, watching as the young adult peered at him with a suspicious look. She sat on the bench by the stone fountain, between her fingers was a lit cigarette.

“I know you had a crush on my sisters, but I did not think you would stoop this low,” she laughed quietly, taking a drag before exhaling sharply.

“I’m not- not stalking,” Lando insisted before gesturing at the pavement, “‘m just walking around at night. Like a normal adventurer– do your sisters know you smoke?”

“They know that every once in a while I do,” she shrugged, her fingers reaching out to offer him the cigarette. Lando shook his head in insistence, not wanting to do that. “I don’t get stressed as often.”

“Yeah?” When she moved to one side, Lando took this as an invite and sat next to her. The smell of the cigarette reeked and Lando was sure his clothes would have the scent of smoke all over it by the time he leaves. “You must be living a chill life then.”

“Bwoaaa… I would not say so,” she wrinkled her brows as she thought of it. “My sisters are successful in life, and I am not– that stresses me out. Besides, you are the one to talk. You are doing what you love and you are making money out of it.”

“I’m sure you have something,” Lando shrugged.

“D’you put this much trust on people you meet, Norris?” She giggled, her accent slipping into a southern one after saying the first word. “Perhaps I have something. Who knows.”

Lando laughed quietly, “You know my name and you haven’t even told me yours. How unfair is that?”

“You’re a professional driver alongside my in-law,” she raised a brow, “you’re not exactly the private kind. Unless you have forgotten that you are famous?”

“I don’t like to brag about it,” Lando waved her comment off, “I prefer bragging about my trophies. Now, trophies– they always have me and my ego going. They show that I have something to prove. Fame is different– you can be famous and still be talentless.”

“Honest,” she observed with a hum, "sei impressionante.” You are impressive.

Lando might have understood, or he didn’t, but she didn’t care as she introduced herself, “Nicola Grazia.”

“Nee-ko-la Grat-zia,” Lando said slowly.

“Or Pepsi,” she grinned, “Lina called me that first but Lo decided to keep it forever.”

“How– oh,” Lando paused, causing the Italian girl to nod and encourage him to speak, “Cola.”

“Yes,” she dropped the butt of her cigarette before stomping on it, killing the burning end of it. “Like Pepsi-Cola.”

“Well, I’m Lando Norris,” he reintroduced himself, causing her to laugh heartily. “And- I think you’ve been an amazing company so far, Miss Alessandro.”

“It’s nice to meet my sister’s own pet sewer rat,” Nicola joked, shaking his hand and pulling away. Lando pulled an unimpressed look as she continued, “Lo told me to call you that because she and Dan are the couple from Ratatouille. Do you know Linguini and Colette?”

“Yes,” he muttered in annoyance, reminding himself to give the two an earful tomorrow.

“You are like their Remy,” Nicola smiled at him cheekily.

“I already got that when you called me a sewer rat,” Lando rolled his eyes.

“I’m jealous,” Nicola sighed before standing up, not even looking back at him as she said, “I’ve always wanted to travel with them for free. I should be their Remy.”

Lando stared at her as she disappeared from his sight, wondering what the hell did the youngest Alessandro sister tell him. He asked himself a lot of questions that night: Did she compare me to a rat AND called me a freeloader? Did I just try to shoot my shot with her by saying she was a good company and accidentally making it sound like I’m insinuating something else?

She had already caught his attention and the couple just warned them not to try anything with any of Lori’s sisters. But maybe Lando would push his luck a little.

What’re the chances of him being obliterated to the moon by Lester and Danny? Maybe if he tries hard enough, he’ll be able to get away a little.

tagged mateoales, jacquelinalessandro, nora_alessandro, danielricciardo, loressandro

liked by alex_albon, ethaneskin, landonorris

comments have been limited

ethaneskin li abbiamo avvertiti (we warned them)

colabebe sono tutti ottusi così? (are they all dumb like that?)

landonorris ayo the prince is moving maaaad 😶‍🌫️

pierregasly which royal guard let the prince loose like that?? 🤣

oscarpiastri his royal highness really using that royal w, huh?

colabebe if i see any of these photos released in public, you'll lose your private acc privileges pierregasly landonorris oscarpiastri alex_albon

alex_albon why me??? i've kept my mouth shut since you came

pierregasly alex_albon hehe 😈🐶

colabebe that's strike one mr. gasly

pierregasly i'm sorry 🧎‍♂️

oscarpiastri i will honour your laws maam

landonorris yeah yeah whatever can you please accept george and carlos' follow requests already? thx

125 notes · View notes

cherievol6 · 2 years

Text

home ‘sweet’ home

i wrote this very randomly whilst i was eating my breakfast - enjoy! x

you hate where you live and harry has a sweet surprise

word count: around 2k

warnings: swearing, fluff, slight hints towards seggs, rats (ew)

One thing you couldn't get used to in New York City was the noise. If you could change one thing about living here, it would be the raucous shouting of your next door neighbours when the flat above dropped cigarette ash on to their heads. Or the never-ending repairs that seemed to be happening a few floors down - one morning you were ready to march down and snatch that drill right out of their hand. It was all very different from what you were used to, being from a quaint village in the north of England. Your job offered you a change of scenery and you were more than ecstatic to take it, but you were starting to slowly regret it. Especially when you're roused from your sleep with a buzz coming from your intercom.

You grumble, rolling over in your sheets and stuffing your face into the pillow. The intercom buzzes and buzzes incessantly and you plug your ears, trying to imagine yourself not hungover and sleeping on hot sand somewhere in the Canary Islands. The buzzing becomes rhythmic now and you smack a fist into your pillow, dragging your sluggish body out of bed and dodging half of your belongings to get to the buzzer.

"What?" You snap. (You were learning the decorum around these places).

"Wow, good morning to you too, baby. Gonna let me up, Grump?" Harry's voice crackles through the intercom with a teasing lilt and you manage a tired grin, not answering and pressing the buzzer to let him in. Your eyes are blurred, either infection from your mascara or just tiredness, you weren't sure, but you can't find the energy to care as you bundle back into your covers, awaiting the arrival of your boyfriend.

"Fucking hell, you look rough." He laughs as he toes the door open with a click of his boot and lets it slam behind, prompting another round of shouting from the neighbours around.

"Fuck off, Mrs Wence. You still have my oven dish and I want it back!" You yank open the window above your bed and screech as well as you can from where you're lying, rolling on to your back to meet Harry's gorgeous yet humoured look once you slam it shut.

"You're turning into one of them. What would your poor British mother say?" His dimples carve out his cheeks as you grin, and although hungover, his smile still makes you feel all giddy inside. It wasn't fair how he was the better looking one of you both (although he'd probably argue against that).

"She'd tell me to wind my fucking neck in." You snort, eyes slipping over Harry's outfit and noticing the plain look, a beanie pulled over his head for extra cover.

"Damn right." He gives you a stern look as he unzips his jacket, and you ignore the shudder that travels through your body at his tone.

"Got woken up at four this morning, think two rats were having a scrap over a slice of pizza." You sigh, watching Harry move towards the small table you had in the corner, which would technically only class as a ledge, and retrieving a pink box with a glint in his eye.

"Hopefully this'll make up for it then." He reveals a selection of the most heart-attack inducing treats, glazed over so generously you could almost see your reflection. You sit up quickly.

"God." You whine, digging your hand in immediately when your empty stomach begins to make itself know. Harry stutters out a laugh and shakes his head.

"You've never made that noise with me." He snorts and you smack his bicep at the innuendo.

"You just can't go five minutes without making an innuendo, can you?"

He sighs, placing the box down on your bed and planting his hands on his hips.

"Unfortunately not, no. Should've heard the one I had about the cream horn-"

"If my head wasn't pounding so much I would get you into the tightest headlock right now." You say through the pastry in your mouth. He wiggles his eyebrows and clicks his tongue.

"Kinky- Ow! Okay!" You pinch his hip tightly under his t-shirt and he concedes, raising his arms in defence. You sit quietly for a few seconds and finish off the pastry, not caring about how ravenous you might look, or how the crumbs were falling on to your sleeping top. Harry watches you endearingly, leaning forward to swipe the glaze from the side of your mouth and suck it off his own thumb.

"Are you like, really horny today, or something?" Your eyes are squinted as you regard him. He shrugs, stretching his arms above his head and cracking his knuckles. He seems a bit more restless than usual and you can't pinpoint exactly why.

"For you? All the time."

"Shut up." You gaze at his stomach when his arms lift and feel yourself wanting to lean against his warm skin.

"Are you gonna get in for a cuddle, or what?" Your tone of faux-offence gets his attention.

"Not in those crumbs." He frowns, pointing to the pastry flakes on the mattress. You awkwardly laugh, brushing them away hastily. He finally gives in, leaning down to take off his shoes and your voice is urgent.

"No outdoor-"

"Yes, no outdoor clothes, I know." He shakes his head, but his face is nothing short of amused as he whips his shirt off, wriggling his tight jeans down his legs with a bit of difficulty and collapsing on to the bed.

Harry once said you remind him of a koala, the way you just instantly cling to him whenever he's near. Proving the likeness correct, you loop a leg around his and yank his torso towards you, burying your face in his skin that's slightly cold from the biting weather. "Mm. You're nice and warm." He mumbles.

"I've missed you." You sigh.

"You saw me two days ago." He laughs, wrapping his arm tightly around your body and stroking your hair.

"Don't ruin it." He giggles again when your voice is muffled from his skin and his hair that was growing a bit too long. There's a beat of silence between you both and you feel your breaths going heavier and heavier the longer he holds you, softly scraping his nails along your shoulder blades, just the way you loved. Your favourite days were the ones where he'd just show up unannounced and you'd spend the day in bed, keeping each other warm in different ways, ordering food, watching his favourite films (despite your inability to enjoy movies thanks to your short attention span, but you made an effort for him).

His body doesn't seem to be relaxing as you're falling deeper and deeper in to a state of sleep and it concerns you, dragging you out of the thickness of the midway between circadian rhythms.

"Hey." Your voice is soft as you peel your eyes open, leaning up to kiss him gently on his lips.

"Hey. Your lips taste sweet." He matches your quiet tone and kisses you a couple more times.

"You okay?" Your hand travels up to his shoulder and you massage the area, bringing it to play with the cross chain around his neck. He looks at you with round eyes, the green effervescent as ever, as if he's contemplating something. He looks down at your hand fiddling with the charm, grasping your fingers tightly.

"I need to talk to you about something important." Your hand retreats and you frown, nervous at the seriousness of his tone. God, was he about to break up with you? It would be a shock if he did, considering you two had been together for nearly two years.

"Okay." You manage, your brain not caring about the hanging headache from the vodka you drank last night, instead your heart pumping a mile a minute. He sits up and you sit up with him, placing a hand on his thigh when he starts to pinch his lip - telling you he's nervous.

He's about to open his mouth when a loud car honk comes from down below and loosens the tension, making you both breathe a laugh. He gazes at you, pushing your hair away from your face.

"Perfect timing." He mutters. You squeeze his leg to urge him to go on and he takes a deep breath, reaching behind for his jacket and digging in the pockets for an unknown item, prompting your hands to sweat.

"I don't know if there's any around-the-houses way to say this, so I'll just say it." This is the most nervous you've heard him since he asked you to be his girlfriend. His hand that stayed clasped shut opens, revealing a shiny silver key with a small donut keyring hanging off it, and you feel your face heating.

"I-I know your lease on this flat is nearly up. And you really fucking hate your neighbours, and wish you had more space y'know? It's hard for both of us to even fit in your bed," you both laugh in tandem and you think you see tears gathering in his ducts, prompting you to place against his cheek. "I was looking for a place here anyway, so I thought, what better than to ask you to move in with me. Make it our new home, no?" He looks so small in this moment, face unsure, body language telling you he's tightly wound.

"Seriously?" You say thickly, your throat starting to close. Your fingers delicately pick up the key and you smile at the added touch of your favourite food on the chain. He looks at you nervously, thumb reaching to wipe the tear you didn't even feel roll down your cheek.

"Yeah. Like deadly serious, baby. I wanna wake up to you. I also don't think I can stay over here one more night and listen to Mrs Wence's dreadful voice. That woman puts a foghorn to shame." He grins when he produces another spluttered laugh from you. "So?"

You place your free hand against your warm forehead and shake your head. "What do you mean, so? Of course I want to fucking with you, Harry, baby-" you don't even finish your sentence, leaning forward and kissing Harry fervently, to convey your point more strongly and wipe the insecurity off your face. He hums, kissing you back and lowering you both to the pillows, hovering over you as he leads the kiss, a lot less innocently than the earlier ones he was giving you. You drag his full weight on top of you and tangle your fingers through his hair, letting him trail kisses down your neck sweetly.

The thought of Harry buying a place with you in mind makes your heart soar, him walking around imagining the two of you co-existing inside, cooking together, making each other coffee, sharing a bed. All of it made you absolute mush inside.

"I love you." You breathe, watching his kisses go lower and lower. The key was dropped from your hand at some point, and you make a mental note of finding it later. All you can concentrate on is how Harry's fingers and fiddling with the straps of your underwear however, so it isn't the top priority on your list.

"I love you too. So fucking much." He says through a kiss planted on your navel, making you breathe out a small whine. "Truthfully, I've been wanting to ask you after about two months of dating you, but I didn't want to scare you off." You snort, "Can't wait to have more privacy at our new place, feels like we need it."

You blush at his words, remembering a time when you might have gotten a bit too loud one night with Harry when your window was open, prompting a very stern note to be slipped under your flat door. It was safe to say you couldn't look your neighbours in the eye for a good week.

"Yeah. It will be nice to have a bigger bed too." You unconsciously raise your hips.

"More room for cuddling, and such."

He kisses your thighs now, purposely dodging the place where you want him most, making your patience wear thinner and thinner. Your finger tilts his chin back up and his eyes are shining like the pastries.

"You're a tease. Bringing a girl some donuts and then asking her to move in with you, just so you can get some? I expected better from you, Harry."

He grins, looking at you darkly from his position and digging his nails into your thighs. He hooks your legs over his shoulders and it makes your entire body feel like it's buzzing. "Never said I was a gentleman, baby."

"No, a gentleman would be taking off my underwear right now." You say pointedly, and he breaks his stern look, throwing you a wink and hooking his fingers through the sides.

"I'll get to it then, shall I?"

i’m not ignoring you all!!! I’ll get to writing part two of crying in the backseat asap <3 in the meantime, if u wish to support my writing, feel free to check out my ko-fi (no pressure!). love u all sm - M x

#harry styles fanfiction #harry styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles one shot #harry styles fluff #harry #harry styles angst #boyfriendrry #harry styles story #boyfriend!harry #harry styles boyfriend #harry styles oneshot #harry styles smut #harry styles husband #harry styles x reader #y/n #harry styles x y/n #prince hair harry #new york

619 notes · View notes

2dayihaveaheadache · 1 year

Text

My very late Valentine’s Gift: Obikin AU, Modern/College Setting, (does a bar still count as Coffee Shop AU-ish?) Bookish Lit professor Kenobi spends a lonely night out drinking Whiskey at a bar in New York City until Anakin, a Twink, comes around with a witty pickup line and changes everything.

“Another round for us!”, Vos shouted, one arm raised, leaning against the bar counter with a cheeky grin.

The tiny bar – Blue Iris– was lit by dimmed lamps and the air smelled like tobacco – sometimes with a slight hint of Jasmine, Obi-Wan loved his perfumed cigarettes. Clouded mirrors with tinged silver frames, Cuban mahogany furniture, a Morris wallpaper, vintage book copies, and an expensive collection of Scottish Whisky completed the image of the bar to be a pivot for intellectuals. It was perfectly located in SoHo, a couple of minutes by foot down Greenwich Village, and fancily atmospheric, British aristocrat-like, snobbish. To Obi-Wan, it sometimes felt elitist. Most of the guests were academics, reading and discussing philosophy, Nihilism, and Existentialism, while sipping on their café brûlot – every coffee was listed in French on the drink’s menu – and felt better than the rest of the entire world.

When Vos had first invited him here, Obi-Wan had made the mistake of googling the bar. The name was a literature reference to Novalis, the prices high, even for New York standards, though they offered a decent variety of beverages – of course, all of them connected to a certain kind of image, French coffee, lonely philosopher gin tonic and mocha in the fashion of Vienna coffee house culture, something they tried to imitate. A rendezvous point for New York’s academics.

“Come on, Obi, it’s time you meet your colleagues.”, Vos had grinned at him, brushing off dust from his jacket. Vos was one of Obi-Wan’s oldest friends and first-ever love – a poetry competition in Salinas, California had brought them together. Back then Obi-Wan had been a only college student, Vos was a couple of years older and an already established name in American literature. His poems had been tender, blinding with dazzling words, a trap – a Dionaea muscipula for Obi-Wan. Nearly fifteen years later and a broken teenage heart later, they had remained close even though Obi-Wan had finished his studies in Great Britain after their breakup and stayed in Oxford for his Ph.D. So, when Columbia University had offered him the position as the dean of their English facility, the two friends were suddenly living in the same city for the first time in years.

It had been quite natural for Vos – a carefree spirit – to try to integrate his friend Obi-Wan into his social circle in New York, so he had invited him for a night out. “You’ll have a good time there. Live Jazz Music on Saturdays, poetry slams, and Absinth.”

Obi-Wan had sighed and raised his hands defeated.

“And you will fit in perfectly. Your charming British accent, your love for cardigans and tweed…”

So, there he was, Obi-Wan Kenobi, an English professor, recently divorced, trying to enjoy himself on a Friday night out with his ex. He had positioned himself next to the bar, sipping on his Whisky – a Single Malt Scotch Whiskey, Chivas Regal – observing his surrounding. The Tobacco smell hung over the entire scenery. Smoking was en vogue in academic circles, it seemed. He nipped one of his jasmine cigarettes between his lips and lit it with a matchstick, an old habit. He took a few breaths before letting his eyes wander over the crowd again. Faintly background music was played, a low saxophone, and a smokey female voice, it had a jazzy feel to it.

The crowd had broken up into groups, always gathered around a set of chaise lounges. A low café table in the middle. From the corner of his eye, he spotted Vos talking to a group of people, laughing full-heartedly. A few faces were recognizable. Mace Windu, a professor of Classics & Philosophy and a Hellenist, took a nip from a Gin Tonic. Next to him, dressed up in a black turtleneck with dark-painted nails, sat Depa Billaba, Mace’s TA. The youngest in the group was Aalya Secura, an investigative journalist, and seated next to her was Yoda – his pen name – one of the most famous Dadaism poets of the 21st century. All of them were Obi-Wan’s new colleagues at Columbia.

Still, he felt like the odd one out, the intruder. He emptied his Whiskey. It burned in his throat but he did not care and took another breath from his smoke. Being the new one sucked.

The bartender thumped a shot of Korn down on the bar counter. It clicked against Obi-Wan’s empty drink, glass against glass. Irritated Obi-Wan looked up and raised an eyebrow. The liquid shimmered colorless. Schnapps judging by its smell. Did the bartender pity him? Obi-Wan lowered his head and smiled bitterly, what a night. “Something for you.”, the man in the velvet suit explained, “From a gentlemen admirer.” A wink was added.

Pushing up his horn-rimmed glasses, Obi-Wan turned his head around the room. A new song had started playing. Bass strings were gently plucked and a female singer sang about Le Temps de L’ amour – how fitting. Who in this bar would buy him a drink? Him? A lonely whiskey drinker, that was leaning against the bar counter, bitterly grinning to himself, the hair a mess of copper strands, dressed in a tweed jacket – maybe someone in an Irish Pub would, impressed by his cliché literature professor appearance but here it seemed unlikely. He was one of many, tasteless, nothing like the hipsters with their New York chic, black turtlenecks, vintage military coats, and Dr. Martens.

Vos? After their breakup, the two had never really lost their spark. A few foolish drinks or a night where one felt lonely often led to a shared bed. Obi-Wan glanced at Vos. He was currently occupied discussing with his fellow Columbia professors, a smile plastered on his face. Unlikely. No. Then whose interest had he tickled? A woman had taken a few glances at him, long dark hair, and a red dress with a back neckline hugged her figure. Her smile was quite lovely and it seemed like she had a good taste in whiskey. No. She was out of his league. Then who else? The man with a copy of Nietzsche’s “Thus Spoke Zarathustra” in his hands? He had looked up at Obi-Wan shyly a few times. Maybe.

Something caught his eye. Nearby a man had raised his glass – the same shot of Schnapps that the bartender had given to Obi-Wan – and cheered to him, grinning cheekily. Was he flirting? He looked a couple of years younger than Obi-Wan and smiled with a crooked smile. A Twink. In the dimmed light his hair faintly shimmered golden, the unruly locks tied up in a low bun, and the rest of them framed his boyish face, his angular jaw piercing out, his eyes a midnight blue. He gave Obi-Wan a thumbs up before drowning the shot in one go and then stepping closer to the bar counter.

“Why?”

“You looked lonely.”, said the boy with a more serious expression. His features had hardened, and his eyes darkened. He seemed older, end-twenties. The black inking on his exposed lower wrists caught Obi-Wan’s glance. A Quote was tattooed on his tanned skin. “Out of the night that covers me, Black as the Pit from pole to pole, …”, were the cursive words Obi-Wan could decipher. The rest of them was covered under a black Shirt. The first lines of William Ernest Henley’s poem Invictus. Armor, these words were like armor tattooed on a body. What had the young man endured in his life? Interesting.

“Do you buy drinks for all lonely people?”, asked Obi-Wan.

“Only for the pretty ones.”, explained the man, smiling once again. “There was a beauty in your loneliness Like the Boy with the thorn, an inner turmoil but so tranquil on the outside, behind a masquerade of serenity.”

That was probably one of the strangest pickup lines, Obi-Wan had ever encountered – even though he had to admit, that it tickled his interest. He had felt bitter before, sitting all alone at the bar counter, smoking, and drinking. His friend Vos was nowhere to be found, occupied with his own life and it had been truly a weird dynamic to go out with your ex. Now fate had granted him a chance with this beautiful, infatuating creature, how could he say no to this?

Two sapphires pierced his eyes, tanned skin with a faint touch of copper, goldish curls, and chiseled body. To that, a mind thinking alike. “What’s your name, young gentleman admirer?”

“Anakin Skywalker.”

The other man leaned closer and took Obi-Wan’s smoke. He nipped it between his lips as if he wanted to lead Obi-Wan’s eyes there. They were slightly tinted in a reddish color, like a dark wine, glossy and plush. Intoxicating. Thrilling. Kissable. The jasmine tobacco mixed with the other man’s scent of musk and made it taste sweet and bitter at the same time on Obi-Wan’s tongue as he breathed. The glare meeting Obi-Wan’s eyes was intense, dazzling, thrilling, and filled with something that sparked heat in Obi-Wan’s gut.

Anakin let his head fall back and blew a cloud of smoke at Obi-Wan. He leaned even closer and paused an inch before Obi-Wan’s face, breath warm on the other man’s lips. It was like a silent question for consent. Then he slid forward the last centimeters and tasted Obi-Wan on his tongue.

Maybe being new did not suck that much, thought Obi-Wan and opened his mouth to let himself be devoured by Anakin. Tasted like heaven with a slight hint of Jasmine tobacco.

#obikin #obikin au #obikin fic #sw au #obi wan star wars #Felix's stupid midnight thoughts #art obsessed Obi Wan #philosophy #happens somewhere here #if you look close enough #sw valentines gift #Anakin is Twink #authors was lonely at and wrote this at 2 Am #and is a lit student so way to much lit references #sw fanfic #star wars fic #college au

20 notes · View notes

saiphs-world · 2 years

Text

My Marauders DR:

₊˚✧ full name :: Saiph Snape

₊˚✧ first name meaning :: Blue Star

₊˚✧ nicknames :: Sai, Ip, Boo, Snape

₊˚✧ age :: 15 years old

₊˚✧ date of birth :: 9th January 1960

₊˚✧ birthplace :: Spinners end, Cokeworth, England

₊˚✧ nationality :: British

₊˚✧ current place of residence :: 11 Spinners end, Cokeworth, England

₊˚✧ pronouns :: She/They

₊˚✧ sexual orientation :: Pansexual (closeted)

*✮　.. ° ☆ . °¸ . • ✮ . • °:. ₊ ° . ☆ .　 . ° .• *✮　.. ° ☆ . °¸ . • ✮ . • °:. ₊ ° . ☆ .　 . ° .•

࿐໋₊HOGWARTS₊˚.༄

₊˚✧ year :: 5th year

₊˚✧ house :: Slytherin

₊˚✧ blood status :: half-blood

₊˚✧ special abilities :: werewolf (but that’s a whole other story I will explain at the end)

₊˚✧ wand :: Hawthorn wood with Unicorn Core, 12 1/4” and surprising swishy and flexible

₊˚✧ patronus :: Siberian Cat

₊˚✧ amortentia (what somebody would smell if it was me) :: Fresh coffee, A new book, Lavender, Ink

₊˚✧ amortentia (what I smelt) :: rich mahogany, cigarettes, expensive cologne, (sometimes wet dog)

₊˚✧ boggart :: My parents

₊˚✧ mirror of erised :: My own family

₊˚✧ favorite subjects :: Astronomy, Herbology, Quidditch practice

₊˚✧ least favorite subjects :: Charms, DADA, Ancient runes

₊˚✧ grades ::

₊˚✧ core subjects ✧˚₊

Astronomy: O (Outstanding)

Herbology: O (Outstanding)

History of magic: E (Exceeds Expectations)

Transfiguration: E (Exceeds Expectations)

Defence Against The Dark Arts: E (Exceeds Expectations)

Potions: A (Acceptable)

Charms: P (Poor, may repeat final exam)

₊˚✧ elective subjects for third years and above ✧˚₊

Care of magical creatures: O (Outstanding)

Muggle Studies: O (Outstanding)

Arithmancy: E (Exceeds Expectations)

Divination: A (Acceptable)

Study Of Ancient Runes: P (Poor, may repeat final exam)

₊˚✧ extra-curricular subjects for third year and above ✧˚₊

Quidditch: O (Outstanding)

Muggles Arts: O (Outstanding)

Muggle languages: E (Exceeds Expectations)

Muggle Musics: E (Exceeds Expectations)

₊˚✧ quidditch :: Chaser for slytherin

₊˚✧ roles :: not that I know of but you never know

*✮　.. ° ☆ . °¸ . • ✮ . • °:. ₊ ° . ☆ .　 . ° .• *✮　.. ° ☆ . °¸ . • ✮ . • °:. ₊ ° . ☆ .　 . ° .•

࿐໋₊APPEARANCE/TRAITS₊˚.༄

₊˚✧ height :: 5’4

₊˚✧ body :: Pear/Triangle

₊˚✧ skin tone :: Pale Ivory

₊˚✧ hair :: Black soft waves with red under dye (hidden with spell)

₊˚✧ eye color :: Dark brown

₊˚✧ eyes :: Almond

₊˚✧ nose :: Button (I think?)

₊˚✧ mouth :: downward-turned lips

₊˚✧ face :: oval

₊˚✧ skin :: pale, scarred

₊˚✧ style ::

₊˚✧ at home/family events/school: ✧˚₊

proper very decent, tidy, girly

₊˚✧ hogs Meade/with friends/summer: ✧˚₊

Kinda light grungy very much skater girl, band tees, still has a feminine touch to it tho.

₊˚✧ voice :: Mezzo-Soprano

₊˚✧ languages :: English, French

₊˚✧ accent :: very British/English unless speaking french has more of a french accent with small hints of British accent poking through some words now and again

*✮　.. ° ☆ . °¸ . • ✮ . • °:. ₊ ° . ☆ .　 . ° .* • ✮　.. ° ☆ . °¸ . • ✮ . • °:. ₊ ° . ☆ .　 . ° .•

࿐໋₊PERSONALITY₊˚.༄

₊˚✧ overall personality :: INTP

₊˚✧ positive traits :: Creative, Smart, Trustworthy

₊˚✧ negative traits :: Cynical, Anger, Ignorance

₊˚✧ likes :: Eye liner, Drawing, Reading, Music, Horror movies, Romanticism

₊˚✧ dislikes :: Parents, Untrustworthy people, Albus Dumbledore

₊˚✧ hobbies :: Reading , Drawing, Painting, Quidditch

₊˚✧ skills + talents : Quidditch, Astronomy

࿐໋₊FAMILY₊˚.༄

₊˚✧ father :: Tobias Snape

₊˚✧ mother :: Eileen Snape (née Prince)

₊˚✧ sibling(s) :: Severus Snape (twin)

₊˚✧ love interests :: Fergus Avery, Sirius Black

₊˚✧ main love interest :: Sirius Black (dw dw Remus has Grant)

₊˚✧ best friend(s) :: Regulus Black, Lily Evans, Marlene McKinnon, Remus Lupin

₊˚✧ friends :: James Potter, Severus Snape, Peter Pettigrew

₊˚✧ enemies :: Severus Snape, Sirius Black Most slytherin’s (I later start to dislike Severus and the more I post the more you’ll understand why I grow to hate/dislike him even tho he is my twin brother and you will also realise why at some point I hate Sirius in my dr even tho we date later on)

࿐໋₊VISUAL₊˚.༄

8 notes · View notes

1864-66readingproject · 11 days

Text

Queer reading chapter 3 of Our Mutual Friend:

Mortimer has to go to the Hexam household as part of the Harmon case, and Eugene tags along with him. For some reason.

It's mentioned that Eugene and Mortimer were "two friends (once boys together at a public school)". The mention of public school is partly a class indicator ('public schools' in Britain are a certain type of fee-paying school, strongly associated with the British 'ruling class'), but could also potentially be a hint at sexuality - most public schools encouraged the development of homosocial bonds between the boys (partly to stop them seeking out girls), and some of the schools (especially Eton) would tend to overlook if those homosocial bonds became sexual. The idea was that when boys left school, they would leave any homosexual leanings behind them, but of course this was not always the case.

We learn about Eugene and Mortimer's professions: Mortimer is a solicitor and Eugene is a barrister; they both entered those professions at the instigation of their families, not through any desire of their own; they are both lazy, and do not commit to their professions; the Harmon case is Mortimer's first paying case; Eugene has had no previous work at all.

It does seem to me that Eugene and Mortimer are characters who are very much in dialogue with other characters from the mid-nineteenth century: Arthur Pendennis and George Warrington from Thackeray's Pendennis (who went to separate public schools, went to the same university, and lived together as young adults, and whose relationship can be read as queer); Clive Newcome from Thackeray's The Newcomes (who went to the same public school as Arthur Pendennis and had a "rapturous" "romantic" friendship with him); David Copperfield from Dickens's David Copperfield (who did not go to public school, but who formed a fairly queer relationship with another boy, James Steerforth, at a private school); Sydney Carton and Mr Stryver from Dickens's A Tale of Two Cities (who both attended Shrewsbury public school, who both studied in Paris together, who essentially jobshare and who have an (unhealthy) relationship that can be read as queer); and Robert Audley and George Talboys from Braddon's Lady Audley's Secret (who both attended Eton public school, who travel and live together for a while in adulthood, and who have a relationship that can be read as queer). With the exception of Clive Newcome (artist) and George Talboys (soldier and gold-digger in the literal digging-for-gold sense of the word), all of these characters are - nominally at least - lawyers, just like Eugene and Mortimer. Most of them - especially Robert Audley, the most 'recent' to Eugene and Mortimer - are presented as in some way 'lazy' or otherwise not committed to the practice of the law. Robert, Eugene and Mortimer seem to me to be the pinacle of this 'ambiguously queer lazy lawyer' character type which has been developing over the previous decade or so.

In the cab, Eugene puts his legs up on the opposite bench, and Mortimer asks if he can put his legs up too, then does. I sort of assume they have to cross their legs over each other for both their legs to fit on the bench? unclear; but regardless, they are sat side-by-side and seem comfortable being in physical proximity with each other.

Eugene lights Mortimer's cigar, and they both smoke. The lighting of someone else's cigar / cigarette is often framed in popular culture as erotic - there's a post floating around tumblr somewhere about the intimacy and eroticism of lighting someone's cigar for them.

In the scene with Eugene and Mortimer talking in the cab, we see a different dynamic between the two of them than we saw at the Veneering dinner table in chapter 2. If anything, Eugene now leads ("I shouldn’t know how to do it", "I hate my profession", "It was forced upon me [...] We have got a precious one", "There are four of us"), and Mortimer responds ("I am far from being clear [...] that I have much advantage over you", "I hate mine", "It was forced upon me [...] And we have got a precious one", "I am one by myself, one"). Eugene also appears to lead physically: putting his legs up and presumably lighting his cigar first, and Mortimer asks to follow.

On a more general note, pay attention to this exchange - this is going to be important for Eugene in particular:

‘Precisely my view of the case, Eugene. But show me a good opportunity, show me something really worth being energetic about, and I’ll show you energy.’ ‘And so will I,’ said Eugene.

Dickens's narratorial style in Our Mutual Friend is interesting, in that it shifts about quite a bit. For example, while much of it is in past tense (such as chapter 3), some chapters are in present tense (such as chapter 2). The point of view can also switch, including within a chapter.

For most of chapter 3, the point of view seems to stay fairly close to how Mortimer is experiencing the events that unfold. However, towards the end of the chapter, the narrator stops 'following' Mortimer, and instead follows Charley Hexam home, before switching perspective to a narratorial voice seems a bit more distant from the characters.

Compare the following:

‘Only papers on the unfortunate man, I see,’ said Lightwood, glancing from the description of what was found, to the finder. ‘Only papers.’ Here the girl arose with her work in her hand, and went out at the door. ‘No money,’ pursued Mortimer; ‘but threepence in one of the skirt-pockets.’ ‘Three. Penny. Pieces,’ said Gaffer Hexam, in as many sentences.

and:

The boy lifted the latch he had lifted before, and found his sister again seated before the fire at her work. Who raised her head upon his coming in and asking: ‘Where did you go, Liz?’ ‘I went out in the dark.’ ‘There was no necessity for that. It was all right enough.’ ‘One of the gentlemen, the one who didn’t speak while I was there, looked hard at me. And I was afraid he might know what my face meant. [...]’

When Mortimer's perspective is guiding the narrative voice, Lizzie is nameless - "the girl" - and apparently motiveless: she goes out of the door without any explanation. The reader can infer that this is the same girl who was rowing the boat in chapter 1, and she is probably leaving the room because she is ashamed about her father stealing from a dead body, as she was in chapter 1, but that's not expressed by the narrator because Mortimer doesn't know that (we can tell from the dialogue he's got his suspicions of Gaffer, but these suspicions do not appear to extend to Lizzie).

However, once Mortimer is no longer there and the narratorial voice has 'left' him for the time being, we get to see a conversation between Charley and Lizzie where Lizzie explains her motive for leaving the room: Eugene was looking at her. She says she was afraid that Eugene might see in her face her guilt over her father's stealing, so she left the room.

What's notable about this to me from a queer lens is that Eugene looking at Lizzie was entirely absent from the part of the chapter told from Mortimer's perspective.

On a more general note, I think it's possibly worth noting that Eugene's interest in Lizzie predates him ever seeing her. Near the beginning of the chapter, Charley is talking about his education and how "it's my sister's contriving". He then speaks "slightingly" of her, and Eugene appears to take exception to this. Eugene is also presumably the one who says, "You seem to have a good sister."

#queer reading omf #queer reading #omf #omf part 1 #mortimer omf #charley omf #eugene omf #lizzie omf #may 1864 #death mention #long post

0 notes

billiebeanhoward · 3 years

Text

Silence - Multi Character

A/N: hello this has been an enormous project for me to do. Thanks for @stayevildarling for the prompt and for the help with this. Apologies, it's a long one. Tenses are a bit fucked but just go with it.

Prompt: Each character receives a mysterious invitation to visit a Hotel Cortez in LA to prove they're not alone in their struggles

TW: alcohol, mention of murder / death, cigarettes, swearing, mention of character death, hints at suicidal ideation,

Word Count: 4480

Tag list: @stayevildarling @okpaulson @mrsdeanhoward

Working at Kineros Robotics for the vast majority of her life, nothing really fazed Wilhemina anymore. Especially with the bullshit her bosses come up with daily, but when the redhead finds a strange invitation on her desk that morning, she never thought her life could get any stranger. The invitation that was written, well, typed, on very fancy looking stationary, held coordinates to a Hotel she never wanted to visit in her existence, but when she sees there is a list of nine other women's names, she assumes they're women, anyway; It piques her curiosity regardless and later that evening takes the rest of the weekend off work so she can drive the few hours to the Hotel.

Never been one for tardiness, the redhead arrives a mere twenty minutes early, the receptionist with ridiculous glasses asking her if she had booked a room to which she banged her cane and left towards the bar without a word. Conversation, socialising has never really been her strong suit, you can really blame her mother for that. She had been isolated from the outside world for most of her life growing up. Thinking back, she's glad for it. People are despicable. The bar isn't too shabby, not that she could complain, dark, quiet, she quite enjoys the ambience. Her cane clanks, hitting off the floor as she makes her way over to the bartender.

"And what can I get you, this fine evening?" she, she assumes, smiles politely. Nice enough.

"Anything purple?" her nose scrunched at the ridiculous request that leaves her mouth and she scolds herself silently moments before the bartender points a finger at her.

"You know what? I have just the thing," she turns around to pour the drinks, Wilhemina watching her every move, "So what brings you here?"

"Is that any of your business?"

"Oh, no, not at all." she shakes her head, "Enjoy your drink," Wilhemina eyes the mysterious neon concoction in front of her momentarily, before spotting a straw holder in the corner of her eyes and she reaches out to grab one when a hand grazes over her own.

"Oh, sorry," a British woman with a blonde pixie cut says quickly, pulling her hand away. "You look familiar, do I know you from anywhere?"

"No, I assure you, you don't."

The blonde put the green straw into her whiskey? before sipping it, "My name's Audrey, Audrey Tindall. I know what you're thinking..." Does this woman ever shut up? "I'm not related to the royal Tindalls, no."

"Did I ask?" Wilhemina cocks her head a little towards her and she quickly shies away, "Get out of my sight," The blonde scurries off to the other end of the bar while Wilhemina tries to enjoy her drink.

"Mom, what's this?" Ally looks over her shoulder, her arms elbow-deep in her sink as she washes up the dishes from dinner.

"Not sure, Ozzy. Can you read it for me, Sweetheart?"

"To whom it may concern, You are not alone.

34.0443° N, 118.2508° W

Ally, Audrey, Bette, Billie, Cordelia, Dot, Karen, Lana, Sally, Wilhemina. What does it mean, Mom?"

Ally empties the sink and clears away the dishes before wiping her hands on a towel, "I really don't know, does it say anything else? Give it here," she holds her hand out and he passes it to her as she studies it curiously.

"Karen!" The woman turns her head towards the door at her friend with a little smile on her face, "Guess who has mail?"

Her eyes widen in anticipation, "No, you're joking! Me?"

"Of course you! Open it." Mickey smiles as he passes it to her. She excitedly rips open the envelope, careful enough not to destroy the contents and unfolds the paper curiously. "Well, What does it say?"

"A bunch of numbers and names, Mick I think this is just junk,"

"No, Karen, the first mail you get in years, it can't be junk. Let me see," she passes it to him and in the dimness of the room, he looks at the letter. "They seem to be coordinates for somewhere,"

"Like for treasure?"

"Exactly, well, you never know, but could be someone who wants to murder you for all we know. But look, it says You are not alone."

"Course I'm not alone, fuck face, I have you."

Cordelia sets aside her paperwork for the evening, cradling a cup of hot coffee in her hands, she sighs as she takes a look at the monstrous pile of work ahead. She nudges her glasses further up her nose as the door of her office swung open. "Madison, how many times have I told you to knock?"

The younger blonde rolled her eyes as her arms crossed against her chest, "And why would I do that?"

"I could have been doing... something." the Supreme says before taking a sip from her coffee.

"When exactly was the last time you got laid, Cordy?"

This time the Supreme rolls her eyes before glaring at the younger witch, "And when was the last time you got laid, Maddy?" she snaps back, Madison slumps her shoulders, the smirk that graced her lips disappearing quickly, "What do you want?"

"I forgot to give you this when the mail came this morning," she absentmindedly threw a letter down on the desk before storming out.

Cordelia once again rolled her eyes at the girl, eyeing the mysterious envelope before picking it up.

Wilhemina looks down at the watch on her wrist whilst trying to figure out who exactly she's supposed to be meeting. The bar is seemingly quiet, and she stays seated at the stools near the bartender, Liz, who had told her her name, although she definitely didn't ask. Liz is a talker and a very annoying one at that, although Wilhemina is quite enjoying her company right now, or rather lack of as she attends to other women at the bar. A thought enters her mind at that moment, the name Audrey did ring bells, although not any ridiculous royal ones. She pulls the letter out of her blazer pocket and adjusts the glasses on her nose. There. The second name. Audrey. Was that her? Great. Now she does have to actually go off and talk to the chatterbox. She rolls her eyes before sighing, picking up her cane as she makes her way over to where Audrey is sitting, she seems to be sitting next to a brunette who did look quite familiar.

"Oh, hey!" Audrey greets, getting up from her place at the booth seemingly for Wilhemina to seat next to her. Wilhemina quickly turns around grabbing a chair from behind her and drags it to towards the table closer to the brunette instead, "Oh," the blonde says before pulling out a packet of cigarettes from her purse. "Do you mind?"

"I do actually, yes," Wilhemina says and the brunette turns to her.

"Are you here because of the letter as well?" Wilhemina nods and the other woman brings out her hand towards her for her to shake it, "I'm Ally, Ally Mayfair-Richards?"

"You're the one that was in that cult weren't you?" Wilhemina says. This has got to be the most interesting thing that has happened all night.

"Oh." Ally pulls her hand away looking around slightly awkwardly, "So you don't know me from my senator work? How did you know about the -"

"I saw it on this silly show I watched on the True crime channel."

"Right. So must know a lot about me then," she sips from her wine and Audrey annoyingly, despite Wilheminas dismissal, lights up a cigarette. "What's your name."

"Wilhemina Venable."

"Oh your name is Wilhemina, it's such a -"

"I'd prefer to be referred to only as Ms. Venable." Fine. Wilhemina has now made this awkward, thanks mouth. Change the subject. "Seven more women to find," she states, looking at the two, her hand gripped tightly around her cane. "Is this some sort of gangb-" Nope. "Right, I'm going to get another drink, excuse me."

"Sally that girl, what can I get you?" Liz asks a blonde that is definitely stuck in the '90s. Her hair is fully crimped, her outfit choice, however, is far more ridiculous, fishnet tights, a very short skirt, revealing shirt. Stop staring.

"The usual," she mumbles before diverting her attention back to the woman beside her. "So, are you from Tennessee? You're the only ten I see," Wilhemina almost spits her drink out as she hears the conversation between the two.

"No actually, I'm from Massachusetts." the brunette says, nodding slightly, clearly slightly uncomfortable.

"Oh, it's pretty close though, right."

"No you blonde idiot, it's a 17-hour drive," Wilhemina says and the blonde turns to look at her and this time she looks at her face.

"Did I ask you?"

"No, course not. I just like correcting idiots,"

"Well, I'm sorry we all couldn't afford to go to private schools," the blonde then storms off somewhere else, Wilhemina genuinely doesn't care. The brunette, however, slides closer over to Wilhemina.

"Thank you," she smiles.

Wilhemina's face turned to one of a fish, "What for?" The other woman continued sipping from her drink before leaning a little too close for comfort to Wilhemina before taking a deep breath.

"Is this.." she pauses, Wilhemina only furrows her brows at her, "Is this a 'girl' bar?" she asks curiously, "I'm only asking because..."

"Good question," the redhead smiles as she looks around the room, only women are seated, mainly bundled together with Ally and Audrey," Maybe this woman is one of the names on the list too. "Surely hope not," she mumbles. She doesn't want to make conversation but it seems she needs to. "What brings you here?" she continues to drink the nuclear waste that Liz calls a drink and looks at the brunette. She seems familiar too.

"I... This is going to sound really weird."

"Not as weird as that, I assure you," she points behind her and the brunette turns around to see a woman with two heads walk through the door with the frizzy blonde talking to them.

"Probably just as... How is that possible? That's fascinating." The brunette brings up her purse and pulls out a notepad."I'm a writer, you may have read my book. It's quite popular among women." She speaks but Wilhemina isn't listening. Distracted by the definition of fucking weird that just entered the room.

"You girls here for the "meeting"?" the frizzy blonde asks them and the head on the left nods. Creepy.

"Nice," she grabs a cigarette, it hanging from her mouth lazily as she spoke. Ok, so far there are Audrey, Ally, writer girl, the one Liz called Sally, the two-headed beast... Wilhemina looks around and spots another blonde speaking to Audrey and Ally. So extra blonde. And a homeless woman sitting at the back end of the bar.

"If you're here for the meeting, come over here!" extra blonde calls out over to her table and Wilhemina rolls her eyes, her cane clanking loudly as she walks over to the table. "I'm Cordelia Goode. Supreme of my coven in New Orleans."

"Ally Mayfair-Richards, I came here from Maine. Had to find a babysitter before I drove all the way here,"

"Audrey Tindall. Had to get a flight back from England."

"Lana, Lana Winters." the writer girl added.

"Wait.." three heads turn to her. "How is that possible?" Ally spoke.

Lana shrugged, an uncomfortable smile gracing her lips, "What do you mean?"

"You're... young?"

"Oh, wow, am I that old?"

"I- no of course not."

"What's that?" Wilhemina turns her head towards the left of the beast as she stares down at Sally's cellphone.

"Oh, come on I've been stuck here since the nineties and even I know what it is." she rolls her eyes.

The right one furrowed her brows. "90s?"

The two of them stared into space for a moment, their expressions changing every so often as if they're in a conversation and Wilhemina shakes her head and diverts her attention to the homeless one toddling over to the rest of the group. She looks paranoid, looking over her shoulders as if someone is following her.

"The rest of the introductions?" Audrey says, bringing the letter out and Lana handing her a pen from her purse before she ticks off the names of people here. "What's your name, sweetheart?" she asks the homeless one but she doesn't answer, peeking into the massive tote bag on her shoulder before Wilhemina hits her ankle with her cane to gain her attention.

"I'm not telling you my name. I don't even know who you are," she states

"Why are you sitting with us then?" the right one says before the homeless one gives them a look.

"I know people like you, fuck faces, huge assholes," she mutters

"I'm Dot, this is Bette, "Right one says almost headbutting the other

"I can introduce myself, Dot,"

Dot turns her head to look at her, "Well you were taking your sweet time,"

"Okay, we're only missing Billie and Karen."

Sally chuckles, her cigarette still hanging from her mouth, "That's definitely Karen," she points over to a blonde with wavy hair, pink blouse, pearl necklace and a pencil skirt and fake nails. "I actually thought you were Karen until you said your name is Audrey," she looks to Audrey and Wilhemina purses her lips trying to stifle her laugh.

Audrey looked offended as if someone ran over her mothers already dead body. Her nostrils flaring as she leans over the table towards Sally, "And what do you mean by that?"

Before anything happens and all hell breaks loose in the Hellmouth they already were in, the homeless one squeaks up. "I'm Karen."

That's it. Wilhemina laughed. "What's so funny?" Cordelia asks the redhead who continued chuckling as she tried to drink her acid.

"Nothing, continue."

Lana finally pieces the puzzle together, "That's Billie."

"Congratulations, would you like a gold star. I'm sure Mommy senator here has plenty for you." Wilhemina chuckled at her own joke because it was funny. The other women did laugh too. Billie made her way over somewhat gracefully, her hands flaring as if she's trying to pick up a watermelon. Karen probably has one hidden in that Mary Poppins bag of hers.

"Good evening, girls. I'm Billie Dean Howard, Medium to the stars." she flutters her fingers around like one of those stupid ASMR videos that Wilhemina has not ever watched before and took a seat beside Bette and Dot.

"Were you the one who sent the letters?" Bette asked, her fingers fiddling with the hem of the dress she shared? with Dot before Dot slapped her fingers away.

"No, I assume you're all here for the same thing. As am I. Unfortunately, it had to be here though,"

Cordelia sighs, shifting uncomfortably in her seat seeming to know what the hell Billie was actually talking about. "I know, it's like they're screaming in the walls."

Liz comes over handing Billie her drink while giving a pointed look towards Sally, "What? I didn't kill everyone here, y'know."

"Your reputation says otherwise." she turns to the rest of the group, "Enjoy your stay,"

"Does anyone actually know what this is about... Wait I know you, I've seen your face on the side of a bus," Audrey says excitedly

"And I know you, Ms Audrey Tindall. Making a big name for yourself I see after My Roanoke Nightmare." Billie smiles at her and Wilhemina gives a look of impressive to the two blondes.

"Oh god don't. My shrink is still drilling it into my head that it wasn't real."

"What wasn't?" Lana asks curiously, her notepad in hand as she continued to write notes.

"You haven't seen the show?"

"What show?"

Wilhemina diverts her attention towards Ally's and Cordelia's conversation although it seemed to be about cheating exs so then she focuses on what Dot, Bette and Sally were saying.

"It's 1952 where you're from?" Okay, now that is interesting. "How did you get here?" Sally points her phone in their faces.

"Can you please get that thing out of our faces! It's scary," Bette says,

"We killed our mother and you're saying that's scary." Fine. She stood up and made her way to Karen.

"Don't want to talk to you." she mumbled, seemingly comfortable slightly curled up in the seat.

"I don't want to talk to you either." Hmm, maybe the homeless one isn't too bad after all.

After a few extra drinks, everyone seems to be in a better mood, laughing, joking, much to Wilhemina's dismay, and even still trying to make conversation with her. Which she has done. Gotten to reluctantly know more about those with who she was almost forcefully made to be made acquaintances. Sally stood up on the chair, wobbling slightly as she tries to regain her balance. "Ladies, Unfortunately, Liz is closing up for the night." most women whined but Wilhemina was genuinely happy she finally got to go home. Was this it? What exactly was this about? "But... We can take this party up to my room,"

Wilhemina almost growled to herself, the thought of being at home a lot more comfortable than being in a hotel room with nine other women. All women stood up and followed Sally to the elevators. Billie and Cordelia following behind as they chatted.

Wilhemina slowed her pace a little mainly because she felt like her back couldn't handle it but also because she wants to know what the two blondes are talking about. "If the letters weren't really from you, then who was it?" Cordelia asks

"I genuinely thought it was you, dear. Seems like a 'you' thing to be bringing in people of all backgrounds, especially lonely ones at that,"

"I'm not lonely. You don't even know me." Karen pipes up defensively, still holding her bag close.

"No, not at all." Billie shakes her head, "But I do know when one is feeling lost and doesn't know how to get back up," she says before rushing off to get to the others.

Wilhemina's steps slowed as she enters the elevator, not one for taking the stairs. She opens her mouth but Cordelia is quick to speak, "I like your hair," the redhead raises an eyebrow at the blonde, a hint of a blush rising on her cheeks.

"You're drunk, Ms. Goode,"

"Oh, please. Call me Cordelia. I'm nothing like my mother." she says before her expression turns somewhat sorrowful. Her mouth opened, slightly agape seeming as she wants to speak but she doesn't. So Wilhemina decides it's humane of her to change the subject.

"You know Ms. Howard?" she looks down at the floor, the elevator dinging indicating their arrival on the floor where Sally's room is located.

"Oh yes, she's not a witch though," the blonde slightly stumbles out, almost tripping on her heels when Wilhemina rolls her eyes reaching her arm out to catch her.

"I didn't ask," she states, although she is due for another awful round of dosed up fuckery that is her medication she fights through it, tries to anyway. Liz's miracle drinks seem to be working fine as an atomic type of painkiller. She allows Cordelia to loop her arm around her shoulder, hers around the blonde's waist as they walk down the hallway towards the room Karen just strangely snuck into as if she's there on a heist.

"You know of my story then?" Lana asks seemingly gobsmacked towards the other women, "And not from my book, from my talk show? One I don't even have yet?"

"How exactly did you get here?" Audrey asks curiously as she sits down on the bed, crossed legged like an elementary school child.

"I received the letter, like the rest of you. I took the train. Fell asleep, woke up at the station and everything was different but I couldn't really explain it. Then I asked around about the coordinates and someone guided me to this hotel."

"The same thing happened to us," Bette smiled at her but Dot was quick to scold her

"Don't listen to my idiot of a sister, we've never been on a train in our lives. We woke up, found the note at the foot of our bed and started to get ready for our show."

"Show?" Billie asks before closing her eyes for a brief moment. "Does the name Eudora mean anything to you?"

"We work fo-" Bette starts

"No, absolutely not. Bette, we're leaving."

"But we've been having so much fun, Dot."

"No,"

"She says she forgives you."

Tears well up in both their eyes for a moment as they sit back down on the bed. Wilhemina slowly helps Cordelia sit down on the armchair beside them and awkwardly perches on the arm of said chair.

"She forgives you Bette for what you did but," she closes her eyes before facing Dot, "She doesn't forgive you for what you tried to do to your sister."

An awkward silence filled the room, only to be heard are the sniffles from the twins and the lighting up of cigarettes before Sally broke the silence, "You know, I would probably do anything to have a sister and you tried to kill her?" Dot looks away ashamedly.

Bette, sweet Bette, she seems so childlike, she just smiles, "I would do anything to make my Dot happy,"

"I would rather kill myself than let anyone treat me the way she treats you." Sally rolls her eyes "And I'm dead," she brings her hand to the side of her mouth as if she's revealing a huge secret.

"At least she's not alone," Ally says, sipping on more wine. "I'd do anything for my son, the way Bette clearly would for her sister."

"And let her kill herself?" Audrey remarks, "That's not love."

"Wouldn't you kill for love? Fight for others."

"I'd rather be a lover than a fighter, because all my life, I've been fighting." Lana says, "I've lost the love of my life and had been through so much I ca-" tears escape her eyes and Audrey curls up beside her, wrapping an arm around her frame.

Karen opened her mouth wanting to speak, most of them probably expecting her spewing profanities but instead, her face was calm, "I've never felt a feeling of comfort. All this time, I've been hiding. Where I'm from the stupid fuckfaces who live there..." There we go. "All they do is just think I'm some mad homeless woman -"

"Aren't you?" Wilhemina blurts out, a smirk gracing her lips and Karen glares at her.

"That's not the point, you fucking, purple, fucking, dragon bitch."

Wilhemina tilts her head, impressed with the insult. "Carry on."

"I don't want to anymore."

"I never had someone to call my own," Bette says, her usual smile now a frown as she fights back her own tears

"I'm so used to sharing." Dot mutters, looking down at her fingers. Billie reaches out to hold their hands to comfort them.

"Love only left me alone," Audrey says,

"I've found peace in the violence, can't tell me there's no point in trying," Sally says, cigarette hanging from her mouth as she speaks, mascara running down her face

Wilhemina thinks it's her turn to speak, Cordelia looking at her intently from the seat. "I'm in need of a saviour," it feels like she confessed her deepest darkest secrets. Words she would have never thought she would say out loud to anyone. She sees Billie lift her head as if to speak "But I'm not asking for favours," she says, Billie nods understandingly.

"My whole life, I've felt like a burden," Cordelia pipes up, her chin quivering as she spoke. "I think too much, and I hate it"

Ally pulls a small face, finishing her wine before she spoke, "I'm so used to being in the wrong. I'm tired of caring."

"Loving never gave me a home" Karen speaks again, probably feeling a lot more comfortable with the group now. Which is surprising as she acted as if they would kill her.

"I'll sit here in the silence," Billie says. She hadn't said anything. She gave a small smile before lighting up a cigarette. Wilhemina only groans, now her clothes probably stank worse than an ashtray at the amount the four women had smoked like a chimney. "I'm at one with myself. I've been quiet for so long."

There's silence for a few moments. Not uncomfortable at all, surprisingly. Although plenty of tears, small sobs escaping and a few hugs. This was needed. Everyone felt seen, even in the silence of the room. They felt heard. They all understood and could relate one way or another to each other and, maybe the letter was right. You are not alone.

But the one question is... who was the one who had sent it?

Maybe someone out there who cared enough for each woman individually and knew their struggles maybe even up to a personal extent. Maybe whoever sent it just wanted the women to know that they are loved and people do care.

Maybe it was you.

The night was slowly coming to an end, the women started to say their goodbyes when Lana had an idea, "Sally?"

Sally lifted her head from where it lay on Cordelia's shoulder as the two blondes were almost fast asleep. "Hmm?" Wilhemina stood, collecting her cane ready to leave but Cordelia's hand stopped her, grabbing onto the hem of her blazer.

"Give me your cell number, I have an idea." the brunette gave Sally the pen and paper and Sally wrote her number down, passing it back. "If I remember you'd hear from me again," then the brunette vanished. Magic tricks aside, most of the women were either too drunk or half-asleep to even react. Sally's phone began ringing loudly, Wilhemina picked it up, disgusting fluffy case in hand as Sally snatches it from her.

"Hello?"

"Sally? It's me, Lana. Put me on speaker." the familiar yet different voice said. The women looked, Wilhemina observing from the door until she noticed Bette and Dot aren't there either.

"Lana, it's you?" Audrey says, tears in her eyes, "God I've missed you." It's been less than two minutes you dramatic blonde. Wilhemina rolls her eyes as Lana chuckles down the phone.

"I've missed you too, Audrey. It's been fifty-five years since I had last heard your voice."

Wilhemina, now confused, was ready to leave. She pried the sleepy blonde away and left. On the way back to her home, she magically bumped into Billie. "What do you want?" she almost snapped.

"We're wondering if you'd like to meet back up at the hotel again next week." the blonde smiles, of course, cigarette in hand. Wilhemina sighed, as much as she hates to admit it she really did enjoy the company in comparison to her lonely nights at home in the silence.

"Okay," she says, Billie, raising an eyebrow at her expectantly.

"Okay? That was easy,"

"Don't think it'll be any easier than this, Ms. Howard, I'm a busy woman."

"Hm, I'm sure."

"If Ms. Winters is.. a woman of age now, What happened to the Tattlers?" Wilhemina asks out of curiosity, Billie purses her lips as she thinks of an answer.

"They're gone. They're at one with the silence."

"Good night, Ms. Howard." Wilhemina opens the door to her car.

"Good night, Ms. Venable," Billie says but Wilhemina can literally hear the smile that's on her lips as she says it. "Oh, Cordelia wants me to give you her cell," Billie hands the redhead her number through the crack of the window. "Then you don't have to be at one with the silence for so long. Neither of us do. We have each other now, just remember that. All thanks to Y/N."

#sarah paulson #ahs #wilhemina venable #cordelia goode #billie dean howard #cordelia foxx #tb karen #lana winters #audrey tindall #sally mckenna #bette and dot tattler

57 notes · View notes

watchingroger · 2 years

Text

It was silent in the car, unusually for one with Arthur in it.

Martin clutched his holdall in his lap, watching the lights of Fitton pass by for the last time. He caught Carolyn’s eye in the rearview mirror as her eyes roved through the night. He gave a small smile. A slight deepening of her crows’ feet indicated she had returned it. Douglas cleared his throat and began to hum gently, breaking the silence.

Something took hold of his arm and he looked down to see Arthur’s hand there. His gaze followed the arm up to Arthur's softly smiling face.

---

“So this is it,” Carolyn said, breaking the silence as they approached the security gates.

“Let’s hope Switzerland is ready,” Douglas quipped.

Martin reached out a hand to take his bag from Arthur’s possession. “Thank you for seeing me off.” He addressed his feet.

“The end of an era, Captain.”

“And the beginning of a new one,” Carolyn put in quickly as Martin’s face fell.

They stood for a moment in silence, reluctant to say the final words.

“We’d better say our goodbyes, it can take an age to get through security here.”

Martin nodded. He held out a hand to Carolyn that she stepped round, pulling him into a hug. She stepped back, placed her hands firmly on his shoulders and looked him up and down.

She gave a sharp nod. “You’ll do.”

Before she had even stepped away Arthur dived in and wrapped himself tightly around his captain. He squeezed for a few seconds until Martin protested that he couldn’t breathe. He muttered an apology and stepped back. “Goodbye Skip,” he mumbled. “I’ll write.”

“Please do.” Martin smiled.

“My turn is it now, then?” Douglas purred.

Martin stepped into Douglas’s arms.

The world stopped turning.

Douglas had a sort of warmth that took his breath away. Suddenly he wasn’t in an airport about to leave his entire life behind, he was just in the arms of his closest companion.

He closed his eyes and inhaled Douglas’s scent, of tweed and fresh laundry and leather and just a slight lingering hint of cigarette smoke.

It suddenly occurred to him that he would have to let go.

His heart fell out of his chest and nestled somewhere in his intestines. His hands balled up in Douglas’s jacket and his eyes squeezed shut.

He never wanted to be anywhere other than this.

“Captain…”

Douglas’s voice roused him from his trance. He suddenly became aware of the uncomfortable amount of time that had passed since the hug commenced. He stumbled back out of the hug in a daze.

“Everything alright?”

“Yeah. Fine. Fine.” Martin took a breath. “Fine!” He reached for his bag. “I just… I should get going.”

“Well…” Douglas said, as Martin practically ran for the security gate. “That’s the Martin we all know and love. And there he goes.” He sighed and turned to Arthur. “I’ll buy you a hot chocolate before we head home?”

---

Martin floated through the airport.

He forgot until the last moment that he needed to take his shoes off for the scanner gate. He failed to take his mobile phone out of his pocket and so endured a pat-down by a rather threatening-looking chap with a gun. Once cleared, and having held up a queue of impatient holiday makers and business people, he found himself in the departure lounge staring at his hands.

Everything had changed.

He could feel Douglas’s jacket in his hands, his collarbone against his face, his chest against his own. His heart felt at once heavy and light, dreadful and fluttery. He imagined he could see the weave of Douglas’s tweed jacket etched into the palm of his hand.

His mind was scattered, flitting about in all directions. He was assaulted by memories of his first officer. His mannerisms, the intonation of his speech, the shape of his body beneath his uniform… He shook his head. This made no sense. They had worked together for more than six years, and he had never once thought of Douglas as… as anything, really.

He was strong and steady, a proper example of a firm British man. He was proud and unwavering, talented and arrogant, gentle in a certain light. Martin was… fond of him. He liked him. He enjoyed flying with him. He enjoyed being in his life. But never before had he felt anything that approached this… this thirst for him that he felt right now.

Was it all in that hug? They had never hugged before, why would they? Maybe if they had just put their arms around each other five years ago their whole lives would have changed…

But now… Now he was waiting to get on a plane to Zurich.

AO3

#Cabin Pressure #fanfiction #Douglas Richardson #Martin Crieff #Zurich #what a confusing tag for people who are just into swiss cities #Carolyn Knapp-Shappey #Arthur Shappey #MJN Air #still doing the thin #g

17 notes · View notes

prvtocol · 2 years

Text

𝓥𝓸𝓲𝓬𝓮

Brianne Landry

Ways to describe Bri’s manner of voice are mellifluous, posh, and with an accent like cut glass. Due to her upper class background and elite London education, she was primed to speak with what can be termed as “modern received pronunciation” or modern RP. It is often called “BBC English” or what is spoken by politicians. There is also no hint of a regional accent. This eliteness carries into her choice of words. She doesn’t shy away from using esoteric terminology regardless of who she is speaking to. She is incredibly reserved and never uses any swear words or slang (minus some British colloquialisms). She is also notably polite, going above and beyond the expectations of corporate etiquette in her manners. Her voice is gentle without any roughness around the edges. Beware, people have described her as loquacious. Voice claim: Marion Cotillard but make it British. Keeley Hawes in BBC’s The Bodyguard is very close to what I imagine her accent as; example

Vez Landry

Ways to describe Vez’s manner of voice is husky, a bit croaky and raspy like she had too many cigarettes, and with an unrelenting timbre that doesn’t quite strip it of its femininity. Her accent is unique to her education which was in both French and English at elite boarding schools and university in Paris. There are French overtones in some of her pronunciations but then there are also British ones with being around her father and sister. Her swearing is often in French, however. You will probably hear “putain” under her breath. Unlike Bri, she does not have a reserved politeness though she is careful to observe corporate etiquette when it comes to the chain of command. Beware, she doesn’t like to talk much and when she does, it’s curt and to the point. Voice claim: Eva Green in Franklyn (also her fc); example

#𝗙𝗜𝗟𝗘 :「 corpo life 」.#𝗣𝗥𝗢𝗙𝗜𝗟𝗘 :「 vez landry | headcanon 」.#𝗣𝗥𝗢𝗙𝗜𝗟𝗘 :「 brianne landry | headcanon 」.#𝗣𝗥𝗢𝗙𝗜𝗟𝗘 :「 headcanon 」.#⚘ ˚◞ headcanon ◞ 𝒾 𝓀𝑒𝑒𝓅 𝓂𝓎 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝒹 𝑜𝓃 𝒷𝒶𝒸𝓀𝓌𝒶𝓇𝒹𝓈 𝓉𝑜 𝒻𝒾𝓃𝒹 𝒶𝓃 𝒶𝓃𝓈𝓌𝑒𝓇.#⚘ ˚◞ headcanon ◞ 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝒶𝓋𝑒𝓈 𝓌𝑜𝓃’𝓉 𝒻𝑜𝓇𝑔𝒾𝓋𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊.

8 notes · View notes

floralfloyd · 3 years

Note

Hi! Can I ask you about something with David Gilmour? Like where Reader is bored and in a bad mood because it's been raining all day and David puts her back in a good mood. Thank you so much!

I do apologise that this has taken a bit to be completed, life got in the way but I was determined to get it finished. I hope you like it!

Drip! Drip! Drip! Raindrop after raindrop hit the clear surface before finding its path, joining others alike in a harmonious journey. Most days, the rain was mesmerising to Y/N but today was the third day of continuous rain. Typical British weather, eh?

A soft sigh left her cracked lips as she tugged at the wool blanket that draped over slumped shoulders, slumped in defeat of another day filled with drab weather. Summer days were long forgotten, and dreary autumn days were the norm.

The small London home was filled with the noise from the rain and the occasional passing car. Although the falling water was a pain to most as it soaked any who so much as challenged being in its presence, it also helped one seek solace and calm vibes as it pitter pattered down onto the awaiting target.

Y/N lifted the chipped porcelain cup between her dainty hands in an attempt to warm them up, the steam rose around her in plooms, almost like cigarette smoke clinging to the air desperately wanting to be noticed before it disappeared into an almost after thought. To anyone who glanced in through the window at the young girl, they would think she was relaxed but she was anything but. From the moment she had left her bed, the Y/H/C girl couldn’t help but be moody at every turn. She had almost broken the plate used for David’s breakfast as she placed it down on the hardwood table that sat in the tiny kitchen before rushing out the door to get the milk from the front door.

They say that it’s not good to get caught up in one’s thoughts for too long and that’s exactly what Y/N had done. There wasn’t much to do once all the housework was done and not to mention David was on Roger’s beck and call for studio time. It was as if she was just an after though to him in the past few days, only returning home for something to eat before setting off to goof around with his band mates. Not that she’d rather have been at the studio either. She hated the way Roger would boss everyone about while acting all high and mighty, like he owned the band. Kind of reminded her of Stevie Nicks, a first-class drama Queen.

Her thoughts were interrupted as two strong arms circled around her waist and a structured, almost God like face mad an appearance from behind.

“You seem in a world of your own, dear” his voice was soft, velvet like. His hands moved the cup to the nearby table before moving to sit behind Y/N, pulling her into his warm chest and keeping her close.

She nodded quietly before placing her head in the crook of his neck. It was amazing how the simplest of his touches could change her mood.

David’s stature made him look intimidating but behind closed doors he was truly a great big teddy bear. Something Y/N had taken advantage of right from the first date. The two had been dating for some time and hadn’t been sharing a home long but the young girl was glad to finally have some company, breaking her from the enspiraling thoughts that consumed her head.

As a man of few words, David took the nod as a hint for silence. He didn’t like watching his love fall into these moods, but the bad weather wasn’t exactly a great promoter for sunshine, smiles and rainbows.

His large hands interlocked with her dainty ones, something he knew brought great comfort to the young girl. He hadn’t believed in love at first sight until the first time he laid his blue eyes on the Y/E/C eyes of Y/N at the small market in Camden. The early May sunlight casting a glow around her figure and before he knew it, the male was stuck in a trance that he couldn’t break. A love so strong.

“What are you grinning at Cheshire cat?” her soft voice broke him from his own trance. He hadn’t even realised that a grin had edged its way onto his lips and a twinkle had appeared in the ocean blue eyes of his.

“Just remembering the day, we met. The way the sun wrapped around you, like an angel sent to save and protect me from all that is bad” a gentle kiss was placed upon her head as she snuggled further into his arms “Well, except Roger and his wrath. That’s something even God himself can’t save us all from” he said with a chuckle.

A gentle laugh left her pink lips as she glanced up at him. She remembered the day they met clear as day, she’d never forget the day she became so lucky.

It was as if her previous mood had been forgotten about as she sat laughing with him as he further poked on about Roger and his pushiness. Not to mention how weird Nick was becoming when it came to lunch. Apple pie without the crust? She’d need to remember that before she invited him and Linda round for dinner.

The rain outside continued to pour but it no longer mattered as Y/N found herself falling deeper in love with David Gilmour. With every word, ever small quirk of his and his gentle nature. There was no doubt that she looked like a love sick puppy because she knew deep down that no matter how many off days she had, they’d be outnumbered by happiness and beautiful memories made with the love of her life.

#david gilmour #david gilmour fanfiction #david gilmour x reader #pink floyd #Kays requests

25 notes · View notes

southparkxreader · 3 years

Text

title: home is where the heart is. pairings: christophe delorne x reader x gregory of yardale. tropes: mutual pining, always away for work, excited hellos and hesitant goodbyes. note: this probably turning into a series ? most likely. anyway, constructive feedback is always welcomed ! i will admit this is a little lackluster, but my first imagines always are on ( my ) blogs. feel free to send in requests after checking out my pinned post !

“ i can’t believe you’re already back ! “ it’s impossible to hide the excited giggle as the words are spoken, practically bouncing on the spot as you don’t hesitate to throw your body towards the two men. they were taller, so it was a little awkward as your arms were wrapped around the two of them and squished in the centre - but it doesn’t stop your spirits and still practically nuzzle in their sides, gregory stood there, usual charming grin planted on face as one arm wraps around you, squeezing your side; a complete opposite reaction to what christophe had, who offered a fake huff of annoyance at your attitude - though you knew him, knew him well enough that you can see the small ghost of a smile that pulled in the corner of his lips that hid behind the unlit cigarette “ i thought you guys weren’t meant to be back for a couple more months ! “

“ we weren’t, however we managed to finish the job and thought it would be a nice little surprise “ pressing a kiss at the top of your head, nose remaining buried in the crown of your hair as eyes slip shut. their work was mentally draining, it was nothing but destruction and death - which granted, is what he signed up for, it’s what he’s good at : both he and christophe were the best at the job which is why they together were always away and spread thin with how many people required their assistance, however it doesn’t make it any less draining. but knowing that he had you to come back to ? it always made it that little better “ it appears that was the right decision to make - “

“ oui, you’re like a little puppy “ voice deep, teasing, you don’t miss the faint coo behind the tone which causes your face to flare up red, a deep blush coating cheeks that had the french mans eyes gleaming at the reaction gained, which only eggs him “... loyal and waiting at home for the masters to return - now, if the puppy could let us in - “ you make a noise of embarrassment, elbowing the man in the stomach in retaliation at the comments made, it also made you painfully aware that the three of you were just stood in the middle of the hallway for the world to see - you briefly thank that exam season was closing in and most people were rushing by or locked up in their dorms, studying until their eyes hurt, completely oblivious to your existence and your friends.

“ i hope you know that i hate you - “ moving to the side to allow them into your flat, nose twisting up as christophe took your chin between his fingers - not missing the murmured, ‘of course you do’ under his breath as he passed by. the smile on your face doesn’t ease, back of your hand pressing against your mouth as to try and ease the pain in cheeks ( and to hide the growing redness on your face that made you look like a strawberry, it always annoyed you how easy it was for the pair to get under your skin. )

“ we weren’t interrupting anything, were we ? “ gregory hummed, seeing the revision sheets scattered over the floor: an organised mess only you can understand, even then you had moments of not understanding a thing that was going on “ i’d hate if we intruded on your studying “

“ no please interrupt, if i don’t get a break i’m going to have a breakdown - “ you look back at the two of them standing in the middle of the living room, watching the way christophes neck craned to the side as his back stretched, removing his shovel from its usual place on his back, you never understood how casually he carried that thing around, the looks gained was always something that amused you without fail. clicking the kettle to make them their favourite beverages : tea, one sugar. coffee, black and no sugar. you wished your memory was as good in classes as it was remembering the pairs favourite things.

“ you better be lookin’ after yourself “ the way christophe spoke always sounded like an underling threat, “ you are, aren’t you ? “ his eyes are dark, a protective light to them that had you almost hypnotised on the spot - how you managed to get him, of all people, to give a shit about you always made you a little winded. christophe and gregory are so intense in everything they do, with every emotion they felt : the way they care was no different.

you opt to busying yourself as you pull out three cups from the upper cupboards, trying to act as if the intense stare didn’t make you waver on the spot, smile falling a little as your eyebrows crease together. there’s no point lying to them, they’ll call you out eventually “ as well as i can be “ now making the beverages, peaking up as you see christophe and gregory sit opposite you on the counter “ i’m just trying to get through this year at this point. i might have to add another year, but forget about me - “ sliding their respective cups across “ how was the trip ? “ you know they can’t say much regarding their work, despite how much you’ve pressed in the past - but you knew it was... less than legal. the less you know the safer you are, they had once said when you were still in the early days of knowing them, you knew to read the room and move on : to understand that their life was chaotic and violent, had seen enough that would bring the modern day man on the streets to his knees. you’re just happy that they trust you enough to stick around to even hint what they do, you’re happy just to provide them a safe place to return to.

“ i went to this charming little art museum when the moment allowed it, you would’ve loved it, ( y/n ) - “ “ more proof that ‘zis british bitch is a pussy, every time you talk i realise there’s no dick between your legs - “ “ do you think about whats between my legs a lot, dear christophe ? “

it was then all chaos broke out, them arguing between themselves in between sharing information about what they saw, you trying and failing to hold in the laughter over the rapid fire insults that was shared between the two men, you have no idea how long you were stood there and they were sat, speaking about nothing and everything, joking and biting insults that were filled with nothing but love but still with the intention to get it under the others skin. though just like always, the burning question of how long they’ll stay this time is in the back of your mind. you wished they stuck around, that their work didn’t drag them across the world for months, sometimes years at a time - but you never let them vocally know, and if they can see the way your face falls when they say they’re back in town for only a few days, they don’t mention it. you love them, and they loved you just as much : which is why none of you dared to confirm the emotions in the air, dare not make the roots already growing that much stronger. their lives were unpredictable and you couldn’t handle a world such as theirs, you didn’t deserve to be introduced to what their normal lives were for what they’d call selfish reasons. right now, they had you to come home to, and that was enough.

#christophe delorne x reader #gregory of yardale x reader #south park x reader #south park imagines #southparkxreader

109 notes · View notes