#<—THIS HAS BEEN IN MY DRAFTS FOR LIKE MONTHS

[leclercss]

Paris, je t'aime (Charles Leclerc), Part 3

Masterlist

plot: it's almost three years since your tumultuous relationships with Lewis and Charles came crashing down. but you find your self in a new city with new beginnings and new ways to fuck up your love life. that's no thanks to a cheeky frenchman who's set you up on a double date with someone oh so familiar.

pairings: charles leclerc x fem!reader

warnings: (+18) mentions of smut, cheating, violence and some swearing

authors note: part trois, enjoy. i literally wrote this and accidentally deleted my draft. fml. this chapter is going to focus on Charles' perspective of the break up. it may explain a lot of his feelings, i hope you enjoy

word count: 5.2k

taglist: @toppersjeep @janeholt3, @princess-siba, @nichmeddar, @tremendousandsonorouswords, @cmleitora, @victoriaholland, @amalialeclerc, @queensofshinigamis, @tempo-rary-fix, @starmanv, @happylittlereader, @trouble-sistar, @lightdragonrayne, @persephonemv1, @dreamingofautopia

'I’m so grateful that I got the chance to see you again.

Amour xxx ’

Charles has reread this part of the note at least 20 times already. His emotions have been conflicted every since he woke to the emptiness of your side of the bed this morning. Well, it wasn't really your side, just where you slept last night. Or for however long you were there for before you decided to flee. When he rolled over this morning, expecting his arm to wrap around your soft skin, all he felt was nothingness before his arm fell onto the mattress below him. Confused, he opened his eyes to see that you had gone and all that remained was the faint smell of your perfume and a small note.

He immediately grabbed it and was expecting the worst. Had you regretted seeing him again and took the first opportunity to flee? Because you had tried to leave a couple of times yesterday but only for Charles' resistance and pleas, you would have left. And Charles was unsure if you would ever want to see him again.

Could he blame you though ? I mean, he was a total asshole to you last night. If he was being honest to himself, some part of Charles enjoyed being an asshole towards you yesterday. After everything you had put him through three years ago, you deserved to feel some sort of pain or embarrassment. You had left him for a shitty husband, after all. A man who had cheated on you so many times and only seemed to care for your existence when he felt threatened. Which was what your husband had felt when it came you and Charles because at one point in time, you and Charles had loved each other. The two of you were in deep and when things finally felt like they had a chance for the two of you, you threw it back in Charles' face and decided to move away (more like run away in Charles' eyes) to New York with ... fuck, he even hated the thought of his name after all of this time ... Lewis.

The thought of him made Charles' blood boil to this day. He had only ever come across Lewis twice in person but that smug face remained imprinted in his mind. And at night, as he lay alone, Charles' thoughts often drifted to that dinner at Nusr Et where you were celebrating your birthday with Lewis. Unknowingly, Charles and his friends were also having dinner there that night.

Because fate had a funny way of working, the two of you were occupying two tables beside each other and Charles now found himself just two metres away from your husband and he couldn't hide the horror he was feeling. And neither could you, because you went into some weird silent state of panic.

Confused, Lewis had tried to comfort you but couldn't miss the theatrics that were happening on the tables opposite of him. Lewis just had to take one look at you and he understood that Charles, this stranger on the table beside you, was your lover. To everyone else, you hid it behind some heavy champagne drinking that had now taken over your body, but to Lewis it was all of the confirmation he needed. After months of trying to win you back, he had finally found the man who was occupying half of his wife's heart. Unable to have you to himself any more, Lewis decided that he was going to destroy Charles in a shameful display of arrogance, dick-swinging and lust.

In the moment, it had worked. Charles' was humiliated but he wasn't going to give up on you that easily. Lewis couldn't get away with his behaviour any longer, Charles thought. But then he did because one day you had come over to Charles' flat and your ring was no longer on your finger and to Charles, it meant that you were finally single. The two of you could finally be together and he could finally make love to you knowing that you were free from the restraints of your marriage.

But after you had had sex, Charles started talking about the next stage of your lives together. After all, it only felt natural now that you had broken up with Lewis. But you hadn't, he was moving to New York. And so were you...

Lewis and New York had sealed the fate in yours and Charles relationship. It was over, done. He was angry, traumatised, confused but most of all, he was heart broken.

He tried to hate you and at some point, he was sure that his efforts had paid off. Eventually the hatred had become exhausting, or at least trying to hate you was exhausting. After you had left, Charles felt that everything in London had reminded him of you and so he took the opportunity to flee. He had moved back to Monaco for a while, hoping that being at home somewhat healed him. It didn't. Monaco was more relaxing than London and it gave him more time to think, to think about you. He needed somewhere busy. He'd always wanted to move to New York but now, fuck that place.

One day, he reconnected with a childhood friend, Pierre, who was now living in Paris and thought that Paris would be busy enough to occupy his life and his mind. He never told Pierre why he was so open to move. Just that Monaco was a little quiet for a single man in his mid-twenties. So off to Paris and for Charles it occupied his mind, at least for a while. He kept himself busy with work and girls but none of them healed him deep down. No matter what he did, he always thought of you and he always thought about how you were living your life in New York.

Were you happy? How did you get used to living and working in the States? Did you miss home? Did you have babies yet? Were you still married? How was it so easy for you to leave Charles? Did you just use him to get back at your husband? Did you ever really love him? Did you ever even think about him? Even a little? Did you still love him like he knew he loved you?

He had so many questions to ask and none of them had been answered, until now. The funny thing was, despite it being Charles' truth for the last three years, you had never went to New York. And you were now divorced from Lewis.

Charles’ eyes drift back to the note and his anxiety about you not wanting to see him again after all this time had disappeared. You had said that you were happy to see him. His heart fluttered when he saw that five letter word, “Amour”. It clearly still meant something to you and it still meant something to Charles. You were his only Amour.

Feeling tired, Charles shuts his eyes and he realises that you were right. You both needed some time to clear your heads because this situation was fucked up. And while his body felted exhausted from the events of last night, he couldn’t help but chuckle to himself.

Fate was a funny thing and it had somehow brought you back into each other’s lives. As much as he complained about him, Charles was grateful for Pierre. For months Pierre had been harassing Charles to go on dates but Charles, who was much more into just straight fucking than romance these days, was hesitant. He still wasn’t over you and knew that deep down he’d compare every woman to you, despite the two of you having a fucked up relationship.

However, Pierre wasn’t a man to take no as an answer. He was convinced he was the modern day Cupid after all. If taking each of your girlfriends to a PSG match as your first date made you the god of romance, Charles was fine to let Pierre have that title.

But Pierre was like a dog with a bone, he wasn’t letting the one go. He was going to help Charles, who one night drunkenly confused that the only reason he was single was because one woman broke his heart, move on with his life. And there was no better person for him to get over you with than … you.

Pierre had exhausted many opportunities when it came to setting Charles up on a date. From Kika’s model friends, to setting up a Tinder account on Charles’ behalf, to taking him out to clubs. Nothing did the trick. Charles was hopeless.

But then Pierre, god of romance reborn, knew of the perfect person to set Charles up with.

“Charlie, I promise you’ll love her. She’s just as tragic as you are,” Pierre boasted like it was a good thing to be this bad at love.

“You’re really selling the dream here, Pierre,” Charles grunted, at the time he was too busy being preoccupied by FIFA to take Pierre’s proposition seriously.

“No, I’m serious. She’s moved here about six months ago from abroad. She’s divorced and thirty so what’s more tragic than that?”

Christ, Pierre really knew how to find these girls.

“She’s got the best tits, ask Kika. And… oh…. Wait a minute. She lived in London the same time that you did. Maybe you know her?”

Charles grunted once more. “Pierre, ten million people live in London. There’s no fucking chance I know her”.

“Alright, alright,” Pierre protested. “But I’m serious, bro. She’s fucking awesome, she’s just had a hard time at love.”

Feeling a little guilty, Charles conceded.

“Fine! I’ll go on a date with her,” Charles sighed. “But I’m not going on a blind date. Show me a picture so I can confirm she’s at hot as you say she is”.

With smirk like a Cheshire Cat spread across his face, Pierre tossed his phone to Charles.

“Here you go, lover boy”.

With Charles’ expectations at an all time low, he grabbed Pierre’s phone and looked at the picture on the screen.

Oh.

My.

God.

He wants to rub his eyes so he’s sure not seeing things but Pierre already thinks he’s weird enough as it is. It’s..

“Hot, right?”

Charles can barely get his words out, instead he just offers a nod.

“I… what’s… what’s her name?”

“[Y/N]”.

And as soon as the date was set and he knew that he was finally going to lay eyes on you after all of this time, he thought about how he was going to approach your date.

After quizzing Pierre as much as he could about you without raising too much suspicion, Charles felt like he held all of the cards. He had found out that you were divorced, had been in Paris for six months and were basically a mess when it came to your love life.

He’d tried to find out more about your life in New York that led to your divorce but apparently you didn’t want to talk about it that much. And when Charles asked Kika, who he was sure would spill the beans, she gave him nothing.

“She knows nothing about you so I’m not giving you any more details, okay? I’m already pissed that Pierre showed you her picture. It was supposed to be a blind date”.

Charles would cut his losses. But he had found out the important thing that you were divorced from Lewis. A petty part or him was gleeful. You’d have your tail between your legs now. Breaking Charles’ heart didn’t pay off and he wasn’t going to let you forget it.

And as your date rolled around, Charles put a plan into motion.

Step 1: Look hot as fuck ✅

Step 2: Turn up to the restaurant fifteen minutes later than planned. He wanted you nervous and off your guard. If he was going to control the evening, he needed you on edge ✅

Step 3: Try not to fall in love with you all over again as soon as he sees you …

Skipping straight to Step 4: Act as calm and collected as possible. Lead the conversation and if possible, convince her to leave the restaurant to come back to Charles’ for a “deeper chat” ✅

Step 5: Casually ask her about New York and hope that she regrets ever leaving him.

Well, the first part of Step 5 was executed. Everything after that was an utter shit show. Because you pulled an UNO reverse card on his sorry ass and now he couldn’t think straight.

The last three years of his life were a lie. And he didn’t know how to compute it all.

And he lays there in his bed, eyes still closed, he begins to feel guilty about how he spoke to you. How he taunted you about your divorce with Lewis and how your love life had been so pathetic that Pierre and Kika had to hold some sort of intervention. It’s funny, because they’d done the same to him. And maybe that’s what made him act at you so much. Because despite spending three years trying to hate you, you were in the same position as he was. And maybe that meant he hated himself too?

He didn’t have time to analyse that because clearly you weren’t here to tolerate bullshit any more. Your marriage had clearly fed you enough bullshit that you had reached your capacity and were ready to call out anyone who wasn’t treating you properly.

Feeling vulnerable, wounded and not ready for you to walk out of his life again just as you had come back into it, Charles threw one last Hail Mary to catch your attention, he was going to hit you were it hurt.

“Sorry, baby thought you were into men who treated you like shit”.

He wasn’t sure what hurt more. The slap you had given him or the look in your eyes. Broken, horrified. Charles had done that to you, just like you had done to him.

Maybe you were even now. It was petty for him to try and even keep score but Charles felt some sort of closure. He had made you feel just some of the pain that you had given him. And for what? Was it even worth it? Because, as you caressed his face to heal him, you had told Charles about how your life never went as he had believed or expected. Instead, your life was totally different.

And while he was saddened that you had never reached out to build some sort of amends, he was thankful that you didn’t settle into your job and life in the States and that you and Lewis didn’t in fact stay married and have lots of babies.

No, you grown up and even after all this time, you still cared about him.

Some, not all, of the wounds were beginning to heal and he couldn’t help but look at you like he was in love you with again. Because maybe a part of him still was. He just had to look at you for one second back at the restaurant in that peach dress for you to have his heart beating the same way it did the night that you had first met.

You had spent some time talking before the air in the room began to change. Charles was pretty sure it was him that initiated it but the two of you found yourselves in a soft and gentle kiss which only escalated within a matter of time.

Soon, he had pulled you onto his lap and your hands ran all over his body. Charles mentally patted himself on the back for not letting his appearance go because you were hot and bothered as your fingers traced over his skin. Him too feeling hot and bothered, Charles did his very best to get as much of your body out your dress as possible. He had kindly reminded you on a few occasions that the dress you were wearing was meant to get you laid that night.

And he planned on being the guy who was going to do that for you.

Soon, he was sucking on your nipples and every part of your exposed skin could find.

Fuck, he was getting hard underneath you. No wait, was he just hard now as he lay in bed, thinking about last night? Nope. It was both. He was hard last night and he’s been even harder now.

Because last night he had the chance to fondle with you, slip his fingers into your panties before teasing your clit. Where as now, all he has is his own hand to please himself. It’ll have to do because his dick is almost throbbing at the sound of your moans in his ears.

“Fuck Charles,” you gasped. Your voice sends tingles down his spine just it like it used to.

His eyes still closed, Charles runs his hand up and down his shaft. Shit, he wishes it was you that had their hand wrapped around his dick but his own is doing the job and he has to bite down on his lip to stop himself from moaning.

“Oh, Charles,” there you go again, moaning in his ear as he slips his fingers into you, your breasts bouncing in his face and latches onto your nipples once more. You’re so sensitive that your squeal has Charles’ cock twitching.

Holy shit, the thought of you is having him close to cumming already. His hand is moving faster against his dick and he gently thrusts up into it and in his memory, he thrusts his fingers up further inside of you. But this time you don’t pull yourself off of him, in his mind and in his fantasy, you begin to ride against his fingers.

Moans pour out of your mouth as you tell him how much you’ve missed him and how you want to cum so badly.

“Cum for me, amour,” he tells you as you moan at the sound of him calling you amour once more.

You’re close, the movements in your hip falter and Charles too feels that the cock in his hand as almost at its peak.

“Please, Charles. Fuck!”

“Charles, I’ve missed this,” you moan. And after one last big thrust, you cum undone on his fingers.

“Fuck!” Charles grown and he soon opens his eyes as he finishes himself off. His cum soon spills onto his lower abdomen.

Shit.

That felt good.

As his finally starts to catch his breath, Charles rests his head back on the pillow. All it took for him to fall for you again was one disastrous blind date. You have him hooked.

Ready to go to the bathroom to wash away his cum and his busy thoughts, Charles hears his phone buzz.

Grabbing it, he smiles around the phone.

‘Pierre: Charlie, I haven’t heard from you. How did it go? Did you…”

Charles chuckles and pauses before he responds.

‘Mate, I owe you. I think I’m in love with her already’.

[rustedhearts]

always (boxer!steve x fem!librarian reader)

summary: set after the events of the incident and send her my love, you meet steve in your hometown to catch up after three months apart. has he done the work like he said he has, or is steve’s nature irreversible?

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

✶ the king of the ring (1993) ✶ the library ✶ the record store

tags: fluff, a dash of angst, a lot of comfort!, this literally has been in my drafts since the dawn of time so i’m sorry for the cheesy ending, i just wanted it out!

"what i'd give to run my fingers through your hair, to touch your lips, to hold you near—when you say your prayers, try to understand: i've made mistakes, i'm just a man."

— always, bon jovi

hawkins, indiana. march 1993.

Your luggage sat unzipped and dumped full of clothes, purses folded to fit and closet frantically thrown apart when the phone rang. Your letter wasn't even three days out, barely filling space in the mailbox of your lover before it had been torn open and consumed greedily—and while you were preparing for a trip of your own, Steve insisted he be the one to travel.

So, when you plucked the phone from the cradle on your nightstand, sinking breathlessly onto the edge of the bed for a beat, you were surprised to find his voice on the other line.

"Don't come to California," he rasped into the phone, just as out of air as you. "I'm coming to you."

Mouth parting, you felt your insides tug and lurch at the familiar sound of his syllables. "W-what? Steve?"

"I got your letter, baby. I'm coming to you, don't go anywhere." A beat followed, and while you found your breath and racked your brain for a response, Steve returned to the line. "Please."

Chest blooming with new beats, you let a smile overtake your face and reveled in the way your hands began to shake. "Okay. I'm not going anywhere."

And though he insisted on coming to you, you kept your things neatly packed in your suitcase in the closet. You never made your bed, and you had your favorite pair of slip-on shoes ready near the door. You wouldn't be traveling to Steve right now, but you knew you'd be returning home soon.

✶ ✶

The nicest restaurant Hawkins had to offer was Enzo's, a little Italian place next to a shoe store slowly going out of business. It was the only place in the entire town that required a reservation, and Steve promised to take care of all of it. You wrangled your friends and took a trip to the mall, coming away with a hot chocolate with extra whipped cream and a new, sleek black dress. You hung it on the back of your closet door and waited giddily for Steve's return to town.

It felt like ages since you'd been here together, and it felt strange to remember that this was where both of you have grown up and lived your lives before all the fame. Life in Hawkins had become so separate to Steve over the past few months. You had the library, your friends, your family, and what you didn't tell Steve: an application to the University of Indianapolis for the autumn. It was crumpled and weeks old, and absent of pen markings where needed—but you had it.

But now that Steve was returning, you remembered all those cool days spent on the back of his motorcycle, ripping through town. Visiting the old gym at the edge of town that always smelled like burnt tires, sharing chocolate milkshakes on the way home at the same diner you had your first date at. Afternoons in his old, dingy, first floor apartment with the mold in the bathroom ceiling and the green carpet that reminded you of your grandparents' house. Early mornings in the full-sized bed, comparing hands sizes and finding shapes in streaks of sunlight across the foot of the bed.

Steve told you he loved you for the first time in that bed. Reclined on his side, head resting in his hand, watching you scrub at your teeth with a foamy toothbrush through the open doorway, pulling your hair back to spit it into the sink. Dressed in only his sweatshirt, feet bare and toes frozen in the winter weather and an apartment with a broken radiator. When you spun around to return to bed, he confessed. You aren't sure you ever ended up leaving bed that day.

For some reason, as you breezed into the jazz-filled restaurant in your brand new dress, all dolled up and pretty, you could only remember those beginnings. The nervous hand skitters, the back knuckle kisses, the hours spent between your thighs, the hope for the future. You suddenly realized how young you were back then. Just kids, holding out on life working out in your favor.

Steve was seated when you arrived: a round little table in the center of the restaurant. Brown slacks, crisp white shirt, no tie. A silver ring gleamed on his left forefinger, a plain but handsome signet. You bought it for him last Christmas. And as you inched closer, guided by the hostess, the wavering amber candlelight gave way to something else—something new.

A patch of dark hair shadowed over his upper lip.

It curled into the shape of his smile at the sight of you heading his way. The wooden chair beneath him groaned with the relief of weight when he leapt to his feet, hands smoothing down his folded cuffs. You came to a stop at the end of the table, and as the hostess lingered to ask for your drink orders, you found yourself lost in that handsome, hairy smile.

"Hi," he breathed.

A giggle hiccuped from your mouth. "Hi."

Steve was quick to make his rounds to your side of the table, pulling the chair back. You sank down, head tipped back to watch as he pushed you in. His grin broadened with the weight of your eyes on him, following him the whole way back to his seat. Once seated, he inhaled deeply, taking a moment to gaze at your face.

"May I get you something to drink?"

You blurted something out when the hostess's eyes slid to you. You couldn't quite remember when you thought back on it a moment later—too lost in the sight of Steve's hazel eyes grazing over you. When the hostess disappeared, you both seemed to jump.

"You look—"

"You're so—"

The pair of you stopped, words tumbling into each other. Heat flooded your face and Steve chuckled, spinning the band around his finger with his thumb on the tabletop.

"You go," you insisted.

"I was just going to say...you look so beautiful."

More heat settled in your face, though you'd heard it from him a thousand times before. You shifted in your seat, tugging at the end of your dress.

"Thank you. I was going to tell you how handsome you looked, too."

Redness swelled in Steve’s cheeks, rounded with another smile. You’d never seen him show his excitement so blatantly, and something about it now made your insides flutter. He was so happy to see you, and that made you gooey and soft.

When the drinks were set down and the entrees had been ordered, you pressed your lips into a smile and tipped your head at Steve.

“I’ve never seen you with a mustache.”

His fingers immediately swept over the hair on his lip, eyes ducking toward his Coke. “Oh, yeah. Do you-did you-is it alright?”

Eyes softening, you brushed your foot against his under the table. “More than alright. It’s very handsome, Steve.”

His gratitude waned to bashful, eyes returning to the white tablecloth. You leaned forward and took a sip of your water through the plastic straw, welcoming the cool feeling in your mouth. Heat gathered and festered in your body like the surface of the sun. The new fabric of your dress started to itch around your back. You hadn't been this nervous around Steve since your first date.

"How was the flight here?" you tried, placing your eyes on him again.

You couldn't believe how dashing he looked. The mustache somehow softened him. Or maybe it was that lopsided, sideways grin that gushed boyish charm. Either way, your heart couldn't stop hammering.

"Oh, it-it was fine. Paparazzi bullshi—I mean…paparazzi mess in the airport,” Steve stuttered, wiping a hand over his eyes when his usual profanity slipped through.

He was trying so hard to be good—to be better. You wished he would realize that cutting back on profanity wouldn’t alter what needed to be fixed. But if it helped him get there, you wouldn’t protest. You just sort of liked how those crude words rounded at the edges when they came from his mouth. Like swallowing a pill for some, but gulping water for him. Easy, digestible, almost reflex. He made the grotesque seem wonderful.

But that was part of the problem, wasn’t it? For you, anyhow.

“Oh, I’m sorry. We should be safe from all that here, though.”

Steve nodded, hands wringing in his lap. “Yeah…m’ not worried about it.”

A flicker of a smile flittered over your face. “Okay.”

You turned to the tablecloth then, the chair beneath you feeling weightless. Like at any moment, you could blow away in the wind. It was still hard to feel steady around Steve. He watched from across the table as you traced a run in the linen. He thought you were glowing.

“How’s Nick? And your parents, how are they?” he asked when the quiet pause surpassed comfortability.

“Nick is…at the age where all he wants to do is go off and do things. He’s getting restless, I think. And Mom is good, um, wants to redo the living room. She thinks it’s too outdated now, but…I like holding onto the 80s.”

Steve’s dark mustache curled with another smile. “Yeah, you always liked old stuff. Or ‘vintage’ as you call it.”

"The 80s are not vintage, Steve, they were only 4 years ago," you giggled.

Steve forgot just how wonderful his name sounded in the soft octave and lovely frequencies of your voice. So particular, how your tongue tapped your teeth against the 't,' and how you sort of grinned around the syllables with ease. He swallowed just at the sound of it.

"Oh, sorry, sorry." He was teasing. It'd been so long since he teased.

Another momentary quiet lulled over the table as the shared laughter fizzled out. You glanced around the restaurant a moment. Most other tables were coupled with middle-aged pairs, clinking wine glasses and holding hands against dinner plates, or gazing at their own menus and sitting as far apart as possible, ignoring the other person like a bad habit. A younger couple, late teens at best, sat at the far end near the restrooms. It must've been their first "fancy" dinner. He whispered in her ear and she looked straight at your table, hand covering her mouth.

"Have you spoken to Eddie?" A swift conversation needed to be found, though you weren't sure this was the best course to go down.

Steve, however, just shook his head down at his empty bread plate. You slipped one from the clothed basket to pluck at mindlessly to fill your fidgeting hands. They needed something to do.

"Uh...no. No, I...I haven't." He was too embarrassed to reach out knowing how he behaved. "Have you?"

You nodded. "Um, yeah, sometimes. When Stella calls, I'll say hello."

Steve's smile was small, a little wary. "I'm glad you two are becoming such good friends."

"Oh, well...she's a movie star, I'm just..." You shrugged.

The edges of Steve's mouth embedded downward, brows pinched together. "Just what?"

Heat swelled in your cheeks and under your jaw. You felt sore with visibility. "Just...I don't know—it doesn't matter. M' not much, is all. I'm certainly not a glamorous actress."

Steve leaned forward on his forearms, eyes swampy and sincere under scrunched brows. "Hey. You're everything, angel. Everything."

The sun, the moon, the stars, the cosmos and everything beyond—you were everything to him. He meant that with every fiber of his being.

And you could see that in those eyes, watching you through the glow of candlelight, waiting to recognize an understanding in your own.

You let a smile overtake your face, bashful and pretty. "Thank you, Steve."

In the next wait, you watched him reach to rub at his temples, only to yank his hands away and busy them with something else. You watched for a few painful moments before pulling your purse around the post of your chair and into your lap, snicking the zipper open to reach inside. Your pill case, a tiny metal container with a floral top, still held all the Steve-approved pain pills of the olden days. You pulled out two and set them on the table.

Steve's eyes slid to the tablets quietly. Then your hands, pushing the container rattling with medicated contents back into your purse. Even after all this time.

As his fingers came to retrieve the pills, he caught your eye. You smiled at him. Sweet and loving and kind. He smiled back, a flash of white teeth with sharp canines. It crinkled his eyes with the faintest crow's feet. You longed to reach out and touch them, feel his warm flesh beneath your fingertips.

"Thank you," he whispered into the rim of his water glass.

You pinched the straw of your Coke. "Of course."

Unable to stomach another small silence, you leaned forward with urgency before it could come, looking to Steve with pleading eyes. "Can we drop the formalities and niceties, Steve? I mean...we know each other too well for it. Let's just...pick up from where we left off."

Steve inhaled sharply, a little pained. "Not...right where we left off."

You nodded, extending your hand for him to take over the table. He did so eagerly, fingers sliding into your smaller palm until they pressed against your wrist. "Then, we'll pick up in the middle of it."

Steve rubbed his fingers over your skin, feeling the ridges and valleys of your veins and bones.

"In the middle of it," he affirmed.

His touch tickled, and another giggle burst forth when tingles sparked down your spine.

He eased forward again, mischief in his eye. "Did I tell you how good you smelled? S' my favorite, isn't it?"

You tipped your head, bashful grin coiling at the corner of your mouth. It made Steve's breath catch in his throat, the frayed edge of his nerves feel like they were on fire.

"How'd you know?"

Steve swallowed, tracing a tiny circle on the back of your hand with his index finger.

"I missed that smell," he admitted.

His written words from the past few months rang through your head. "The paper smelled like you this time. You don't know how badly I've missed that smell. I sort of feel like a hound-dog, tracing for more of it in the ink."

It was your nerves that felt afire this time. You flipped your hand to lie flat and engulfed Steve's atop the white linen cloth. The movement bumped the candle in the center of the table, and the flicker wobbled over the edge of Steve's face with a gentle, orange glow.

You wanted to feel his lips. You wanted to feel the strength of his hands on your face again. Petting you, touching you, feeling you. If there was one thing you missed, it was Steve's touch. The sheer size of his presence around you. How his warmth rang through every inch of your being and every corner of the room when you were together.

"I loved your letters," you declared, the thought of his words still poking at your thoughts.

Steve inhaled. "Really?"

"You were quite...poetic."

Steve snickered, scratching at the silver scar on his brow with his free hand.

"God," he hissed, shaking his head with a grimace. His eyes fell to the candle before slowly bouncing their way to your chin. Suddenly, he couldn't meet your eye. "But you...you really liked them?"

You placed your other hand atop the ones intertwined on the table. The look in your eye appeared sincere—genuine fondness.

"Adored."

Steve exhaled, lips parting in preparation to utter some other murmur of adoration—but then the waitress was suddenly standing at your table, holding two steaming dishes. Steve's eyes found her first, narrowing in disappointment at the interruption. He pulled back from the candlelight where he was crowding to get close to you. Your arm inched backward, heading for your lap but stopped by Steve's grip on your fingers.

You met his eye over the waitress's arm, fingers clinging to each other by the first knuckles. He didn't want to let go. So you stayed.

The fog of Steve's presence must've interrupted your train of thought, because you didn't remember ordering the meal that sat in front of you. But you picked up your fork with your free hand and sank into it anyway, buzzing with giddiness and too lovestruck to care.

It felt like everything in your body and your mind had been windswept by the current predicament. All you could think of were Steve's eyes across the table, and his fingers against your own.

You were four bites and two Coke sips in when Steve spoke again.

"Are you coming home?”

Your eyes traced the distance between the condensation dripping down your glass to the roundness of Steve’s eyes in no time. He took his lip between his teeth and gnawed it, hand off his plate to fall into his lap. You sat back, swallowing the bite of food in your mouth that suddenly grew in size. It scraped your stomach going down.

“Um…”

The table rattled with the incessant bounce of Steve’s knee beneath it.

“I want to,” you said. “I just…don’t want to go back as if nothing happened, Steve.”

He let go of his lip, ringed finger scratching at his scar again. “No, yeah. Yeah, makes sense.”

The scrape of utensils and clink of dishes filled another silence. You took another bite of your dinner. Steve gulped down half his water and tapped his finger on the table. He wished he hadn’t left his Marlboros in his jacket pocket at the coat check.

“What if…”

You looked his way again, fork prongs between your lips. He poked at his steak. The finger curled around yours felt clammy and tight.

“What if you came to New York with me? I have a fight next weekend in the Garden. You could…come for a few days…we could have a do-over.”

You swallowed. The last time you were in New York together, things hadn’t gone well. It was the first time he left a mark. The first time you broke things off and left for home.

“Um…”

Steve had never heard you say um this many times in all the years he’d known you.

“I never got to take you to Tiffany’s,” he said, clearing his throat when your eyes cut his way in surprise. His cheeks were a lovely shade of rose again. “A-and that…that cowboy guy you like—“

“Ralph Lauren.” Your lips pressed into a smile.

“Yeah. Yeah, uh…we could go there. Anywhere.”

Just come with me, he wanted to say. Please.

But Steve didn’t have to say it. You could see it in his eyes, hazels all round under a set of cinched brows. Like a kitten waiting for milk. A dog sitting for a bone.

“You don’t have to buy me,” you added, just for one last second of strength.

It all went out the window the moment you laid eyes on him.

“I know. I just…wanna show you that I’m here. I’m here, and…I’ll be better.”

You sighed, hand reaching up to fondle the locket that you forgot wasn’t there. The Christmas present from Steve that you tucked away in your jewelry box months ago. The token of a love you were certain was still there.

“I’ll think about it,” you told him.

And Steve smiled, and went back to his dinner with faith. Faith that you would return to him, like they all knew you would.

Your ticket to New York City was booked the next day. Signed, sealed, and delivered with a kiss from one handsome boxer Steve.

[thebarontheabyss]

Hello, everyone. This one is quite lengthy, so feel free to skip it, but I feel the need to put it out there.

The next update is scheduled for the end of May, a deadline I can definitely meet ❤️

Anyway…

I've been writing this draft for months now, unsure what to say or how to say it, but I’m so tired at this point I’m just going to word vomit everything.

I live in Israel, an apartheid state that is committing a genocide against the Palestinian people. Having this opinion around here brands you as a traitor and puts you in direct opposition with 95% of the Jewish population. Especially in the past year, it can make you feel incredibly isolated. Being a leftist around here is kind of like being back in the closet for me.

I always knew something is wrong about this place, and so I refused to join the IDF when I was 20 (Just said i’ll kill myself if enlisted lol) But seriously, I was, and still am, ashamed of my roots and didn’t know how exactly to talk about it here.

Although my platform is extremely small, I still want to speak out and say that there are people in Israel who are not genocidal freaks, although we are a tiny minority.

In recent years, I’ve been trying to get another citizenship so I can move, but the process is long and expensive. I also lost my job half a year ago, which has made this even more difficult to achieve. In the beginning, working on the game really helped, but I eventually sank deeper into depression that I’m currently fighting against.

"The Bar on the Abyss" has been a source of solace and expression for me. In a way, this game is my way of processing and coping with the reality I live in. Although it provides an escape, sometimes real life breaks through the dam you create and floods you.

But my situation is nothing compared to the people of Gaza right now. Although it's extremely difficult to oppose the occupation from the inside, there are organizations that are working towards this goal. For instance, I support the ISA branch in Israel, which does great work.

I also reblogged a donation post today if anyone had the money and wants to help ❤️

Anyway, that’s it. I'm feeling really sad and exhausted, and I felt really guilty for a long time by not speaking about this.

I’m trying to cope with this reality, hope I can leave as soon as possible, and more importantly, I hope for the end to the occupation and the genocide.

Stay safe.

[aropride]

a while ago i was really high and i had a thought that made so much sense at the time and i was like "man i can't write all that down right now but i'll write something that will jog my memory so i can explain it when im sober" so i wrote a quick phrase down in my tumblr drafts

it has been a month and i still have no clue what i meant by this. hentai used to be rock and roll.........

[notinmyvocab]

Swing Set

This has been sitting in my drafts for months. I'm probably never going to finish it so here ya go!

Your partner wants to try something new. Your not entirely thrilled. Olivia Benson is undercover the same night.

Olivia Benson x fem!reader, takes place during 12x19

The smell of the place made your head hurt. Too many perfumes mixed together, trying in vain to cover the scent of sex.

This was supposed to be exciting. And at first it was fun. Getting ready had been fun. Actually spending time on your hair, and using glittery makeup that you don't get to wear to work, and a fun outfit. Maybe if you had gone to a regular club, you would be having fun.

Instead, you were here, sitting in the corner while your partner was... you didn't know where. Surprisingly, you weren't jealous. This was what they wanted, and knowing that they were happy did actually make you happy.

That didn't mean it didn't hurt.

Apparently you weren't enough. Apparently you weren't exciting.

Okay, maybe you were jealous.

You downed the last of your club soda and went to get a refill. Alcohol would've soothed your soul, but the last thing you wanted was to be out of it in an unfamiliar place with unfamiliar faces because your one familiar face was nowhere to be found.

"Club soda."

You weren't the one who placed the order. It was a woman taller than you in a leopard print sleeveless dress. She was... different. There was an air of uncertainty around her, but it was misplaced. It seemed almost fake, very unlike your own uncertainty.

"Same," you told the bartender.

As he turned to grab two glasses, you glanced over to the woman when you felt her eyes on you. Was she checking you out? No, the look was a touch more inquisitive.

"First time?" you asked as the bartender handed over both of your sodas.

"That obvious?" she chuckled. She took the slice of lime from the rim of the glass and squeezed the juice into her soda.

"My first time too," you admitted. "Partner kinda convinced me to come."

"And where's your partner now?"

"Wish I could say."

The woman's brow furrowed. "You get all dressed up to go out together and you end up alone? Doesn't seem like much of a night out."

No, it didn't. You definitely couldn't argue with that. "And what about you?" you asked. "Just decided to do something nuts and come to a swing club by yourself?"

[lode-builds]

swamp hovel saturday

[sttoru]

satoru hums a tune as he adjusts his sunglasses — putting them on the top of his head. he’s in a happy mood today; nothing or no one could wipe that big grin off his face. the reason?

“. . . gojo, hurry up.” megumi calls out whilst idly standing at the foot of the staircase that connected to the roads outside campus.

you smile as you see your lover gleefully walk down the stairs — jumping from one to the other. satoru’s smile was one you wish would never fade. ever.

“oh!” the white-haired sorcerer suddenly stops in his tracks. his sparkling eyes take in the sight before him and his heart skipped a beat at the realisation:

two of his favourite people were standing next to each other. waiting for him so they could go on their little (family) trip. satoru just had to capture this moment and put it in the album that’s dedicated to the both of you. it’s a must in his eyes.

“megumiiii,” satoru fishes his phone out of his pocket and puts it in landscape mode, tongue peeking out at the corner of his lips to show just how deeply he was concentrating on getting the perfect shot, “step a bit closer—yep! jus’ like that!”

“can we not do this? we’re gonna miss the train and—” megumi starts off with a sigh and a faint embarrassed pout, though was quickly cut off as you pulled him closer to your body — coddling him like he was still the little child satoru and you had met a couple years back.

the blue haired boy sighs once again, however eventually gives in and awkwardly puts up a peace sign. you smile brightly in return and satoru was absolutely cheesing behind his phone.

“awwww, how adorable!” satoru grins once he has taken about twenty different pictures — each one special and a treasure he will forever cherish. after putting the best one as his phone’s new lock screen, he rushes down the stairs and steps in-between megumi and you.

one arm holds your body close to his by the waist, the other arm wraps around megumi’s shoulders. megumi reluctantly allows it since he didn’t want to ruin the light-hearted atmosphere. that fact alone makes satoru even happier;

“let’s go — i can’t wait to finally spend some quality time with two of my favourite people, hehe.”

[providnce]

Shop safe.

Superstore 02.16 | "Wellness Fair"

[bakubunny]

f!reader | thinkin abt this hc, but katsuki is roommates with denki. katsuki is pretty sure he’s heard denki’s girl cum more and harder than any girl he’s ever been with in his life. he’d never want to say it, but he’s questioning his sexual abilities with every passing orgasm, and he audibly witnesses a lot of them. sure, you always cum when he’s intimate with you - at least twice every time, he makes sure of it. but he’s never turned you into a complete mess like denki’s girl is every time they fuck or whatever it is they do.

so one day, katsuki finally bucks up the courage to say something to his best friend and admits he might want to do better with you in bed. denki is a little surprised and embarrassed; he never expected katsuki to be the one asking him for sex advice. he’d just taken the time to figure out what works for him and assumed that if anything, the roles might be reversed.

they talk, denki shares a little bit of what he does and eventually asks katsuki, “dude, when was the last time you slowed down and took your time?”

denki realizes the answer is probably never when katsuki spits back a defensive, “whadda ya mean?”

so he explains in more detail. katsuki takes mental notes.

･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆

the next time katsuki’s got you in his bed, something is different. he’s a little too soft and a little too slow for your preference as he goes in for a kiss, so you pull him deeper. but he’s still got a measured pace, the way his hands are firm and trace your body like he means it. with him, sex is overwhelming and all consuming. it’s hard and fast and raw. but not today.

there’s a hint of impatience in his movements, but he stops himself; he spends extra time caressing your face, in the crook of your neck, mapping out every little spot that makes your breath catch just a hair or your fingers curl a little tighter and committing it better to memory. then his tongue is in your mouth, and he’s groping you over your clothes. a small whimper leaves your lips as you try to shift and get your legs around his waist, but he doesn’t let you.

realization hits when katsuki stops to look you in the eye. your cheeks are flushed hard, and it’s almost difficult to look back with how much heat is radiating between your legs. usually by now he’s got you half naked and grinding, or his hand is deep in your cunt. a twinkle lights his eyes, a boyish grin on his face. you pull him into you, pushing your face into his neck with a shyness you hadn’t felt with him in a long time.

“what?”

you shake your head and kiss his neck, taking in the warmth of his skin and the way he sighs into your touch.

“need somethin?” he teases. his hand runs down your torso to grip your hip. the same hand slides under the fabric of your shirt to caress your side.

“no,” you reply quietly. “you’re usually a bit more… fast paced. that’s all.”

his lips are grazing your neck, his tone low and playful. “yeah. i’m tryin somethin new. got a problem with it?”

he’s kissing you neck again before you can respond, sucking and licking faint marks into a tender spot on your skin.

your breath catches. “n-no, not at all.”

“good.” katsuki puts his muscular thigh between your own and presses it to the damp heat of your cotton shorts.

a small whimper escapes your throat.

“now be a good girl n' grind on me, princess.”

if you’d like to be added to my tag list, let me know. ♡

gremlins: @arlerts-angel @dcsiremc @darkstarlight82 @bookcluberror @neon-gothicc @zazter-den @breadandbutter33 @i-literally-cant-with-this @rinalouu @stvrfir3 @r4td0lll @emmab3mma @aria-chikage @mhadabiandhawks4eva @yazminetrahan @doumadono @dreamcastgirl99 @maddietries @jazzafayesworld @karebear5118 @unofficialmuilover @cherriluvs35 @erensslut @ruu-https @hana-yuri @keiva1000 @katsul0vr @trickster-kat @ayeohoh-blog @dinomeow @flamgosstuff @mistressreaper @angelltheninth @anonymously-ominous @amberexe2 @hisconsistency @nanamisbigassschlong @223princess @honeeslust @pastelbakugou @gold24fish @naughtygobbo @acenanxious @blumoonwisteria @chaos-gem @levizonlywife @kxtsxkii @nuttyunknowndetective @gold24fish

[flickering-nightfall]

Wiggles! Feel free to use them. -Drive link- has alternate versions.

The rest of the slugcats + an alt Moon are under the cut.

[beets]

baby, bi bi bi

[therainbowtea]

POV: Your husband has Instagram

[mosspapi]

Able-bodied people remember the existence of words such as debilitating, incapacitating, draining, all-consuming, overwhelming, destructive, drastic, limiting, disruptive, excruciating, etc. instead of using a fucking slur challenge: difficulty level impossible

[ayoedebiris]

WLWMEME ◇ [3/8] film characters — isabel lee (bottoms)

[anyataylorjoys]

LAST NIGHT IN SOHO 2021 ⭐︎ dir. Edgar Wright