#(she’s likely never spoken french around him before)

[romanshomeonwattpad]

brother’s best mate | draco malfoy

pairings - draco malfoy/reader’s | brother’s best friend!au |

sypnosis : when your older brother's best friend finds out about your date with Diggory—he decides to give you a piece of his mind.

word count : 3.4k

warnings: smut, established siblings, weed, choking, pet names, minor girl fight, size kink, not proofread so sorry

authors note: the reader is 18 in high school and graduates in less than a few months!! no minors are sexual in this one-shot. draco is 19 and only one year older than the reader. this was fun to write but lowk got lazy at the end. hope you all enjoy its very smutty.

(Follow my Wattpad @romanshome for more Draco content)

© elliotsblunt 2022. do not repost, modify, or translate.

You walked alongside your class mate, Ginny Weasley—a fourth year just like you. A Gryffindor with fiery bright red hair and the personality of a lion, freckled marks littering her nose. She had been your newfound best friend, usually sticking within your own house which had been Slytherin up until recently.

Some drama that had occurred in third year, so you began to seek friendships from other houses as well. You never really cared, but your older brother insisted you hang out with your true kind. Whatever that meant.

Ginny paused as they strolled past the Great Hall. “Say, _ _—Oh!”

You felt someone run into you from behind, a brute force slamming into you full force. Your knees wobbled and collapsed as your palms shielded your face, stinging as they slapped the concrete floor. Blinking with wide eyes, your eyes snapped up to meet a pair of narrowed blue eyes.

“Parkinson,” Ginny called from behind you, storming past you. Your arm shot to reach for her wrist as you held her back. “Chill Gin, it’s cool.”

The dark haired girl smirked, crossing her thin arms over her chest, where her tits practically spilled out. You almost gagged at the sight as Pansy chuckled,

“Sorry, _ _. Didn’t see ya.”

“Bullshit!”

“She’s not even worth it. Come on,” You rolled your eyes, thankful Ginny had your back in the back of your mind. Pansy’s smirk faded as you spun around, reaching out and shoving you from behind. You fell forward once again, Ginny calling out your name as she kneeled beside you. Both of you send the laughing girl a glare.

“What is your problem?” You hissed, standing up on your feet. “I haven’t—“

“He broke up with me. Neville broke up with me—for you. You fucking cunt. And now, I’m going to beat you and that Gryffindor’s ass.”

Your brows knit together. Neville? But you hadn’t spoken to him in months, ever since last year. When he had broken up with you for Pansy Parkinson.

A smirk crept onto your lips, still on the ground. Her cheeks reddened at your next words, “Huh. Isn’t that ironic.”

“You bitch,” she gritted her teeth before slapping you across the face. Your eyes widened as you smiled in shock, not believing that this whore was fighting you over a man. When you had found out that Neville, who you dated for a solid two months, decided to cheat on you with Pansy Parkinson. The new, shiny exchange student from Beauxbaton Academy. She spoke French and was the only girl to show off cleavage.

She had been the talk of most of the boys in each house for months.

Apparently, the French liked to get down and under. Real quick. Half the boys went through her by the time summer rolled around. You remember your older brother mentioning her, saying if his best friend hadn’t fucked her before he graduated then he most definitely would have “tapped”. All he had earned from you was an eye roll.

“You crazy slag!” Ginny shouted, but before she could step in—a deep voice interrupted.

As you stood from the ground, picking up your book that you had dropped, you froze before quickly facing the voice. A warmness flourished in your chest as a familiar smirk was given to Pansy, by a blonde Slytherin that had graduated last year. Your brother, Alex , stood beside him, “Parkinson. Please don’t tell me your shoving my baby sis because of one of your personal wankers.“

Draco chuckled to himself, his head shaking before shoving his hands into his pockets. His hair had been combed to the side, a single strand falling over those piercing eyes of his. A black long sleeve tightened around his muscular back, a pair of black slacks to matched. You could almost smell his cologne from here.

“Can it, Waters,” she snapped at your brother, shifting her scowl into a smile when your sights landed on Draco.

“Draco—I didn’t know you were back. I would have looked for you.”

“Exactly why I didn’t,” he replied quietly, rubbing the back of his neck before clearing his throat.

Parkinson blushed a deep red, looking away from Draco. Ginny threw her a brow. “Didn’t you and Longbottom just break up?”

“Longbottom, Pans? The kid looks like a human piranha—bless his soul,” Alex chuckled, but you shook your head.

“No, he looks better. He got surgery.”

“No wa—!”

“Both of you shut up!” Pansy spat at both your brother and you, causing you all to just look at her with expecting looks. After her eyes swept back and forth across all of yours, she groaned before spinning around and stomping away. Alex tilted his head at her, “What’s with her?”

“Neville broke up with her for _ _,” Ginny replied, an knowing smile on her face as she nudged you. “But she happens to fancy someone else.”

“I would be mad to if a bloke that looked like that broke up—“

“Who?”

Your eyes found Draco’s. He was looking at you, with something new flickering in his eyes. His jaw was clenched as a soft smile played on his lips for you. Ginny nor Alex responded, waiting for you to respond.

“Urm, just some kid I met at a party.”

You were talking about Cedric Diggory. He was the golden boy of Hufflepuff, with those dreamy eyes and charming smile. Your heart soared whenever he passed you in the halls, sending you his specialty wink. You had to bite your lip to hold back a smile for the rest of the day, almost drawing blood. And last night, you had both texted non-stop.

Tonight you were supposed to meet him in Hogsmeade. Spring Break was coming up, which is why your brother had came in the first place. You always spent Spring Break with your brother—and Draco just always happened to be with him. They were inseparable. Ever since first year.

“You go out with him yet?” Draco asked another question, narrowing his eyes. His head tilted as he studied you.

“No.”

“But she’s meant to tonight,” Ginny added, throwing an arm around you. You threw her a stare but she wasn’t paying attention to you, sending heart eyes to Draco. She always a massive crush on him, and you were sure he knew. Especially when he sent her a boyish smile right now. “Thank you, Weasel. Though, you don’t look much like a weasel anymore.”

She tucked her hair behind her ear as Alex rolled his eyes. “Gross, bro. Don’t flirt with my baby sis’s friends, ight?”

Draco chuckled as you groaned, “Ginnyishelpingmepackokbye,” you rushed out before grabbing your giggling friend.

You stood outside your favorite restaurant in Hogsmeade—The Flying Dutchman. They had the best burgers in town, and you’re the one who actually proposed to come here when Cedric asked you out. Your brother, Draco, and you always came here for dinner when you rented out your hotel room. Like every Spring break. A faint smile wore on your lips at the memory as the spring breeze pressed warm kisses onto your flesh.

But as more time passed by, that smile began to fade. Cedric had been more than thirty minutes late.

Ginny texted her that about after an hour, you should call it quits. And so you kept checking your phone, tapping your glossy heel against the concrete of the sidewalk. Your heart banged on your rib cage as blood rushed to your ears. Everything was slightly muffled as embarrassment overcame you.

And when it hit nine o’clock, you began to walk to your hotel.

Anger coursed through your veins. How dare he asked you out then ghost you completely?

You pulled out your phone and sent him a few messages cursing him out before shoving it back into your purse. With glossy eyes, after about ten minutes, you had reached the hotel room you were to be having alone. Your brother and Draco would be sharing the next one over. Approaching the entrance, where green glass pillars cascaded over a tall, lavish building—you hummed as the cool air conditioning welcomed you.

“Welcome,” a faux customer service voice rung in your ear. Your eyes landed on the front desk attendant, a young man. “Do you have a reservation?”

“Yes. Under Waters.“

“The single queen bed with a walk in-closet?”

You blushed, “Yes.”

“Perfect. Will that be cash or credit.”

“It’s on file. I come like, every year,” you explained, and he nodded firmly before clicking his mouse a few times. He was short and chubby—hair receding slowly from the sides. You didn’t know that was possible. “Have you found it?”

“Yes. It went through and….perfect. You’re all set,” he bent over, opening a drawer and a pair of keys jingled in your ears. He pooped back up whilst kicking the drawer back closed—handing you your card and the wifi password. “This here is your room card for room number 67 as well as our wifi and password.”

“Thanks,” you sent him a smile before making your way inside. As always, the halls were the same. A green carpet with beige walls, random paintings everywhere. It smelled of old paper inside your room, a bed with red covers and white pillows rested on the large bed. A walk-in closet, as promised, was lodged in the corner next to the bathroom.

You decided to shower, still in a sour mood about being stood up. Taking off your makeup with a cleanser, you stripped off your clothes and hopped into the shower. Craving to feel the warm water soothe your tense muscles, you moaned as it happened moments later. Digging your vanilla shampoo into your roots, you used your net to scrub off the dirt and dead skin from your body.

After finding everything off, you wrapped a towel around your figure and opened the door to your bathroom. A scream tore from your throat at the sight of someone sitting on the corner of your bed.

“_ _. I’m high as fuck,” Draco ran a hand through his hair, a red hue glowing from his eyes. His eyelids hung low as he smiled lazily—flickering his gaze over to you. “Alex is passed out. He took too many edibles.”

You scoffed, “And I assume you were the more responsible one and maintained a decent amount of sobriety?”

“Big words, _ _. Big words for a little girl,” Draco taunted, your eyes rounding at his words. He had never seemed this laid back with you, always being the more poised and dignified out of him and your brother. Hair always slicked to the side, clothes looking tidy and clean cut. But his hair had been messy due to him running his fingers through the strands, and his black button up he had changed into had been unbuttoned halfway.

His gold chain glistened against his pale skin, your thighs clenching at the thought of it hanging in your face while he—

“How was the date?” He questioned, his eyes darkening. You gulped.

“He didn’t show.”

“What?” He rose his voice, standing up from his seat. You flinched at the intensity of his tone as his eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Why do you care so much?”

“Dammit, _ _,” he balled his fist, storming over to you. Your back hit the wall, clutching your towel to your body, as his palmed slammed against the wall and staid there. His scent of peppermint and marijuana, which led you to believe he had smoked instead of taking the edibles with your brother. His eyes swirled with a hidden emotion as breath fanned your lips. “Why can’t you just answer a simple question?” He scoffed,

“You never do what you’re told.”

“And you’re too high,” you mumbled, placing your hands on his chest to push him back. But he caught them, “Draco.”

“_ _,” He whispered, “I can’t watch you get heartbroken over these little fucking boys anymore.”

Your throat went dry. Had Draco liked you?

That didn’t make any sense. He had been the most popular boy at school. Him and your brothers were the two most crushed on guys at school, Draco running through a number of girls throughout his years. He always paid attention to you, never leaving you out. “What? You think it’s a coincidence that every dude you have a date with bails on you?”

Your eyes widen, “You’re the reason Cedric—?”

“Back when I was in Hogwarts,” he continued, his boyish smirk returning to his lips. “Looks like you don’t need my help in that department after all.”

He had been your brother’s best friend, and if you didn’t know any better, his high self just confessed to scaring off other guys to date you. Out of all the girls he could have had, tonight, it appeared he wanted you. And one thing about Draco Malfoy—

He always gets what he wants.

Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip as his piercing eyes bored into yours. His thumb reached out, shocking you, as it took place of your teeth. An animalistic look flashed in his eyes, “Relax, kid. It was a joke.”

“Don’t call me kid.”

Draco released a chuckle, taking a step back before shaking his head. He ran a large hand the lift his pale hair again, “Fuck. You’re Alex’s little sis,” he sighed, letting out sarcastic chuckles. “I’m turned on by my best friends sister.”

His words caught you by surprise. Your lips fell open in shock, eyes bulged and skin flushed. He tugged at his strands once more before muttering fuck it, turning around and walking straight towards you. You flinched say Draco grabbed your arm, pulling you into his chest before slamming his lips against yours.

They were smooth and plump, sucking on your own as his hand flew to your cheek. At first you hadn’t kissed back, in shock, but when his thumb began to rub the flesh of your face—you melted. Your lips fought against his as you completely surrendered to him.

His fingers found your hair, lightly tugging on the strands. A soft moan left your lips, causing him to hum, “You like when I pull your hair, little one?”

The nickname caused a shiver to run down your spine. A pool of wetness shot down your core, a pleasurable sensation overcoming you as he continued to kiss you. His scent overcame you as he spun the two of you around, laying you on the bed before crawling above you. His lips didn’t part from yours.

Pulling away, you panted as he observed you from above. Your hair had probably been a mess and completely damp. The towel wrapped around you had been the only thing separating you from the Slytherin above. His eyes were clouded with the drug, “You’re fuckin’ breathtakin.”

You blushed. You didn’t think you would ever hear him say that. Considering how much of a fan girl you used to be for him back in primary.

He dived down to close the gap between you two. “I wanna fuck you. Show you how it feels to cum around a grown dick like mine,” Draco breathlessly panted against her lips. His fingers dove to her towel, tossing to to the floor before looking down. His hair tickled her nose,

“Looks like every inch of you is perfect, _ _. Can’t wait to have you fall apart on my tongue.”

“Next time. I—want it now,” you breathed, craving to get fucked by Draco. Your arms wrapped around his neck as he grabbed one of your tits, popping it into his mouth before swirling his tongue around the bud. His eyes crossed at the taste, “Fuck, that feels so good.”

“YehBaby?” His voice was muddled by your mounds. You giggled as he founded the other one before doing the same. Your hips began to arch and he smirked,

“My horny little one,” he teased, sitting up straight. You chewed on your lower lip, clenching your thighs as his eyes staid on yours. Unzipping his slacks, he tossed them to the side along with his trousers before hooking his arms around your thighs. You shrieked as he yanked you to the edge, grabbing his cock, “You sure you can take it? A big dick like mine?”

You grabbed his bicep, which bulged under your hand. His arm had been twice the size of yours. Rubbing his swollen pink head against your clit, peering down at you. Your eyes widened up at him, all innocent like, pinching your nipples. His lips reached to kiss your feet before resting them both on his shoulders, “You sure about this, _ _? Because once I start, I can’t stop.”

“Please,” you pleaded, reaching for him. He chuckled before bending down, letting you wrap your arms around his neck. His thick cock began to slid into you, making you squeak his name, “Draco! Oh my—urgh.”

His red rimmed eyes looked down at you. As he inched deeper, the more your mouth dropped. He pecked your lips before moving more fluidly, more and more spikes of pleasure adding to your tummy. You weren’t a virgin—every guy you’ve been with always made you do all the work. So the fact that Draco had expertly began stroking his hard cock into your gushing pussy, you noticed more moans escaping you.

The blonde grunted, working half his cock inside. And then he pushed it all the way in, making both of you cry out in unison.

And then he chuckled darkly at your blissed out expression, a wicked smile curling onto his lips as he angled himself. His hips rammed into yours, holding your knees against him, as your tits jiggled before his eyes.

Cries and pleads babbled from your mouth.

“Yes! Please!”

“Draco—it feels too good.”

“My Merlin—I can’t—“

“Yeah?” He cooed, brutally snapping his hips against you. His thick head pushed into your walls, his abdomen rubbing against your puffy nub. With a tender voice, his hand flew to your throat, as he continued, “Just like that, little one? Move my hips like this?”

He gave her two harsh strokes, giving her a bruising kiss. Draco’s hair fell over his eyes as sweat glistened over his abs. Ring clad fingers snaked to your pussy, his thumb pressing circles into your clit. It began to pulse, meaning you were going to cum, making Draco raise his brows.

“It’s so warm, _ _. You gonna come on this dick?”

“Yes,” you whimpered, “Yes yes yes YES YES—“

Draco chuckled, kissing your lips to silence you. You came on his dick, being completely lost in the trance of your orgasm. It felt like a million glasses had broken in your ear, earth shattering before you as euphoria paused time. Never in your life had you came that hard.

And then he pulled out, sitting against the headrest on the bed. You sent him a look, still calming down from your high, as he tapped his thigh, “Come take a ride on this dick for me, baby.”

Without time to waste, you crawled over. He smiled at you evily as he guided you, “Sit with your back-good girl,” he instructed, making you face your back to his chest. He lifted your feet and stood them on his thighs, “I’m going to play with your pussy. Throw your arm around my neck and take this dick, that’s all you have to do. Okay little one? Can you handle that?”

To answer his question, you instantly grabbed his cock before sliding down. You cried out, “Ah!”

“That’s it. Juuuuuuust like that,” he shushed, rubbing three fingers on your swollen pussy. You jerked in his hold as he nipped at your ear, “I got you, baby. I got you.”

And with that he began rapidly thrusting up into your clenching pussy. You screamed out as his fingers fastened their pace, your back arching against his chest. Your arm shook as it clung to his neck, his lips attached to your nipple. The crude licking sounds edged you closer to your high.

His hand covered your entire stomach, “So tiny, baby. You like when I fuck this little pussy?”

Your tummy began to contract. Draco licked his fingers, tasting your juices, before rubbing them against your creaming pussy once again. Your brows rose in pleasure as a scream came from you, “I’m gonna—ah—“

“Come on,” he urged, “Come on come on come on—there it is! Just like that, _ _. Allll over my fucking dick.”

Your body twitched as you came on top of Draco. And when he felt your tight pussy gush around him, he grabbed you by your waist, prolonging your orgasm by animalistically rutting up into you. “Fuck, I’m gonna, fuck fuck fuck—“

“What the fuck?” Alex’s voice screamed in the air.

[planchettewrites]

I'm Just Half Alive (In my Struggle to Survive Without You) - NSFW

Remy LeBeau (Gambit)/ AFAB!Reader

DESCRIPTION: It's your first night as Mrs. Remy Etienne LeBeau, and your new husband cannot wait to show you how much he adores you.

CONTENT: SMUT, Protected Sex (Always Wrap it Before you Tap It), Praise Kink (?), M!Overstimulation, AFAB Reader, She/Her Pronouns Used, French Used

A/N: This was a labor of love! I wrote this over two days, and I've only been in the X-Men fandom for three days. I immediately fell in love with Gambit and then found out there were so few fanfics of him. I decided to change that. My two song inspirations were "My Way of Life" by Frank Sinatra and "Life Eternal" by Ghost. Enjoy bbys! If you like this fic, reblogs are very much appreciated, as are likes and comments.

3.3K words | Minors DO NOT INTERACT

You smile as you look in the mirror. Today was arguably the best day of your life—you just became Mrs. Remy Etienne LeBeau, and nothing made you happier. 

Your wedding was exquisite. It occurred in one of the most beautiful venues in the French Quarter of New Orleans; the hall was rather large and historical. The hall was decorated with your favorite flowers—those your now husband had given you on your first date. The chandeliers in the building were all lit with candles that perfectly illuminated and complimented the ceremony. Your dress was similarly exquisite, and your closest friends were helping you pick it out. It was exactly what you wanted, and it fit absolutely perfectly—all with the help from the tailor’s shop, but that was beside the point. 

A majority of you and Remy’s coworkers and friends were there, even a sparse few from his days in the Thieves Guild. You were thrilled: everyone who loved you and Remy supported you on your big day. 

The ceremony was gorgeous. Filled with tears from both the guests and the wedding party, you two exchanged your vows. You spent about five minutes saying your vows to one another, making the other sob in the process. You did your best to speak some Cajun French in your speech, making Remy cry harder. Your husband wasn’t one to let his bravado falter, but seeing him in happy tears made you melt. You looked at your guest when he began to cry, and some of the toughest X-Men you knew were similarly in tears. In your vows, you both promised to share the rest of your beautiful, chaotic lives with each other, and come what may, your love will never falter. You two were bonded in holy matrimony; nothing could change that. 

Your first kiss as husband and wife was something you’d never forget. You both had practiced that dip for the past three months and had pulled it off perfectly. Of course, your husband, being your husband, kissed you harder and longer than you anticipated, which made your head spin and your heart soar. Walking back down the aisle, nearly dancing the whole way down, had suddenly made all the stress of planning the wedding worth it. 

The reception was a mere two hours ago, and it was a whirlwind of laughter, happiness, dance, and minor chaos. Your first dance was to “My Way of Life” by Frank Sinatra, and if the two of you weren’t looking lovingly at each other while dancing, one or the other was murmuring the words under their breath. That song perfectly encapsulated how you two felt about each other: you were each other’s way of life. Each day, you awoke to live, eat, and breathe each other. In some ways, you felt you were made for each other. As you were dancing, your bodies fit together like puzzle pieces, your arms wrapped around his neck and his around your waist. 

After your first dance and the further rupture of applause and tears, Remy and you began to socialize with family and friends. Ever the charmer your husband was, recounting the stories to your family and friends of how we knew you were the one the moment your eyes locked. Some of the telepathics in your reception had told you not a single lie was spoken by your husband; he meant every single word he said. 

Now, there you were, looking into the mirror of the hotel you two stayed at. The two of you spared no expense regarding your honeymoon, and you both wanted to make sure it was as memorable as possible. 

The black velour robe you wore kept you comfortable as you took all the pins and accessories from your hair. The kind ladies doing your hair certainly knew what they were doing, but they sure had put a lot of bobby pins in your hair. As you recounted the night in your head as the final pin came out, a satisfied sigh escaped your lips. 

As if right on cue, your husband walked into the room, two champagne glasses in hand. “Joie de vivre,” he said to himself. You turned around to face him, a large smile growing on your face. Remy looked divine, with a white suit that fit him perfectly, your favorite flower on his lapel, and his hair tied back. You always thought your husband looked wonderful but particularly good in a three-piece suit. “Ma chérie, you look as beautiful as always.”

“Thank you, my dear.” you smiled as he handed you the glass of champagne. As you sipped, you watched your husband remove his jacket and put it in the closet, placing the flower on the bed’s side table. His movements were smooth like his words, and you heard him sing one of the songs from the reception under his breath. “How’s it going, sweetheart?” you ask him. 

Remy responded in his native tongue: “C’est tout un sucre, chérie. Happier than I’ve ever been.” He waltzes over to you and presses a kiss to the top of your head. 

“I love you, Remy.” you place your hand on his cheek, stroking it gently. 

“I love you too, darlin’.” he smiles. 

This was happiness—absolute happiness. Nothing felt more right than this; this was perfection. Here you were with the love of your life, and he was with his. 

“Now, chérie, you look absolutely stunning,” his charming timbre weakens your knees. His hands fell to your shoulders and ran up and down your arms. “And I think I need some alone time with my wife.” 

You show him a coy smile. “Your wife? Hmm…I think I can make that happen.”

As you sit up from your chair, Remy guides you to the large bed against the wall’s middle. The bed was easily a California King with beautiful black sheets and a duvet cover. Remy guided you to lie down, and you looked at him with a dorky look. Remy was gorgeous, with his red and black eyes, chestnut hair, and body built like Adonis himself. 

“What you smilin’ at, ma chérie?” he laughed, his hands finding your waist.

“You!” you gush. “You’re just so handsome, and kind, and brave, and…and really fucking sexy.”

He laughs again and begins to fiddle with the tie of your robe. “You think Gambit is sexy? Well, you’re a sight, too, doll.”After a look of silently asking to undress you, you nodded. As he undid your robe, he smiled when he saw what was underneath—a breathtaking lingerie set. The set was a bit more expensive than you were willing to spend, but you knew that some sacrifices needed to be made for your wedding. “You’re tryin’ to kill Gambit aintcha?”

“Maybe.” you laughed, propping yourself up to fully strip yourself of the robe. You watched as your husband began to unbutton his dress shirt, slowly and precisely, and never breaking eye contact. You knew your husband too well at this point—he was teasing you. He attempted to test your patience, and simultaneously, he gave you a show. You could feel your cheeks flush. Something about your husband made him impossible to resist—whether it was that Louisiana charm or his general personality, something about him beckoned you like a siren song. 

As the dress shirt hit the ground, Remy reached for your hands, helping you stand. He spun you around gently, getting a good look at your body in that clearly expensive white set. He wolf-whistled, which made you giggle. “Damn, chérie, you’re gonna be lucky if I don’t rip that off of ya.”

As you finally faced him, you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed your husband. These types of kisses felt like fireworks—maybe it was the slight kinetic energy that always radiated from Remy, or perhaps it was just the product of your love. If you had to guess, it was probably a mix of both. 

His hands fell to your waist, and he swiftly picked you up and placed you back on the bed. His lips traveled from yours to your neck, kissing at the crook of your neck to that sensitive spot he learned early on. Letting out a quiet moan, you could feel his smirk on your neck as he continued pressing kisses there. His hands explored your body freely, from massaging your perfect breasts to gently squeezing your thighs. The journey of his hands ended at the hem of your panties, a silent plea to let him take them off of you. Your response to that silent plea was another nod, and suddenly, your husband was off your neck and on his knees. 

Your husband did the hard work of spreading your legs for you, giving him a perfect view of your pussy. He licked his lips and smiled. “Bon appétit.” He pressed a lingering kiss to your knee before working down your thigh. Wrapping his arms around your thighs, he began to lap at your cunt with the vigor of a man starved. You let out a loud and staggered breath as your husband pulled his tongue from your entrance to your folds. He continued this movement until your breaths became ragged enough to where he decided it would be a good time to suck at your clit. 

“God, you’re so fucking gorgeous.” He paused for a second to say–almost as if he were saying it to himself and dived back into your core. You let out a deafening whine as he lapped at your clit, then sucked it particularly hard. 

He noticed your hips begin to buck at no discernible rhythm, and if there was one thing your husband was during sex, it was a talker. His thumb replaced his tongue, rubbing your clit in tight circles. “You like that, ma charmante?” your hips bucked against his fingers, and you let out a loud moan. “That’s it. Show me what you got, chérie. Work yourself on my fingers.”

“Shit!” you moaned. Your movements were becoming jerky—you were close. Remy immediately went back to lapping at your cunt, his finger making its way into your walls. Within seconds, you let out a moan you were sure the other patrons of the hotel could hear. 

You were practically dry-heaving, and within seconds of removing himself from your thighs, you pressed a heavy kiss to Remy’s lips. Your hands cupped his face, and one of his hands went to the small of your back. 

“God, Remy…” you heaved. Part of you couldn’t even form a sentence. You felt euphoric. Remy was always good with his tongue, both in his words and in his skills. 

“Yes, chérie?” Remy smiled. He was thoroughly enjoying this. You learned over the years that his pleasure came from your pleasure. You saw that in the way he’d do anything to make you laugh, you saw that in the way that he would cook for you, and you saw that in the way that sexually, your pleasure came first. 

“Remy, I need you.”

“Then take what is yours, darlin’.” 

You stood up carefully—your legs feeling like jelly—and pressed hard kisses to his lips. Dropping to your knees, you began to expertly unbuckle the oversized belt buckle of your husband’s belt. You place one hand on your husband’s large thigh as if to keep yourself steady. You could feel your mouth water at the thought of sucking his cock. You look up at him, your eyes meeting his. You begin to toy with his erection, palming him over his dress pants. As you finish unbuckling this belt, Remy slides his pants and underwear down to his ankles, swiftly kicking them off. 

You begin to move your hand up and down his shaft, hearing him let out a groan. A few strokes later and you lower your mouth onto his cock. You use your tongue to lick around the tip of his cock, and you lower yourself and take more of him into your mouth. He lets out a moan as you bob your head up and down on his shaft, taking as much of him as you could. You hollowed your mouth to create a light suction, which made your husband see stars. 

Remy finds his hands in your hair, letting you set your own pace. As you continued to worship his cock with your tongue, he began to blab. “Tu te sens si bien, chérie. So fucking good. Keep going…just like that. Fuck, keep going.”

As you swirl your tongue around the head of his cock one more time, he ruffles your hair. “Ma charmante et talentueuse femme, I need to fuck you.” he groaned. 

With a pop, you remove yourself from his cock with a devious smile on your face. “I’m all yours, Remy.” 

He guides you to the bed again and smacks your ass playfully. You turn to swat at him, and he laughs gently. You almost want to cry; you’re so happy. You are married to the love of your life; it’s your wedding night, and you are spending it with the man you love more than anything. Now, you were having your first night as husband and wife—you couldn’t be happier. As you find the headboard, you lean back and bend your knees, spreading your legs. You were on full display for your husband; by the looks of it, he certainly wasn’t complaining. 

“Hold on, ma chérie, one moment.” Remy started to search through the side table drawer, where he found what he was looking for: the box of condoms. You watched as he rolled the condom onto his cock, and you smiled to yourself. Remy had always been one for condoms; even times when you just wanted him to fuck you raw, he would kiss your hand and promise to always take care of you first. 

Crawling onto the bed, your husband towered over you, moving to hover above you. You looked up at him, your eyes full of need and lust. He pressed another kiss to your lips as he guided the head of his cock to your entrance. He moves his hips forward, and inch by inch, you begin to take him. You both moan at the feeling of euphoria. 

Remy continues to push his hips forward, beginning to rock in and out of you. He moves his hips slowly and deeply, as he prefers, to feel all of you as you take him. For the first time since your first dance, you feel your eyes well with tears. Remy is quick to catch onto this and stops his movements entirely. “Oh babydoll, what’s wrong?” 

“I’m just,” you start, “so happy to be yours, Remy.”

“Oh, these are happy tears!” he coos and places his hand on your cheek and the other on the headboard. He continues his ministrations in your cunt, feeling how you take him so, so well. You feel so full, and despite being with Remy for this long, you don’t think you’d ever get accustomed to this feeling. His cock is nestled between your walls, and each thrust urges you closer to an orgasm. 

Heat coils in your lower stomach as Remy thrusts into you, and for not the last time that evening, he talks you through the feeling. “Oh, ma femme, ma magnifique femme, you take me so well. And I love you, I love you so fucking much.”

“I’ve only been yours, love, and I’ll be yours for the rest of time.” you moan, repeating his sentiments out loud. 

“Damn straight. It sounds good coming from your lips. Gambit was gonna make you his, even when he first met you.” he groaned, the smirk on his face returning. “And I’ll be yours for the rest of time.”

You wrap your legs around your husband’s waist, letting him hit that spongy spot inside of you. His thrusts are starting to become faster, and with each thrust, he bucks his hips to ensure he is fully sheathed inside you. You’re close, so, so incredibly close. 

You yelp, “Fuck, Remy, I’m close, I’m really, really close.”

“Me too, darlin’.” he groans. His hand falls to your waist, and he begins to thrust far more erratically. He fucks you into him, slamming into you, causing you to moan his name. Loud. 

You’re nearly dry-heaving again as he fucks you. That heat in your stomach that had turned into a coil had started to unwind. You were coming close to another orgasm. 

“Fuck—I’m coming, shit!” Remy groans. Although, his pace doesn’t relent as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm.

Your legs tighten around him as that coil becomes completely undone. “Remy, shit, God, I love you. I love you so fuckingmuch. I am so fucking happy to be your wife! I can’t wait to make you a family!” you pant, your finish further slicking the space between you. 

“I love you so much. More than you know…and, and, I’ll love you forever, chérie!” His voice was shaky and erratic as he overstimulated himself to rock you through your orgasm. 

As you both begin to still, your breath erratic, you grab hold of him and just let his weight crash onto you. He buries his face in your shoulder, and you hear him let out a sigh. He mutters something to himself in his native tongue and presses a light kiss to your neck. You can hear him mutter one thing as he pushes himself upwards: “I love you.”

He nearly projects himself to your side, grabbing your hand and gently kissing your palm. “You’re my world. You truly are.” 

“I mean every word I said,” you murmured, so breathless you could barely speak, “I am really so happy to be your wife.”

“And I’m happy to be your husband.” he smiled, turning to face you. You pressed a gentle kiss to his lips and smiled. You were happy, and now you get to look forward to an eternity with the man you loved. Come what may, no matter how big or small, you would have Remy by your side. And that was going to be your way of life. 

[hier--soir]

raising cain | 001

din djarin x ofc

pairing: spy!din djarin x spy!ofc rating: explicit, 18+ mdni summary: at a private gala in berlin, two agents slip inside, uninvited. unbeknownst to one another, and working for seperate agencies, they prepare to bring the same target to justice. the only problem is - one of them wants him dead, and the other wants him alive. who will succeed? will the strange connection they feel stop them from completing their mission? warnings/tags: modern au, spy!din can bring them in warm or he can bring them in cold, ofc is named + has short hair + is french, alcohol consumption, brief + unemotional mention of being an orphan, violence [including impersonal violence between din and ofc], descriptions of blood and injury and [briefly] brain matter, murder, very brief mention of sex trafficking, sexual tension like hello, choking [sexual and non sexual], ofc has an interesting relationship with pleasure and pain, fingering [not technically in public, but certainly not in private], kinda dom!din, explicit rough unprotected piv sex... on the floor... carpet burns... okay bye. word count: 9.7k series masterlist | main masterlist to raise cain means to cause a commotion, to create a disturbance, to make trouble. a/n: my only defence is that i've been watching too many james bond movies lately. also, for the record, i love berlin. also also, the smut in this made me blush. okay hope you guys like this one x follow @hier--soirupdates if you'd like to be notified when i share my writing this is part one of raising cain.

BERLIN, FEBRUARY

It is bitterly cold, and she hates Berlin.

Not because of the weather, although it never helps to visit a city one loathes while the windows are covered in a thick layer of ice and the ground a slippery sheen of sleet.

No, Cain hates Berlin because it has always been a city of business for her. Never pleasure, nor entertainment.

In the car, en route to the gala, a driver escorts her by the Staatsoper Unter den Linden, the Berliner Dom, the Altes Museum, and each one passes her by in a blur of beige architecture and pretty lights. Endeavours for another trip, another year, another life.

She pays her driver in cash and thanks him for taking the scenic route. In broken English he slips his number into her palm and asks if she will use his services the next time she visits Berlin. She smiles and nods and doesn’t tell him that she hopes to never return.

Her dress is a flimsy thing. One of satin and silk that clings to the skin of her arms, her torso. It curls around her ankles, just shy of brushing the ground as she exits the car. The air outside bites against her skin. Her feet ache and cry out for reprieve, strapped into a skimpy pair of shoes that pinch at her toes as she glides across the cobblestone path.

A clean-shaven man stands at the door, adorned in a modest suit and a winding earpiece. He requests her name, notes her face, and grants her entry with a strict nod and an all too brief once over. Handsomely oblivious to the comforting weight of a weapon at the inside of her thigh.

The venue is small, but the crowd is thick, pulsing with life; dense enough for her to mingle, to go unnoticed as she glides through the ground floor, blending into a mix of countless other women dressed in long slinky dresses. She wears black because they all do; her makeup is simple because she did not come to be remembered.

She accepts a flute of champagne from a man with a tray. Offers him a graceful smile and a softly spoken danke schön, and waits until his back is turned before tipping the golden liquid into a plant at the base of the staircase.

Chancellor Karl Weber skirts past her, one of the most powerful men in the German government, and she does not meet his eye.

She is patient; thoughtful as she surveys the room. She knows better than to move too quickly. She counts the exits and entries, the number of security guards and wait staff. Assesses the balcony that overlooks the room, curving around the entirety of the upper level, and slips up a winding staircase when she is sure no one is watching.

With every upward step, the lengthy slit down the side of her dress parts, revealing the soft skin of her legs.

There’s something intimate about the balcony space. Red velvet drapery covers the walls, hanging from the roof and spooling against the floors in soft crimson swirls. She takes in her surroundings, fingers twinkling across the gorgeous fabric as she walks. A slim door around the bend, at the other side of the upper level, reads NUR FÜR MITARBEITER; staff only.

Another, a few paces behind where she settles, leads to a small bathroom. Six private stalls, one with a thin window above the toilet, just wide enough for her to squeeze through. Beyond it; open air, a thick pipe that leads down to the street. Perfect for scaling.

Assuming a position near the bathroom, she tucks herself amongst the drapes. Lets shadows and velvet caress her skin and hide her from prying eyes as she juts out a knee and slips a slender hand between her thighs.

The pistol is dense. Thick and black, it rests heavily in her palm as she slips a titanium cylinder from her purse. Deft fingers lead the butt of the suppressor to the mouth of the pistol. Pin meets groove and she lets it spin, stroking cool metal as she twists and twists until it clicks into place.

Ulrich Meier stands four metres from the stage, eight from the bar, and two from the closest security guard.

Another man—taller, leaner—talks down to him. Speaking in hushed tones, the two of them glance over their shoulders every few moments. Careful, cunning as they talk.

And as she watches them, her face remains neutral. But somewhere inside of her chest, somewhere forbidden and secret and soft, she feels a threatening rage begin to unfurl.

Because the longer she stares, the easier it gets to picture other faces. Men and women with sallow cheeks and fear in their eyes. Countless bodies strewn apart by weaponry they had no business being close to; rigor mortis setting their horror-stricken faces in stone.

Yes, that anger unspools inside of her. Burns through her veins like ice, chilling her blood until she feels nothing but relief as she bends her elbow and lines up her shot.

Cain does not think about collateral. Cain does not think about those standing close to him, ones who will no doubt remember this night for the rest of their lives. She does not think about his wife or his children. These things do not concern her. All that matters is the mission.   

Her hands are steady around the weapon, finger poised beside the thick trigger. She takes slow breaths. Deep inhales that fill her lungs, followed by warm exhales. Once, twice, three times until she is steeled. An eye pinches shut. Her finger slips over the trigger. Meier laughs at something.

And then a heavy palm lands on her waist.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” The man’s voice is a low, rasping thing.

She stiffens, grip freezing around the pistol. His breath hits the back of her neck, and a hundred little hairs there stand on end. She smells cologne, light and airy. Feels fingertips dig into the flesh around her hipbone. Ulrich Meier turns and walks towards a doorway, disappearing from sight.

“Take your hand off of me.”

“Lower your gun.”

Cain’s elbow whips backward, cracking hard against the centre of his chest. His fingers tighten then fall from her waist and she spins on her heel, the butt of her pistol colliding with his jaw.

He stumbles backwards and she advances on him, returning the gun to the holster on her thigh before striking him across the cheek with an open palm. His head hardly even turns before he’s batting her arm down with a stern shove.  

She throws a mean fist forward, but her knuckles barely graze his jaw before the heel of his palm snaps against her chin. The blow sends her staggering to the side, head bouncing off the wall with a low thwack. She tastes blood, the tip of her tongue stings, and when he steps closer she juts her knee into his groin. Feels the harsh rush of the breath leaving his lungs, exhaled roughly across her face, and snarls.

Cain wraps her fingers around the nape of his neck and digs her nails in, pulling him down to meet the knee that she drives into into his stomach. The man grunts against her chest, his hand grasping upward to wrap around her neck. He squeezes tight, dragging her toward him before rocking her skull into the wall again, holding her there. Stars burst in her vision, her nose tingles, and she spits a low curse. Music swells downstairs, a live band starting up on the stage.  

Neat curls and dark eyes dance before her. She blinks to stop the world from spinning. Firm jaw… strong nose. Moustache.  

“Din Djarin,” she rasps, voice strained from the pressure of his palm on her neck. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

Recognition sparks in those dark eyes.

“Cain,” he grunts, pupils like pinpricks as he assesses her face, and then his free hand is sneaking past the slit in her dress, tapping the gun at her thigh.

“A Walther?” Din’s fingers squeeze ever so slightly tighter at the sides of her throat, callouses rough on her skin. "A little old fashioned, isn't it?"

“A German gun to kill a German cunt,” she whispers. The artery in her neck pulses and pounds, blood roaring in her ears. “It felt fitting.”

“No one dies tonight,” he grits out, and it takes everything she has not to laugh right in his face. He cannot see the way her arm is twisted between them, fingers working to loosen the tiny dagger resting just inside the sleeve of her dress free.  

“I should have known,” she smirks faintly, fingers grasping the hilt of the blade now. “The Guild do love to play around in international affairs these days.”

“Quiet,” he hisses, fingers sliding up to grip around her jaw now. His palm is hot against her lips, covering that sly smirk, the way she sucks in warm, grateful breaths. “Keep your mouth shut. Meier doesn’t die tonight. Not here.”

Smooth, careful, she presses the tip of her blade against his abdomen. Only 4 inches in length, but long enough—sharp enough—to penetrate through two layers of clothing and pierce the thick skin of his side. Thumb and forefinger tighten, begging for an excuse to press forward, to eliminate this new complication.

But then two things happen in quick succession.

Cain hears a peal of laughter raise from the staircase and glances past Din to spot blonde hair, a red dress, and slides the dagger back inside her sleeve. Moving fast, his hand falls from her face, body curling protectively around hers in a faux embrace. He tucks his face against her neck and the short hairs in his moustache raise goosebumps on her skin.

“Qu’est-ce-que tu fais?” she hisses. What are you doing?

“Shut up,” he bites back, jostling her against the wall once more.

Laughter dies down into awkward chuckles and murmured words. Cain peers over Din’s shoulder, understanding him then. Her fingers tangle in the loose curls at the nape of his neck and she watches them, ignoring how soft it is against her skin. Two women, eyes assessing them from the top of the stairs. The blonde frowns, wary; concerned.

“They’re looking,” Cain warns, hooking an ankle around the back of his.

Something soft skates down the side of her neck. Such a stark contrast to the rough grip of his hand before; a pair of lips tracing gentle kisses along her pulse point. For a moment, she holds her breath, focusing on the dull ache in the back of her skull, the feeling of his arms around her. 

“Make them look away,” he says plainly, the words a hot wash against her skin.

His palm tightens around her hip, and Cain tilts her chin upward, letting the women see her smile as he lays kisses against her throat, lips parting to form a loosely whispered oh. Through heavy lidded eyes she sees the women flush and look away, one of them giggling. But they do not leave.

Meier, where is Meier? The thought jolts through her like an electric shock, and her smile fades a little.

Frustrated, she skates a hand around his body; lets it fall to the hem of his suit jacket, rucking it up until her fingers are digging into the flesh of his ass. Round and thick with muscle, he tenses beneath her grip, letting slip a harsh grunt of surprise into her ear. The women balk at that, turning to begin their descent down the stairs at last.

Biting back a smirk, Cain’s fingers trail up up up inside his jacket, around the front of his body. Down the buttons on the front of his white dress shirt, the solid muscle beneath it, to where it meets his trousers. The tips of her nails flirt across the front of his pants, and she is certain he’s stopped breathing; entire body still beneath her touch, lips frozen against her skin. Searching, searching, she finally hums triumphantly, fingers sliding over the holster on his hip at last. Hidden beneath his jacket, she fondles the butt of his gun. Slim; inconspicuous.

“Hmm,” she purrs, lips brushing the soft skin of his earlobe. “I thought it would be bigger.”

“I thought I told you to shut u—”

Din flinches as her other hand touches the side of his face, a finger pressing swiftly into his ear canal. His head tilts to the side, trying to evade her touch, but she’s already pulling away, using his surprise to slip around his body and move towards the stairs.

She smooths fingers over her hair, neatening the mussed strands and tucking them behind her ears. Straightens the neckline of her dress, ensures her holster is hidden. From where she stands, Meier is nowhere to be seen.

Din calls after her, a low warning. She doesn’t look back, gripping the railing of the staircase as she begins her descent. The gala is in full swing, guests dancing and talking in every direction. A six-piece band performs a playful jazz song from the stage.

“There is no need to shout,” Cain murmurs, smiling when she hears a sharp intake of breath through the earpiece.

She doesn’t know if he follows her down. Keeps her gaze trained forward as she accepts another glass of champagne from another man with another tray. Drinks it this time, thick hurried gulps that wet the skin beside her lips and soften the rough scratch in her throat. She wanders, looking for the man she came here for, and in time she ends up at the bar.

“A vodka martini,” she tells the barman, slipping onto one of the plush highchairs at the counter. “Dirty.”

The blonde man grips a clear glass bottle from his station and asks, “Shaken or stirred?”

She waves a hand, unbothered. “Dealer’s choice.”

He’s short with thick hair and a reddish hue to his beard. Handsome enough. She watches him with a light curiosity as he finishes making someone else’s drink.

It doesn’t take long before Din Djarin slips onto the seat beside her, suit jacket straightened out, not a single curl out of place, and orders a cosmopolitan.

The barman pulls two frosted coup glasses from beneath the bar and Cain arches an eyebrow at her companion.

“You’ve a sweet tooth, Monsieur Djarin?”

“It seems that way,” he murmurs, turning on his stool to face her.

Brown eyes assess her face in this new lighting, pupils flicking across everything he can see. His hand reaches across the bar and peels a small square napkin from a pile. Slides it across the wooden countertop.

“Wipe your nose.”

She swipes the material beneath her nostrils and spies a small blot of blood on the fabric, crumpling it in her fist with a saccharine smile.   

“In Germany long?” he asks casually, nodding at the bartender when he places their cocktails on the counter.

“As long as it takes.” She wraps her fingers around the stem of a chilled glass, dragging it closer. “And it shouldn’t take long.”

He takes a lengthy sip, draining half the glass in seconds, and his eyes slip closed as the alcohol hits his tongue. Cain watches his throat move as he swallows and crosses her legs tighter on the stool. Feels her gun holster dig into the soft flesh there and welcomes the distraction.

“Alone?”

He eyes her for a second, gaze momentarily dropping to the low cut of her neckline, the swooping curve of her shoulder. “I was.”

“Well,” she holds out her glass to him. “It’s an honour.”

A beat passes as he contemplates her—her words, her steadfast gaze—and then he knocks the rim of his glass gently against hers.

“I’d apologise for upstairs,” he smiles faintly, posture loosening. “But I’m sure you understand.”

“There is no need,” she agrees easily, taking her first sip. Cool vodka slips down her throat and she allows a pleased purr to fall from her lips. “Tempers are frayed. Patience is short. What’s a little scuffle between friends, hmm?”

He smirks at that, a miniscule upward twitch of his lip. Friends.

“You know, I’ve heard the stories about you,” he tells her.

His suit jacket is well tailored, she notices. Tight around those broad shoulders of his, hemmed perfectly around his wrists to reveal crisp white sleeves and silver cufflinks. 

“Is that so?”

He nods. “Cain, the femme fatale.”

“Mm,” she smirks, tracing a finger around the rim of her glass. He watches the sharp point of her red nail ping against the coup. Glances down to her toenails peeking past the tip of her heels; the same colour. She wiggles them for him, and he looks up.

“Then it appears there are equally silly tales about the both of us, non?”

“Do tell.”

Her grin broadens, something like excitement splicing through her veins. “Well, I had wondered if it were true. That you have your own little… catchphrase.”  

A low scoff rumbles from his chest, and his stare cuts to where the bartender stands, mixing a drink only a few feet away. Across the room, one of the musicians onstage starts up a winding piano solo. Sparse and melodic to start, he sprinkles his fingers against highest keys on the piano, and Cain focuses on keeping her gaze on Din. She never did care for jazz.

“Do you say it every time?” she teases in a whisper, eyes lit up with mocking glee. “I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in co—”

“Stop.”

Din’s voice is harsh, a little too loud for the quiet space by the bar. The word cuts through the soft music and has a few guests glancing in their direction. Cain laughs, unperturbed by the sudden attention, and plucks an olive out of her drink. A saxophonist joins in with the pianist, and he relaxes once more. Leans into this little game of hers.

“Don’t be a fool,” he softens, reaching over to tuck a short strand of hair behind her ear. His thumb brushes the curve of her jaw as he pulls away and she fights the shiver that trips its way down her spine. “Not every time.”

She laughs again, quietly eyeing the length of his fingers as his picks up his glass. His knuckles are thick. Warm blue veins spiderweb across the back of his hand, disappearing beneath his shirt. If she tries hard enough, she can still remember how it felt to have that hand pressed against her throat, squeezing.

“And what else do they tell you about me?” she licks her lips, elbow on the bar, leaning forward to rest her chin in the palm of her hand. Eager – hungry.

“I know you’re an orphan.” He is stoic as he says it; as if unphased, uninterested. But Cain’s eyebrows lift, delighted.

“Then it must be true of you too,” she posits slyly, left eyelid dropping in a wink. “No one is more eager to accuse another of being an orphan… unless they themselves are one also.”

He ignores that, though she can see the way his weight shifts in the seat and the muscle in his jaw twitches.

“A Valkyrie.”

“Common knowledge in our line of work.”

“You’re from Paris.”

“An easy guess,” she leans back, bored. 

“Your first name is Nikita,” Din says then, a teasing lilt to his voice. She considers that he may enjoy this game just as much as she does.

And that makes her pause. She lifts her glass and laughs against the rim, a soft tinkling sound that rings in his ears and has every man in earshot turning to look at her.

“You watch too many films,” she swallows with a smirk. “Think French, Monsieur Djarin.”

He ponders it for a moment, lips pursed softly, gaze darting somewhere over her shoulder and then back to her face. Takes a sip of his laughably pink cocktail and licks the residue from his lips, savouring every drop.

“Camille.”

“Oh,” she rolls her eyes, fighting back a genuine smile now. “I know you can do better than that.”

It’s his turn to wink now, and for one fleeting moment she feels oddly at peace with the idea of spending the rest of her evening at the bar with Din Djarin. A stranger, yes, but a little less so than the others that crowd the room.

In a career so harsh, characterised by its solitude, its violence, Cain is unaccustomed to the feeling of being seen like this. She knows unfamiliarity and discomfort and pain like the back of her hand. Is no stranger to a man’s grip around her throat, her life in his hands. But not this… this twinkle of implicit understanding that she can see in his eyes. Those endless brown eyes that say we are not so different, you and I.

Despite the bloodied napkin in her lap and the ache in her jaw, it’s enough to loosen her shoulders; to set her at ease.

But then he turns to stare pointedly over her shoulder, and she snaps out of it. Twisting around on the stool, Cain follows his gaze until she spots Meier across the room. He stands with a few others, shoulders back, eyes bright. Perfectly oblivious.

The barman slips to the other end of the counter, serving a tall gentleman, and Cain lowers her voice.

“What does the Guild want with Ulrich Meier?”

Din takes a sip of his drink. Keeps his eyes to the right, glossing casually over guests, the band, and then back to the asset.

“Information,” he says finally—carefully. “He’s of no use to us dead.”

She hums quietly, plucking an olive from her drink. Eats it slowly, allowing the briny taste to wash over her tongue as she watches him. When he doesn’t speak again, she squints, unimpressed.

“Are you not going to ask me the same question?”

An amused sound escapes his mouth, and he meets her eye again.

“You want Meier dead,” he muses simply. “But why so abruptly? When there is so much to be gained from taking him in.”

“That is not an option for us.”

“Why?” His voice takes on a harsher quality now, eyes narrowing. Mistrust.

“Did you know that name Ulrich,” Cain murmurs, leaning forward to avoid any listening ears. “Comes from the Old High German name Uodalrich? Uodal meaning heritage. Rich meaning king; ruler.”

Din Djarin says nothing.

“Did you do your research before coming to Berlin?”

“Yes.”

“Then you understand that Monsieur Meier is not simply an arms dealer.”

A beat of silence. His fingers tighten around the stem of his glass. “Yes.”

“He took his name personally, you see.” Her eyes float back to Meier. “Held it in his slimy little hands as a baby and said Oui Maman, I will rule. I will rule the desires of weaker men, and bring nightmares unto any woman that I can get these two hands on.”

“This is about revenge.”

“This is about justice,” Cain snaps, that calm façade slipping for a second. No more games. Din’s spine straightens. “Have you ever spoken to a human trafficking victim?”

He takes another sip of his drink and does not respond. She does her best not to remember the photos from her briefing. Not to remember the countless interviews, witness statements, and obituaries she’d had to paw through before her flight.

“Your silence is very telling,” she smiles, that easy composure returning. “But I trust that you understand my position now. Ulrich Meier will be of no help to your organisation after this evening.”

“Cain—”

“Because,” she continues easily. “When I leave this building, he will no longer be able to speak. And if you wish to get in my way… then I am afraid the same fate will befall you, Monsieur Djarin.”

A soft announcement sounds through the speakers, and they turn their heads to listen. The Chancellor will be giving his speech in a few moments. That’s her cue.

“And Weber?” he asks, the words coming out stilted, rushed. “What do you think of him? He’s known for turning a blind eye to Meier’s dealings.”

She tilts her glass, swallowing the last of the icy liquid.

“I do my best,” she places it down on the counter with a soft clink. “Not to think of men at all. Unless it is imperative to my mission.”

“And yet you’ve thought of me,” Din asserts, gaze heavy. His eyes slip down, just long enough for her to notice the way he stares at her mouth, before his eyes return to hers. “You know me. Enough to recognise my face in a second.”

“As I said,” Cain smiles, stepping down from her chair. “Imperative to my mission.”

He is still as she leans in and presses a soft kiss to his left cheek, and then to his right.

“Take care, Monsieur Djarin. I would like to see you live another day,” she says, slender hand coming up to the side of his face. Her finger taps the piece in his ear once, and she is not smiling anymore. “I’ll be in here if you need me.”

Cain coasts around the edge of the room, keeping her eyes to ground whenever an unfamiliar sets of eyes strays in her direction. Swipes a finger beneath her nose once or twice, checking to see if any blood has returned. And as Chancellor Weber makes his way towards the stage, she makes her way back upstairs, quietly hoping that Din does not follow her again.  

Halfway up, a single word crackles through her ear piece.

“Amélie?”

Surprised, she grips the banister and almost turns around. But she can hear a woman speaking into a microphone in German, performing a plain and winding introduction for the Chancellor, and continues her ascent.

“Wrong.”

Reassuming her position on the balcony, shrouded in waves of those soft red velvet drapes, she watches Weber take his place on the stage. A hush falls over the crowd and her eyes move fast, landing easily on the thinning grey hair atop her target’s head. Every eye in the room is facing the stage. The Walther is thick and heavy in her palm as she ensures the silencer is correctly in place. Old fashioned indeed.

Cain’s breathing is calm, heart rate slow and measured as she raises the weapon and aims it at his head. And then, like a little ant crawling across her skin, she feels something shift. The air gets thicker, and a suddenly familiar shiver tickles its way down her spine.

Her eyes tick up and she pauses at the sight of Din on the opposite balcony railing. Almost hidden entirely by the shadows, pistol raised. And it is not pointed at Ulrich Meier, no… no it is pointed at her. And he is so handsome, even when he’s bluffing.

Grinning now, she lets the tip of her finger lightly caress the trigger. So gently, with no intention of doing any damage just yet. Some feeling akin to glee sparks up in her chest. Such excitement. The Chancellor’s voice fills the room, swelling from the speakers as he welcomes his guests.  

Din’s face is placid, unimpressed, and then that honeyed voice drifts through her ear once more.

“Celine?”

Cain allows herself a brief laugh, eyes drifting back down to rest on the man she came here for. The target drapes an arm around his wife’s waist. She inhales deep, filling her lungs before letting the air spill from her nose. Calm, collected. All of it so easy for her.

“Wrong again.”

The Walther jerks in her hand, bullet flying silently through the air, and for a moment there is silence. Nobody moves.

And then Ulrich Meier’s wife releases a blood curdling scream, dropping to her knees and cradling what’s left of her husband’s head in her lap. Popping the silencer off her gun, Cain catches a glimpse of thick, dark matter across the woman’s chest, spilling down the bare skin of her arms, and then she is slipping away into the bathroom in search of that thin little window.

Back on the cobblestone street, sirens wail through the air, police cars and ambulances roaring past as she traipses away from the scene. A little flushed, a little exhilarated, she blends into a crowd of pedestrians, hidden in the shadows. She cuts across the road, avoiding traffic, and heads toward Unter den Linden, knowing it is safer to walk. Don’t be seen by a taxi driver, don’t be recognised, don’t—

“That was a clean shot.”

The words ring in her ear, clear as day.

Cain’s feet drag to a halt against the ground, shoulders stiffening. She turns, eyes assessing the busy pathway behind her, a parked car idling by the side of the road a few metres back. But she can’t see him anywhere. Countless unfamiliar faces wander by, jostling her shoulders as they pass, but he isn’t amongst them. He’s hiding somewhere, watching her from afar – playing his own little game now. Shivering against the cold, she turns and continues walking.

And then: “I thought I might follow you home.”

The words are so confident, so self-assured, and they send a rush of jagged heat blossoming between her thighs. Her heels clip against the ground, knees feeling a little weaker all of a sudden.  

“Would you like that?” he asks, and she wishes she could see his face. Wants to see the desire burning in his eyes, the sharp line of his jaw as those words drift from his pink lips.

“Only if you can keep up.” A little breathless, the words form a soft cloud in the air in front of her face.

Din laughs, low and dark in her ear, but he doesn’t speak again.

She walks for a long time, ambling her way down dark streets, icy wind whipping at her hair for all of half an hour before she finally reaches the street of her hotel. And all the while, she spares quick little glances over her shoulders, trying to spot him in the shadows. Her clothes begin to feel too tight, too warm, despite the low temperature, and with every step her panties cling closer to her warm, wet skin.

The hotel doorman smiles tiredly at Cain as she approaches, holding the door open wide to welcome her inside. As her feet hit the entryway steps, his eyes flit over her shoulder.

“Ein freund von dir?” A friend of yours?

When she turns, she is quietly amazed to find Din there. Gait unhurried, only a few steps behind her. There’s an easy smile spread across his face. Hands tucked deep in his pockets; the top button of his shirt undone.

“Ja,” Cain murmurs, slipping inside.

Din nods to the doorman, following her in. “Guten Abend.” Good evening.

They do not speak as she leads him toward the elevator. Her numb fingers slide against the button with an upward pointing arrow, and together they wait. Heat radiates from his body, warming the skin of her back where he stands behind her, so close yet not touching her yet. Together they slip inside when the doors open.

She presses a button, the number twelve lighting up on the switchboard, and the doors glide closed.

Soft, tinny music plays in the elevator, and they stare at each other from either side of the small space. Din’s chest rises and falls with steady, measured breaths. He watches her and she watches the buttons on the wall, lighting up in turn as the two of them travel up, up, up.

Two floors below Cain’s, he speaks for the first time.

“Vivienne,” he says. “Final guess.”

Her eyes flash to him and she smiles, the skin beside her eyes pinching.

“It’s Remy,” she reveals at last, voice so soft, so forgiving now that her mission is complete.

“Remy,” he repeats. Rolls the r like she does, hums around the y. Sees how it tastes in his mouth and steps forward, saying it again, again. Remy, Remy, Remy, Remy Cain.

“Don’t wear it ou—”

His lips crush against hers, chest warm as he pushes her back back back into the wall. His hand flies up, cradling the back of her skull to protect it from the wall. Not a third time. Despite the softness of his hand, the way his fingers card gently through the short locks of her hair, his kiss is biting. A wet mess of clashing teeth and tongues as he works her jaw open, coaxing his way inside of her mouth. A rough exhale streams from his nostrils, warming the skin of her face. His breath tastes like Cointreau and lime, and she moans. 

His hand slips up her thigh, trailing past that slit in her dress for the second time this evening, until his fingers are brushing against the front of her panties. Feeling the thick damp strip in the lace, the way the thin material clings to her centre.

“Fuck,” he exhales, and when he meets her eyes again his pupils are blown fat and black with desire. Moving fast, he tugs the gun from her holster. She pauses, eyes narrowing, but then he tucks it into the waistband at the back of his trousers, simply allowing space for his forearm to rest between her thighs.

The elevator thrums around them, stomachs dropping as the metal box takes them higher and higher through the building. A finger curls around the edge of her panties, dragging them to the side, and when he finally slides through her wet cunt she sighs into his mouth, every muscle in her body pulling taut and warm. 

His touch is lax, almost taunting as he sucks her tongue into his mouth and traces a digit over the drooling mouth of her entrance, smearing it up to make a mess of her clit. When she moans he presses down; careful little circles there, messy figure eights, a sharp back and forth back and forth back and forth, trying to see what she likes best. And the second her eyes pinch shut, a low curse falling from her lips, the elevator dings.

His hand whips out, slamming against the red emergency stop button. The elevator jerks to an abrupt halt and then he’s on her again. Teeth at her collarbone, her neck, her jaw, fingers moving in a slick blur against her pussy. Her thighs splay apart, and she leans heavy against the wall, knees shaky, trusting him to keep her from falling to the ground. 

“So fucking wet for me,” he murmurs, the words brimming with pride, and she trembles beneath his touch, needing more and needing it now.

“Inside,” she pants, lips parted and searching for his again. “Want your fingers inside me.”

Din swallows those words down, pressing two fingers inside of her with a groan. Remy gasps, bearing down on the weight of his fingers and shivering as he curls them inside of her. Stretching her out and grinding his knuckles against her entrance with every deep thrust.

“Yeah?” he goads, watchful eyes drinking in the way she moans for him, turning her face into her shoulder as if to hide how good it feels. “You like that, hm?”

Warm wetness pools out of her, dripping past his knuckles and onto the inside of her thighs. Obscene sounds fill the tiny space as he pumps in and out of her, and she catches herself glancing upward, searching for a security camera. She spots it in the corner just as he fits a third finger inside and grinds the heel of his palm against her clit, her mouth falling open with a rough groan. Her shoulders tilt forward, forehead knocking against his shoulder, and Din grunts, fucking her harder. His fingers never leave her wet clutch now, the tips of them persistently working against that soft spot at the top of her walls.

“Such a tight little cunt,” he’s saying, nipping at her earlobe, but the words blur and warble around the rushing in her ears. “Squeezing my fingers so good, you’re so good.”  

She grips the back of his neck, squeezing desperately. Her jaw aches with the strain of hanging slack.

“Tell me,” he says roughly, growing impatient. Everything feels hot, too hot; the skin of her face against his shoulder, her chest, the sizzling tension coiling in her core.

“Close,” she chokes out. Din snakes his free arm around the back of her waist, steadying her loose-limbed frame between his body and the wall. “Just a little longe—ohhh, merde.”

He shifts then, the thick heft of his cock crushing against her thigh through their clothes. He presses a finger against her clit now. And that low rub, his calloused thumb paired with three thick fingers massaging into her, is enough to send her spilling over the edge.

A hoarse cry pries its way out of her throat, body shaking against his and he works her through it, still pressing down against the aching bundle of nerves at the top of her sex. She pulses around his fingers, everything pulling tight and wet around them as she comes. Teeth sink into the lapel of his jacket in an attempt to muffle her cries but his arm is dropping from her waist, hand coming up to grip her jaw and push her back.

“Let me hear it,” he purrs, voice like silk as it washes over the skin of her neck.  

“Ohh,” she moans, uncaring now about the camera, about who will hear. Focusing wholly on his fingers on her face, her cunt, the way her entire world seems to shake within his grasp.

He holds her there, lets her shake and shiver beneath his touch until the ebbs of pleasure finally fade and she’s strong enough to stand on her own. Remy watches as he takes a small step backward, pressing one hand over the front of his trousers and three slick fingers past his lips to taste her come. Din’s eyes slip shut at the taste, lips pursing as he sucks the remnants of her from his skin. Flushed and awed by the intimacy of it, the depravity of it, she looks away.

Her fingers tremble against the button as she presses it, and the elevator shudders back to life around them. Another sharp ding rings out again, the doors sliding open within seconds.

A few paces down the hall, the key card slips easily against her door, and she presses it open, flushed as she steps inside and kicks off her heels. She discards them somewhere to the side, turning to watch him follow her in, toes sinking gratefully into the rough carpet beneath her feet.

The door slams shut behind him and he tears his jacket off, letting it drop to the floor as he makes his way further inside. And he looks so much more intimidating like this, she thinks. Domineering as he advances on her, the thick length of his cock evident against the front of his pants. Despite him aiming a gun at her less than an hour ago, despite the way he slunk through the shadows to follow her back here, this is the first time all evening that she’s felt eager to bend to his will, his desire. Her heart races, thudding heavily against her ribcage, and he grins wickedly at her, as if he can fucking hear it.

They collide in the middle of the room, slick swollen lips sliding against each other in a mess of harsh exhales and lewd smacking sounds. Her hands roam across the vast expanse of his chest, trailing down to cup him through his pants. He groans at the feeling, hips jerking forward, seeking more more more. He rips the gun from his holster and tosses it onto the bed, her Walther following shortly from the back of his waistband, and then his hands are on her too. Fat palms pawing at her body, gripping the meat of her ass and squeezing, trapping her against his chest so he can rut his cock against her stomach. Din grips the back of her head then, thumbs rough against the apples of her cheeks as his mouth devours hers.

Thick fingers drift from the ends of her hair down the nape of her neck, the curve of her spine, until they slip beneath the back of her dress. Distracting her with his kiss, greedy and lustful and dominating – she doesn’t notice his curious fingers until they’re curling around the fabric and ripping. Remy staggers backwards with the force of it, gripping his neck. He snarls into her mouth, following her to the ground as she falls. The breath rushes from her lungs and her tailbone aches from how she lands but she doesn’t care. Doesn’t even care when Din straddles her waist, chest heaving, and continues to tear satin and silk from her body. The black material practically shreds in his hands. So thin and delicate, the threads fall apart with every twist, every yank, until he’s prying the ruined dress away and throwing it towards the bed.  

Remy’s fingers work hastily to undo the buttons on his shirt, but just as she reaches the fourth one, he’s gripping her hands, pinning them above her head. Din’s free hand works open his belt, the button and zip on his trousers, and then he’s dragging them down his legs, freeing the thick weight of his cock. She gasps, eyeing the angry red tip hungrily. He’s thick and long and leaking against the white material of his shirt. Her hands push against his and she grunts when he simply tightens his grasp on her, the friction of the coarse carpet harsh against her skin.

“I let you have your way back there,” Din says, eyes blazing. “Are you gonna let me have mine now?”

Her body stills, wholly captivated beneath the heat of his gaze, the weight of his thighs over her hips.

“Yes,” she exhales, mind a blur, limbs still loose and heavy from her orgasm. “Yes, Din, just fuck me.”

“The Guild are gonna have my fucking head for this,” he mutters, fingers falling from her hands to rest heavily at the waistband of her panties.

Remy isn’t sure if he’s talking about Meier or her, but she doesn’t fucking care. What happens to Din after tonight is not her problem.

He toys with her for a moment, tickling the skin around her navel, above the band of her panties, before his fingers hook around it and—snap. She flinches as the material is torn away, her skin pinching beneath the lace.

She stares up at him, clad in nothing but the pale material of her bra now. He watches the way her chest heaves beneath it, nipples painfully stiff against the thin lace.

“It was the right thing to do.”

“I know,” he snaps angrily. He shifts back, moving down her body until he can pry her legs from between his, spreading them open on the carpet to display her glistening cunt to him. The sight seems to stem his anger a little, jaw going loose as he gazes down at the shiny swollen mess of her.

A thick thumb swipes through her folds, pinching one of them back to hold her open for him to ogle at.

“Such a pretty little cunt,” he tuts under his breath, thumbing at the flesh between her clit and her hole.

Her face heats, heart stuttering in her chest a little at this feeling of exposure. Can feel the intensity of his stare practically inside of her the longer he looks, waiting for something.

“So take it,” she says finally, patience thinning.

She fists his shirt in her hands and tugs him forward, breath hitching when he grips his cock and jerks it slowly, smearing her wetness down the length of it before notching his tip at her entrance.

He pushes inside of her in one fell swoop, hardly giving her a moment to adjust to the fat girth of his tip before he’s pressing deeper. Lips on lips, sucking the breath from her lungs, their kiss vibrates with the strength of his groan. It tastes like relief, like understanding. And for a moment it’s just that. The thick weight of him seated inside of her, his chest against hers as they kiss lazily, sloppily, smearing spit across each other faces, tasting beneath tongues, behind teeth.

“So fucking tight,” Din bites out, forehead heavy against hers.

“Mm,” she whines, face screwed up.

A dull burn ricochets through her abdomen, the stretch more than she’s taken in a while. Remy wills herself to relax, but desire has her core tightening around him, sucking him in further and further until the coarse hairs at his base are flush against her clit and there’s nothing more to take. She loops a leg around his waist and ruts up against him, and anything soft about him vanishes.

Din’s thrusts are punishing. Hard and fast, the weight of his hips rocking her into the ground over and over, until she can feel carpet burns forming at the base of her spine, the soft skin of her ass. Every slick pass of the heft of his cock punches the air from her lungs and has her eyelids fluttering.

It’s greedy, the way he fucks her. Like he’s had it before, perhaps in a past life, and been deprived of her touch for years. He fucks her like he misses her. Like he loves her or hates her or something dark and grotesque in between the two emotions. Like if this were the last thing he ever got to do in this lifetime, then he was going to do it right.

So she says, “Harder,” and he grits his teeth, fucking her into the carpet until she’s sure there’ll be littles scrapes and bruises on her back in the morning.

The tip of his cock brushes near to the end of her, and every little nudge there has her gasping in an intoxicating medley of pain and pleasure.

“There?”

“Yes,” she begs. “Fucking—yes.”

Din works her open like it’s his fucking job. Settles on his knees and drags her ass up onto his thighs, splitting her open with every brutal thrust, hands fitted over her waist in a vice.

Up close like this she can see past the collar of his shirt. Can see thick raised lines on his skin, pink and purple scars beneath his collarbones. She reaches up and lays a hand there, feels his heart jack hammering against the marred skin, and moans his name. Din, Din, Din.

And he likes that. Releases an almost pained moan at the sound of his name on her lips, leaning down to attach his mouth to her neck. He bites and sucks and kisses, leaving a trail of deep dark marks from the hollow of her throat to the hinge of her jaw.

“That’s it,” he snarls into her skin, hand lowering to press down above her mound, and that mixed with the sound of his voice makes a fresh load of slick gush out of her. Pushes her deeper into this depraved, endless pit of pleasure he’s raining down upon her.

He tells her again, say it again, and she cries out Din, head lolling back against the floor.

Something fierce begins to brew inside of her. A bright white twisting feeling that frays and sparks like a live wire, stoked by the speed of his movement, the firm press of his hand against her lower stomach. And just as she thinks she’s there, almost there, so close, a shrill ringing comes from the sofa to their left.

Din’s hips stutter against hers, head snapping to the side to pinpoint where the interruption emanates from. A little pink phone rings and rings, the sound piercing through her ears and setting her teeth on edge. She taps his chest quickly, urging him back. He frowns, opens his mouth to tell her no, tell her ignore it, but she pushes him harder, again and again until he slips out of her with a haggard moan.

He grips her waist and turns their bodies, landing on his back with a thud. Eyes trained on his face, the dark red blush on his cheeks, his swollen mouth, she reaches out blindly, snatching the phone from the receiver and putting it to her ear.

“Allo?” Remy breathes, eyebrows pinching together as she sinks down onto his cock, free hand splayed on his stomach. “Bonjour.” 

He props himself up in a seated position, resting back on one hand while the other comes up to grope at her chest. Cocky asshole. But her eyes glaze over as she takes in the tanned skin that peeks out of his shirt again, the soft smattering of hair between his pecks. Legs spread out wide on the carpet, he watches her bounce slowly on his cock, nodding in encouragement but careful not to speak, lest he be heard down the line by her handler.

At this angle his tip presses into her g-spot with every movement. It only takes a moment for that low burn to start up again in the base of her stomach. Her mouth is open wide, ragged breaths spilling from her lips as she listens to the words being spoken down the line.  

She says, “Ouais, c’est fait.” Yeah, it’s done.

Din’s fingers flex around the cup of her bra, tugging down the fabric to let one of her tits spill out. He sighs heavily, leaning forward to latch his mouth onto the skin there. Lathing hot, messy kisses against her sternum, her nipple, and then grazing his teeth over the sensitive bud. She trembles against him, hand coming up to grip the back of his head and hold his face there. He sucks it into his mouth, pulls it taut between his lips before letting it slip out with a wet pop.

“À bientôt.” See you soon.

She hangs up the phone with a rough clang, and then her mouth is seeking his out again. Teeth clash and she moans at the sharp pain, uncaring. Din’s grip on her waist tightens and he plants his feet on the carpet, fucking up into her at a break-neck pace. She cries into his mouth, a harsh animalistic sound, and her stomach is pulling tight, cramping up. Her cunt locks down around him, and when she comes it’s a low throb of a feeling. A deep swooping ache that spills from her core and spreads out through her thighs, her stomach, until her body is jerking and twitching above him.

“Fuck yes,” he grits out, white teeth flashing in her hazy vision. He doesn’t give out, spitting a mess of that’s it, fucking give it to me as her pussy flutters and drools around his cock. Her hips roll and stutter over his, the muscles in her stomach twitching beneath the skin, and Din swears under his breath. Her vision whites out, throat hoarse and head pounding as she succumbs to the pleasure. And he feeds off it.

“God, look at you,” he grunts, prolonging that low burn in her gut the longer he fucks into that softest warmest little spot. “Made to take this cock.”

“Say it,” he rasps urgently, eyes rolling back when her hand grips his throat for purchase, nails digging sharply into the skin over his thrumming carotid. “Say you fucking want it.”

“I want it,” she moans, back arching, knees on fire where they slide against the carpet at his sides. “Want your come, Din, fuck—fuck, give it to me, give it to me.”

His body practically vibrates as he comes. A thousand tiny little twitches and spasms rocking through this frame, the muscles in his thick thighs turning to tense stone beneath her. A gravelly shout falls from his lips, cock kicking hot and hard against her walls until she feels his spend begin to seep out of her around his length and pool around his base.  

It’s almost frantic, the way his hands clutch at her body, clinging to any part of her that he can. And when she thinks he might pull her closer, press himself deeper to keep painting the inside of her walls, he pushes her away, dragging himself from her clutch just to grip his length in a tight fist.

He strokes himself in tight wet movements, a few final weak spurts of his come shooting up to land over her mound and the swollen lips of her pussy. And only when he’s done, spent cock beginning to soften in his palm, does he pull her down a little. Resting wet hands over the base of her spine to feel the way she shivers, body shuddering its way through the aftershocks of her orgasm.

Remy’s chest expands with stilted, ragged gasps for air, trying desperately to fill her lungs as she folds against his hot thick frame, exhausted.

And after a few moments the foggy, erotic blur that held her mind in a vice for the past few hours slowly begins to lift. Din’s hand is on the back of her thigh, fingers splayed, tickling the skin there, and the weight of it suddenly itches. Reality drifts back in and it feels heavy on her shoulders. The clock beside the hotel bed reads 9:12 – her flight out of Berlin leaves in two hours.

His hand drifts up her back, nudging her down to rest her head against his chest. Her body aches suddenly; dull pains popping up in her neck, her jaw, her hips. She remembers the way it felt to have his palm strike her chin and almost smiles.

A metre away, her suitcase lies spread open on the floor. Clothes and lingerie and a gun peek out of the red trunk. She can see two passports beside it, stacked neatly atop one another. And she knows that his hotel room can’t look that dissimilar from his own, but it feels too much now. As their breathing starts to even out, vision swinging back into focus, this level of intimacy – having another person, even a colleague of sorts – seeing behind the scenes of what after looks like for her… it feels like a splinter in the tip of her finger. A sharp sting that won’t go away. Wrong.

Remy rests her chin against his collarbone and glances up at him. Din’s eyes are closed, lips parted as soft breaths puff out from between them. He looks tired – almost as tired as she feels.

“I’m going to shower,” she tells him, fingers brushing curls back off his forehead. His eyes are soft, warm as they open to watches her stand. Too much, that look in his eyes. Too close. “Be gone when I come out, okay?”

Remy turns, back to him as she grips the handle of the ensuite door, and for a moment she pauses. Feels the weight of the silence between them, the heady scent of sweat and come in the air, on her skin, and glances over her shoulder. Looks between him spread out on the floor and her things dotted across the room. An empty martini glass lying on its side. The blush-coloured rotary phone on the hotel sofa. Passports with different names, birth dates, home countries, addresses, and her face. She knows that has to be firm now.  

“Don’t give me a reason to kill you, mon chére.” My darling.

Din’s lips curl up into a smile and his eyes drift up to stare at the ceiling. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

She slips inside the bathroom and pulls the door almost closed behind her. Twists a nozzle until water is beating down against the floor of the shower and steam begins to fill the room. Silently, she pries open a cabinet and slips her hand beneath the sink, feeling around until her fingers grasp the pistol strapped there.

Bare skin of her back flush to the wall, thighs still wet with come and sweat, she peers out through the crack in the door. Still ajar, she can see him past the wooden frame. Sat on the edge of the bed with his back to her, looping his belt through the waist of his trousers. With her eyes trained on the soft skin of his neck, on messy curls, on shoulder blades and biceps that bulge out against the thin material of his dress shirt – she leads a silencer into place over the mouth of her gun. A rhythmic repetition, the exact same as earlier. She doesn’t even need to look down. Pin meet groove, twist, twist, twist.

Din slips his arms inside the suit jacket, elbows bending as he smooths his palms along the front of it. She holds her breath as he turns, as he takes three steps toward the hotel room door, and then—pauses. Hand on the doorhandle, he does not move.

Remy’s finger rests featherlight on the trigger.

She is calm. What happens next is his choice.  

And he must know this because he does not turn around. Does not try to catch one last look at her. His fingers curl around the handle and he slips out the door, closing it was a soft click behind him. The air in the room rushes to fill his sudden absence.

Only when there is silence does she exhale, dropping the pistol onto the marble countertop beside the sink. And she smiles as she slinks beneath the hot spray of the shower head, letting it rush over the crown of her skull and drench her hair.

Her scalp stings and pink water swirls in the drain, blood slipping from a little cut on the back of her head. She pays it little mind, tilting her chin up so the scalding water hits her face too, stripping away a thick layer of sweat and blood and secrets from her skin. The silence stretches, and her smile grows. He does not come back.

Smart choice, Din Djarin.

thank you so much for reading! x

[arachine]

. . . 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 ! ˚₊✩‧₊

— pairing: ellie williams x fem!reader

general tags: college! au, established relationship, fluff, suggestive

content warnings: period cramps, reader is a baby, ellie is patient, kissing, allusions to sex, brief mention of dealer!ellie + not proofread and also not my best work bc i was in pain !

note: this is super self-indulgent bc i am, unfortunately, on my monthly, and so, i am making it everyone’s problem >.<

ellie’s annoyed. actually, she’s concerned—maybe, slightly, kind of more than that too, but right now, she’s annoyed. this wasn’t like you—not answering messages, not answering calls.

she’d understand it if you were busy, especially since finals season was steadily approaching as the days passed, but she knew you didn’t have any plans today. that much was confirmed the last time she’d spoken to you, which was, if she could recall (she could recall it perfectly), last night at 8:00 p.m.

future wife 👰‍♀️: gn baby, see you tomorrow for breakfast! get some sleep ok? <33

ellie: alr goodnight baby. i’ll come get you at 9 ok? don’t oversleep this time, wanna get some french toast before all the athletes take it :/

future wife 👰‍♀️: never gonna let me live it down, huh?

ellie: never!

future wife 👰‍♀️: god alr, i won’t oversleep!!! promise :3 now gn fr this time!!! gts!!!

ellie: ok bossy i’m going to sleep 🫡 love you

that was the last message she’d sent to you that night. this morning, however, she made an effort to send you a slew of follow-up texts before making her way over to your dorm:

ellie: good morning sexy, you up?

ellie: it’s french toast time ☝🏻

ellie: don’t tell me you’re sleeping…

there was five minutes sent in-between each message, and yet, still no response. that’s when she got the bright idea to call.

“alright, this should wake her up,” she raised the phone to her ear, pacing around her apartment while waiting for the line to go through. to her dismay, it rung a few times before going straight to voicemail—to which she almost got excited over because you’ve got one of those annoying ass voicemails that sound like someone picked up the line.

“hey […], this is (name). sorry you can’t reach me right now, but leave a message and i’ll get back to you as soon as i c—”

“fucking hell.” ellie pinches the knot between her brows and sighs, ending the call before voicemail you can finish your sentence. again, she calls, thinking this time you’ll answer, but to no avail. it goes right to voicemail.

“the fuck…” she doesn’t even bother leaving a message. beelines right to her closet and grabs her sneaks, a hoodie, and her wallet, then heads out of her apartment building and begins the trek to your dormitory.

when she gets there, she buzzes in with her student keycard, and pads right up to the security desk. just as she’s about to open her mouth, one of the guards sitting interrupts her.

“can i see your proof of residence, please?” he says blankly, raising a fig bar up to his mouth.

“randy, really? you know me, i’m here almost every other day—just without my girlfriend—who i’m actually here to see,” she raises a finger, forearms leaning forward over the desk. randy feigns indifference, and opts to stuff the last of his bar in his mouth.

“you’re not a resident here, ellie. sorry, but you know the rules.”

“how about you shove the rules up your a—actually, that’s alright. my buddy right here will sign me in as a guest.” she grins devilishly at the dark haired man across the lobby, blinking once, twice, before flashing him a smile.

“jesse! my life saver, my best-friend, my messiah, my—“

“what do you want, ellie?” he rolls his eyes, pulling out his student keycard to flash randy. ellie purses her lips as if she’s been found out, then pulls jesse aside by the cloth of his jacket. she leans in real close so that what she says is out of earshot.

“sign me in as a guest and i’ll give you free weed during your next visit,” she bargains, wiggling her brows like she knows the offer is too good to pass up. jesse doesn’t answer her right away. instead, opts to tease her. puts his index finger on his chin, and opens his stance as if he’s really mulling it over. ellie’s not impressed.

a beat, then, he shrugs, mumbling a quick ‘better keep your word williams’.

ellie grins, something real big and cheshire-like, because she knows him. who’d be stupid enough to pass up free weed? exactly, no one. especially not a stressed college student, that’s for sure.

“thanks man, you’re really doing me a solid, you know,” she pats his back, to which he mutters a knowing ‘yeah, yeah, whatever’. she watches intently as he signs her in under his name, then makes a face at randy when she hands over her student keycard for him to keep.

“see ya later rand’!” the auburn haired girl says with the flick of a hand, turning the corner of the desk to get to the elevators.

“yeah, whatever.”

. . .

once the elevator comes to a halt on your floor, ellie gives jesse a final thank you before departing. as she walks down the winding hallway, she can’t help but to think the worst. what if you were unconscious? what if you’d been axe-murdered? what if you’d been kidnapped? all very unlikely, she knows, but not impossible.

when her mind sifts through a few more frightening scenarios, she realizes she’s already made it to your door. should she knock? she feels like she should knock, but then she figures if all her previous attempts to wake you up were unsuccessful, then who’s to say a few measly knocks would do the trick?

she decides against it. instead, she unhooks her carabiner from her jeans and fiddles around with her set of keys until she finds the spare you’d given her. until now, she’d never used it. the day you’d given it to her, you’d told her it was strictly for ‘emergencies’, and what better time to use it than now? this was surely an emergency, right?

the door unlocks and she immediately goes to twist the knob, pushes the door open and then shuts it closed behind her.

“babe, you here?” she calls out, walking through the kitchen, “you alive?” turns down the hall, “you in one piece?”

a beat. silence—save for the heavy padding of her boots as she makes her way towards your bedroom. the door is cracked open, just by a sliver, but she can see—or at least somewhat make out—the beginnings of a sleeping silhouette.

she pushes the door open and ambles to your bedside. you were fast asleep. curled up into a tight little ball with the duvet pulled up to your chin, and a mean little pout on your lips. it was adorable, and it made ellie’s heart twang with relief. at least now that she was able to verify your safety, she could forget all those terrible thoughts that she was getting herself all worked up over.

“hey, sweet girl,” she cooed, brushing the pad of her thumb over your cheek. your brows cinched in response, but you didn’t move. not even an inch. “baby,” ellie drawled in a sing-song voice.

she let her hand fall from your cheek to your back, and she rubbed it in slow, steady circles in an attempt to rouse you. after a while of this—a combination of her rubbing and cooing—you started to react.

“mmm,” you groaned, curling your knees up higher, “it hurts.”

“what hurts? what’s wrong?” opening your eyes, you were able to pair the voice of concern with a familiar face.

“ellie? what are you doing here?”

she lets a small chuckle escape her lips, then raises a hand to rest atop your head.

“what am i doing here? what are you doing here? had me worried sick about you,” she smooths a hand over your head, “missed our breakfast date.”

sighing, you slap a clammy hand over your head, then reach over ellie to grab your phone from the nightstand.

ten messages. three missed calls.

“god, i’m sorry, bellie. took some midol and melatonin last night so that i could beat these cramps, but i guess they worked a little too good, huh?”

“yeah, you nut.” she takes a glance at your nightstand and picks up the bottle of pills, shakes them around before settling them back down. “how many did you take?”

“just two…maybe three?” ellie’s eyes widen in disbelief.

“three? babe, these are 500 mg. why would you do that? the bottle says take two every six hours, and here you are taking more than the recommended amount, on top of taking melatonin,” she chides, though, it’s more out of genuine concern than it is her actually being upset.

you laugh at your own expense, but it’s short-lived because a second later, you’re clutching for your belly and writhing in pain.

ellie sighs, kicks her boots off and fully climbs up onto the bed and under the covers. once she settles into a comfortable position, she pulls you into her side.

“i know, baby, let me take care of you,” she strokes your back soothingly, “but next time, please don’t take that much. were you planning on sleeping forever?”

“maybe.” you jest, snuggling further into her warmth. admittedly, mixing both of those drugs was kind of stupid—maybe really stupid, but in your defense, you were in pain!—and really desperate. when you have cramps this bad, sometimes death sounds like mercy.

“oh, yeah?” the laugh she lets out is a deep rumble, and you can feel the vibrations of it as you lay on her chest. it’s soothing. a remedy that you should’ve utilized sooner, and you would’ve, had you been in the right headspace.

“mhm…” you purr, looking up at her, at her lips. ellie scans your face for pain, then dips down and pilfers a kiss from your lips. it’s slow, and sweet, and ends far too soon for your liking. before she can pull away, you tug her by the collar of her shirt. look up at her with pleading eyes, and fist it tighter between your knuckles.

“more,” you drawl, pulling her back down to meet your lips. she indulges you, because of course she does, and pushes you onto your back.

“thought,” a kiss, “your,” another, “cramps were bothering you?” she queries, breathless as she holds herself up above your sprawled out body. she thumbs with the hem of your shirt, waits expectantly for you to answer.

“they are,” you say, “so why don’t you make ‘em go away?”

and what kind of girlfriend would she be if did otherwise?

© arachine 2023

[charlesf1leclerc]

I have no ideas but i love to support writers so here we are

Charles with reader that speaks italian and french fluently, but they're not her first languages. and he didn't know that. So he's Very pleasantly surprised when he hears her talking with the ferrari people in italian. And then with his mom in french and he's all heart eyes for her😌

Summary- you learn French in order to make a great first impression on Charles family and Charles is over the moon about it 

Warnings- poorly edited , badly translated French, mention of marriage 

Authors note- I hope that this is ok and to your liking 

It was a sunny evening in Monaco you and Charles where on your way over to his mums house for a family dinner. You were quite nervous was you had never met his mum before, you had met his brothers around the paddock and at races but you had yet to meet his mum and your really wanted to make a good impression. You ha doit your nicest dress on and tried to look as classy as possible not wanting to look tacky around the mother of the love of your life. You also had another little trick up your sleeve you had been learning a little bit of French so you could interact with the family in their native language, Charles hadn’t known you had been learning the language and you couldn’t wait to see his face when he found out , you just hoped tou wouldn’t miss pronounce anything cause that would ruin your prefect first impression.

“ here we are “ Charles spoke up

“ it’s really nice, this where you grew up” you inquired

“ yep this is where little Charles lived” 

“ aww it’s so cute”

Charles came around and grabbed your hand as you walked up to the door. He could obviously feel your sweaty palms and he turned to face you before ringing the bell.

“ it’s gonna be ok Cherie, she’s gonna love you, how could she not”

“ yeah it’s just meeting your mum is a big deal I just want to make a good impression”

“ and you will “ he says pulling you into him kissing your temple before ringing the doorbell.

After a few minutes the door finally opened. “Bonjour”

“ bonjour mama” Charles spoke leaning in to kiss his mum on both of her cheeks.

“ et vous devez être o/n” ( and you must be y/n) she spoke turning to you

“Oh mum y/n dosent speak French “ Charles spoke this was your moment 

“ c'est un plaisir de vous rencontrer Mme Leclerc”  ( it’s so nice to meet you Mrs Leclerc ) 

Charles turned to you stunned at the fact you had just spoken such fluent French, he didn’t know you knew how to speak any other language other then English and he wasn’t gonna lie this made him fall in love with you even more. 

“ oh tu parles français “ ( oh you do speak French ) she looked humorously at Charles.

“ juste quelques petites choses alors peut-être ne comptez pas sur mon français pour toute la nuit” ( just a few things so maybe don’t rely on my French for the whole night ) you laughed

“ well anyone nice to meet you dear, come in come let’s go settle inside and get to know each-other.

you and Charles followed her inside. Charles stopped you by grabbing your arm . You turned around to face him.

“ since when could speak French” he looked at you

“ since a couple weeks ago, I learnt some specially for today although I only know a few things I thought I might need to say “ you laughed rocking back on your heels

“ marry me “ he stared at you

You burst out laughing 

“ what”

“ I mean I’m just so in love with you right now , you went to all that just for my family”

“ I mena i love you and I will do whatever for your family to love me”

He pulled you in to kiss your lips

“ your perfect for me” he looked lovingly in your eyes still holding your cheek.

“ you guys ok” Pascale shouted 

“ coming mama” Charles linked his hand with yours as you walked further into the house. It’s safe to say the rest of your French knowledge paid of that night 

[imaginaryf1shots]

My Girls (XI) | Max Verstappen

WC: 7.6K

Driver!OC x Max Verstappen

Summery: Cecilia Hansson daughter of a Swedish billionaire, a race car driver, with a dream of making it big in Formula 1. However she has a few secrets that may hurt her as women are disliked in the sport.

Series Warnings: google translated french, dutch, cursing, child abandonment, absent father, drinking, car accidents, Jos Verstappen, misogyny, Christian horner (tell me if i missed anything)

AN: The next chapter will be the last one 🙂

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He Who Must Not Be Named

It was a normal day in MonacoIt was a normal day in Monaco. Adeline was home alone for the day. Her husband was in Sweden for work with Laurent. Cecilia was off racing with Nathalie and Max. Adeline was relaxing a bit before heading out to meet her friends for lunch. Adeline is a graceful, soft-spoken woman. Her early life was hard, but when she married Börje, she married up and now lives a life of luxury. Her husband likes to pamper her and give her everything she ever dreamed of.

When the doorbell rang Adeline was confused, she wasn't expecting anyone or anything, her mind went to how sometimes Cecilia orders stuff to their house if she doesn't want Max to see it or they weren't there and didn't want anyone to get in their apartment.

Opening the door she was rendered speechless, here stood the man that she once welcomed into her own, the man she treated like family, a man that she treated like a son something he never experience, the man her family showed so much love to, here stood the man that caused her daughter so much anguish and hurt but gave her the best thing in her life. 

“It’s good to see you Adeline.” The man had a smirk on his face, his hands in his pockets and his voice cocky. Adeline had to blink a couple of times and swallow before she was able to get her voice back.

”Mathew, what are you doing here?” Last she saw him was in 2015 and it wasn’t on good terms.

”I came to see Nathalie.” Mathew said and stuck his head inside looking around, where all this attitude came from, she had no idea. He wasn’t like this when he was with Cecilia, the nerve of him turning up at her doorsteps 7 years after his daughter was born and asking for her. “Won’t you invite me in?”

”No.” Adeline said and held the door tighter, she was blocking his way in, the usually nice and polite woman doesn’t really hate anyone, she holds no hate in her heart, but, Mathew, he’s the exception. She holds so much hate and resentment towards him, all those feelings that she gained seeing how heartbroken her daughter was when he broke up with her and chose not to be a part of Nathalie’s life, before she was even born. all those feelings that went away with years came back once she saw his face. “And you can’t see Nathalie as well.”

”Why not? She’s my daughter.” The audacity of this man, Adeline frowns and scoffs.

”I’m surprised you’ve remembered, but she’s not your daughter and she’s not here.” Adeline told him. “Good day to you, but please don’t come back.”

Adeline closed the door in his face and even locked it for good measure, she had to take a few deep breaths to calm her heart, seeing him unsettled her. Why is he back? Why is he asking about Nathalie? What game is he playing?

Adeline plops down on her sofa, and opens her phone and presses for her contacts before she stops, who does she call? Her husband, who is on a business trip and will take his plane home? Her daughter, who is busy with the last couple races of the season? Both are working and will get affected by this, it takes her a surprisingly long time to decide who to call. She calls neither of them, instead she calls Laurent first.

”Bonjour, maman.” Laurent answers as he always does, he’s always the fastest person to pick up her calls.

”Laurent.” Was all it took for her son to know that there’s something going on, his mother doesn’t call him by his name a lot, it’s always a nickname or amour, never Laurent.

”What’s wrong? Did something happen? Are you hurt?” She hears movement in the background as Laurent panics.

“No, no I’m fine.” She reassures him before she sighs. “Is your dad around?”

”He’s in a meeting, if you want I can go get him though.” 

“No, I wanted to talk to you first.”

”What’s going on, maman? You’re scaring me.” Laurent sounded beyond worried.

”Mathew came asking for Nathalie.” The line went silent after Adeline managed to get those words out, both needed a moment to come to terms with what Adeline said, even to herself it sounded out of this world.

”Mathew? as in…” Laurent had no idea what to call him, he’s not Nathalie’s dad, but he’s not just Cecilia’s ex as well.

”Oui.” Adeline felt a headache coming, her day is ruined and her family’s day is about to be as well. 

“Did you tell Cece?” Laurent asked, he wanted to assess the situation first before he said or did anything.

”No, I called you first and I was thinking of telling Max, he’s going to be the calmer one out of the two.” Adeline said walking her son through her thought process. “I thought it’s the best thing to do, and you can tell your father, he’ll be very angry about it especially since I’m here alone, I don’t even know how they allowed him to come up without calling me first.”

”Yeah, he’s going to have a word with the security, rightfully so.” Laurent isn’t amused with the security, their family has lived in that house since before he can remember, and his father takes their safety and security very seriously. “I think calling Max is the best thing, but wait until after the race today, I’ll tell papa.”

”Okay, but do tell him I’m alright, and that nothing happened.”

”I will, but I’m sure he’ll call you straight after anyways.” 

“That’s true, bye mon amour.”

”Bye, maman.”

Adeline waits until the race is over and she's sure that they finished debrief and all their duties before she calls Max. Max doesn’t pick up the first time, making Adeline nervous, her leg bouncing up and down. The second time he declines but he calls her back not even 5 minutes later.

”Hello.” Max’s voice greets her.

”Hello, Max, is this a good time for us to talk?” Adeline asked, aware that just because he picked up doesn’t mean he’s not busy.

”Yeah, yeah, it’s fine, but Cecilia isn’t with me.” Max was in the car being driven back to the hotel, Nathalie and Cecilia already left, since she finished earlier than he did.

”No, I wanted to talk to you.” Adeline’s voice was a dead giveaway that something happened, she didn’t sound like her usual self at all.

”Did something happen?” Max asked frowning, Adeline took a moment to answer him, saying it the second time hasn’t made it easier for her.

”I’m sorry to be telling you this now, especially after you won today-“

”Look, whatever you need to tell me, you can say it, it’s not my first win.” Max wasn’t cocky, but this had to be big for her to call him twice and want to talk to him and not Cecilia, his mind filled with ideas about what could possibly be wrong.

“I didn’t know if to call you and tell you or call Cecilia, but I think you’ll be calmer than her and then you can judge how she is before you tell him, but Mathew came today and he wanted to see Nathalie.” Once more the line went silent but only for a moment.

”Mathew? Who's Math-“ Max stopped himself once he realised who Adeline was talking about. “Cecilia’s ex? That Mathew?”

“I’m afraid so.” Adeline sighed and closed her eyes.

“And he asked to see Nathalie?” Max asked, sounding deathly calm.

“Yes.”

”Did he ask about Cecilia?”

”No.”

”Did he say why?”

”No, just that she’s his daughter and he wants to see her.” Max scoffed at the words.

”Like hell he is.” Max muttered, his jaw clenching. “Are you okay? I know you were alone today.”

”I’m fine, don't worry, Börje will come by today or tomorrow morning, I think.” Adeline assured him. 

“That’s good, I’ll tell Cecilia, don’t worry about that.” Max was battling so many emotions inside himself right now, but he had to be calm and he had to tell his girlfriend first before they could do anything. It won’t be pretty and it won’t be nice but he has to be the one to tell her. He says his goodbyes to Adeline and spends the rest of the ride debating and thinking about how he’ll tell Cecilia. He tried to keep his thoughts from wandering and going to dark spots as much as he can, It won’t do him or anyone else any good. 

By the time he reached the hotel, he had everything planned out, what to say and what their next steps should be. However the moment he walked in it all went out the window.

“Daddy!” The arms of his beautiful 7 year old wrapped around his middle, head buried in his stomach. “What took you so long?”

Max as always pulled her up, it doesn't matter to him that she's gotten too old and heavy to be carried. He works out, he's strong and as long as he's capable he'll carry her. “Sorry liefje, the debrief took longer than we expected.”

“Its alright daddy, mommie already showered and everything.” Nathalie said and started telling him everything that's been done since she last saw him. Her every move. Cecilia’s every move.

“You little snitch, are you going to tell him how many times I've been to the bathroom.” Cecilia teased her daughter, kissing her head and Max's lips as she passed them.

“Three times.” Nathalie said proudly, making Cecilia laugh, Max managed to only give her a smile.

“We have to talk about privacy and secrets and what to tell and what not to tell.” Cecilia said from the living room part of the hotel suite, Max made it to the bedroom. He already showered at the track, he placed Nathalie on the bed and went to his suitcase to get his clothes before he went to the bathroom to change.

“But we don't keep secrets from daddy!” Nathalie exclaimed, flabbergasted that her mum would think to not tell her dad something.

“I guess not.” Cecilia said and came back with a water bottle, she kissed her daughter’s cheek, and plopped down beside her on the bed. “When do you have the call with your friend again?” Nathalie scrambled off the bed almost tripping as she rushed to the living room where her iPad is. Her friend and her scheduled a zoom call, something that she started to do when she's with her parents for a week or two. Max came out of the bathroom in a pair of shorts and shirt. He said nothing to Cecilia but sat on the bed with his back to her. Cecilia sat up and crawled towards him, she gave him a back hug, her front pressed to his back, her arms wrapping around him.

“You're quiet.” Cecilia says and presses small kisses to his neck and the parts of his jaw she could reach, Max closed his eyes enjoying the feeling of her lips feathering up and down on his skin, making him shiver. “What's wrong?”

“Cecilia.” She instantly stops and pushes herself away from her boyfriend. Max turned to look at her, she looked like he electrocuted her.

“Are you angry at me or something?” She asks him, in his eyes she looked small and confused. 

“What? No, why would you think that?” Max was now confused, why did she think he's angry with her.

“You called me Cecilia, we're alone and you never call me Cecilia.” Realisation dawned on Max, and despite what he's about to tell her, he smiles.

“No, schatje, I'm not mad, not at you at least.” Max explained and took her hand in his, he gave her a squeeze. 

“Amor, What happened.?”

“Mathew went to your parents house today.” Max decided to drop the bomb on her, Cecilia recoiled from him and was off the bed in a second.

“What? Why?” All colour drained out of her.

“Cilia, calm down.” Max followed her off the bed and around it, Cecilia was already shaking. He glanced out the door and saw Nattie occupied with her friend talking animatedly. “Just listen to me.” Cecilia gave a hesitant nod and took a deep shaky breath. “Your mum called me, he went to your family house and asked for Thalia.”

“That fucker, why the hell is he asking about her?” Cecilia’s anger is very evident, she's always been known for being calm, collected and patient. The Ice Queen of Motorsport, and a soft hearted woman behind the scenes. 

“I don't know, but we're finishing the season next week, your dad is back with your mum and he signed away his rights. He has no grounds to stand on, if he wants to do anything.” Max said and Cecilia shook her head no, she’s not satisfied, this affects her and Nathalie and even Max. It’ll cause so much trouble if he shows his face again.

”No, no Max, it’s not okay, he agreed to not show up again, he agreed to never see her and to not be a part of her life, what if he wants to be a part of her life? What if he wants to take her from me? I can’t-I can’t-“

”Cilia, Schatje, please calm down.” Max cups her face and her eyes settle on his and fill with tears. “Don’t jump to conclusions, we have no idea why he wants to see her, and he has no right to see her, so he won’t, we’re not letting him, okay?”

”Okay, yeah, you’re right.” Max pulls Cecilia in for a hug and kisses her head, as she always does when she needs comfort Cecilia tries to hide herself in Max. 

“We’re a team, you’re not going through this alone and Nathalie is mine.” Max whispers and holds her tighter. “I’d be dead before he takes her from me.”

”Thank you amour.”

”No need to thank me, we’re in this together.”

Max goes on to win the last race of the season with Cecilia coming P3, Max won the world championship a few races back, a race that saw him as 3rd time World Champion.

The couple hadn’t been in Monaco since they heard about Mathew and he hadn’t turned up to the Hannsson household. Börje had a word with the security team at the apartment building and there has been a change in the staff. 

The family calmed down when it was two weeks after the final race and there was no trace of the British man. It seemed like he’s not in Monaco and that maybe he just winded them up for the fun of it and that he doesn’t actually want to see Nathalie.

It was a random Tuesday when Max, Charles and Lando(who was here for the week before he’ll start his winter activities) met up for some reason or the other, the trio’s relationship is ever closer because of their connections to the female driver. Something that the fans love, especially the Lestappen shippers.

”Max Verstappen!” A male voice called for the RedBull driver while they were walking around looking for the shop Cecilia told them about, before they were going to head back for a late lunch at the Hansson-Verstappen household. The trio instinctively turned around to look at the man, expecting a fan but he didn’t look like it.

”Yes.” Max answers confused, it took Charles a moment to realise who he is but the moment he did you could see it on his face.

“Mathew?” Charles was the one to say, and Max looked at him frowning before he looked back at the man who he now knows is Mathew, his eyes take in the British man, the man that caused so much trouble in Cecilia’s life, the man that donated his sperm to bring his daughter in this world, the man he wants to punch so bad for coming and asking about Nathalie.

”I’ve been hoping to run into you.” Mathew said and walked closer so he was standing in front of Max, his face in a smug grin, hands in his pockets looking like he has no care in the world. 

“And here I was hoping you’d died in a ditch or something.” Max replied smoothly, Lando choked on his breath, he has no idea who Mathew is and why Charles and Max have this reaction to him, Mathew chuckles looking amused.

“Nice one.” Mathew runs his eyes over to the other two drivers, before they settle on Charles. “It’s been a while, Charles.”

”Not long enough.” Charles muttered, Charles is a nice person by nature, he’s never not nice but here he is Lando seeing him angry at a person for no reason that he knows of.

”Looks like getting into Formula 1 changed you.” Mathew gave them a condescending look and rolled his eyes.

“What do you want? Get on with it.” Charles said wanting this interaction to be over already, he doesn't know about Mathew turning up to the Hansson household and asking for his goddaughter.

”Same thing I asked for when I met Adeline, I want my daughter.” Mathew shrugged as if that’s the easiest most simplest thing ever, and he’s not asking for a daughter he left and knows nothing about.

”First, she’s not your daughter, second, it’s Mrs. Hansson to you, third, you better piss off and get out of our faces and our lives.” Max said and took a step closer, his tone was not to be taken lightly, Mad Max may be something of the past but when he’s pushed he’s right there. Lando then realised what’s going on, he realised who Mathew is. Charles also realises that Mathew went and asked for Nathalie, another reason for him to not be nice or kind to Mathew.

“Huh, no can do I’m afraid.” Mathew’s grin was gone, and the dark side of him came to the surface. “Look, just because you’re fucking her mother, doesnt make you her father, she’s mine, her DNA is half off mine.”

”And just because you donated your sperm doesnt make her yours.” They’re face to face now, both waiting for something small to put their hands on the other. “Where have you been the last 7 years? Before that when Cecilia was pregnant, where were you? I bet you were drunk off your ass sleeping with women, getting them pregnant before leaving them for someone else, how many children do you have running out there without a father? huh? A lot I bet, listen here Mathew, Nathalie is mine, and you better not ask for her or even think about her, because you’re never seeing her.”

“We’ll see when Cecilia sees me what she says about it, I bet she’ll just spread her-“ Max didn’t let him finish before he was swinging his fest and punching Mathew with all he got, in a second he was holding his shirt and swinging for another punch, Mathew took a moment to swing his fest. The other two drivers didn't have enough time to separate the two before they both landed a few punches in.

By the time they were pulled off each, Max's fist was bloody, his face bruised with a split lip. Both men were heaving, Charles pushed Mathew away making stumble and fall, but he didn't care, he helped Lando push and move Max away from the annoying Brit. 

“Come on, mate.” Lando stresses, Max is not cooperating with the two drivers, they have to use their full strength to pull him away from the sight of Mathew. Max is boiling with anger, Lando who came in with Max drives the dutchman's car while Charles follows in his Ferrari. 

When they reach the apartment Max opens the door and storms inside, he ignores Cecilia’s calls and everyone else and heads to the bedroom. Lando comes in followed by Charles, Cecilia’s standing there looking at them confused, Alex also looks confused but she stayed with Nattie on the living room floor playing with her barbies and their sports cars.

“What happened?” Cecilia asked her friends worried.

“Uh, we saw Mathew.” Charles says softly and her heart drops, she crosses her arms and shuffles her legs.

“They got in a fight.” Lando adds after a beat of silence.

“Fuck.” Cecilia mutters and pushes her hair back, stressing.

“Look, Cece, we can take Nattie for the day and you and Max can talk about it.” Charles offers and she turns to look at Nathalie before looking back at her friends, Lando gives her a nod and she sighs.

“If it's not too much trouble.” Cecilia place a hand on Charles arm in gratitude.

“Hey, she's my goddaughter.” Charles offers her a smile and pulls her in for a quick hug before he heads to the living room with an enthusiastic. “Who wants to have a sleepover at Charlie's house?”

“Mathew really said some stuff to piss Max off.” Lando told her and she wants to strangle Mathew, he came into their lives and is messing it up. “Max was angrier than I've ever seen him before… And that's saying a lot.”

“Thank you Lando.” Cecilia say and also gives him a hug. Charles is already helping Nattie pack an overnight bag. Cecilia says goodbye to your friends and daughter, Alex gives her a long hug before they head out.

Opening the door to their shared bedroom, the only source of light is from the windows, Max is sitting on the bed with his head in his hands, his knuckles in his right hand are bruised and busted.

“Max.” Cecilia says and goes to sit by his side, her hand lands on his back, moving up and down. “Amour, please look at me.”

Max turned his head to look at her still leaning forwards, Cecilia grimaced when she saw his face, it’s already bruised. Cecilia went to the kitchen and got some ice before she rushed back, Max was sitting in the exact position he was when she left him, placing the ice on his cheek, the only reaction he gave her was closing his eyes.

”Mon amour, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” Cecilia whispers her eyes filled with tears, her ex taunted Max, he hit him, Mathew is causing Max anguish and she feels guilty for it all.

”No, no, it’s not your fault, you don’t say sorry okay?” Max was out of his mind, he’s still so pissed off and the last thing he wants is for Cecilia to feel guilty in any way shape or form. “This is his fault, and his fault only. That asshole knew what he was doing.”

Tears gather in her eyes and she bites her bottom lip, her eyes focusing on the ice she's holding to Max’s face. Max takes a deep breath and sighs, they sit in silence for a few long minutes, there's so much emotion, the tension is high.

“Did Nattie go with them?” Max asked breaking the silence, Cecilia nods her head and Max removes the ice towel From his face gently taking her hands in his. “Come on.” He says so very softly, Max is always soft with her and Nattie but this is a different kind of soft. This is a scared man that's trying to be strong, this is a man that has so much on his shoulders and doesn't want to show it, that is a man has so much to lose. Max is vulnerable and he's trying not to show it, it is rare for him to be so vulnerable. Max leads Cecilia to the bathroom, once they're in their ensuite he turns the tab on in the huge tub they have facing the window. They're silent, Cecilia watches Max with intensity, her heart is beating fast in her chest, and Max still won't meet her eyes. So when he comes to stand in front of her Cecilia raises his chin with the tip of her fingers, and his eyes move up her figure until they meet her eyes. Their eyes meet and every thought, everything that Cecilia wanted to say is gone, she can't remember what she wanted to say. Max's blue eyes trap her, people always say that eyes are windows to the soul and she couldn't help but agree at this moment.

Max moves his hands down to the hem of her shirt and lefts it up, Cecilia says nothing just follows his lead and lefts her hands up to help him slip it off. He drops it to the floor, his eyes not leaving hers, his hands move to her jeans and unbutton them, he push them over her hips and they fall to the floor, Cecilia steps out of them, and stands there in her undwear and still Max doesn't look away from her face. Before he moves to her bra or panties he starts on his own clothes, he takes off his shirt in one fluid move and moves to his pants, Cecilia isn't as strong as Max her eyes drop to his chest for a moment before they go back to his face.

Max smiles a little and a blush covers Cecilia's face, Max's hands cup her face his thump rubbing her cheek softly. Max's hands run over her neck, shoulders and back until they reach the clasps of her bra which he undoes expertly, her bra falls on the floor between them, and Max's hands continue on their mission and move to her hips where they hock onto the tops of her panties and move down taking them with him. Cecilia once again steps out of them and Max takes off his boxers.

Max takes her hand softly and walks them to the bath he steps in and sits down, still holding her hand he helps her in. Cecilia settles in front of him and Max pulls her back, he leans back against the tub with Cecilia pressed into him. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath relaxing. 

Max is looking out the big window at the view the sun is sitting and the sea is right in front of them and he's reminded why he chose this house and why he pays a lot of money for it. For moments like this, where he's with the person he loves the most and they spend their times together.

They sit in the hot water in silence for a long time, but it doesn't feel awkward and it's not as intense as it was before, both have a lot on their minds, so many things could happen and they have to think about all the possibilities and what they'll do in each case. The silence is something that they needed, they just needed to be together in each other's presence, the comfort of having someone just sit there and hold you, and you don't have to say anything for them to understand what you're feeling.

A sudden thought popped in Cecilia's mind, and before she second guessed herself or give it much thought the words spilled from her mouth. "Do you believe in soulmates?"

"Soulmates? That's random." Max hummed his hands moving to her waist under the water, his thump rubbing softly at the skin. "No, I don't think they're real."

Maybe it was because he's a child of divorce, or maybe it's because he didn't realise right away that Cecilia is the one for him, but either way, he doesn't believe in them.

"I don't think they're real, at least not fully... but I feel like if there's ever soulmates, that you're mine."

Max moved his head to her shoulder and pulled her closer if that was even possible. Max presses his lips to her sweet spot, Cecilia closes her eyes once more, leaning her head back and to the side. Her hands move to his hair and she pulls slightly, Max whines, his lips find their way to her neck, kissing and sucking leaving his mark on her body, he’s everywhere, his hands are moving all over her, her breath catches in her throat, before she breathes his name like a mantra. “Max.”

After their time in the bathtub and the water has long since gone cold they get out, dry themselves and get dressed. Cecilia goes to the kitchen where she and Alex had ingredients out to make lunch, Cecilia puts everything back where it belongs, deciding to order something for her and Max.

”Schatje!” Max calls coming out of the bedroom.

”In the kitchen.” She calls back and Max comes in phone in hand.

"My team just called me, a video of what happened today was posted online.” Cecilia moved to his side and looks at his phone, a shaky video is playing but there’s no mistaken that it’s the three F1 drivers and her ex, she sees Max throwing the first punch and the fight that happens after that, Mathew’s face is clear and it’ll take no time before it’s public knowledge who he is and how they once dated.

”Our PR teams will not like what’s about to happen.” Cecilia mutters.

”They’ll have to deal with it.” Max knows they’re in trouble but there’s not much they can do. What’s done is done and there’s nothing you can do about it. 

“Love the I don’t give a fuck mindset.” Cecilia says and squeezes his cheeks with one hand. “What are we having for dinner?”

”Can we have tomato soup and whatever you want?” 

“Sure thing.” Cecilia said kissed his cheek and picked her phone to order, they were planning to have a chill night just the two of them and the leaked video isn’t about to change that.

The next two days, things were crazy online, but their day to day life was quite everything was going smoothly, until it wasn’t.

Fans(also known as detectives) find out who Mathew was, they also find pictures of a young Cecilia with Mathew and have deducted that they were dating once upon a time, and it wasn’t long before rumours of him being Nathalie’s dad were all over social media, conspiracy theories, comparison pictures and everything in between. It all came to a head when Mathew released a statement, Cecilia’s world turned upside down.

“Ceceilia and I used to date when she was still in F3 and before that, we were the young couple with the world ahead of us, and for a small mistake I've made she's refused me my daughter and named another man her father, I wasn't given the chance to know my girl to see her grow up or to hear her call me daddy, in fact now I'm subjected to hearing her call another man daddy. I personally find it unfair and unjust.”

“What the actual fuck is wrong with him.” Laurent was pissed off, he didn't care about the look his mother gave him for cursing, the family was gathered for a get together during the winter break and Mathew just decided to ruin it like he's been doing lately. “I want to punch him so bad.”

“You're not the only one.” Max muttered, the kids were playing in the game room Cecilia's mum had made for her grandkids, so the adults were speaking freely.

“Börje what about his father, you said you could talk to him.” Adeline asked her husband, worried sick for her daughter and granddaughter.

“I've left a massage with his secretary, but they haven't heard from them.” Börje was not happy, he wasn't happy at all. He usually left his daughter to do as she pleases deal with everything the way she liked but this is a step too far.

“And his family, are you sure they'll help?” Max asked, he's the only one who never met them, and he only knows the little that came up while talking with Ceceilia.

“If they care about their company.” The threat was clear in Börje's voice.

“I'm afraid he won't though.” Cecilia mutters and they all turn to look at her. “I mean, I think I know how Mathew is, and I have a feeling that he's not on good terms with his family, he's not the kind of person to make news like that knowing it'll get back to his family and they wouldn't be pleased with him.”

Cecilia looks at Max by her side, he doesn't know anything about her relationship with Mathew or how their dynamic worked , he didn’t know how close she and Mathew were, she planned her life with him and then she got pregnant and all those dreams flew out the window. Max takes her hand and squeezes it.

”We’ll figure it out.” Börje said and took out his phone to try and contact his family again the Walkers were very famous and very big in the UK but they need the Hanssons to function, for their businesses to not fail.

It was only over an hour later that Börje got a call back. Cecilia and Max were on the blconey talking, Laurent and his wife were checking on the kids so he was with Adeline. A lengthy phone call between Börje and Mathew’s dad, Börje was told the inner workings of the family recently, the problems Mathew has been causing. David, Mathew’s dad, had no idea about Nattie, he had no idea he had a granddaughter out there and he did say that if he knew that he would’ve made Mathew stay and take accountability. Börje told him that this is why he didn’t inform him, his daughter and granddaughter didn’t need a father that’s forced to be there.

”Go get Cecilia and Max.” Adeline went and got the couple.

”What did they say papa?” Cecilia asked taking a seat across from her father, her hands rubbing her thighs trying to self comfort herself.

”You were right, Mathew is in trouble with his dad, he made a big mess at a board meeting and has been on the sidelines for a few months, and as a way to get back at his dad he’s been causing a lot of trouble.” Börje told them. “They’ll try to talk to him but there’s no guarantee it’ll work.”

”So we’re on our own then.” Cecilia stated she leaned back and sighed.

”Don’t lose hope yet, mon ange.” Adeline said and took Cecilia’s other side she pulled her in for a hug, kissing her forehead.

”Either way he can’t take her from us.” Max said, putting his hand on Cecilia’s knee.

”Max is right, the lawyers said there’s no way, unless you’re the worst mother there is, there’s no way for a court to give Mathew any rights.” Börje said.

Nathalie went to a friend’s house for a play date, and when Cecilia and Max went to pick her up to go out for dinner she looked upset.

”Thalia, what’s wrong liefje?” Max asked looking at Nathalie in the rare review mirror.

”Can we go home?” The frown on her face didn’t move, her lips pouting. 

“You don’t want to eat out?” Cecilia asked concerned, Nattie shakes her head no. “Of course, mon amour, we’ll go home.”

Max and Cecilia share worried looks but say nothing. The ride home is much tenser than it was on the way to drop her off earlier in the day.

Nattie ignores her parents from the car to the apartment, and was planning to just head to her room, but her mum wasn’t about to let her.

”Nattie, please come, we have to talk.” Cecilia calls for her daughter before she could escape. Nattie looks at her mum before her eyes go to Max. “Do you want to talk just you and me? Or you can talk to daddy-“

Before Cecilia could finish, Nathalie was already in tears. Sobs leaving her body shaking, she was practically wailing. It surprised both her parents and they both sprung into action, heading to their girl. Cecilia had her in her arms first, and Nattie clutched her shirt tightly in her hands, hiding her face in Cecilia’s shirt.

”What’s wrong, liefje?” Max whispers trying to see Nattie’s face but she just hid more into Cecilia. “Do you want me to go?”

”NO!” She shouts and turns from Cecilia to look at him stomping her leg, this took both the drivers by surprise, Nathalie is rarely difficult, she’s never thrown a tantrum without any reason, whether they agreed with the reason or not is a different subject.

”Nathalie!” Cecilia scolded her daughter but it only brought more tears. “What’s wrong mon amour? Please just tell us, so we can help you.”

”I-I- I don’t want to have another daddy.” Nathalie said looking up at you, her hands were back to clutching Cecilia’s shirt, she was begging her now.

”What?” Cecilia whispered. “Okay, let’s sit down and talk, okay?” They moved to the sofa, Max squeezed Cecilia’s hand in comfort before they sat down with Nathalie in between them.

”What are you talking about, mon ange? Max is your daddy.” Cecilia pushed Nathalie’s hair out of her face, looking at her red face wet from all the tears.

”Laura said that I’m going to have another daddy, but I don’t want him, I only want Maxie, he’s my daddy, Laura said that you’re going to make another man my daddy, and I don’t want it, I just want daddy, I just want him.” Max couldn’t help but pull Nathalie softly away from Cecilia and into his arms, the girl instantly hugged him, her hands wrapping around his neck and clutching his shirt, and the tears continued to flow.

”You’re my baby girl, and that’s never going to change, yeah?” Max said softly patting her back, Cecilia was fighting tears herself, she felt so bad for not talking to Nathalie about it but she just never thought she’d find out through her friend, they’ve all been so good at keeping her away from all the drama. “You’re my liefje, you’re my daughter, the one I love the most and there’s no changing that, as long as you want me, I’ll always be your dad.”

”Please don’t leave me.” Nathalie whispered her sobs have calmed, but she was still tearing up.

”I won’t, I promise.” 

Nathalie hadn’t let go of Max until she fell asleep, Cecilia debated walking her up for dinner but seeing how exhausted Nathalie looked she just let her sleep. Max placed her in her bed, while Cecilia waited for him in their bedroom. They seem to mean there a lot lately to just talk about everything Mathew related.

Max sits next to Cecilia, their shoulders brushing.

”She looked so heartbroken.” Cecilia whispered, there’s a lump in her throat and it seemed to be choking her slowly.

”Yeah… we need to solve this as fast as possible.” Max sighed and closed his eyes to think, there has to be a way to get rid of Mathew for good. He’s doing all this for attention from the public, to get back at his parents, and to just ruin their lives. Mathew must’ve known that there’s no way he’d get Nathalie, he’s the one that signed the papers. He’s the one that disappeared, he’s the one that’s been seen hanging around women in Monaco since he’s been back in the country. “Do you have a copy of the papers?”

”What papers?” 

“The ones he signed his rights away.”

”Yeah, papa, has the original ones, but I have a copy, why?”

”I’m going to need them.”

It took a week before Mathew released another statement.

”My family has come in contact with me after they shunned me months ago, and I was happy, maybe they wanted to come in contact with me again, but they just wanted to keep their pockets filled with Hansson money and asked me leave my girl, to not care about her and to move on.

Well, to that I say fuck you, fuck you all, I’m taking this to court, I’m going to have my daughter back, I want part of the custody, I want her to know who her father is, I have the rights, and I’m not backing down.”

Not even 15 minutes later team Max Verstappen released a statement.

”It’s sad for Max and Cecilia, to have intimate parts of their private life so out to the public, not for them but for Nathalie. They want to inform everyone that Mathew has no rights to Nathalie, as he signed his rights away in the early stages of Cecilia’s pregnancy and has never tried to come in contact with her since. He’s not on the birth certificate or any other document. Thus, he will not be able to take Cecilia to court. We’ve included a picture of the documents he signed to give his parental rights away, furthermore we’ve done our own research and discovered that Mathew has many children out there in the world that he’s never seen or come in contact with. That’s all the couple is willing to say, thank you for understanding and please give the family time to deal with what has happened. See you on track!”

“This is why you wanted the papers?” Cecilia asked coming into the sim room, with her phone in her hands, she’s amused, she’s happy and she’s relieved.

”He had it coming.” Max said not looking away from his sim.

”How did you find out about other women?” Cecilia asked confused, Max shrugged.

”Hired a private investigator.”

”Wow, remind me not to get on your bad side.” Cecilia joked and giggled.

”Couldn’t do that even if you tried.” Max said simply and the smile on her face grew.

”Really?” She raised an eyebrow and Max hummed. “Even if I do this?”

Cecilia dropped on his lap ending his perfect lap, Max’s hands instinctively left the wheel to land on her hips to steady her.

”Even if you do this.”

”What about if I do this?” She asked and leaned close so her face was millimetre away from his.

”Even then.”

”What about this?” She presses her lips to his, Max pulls her closer. She’s driving him crazy, his hand is at the back of her head holding her head just how he likes it, making her moan into the kiss.

”Especially this.” Max manages to get out between kisses, his voice already sounding out of breath.

Later that day with the couple getting ready to head to bed, Max comes up behind Cecilia who sat at her vanity doing her skincare routine. His arms find their place on her shoulders before they move down her arms to her elbows and then to her waist, he pulls her up just enough for him to slip under her and she’s sitting on his lap. All the while she’s just continuing with what she was doing, Max places his head on her shoulder and looks at her through the mirror.

”You’re so touchy today.” Cecilia teased Max lightheartedly.

”Says the one that came in and kissed me and then lured me into sex.” Max smirks enjoying the blush that covered her cheeks, he loves how he still gets her to blush like that.

”Well, I don’t remember you not liking it.” Cecilia manages to say.

”No I certainly liked it.” Max mumbles and kisses her shoulder, before he’s back at looking at her.

”What’s up?”

”Nothing, I’m just happy, we’re together.” Max said softly and Cecilia smiles at him through the mirror.

”Me too, more than anything.” Cecilia replied just as softly. “Did I mention how much I find it sexy when you fight for me and Nattie?”

“You can’t love someone and not fight for them, being with you and loving you, makes me want to fight everyone and everything that bothers you.” Max’s tone is serious, an opposite to Cecilia’s teasing one. 

“And I’d do the same… but somehow everyone is already scared of you.” Cecilia giggles at the unamused look Max gives her, at the sound of her giggles, her hugs her closer and smiles.

”Come on, I’m done.”

Mathew drops off the face of the earth after the statement from Max, a few women came online and posted videos of their own experience with Mathew, all having his children. The one good thing that came out of him going public, is that his family is now sending money to those women who have Mathew’s children and are struggling financially. They of course disowned him and released a statement saying they had no knowledge of his doings and they’re no longer associated with him.

But the biggest fuck you came on Cecilia’s instagram…

ceciliahansson15 

Tagged, maxverstappen1

liked by lewishamilton, charles_leclerc, sebastianvettel, and 4,345,356 others

ceciliahansson15 Guess I’m the only non-Verstappen in the house from now on 🤷‍♀️

view all 902,234 comments

username1 the plot twist

username2 I can’t ☠️

username3 say what again????

username4 honestly you go max claming your daughter as you should 👏

username78 as he should 🙇‍♀️

username98 max winning on and off the track

username09 next step, we’ll have 2 verstappens on track 👀 

username26 pop the question and dont be a pussy max 💍

username37 i think he’s droves he’s not a pussy, bro claimed her daughter and gave her his last name before he even proposed 

lewishamilton gongrats sending you all love 💐

ceciliahansson15 thank you lew 🫶

charles_leclerc you know i’m still her favourite right?

maxverstappen1 don’t know about that mate

charles-leclerc want me to call 😏 

maxverstappen1 NO!

charles_leclerc I rest my case

ceciliahansson15 🙄

Usename48 I love how they like to use Insta to just say f you to everyone

Username229 seriously instagram should give them money over all the interactions it's getting them

Taglist:

@luciaexcorvus . @vellicora . @tpwkstiles . @belennasif . @eugene-emt-roe . @fanboyluvr . @fangirl125reader . @christianpulisic10 . @belennasif . @itsjustkhaos . @crashingwavesofeuphoria . @mynameisangeloflife . @mirrorball-6 . @skynel09 . @barcelonaloverf1life . @lilipiggytails . @rebelatbay . @christianpulisic10 . @ironmaiden1313 . @dark-night-sky-99 . @amalialeclerc . @bborra . @allsouls-emma . @buckybarns4life . @distancedss . @xoscar03 . @aquangxl . @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy . @theseerbetweenus .

[mochegato]

How to Pass a Background Check with Flying Colors

“You remember the rules, right?” Alya asked for what had to be the fifth time that night.  She set down the lip gloss she was supposed to be applying for Marinette to level a pointed look at her.

Marinette rolled her eyes and grabbed the lip gloss to apply herself.  She was not going to let any doubts get to her.  She was far too excited about this date.  She hadn’t been this excited about a date since… well, honestly, she couldn’t remember when.  But Jason was absolutely amazing.  He was everything she never even let herself dream about because it was too unlikely.

When he’d approached her in the café to ask her about her book while she waited for her coffee, she almost tripped.  And she hadn’t even been moving.  He was funny, charming, smart, quick witted, spoke fluent French, and it didn’t hurt that he was ruggedly handsome, looking every bit the bad boy his personality didn’t seem to be.

They’d spoken for well over an hour that first day and it would have been longer if Juleka hadn’t interrupted to remind her they were supposed to be meeting for her dress fitting.  Thankfully, he was far more confident than her because while she was too scared to ask him for his number, he had no such compunctions, asking for her number and a date.

So, yeah, she was excited for this date.  But she wasn’t stupid.  They barely knew each other.  She didn’t even know his last name, let alone what he was capable of.  And she could protect herself and Tikki could assist, but Jason was easily three times as big as her.  His thighs were beautifully the size of her head.  If he wanted to hurt her, he might only get one hit in, but with his chest and biceps as beautifully sculpted and bulging as they were, it would only take one hit to do serious damage.

But that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to give Alya attitude for being even more paranoid than she was.  “Yes, maman,” she snarked.

Alya grabbed the lip gloss back aggressively and tossed it in Marinette’s purse.  “Hey!  Check the attitude.  You know I just do it because I love you.”  She gave Marinette a pointed look but was only able to hold it for a few moments before both of them broke into giggles and playful shoves that didn’t stop until the buzzer sounded.

Their heads whipped toward the door and Marinette let out an excited squeal while Alya let out a long breath to psych herself up.  “Okay, game time.  Let’s meet Prince Charming,” she cheered and passed Marinette’s purse to her.

Marinette grinned at her and barely grabbed the bag before she rushed out the door.  “Bonne soirée, Jason!”  She lifted up on her toes to kiss his cheek.

He took a moment to respond, just staring at her dazedly for a few seconds.  “Bonne soirée, Marinette.  You look beautiful.”

“Thank you.  You look amazing too.”  She grinned brightly up at him, getting lost momentarily in his eyes until Alya cleared her throat behind her.  “Oh, right.  Sorry.  Jason, this is my friend Alya.  Alya, this is Jason.”

Jason stepped forward, hand extended.  “Nice to meet you, Alya.”

She shook his hand with a polite smile.  “Nice to meet you too.”  She looked quickly between the two before widening her smile.  “You two look so cute!” Alya cooed loudly.  “Can I get a picture of you by the motorcycle?”  She motioned toward the bike, herding them into position near the back of the bike.

Jason raised an eyebrow and glanced around them quickly as he took a step towards the bike, noting the way the light darkened the closer they got to the light.  He took a few more steps before freezing suddenly and turning around.  “Oh!  This is the background or Proof of Life pic,” he exclaimed loudly.  “Oh, got it.”

Marinette and Alya looked at each other anxiously, but he nodded excitedly like he was proud of himself for putting the pieces together and started reaching into his pocket.  “Yeah, why don't you go ahead and take a picture of my license plate.  Here's my ID.  Go ahead and take a picture of that.”  He handed the ID over to Alya, who took it tentatively, but did exactly as he suggested and handed it back to him, sending furtive, confused glances over to Marinette the entire time.

“But, you know, those records can all be faked pretty easily,” he noted casually while he tucked his ID back into his wallet.  “They’re pretty easy to manipulate.  It’s better to look up my name.  It’s harder to fake a bunch of news articles.”

Marinette blinked at him.  He wasn’t wrong, but she hadn’t been expecting him to know that.  Most people didn’t.  But that wasn’t the part that concerned her the most.  “Bunch of news articles?”

He shrugged and let out a helpless noise, almost too nonchalantly.  “When you do the background check you're probably going to find out have a charge for manslaughter.”

Alya chuckled at his joke but was already looking up his full name, now that she finally had it, before he finished his sentence.  Her fingers were moving like lightning as she pulled up any and all mentions of ‘Jason Todd’ in the French or American news (just to start, she would widen her search later if she didn’t find anything there), her paper’s backlogs, and police records.

Marinette gave him an exasperated look.  He clearly didn’t know who he was dealing with.  He was playing with fire.  “Don’t say things like that to her, it’ll just set her o…”

A screech interrupted her sentence and Marinette and Jason whipped around to look at her; Marinette with an expression of shock and Jason one of resignation.  “You’re Bruce Wayne’s son?” she shrieked.

“You are?” Marinette asked, turning to Jason, eyes wide in surprise.  In all their conversations, he had never mentioned his family, almost like he was intentionally avoiding the subject.  She guessed that must be why.

“What is it with you and rich men’s sons?” she snickered without looking up from her phone.

“Oh?” Jason asked, fixing her with a teasing gaze.

“What the… You were serious!” Alya screeched before Marinette could respond.

Marinette turned back to her again, trying to construct what was going on through eye contact with Alya, but her eyes were trained incredulously on Jason.  “What?” Marinette asked.  Alya angled the phone toward her without taking her eyes off Jason.

Marinette only read the headline and the first few sentences before turning her uncertain, hurt gaze to Jason.  He held his hands up.  “In my defense, that guy had been and currently was trafficking little kids into the sex trade.  He had seven little girls in his warehouse when I stopped him.”

Alya and Marinette slowly looked back down to Alya’s phone and scrolled further down on the article.  “Yeah.  Yep.  That's what it says,” Alya nodded, still reeling from the revelation.

“And he attacked me.  I tried to deescalate.  The charges were dropped. Thank you.  And made sure the girls didn’t see anything,” he insisted earnestly.

Alya scrolled down further.  “Uh huh.  Okay.  Yeah.  Says that too.”

Marinette blinked a few times at the article before she was able to find her words.  “You warned us about the manslaughter but were hoping we wouldn’t find out about the Bruce Wayne thing?”

He scoffed and leaned back on the seat of the motorcycle; legs stretched languidly in front of him.  “I’m not embarrassed about the manslaughter charge.”  He paused and bobbed his head to the side in consideration.  “Well, no, I’m a bit embarrassed I got caught, but I stand behind what I did.  Being associated with Bruce though…” he shuddered violently.  “If there was one thing I could scrub from my record…”

Alya looked over to Marinette, having a silent conversation with her.  Marinette looked between her and Jason a few times then shot her a determined nod and sent Jason a brilliant smile.  “Right, well, we're going to be late if we don't go and I was really excited to try this restaurant.  See you later Al,” she chirped and slung her leg over the seat behind Jason who returned her smile, just as brightly and handed her a helmet.

Alya nodded and waved her off.  “Have a good time!  Don't do anything I wouldn't do.”  She paused for a moment to consider her words before continuing louder.  “Actually, do far less than I would do.  And Jason?”  She waited until he looked at her before continuing, pointing a warning finger at him.  “If you feel the need to do something like that again, give me a call.  I'm a reporter.  I can use the story.  Have fun kids!”

The roar from the engine of Jason’s motorcycle filled the street, only drowned out by the delighted laughter from the passengers.

[ninyard]

“God, how blind can you be?”

That would be such a great line for a kevjean confession if Jean ever told Kevin abt his crush on him in the nest.

Ty, have a great day :))

You’re a genius!!! Here’s Kevin being Oblivious and Confused while Jean admits how he’s always felt about him :))

-

“Can I ask you something?” Kevin lay in Jeremy’s bed, on top of the covers, with arms outstretched and his feet dangling off the edge. “But you can’t get defensive, because I’m not the one who’s wondering.”

“Now I am obligated to be defensive.” Jean was sitting on his back up against the wall on his own bed, scribbling notes in a notebook for an assignment due far too soon. Kevin had texted him earlier that morning saying that he was in town, and with Jeremy at home because it was a weekday, alongside the schoolwork Jean had started to fall behind on, the best way for the two to catch up was to invite Kevin over. “Ask, then.”

“Are you…” Kevin sat himself up to look at Jean before he continued. “Are you and Renee a thing?”

“No.” Jean laughed. “She has not told you this?”

“We aren’t that close,” Kevin shook his head. “She likes you, you know.”

Jean could feel himself blushing, but hoped his newfound tan covered the colour that spread across his cheeks. “I know. We’ve spoken about it.”

“You’ve spoken about it,” Kevin repeated as if saying it again would make it make more sense. “I thought you liked her.”

“It would never work.” Jean said. “She saved my life. It would always be hanging over the two of us.”

“Okay, sure, but…” Kevin moved to get a better view of Jean while they spoke. “You do like her?”

Jean read his face with a gentle smile, shutting his notebook and putting it to one side. “What is this about?”

His friend squinted his eyes, perhaps hoping he could get his point across telepathically without having to say it out loud. He glanced towards the door and laughed. “So you like Renee.”

“I will always love her for what she has done,” Jean said with a shrug. “But no, not so much anymore. We’re good friends.”

“Point being,” Kevin nodded with an over exaggerated, enthusiastic bob of his head. “You’re into women.”

Jean felt his face fall, as if Kevin had forgotten his name, or forgotten which position he played in. He scoffed, half a laugh and half disbelief, “You can’t be serious.”

“Am I right?”

“Kevin, you can’t be serious.” Jean echoed, and Kevin furrowed his eyebrows as if he had any right to be confused. “Where has this come from?”

“A friend of a friend wants to know,” Kevin brushed that off, and continued his staring stand-off with Jean. “Why would I not be serious?”

Jean gestured around himself, not even able to come up with a simple answer to his question. Jean was never bothered about the labelling of his sexuality, but had been bothered by its display. At least, publically, he thought, which just translated to not in front of Riko. Not Kevin, never Kevin. Kevin had known, or so he thought, about his infatuations and fleeting glances at the men he thought were handsome. Kevin had known about himself, and how it made Jean feel every time he heard the sweet sound of his native tongue falling from his lips.

“You…” Nothing felt good enough, and Jean laughed at the absurdity of it all. “You know it’s not just women, Kevin.”

Kevin blinked. “Do I?”

“Those foxes have rotted your brain,” Jean switched to French, ever so slightly startling Kevin out of his confused daze. “I knew you had moved on from the nest, but I did not think you would have forgotten so much about me.”

“Well, in my defense,” Kevin responded in his learned language, and Jean melted a little bit more inside. “Jeremy asked you if you were into men, and you never answered him, so he assumed he’d read you wrong.”

“Jeremy?” Jean spat in a failed whisper. “What does Jeremy have to do with this?”

Kevin became even more confused. “Who else would it have anything to do with?”

“Don’t play stupid,” Jean shifted his position to sit closer to the edge of the bed. “You know it has everything to do with you.”

“Me?” He said in English, as if wary he’d gotten the translation wrong. He continued in French. “Okay, there must be a miscommunication here.” He switched back to English then, as he started to stumble over his French, suddenly self conscious that he was not speaking correctly. “I’m lost, Jean.”

“I have always been open with you,” Jean said. “I have never hidden from you my interests in men and women. Why would you pretend not to know that?”

Kevin open and closed his mouth a few times, his hands outstretched, waiting for the answer to fall into them. “I didn’t know that.”

Jean shut his eyes to process what Kevin was saying. Perhaps Jean had simply given his intelligence far too much credit, and he had not been as clear to Kevin as he’d imagined he’d been. He thought that impossible, with their shared glances on a lonely night, with their comfort of each other when Riko wasn’t looking. “Some of them you like,” Jean quoted something he’d said to him before. “You said this about the Trojans. If you were not talking about the striker, then who were you talking about?”

“Like, as in,” Kevin’s smile was more genuine than awkward, apparently finding some amusement out of the confusion. “A fan of. You like someone. They interest you. You’re as much of a Jeremy fan as I am. I didn’t think you were into him.”

“And you were not.” Jean didn’t pose it as a question, more of a statement, an answer for himself.

“He’s not bad to look at, don’t get me wrong,” Kevin laughed at the thought. “But not like that. He’s just a really good friend.”

Jean pinched his nose and squeezed his eyes shut. He heard Kevin’s movement and felt the weight on the bed next to him as he sat down. When Jean opened his eyes, he had to look away, far too intoxicatingly reminded of his buried thoughts about Kevin.

“Jean,” Kevin pulled his attention back to him, and Jean forced himself to look into his eyes. “Why did you say it has everything to do with me?”

“God,” Jean clicked his tongue in pity, either for himself for being so stupid to think Kevin knew, or at Kevin for not noticing. “How blind can you be?”

“You had a crush on me.” Kevin’s voice was neutral. “You never told me.”

Jean sighed with a hesitant smile. “I thought I did.”

It felt like an age before Kevin decided to respond. It felt like the season had passed, like a year in Raven time had gone by, before he spoke. It was hard to ignore the blush that crept across his lightly freckled cheeks, as Jean found himself fixated on the chess piece on his cheekbone. They were too close, now, and he could feel himself burning up with the shame of it all.

“I didn’t know.” It was simple, not enough, but perhaps the best he could do. “For how long?”

Jean couldn’t help the twitch that spread up his face, “You are the one interested in history, not me.”

“Humor me.”

“For as long as I have known you, Kevin Day.” His eyebrows raised in surprise at that answer. Whatever he’d been expecting, it wasn’t that.

“Oh,” was all he could say. He couldn’t find a smile that would sit comfortably on his face, and Jean wasn’t sure whether his fidgeting was discomfort or not.

“I never expected anything to come from it,” he attempted to clear the air. “I assumed you knew and simply decided not to address it. Looking back, it’s best you didn’t know, then, I think.”

“You don’t have to say that.” Kevin’s voice was low as he racked his brain for evidence to support Jean’s truth. “I wish you’d told me.”

“To feed your ego?” Jean laughed. “To make a straight man feel better to know he is desirable from either side?”

“You don’t have to say that, either.” Kevin spoke in French like it were a secret. “I’m with Thea now, sure, but,” he struggled. “I’m not exactly, you know… strict about it. It’s just easier this way.”

The only thing Jean could do was look at him.

The only thing he could bear to think was all the times he’d whispered in Jean’s ear, and Jean had to hide the shiver that travelled down his spine at the heat of the words thats he spoke. He thought of Kevin’s hands around his waist as he forced him into position on the court, a quick touch, an order to be better, a demand to be where he needed him to be. Then there was the blood, and the spit running down his chin, black hair stuck to sweat and tears as he cried please, Jean. Take him away from here. He thought of exposed bone and blood trickling through the cracks on the locker room floor, or a cracked skull against a door frame when he found Riko afterwards. There was the note, a single sloppy word, poorly written by a hand that had never wrote before. Sorry. The paper had been marked with Kevin’s blood, and it would be the last thing he would hear from him for months.

Kevin had stopped Jean’s hands before he noticed them travelling up his own throat.

“For the record, there is only one reason why nothing would have come from it,” Kevin meant it as a comfort, and Jean felt his heart break a little bit more. “But it’s the same reason it never would have worked.”

Jean was not naive, either. He was smart enough to know there was no universe in which any sort of relationship with Kevin would have been realistic. He was a beautiful face during a time that was rarely beautiful, a face that patched him up when he was black and blue, a face that smiled and joked at him when all he wanted was an end to the suffering. “I know.” Jean said, acutely aware that Kevin had not let go of his hands, even as they rested between them on the bed. “You will always be my first love, but I am smart enough to know that is meaningless now.”

“Maybe so,” Kevin looked at their hands. “But it could have been fun.”

“Fun, he says,” Jean scoffed, and Kevin laughed one of his genuine laughs, the tension in the room dissipating with the sound of his joy. Jean pulled his hand away from Kevin’s, to cover his face. He could feel himself blushing at the thoughts of what fun could have meant. “And what would you have done, asked the king to leave your room for an hour?”

It was Kevin’s turn to blush then, as he laughed again. Jean tried to push down the resurfacing feelings as he wondered what he could’ve possibly been imagining. “We would have found a way.” His laugh died off with a wistful sigh. “Somehow.”

“Somehow.” Jean agreed.

Kevin let the silence hang for just a moment before he gently reached up to touch Jean’s tattoo, then letting his hands fall back to his sides. “Maybe in another life.”

Jean swallowed and let out a soft exhale. “Maybe.”

They spent far too long just looking at each other, imagining what could have happened in that other life, wondering how it could’ve been different. Kevin eventually got back to the point of his conversation, and after laughing about how Jean has a thing for strikers, and how Kevin had never actually had a crush on Jeremy, Jean ignored his study for the flowing conversations he’d missed so badly. It was true that Kevin had been his first love, and he would be lying to himself if he said it would ever go away, but they had been each other’s only friend for so long. It was a long overdue catch-up without the threat of violence for laughing too loud, or sitting too close together. He didn’t pretend not to notice the way Kevin’s eyes flicked to his lips every now and again, or how quickly he would look away when he caught himself doing so. It was difficult to ignore how his cheeks turned rosy then, and even more so difficult to ignore how much he’d forgotten how beautiful Kevin really was.

For just a single, simple moment Jean wondered what it would be like to kiss him. That was a thought that had not crossed his mind for a very, very long time. Jean pictured a timeline in which they were both able to give it a shot without immeasurable guilt, or shame, or fear over the court of public opinion. He found himself being reminded over and over again that Kevin had finally said it himself that his sexuality was a fluid thing. There were more reasons that not to write it off as a wrong place, wrong time kind of issue, but even with the stomach churning, butterfly inducing thought of Jeremy Knox and his callused hands, it was certain that Kevin would always be his greatest what-if.

It was a pity that they would both continue on with their lives not knowing what could have been, but perhaps for the best; they were both at points in their lives where, for the first time ever, they were happy. They were not constantly glancing over their shoulders waiting for a threat.

Maybe in another life, Jean told himself. Maybe in some other world.

[dira333]

Bonded - part 1

Spock x reader

The day you step onto the Enterprise is the day you begin a new life, you tell yourself. A life where you make friends and keep them, where you work hard to not lose yourself in work anymore. You strive to be a better person.

But then the Lieutenant in front of you steps aside to shake the Captain’s hand and you come eye to eye with the first officer, a vulcan, male, about your age.

You’ve seen more than one Vulcan in your lifetime, even though you had hardly time to get to know any of them, but never has the sight of one of them made your brain and heart and body react in the way it does now.

Your heart jumps in your chest, your hands curl into fists and your brain manages barely more than one coherent thought. He’s gorgeous.

You do, what you’d always do when you find someone attractive.

You step away.

You’re pretty lucky with your new job.

After working your ass off on different starships and starbases, you have made yourself a name as a doctor, qualified to treat a diversity of species.

As the Enterprise is going to be the one to find places no one has before and the Captain has the tendency to get himself and everyone else into danger, they’ve had reasons to ask specifically for you.

And you do make a good team.

Grumpy McCoy takes care of the humans - complaining about them all the same - while M’Benga concentrates on the Vulcan team members. And you get all the rest. There’s one more doctor who covers the nightshift, but so far she’s only spoken french when you’re around and you’re not sure if she does not speak anything else or just didn’t want to include you into the conversation at that time.

And you’ve made friends. Well, you call them that, at least, because you’re on better terms with them than you’ve been with most people.

“Coffee?” McCoy waltzes through your office to use your Replicator.

“Why yes, why don’t you use my Replicator?” You snark at him, but he doesn’t stop, just punches in what he needs.

“Mine’s broken.”

“Again?!”

He snorts, rolls his eyes at you and drops the first cup of coffee on your desk, next to the empty cup you’ve had drunk out before.

“That damn hobgoblin is coming around for an exam he needs for his away mission and he’s getting on my nerves.”

“Everyone is getting on your nerves.”

“Right, why are you in here again?”

“This is my office,” you send him a pointed glare as he takes the chair across from your desk, “Wait, who’s the hobgoblin?”

“Spock,” he growls and you pull a face before you can stop yourself.

“Oh! What was that?”

“What was what?”

“Your face.”

“Yeah, that’s my face, what about it?”

He smirks at you. “You don’t like him either?”

You grab your PADD and get up. “As you are so adamant on making me leave the room, I’ll follow your request.”

“No! Don’t leave! Spock’s out there!” He warns you, laughter hiding in his voice.

You roll your eyes at him.

“I’m able to be in the same room with people I don’t find comfortable. I’m not a child.”

You step out of the office before you can rethink your choice to insult your CMO only to find yourself face to face with the Commander Spock.

“Greetings,” you tell him in a voice so stiff you can’t believe it’s coming from you.

You turn away and leave before he can answer, slipping into an empty exam room on the way to calm down your heart.

It’s easy to forget the way you react to the first officer as long as he’s not crossing your way.

But he crosses your way. Way too often for your liking and if you’d allowed to, you’d stay in your office all the time just to avoid him.

It’s hard to be professional when just the sight of a blue shirt and black hair makes your heart jump in your chest and your mouth dry.

“Great news,” McCoy barges into your office again, slapping a PADD down on your desk, “There is an away mission and you’re on the team.”

“What?” You grab the PADD, reading through it, “This says M’Benga.”

“M’Benga got an ear infection, he’s been out since yesterday, didn’t you notice Lefebvre working his shifts?”

“I think she’s avoiding me,” you tell him, “Or I’m avoiding her, I don’t know. Does she only speak french?”

“I’ve never heard her speak anything else,” McCoy shrugs, “Doesn’t matter, you’re on the mission and it’s leaving in about an hour, so get ready.”

You get up from your chair, annoyed of this short notice change in plans, but delighted for the chance to go down to a planet again. It’s been quite some time since the last chance you’ve got.

But as soon as you step into the transporter room, your happiness subsides when you see Spock standing there, waiting for the rest of the team to trickle in.

You send a greeting nod in his direction and leave it at that. There’s no sense in talking to him when you can’t trust your voice anyway.

“I am glad that you are accompanying us as replacement of M’Benga, Doctor Y/N,” he addresses you before you can run away another time.

You stare at him, unable to speak. He obviously takes your silence as a sign of surprise or shock, because he elaborates, talking about the amount of experience you have. It almost sounds like he’s praising you, but giving your further experience with Vulcan’s it could also be the standard awkward smalltalk as they are trying to improve the team’s morale.

You’re glad when he stops talking, as you’ve been unable to speak anyway and you’re glad when he leads the team across the planet’s surface, addressing each of you with a task.

As the medical officer you’re just there to be of use when necessary and you stand back and watch the pack of science officers taking samples of literally everything.

You’re also a bit ashamed to admit that most of the time you’re sneaking peeks at Commander Spock’s figure, amazed how a guy that’s actually not even your type can have such an effect at you.

Maybe you should just talk to him. Maybe that will make the feelings go away.

And just as you think that, you feel a rumble going through the cliff you’re standing on.

“Commander!” You yell and he looks back at you, nodding. He’s felt it too.

“Everyone run towards the forest!” You order, a strange mixture of intuition, reflexes and your experience on a particular nasty planet kicking in, “Now!”

You pull a girl up that’s just two steps left from you and give her a well meant push, ushering everyone towards the forest. Spock’s got his Comm in hand and you can hear him ask to be beamed up over the sound of another rumbling.

You grab his hand, as he does not move and pull him with you, over the cracks that start to form in the formerly thick stone. Something gives way right beneath you, your left leg slipping through the crack, your knee hitting hard against the rock.

You scream in agony, your hand slipping out of Spock’s.

“This is going to hurt,” he says and then there’s a cracking sound, an agonizing pain shooting up your leg and he pulls you free and into his arms, carrying you while running.

If not for the pain that’s threatening to take your consciousness with it, you’d be ashamed of the position you’re currently in, but your head falls against his collarbone and you take deep breaths, trying to calm your down.

Your body feels very hot where he touches you. Vulcan body temperature is higher than humans, you remember as your mind slips into something you can’t explain.

You can see your own body in Spock’s arms, but not from above, more like it must look like through his eyes. You can see the forest coming closer, gold light taking away one team member after the other. You can feel weirdly calm and above all of this, no worry, no panic, just one intake of breath after another as if all your emotions are far far away from you.

And then, with that sickening feeling of falling, you know the rock is giving way beneath you. Gold light blinds you before your back crashes hard against the floor of the Enterprise’s transporter room, a heavy body crashing into you, knocking the breath out of you and your consciousness as well.

When you wake up again, your foot is resting on a pillow and McCoy glares at you from where he’s handling the osteo regen.

“I let you go on one away mission and you manage to break your leg in two places while the planet falls apart.”

You’re too tired to answer, just stick your tongue out at him and close your eyes.

There’s a weird feeling right at the back of your skull. You must your head pretty hard.

Two days later the feeling hasn’t left and you find yourself sitting in your office, staring at the wall across from you after a rather disturbing daydream.

Disturbing as in how realistic the dream had been. For the whole time it had happened you had been convinced Commander Spock had walked into your office, demanding to drink a cup of tea with you.

And your body reacts to dream Spock just the same as it does to the real Spock.

You manage it through three days before you go to talk to someone you trust.

“McCoy, can you take a look at my head?”

“Yeah, sure, it’s round and has skin on it,” he jokes but turns serious when he sees your face, “Turn around.”

A few tests later the results are in. He lets you look over them.

“Nothing?” You look at them a second time. “But I have this weird feeling at the back of my skull and I’ve been daydreaming. Really strange dreams of Spock wanting to talk to me. It was very realistic and-” You stop yourself as you see the look on McCoy’s face.

‘Wait, you know what this is about, right?”

“Yes,” he heaves a sigh and you can feel your blood turning cold.

“No, not that, goddamnit woman, don’t think of the worst right away.”

“How can I not when you act like this!”

“It’s a damn bond, that’s all,” he snaps, “You and Spock have bonded. You must have touched quite a lot during that mission…”

“Stop right there,” you interrupt him, “The amount of touching was nothing but necessary to get both of us out there alive. If this would happen so easily there would be way more humans and vulcans bonded out there.”

“He must like you then, because I can’t imagine Spock letting his guard down by accident either. Hasn’t he tried talking to you yet? Have you felt something unusual from his side?”

“Wait, this bond… are you insinuating that he can feel what I feel?”

“As far as I understand it, yes, he can.”

You think of the way you’ve reacted to the daydream of him and put your head in your hands with a groan.

“I’m so fucked.”

He laughs. “I do agree with you on that. But I guess you’d better talk this out with the man itself.”

“Do I have to?”

“No, go on and have some more weird daydreams about that man, if you’d like that better,” McCoy jokes and slaps your arm lightly with his PADD,” Now get out of my exam room, you’re relieved for the rest of the day.”

You find Commander Spock in his ready room.

The moment he turns to look at you, you can feel that weird thing on the back of your skull, pulling like an elastic band, accompanied with a weird feeling of contentment.

“I’m taking that you’re happy to see me?”

“I don’t think I’m the only one who feels this way about the other,” he respons and you glare at him, knowing full well he will feel your shame through the bond.

“What are we going to do about this bond?” You ask him, still standing in the doorway.

“I have a proposal,” he starts, getting up from his chair, “We sit down, drink a cup of tea and discuss this. If we don’t find this bond acceptable after we’ve gotten to know each other, there are ways to undo this bond.”

“Are you asking me out on a date?” You mock him.

You can feel his amusement at your wording.

“Yes, I believe I do.”

[malii-the-bonehead]

The Other Woman pt1

its here ladies and gents its here.

Slow burn

Summary: Chris, a popular hockey player at school where Y/n went, found himself falling for the beautiful, shy girl. As time went on he found out who Y/n truly was as a person and ultimately, he had to make the choice, his girlfriend, or the other woman.

She was beautiful and he knew it. He knew because every chance he got, he would look in her direction. She sat so perfectly in 3rd hour history class, her back facing him. But he could imagine exactly what her face did. The way she focused so hard. So hard that she’d lick her lips too many times. The way her eyebrows furrowed when she didn't understand the lesson. Her long hair perched in a messy bun on top of her head. How her cheeks were always dusted with a light pink color. She was so, so beautiful. Not everyone would think that, but one adored her. Chris adored everything about her. She was so sweet and soft spoken and she was a little bit shy. He would listen to her talk when the teacher would ask a question and wonder how she got so wise and smart. He was proud of someone he never knew.

He thought about her a lot. And ofcourse, he was beautiful as well, but he didn’t think so. He thought he could never, ever be good enough for her. Chris thought he lacked the smarts and personality that she had. He thought he wasn’t worthy of her, and so many people, except himself, knew he was more than capable. Chris wasn’t exactly sure of how popular he was in school. Him on one side of the social status and her on the other.

Despite not many people knowing her, the ones who did were fond of Y/n. They had no reason to despise her. Everyone apart from Chris’ girlfriend. No one understood why, not even Chris. And Chris loved his girlfriend, but she wasn’t Y/n. The love he felt for Y/n was different from Clairisa, Chris’s girlfriend. She was beautiful too, super smart as well and always kind.  But there was something that drew Chris to the other woman. He didn’t have a clue what it was but it kept tugging at him. And it pained Chris to know that if Clairisa knew how he felt about Y/n, it would crush her. But that didn’t stop him. He just wanted to talk to her. To be close to her. He wanted to be her friend. That’s why he’s where he’s at right now, in front of Y/n's desk in their only shared class.

Y/n’s pov

I wrote on my paper, studying the last bit of information I could before the test. I didn't have time to study last night. Work kept me up til around midnight, and when I did finally arrive home, I had to clean the kitchen. It was always a mess when I got home. I regret not doing it after school, seeing how tired and stressed I was this morning. I scribbled down as much as I could. I found that I can memorize things quicker if I write it down a few times. God how I hated history. I was good at everything, math, science, English, and even French class, but history? Hell no. I sighed, closing my eyes and rubbing them with my fingers. I heard a slight tap on my desk in front of me. I moved my hands from my face and looked up slightly. It was a boy with brown hair and very blue eyes. I felt my face form a confused expression. I knew who he was, everyone did. Chris Sturniolo was kind of popular with the girls and he was very friendly with the majority of the guys at school as well. Most knew him because he played hockey, and damn was he good at it. 

Why is he at my desk? Class is about to start and he’s at my desk.

“Um, yes?” I asked, glancing over his face before shifting in my spot. His gaze was making me uncomfortable.

He looked at me for a few seconds, but it felt like so much longer. He looked like he wanted to get something off his mind but couldn’t form the words.

“Do you need something?” I questioned him once more. Then, as he was opening his mouth to say something, he closed it and walked away to his desk. I looked down at my hands on my lap. What was that about?

I glanced back slightly, him already looking at me. I quickly turned around, picking up my pencil and scribbling on my paper again, trying to hide my face from others that were filing into the room. I felt a blush slowly creep up my neck. Well that was embarrassing. The bell rang meaning class was starting. I closed my book as the teacher announced we had a test today and started going over the directions of what to do after we had finished.

The test wasn’t difficult at all. I was actually the second one to finish it. I knew I had gotten an A on it. Majority of it was common sense. After I turned the paper in to the teacher, I walked back to my desk. I glanced around the room, my eyes finding the top of Chris’s head. He had his head down, probably sleeping. Did he finish his test? Why is he sleeping right now? I shook my head slightly and sat back down at my desk. I opened my bag and grabbed my phone and headphones. I opened my music app and played my music, letting out a breath and sighing. I had work again today. From 4 to 11:30. That meant that when I got home I had to clean the house quickly, so I didn’t struggle like I did last night. I placed my head down softly, shutting my eyes and listening to the music playing through my headphones.

–

School was slow. Every class seemed to take forever. I think it was because I was so exhausted. Lunch was nice though. I normally go outside for lunch. I like to look at the sky, listen to my music and enjoy the quiet. Sometimes there would be the occasional person to say hello to me but today it was just my thoughts. I was grateful for that. I appreciated the 45 minutes of peace. I liked talking to people, but most of the time it was too much to deal with. Talking meant focusing, and lunch was the time that I didn’t need to focus, unless I was cramming information in my head because of an exam next hour. 

The last bell of the day rang, excusing students to go home and enjoy the rest of the day for themselves. I walked outside, to my car. A white  2017 Nissan Sentra. Nothing special, but I loved it. It was cozy and gave me good memories. Memories I’ll hold onto for the rest of my life. My dad got it for me on my 16th birthday a year and a half ago. That was probably the best birthday I’ve ever had.

I got in and shut the door, starting the car. I looked around, making sure it was safe to go. Slightly to my left, a little ways across the parking lot, I spotted Chris leaning against his girlfriend's car, his hands in his pockets. She was leaned up against him, talking about something I obviously couldn’t hear. 

She’s so pretty, I thought to myself. I’ve always admired her, always been jealous of her since the 4th grade. She’s so lucky to have a guy like Chris. She deserved him. He deserved her. I blinked slowly, realizing I was staring at them. She kissed him and walked around to the driver side of her car. He walked to the passenger side and they both got in, pulling out of the parking lot. I leaned back in my seat. I wonder what he needed earlier. I honestly forgot about it, even though the situation made me very uncomfortable. I hope he didn't think anything bad of me. I mean, why was he standing there just looking at me. Why didn’t he talk? What if he wanted something from me? What would he want? I have nothing to offer so why would Chris Sturniolo be at my desk? I put my head down, rubbing my eyes with my fingers, for what felt like the 10th time today. I lifted my head and drove out of the parking lot, going in the direction of my home.

You have more important things to worry about, Y/n. Get home and get ready for work. But, I still thought about those blue eyes looking into mine all the way home. 

[reqxxyt]

"Are you ever going to settle down" p.g

pairings: piere gasly x f!reader

warnings: rushed ending, sexual interactions mentioned

masterlist

“Are you ever going to settle down?” my middle-aged aunt sat across from me and asked with the same passive-aggressive smile she gave the rest of the family. I could feel my own mother tense at her words knowing a relationship is the last thing I want and I expressed that very proudly. But instead of trying to get into another stupid argument on how I don’t need a guy to fulfill my needs and wants I just shook my head and smiled the fakest I’ve ever gave. 

“I’m content on my own” I summarized my speech that wanted to itch out of my throat. Her smile dropped before being replaced with one that leaked sympathy, something I hate being the reciprocate of. She turned to my mom, hoping to hear some words from her but all she got was a shrug. 

“What about having children?” I had clearly seen that question coming, being nearly 28 and having most women figures in my family start their family in their early twenties, it's strange to hear someone claim they don’t want kids. At least any time soon. 

“Not in the plan right now,” I said with the urge to leave, hating the interrogating questions. I’ve had my fair share of relationships and I figured out they just aren’t for me. Plus, I am terrible with kids. All the kids I’ve approached just see me as a quiet, intimidating person that stares down at them because they refused to go down on their knees as they have a sensitive backs. 

Later on that same day, I was on a call with my friend of nearly a decade complaining about my aunt and her unnecessary sympathy. 

“Maybe you should consider going back into dating,” she said on edge because she knew how much I hated when people suggested the option. Instead of declaring the same thing I did with my aunt, I simply stared her down until she rolled her own eyes. “Just saying. You can’t live your whole life in a club and hook up with the first person you deem attractive”

“Doesn’t sound so bad” I shrugged but knowing it was a terrible life path. “Besides, I just don’t think there are people out there who want the same things as me. To not have kids right away, to be lenient and just let the relationship be itself until it either ends or feels right.”

“There are lots but okay,” she said and I wanted to groan, starting to become frustrated at the entire situation. “How about I set you up with someone?”

“You?” I asked already hating the idea of that happening. She nodded before saying “Hear me out. I have this distant friend who lives near you, I think you’ve seen him at my boyfriend birthday. Really nice, definitely your type”

“Type? Are we in high school?” I said judging her choice of words making her now the one to give me a blank stare. 

“Shut up. Besides, it will give you a chance to escape from the whole relationship talk with your aunt”

The more I thought about it, the more it didn’t sound so insane to me. Doesn’t hurt to give it a chance, right?

“Fine,” I said and she smiled brightly. “If this doesn’t work, you have to name your kid after me” 

“Never happening. But, if this does work, you have to allow me to make a speech at your wedding” and like that, we made a deal. 

I dressed in a simple outfit, figuring it was going to be cold wearing a blazer with a black long sleeve and dress pants. I hated going on dates because of the first impression and since I had never met this person before, their first impression is visuals. Not like I had much of a choice either way. 

I entered the coffee shop not spotting anyone that stood out and looking as if waiting for someone. I walked up to the cashier ordering a simple latte already imagining the worse as I frantically texted my friend, asking her when he would arrive. 

“Y/n?” I heard my name being spoken from a familiar french accent. I turned around and my movements froze. 

Well he’s definitely my type. I had seen him at the party my friend mentioned. I’d even talked to him, ending up at his place before leaving the next morning without exchanging another word to each other. 

My eyes widened, immediately recognizing him while he searched my face with a curious gaze, trying to recognize me before finally remembering. 

“Well, I finally got your name” he said with a small smile, finding it comical while I wanted to die internally. The one time I hooked up with a guy at a mutual party turns out to be my blind date my friend set me up with. We stood in silence for a moment before I finally looked down, no longer being able to look at his colored eyes. “Pierre”

“Y/n” I said out of pure habit before realizing he already knew my name and face palmed myself, ready to dig my own grave. He only laughed assuring it was fine, ordering his own coffee while I stood on the side waiting for him to finish. 

We sat next to a window, a small booth forcing to face each other. He was the first to speak “I honestly didn’t think I would see you again. Especially like this”

“Neither did I” i mumbled, barely heard by him. I immediately felt terrible for leaving without not saying anything. “I’m sorry for just leaving, I-”

“It’s fine” he shrugged before I could finish my excuse. “Want to start over?”

Hearing those words with his small, comforting smile somehow made me want to stay. I didn’t feel the need to run away like many other situations, I felt okay being here. I wanted to stay. 

“Sure, Pierre” testing out how his name rolled off my tongue, loving it myself. I caught his cheeks getting pinker, whether from the freezing degree whether or my two words, I’ll never know until I would ask months later. “What do you like to do?”

“Well…” and the conversation flowed from there. After the first couple of dates, he asked me out and I without much mental debatting, agreed allowing the relationship to flow on its own. 

After a long 3 years, he asked me to marry him. Again, no hesitation needed. No questioning myself whether this was for the best. 

I didn’t settle down for him. I settled down with him. 

[rebelliousstories]

Communication

Relationship: Sean Renard x Reader

Fandom: Grimm

Request: Yes by Anon (Technically)

Warnings: Brief Strong Language, Angst, Fluff, Happy Ending

Word Count: 2,413

Main Masterlist: Here

Grimm Masterlist: Here

Summary: Having never expected to be in love with a kehrseite, Sean has no idea how to proceed in the relationship.

Evil is also not anything small or close to home, and not the worst; otherwise one could grow accustomed to it.

“Sean! Stop it!” A feminine giggle sounded through the condo as she was attacked by her boyfriend.

“Never, my dear.” Sean continued to drape his body over hers, and nuzzle his day old scruff into her neck.

It was a blessed couple of days off for the couple, and a rare occurrence. Appreciating the time, they spent majority of it tangled up in the silken sheets of their bed, and only left it for necessary things. Hearing the phone start to ring, Renard groaned, and dropped them back down onto the bed together.

“You should probably answer that, darling.” Reaching her hand out to grab the offending item, he snatched her wrist back into his quickly.

“No. Work already know that I wanted to not be disturbed while off today and yesterday. Do not pick it up!” He demanded with a light growl into her neck, causing more giggles to erupt. She tried to speak, but Sean simply captured her lips in his, taking any words that may have previously been spoken. Whether they simply chose to ignore the ringing, or it stopped and started again, the couple heard it once more, and groaned.

“You really should check on that. It’s starting to annoy me.” She complained, disengaging their lips and dropping her head on to the pillows below. Renard allowed his head to find purchase on her chest, before he grabbed the phone. Pausing as he saw the number across his screen, he sat up like he had been burned and went to leave the room. Pulling on some pants, he finally answered the phone.

“Oui?” Sean clipped, surging out of the room and leaving his lover behind on the bed. He had shut the door, which meant that she could not hear him clearly, but she knew he was speaking entirely in French. It was not a language that she knew a lot about, having only picked up a a few phrases from spending time around her lover.

Laying back against the silken sheets, she breathed a deep sigh of discontent. There were no secrets between them, except whatever he spoke about on those phone calls in French. At first, she handled the excuse that it was political work, stuff that came with being captain of the police force in Portland. But she had heard those phone calls with his detectives and officers, they were all in English. She did not know what he was hiding from her, but it was starting to make her sick. Sean returned to the room, this time without the phone to his ear, and made his way to their shared closet.

“Darling, I have to go in. Something came in at work.” He called, picking out a suit for him to wear. She sat up and clutched the sheets to her body.

“You’re supposed to be off for the rest of today,” came her complaint. Sean sighed and moved his way to the bathroom and started the shower.

“I’m sorry, dear. But I have to go in. Duty calls. Would you care to join me?” He held out his hand, but she turned around and showed her back instead.

Sean made quick work of his shower after that. He could probably spare a few minutes to sit and enjoy a cup of coffee with his lover, but she seemed content to stay in bed and not speak with him. Fixing his tie as best as he could, Sean draped his suit jacket, and tan over coat over the chair at the desk in the room. Kneeling down to where his girlfriend had turned over, he reached out a hand and stroked her arm.

“Help me with my tie?” He pleaded, watching her purse her lips. She sat up, and straightened out the tie residing on Renard’s chest. They both knew that he was more than capable of making sure his tie was perfect, he had been doing it for so long that it was second nature. But neither one called attention to it; it was a sense of bliss for them, allowing her to help him finish getting ready for the day.

“Darling, I know that it’s not how we planned, but-”

“But you have to go in. It’s okay. I’m fine. I get it. Doesn’t mean that I can’t be upset about it.” She cast her eyes down to her hands. Sean leaned up, and guided her gaze back to his with a gentle touch of her chin.

“When are you going to tell me what it is you’re hiding?” The sudden question made the man force himself to school his expression. It was only a matter of time before she had questions.

“It’s just work, dear. Nothing more than that.” Sean tried to reassure her, but she slipped from his grasp and to the other side of the bed. He sighed once more, and felt himself lose just a hint of control over his being. He was glad that she was turned away from him at that moment, because he could feel the woge taking over before he quelled it.

“I’ll be home tonight in time to make our reservation. Je t’aime, mon cher.” He called, and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead before he left. Normally, she perked up and almost preened under hearing him speak French to her, but she stayed underneath the covers till she heard the front door shut behind the police captain.

Going through their days were tough. She was bored at home, with no one but herself, and simply allowed herself to waste away the day. It did not feel like a specially requested day off anymore; it just felt like a regular day off from her job. Meanwhile, Sean had been trying to figure out what his family was up to, and made his way to an out of use, abandoned building. However, what he was met with, was nothing. The sun was starting to set and he needed to get home. Sean had no time for games. Ringing the phone of the person who called him, he nearly jumped hearing the ringing coming from less than a foot away from him. Underneath the phone, was a note. A note that, when read, made Sean drop it and race to his car.

We do not take kindly to outsiders. No matter how they find their way into your bed.

Renard definitely broke several traffic laws trying to race home. He never should have left this morning. He never should have left her all by herself. And now, he may never get the chance to leave her at home again. Sean took stairs two at a time to make it up to his condo, and immediately drew his gun upon finding his door. The view inside that awaited him was unlike anything he had seen that day, let alone that week.

Broken glass from a picture frame was right inside the door. A shattered vase lay in pieces upon the ground of the kitchen. And his lover, bloody, beaten, and bruised, was being held up by two people Sean did not know, with a third standing nearby with a knife dripping in blood, and a fourth person observing it all.

“Come now. No need for something so American.” A smooth, accented voice broke the captain free from his wandering mind. He noted a cut on the side of the face of the man holding a knife, and felt relief that those self defense lessons he had given her paid off a little bit. The third cut man came upon Sean, and relieved him of his firearm, leaving him without a weapon.

“What’s this all about?” Renard questioned, watching the but man go back to where his lover was still being held up by her arms.

“Oh, this?” He motioned to Sean and his lover across the room. “This is just business. Nothing personal you see.” The captain was steadily clearing the distance in the room but was stopped by a gun pointed at him. It prevented him from getting any closer to his lover.

“Now, you might be wondering, why all of this. Well,” the accented man started, “truly, it is quite simple. We want the key that the Grimm has. Failure to retrieve it will send a, how do you say, unfortunate lesson to your door.” Sean listened to him, but kept his eyes on the woman across the room that struggled to return his gaze.

“And her, ah. Such a lovely woman. But even you must know, that with your… heritage, we will not allow your relationship to continue.” He chuckled as he raked his eyes over the woman’s body. She visibly cringed and struggled against her captures, wanting nothing more than to pluck the eyes from his head so she never had to feel that gaze again.

“Have you even told her of what you are?” The man continued, running a hand over the captive woman’s face.

“Sean, what is he talking about?” She whimpered, locking her gaze onto her lover that stood in front of her. The man said nothing which prompted the other one to laugh.

“Oh, this is just too good. You really have yet to find a way to break it to the little kehrseite. Maybe we should find a way to do so.” Nodding towards the captain, the woman was deposited into the arms of the main man who held her tightly towards his chest. Three against one, it appeared that Sean was outmatched for this fight. As she stared at them, unable to pull her eyes from the inevitable fight, she watched as the three people who held her shifted into something more resembling a dog than a person.

Her gasps were cut short as a hand fitted itself around her throat, cutting off any noise that threatened to escape.

“You won’t want to miss this.” The man hissed in her ear.

One after the other, the three dog people attacked Sean. He grunted and tried to block their attacks, but it was in vain. They kept landing hit after hit, and as much as he tried to fight back, they were simply too powerful for him. That is when he saw it. A similar ripple came across Sean’s face, leaving his right eye and left side of his mouth deformed. She did not know what she was seeing. Her boyfriend was something like the people who attacked her. The man to her back was laughing as he watched the royal dispatch of the dogs easier now that he had shown his true colors.

“Beautiful!” He shouted, as three bodies laid at Sean’s feet. Whether they were dead or knocked out, she did not know. “Doesn’t it feel good to have that all released? No more hiding, mon ami!” But his triumph did not last long.

Narrowing his eyes on the man, Sean stalked over and attacked. Throwing punch after punch, he did not stop until the man was bloodied and beaten within an inch of his life. Hearing shuffling behind him, Renard turned towards the source. His girlfriend. Forcing the wage underneath his skin again, he tried to reach for her but she moved out of his way.

“What the hell was that?” She barked, but Sean said nothing.

“What’re you trying so hard to hide?” Through her screams, tears slipped down her face as she tried to process what was going on.

“Cher, I will explain everything to you soon. But you need medical attention.” He reached for her once more, and in a state of shock, she let him. Sean deposited her on the couch and grabbed his phone.

“This is captain Sean Renard. I need units and an ambulance at my residence.” She did not catch much of the phone call; her eyes stared at the three bodies that were lying on the floor.

“What just happened?” Came her whisper, so Sean sat down on the couch and held her hands.

“Just listen while I explain. Any questions you have, I’ll answer at the end.” And with that, they sat there, listening and talking until the units arrived. Medics arrived before Sean could answer her questions but he made sure to tell her something very important.

“Whatever you do, don’t mention you saw anything weird happen. They’ll just throw you in the mental ward.” So she did not. Telling her side of the story, of how they slipped in through the front door and balcony and attacked her. How she smashed vases and tried to slice one with a kitchen knife she managed to grab. The beating that she had endured in the meantime till Sean got there and saved her.

Sitting down on a hospital bed, she smiled at the nice nurse who left the couple alone for the time being. Getting stitches and x-rays was not how she envisioned spending her day today, but here they were. They sat in silence and Sean tried to hold her hand. However, her hand was limp in his while she stared off into space.

“I’m so sorry, mon cher.” Renard admitted quietly. He leaned down slightly an pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

“What are you?” She finally spoke. Lifting his head, he paused briefly to gather his thoughts.

“My mother was hexenbiest. My father was a royal. So I am half-zauberbiest.” He left nothing out, not wanting to keep secrets anymore.

“When you speak in French on your phone calls, is this why? You’re dealing with royal business?” Came her question.

“Yes.” He spoke.

“Okay. It’ll take a little getting used to but-” she paused, “I think I can live with it.” She nodded, and squeezed her lover’s hand softly.

“What did he call me? A ‘K’ something. Keera?” Struggling to find the word, Sean stepped in to help.

“Kehrseite?” He supplied. Her nod confirmed that was the word she was looking for.

“A kehrseite is a normal person. Not of the wesen world. However, I suppose you are now a kehrseite-schlich-kennen. A normal person who knows about our world.” Nodding again, she seemed to accept the information that her brain was being loaded with.

“No more secrets, please?” She whispered, looking towards Sean with soft eyes.

“No more secrets, my love.” He confirmed, and pressed a gentle kiss to her head. Evil is also not anything small or close to home, and not the worst; otherwise one could grow accustomed to it.

[phoenixinthefiles]

Times like these I really wish this app had a text to speech function:

I’ve been thinking about citzenzhip a lot when it comes to the Batfamily, HEAR ME OUT.

Disclaimer: I am not part of an immigrant family so if anything I say is offensive please let me know

So Dick, Damian, and Cass, were obviously born outside the U.S, WHERE’S THE CHARACTER EXPLORATION FOR THAT?

Like Damian and Dick knew English before coming here but there are still other experiences they definitely would’ve gone through.

Damian probably hated/hates the U.S. He was raised on “you do things perfectly-good-you slip up-punishment” (that’s obviously horrible) but the U.S. and all its systems are oftentimes OVERLY complicated. Can you imagine how hard it would be to go from an abusive, perfectly, structured environment, to one that’s constantly divided over the simplest things?

Not to mention that if we’re going with the backstory of him having lived in the desert for the majority of his childhood, there’d be a massive climate change. Like he’d probably have allergies, and maybe eczema.

Can you imagine finally getting to meet your father and you breakout and nearly asphyxiate because of the air pollution. (Slight hyperbole)

Ra’s Al Ghul is a horrible, abusive man but he’s relatively environmentally conscious (still horrible and abusive)

And with Dick?

If we go off Haly’s Circus being an European traveling circus, and his mother possibly being a French-speaking Roma, we can understand why it’d be difficult for him to adapt to life at Wayne Manor.

You travel 3 hours from London and you end up in Paris. A kid who’s used to that type of learning environment would HATE the American school system. He’s sitting in an uncomfortable desk chair listening to a teacher drone on about something he will never use in his life. When he used to be taught physics, while doing a handstand on the railing of the freaking Ponte de Rialto.

Regardless of potentially having ADHD or not, he’s still fidgeting in his seat—yearning for recess. But because this is America (and likely around the early 2000’s or so) his teacher rudely points out his fidgeting and the rest of the class see the boy that looks different from them, acting differently from them as well. And Children can be cruel.

I can’t imagine the experience of being an extroverted child who is used to forming connections with children, who look different from him, BECAUSE of his talents and uniqueness, being thrust into an environment that discourages that,WHILE HE’S GRIEVING HIS PARENTS.

Also Damian and Dick are both tan/brown skinned, and they’re likely going to a rich private school without a lot of people that look like them. (Gotham Academy did not start gaining a more diverse population until Jason came around and that was the reason he wanted to go to public school[I stand by this headcanon…bcus fiction imitates life])

Not to mention the unreasonable amount of prejudice towards Arabs in this country and others. That’s a rough time for a 8-11 year old who JUST moved here and already has a disconnect with his peers due to his abuse and forced maturity.

SO, SO much I’ve said and so, so much I still haven’t. I haven’t even BEGUN to talk about Cass and how difficult it had to be to come to THIS country not being able to understand spoken language at all? She was a teenager when she met Bruce but that just makes different, not better.

Once again I am Black, so while I have experience as a minority in this country, I have no experience with being an immigrant so if I have said something offensive do NOT hesitate to let me know.

Also does this count as me writing something? Probably not huh?

@vhscity idk if you want to read my rant with horrible grammar mistakes.😭😭

[tranakin-skywalker]

*sits down n snatches a french fry off ur plate* tell me more about groundwater

Ok so, consider this:

You're Darth Vader. You've just saved the life of your son on the Death Star pt II Electric Boogaloo, and have died from electricity induced heart failure/your shitty body finally giving out on you.

You expect to become one with the Force if you're lucky- maybe find yourself in some sort of Hell if you're not.

Instead you find yourself standing over a woman who looks painfully familiar but you can't place- holding a baby who won't stop staring at you. The baby too seems strangly familiar and for one heart-stopping moment you think Luke!

Then you look closer, and realize the woman is your mother- younger than you've ever remembered her. And that means the baby must be...

Then you realize that you don't have a body anymore. Not really. You're burning without heat in a blue fire that doesn't catch- nova bright and yet the only living thing around you that seems able to see you is the infant version of the person you used to be.

You try to flee, and realize you can't. You don't even make it out of the building before something stops you from moving, and you realize you're bound to this boy and his mother, and that this might be Hell after all.

Or

You're Anakin, and all your life you've been followed by this strange spirit. Sometimes it looks like a man, sometimes it looks like an animal, sometimes it's a suit of armor or a burning corspe or an imploding star or a black hole.

All you know is that it's angry, and also very very sad. You wonder why it's trapped here, if maybe it's cursed, or maybe it just can't move on.

You're the only one who can see it.

It doesn't talk- sometimes doesn't even look like it's aware of where it is. But it follows you. And it protects you and your mother.

Other people might not be able to see it, but they can feel it. And it keeps the worst of them away from you and your mother.

Then the Jedi come and take you away. You hope that the spirit will stay on Tatooine and protect your mother, but it follows you instead. It's never spoken to you (or if it has, you've never been able to understand it), but you think it wishes it could stay with her too.

None of the Jedi can see the spirit either, but it can see them. You don't think it likes the Jedi very much.

It's with you as you learn how to be a Jedi, and you realize that some of the things the Jedi teach you, you already knew. Obi-Wan tells you you're a natural with a training saber, and you don't tell him it's because you feel like you've already learned all this before.

You're spirit hates Chancellor Palpatine, and that makes you nervous.

You're fourteen when the dreams start. They're hazy, and hard to explain, but they wake you up in a cold sweat and leave you with a feeling of impending doom. Something bad is going to happen. You don't know what.

You tell Obi-Wan about them, but the advice he gives you is useless.

The dreams get worse.

You start seeing your mother in them. You see her die in your arms.

You beg Obi-Wan for the chance to go see her, to make sure she's alright. He tells you it's a lot more complicated than just hopping in a ahip and going to Tatooine. That they can't just run off without authorization. That he’s sure your mother is fine.

That night you wake up to the spirit crouched over you in your bed, a face half melted off with bones and wires poking through the char, a living funeral pye with a mouth made of void.

"Your mother is going to die" it tells you, and you believe it.

You take the saber you built with your own hands and cut off your padawan braid, leave it with a note for Obi-Wan to find. You steal a ship, and set coordinates for Tatooine.

You're going to save your mother.

Or

You are Obi-Wan Kenobi, and you woke up one morning to find your entire world has ended. There is a note on the kitchen counter, and beside it, a burnt, braided lock of hair. You already know what the note is going to say. You have to read it three times anyway.

You chase after your padawan, because if anything happens to him, you will never forgive yourself. You can't leave immediately, you're not allowed to. There’s process, and procedure, and though the Council is understanding, they won't let you just go gallivanting off to the outer rim. (Like your padawan did, you hear in the pointed silences). They assure you that Anakin is smart and resourcful and that you have trained him well, that he'll be fine.

You want to scream at them.

When you do finally leave, it is far far later than you would have liked, but you have a place to start looking at least. Tatooine. Mos Espa. A junk dealer named Watto.

It takes you much too long to find the shop, and seeing it for the first time, it hits you- this is the place your padawan grew up. This is where he was owned. Then you meet Watto, the one who owned him.

You ask about Shmi Skywalker, and Watto tells you that he sold her. He refuses to tell you who he sold her to. You ask him about Anakin, and he squints his eyes at you, and tells you he hasn't seen the boy since he lost him in a bet five years ago. In the Force, you can't tell if he’s lying or telling the truth.

You spend almost a month on Tatooine, looking for your padawan. You never find him.

Eventually, you are forced to return to the Temple, though you tell yourself it is only temporary. You're never going to stop looking.

And you don't. Every chance you get, you are searching for Anakin. All your friends too, when out on missions, keep their eyes out. None of you ever find anything.

Then, two years after your padawan disapeared in the night- you feel your bond to Anakin snap.

It is the most painful thing you have felt in your life. You realize, one heartbreak at a time, what that means.

You stop looking after that.

Then-

Footage is released of an uprising on Tatooine. Jabba the Hutt is dead. His executioner is a Sith.

You realize who killed Anakin.

You want to be one of the Jedi sent to Tatooine to investigate. You killed a Sith before, after all, you can do it again. The Council does not allow you to go. They send Quinlan and Aayla instead.

Before he leaves, Quin makes a promise to you. "I'll find out what happened to him."

While they are gone, more planets revolt, more footage leaks. You see that Sith, in that horrible, monsterous mask, that red blade. You see other masked beings, with their own blades. Colors you have never seen on a lightsaber before.

The Outer Rim is buckling, or maybe- it is transforming. Nal Hutta is razed, and slave worlds are liberated. There are reports of a fleet, and army. Every day it grows bigger. Like a spreading infection.

(Or maybe, you think- remembering that junk shop and things like ownership- maybe it’s something like hope.)

There are planets talking of seceding, of forming their own government. That talk has been going for years now, but something about this, about the unrest in the Outer Rim has made it a roar.

There is talk of war.

And all the while, more and more planets in the Rim go dark. The Freed Worlds, they call themselves, who want nothing to do with the Republic or this new Confederacy. The Republic and the Confederacy both feel threatened by them all the same.

Quinlan and Aayla and the other Jedi sent out return. They find very little, if anything at all. "We weren't allowed to get close. They didn't trust us. Any of us," Quin explains. "Somehow they knew."

The Republic reaches out to the Freed Worlds for a peace talk. They don't want a war on two fronts. Only, you think, some of them do.

The Freed Worlds agree, tenatively, but they agree, and send representatives to Coruscant. They don't seem aware that their arrival coincides with a vote on whether or not the Republic will form in army.

You are there when the representatives arrive at the Senate Dome, a bizarre collection of species and ages and appearances, none of them looking anything like the senators you know. They follow behind a young man, too young you think. Then you get a closer look at him, and your world ends and begins all over again.

"Anakin?"

[agendabymooner]

satellite ! max v. x ofc (hearth sister!ofc)

“i’m here, right here. wishing i could be there for you.”

summary: when the news of the downfall of her racing journey broke out, max verstappen promised to never let her down like that ever again. (1)(2)(3)(4)(5)

content warning: confrontation and good crying sesh with max and ofc, panic attack, alludes to smut (not graphic), use of explicit language, angst, set in vs fashion show 2016

note: 300 FOLLOWERS?! you guys are insane and i love you all so much!!! thank you!!!

masterlist

[translation: i’m just putting my french fluency into use. thank you paris!]

tagged victoriassecret, steviemarlz

liked by danielricciardo, aimeeyh, max33verstappen

comments have been limited

charles_leclerc such a heartwarming caption from you ❤️

sylvieeford charles leclerc? hardly know her 🤐

landonorris my best friend ate 👏 liked by sylvieeford

sylvieeford thank u best friend

tillymarie ughhh you girls make me proud ❤️ liked by sylvieeford

sylvieeford i’m always eager to please 😍

danielricciardo when the mini boss can do anything >> liked by sylvieeford

sylvieeford call me barbie 😉

max33verstappen what a beaut 😁 liked by sylvieeford

sylvieeford don’t get too soft on me now, caddy 😂

Her standard was Max, and god, did that ever ruin her chance to have a rebound. Whenever she got the chance to go on dates, she seemed to cower from the thought. As if she was worried about not getting along with the said dates.

Speaking of anxiety.

The Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show was on the go, and to say that it was nerve wracking would be quite a shame. You would think that she would be alright with walking down the runway now— but to know that some of her peers were here to support her, three days after the last race? Yeah, she might as well shit on her pants. 

She had everyone else to be nervous about; Lady Gaga was there for fucks sake. She was in the same room as Adriana Lima and Elsa Hosk. Hell, even Abel would be performing during her segment— why was she nervous about seeing her driver friends while she walked down the runway? 

She supposed that no one had seen her pose in her underwear before. That, and that they all grew up with her— it was weird to see your childhood friend all grown up, dressed in lingerie and nothing else. 

Not that Max Verstappen hadn’t seen that months ago. 

Fuck, Max was going to be there! 

She knew she was nervous. She just didn’t realize that it was because of him. Why would she be nervous? After all, working together had a major effect on their relationship. And… sleeping together once. 

Because he didn’t bring it up anymore after their conversation that day. He was friendly with her, but not once did he mention that he wanted to do it again. She wasn’t sure if it was because of their workplace relationship or their general friendship, but she was sure as hell that it hurt. Not that she would ever tell him that. Not especially after she found a woman clinging to him at their next race’s afterparty. 

So it did hurt. But as a prideful daughter of a miserable mother, she kept a straight face and smiled at everyone. 

After seeing him that night, she kept their relationship as civil as it could be— only listening to him “Maxplain” everything he could speak about, and offering him advice whenever he needed it. She failed to mention a lot of things in her life— like how Abel was performing tonight. Max only found out through their friends hours prior to the event and while it pissed him off to no end, he couldn’t afford to upset Sylvie on her special day. This was her day after all. She was debuting as a VS model. 

Tilly and Aimee had managed to see Sylvie and Stevie before the show as they prepared. They had mostly spoken about how they were able to get to the location easily and how Soren fussed when Tilly left him at Toto’s watch. 

“The boys are there,” Aimee pointed her head towards the direction of the audience, “I told them not to be foolish this time around.”

“Did you tell them to behave and not bark?” Stevie giggled, making Sylvie cackle. Sylvie’s makeup artist shot her a warning to not ruin her makeup by crying in laughter. 

“They know not to,” Tilly rolled her eyes, “those men have PR managers to answer to otherwise.” 

“I think George and Alex were only there chilling,” Aimee said, “I didn’t think someone could have anxiety even if they’re just an audience— not until I saw Max.” 

“Max? Why?” Now that piqued Sylvie’s curiosity.

Tilly answered, “I dunno. It must’ve been the adrenaline from Abu Dhabi, if you were to ask me. He’ll be fine once the show starts.” 

The beating of her heart slowed down when her segment started, only focusing on the front and had only given Abel a look of indifference before making her way through the middle, posing with her head tilting slightly to the right. Walking back, she glanced on her right and watched Max’s eyes stare at hers. 

She kept her head in his direction for a moment, not even realizing that she walked past Abel as her ears muted his song and voice, only paying attention to Max before looking back in front of her and walking off. 

Max knew that she had seen him with his not-really-girlfriend in each race, and it was extremely stupid of him. Rebounds shouldn’t be a thing at all, he told himself. He knew how he felt about her, yet after spending some time with her in a bedroom, he seemed to chicken out and not tell her about the love he had for her.

He always wondered how she went from insulting him jokingly to having a civil conversation and agreeing to everything he said. It was wrong. Why didn’t she say something about it? They agreed not to lie to each other, did they not? 

He seemed to feel like a hypocrite just saying that. But he was more than willing to admit that she was just as beautiful as she was before. He only started to feel different when they shared an intimate moment with each other, one that he’d like to relive for as long as he could breathe.

But they weren’t even aware that admitting would have to take time. After all, there were more problems to solve. 

Partying had never been a priority for her, if you were to ask, but Kendall insisted that Sylvie come along before the younger girl could even dive headfirst into her work throughout their break. The third Hearth daughter only nodded and dressed up as nicely as she could, only deciding that she would only drink one glass of daiquiri. What she didn’t know, however, was that Kendall had invited her guy friends to join them at the party. She had never felt so annoyed— why wouldn’t Kendall tell her in the first place that she’d invite them? Not that she wasn’t enthralled at the thought. Some warning would have sufficed. 

But it wasn’t their presence that made her want to go home. 

Everyone was too busy dancing to even sit in their booth, leaving Sylvie behind while she scrolled through her Twitter. She liked the peaceful atmosphere that the club could offer in a booth. And her blocking Abel was definitely something. 

Her eyes found a tweet that left her blood running cold. No.

“Sylvie’s Failed F1 Career: Explained”

From top to bottom, the story of her discontinued journey in Formula One was splayed out in a gossip website— a rather accredited one, while you’re at it. People would normally say not to believe what you see on the internet, but the truth was published and spread in the Formula One community and show business. 

Nobody knew what had happened before. Not until now. Whoever the fuck were these anonymous sources, they were nothing but assholes. Everything in the article was detailed from head to toe. Some stuff that people didn’t know were put up for everyone to see and shame her with.

Then panic started to spread across her body, her feet stumbling up as she marched down towards the dance floor, her hand gripping on Max’s shirt as she dragged him to a seedy area of the club no one had ever stepped foot on. 

“Mustang, what—“

“Cut the bullshit, Max,” she spewed out venomously before she shoved her phone in his hand. “Did you do this?” 

His eyes peered down on the article on screen as they widened. He looked up to see her teary eyes appearing once more. 

“No,” he answered honestly, but she wasn’t having it.

“You knew what happened, you’re the one who reported me, Max,” she cried out, her body shaking in anger and panic as she continued, “you saw that. You told the officials—“

“But that doesn’t mean I would fuck your career over!” Max exclaimed in frustration. “I told you that if you had somehow given me a heads up that they were kicking you out, I would have gone back and made them review it. Me not being there when you were being questioned was the biggest mistake I’ve made, because I know you. You’re honest. I would’ve known. I would’ve admitted that I was wrong if I heard you speak for yourself.”

“Then why do this? If you respect me then why do this now?”

“Sylvie, schatje,” he took a deep breath before looking at her again, “I would not— for the life of me— treat you like that. God, I would never forgive myself if I did. So I swear that isn’t me.” 

He didn’t even realize how bad their situation was until she started crying and crumbling in his arms, the music still tampering with the hysterical sound of her sobs. He tried to comfort her right there, but the loudness of the club only messed with both of their emotions and anxiety as he picked up their stuff and hailed for a cab. 

It didn’t take him long to find his room as she continued to cry in his arms. She spoke about her worries about her career as she sobbed, not wanting to lose her job in Red Bull and as a model because of this disaster they both called a lie. How was she going to explain all of this to her family? She asked herself as she sniffled, wiping her tears away. She hadn’t even realized that Max was crying too. 

All of this happened because he believed his friends who couldn’t give anymore shit about him. All of this happened to her because of him. All he could do now was apologize with tears. 

“I- I- I’ll do my best to fix this,” Max stammered, wiping his tears away to hide it away from her as she looked up. “Let me please help you fix this. This was my doing and I- I can’t hurt you like this, Sylv. I can’t afford to have you lose your career because of me. Just… please, forgive me and let me help.” 

“Please, Max,” she whispered. “I can’t be silenced anymore, Max. I- I need someone to speak for me.” 

“We’ll be speaking for you,” Max promised, leaning his forehead against hers. “I’ll… I don’t care if it ruins my own career, I just know yours cannot be ruined because of me. I’ll be here for you, schatje. Just have me.”

[sheepinwolfcountry]

how i view the choir/my rtc headcanons (it's pretty clear who's my favourite tbh)

ocean

I mainly see her as tiffany tatreau's portrayal

she/her, cis, aroace

doesn't really get the concept of being trans, was only introduced to it when ricky joined the choir

ocd, asthma

2nd shortest in choir, 5'4

has never had a haircut

the only time she got into trouble at school was when she and noel were arguing. she cried until she threw up after that. it was the first day of senior year.

says she's a polyglot but she's nowhere near fluent in the languages she claims to speak

hates theatre :(

texts with proper grammer

listens solely to up with people

noel

i mainly see him as james ragen's portrayal (trinity theatre actor)

he/they/she, nonbinary, gay

jean valjean from les mis was his gay awakening

speaks french

autism, bipolar disorder

unironically says slay, pop off, queen, etc.

instead of saying "who in gods name" he says "who in jean genet's name"

can't cook or spell for the life of him

has ocean saved in his phone as "the lion, the witch, the audacity of this bitch"

types only in lowercase with no punctuation

does ricky’s french homework

5'8

listens to french music and mitski (once ocean walked in on him belting a taylor swift song. that was never spoken about again)

has a crush on mischa. cried when mischa and ricky got together.

he has a boyfriend...! he just... goes to a different school... in a different timezone... in a different country...!

permanent teen angst phase

mischa

i see him as a mix of adam stanley and chaz duffy's portrayals

he/him (doesn't mind they though), trans, bi, poly

dating ricky and talia

has invited noel to the polycule before but they prefer to live in tradgedy

adhd, ptsd

once he forgot how to breathe

learnt spanish for ricky and his family

hates duolingo

polyglot

fluent in multiple types of sign too

when ricky came out as trans (while they were in a relationship with eachother) he posted a video to his youtube talking about trans rights and changed every video with ricky's deadname in it <333

once his "friends" (the people that mischa hangs around with to keep his persona strong but in reality despises them) made fun of ricky, safe to say ricky isn't a very safe candidate to mock for them now

usually types all in uppercase but does relax it sometimes

the human embodiment of a golden retriever around people he likes

listens to maklemore and eminem but is willing to listen to music that talia & ricky like

him, talia and ricky all have promise rings

loves sharks

when talia comes to canada, she agreed to go to a planetarium with ricky and teach him some ukrainian

once he forgot a word in ukrainian and look horrified

6'9

ricky

i see him as yannick-robin eike mirko's portrayal... like only their portrayal... godamn you, autism (although i do have multiple versions of him in my mind)

he/they/it/xe/nameself prns, trans, boyflux, pansexual, poly

dating mischa and talia

autism, adhd, degenerative disease, dyslexia, dyspraxia, dyscalculia, asthma, maladaptive daydreaming

always looses his inhaler

speaks spanish, german and korean as well as three types of sign (and english ofc)

puerto rican

moved to canada at 14

he’s 16 (technically canon)

his parents are really religious

when he learnt what sex was, zolar became his horny place as well as his escape

emoticon user

once ate a bauble because xey were bored

does noel’s spanish homework

used to unironically watch the emoji movie and liked it...

does write music, prefers to keep it a secret because ocean WILL use his music for choir songs

listens to glam rock in general with a few musicals mixed in there

randomly has allergic reactions

paints his nails

knows everyones secrets :)

writes fanfiction

HATES THE TAMBOURINE.

tries to hum along to the music at rehersal

has his text size at the biggest possible one

has glasses, whenever he adjusts them ocean thinks he's trying to correct her

won't eat the school lunches

constantly sleep deprived

does not know how to kiss

5’1

okay i don't want this to entirely be ricky... so lets move on

jane | penny

i see her mainly as em flosi's portrayal

they/it/she, agender, aroace

autism, drdp

carried her doll everywhere

speaks latin

joined choir because her social worker made it

doesn’t really listen to music, but when she does they listens to old music

has their parents old jewlery

spends most of their time in the library

6’2

constance

i mainly see her as princess victomé and tiffany polite's portrayal

she/they, demigirl, pansexual, asexual

depression, social anxiety

had a crush on ricky for a while

haitian

loves to bake

brings brownies, cookies, cakes etc to choir rehersals

brings extra food for kids that don’t have any

usually runs the café on weekends

her brother is called xavier

okay that’s it. this took me >2 hours to write so erm…