#Jean-Charles Worth

[lookingbackatfashionhistory]

• Dinner Dress.

Designer/Maker: Attributed to Charles Frederick Worth (1825–1895); Jean-Philippe Worth (1856–1926)

Date: 1890–1895

Culture: French

Medium: Silk, metal

[mote-historie]

George Barbier, Araignée du soir...espoir (Evening spider...hope.). Robe du soir, de Worth (Jean-Charles Worth). La Gazette du Bon Ton, 1922

[v-cain]

"Christmas Morning"

A/N: merry fucking christmas *tears down calendar that says it's June* sorry to everyone who requested fics that i blatantly ignored, i have had an excruciatingly stressful year, and i feel like if i wrote said requests they wouldnt turn out the best they could be. ENJOY!!!!! (also fucking finally got around to writing erik omg yaayyyy)

Fandom: X-men

Warnings: Swearing (probably), Dogs, Brief joke about murder, Mentions of alcohol (let me know if i missed any)

Pairings: (All Platonic) Logan Howlett x gn!teen!reader, Hank McCoy x gn!teen!reader, Scott Summers x gn!teen!reader, Kurt Wagner x gn!teen!reader, Jean Grey x gn!teen!reader, Jubilation Lee x gn!teen!reader, Charles Xavier x gn!teen!reader, Erik Lenhsherr x gn!teen!reader

----

It was early on Christmas morning. Scott had woken you up at 6am and dragged you down the stairs to open presents with the rest of your friends. You decided that your present to him this Christmas was not murdering him for this act of treachery (and a small painting of Scott depicted as one of Snow White's dwarves).

You curled up on the couch with your loving dog Edo, half asleep, as everyone exchanged gifts. A pile of presents and wrapping paper were slowly building up on the floor. So far, you had received a pair of fuzzy socks that Kurt had crocheted, the Twilight book series from Jean, a Snow White colouring book from Scott, and a new glitter-pen stationery set from Jubilee. Among those gifts you also had a thick leather-bound notebook from Professor McCoy, "The Art Of War" by Sun-Tzu from Erik, and a pair of novelty dice from the Professor. You weren't sure why you got that last one but you appreciated it all the same. As the group surrounding you chattered and joked, your gaze drifted towards the door. Logan had gone on a trip a few weeks ago, with the promise of being back before Christmas. So far he had yet to make an appearance, which was worrying you, but you tried to focus your thoughts back to your friends.

----

As the day went on, you found yourself glancing over to the door every few minutes, hoping Logan would walk in at any minute. You were currently trying to distract yourself by playing with Edo outdoors in the garden, despite the freezing cold. It wasn't working as well as you had hoped, as your mind still wandered and worried about Logan. Plus, your hands were getting numb.

As you throw a ball for Edo to catch, you hear someone walking up behind you. You turn, and are greeted with the site of Erik Lenhsherr, who has a mixture of a kind look and a "What the fuck are you doing out here in the freezing cold on Christmas?" look on his face. You knew Erik pretty well, despite the fact he had only moved into the mansion a few months ago, and the pair of you shared many pleasant conversations (which were all almost entirely about philosophy, western literature and cat memes.) You turn back around and watch as Edo runs up to you, a happy expression adorning his features.

"Might I ask why you aren't inside with everyone else?" Erik asked, watching Edo drop the ball in front of you, before his gaze turns to you. You pick up the slimy ball and pelt it across the yard. You watch Edo sprint after it, then deciding to say "Just thought I should appreciate nature at it's finest, s'all." You hear Erik sigh, and you turn back around to face him. His smile was gone now, instead replaced by creased eyebrows and a downturned mouth.

Erik shifted his shoulders, pondering what he should say, then sighed again. "I know you miss Logan, Y/N." Your gaze turns to the frost tipped grass as Erik continues, "And I know it's hard not having him here with you on Christmas." Erik pauses before saying "But I also know that if Logan were here, he wouldn't want you outside in the freezing cold, especially not alone." He paused again, then simply said with a small bit of worry evident in his voice "Come back inside, Y/N." You watch as Edo drops the ball further away and chases a bird around. You bite your the inside of your cheek, thinking for a moment, before agreeing "Ok." Erik smiled and patted you on the shoulder. "I'll see you inside." He turned and started walking away, then called after him "And put some gloves on!" You huff a small laugh and then whistle for Edo to come over. 

----

It was now the late evening. Most of the younger kids had gone off to bed a while ago, so the living had the older kids and some of the teachers inside. An old re-run of 'Home Alone' was playing on the crappy TV that looked like it was around longer than Logan. Edo was curled up beside the fireplace, a content look on his face. Jean and Scott were leaning against each other on the couch, talking quietly amongst themselves. Jubilee and Kurt had gone to bed as they both apparently wanted to keep on track with their "sleep schedule", and wouldn't stay up for just another half hour. What a bunch of losers, you thought as you pulled on the socks Kurt crocheted for you.

You walk out of the living room, wandering down the hall towarss the main entrance. As you round the corner, you see the door open and Logan step in, covered in snow and rain. Your once bored expression turns into one of pure glee as you shout "LOGAN!" before barrelling into the man. Logan lets out a small 'oof' as you hug him, you wings wrapped around him. He hugs you back and says in his usual gruff manner "Missed you too, kid." You release him from your death grip and grin up at him, bouncing on the balls of your feet. "I have a present for you!" Logan raises an eyebrow, but before he can question the gift, you grab his hand and start dragging him towards the living room. As you walk, you ask Logan about where he went, and what it was like, and did he see any cute dogs, and did he take any photographs. He tried to keep up with your rapid fire questioning- that he was somewhat used to, after over a year of knowing you- when you arrive in the living room.

As the rest of the room greet Logan and make conversation with him, you walk over to the far corner of the room where you stashed your present for him during the morning. You fished out the present from behind a few books, which was brightly wrapped in pink wrapping paper, and had a pink bow stuck on top. As you turned around (nearly knocking over a vase with your tail due to your enthusiasm) you caught Erik throwing a questioning look at the present. In return you stuck your tongue out at him, to which he rolled his eyes and turned back around to Charles. You walked back over to Logan, who was standing near the fireplace, and stood in front of him. Logan looked down at you and raised an eyebrow when he spotted the present.

You thrust the present into his hands before holding your own behind your back. You smiled, slightly nervous, and said cheerfully "Open it!". Logan carefully unwrapped it, to reveal a mug. He turned the mug around and read the print on it, and laughed heartily. You grinned and laughed a bit yourself. "I'll use it everyday." Logan said, smiling down at the mug. The mug in question read; 'May contain Whiskey, Vodka and/or Beer' You had found it in a novelty gift shop a few months prior and thought it was perfect for Logan.

As you two talked, Logan thought about how grateful he was to have a little brat like you in his life. Sure, you could be a pain in the ass- especially when he was trying to teach you Maths- but you were a sweet kid. He didn't know where he'd be without you, his reminder to keep going and stick around. Meanwhile, you thought about how your life had been tipped upside down like a glass of water when you first entered the school, and then how quickly it was refilled. Your life had become so much better as you built your new home, your new family, that you loved so dearly. You were eternally grateful for your family, and hoped it would stay this way forever- filled with hugs, dogs, jokes, happiness and cat memes. Though, as you were surrounded by your loved ones chattering away, you had the dreading sense of feeling it wouldn't.

[fouralignments]

In addition, to Charles's fluffy hair that should have been kept.

The Cerebro design from Apocalypse should have been kept as well.

Why did they not keep in Dark Phoenix?!?

Because Cerebro just looks sad...

It just looks so off...I think its just too big for McAvoy. He looks ridiculous...

[ferrstappen]

could you be more obvious? l MV1

a/n: thissss is based on a request I got and ofc I added the Verstappen twins <3 this is messy I’m sorry but I’m on a writing mood

summary: you show up pregnant for the first race of 2024, just six months after Max won his 3rd WDC.

Max being crowned world champion for the third time was something that made your skin buzz with excitement, a knot form in your throat seeing everything he’s achieved and the pride and satisfaction of knowing that every single person on the team had his back, was definitely one of the best sights.

But for Luca and Mila Verstappen, their papa being champion again time wasn’t exactly a big deal… they knew it was important because there were lots of fireworks and special tshirts, but they were born watching Max a champion, they only knew him as such.

what, like it’s a big deal?

They didn’t say it, but you knew that’s what was on their mind.

That was the reason why both Max and you decided to not bring the twins to Qatar, especially with the high temperatures and Luca’s history of getting sick during Grand Prix weekends, they were more than happy to stay with auntie Vic while you got ready to celebrate your husband.

And God, did you celebrate him.

Without the twins, the gin and tonics kept coming, the sloppy make out session on the VIP area of the club as if you were teenagers again, his front pressed against your back as he tried to impress you with his best moves, only to earn a couple of drunken giggles and peck on the lips.

Things were starting to quiet down, lots of people had already left to their hotel room, but you and Max were on a world of your own, with you sitting on top of him, but the moment you started feeling his lips ghosting against your neck, his hands moving from your waist to squeeze your hip.

and you knew it was time to go.

Bahrain, 2024

Max didn’t remember being so excited for race day. Yes, he was anxious for the new season, but the highlight of his day was seeing you getting ready, a loose blouse and white jeans accentuating the noticeable belly of six months of pregnancy, which was a complete surprise to everyone.

You entered the paddock through the main entrance, with photographers everywhere and Kym Ilman greeting your family, because the scene was worth more than a couple thousand likes on Instagram: you were holding Mila’s hand who in return was holding Luca’s, while Max walked with his arm protectively around your belly.

The twins weren’t exactly thrilled about the idea of having a baby brother or sister, a fact they made clear by asking every day if there was any chance to stop the baby from coming home eventually, telling you and Max that they were more than okay having the cats. Sadly, they were the only ones

“No! No! No! Is that why you went MIA on social media? Oh my God look at this bump! Congratulations you two,” Lily let go of Alex’s hand to give you a tight hug as Alex congratulated Max with a couple of pats on the back.

The scene repeated itself with most drivers on the grid, who didn’t ask how far along you were, but were able to deduce the situation. Until…

“How far along are you?” Charles asked you as he held Luca on his arms, letting him mess with his hair.

You blushed and Max’s chest puffed as if he has been waiting for the question. “I’m a couple of days away from the six months mark,”

Charles looked as if he was doing a very specific and difficult math problem as his girlfriend, Alexandra, stares at him with a faint blush on her cheeks, probably since she has always been more reserved around you because she was younger, but she was impatiently waiting for her boyfriend to catch on the situation.

“This is a 2023 season baby?” Charles asked.

“Looks like it,” Max answered with a smug smile on his face, but in reality it was an excited grin which reached his blue eyes.

“No…” Charles jaw dropped and had to put Luca on the floor.

“No what?” Max counter asked, even if he knew the answer. This time he started drawing mindless shapes on the clothes over your swollen stomach.

“Max… is this your championship child?” Charles whispered, shocked.

“What can I say? Winning on and off the track!”

And Charles almost passed out as both you and Max laughed, beaming while interlacing your fingers over your belly, knowing cameras wouldn’t catch you there.

user1: Max knocked y/n up the night of the third championship change my mind

user2: Max Verstappen pulled a k-mag and I respect that

user3: do we know the birthday of the verstappen twins? Asking for a friend

user4: y/n and max will have a full kindergarten if they have a kid every time he wins the championship💀

user5: are we really surprised after those videos leaked of max squeezing her ass while they were celebrating the 3rd wdc

user6: if the maths are mathing this baby will be born around the Monaco gp. GODS PLAN

[vivwritesfics]

"Come on, baaaaaby," Lando mumbled as he pulled her into his arms.

Carlos was in the shower, readying himself for the race ahead. Y/N and Lando were already ready to go, Y/N in her shorts and Red Bull shirt and Lando in his McLaren shirt and black jeans.

Y/N had already tried telling him that he was going to overheat. It was the Spanish Grand Prix, Carlos's home Grand Prix. He didn't have to stay in the hotel that Y/N and Lando wanted to stay in, but he did anyway, just to spend time with them.

"Lando, my career isn't taken seriously already. Do you know how terrible things would be for me if I was to tell the world I was dating two of the driver's? Plus, all the Carlando girlie's would come for me," said answered, wrapping her arms around him.

"Carlando?" He asked and pulled her hat from her head.

Y/N ran her hand through her hair. "Look, I got it all planned out," she said as she walked over to the window and looked down at the Spanish street below. "I'm gonna take the win from Max and I'm gonna talk about it in my post race interview and Christian is going to kill me for it, but it'll be worth it," she said.

Lando kissed her head and placed her hat on for her. He was sweet like that and Y/N wished she could show off her love for him and Carlos while they were in the paddock.

Carlos walked out of the bathroom. "You ready, princess?" Asked Y/N as she walked over to him and wrapped her arms around him.

"Ay," he said and gently bit her nose. It was sweet and cute and soft and Y/N loved him so much.

Heading to the track was always an interesting ordeal. Y/N would leave the hotel room first, getting in her car and driving to the track. Carlos and Lando driving together wasn't a big deal - it wouldn't be as much of a problem as if Y/N was to be with them.

Spoiler alert, Y/N stole the win from Max. It was an epic battle, a photo finish that saw her as the winner.

She climbed out of the car and punched the air, facing the crowd of the Spanish Grand Prix.

Charles was interviewed first, and then Max, and then Y/N. Jensen Button held the microphone towards her as she spoke about the race. "And it was amazing to win with my boyfriends here," she said, taking off her cap and revealing her sweaty head of hair.

Jenson furrowed his brows. Usually he wouldn't be bothered with a drivers love life, but she had said boyfriends, as in plural. Jensen wanted to know more.

"Yep! This win was for Carlos and Lando. Boys, I love you," she said and walked away from the interview.

The feeling of standing up on the podium was incredible, but nothing compared to going home with her loves. They didn't do a lot of sleeping that night.

[russellsppttemplates]

Both Herve and Charles being enamored by your back on the black-less dress you are wearing for Charles' birthday party

"Hervé, can you go and tell papa that we don't need any more spoons, please?", you asked your toddler, seeing him grab the spare ones and head for the kitchen, "I'm going upstairs and change quickly before everyone arrives", you told him and Pascale who was sitting on the sofa with Amélie on her arms, "okay, chérie, I'll keep this one entertained", your mother in law assured.

You didn't want to go over the top for the celebrations, after all, you had a small gathering with close friends and family at your house and since the weather seemed to be a bit uncertain, you opted to keep it inside instead of the garden, but it was also your husband's birthday, so it was worth to dress up a little still. Pining your hair back as you knew that soon enough you'd be helping with the rest and bringing food from the kitchen, you did one final check in the mirror before grabbing the dress from the hanger. It was a simple cut, the backless detail getting all the attention as it was carefully tailored to fit your body properly.

Walking downstairs, you could already hear voices of the guests and their laughter and your toddler running around with your friends' kids, "Hi, guys! I'm so glad you could make it!", you said, greeting them as you walked along the living room before you heard your son gasp. Looking around for him and expecting him to be hurt, you were met with an enamored expression, "Mama! Tu es si belle!", he smiled, running so he could hug you, his hands travelling to your back as he kissed your cheeks repeatedly, delighting everyone who saw the moment, "your dress is very pretty!", he said, kicking his legs as yiu put him down so he could look at your ba k closely, "Papa! Have you seen mama's dress?", he called.

Charles had been in the kitchen washing his hands before he heard his son, walking to meet you, "no, buddy, I haven't. What's- oh, wow", he let out. Approaching you, your husband held out his hand so you could twirl, "you look gorgeous, amour", he said, stealing a kiss from the corner of your lips.

"She does, right, papa?", Hervé smiled, leaving to play with his friends and leaving you a blushing mess, "alright, alright, it's probably the first time I'm wearing something that isn't lounge wear or jeans since giving birth to this little gorgeous lady", you said, holding out your arms to get Amélie from Pascale so she could, too, enjoy the party as you felt all eyes on you, "but let's eat some food, yes?".

While the guests went around the tables and ate and drunk, Charles stayed back with you, his hands going from your back and up and down to your waist as he kissed your neck, "you truly do look gorgeous, amour, absolutely breath taking".

Throught the afternoon, it was clear that both of your boys loved how the piece looked on you. Charles sat next to you anytime he could, even if he was talking to someone else, and Hervé would come up to you to give you kisses and compliments every now and again, staying next to you as well as he played with his sister, "are you having a conversation? What is it about?", Marta asked your youngest as she hesrd her babbles, "Amélie was telling me that mama looks even prettier in her dress", Hervé smiled as Charles nodded in agreement.

"I'm being very very spoiled with compliments from my boys today", you smiled, kissing both of their cheeks, "You deserve it, amour".

(Thank you for submitting an ask 🤍)

[edensxgarden]

hi so first of all the amount of cockwarming blurbs you’ve been writing recently makes me so so happy!

second of call can we maybe talk about cockwarming logan or charles? like they both tried so so hard this past weekend and didn’t get the results they worked so hard to achieve so they’re both a little sad and just need to be inside you and feel like everything will be okay?

Aww I'm glad you enjoyed! After Vegas and everything else going on my Logan deserves some attention!

The two of you were so excited after quali!! It'd been such a tough year for Logan and this was huge for him! The two of you were like giggly teenagers as you sipped on sweet champagne, celebrating him <3

But after the gp, there was absolutely nothing to celebrate. It was just yet another week where Logan was stuck out of the points and in the end it all was for nothing :(

And the little sad puppy look Logan had on his face made your heart shatter! He was such a talented driver, he just wasn't getting the opportunity to show it and you knew it was making him question his own abilities :(

After the race, the two of you decided to skip the festivities and just head back to the hotel. Logan was heartbroken at yet another promising week ending in failure and you internally decided it was your mission to make him feel better!

You offered to order in his favorite foods and watch his favorite shows and you tried your very best to bargain a smile onto his face but nothing was working and you just hated seeing your boyfriend like that :(

So you decided to do the one thing you always knew would put a smile on his face.

You made your way to where Logan sat on the couch, mindlessly flipping through channels to find something to take his mind off the poor race result :(

You walked over to him, nothing but an oversized Williams t-shirt covering your body and sat on his lap, your needy cunt leaking onto his jeans

The damp stain on his pants embarrassed you but you knew it was worth it because Logan lifted his hips and quickly shuffled his jeans and boxers off until his halfhard dick rested against his toned tummy <3

And you just sat yourself down on it, letting your warm, plushy walls accommodate to Logan's pretty dick, savoring the way his fat tip felt so deep in your cunt.

And you instantly felt his tense body relax against you as he laid his head in your shoulder and let out a small whimpery moan. He sounded so needy and pathetic and it made your cunt tighten around his sensitive cock which made him moan again and it was just an endless cycle :(

But after a few short minutes with your pretty pussy hugging his dick and your nails softly scratching his scalp, his sweet moans turned into sleepy snores as he dozed off with a smile <3

[formulaforza]

—the seasons of love

or: the enemies to lovers situationship fic charles leclerc x female reader summ. autumn seemed to arrive suddenly this year. minors dni. nsfw warnings below the cut. 6k. part one part two part three part four part five

18+ because: cross continent booty call, shared shower, oral (fem receiving) overstimulation, biting, begging, teasing/dirty talk and lots of emotionally immature angst

It became normal after that, routine, almost. Like clockwork, the two of you finding each other. In your apartment, sometimes, but mostly at his. His apartment, his yacht, his gym, his car.  There were days where it felt like it was all you did, Fridays where you would think that you’d spent five whole days underneath him. 

Race weekends felt impossibly long, impossibly far away. You think that his apartment doesn’t feel like him because he’s never there, because he spends all his time on a track or a yacht or the streets of Maranello. 

And you’re soft. You pretend not to be, because you wish you weren’t, but you are. You are, because you know that there is a spring in a national park in the States that looks just like his eyes, all blues and greens and browns that are so saturated they look fake. Because when you were at the club last week with your sister, someone had walked by and you knew they wore the same cologne as him. Because you see the color red and wonder what he’s doing, every single time. 

He’s in Vegas this week, a big fucking party, Miami on the hard stuff. You’re home, going through life’s motions and waiting–though you’d never admit it– for him to come home. 

You wake up in an empty bed, sprawled out in the middle of it, stretching against the white sheets with a groaned yawn.  You can taste the cottonmouth on your tongue, smack your lips a couple times before giving up and climbing out from the cozy comforter and trudging into the bathroom, feet creaking over the hardwoods as you move through the apartment. 

You phone chimes from your nightstand and you move back into the bedroom, leave the water running and the toothbrush in your mouth for your retrieval mission. Sitting at the top of a night’s worth of notifications is a text from him. Check your email. You roll your eyes, half-type out a witty response before an email notification flashes across the top of your screen. Lecharles@ferrari.com No Subject. 

You tap it, and inside the subjectless email you find two things. One, an attachment to a plane ticket to Vegas that leaves in… five hours. And two, a single Please?

You roll your eyes, toss your phone down onto the bed and return to the bathroom sink to spit out your toothpaste. He’s fucking lost it. He’s really done it this time, like, Jesus, he’s done it. 

There is nothing you want to do less than pack a bag, find a ride to Nice, and hop on a plane all the way to Vegas just to see him in some messy ass hotel room. 

(Sixteen hours later)

You’re sitting on the edge of the hotel bed when he gets back from media day, Ferrari polo and light wash jeans and a dumb smile greets you, grumpy with arms crossed over your chest. “Did you have to send me a fucking plane ticket?” You snapped.

He shrugs, kicks off his shoes and pulls his phone and wallet and pass from his pockets, sets them down on a coffee table. “You’re here, aren’t you?” There’s something masked with the smug tone in his voice, some kind of genuine relief that you’re here. It makes your stomach queasy. 

You roll your eyes. Even if you wanted to, you couldn’t deny the truth in his words, or the relief you felt at seeing him walk through the heavy door. As sick as it makes you, you miss him when he’s gone in a way you aren’t supposed to; all soft and innocent and young. 

“You’re infuriating,” you say, but you’re smiling. 

He nods, closes the distance between you, sinks down onto the edge of the bed beside you. “You know you love it,” he says, the corners of his lips upturned when he kisses you, and kisses you, and kisses you. Until you’re turning purple in search of oxygen and mourning the fact that you need it, you’re kissing him. 

“Why am I here?” you ask, half breathless. 

“Are you asking me?” He replies, dodging your line of questioning with one of his own. 

You smile, laugh a little under your breath. “Who else am I asking?”

“Yourself,” he shrugs, kisses you softly. His fingers dance along your jaw, move to brush a part of your hair to the side. You let him. Because he’s kind of  cute when he does it.

“No, no,” you sigh, pull your leg up under you. “I’m asking you; Are you okay? Why am I here?” You ask, because, even for the two of you and your decades of knowing the other and the last… almost year of this muddled mess, this is weird. A first class ticket in your email is weird. You getting on the plane is weirder. 

“I can’t miss you?”

Your lips purse. Somewhere in another world, they smile. “Not supposed to,” you kiss him again, hand on shoulders, because you want to smile. 

“There’s a lot we’re not supposed to do.”

“Yeah,” you nod, fall back onto the bed with a huff. He chuckles. The white ceiling paint stares back at you. Fresh. Crisp. Clean. “No meetings today?”

“They’re done.”

“Ah,” you say. He stands up and the entire bed shifts with the loss of him. His heavy feet move across the echoey room. It’s silent but for the hum of the air conditioner, the tap of the pads of his fingertips against his phone screen on the other side of the room.  “Charles?” You ask, prop yourself up onto your elbows. 

“Hmm?” He hums, his eyes focused on his screen. “Sorry, um. Work… email.” You don’t envy his multitasking skills, but they do put a smile on your face.

“Did you fly me out here to fuck me?”

He scoffs, looks up for just a moment to meet your eyes. “No,” and then he’s back to typing away. 

You sigh, make sure he hears it. You don’t handle not having his attention well, not when it’s just the two of you. “But you’re going to, right?”

You wonder if you can get him flustered enough that he starts to type what he says. He’s been good at wrangling you recently, at reeling you in. But, if you can get under his skin you’ll surely be in trouble with him. Surely. He smiles at the screen. “If you think you can take it.”

When you scoff, his smile grows. You’re playing right into his game. “I’ve taken it every other fucking time, haven’t I?”

“So well.”

You roll your eyes, drop back onto your back. “Why do you say shit like that?”

“I like riling you up,” he quips, and you can hear the smile on his face, the dimples digging into his cheek. God, those dimples, they might just fucking kill you. 

“No!” You say, voice drenched in sarcastic awe.

“Yes!” He matches your tone, his phone clattering down against the table. You sit up again, pull your leg to your chest and rest your chin on it. His eyes are on you now, the email answered, his attention undivided. You love his attention. 

“Alright… can we, like,” you gesture into the vast space between the two of you, “get on with it?”

“Can you, like,” he mocks you, “let me fucking shower?”

You click your tongue against the roof of your mouth, bite the inside of your cheek, “Can I come?”

“Yeah, but I’m not going to fuck you.”

“Really?” You hate your tone, how childishly innocent it sounds, like your mother just said you could buy whatever toy you wanted at the store. You’d expected a hard shutdown.

“Yeah,” he moves past you, casual smile and strong hand pushing your shoulder, knocking you over like a glass of water onto the bed. “But, I mean it,” he warns, threatens to wag a finger at you. You’d bite it off if he did. 

“Okay,” you say, rolling yourself off the bed and onto your feet, trailing behind him a few steps. He’s already tugging his shirt over his head and you watch his shoulder blades flex with the movement. You never remember just how broad he is. It’s always a lovely reminder. 

“I’m serious,” he shakes his head. “No sex.”

You hurry forward to catch up to him, pat him solidly on the back as you squeeze between him and the door frame. “Whatever you say,” you hum. His hands make a move for your sides, to pinch the skin there and curl you over, but you dodge him with a loud giggle. 

He says your name and his tone is flat. It’s almost romantic, you think, the plainness of it, the lack of urgency. Rather than face that, you dip your hand past the glass door of the shower, turn the water on and listen to him close the bathroom door somewhere behind you. It’s just the two of you, but he clicks the lock anyways.

You glance over your shoulder at him, hand held out into the stream of water to test the temperature. He comes up behind you, bare chest against your back, arms snaking around your waist, thumbs toying with the waistband of your pants. He works over the buttons with ease, says something about making things even against the skin just above your collarbone. 

With a laugh, you push your ass back against him, bend at the waist and slowly pull off your pants and underwear. A fucking tease, he says, clears his throat and moves around you to lose his own jeans.

The shower is big, but the shower head is small in size, mediocre in water pressure. You know before your leg is all the way in that one of you will be fighting to stay warm. You also know you’ll stoop incredibly low to avoid having to stand shivering in the corner while watching him shower. Biting is not off the table. Neither is a right hook. 

It goes on like that for some time, the haphazard cohabitation of the hotel shower. 

“Would you–” you elbow your between him and the glass door, into the line of hot water. He reaches over your head, switches the flow of water to the wand, picks it up and brings it to his shoulders, the water flowing over the body, over his chest and through the muscles of his core. If you weren’t so fucking cold you’d jump him. “Charles,” you pout. 

He laughs, the kind that requires a step back to stabilize him, and then he’s holding the shower wand inches above the crown of your head, hot water streaming down your face so quick that you have to plug your nose to relish in the heat of it. 

“Thank you,” you say all nasally, voice muffled by the water that falls over your lips. He slots it back into the showerhead and adjusts the water again so you’re not being waterboarded any longer. You wipe your face with both hands, smooth your soaked hair back over your head and look up at him. He kisses you again, promptly, quickly, with childlike haste, just because he can—you suppose. “What was that for?”

He shrugs. You supposed right. 

In your haste, both of you had forgotten to grab the tiny shampoo and conditioner bottles from the vanity counter, and after winning rock, paper, scissors—and Charles demanding best of three like a first-grader—you’d made the treacherous journey back across the ice cold tile to grab the toiletries. You’d used them first as compensation for your hard work, and rather than hand them to him when you’re finished, you reach around to set them on the corner shelf.

He rolls his eyes and you smile, lathering the shampoo into your hair. 

Your head falls back under the water, eyes closed, fingers rinsing the shampoo from your hair. You hear him moving, fighting with the travel-sized shampoo bottle you’d more than almost used up. You wait for the smart comment that never comes. When you squeeze past him, switch so that he can stand under the water, your ass brushes over his leg, over him, hard and erect in a way it wasn’t five minutes earlier. His tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth and you laugh. “What happened to ‘no sex!’” you tease, do your best impression of his voice. 

“This isn’t sex,” he replies all matter-of-factly. It makes your smile grow. “This is showering.”

You shake your head, roll your eyes and reach for the conditioner. “You always shower like this?”

He laughs under the water, shoulders shaking and flexing and making your life so much harder than it needs to be. You could draw maps on his back, trace from freckle to freckle until you run out. “Only when you’re not around.”

You reach out to touch him. If he can kiss you just because, you can draw pictures on his skin just because, especially after he finds the space to say something like that to you, to make you blush from the inside out. He reacts to your touch, to your fingers cutting through the smooth sheen of water that runs over him. It puts a coy smile on your face. “I’m around now, aren’t I?” You leave a kiss on his shoulder blade. 

“You are,” he says, turns to face you, slinks his arms lazily around your waist and pulls you flush against him. “I’m not worried though. You’ll take care of me.”

You bite against your bottom lip, try to contain your smile. He’s right. You know he’s right and he knows it too. “Will I?” you hum. 

He smiles so you don’t have to, moves his lips painfully close to yours, hovering so close you can almost feel the ghost of them. “You will,” he breathes.

You can’t bite your grin any longer. “I will,” you reply, and because distance has never done you two well, you kiss him, pull off his lips with an innocent smile. “As soon as you condition your hair.”

“Fuck conditioner.”

You laugh. “Fuck conditioner?”

“Mmhm,” he hums against your lips. “Fuck it.”

“Yeah,” you nod. “I still have to rinse my conditioner, though.”

He groans like he’s just noticed your slicked back hair coated in the smooth conditioner, pushes you under the shower head, gives the top of your head a scrunch before letting you finish ringing it out. 

You stumble out ahead of him soon after, feet wet on the cold tile floor of the hotel bathroom. The mirrors are fogged and the air is thick with steam, slowly being sucked away into the ceiling vent fan. You pull a fluffy white towel down from the bar, hastily wrap it around your body, tuck it shut with a knot at your chest. He tells you that you don’t need it while drying his hair with a hand towel and you laugh–tell him there’s not a chance in hell you’re spending the night sleeping in soaked, chilly sheets. 

“You’re not going to do much sleeping,” he remarks, pats your ass over the cotton fabric. You squeal, practically skip forward at the contact of his hand and leave him behind in the bathroom. 

“You tell that to all your girls?” You ask, fingers trailing over the edge of the bed as you move past. “Or just the ones who know you’re a liar?” 

He reappears with a towel tied around his waist, the smaller one he’d used for his hair draped around his neck, damp hair stuck to his forehead and shooting out in every which direction. There’s something horribly beautiful about it. “Mm-mhm,” he clicks, “just you.”

“Oh,” you hum, turning to face him with a quirked brow and quizzical smile.”Well now I feel special.”

He opens his mouth to speak, parting his lips just so slightly before pursing them shut again. “Yeah,” he breathes out, and you barely hear it over the turnover of the air conditioner. 

“Yeah,” you repeat, and somehow it’s quieter. 

You sit down in the armchair perched in the corner and the silence lingers, heavier than the steam and louder than the air conditioner. He stares at you for a beat too long and you feel your heartbeat in your temples, stare right back at his stupid green eyes. He scoffs and walks back into the bathroom. “I’m tired of this,” he says into the mirror, wiping away the fog with a flat palm. 

“Tired of what?” You ask, fear the threat of his answer more than the actual answer itself. You know what he’s tired of; you. This. All of it, he’s tired of it all, and you don’t blame him. It’s become exhausting.

You know what he’s going to say, and still. His words hit you like a sucker punch. “This fucking hotel room shit.”

Your jaw flexes and you nervously chew on the tip of your tongue. “You’re the one who called me.”

He doesn’t leave space for the words to linger. “That’s not what I meant,” he says, turning to lean against the vanity counter, can barely glance at you. Your stare holds strong. “You know that’s not what I meant.” The thing is—you don’t know. You haven’t a clue what he means if it’s not the obvious elephant sitting between you. 

“Say it, then,” you tell him and your voice oozes a confidence you didn’t know you could possess. It’s a facade. A good one, and he still sees right through it. 

“Oh allez, tu es trop intelligent pour être aussi stupide,” Oh, come on, you’re too smart to be this dumb, he says, crosses his arms over his chest like you’ve done something he needs to defend against. 

“Say it, Charles.”

He finds the nerve to smile. You wish a ghost would pull the towel hung over his shoulders tight around his neck. Maybe then he would feel more like you do. Instead, he uses it to dry off the back of his neck and tosses it somewhere out of sight. “You say it.” 

“No,” you mutter, and then louder, you repeat, “No, I’m not going to.”

“You won’t?” He asks, pushes himself off the counter and stops in the doorway, leans against the frame and if he wasn’t so insistent on starting something right now, you’d take a picture before kissing every muscle on his body. 

“Mm-mm.” 

“Fine,” he replies all bluntly, but there’s nothing short about his tone. No, no, you know there’s no chance he’s dropping this. 

“Fine.”

He sighs, eyes closed and heavy breath and head dropping to the sky like he’s begging—or praying— for some sanity or patience or whatever virtue he so badly needs when it comes to dealing with you. Eventually, he speaks to the ceiling, and the dramatic cringe and nose-bridge pinch that precedes his words makes him look more than pained. “I want more than this. I want—” he cuts himself off like he hasn’t already let it all boil over, like there’s any chance he’d keep it unsaid, that he’d be capable of stopping himself. “I want us.”

Your heart dives into your stomach, sends them both sinking through the floor. “You don’t.”

“I do,” he speaks, still to the white ceiling. You follow his sightline. The ceiling is textured. 

“No, you don’t,” you think there’s a chance that your desperation to convince him this isn’t what he wants is really nothing more than a half-hearted attempt to convince yourself of the same thing. “You don’t, because then it’s all going to be fucked.”

Finally, he looks at you, or through you, or near you. Finally, he stops looking at the stupid textured white paint on the ceiling. “But what if it works? If we work?”

We.

“What if it doesn’t? If we try and then everyone gets invested and then it’s all ruined? Our parents and our siblings? We can’t ruin that.” You can’t. You won’t. You refuse to be the one responsible for any tension between your families, between your mothers. They’re the kind of friends that you don’t find more than once, and you wouldn’t dare to mess it all up after all this time, certainly not for a boy—for the boy. 

“So, what?” He asks. There’s a terrible ribbon of torment laced through his voice. “We just ruin each other?”

You sink in your seat, reply to him meekly. He doesn’t usually make you shy.  “Maybe.”

He says your name, that same ill-inducing tone to his voice. “If it was just us. Just me and you and nobody in our families had ever met,” he gestures between the two of you, always talking with his hands even when they’re half-limp and dejected. “Then what would your answer be?”

“I wouldn’t have to answer,” you dodge. Dodge, dodge, dodge. It feels like all you can do. “You wouldn’t want me.” Your words reek of haunting vulnerability, and you hope you’re the only one who picks up on it because it’s game over if he hears it. He’ll know it all; the lie and the truth and the debilitating fear of them both.

“You know that isn’t true,” he scowls, but his voice is soft. You hate it. You do, you hate it so much. You hate it. You’re tired of this conversation. You didn’t spend all those hours three seats over from a colicky  baby and its miserable mother to argue with him about what you were. You just were, can’t that be enough?

You snap like a crunchy autumn leaf under a steel-toed boot. “Fine! Fine. Yes,” you concede to the fictional world, the alternate timeline with death and taxes etc, etc. To the universe where everything is different.  To the world where everything is different, but everything is really just as it is; where the more things change, the more they stay the same. “My answer would be yes, let’s just say ‘fuck it’ and try because why the hell not? It’s not like we got along before all this.”

“Exactly. If we crash and burn, so what? We just go back to hating each other.”

“I can’t. I can’t, Charles. I care about my family too much.”

“You’re just scared. God, you’re like a child,” he speaks without thought, letting the words fly with reckless abandon. If you wanted to argue with him you’d latch onto that line. You don’t, though. You don’t want to argue, you never did. 

“I don’t know what you want from me,” your voice cracks. It goes unaddressed by anything more than a shrug. “I don’t.”

“I want you to stop being a fucking coward and go on a date with me!”

“Charles,” you frown. Your nose burns. The gap, the gap, the gap. The impossible to bridge gap that you and he stand on either side of, waving aimlessly, begging the other with a silent plea—please. Please see what I see. I promise it’s better my way. 

“One date,” he says, barely above a whisper, holding up a single finger. It’s his plea. “Nobody has to know we’re doing it.”

“I…” your breath catches in your throat, mind racing through potential responses. You lean forward in your seat, put your elbows on your knees and bury your face in your hands before you start crying. You won’t cry, you can’t. He can’t make you cry. 

You sniffle, even though you aren’t crying—an audible reminder to yourself that you won’t be crying. That you’re eliminating the effects before they can even start. He must think you are crying, though, because the tension in the room deflates with every step he takes across the room. He lowers himself to your level, and you can feel the ghost of his hands lingering in a space just beyond your skin, like he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to touch you. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have, fuck. I’m sorry,” his voice is so guilty, his hands finally touching your knees, thumbs moving in smooth, calming circles over your skin. You don’t have an opinion on the way you melt into putty under his touch. 

When you pull your hands away from your face, they fall into your lap, find his and mold into some tangled mess of fingers. You take a deep breath—an attempt to steady yourself before finally speaking again, and with a subtle shake of your head, you’re able to silently explain to him that you’re okay, that his words are not the reason you’re so upset. 

It’s so much more than that, than being a child or a coward of anything else he could possibly throw your way. With just as many words, he searches your eyes for answers, for a why that you couldn’t give him if you tried. 

Everything with him is so unsaid. 

“Okay,” you whisper echoes around the room. “Okay, a date,” you nod. 

His furrow softens, the lines in his face smoothing over and the corners of his lips fighting a smile. “No,” he says softly, as if trying to give you an out, to free you from any perceived obligation. “You don’t have to do that.”

Your hand finds its way to his cheek, a gentle gesture of reassurance, and you lean in, pressing a soft kiss on those lips that want to smile so bad. It’s not about making him happy, though. It’s about letting yourself entertain the idea of satisfaction, of individual happiness. 

He’s so. There’s no getting sick of kissing him, there just isn't. You sigh into his mouth and stand up, and you still want more. You still want more, towels dropping to the cold floor. Your knees bump against the back of the bed and it’s all giggly, and you still haven’t had enough. You maneuver onto the bed without separating, like the world might end if you’re not kissing him, and you’re convinced it might never be enough. That you’ll always crave more. 

It’s all so comfortable, the way you two move around each other. It’s fluid. It’s calm. It’s soft, the look on his face when he’s slotted comfortably between your knees, His fingers trace your skin softly, almost ghostly in the way they graze through the valley of your breasts. You shiver. The goosebumps make you laugh against his lips. 

He takes care of you, kissing you, trailing his lips down to your boobs, taking your nipple in his mouth, moving his tongue in sharp circles. Anything to elicit a reaction—get you all perky and poised for him. He palms your other tit with his big, strong hand, and your hands find a home in his hair, running through the curls, dragging your nails through the short locks at the nape of his neck. 

You pull him up to kiss you and his hand slots comfortably on your jaw, sliding down slowly over your throat, applying a phantom pressure. It’s all bumping noses and sharing breath, him biting his bottom lip before swallowing yours again. He’s afraid to hurt you. It’s so fucking hot.

He moves you around so easily, hands on the back of your knees, pushing your legs against your chest before licking a long stipe through your cunt. You moan louder than intended, because it’s him doing it. Because it’s him doing it. He spreads them next, big strong hands inside your thighs, leaves a soft kiss on your clit. Out of necessity, your hands find something to grab in his own, spread flat over your stomach now, his tongue moving in quick, hard flicks over your clit. It makes you pant–writhe and pant and whine. 

You search for grounding everywhere when his tongue sinks inside you, nose brushing against your clit—your palm your own breasts, white-knuckle the sheets and his shoulders and the sheets again. 

His hands move up your sides and he curls his tongue around your cunt, pulls a pornographic moan from your lips. You write, moving up onto your elbows and he spreads your legs wider, wider, wider. Fuck. Fuck, he’s so good to you. An arm loops under your leg, around your thigh and over your cunt, sliding through your lips and opening you up for him all pretty. His eyes meet yours and he’s so pleased with himself, a genuine smile at the state he’s got you in and then he’s sucking down hard on your clip, pulling off with an audible pop. Your head falls back, your hole body tensing with pleasure when he doesn’t fucking stop sucking and licking and fucking. Your hands are on his again, gripping onto him for dear life, moving wherever he moves. 

Your legs shake, fight against the hand on the inside of your thigh to close around his head, but he’s stronger than you. Fuck, he is. “So pretty,” he tells you, and you shudder, smile hard against the sheets and bury your hands in his hair.

“Right there,” you say through short, heavy pants, and then it’s all out the window. Game over, and you’re coming in his mouth and he still isn’t stopping so you just keep coming—so fucking hard, grinding against his mouth without any sense of rhythm. You think you could live in this high forever.

He kisses you, moves you—god, you’d be a ragdoll if he wanted, you think you really would. He moves you under him, up on your side and kisses down your shoulder, down your arm. He’s so kissy, can’t stay off you. It’s soft and romantic and it doesn’t make you ill at all, honest. 

His words, though, they still want to keep up your little act. “You want me to fuck you, baby?” He asks, moving his dick through your slick, lining himself up to fuck you. 

“Yes, yes,” you mewl, nodding hurriedly. He kisses you, sinks into you somewhere in the middle of it and you gasp into his mouth. 

“Fff…” he trails off, bottoming out into you. “You okay?” he asked. You nod. You nod because you’re so full of him you can’t speak. The gesture is more than enough for him, provides him with the permission he needs to start fucking into you, to brace himself with a hand on either of your hips and thrust deep inside of you, bottoming out each and every time. “Fuck. Fuck, c’mere,” he groans, and then pulls you back against him, your back flush against his chest. 

You crane your neck to kiss him, moan into his mouth when he’s cupping your ass and fucking you. You moan—gasp—and he fucking laughs. “Oh my god,” you whimper. “So good.”

He breathes sharp through his teeth, the bottom of his jaw rutting out with every thrust and then he’s biting your shoulder. He bruises the skin and kisses it better. 

“You’re so fucking hot,” he says, and you want, so badly, to make him feel as good as he makes you. 

“Wanna fuck you,” you say. “Let me fuck you.”

He doesn’t need convincing. “Okay,” he nods. “Okay, please.”

You’re half-hearted in your push back against his arm. He’s the reason he pulls out of you and falls back onto his back, makes space for you to straddle him and grind against him and kiss him and kiss him and let him kiss you. 

With a cocky grin and dark green eyes he moves his cock through your slick, lets a smug laugh slip through his lips as he lines up with your hole so you can sink down on him, slow. Slow. Slow because the stretch burns every fucking time. 

“Fuck,” you stumble, “s’big.” 

He meets you halfway, lifts his hips up off the bed to minimize the time he spends not buried inside of you. He smiles all stupid and your stuttered whine. “Fucking took it all the other times,” he breathes out, fingers digging deep into the skin over your hips. 

“Fuck you,” you laugh. He winces, and it only makes you laugh harder, lean down to kiss him so your chests are pressed against each other and grind your hips. His arms wrap around your middle, big and strong and pulling you impossibly close to him and the pace that he sets underneath you. They roam your body, his hands dancing over your sides and your back and knot into your hair, keep roaming until he’s grabbing at your ass. 

“You’re so fucking wet,” he says. You don’t need his words to know that, the sounds of your cunt clenching around him audibly demonstrating just how wet you are with every single thrust. “Always so good for me.” 

It doesn’t take long for you to come again, with the new angle and the new vulnerability. It never takes long with him, like he knows every inch of your body and just how to use it. “Mhm, fuck. Jesus,” you shudder, breath choppy and desperate. He’s relentless through your orgasm, like always, and it just extends it, draws it out painfully long. “I fucking l—ah—” you clench around him, legs shaking on either side of his abs. Your spasms aren’t calmed by even his strong hands, but he keeps them there anyway. 

“I love fucking you, baby,” he says, nibbles on your ear, kisses nowhere in particular and everywhere at once. You’re filled with butterflied by his crude words. 

“Do it, then,” you beg. “Please, fuck, please, Charles.”

In a single, swift movement, he pulls you off him and flips you onto your back. Immediately, without any semblance of hesitation, you’re reaching for his cock, to guide him back to where you want him, to where he belongs. You ache when you’re this close to him, when you’re this close and don’t have him, aren’t full of him. 

His hands find both of yours, interlock your fingers and move them somewhere above your head, pinned against the sheets. “Don’t say my name like that,” he whispers.

You play dumb, but your cheeks are flushed. “Why not?”

“You drive me crazy,” he says, kisses you before you can even attempt to rebuke his claims. 

“Me?” you laugh, fingers dancing over his abs. If his eyes weren’t so fucking green , you’re sure you’d find the reaction to your touch, the flexing of his muscles under the pads of your fingers, to be quite the show. 

He smiles all soft. “You.”

Your hand pulls him to you by the back of his neck, something about you can’t say something like that and not kiss me after, and then you’re licking against his teeth and it’s all so hazy—the way he slides back inside you between gasped breaths, the way you bite down on his bottom lip when he fucks you so well, and the way your legs wrap around his waist when you come, trying to pull him closer, deeper, to feel him with every nerve ending. 

“That’s right,” he says, a rare calming presence through your orgasms. He doesn’t do this often, not with you, at least. “Atta girl,” he laughs. “Make a mess.”

He fucks you through it, he does, but it’s slow and steady until you’re finished, back in reality, and then he’s the messy one—fast, hard, fucking into you with reckless abandon. Fast, fast, faster. It’s fucking blinding. Fuck, it’s good. It’s so good. 

He groans against your shoulders, hips snapping against yours. “Yes, yes, yes,” you chant, because you’re so fucked at this point that English attempts to escape you. “You’re so fucking close, yes,” you moan, “please, give it to me, baby,” and then he’s coming, head buried in your neck. His body weight is heavy on you, every muscle tensing as you’re fucked full of his cum. 

The two of you are so close, have never been fucking closer, and it still doesn’t feel like enough. “Fuck,” you giggle, and his whole body shakes with his own laughter, moving up to kiss you. You smile through the whole thing, through the hard kiss and the soft pecks that follow, through his fingers brushing the hairs from your forehead and the feeling of him dripping down your leg. Through all of it, you’re both smiling. 

It’s giddy, almost, and God. God, you’re so fucking happy.

[history-of-fashion]

ab. 1897 Evening dress by House of Worth (attr. to Charles Frederick Worth French or (and) Jean-Philippe Worth French)

silk, linen

(Brooklyn Museum / Metropolitan Museum of Art)

[threadtalk]

Well, hello springtime eleganza. Dating from the very turn of the 20th century, this star-speckled satin stunner (say that six times fast) is a dream made real. Ethereal much?

Judging by the date of this gown, we know it's not Charles Frederick Worth who was at the helm, since he passed away in 1895. So it was likely Jean-Philippe Worth at the helm of these designs.

The detail on the lace here is absolute perfection, crawling up the hem in an almost organic way. My favorite part has to be the embroidered stars on the silk, because it's so playful and whimsical.

From the Met Museum.

[vinvantae]

Unmasked

7/16

<<<previous part

Word count: 3.1k

****************

As the new year rolled around, the idea of leaving Monaco was a little daunting. It was another step, another place for you and Charles to become closer and the definition of your relationship was becoming unclearer by the day. You knew you needed to talk to the team about it but you weren’t sure how they’d react to the fact the fake relationship they’d made had started to shift into something real.

The day after New Years, you were flying out to Bali for the final stage of the itinerary. You and Charles would be posting simultaneous stories and posts of you both on holiday but still in the ‘soft launch’ format. Your teammate could tell that it was all taking a toll on you, whether you’d admit it to him or not. With all of the speculation about Thirty growing by the day, you were becoming more and more cautious about what you did - not wanting to leave a bad taste in people’s mouths when you finally did take off the mask.

And he realised, you were worried that your relationship would turn people against you. It was hard enough being a WAG of an F1 driver, people simply hating you for the fact you were dating a driver - but when you’d be revealed to be a driver yourself? You were scared, terrified even, that they would think the worse of you.

“…was I being too clingy at Pierre’s party?” You asked, zipping up your suitcase.

Charles remembered back to that night - you were no more affectionate than anyone else’s partner. If anything Charles himself was the clingy one, he wanted to have his hands on you at any opportunity, run his hands over your waist and hips. “No, I don't think so. Why do you ask?”

“People just said-“

“Who’s people?”

“Online they-“

He sighed softly, turning you to face him - your eyes were a little red. “They don’t matter, Cherie. What matters is how you think, what the people you care about think.”

You looked up at him, eyelashes fluttering a little. “And you don’t think I was too clingy?”

“If anything.., you weren’t clingy enough.” The Monaco native chuckled softly, bringing his hand up to cup your jaw - brushing his thumb across your skin. “But that night? If you didn’t notice, I found it hard to keep my hands to myself.”

The way you giggled made his heart leap, the two of you still hadn’t really discussed what you were to each other but he found himself wanting you more everyday. You had yet to share more than a kiss but he wasn’t going to cross any line you weren’t comfortable with. But he secretly hoped that maybe your trip would be the next step in exploring your relationship but you still seemed to have some walls up.

“Thank you. I honestly think I’d go insane without you, Charles.” You smiled softly, learning into his touch. “You’ve been such a rock for me.”

“You don’t have to keep thanking me, y/n.” Before you could protest, he leant in and pressed a sweet kiss on your lips. “Let’s go, we’ve got a plane to catch.”

You nodded and hauled your suitcase off of the bed, the two of you heading downstairs to greet Jean-Luc who would take you to the helipad and then to the airport from Nice. He was a quiet man, you'd met a couple of times before but didn’t know much other than his name.

Charles had originally wanted to take the Piasta but you’d convinced him that someone would have to drive it straight back here so it wasn’t worth it. He’d pouted a little but knew you were correct so didn’t fight you anymore. He helped Jean-Luc load your things into the trunk of the car before the two of you slipped into the back, sharing a quiet conversation about the itinerary for your trip.

During the party, Charles had let slip of your holiday plans so you discovered that a few other drivers were going to join for a few days - not what you wanted at first but your teammate reminded you that you had wanted to get to know the other drivers so perhaps it wasn’t the worst idea. And there would be other girls this time like the party so you wouldn’t stand out quite as much.

But for the first week, at least Monday to Friday, it would just be the two of you - soaking up the sun. Or so you thought.

You spent more than a good chunk of each afternoon or evening stuck inside, the rainiest month of the year in Bali was upon you - something the team clearly had not taken into account. Sure the days were mostly full of sunshine and swimming, but heavy downpour had you racing back inside more than you had hoped. Both of you squeezing on a lounger, you reading a book, Charles on his phone, turned into you both being hidden under the duvet in your pyjamas - hair and skin still damp from the sudden change in weather.

By Thursday, you had gotten more than used to checking the forecast - determined not to get caught out - so as the heavens opened that evening, instead of racing back to your room, you were already there. Charles traced his fingers up and down your spine as you napped with your head on his chest, your dinner reservations not until 7. The driver stared up at the ceiling, lost in his thoughts as your warm breath fanned across his chest.

All he wanted was the best for you - whether that meant being in a real relationship with him or not? He wasn’t sure. But as long as you were happy, that was what mattered. Your teammate knew his feelings for you were strong, that he was definitely falling for you and he hoped you felt the same but things were still fresh for you both. Going into the 2022 season, things would change - your identity as number Thirty getting closer to being revealed and he hoped, through it all, that the two of you might just make it.

He was brought back into the room when you yawned, sitting up and stretching your arms above your head - looking at the clock. “Wow, that was a good nap… I don’t know if I’m gonna have enough time to get ready!”

Charles chuckled. “It’s only half 5, you’ve got plenty of time. It takes 10 minutes to get to the restaurant.”

You looked back over your shoulder at him, the driver had his arm propped up behind his head - his eyes looking particularly green in the light that was pouring in from the sun beginning to dip behind the horizon. You honestly couldn’t believe your luck that someone like Charles Leclerc was in to you - he could pull anyone but he chose you and the thought made you giddy.

“Some of us have to put in effort to look good, Charles.” You hummed, running a hand through his hair. “You could go out like this and no one would even bat an eye.”

He practically purred into your touch, preening like a kitten. “Pretty boy.”

“Stop that.” He protested, cheeks flushed a soft pink at your words. “Get yourself ready.”

You giggled and slid out of bed, Charles couldn’t keep his eyes off of you as you pulled your T-shirt over your head as you walked into the bathroom, shutting the door behind you. He groaned and covered his face with his hands - seeing you in swimwear everyday was torture, your bare skin against his as you relaxed on sunloungers together.

He was trying to behave, but you made it difficult.

The driver grabbed his phone as it buzzed, frowning a little when he saw Max calling - he always got on with the Dutchman, sure, but they didn’t exactly talk much outside of the season.

“Hey mate, everything okay?” Charles propped the phone between his cheek and his shoulder as he dug through his suitcase for something to wear.

“You with y/n right now..?”

The Monaco driver frowned. “No? Seriously, what’s this about?”

He heard Max sigh, he could practically see the look on his face. “Look, you don’t have to answer, but… is there something else going on with you two?”

“Max-“

“Okay, that’s not the question I should ask… and you don’t need to answer but I’d appreciate it if you don’t lie to me either.” Max cut him offs

Charles could his heartbeat in his ears, had Max figured you both out? Has he figured you out? “Okay…”

“I know you’ve got some NDA bullshit or whatever but even just… fuck…if I’m right, don’t say anything.”

Charles didn’t know what to do, he could just lie to his childhood rival but he knew Max would see right through him. It was that moment you decided to emerge from the bathroom, - hair and makeup done. You smiled at him softly and raised your eyebrow and mouthing ‘who is it?’ To your teammate.

“One sec.” He said into the receiver, pulling it away just enough so Max could still hear. “Hey, y/n, I’ll just be a minute okay?”

You nodded and started fishing through your suitcase for an outfit, letting your teammate return his phone call. “Still want to ask?”

He could practically see Max’s jaw clench and eyes narrow at the other end of the call. The Monegasque knew that he was playing a dangerous game - taunting Max with your presence. He felt like he was dangling you right in front of the shark, Max was ready to strike and Charles knew it.

“…look, I get it. I’ll drop it.” The Dutchman sounded defeated. “I just… I thought you’d trust me.”

Charles sighed and ran his hand across his face, stepping out onto the balcony - the rain easing up a little. “It’s not that, Max. It’s-“

“No, no. I get it. See you later.”

Before he could say another word, Max hung up. You saw Charles drop his shoulders as he looked at his now dark screen - you didn’t know who he was talking to but his whole demeanour seemed to have shifted. Cautiously, you joined him on the balcony and placed your hand on his lower back.

“Everything okay?” You asked, his green eyes met yours.

You could see the cogs turning as he tried to decide what to tell you - ideally the truth but you knew he’d do his best to protect you. He sighed and wrapped his arm around your middle, pulling you into him. “…max… max knows something. I’m not sure if it’s about the relationship or about you being Thirty but… I don’t know what to do.”

“…maybe… maybe we should tell him.” Charles opened his mouth to speak but you continued. “I know… it’s breaching the NDA but if people are going to find out soon anyway with all of these leaks, what’s the harm in letting someone else in? It’s Max, Charles. We grew up with him. I know I’ve grown apart from him but I feel like we can trust him, don’t you?”

“I’d like to think we could but what if-“

You pressed your lips to his in a chaste kiss to stop him rambling. “Then fuck it. I’m so done with this. I want the people, the drivers around me to respect me… see me more than just your girl, a Ferrari admin, y’know?”

“Only if you’re sure, I don’t want you getting hurt or in trouble or fired, sued… whatever.” He sighed softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I… can’t see you getting hurt, y/n. You mean too much.”

You brought your hand up, brushing your thumb across his jaw - smiling calmly at him before leaning in to kiss him again, this time with more purpose. He pulled you closer, hands toying with the toggle of your robe. You smiled into the kiss before pulling back. “Behave.”

“Sorry, sorry.” His cheeks flushed a soft pink. “Hard to control myself around you.”

“Let’s get some dinner okay? We only have a couple more days of peace before the trip gets crashed.” A soft hum left your lips as you pushed some of his hair from his forehead. “We can figure out what to say to Max.”

Charles found it hard to keep to his word, keeping his hands to himself became even more of a challenge when you showed him your outfit for the evening, the soft expanse of your skin was complemented beautifully by the colour of your dress. He wanted to slowly peel it off of your body and worship you but he also wanted to do good by you.

Even if that meant spoiling you fully dressed.

*******

Charles_leclerc and yourusername added to their story

You and Charles sat in the restaurant on Saturday evening, the table opposite you empty as you waited for Max to arrive. The last few days before some of the drivers had shown up were truly wonderful - your teammate had spent every second making sure you had a good time and keeping you distracted from the pressures of the outside. But that didn’t mean you hadn’t prepared for this, that you hadn’t spent hours discussing how best to tell your childhood friend.

Charles tugged lightly at your hand to stop you chewing at the skin around your thumb nervously. He gave it a gentle squeeze before nodding towards the entrance of the restaurant- where you could now see the Dutchman stood talking to the host before pointing towards you both.

“Breathe.” You whispered, noticing the man beside you had stiffened up. “It’s just Max, we’ve got this.”

You stood up to greet the Redbull driver, feeling a little shocked as he pulled you into a hug like he would his guy friends - with the obligatory pat on the back, before doing the same with Charles.

“It’s good to see you both, you look well.” He smiled kindly, unlike the two of you he seemed totally relaxed. “Have you ordered anything yet?”

“Ah no, we were waiting for you.” You sat back in your seat, letting Charles’ hand rest on your thigh. “Thanks for meeting us… I’m not gonna beat around the bush with this.”

You paused for a moment whilst the waiter took your orders, silence settling over the table whilst you took a minute to find your words. “Before I say anything, you have to swear to take this to the grave…”

“Look, y/n, I know we’ve grown apart but I still care about you.” The champion cut you off, giving you a smile. “I wouldn’t purposefully hurt you, you can tell me the truth.”

The truth. He has figured it out.

“You’re gonna make me say it aren’t you?” You couldn’t help but crack a smile, his blue eyes twinkled at you and he raised a brow. “I’m Thirty.”

He burst out laughing, almost falling out of his chair with the way it wracked through him.

“Mate, why are you laughing?” Charles frowned.

The Dutchman wiped his eyes. “Sorry, I just… I knew what you were going to say but hearing you say it? I’ve felt crazy for months… I’m so relieved, you have no idea.”

“How did you figure me out?”

“Honestly? Your story about leaving F2 was always bullshit to me, I never believed it and then when the stories started coming out about who Thirty potentially was… you shot to the top of my list. I'm so happy it’s you, y/n. You deserve this greatness.”

Your cheeks flushed.

“Can I ask something? Why did you decide to tell me, of all people?”

Charles moved his arm from your leg to around the back of your chair, giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze - just showing he was there supporting you, not chirping in, just observing.

“Well, for starters, you were on to me.” You narrowed your eyes playfully. “But secondly, I know we’ve grown apart over the years but I know you, Max. Even as bratty little kids, you always had my back.”

“Still do… so, is it just me, Charles and Sebastian who know? Driver-wise.”

You nodded. “And for now, I’d like to keep it that way. Thanks for hearing me out.”

“Any time, uh… give me your phone? I wanna give you my number. Just in case.”

After exchanging numbers and enjoying dinner with your teammate and rival, the three of you left the restaurant- a driver either side of you as you approached the car. You turned and gave Max a hug.

“Thanks for not bombarding me with questions, I’m sure you had plenty.” You could feel his chuckle as he gave you a squeeze. “Maybe another time.”

“It was nice to see you again, properly. I hope someday soon everyone else gets to see you for who you truly are.” He pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes. “Just because I know it’s you, doesn’t mean I’m gonna go easier on you, right?”

You grinned. “You never did, Max.”

Even though he was just one person, telling Max the truth had lifted a huge weight off of your shoulders and all of a sudden you felt like you could breathe easier. He played the role of not knowing very well - continuing to treat you the same as before, not wanting to cause suspicion with the rest of the group that had joined you and Charles on the trip. No one seemed any the wiser.

And as much as you hated to admit it, Charles was right. Having some of the grid and their partners with you in Bali was so much fun, and getting to know them all was so relaxing. Sure, they didn’t know the full truth about you but for the first time in years you felt like you could truly be yourself around people.

Whether it was going shopping with Lily or playing cards with Pierre and Carlos, you had started to finally feel like you were a part of something. They really treated you like you belonged, that you were one of their own.

But it made one thought, one feeling, more intense than you could’ve ever imagined.

You had to take the mask off.

It was time to talk to the team.

********

Next part >>>

Here it is, again, sorry that the gap between parts has been longer recently. Had to add some filler chapters that I hadn’t planned for, hopefully will get back into the flow of it soon ❤️

Want to be updated when I post? Join our discord and then head to #reaction-roles and add yourself to my tags ❤️

[zcorners120]

I love love love your writing, maybe a request about the reader working in finance or business or smthing and just not feeling as beautiful as some of the other models/wags at an event, with Charles comforting her.

thank you so much mwaaaah <3 yesssssssss! i must say i like the concept of a wag being into a job sector like that, i love businessss

charles leclerc x fem!reader

synopsis; req above MASTERLIST

warnings; swearing

Leadership as a woman can be a difficult thing to own and portray without coming across as emotional, a bitch, being too 'Work orientated'. Working at a multi billion dollar business as the head of sales overlooking all of Europe was a hefty title.

Your father, former F1 reporter and journalist ensured you worked your way to success, even when surrounded by F1 drivers worth millions. Becoming an avid fan and sharing the passion with your father, you attended regularly, as a little girl and as the woman you come to be.

How you came about to be the girlfriend of the Charles Leclerc, or should I, (the narrator in your head) rephrase; How Charles Leclerc came about to be the boyfriend of Y/N L/N, featured in Forbes magazine as one of the most successful business women in our modern day, is another story.

Paddock appearances were becoming a more normal occasion for you, you had no excuse to stray away from making WAG friends at this point.

A tap on the shoulder, you turned your head to be met with one of the most beautiful women you've ever seen.

"Hi! You're Y/N right? I'm Lily, Alex's girlfriend!" Her angelic voice spoke, pearly whites shining without a flaw.

Having to slightly swallow due to your embarrassingly dry throat, "Yeah! It's so great to meet you, I was worried I wouldn't be able to find anyone to hang out with."

"Oh my gosh of course, I was so nervous in my first couple appearances but you're a pro already." She spoke, before being called over by a reporter.

"I'll see you later!"

Standing cowardly in your spot, fingers twiddling, you had to snap back into reality. Lily was a wonderful girl, there wasn't a need to be jealous. Girls don't get into competition with one another, especially one sided competition and jealousy.

You felt horrible about it, but couldn't help feel it when you're stood in straight leg jeans, black long sleeved top with a grey hoodie on your arm. It was slightly crushing, looking around to see photographers going wild over the supermodels and genetically blessed WAGs all over the paddock.

But it wasn't a matter of them being at fault here, because they didn't choose how they look, but a matter of yourself. It was self destructing and realising this quality in yourself made you feel isolated.

Verge of a panic attack, you rush to Charles' driver's room praying he wasn't there to see you in this state. Smoothly moving past people and not drawing too much attention to yourself you burst the door open.

"Hey amour, you okay?" Even his voice comforted, and the warm smile that you made you melt.

"Nothing, all good." Putting on a meek smile.

"No, please tell me. Something's off." The tone suddenly serious, desperation twinkling in his eyes.

"It's just that.. It sounds pathetic."

He pulls that look.

"I was looking around the paddock and every girl was just so beautiful, supermodels, journalists, influencers."

"Ba-"

Cutting him off, "I just felt so out of place, their type of thing being gala dinners and extravagant brand trips, mine being sitting in meetings and offices."

"Baby. You have nothing, and I mean literally nothing to be insecure about. Look at yourself, you're need to appreciate yourself like how I'm appreciating you. You are beautiful, sent from Heaven if I may. You're kind, funny, supporting, confident, and you don't take shit from anyone. You are my person, my missing piece."

Cheeks blushing furiously at the praise, pulling him in for a hug. You knew you had nothing to worry about now.

"Look at who's being pathetic and mushy now." He laughs, pulling you in for a kiss.

WRITERS PSAAA; i got so into this lmao, it reminded me of the women empowerment vibe from the new Barbie movie, how we're never against each other, but here to encourage one another.

By these means, it comes across as like hating influencers, models and journalists in this but it's not like that haha, just picked some of the more common roles for women to have in the F1 world.

LOVE U ALL, LOVE URSELVES <3

[piastri44]

full-time model // cl16

Ok, I wanna start by saying that this is the first Instagram au I've ever posted. It's not proofread so I'm sure it has a lot of mistakes. Bare in mind that English is NOT my first language!

pair: charles leclerc x model!reader (face claim: nicola peltz beckham)

summary: the one where you and your long-time boyfriend pose for vogue!

voguemagazine

liked by yourusername, charles_leclerc and 228,304 others

voguemagazine Speaking of romance, a great pair of wide-leg jeans is worth falling for. Wide-leg jeans and their 1970s vibe are again a force of nature—and they’re at the top of our shopping lists for 2023.

Leaning into the wild romance of Simi Valley, California, and our new favorite denim cut yourusername and charles_leclerc showcase the wonders of the perfect pair—turns out, all you need is love and some great wide-leg jeans.

Tap the link in our bio to see more.

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yourusername 💖💖💖💖

charles_leclerc thank you voguemagazine! 💕

scuderiaferrari king and queen of the paddock.

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, selenagomez and 99,254 others

yourusername Thank you so much voguemagazine for having us, I had lots of fun! 💖

View all comments

charles_leclerc You're literally an angel.

selenagomez I love you both so much!!!! 😻😻

fann1 omg the way she looks at him in the 2nd pic 😭😭

charles_leclerc

liked by yourusername, pierregasly and 1.165.327 others

charles_leclerc Photoshoot with my best friend x voguemagazine.

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yourusername ugh i love you so muchhhhh 💖🌹

pierregasly You guys are so sickeningly cute.

lando.jpg Why don't you two say who took your pictures? 🤨

yourusername lolol we did and it wasn't you so we didn't feel the need to lie 🤭🤭

lando.jpg oh you're so mean

[emotionally-damaged-carrot]

Absolutely you should add smut were all whores here

"Hooked"

Sorry been really busy and I am still very busy and ai hate it so much cause I don't have the energy to write anymore after a shit ton of work and sleepless nights just to meet the deadline. Anyways, I will try to do the requests, enjoy ✌️

Hope you lot understand, sorry. 😔

Warning: smut (you already know)

Idk what is in here cause I didn't proof read, hope the wait was worth it tho? Don't come at me, I just wanted to get a fic out cause I've been dry the last few weeks. Enjoy ✌️

I always noticed Arthur's brother, Charles, would always stare at me when he gets the chance, especially when visiting tutur at the f2 paddock. He wasn't really like this back then, but then again, I had a massive glow up, my ass is big, hair fluffy, face of an angel, and body sculpted by the Gods to be perfect for any man. During our earlier days, Charles never reqlly paid me any attention, apart from the occasional hi and hello, nothing. He would just walk past without even a glance. But now, it seemed that every chance he got, he would stare at me and sometimes bite his bottom lip and give me those "I'm gonna fuck you 'til you beg me to stop" eyes.

Like right now, I feel a pair of eyes burning through the back of my head as I walked with Arthur to the ferrari hospitality. Without looking back I already knew who it is, and being the brat I am, I decided to be a little shit and put on a show. Accidentally dropping my wallet as I pulled it out of the pocket of my jeans that hugs my ass way too tight. Making sure I bend over more than required to get the wallet, and continue walking as if nothing happened.

—

After Arthur won his first race of the season, I couldn't contain my excitement, I jumped on him my legs wrapped around his waist and my arms around his neck and giving him little kisses on his cheeks.

"Oh my god, I'm so proud of you tutur."

I basically shouted at him so he could hear me over the noise of his team celebrating.

"Merci, couldn't done it without you flaunting your ass at my brother the whole day."

He said with a laugh as he urged me to get off him. He looked behind me and smacked my ass and laughing harder as I let out a small squeak.

"Looks like someone wants to celebrate with you."

He said close to my ear as he turned me around only to be met by Charles gaze that had a glint of something. I looked up at him with innocent eyes.

"Hi."

I said as I turned back around.

"I will spoon feed you your own shit."

I said to Arthur, trying to sound menacing but he just laughed.

"Arturooo!"

Charles said as he hugged Arthur.

"Can I borrow y/n for a moment?"

"Hehe just return him before the party."

"Of course."

"Huh? D-don't I get a say in this??"

I asked confused as Arthur just laughed as Charles dragged me somewhere.

"W-where are we going? And what exactly d-do you need me for?"

I asked nervously as his gripped tightened.

"I had a shitty race unlike Arthur, and I need you to help me with it."

He said nonchalantly as we arrived at his motor home, he pushed me in before getting in himself, he locked the door.

"A-and h-how wou-"

I couldn't finish my sentence as he pulled me to him and attached his lips to mine, kissing desperately as if it was his last day on earth. He pushed me against the door his hands tapped my thighs, urging me to jump. I obeyed and jumped, his strong arms holding me up as my legs wrapped around his waist and my hands that were feelings his biceps now pulling at his hair and clawing on his back, drawing groans from him. Biting and licking my bottom lip his gripped tightened on my thighs causing me to moan against his lips. His tounge entering my mouth with no warning, our tounges now dancing a ballad of groans and moans. Our kiss getting more desperate and sloppy by the second due to the lack of oxygen catching up to us. We pulled from each other, foreheads resting against the other and thin string of saliva attaching our lips.

"Let's go to my hotel room, it's better."

He said between heavy breathed as he put me down, but I leaned on him heavily almost falling as my legs seemingly turn to jelly.

"I didn't know you liked me?"

I asked surprised.

"You're the only outlet available."

He said with a laugh.

"But you might just be the best one yet."

—

As we arrived in his hotel room, he locked the door and put the do not disturb sign on the outside knob.

"What n-"

He attacked my lips again before I could finish my sentence.

"Now, you're going to be a good boy and listen and do everything I tell you."

He said as he pulled back, his hands on my cheeks.

"O-okay."

"Good, now get on the bed and undress for me."

I obeyed, getting on the bed and undressing 'til I'm naked.

"You were always my favourite, y/n."

"Huh?"

"Among all of Arthur's friends, you were always my favourite, did you know that?"

He asked as he got on top of me now only in his boxers. He body looked heavenly, his abs, his biceps, everything made me want to go feral. To lick his muscles after a gym session or after racing, to taste the saltiness of his sweat against tounge. To see him breathing heavily as he looks at me with tired eyes, to hear him say my name in a breathy whisper.

My thoughts got cut off by his mouth on my neck, kissing, biting and licking, leaving marks.

"I always thought you'd taste good. Addicting."

He mumbled against my neck, as his actions became rougher I began to squirm, trying to push him off, the pleasure becoming overwhelming.

"Ngh~ mhmmm~ no, s-stop. Please."

"I would stop, amour, but your moans decieve you. Do you really want me to stop?"

He asked as he began to pull away but not before biting hard.

"Mmm~ ngha n-no."

I said as my squirming slowed down, missing his mouth on my neck, missing his bites I pulled at his neck.

"You can try all you want, you won't win, y/n."

He said is a breathy voice as he continued to resist my pull.

"I'm going to fuck you raw, you'd like that, wouldn't you?"

He whisper against my ear as he bit it.

"Y-yes."

"Good boy."

He began to remove his boxers, I looked down excited to see what I would need to fit in. My eyes widened and I let out an involuntary moan as I saw his size. Very thick, with prominent veins and atleast 9 inches.

"Y-you're gonna kill me."

I said, now afraid of what would happen once the behemoth is burried in me.

"You can take it, and you will."

He said with a laugh as he spread my legs even more and grabbing the lube from the bedside drawer. He covered his fingers with the lube and putting one in me slowly, drawing moans from me. A second one went in and he started scissoring, the burning sensation slowly disappearing as he put in a third.

"Please, n-need you."

I said sounding desperate with my eyes closed and biting my lip.

"Are you sure?"

He asked sounding worried.

"Y-yes, f-fuck me, please."

I said as I began to squirm.

"Fine."

He covered his cock in obscene amounts of lube, hopefully enough. He got on top of me as he lined his cock with my hole, the head slowly going him, the burning, stretching sensation coming back worse. My hands fly to his back, pulling him to lay on me and clawing at him. He groaned as he felt the pain on his back and he slowly went deeper, we were both our of breathe now and he wasn't even half in.

"F-fuck, my self controll is not that strong, I'm seconds away from just fuck, just slamming into you."

He said against my ear, hot breathes fanning over.

"I-i-i don't m-mmmind."

I said with a chuckled as my legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him in further.

"You m-make me lose myself. Fuck"

He slammed into me without any more warning, I scream at the top of my lungs. He groaned as my clawing got more erratic, I felt something sticky on my fingers as I continued clawing. His groans became more frequent as he pulled back slowly and ramming back in.

"F-fuck, ngha."

He groaned as he bit my neck hard, leaving bite marks.

"P-please, f-fuck."

I couldn't finish a sentence nor a single thought as my mind short malfunctioned. Tears flowed freely from my eyes and he stayed still for a bit, catching his breath.

"You okay?"

He whispered in my ear.

"Mmmngh"

"I'll say, you're fine then."

He said with a laugh as he started to pull out, and go back in slowly. Slowly gaining more force and speed until he was just ramming into me, the bed squeaking after every thrust. He head burried in my neck, biting and leaving my, his hands exploring the sides of my body. My hands still clawing at his back, earning a groawn each time. My legs wrapped tightly around his waist.

"I don't w-we can make it f-for Arthur's p-party."

He said with a breathy chuckle as his assault on my ass did not ease a bit.

"Mmngg mmm ngh"

I could not form coherent words or anything, my mind completely blank apart from him, the feeling of him, the taste of him every about him. My body is tired, but he doesn't seem the least bit tired.

"F-fuck, I'm gonna cum."

He groans as his pace became more erratic, sweat dropping from his hair onto the sheets as he bit my neck, earning a moan from me. Our bodies sliding past the other. His hair sticking to his forehead, his back now slippery, my hands slide down, struggling to hold on. He let out small hisses of pain, due to the sweat coming in contact with the marks on his back.

"F-fuuuck"

He came deep inside me, burrying his face on my neck and biting roughly, with the last amount of energy I had left, my body began squirming trying to push him away, but he was much stronger he held my hands down and grinded his him against my, drawing out the pleasure. I felt his cum dripping out of my hole while he's still inside. By this time I already came more than 4 times, the feel of his cock pulsing inside me brought me unfathomable amounts of pleasure, knowing I'm the one he's with the one he's fucking.

"We need to do this again."

"Mmm"

"You do know, when I said again, I mean right now, right?"

He said with a laugh as his cock stayed hard inside me, after a few seconds he began to move again. Starting slow, my mind numb and body tired I couldn't do anything but let him, as he continued biting and licking my neck, my hand going up to his hair and stroking it.

"Y-you can say no if you don't want to anymore."

I don't what came over me, but my energy suddenyl came back after his words.

"You won't last as long as me, Leclerc."

I pushed him off me and made him lay on the bed as I began to ride him.

"You can try, but you won't succeed."

I said as I leaned down and made my marks on him.

"We both know, you just want to fuck me, but I'll have you hooked."

Idk what I wrote, cause half of this shit didnt get save so I had to rewrite, hope you enjoyed it ✌️

[dem-obscure-imagines]

Merry Christmas, Darling

Warren Worthington III x Reader

Fandom: X-Men

Summary: The Holidays are in full swing at the X Mansion, and as always, you are tasked with helping run the place. But things are a lot less dull with a certain winged mutant around.

Note: Christmas wouldn’t be complete without my favorite tree topper <3 Enjoy, friends.

Warnings: None?

Word Count: 1.3k

Reader Is: Gender Neutral!

It was cookie season in the X Mansion. You and some of the other older students were in charge of overseeing what was always an absolute mess. It would be fun, you were sure, but a mess nonetheless. Already, the counters were covered in frosting, sprinkles, and flour.

“You’ve got something on your face, (Y/N).” Scott pointed out, motioning first to your cheek, but then realizing it was a broader problem.

“Yeah, and you’ve got frosting on your shirt. I’m gonna take care of it later.” You chuckled, rolling out another slab of sugar cookie dough so three of the younger girls could stamp shapes into it before you expertly transferred them to a pan to be baked.

Charles was really big on the Cookie Project, as he so called it. The students always baked hundreds of cookies for the holiday season. Some would be sent home with those returning to their families for the holidays, some would be kept at the mansion and enjoyed by the remaining students and staff, and the rest he delivered to children’s hospitals in the area.

You noticed Jean and Warren standing at the edge of the room. She offered him some quiet encouragement before sending him into the room, her eyes landing right on you. Ah yes, Warren Worthington. Most called him Angel. Some called him the Angel of Death, which never seemed to help his demeanor. He’d worked with Apocalypse earlier that year and had wound up in the care of the Professor after nearly dying in the fight at Cairo. His wings were back to normal, reverted to the feathers they had been originally, but he still frowned a lot. Him daring to come into the kitchen at all surprised you.

“Hey, um…Jean said I could help today?” He said, green eyes locked on the counter in front of you. The three little girls at your station stared at him. It came out of his mouth like it was a line he’d rehearsed. And he seemed nervous about it.

“Yeah, of course.” You nodded, offering a smile. You motioned him closer and handed him an extra rolling pin just as Ororo handed you another bowl of cookie dough, freshly mixed at her station. “So I’m helping with the sugar cookies if you want to join me. It’s really easy. Just roll out the dough and then these three little gremlins get to cut shapes into them.”

“Oh. Okay.” He nodded, following your lead, his hands hesitant, movements slow. You began to wonder if he’d ever made cookies before. The answer seemed to be no, as he clumsily rolled out the dough.

He looked up, meeting your eyes for a moment before his cheeks burned red and he set the roller down. “Sorry, I’m not very good at this.”

“No, you’re doing fine.” You encouraged. “You really can’t mess it up, I promise. Even if it’s rolled out too thin, you can just ball it up and try again.”

“Mmm.” Warren nodded, taking your advice and giving it another go.

You both got back to it, rolling out several trays worth of tree-shaped cookies before watching them go off to the oven. You wiped the sweat from your brow, leaning against the counter. He stood there, unsure of what to do and looked to you for the answer.

“We have to wait until they’re done baking and then you can either help out with frosting and sprinkles, or be done for the day. Up to you.”

“Okay.” He nodded. “Is the frosting hard?”

“Nope. Doesn’t matter what they look like; they’ll all taste the same. The imperfections give them that…charm this place is so well-known for. Hand-made by some darling mutant children.”

“Well that’s one way to put it.” He chuckled, quiet for a long moment before smiling for what you were positive was the first time since he’d set foot on campus, and then said, “Thank you. For today. I’m glad I came down here.”

“Of course, Warren. It’s Christmas. And like it or not, you’re part of our messed up little family now.”

***

A year had passed since that day, the first time Warren had begun to open up since he’d joined the rest of you at Xavier’s. It was once again the holiday season, but Cookie Day had already come and gone. Instead, you were helping Kurt with the decorations. You had powers over plants, which meant it was easy to grow your own. They were all sitting in several large baskets throughout the common room, filling the room with that fresh evergreen aroma.

You were up on a stepladder, using a stapler to attach your pine garland to the doorways.

“Coming through!” Peter shouted, jostling your ladder as he ran past and sending you tumbling…right into Warren’s arms.

“Hey, Angel.” You grinned as he straightened you up onto your feet. “Perfect timing as always.”

“Funny meeting you here.” He quipped. “I was told you needed help?”

Kurt appeared beside him in a puff of smoke, holding the tree topper, a glittering golden star and pointing up, up, up at the top of the twenty-foot tall tree. “Would you mind putting this up there?”

Warren laughed. “Of course.” He took the topper from Kurt and slipped off his trench coat, spreading his magnificent wings to their full wingspan. You couldn’t help but swoon a little bit. They were impressive, to say the very least. He was impressive.

With a few flaps of his wings, Warren rose to the top of the tree, gently nestling the topper among the branches.

“Are you the tree topper this year, Worthington?” Peter quipped, a cookie in his hand.

“Shut it, Maximoff.” Warren laughed, touching down in front of where you stood, starry-eyed and rosy-cheeked. He met your eyes and his smile softened, eyes sparkling in the flickering fire light. “I’ll go grab us some.”

“O-okay.” You nodded, breath shuddering as you reached for the next decoration.

“Careful there, (L/N), you’re gonna start sprouting mistletoe.” Peter sped over and whispered it right in your ear, zipping away before you could hit him.

Kurt laughed before teleporting away, leaving just you and Warren in the foyer, as he emerged with two cookies. He was already biting the tip of the first tree off, handing you the second.

“So they still haven’t figured it out?” Warren asked, arm cresting around your waist and tugging you closer.

“Not as far as I know. But, you know, our teammates have never been the most…observant.” You grinned, pressing the tip of your nose to his before kissing the frosting from the corner of his lips.

You set down your cookies on the side table, your free arm rising to rest on his shoulder until he took your hand and spun you around in time to the soft music playing from Charles’ record player. He pulled you back into his chest, wings wrapping around you out of what he could only describe as instinct.

He chuckled at it, those wings of his. They seemed to have a mind of their own sometimes.

“What?” You asked, voice no higher than a whisper.

“Nothing, I just…” He glanced up and more laughter bubbled from his perfect pink lips. “Mistletoe.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Look.” He urged, looking up at the perfect strand that was winding all the way from one of your pine garlands, up the ceiling, and hanging down from the chandelier. “You know, if you want to kiss me that bad, you can just ask.”

“Oh, hush.” You shook your head, eyes fluttering shut as you closed the distance between the two of you, his lips pink and plush and soft. “Merry Christmas.” He raised a hand to your cheek, warm thumb stroking your cheekbone before he murmured, leaning in for another kiss, “Merry Christmas, darling.”