#Red Shoe Company | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

elia-the-bibliophile · 1 month

Text

The Paddock Princess Diaries (Dad! Charles Leclerc x Wife! Female Reader)

Genre: Fluff Word count: 2k

Join Magalie Leclerc, a four-year-old who steals the hearts of the Formula 1 world as she accompanies her father, Charles Leclerc, to his race.

In their hotel room overlooking the scenic Ardennes forest, the morning sun peaked through the curtains, casting a comfortable glow upon the Leclerc family. Charles stood in front of the mirror, his usually impeccable hair staging a rebellion of its own, sticking out in every direction imaginable.

“Charles, sweetheart, we've got to hustle! The race isn't going to wait for your hair to behave,” Y/N called out from across the room, trying to stifle her laughter at her husband's wrestling match with his brown locks. Meanwhile she is gently nudging Magalie's tiny feet into her Ferrari-themed sneakers. The vibrant red of the shoes matched the excitement in the room.

“I know, I know, just a second,” Charles groaned, his frustration evident as he attempted to coax his stubborn strands into submission.

Y/N smirked. “Well, maybe you should have a chat with it, see if you can reason with it,” she suggested, earning a side eye glare from her husband.

“Ha-ha, very funny,” he retorted before handing her the comb in defeat. “Here, you're the only one who can tame this wild beast.”

Grinning triumphantly, Y/N took up the challenge, expertly smoothing down his hair with exaggerated motion. As she worked, their eyes met in the mirror, a silent exchange passing between them. “There, much better! You almost look presentable now,” she teased which elicited a mortified gasp from Charles.

Magalie proudly showed off her Ferrari-themed outfit to her parents. “Regarde, Papa, Maman! Je suis prête pour la course!” she exclaimed in her adorable, still-learning French, her words a delightful jumble of accents and mispronunciations.

Charles laughed, swooping in to scoop her up into his arms. "Bravo, ma petite championne! You look très chic in your Ferrari gear,” he said with a wink, earning a giggle from his daughter.

As they made their way towards the door, Magalie suddenly stopped in her tracks.

“Papa, Maman, can Teddy come too?” she pleaded, her voice hopeful.

Charles and Y/N exchanged amused glances, charmed by their daughter's request. “Of course, honey,” Y/N replied with a smile. But only if Teddy promises to cheer loudly for Papa!”

Magalie's face lit up with delight, and she hugged her teddy bear. “Bien sûr, Maman! Teddy loves Ferrari too!” she exclaimed, her words punctuated by the enthusiastic nodding of her stuffed companion.

Chuckling at the adorable sight, Charles ruffled Magalie's hair affectionately. “Alright then, it's settled. Teddy can come along to keep you company,” he said, his heart swelling with love.

With Magalie clutching Teddy in one hand and Charles holding her other hand, the Leclercs set off, their laughter echoing through the hotel corridors.

__________________________________________

Mechanics scurried about, fine-tuning the scarlet machines, while engineers huddled around laptops, analyzing data and strategies for the upcoming race.

Magalie, clutching her teddy bear and sporting her Ferrari-themed outfit, drew immediate attention as soon as she stepped into the garage. The team members couldn't help but pause in their tasks to admire the adorable sight before them.

“Regardez, c'est la petite Magalie! Elle est trop mignonne!” exclaimed one of the mechanics, his eyes twinkling with delight as he knelt down to Magalie's level.

“She's like a mini-Charles, but even cuter!” another chimed in, a fond smile playing on his lips as he admired Magalie's outfit.

Magalie beamed at the attention, her cheeks flushing with pride. “Merci!” she replied shyly, her French accent adding to her charm as she clung tightly to her teddy bear.

The team members chuckled warmly, ruffling her hair and exchanging amused glances with each other. “Watch out, boys, we've got a future heartbreaker in our midst!” one of them joked, earning a chorus of laughter from the group.

As the Ferrari team members gathered around Magalie, she couldn't contain her excitement. With a gleam in her eye, she raised her tiny fist into the air, ready to unleash her rallying cry.

“Fowza Fewawi, sem-pwe!” she declared, her attempt at rolling the R's coming out more like a playful purr than a roar.

The garage erupted into laughter. “Close enough, Magalie! We'll work on those Rs later,” one of the mechanics joked.

Magalie giggled along with the team. “Forza Ferwawi!” she tried again, determination shining through despite her adorable mispronunciation.

Charles and Y/N exchanged amused glances, their hearts melting at their daughter's antics. “She's trying her best,” Charles whispered to Y/N, his voice filled with pride. And Y/N could swear that the man is on the verge of crying.

Magalie, not content with just her own cheering, looked down at her teddy bear and had a stroke of genius. With a toothy grin, she grabbed Teddy's arms and began moving them up and down in sync with her own cheers, creating a hilarious spectacle that had everyone in stitches.

Magalie Leclerc and her animated teddy bear became the unofficial mascots of the Ferrari team for the day. “Look at Teddy go!” someone exclaimed, while others clapped along to the makeshift cheer routine.

__________________________________________

As Y/N and Magalie settled into the Ferrari hospitality cafe, the lively atmosphere of the paddock enveloped them. Magalie took delighted sips from her baby chino, eyes sparkling as she soaked in the sights and sounds around her.

Suddenly, a familiar voice caught Y/N's attention, and she turned to see a friendly face approaching their table. “Y/N!” the voice exclaimed, belonging to Oliver Bearman.

“Ollie! It's great to see you,” Y/N greeted him with a warm smile, gesturing for him to join them at their table. “I did not expect you would be here”

Oliver took the seat opposite Y/N. “Well you can’t miss a Spa race.” he replied, his eyes lighting up as he glanced at Magalie. “And who is this little Ferrari fan?”

Y/N beamed with pride, placing a gentle hand on Magalie's shoulder. “This is Magalie. Charles finally agreed to bring her to a race. As you can see, she’s already a big fan of the sport.”

Magalie, sensing a new friend in Oliver, offered him a wave before taking another sip of her baby chino.

Oliver tilted his head curiously, “So, Magalie, do you want to be a racer like your Papa when you grow up?”

Magalie's face lit up at the question. Her little mind already cooking up something.

Y/N jumped in with a laugh. “She’s more of a water than land person. Oh, Ollie, you have no idea. Once she's in, Charles and I have to practically beg, plead, and promise her all the chocolates in the world just to get her out and dry,” she confessed.

Magalie nodded eagerly, “I want to be a swimming athlete,” she declared proudly, her arms flapping as she imagined herself gliding through the water.

Ollie chuckled as he imagined the scene of Charles and Y/N negotiating with their determined little swimmer. “A swimming athlete, huh? Well, you'll definitely make quite the splash in the pool.”

“That's right! I'll be the fastest fish in the sea!” she proclaimed, her imagination running wild with visions of swimming glory.

Magalie's eyes sparkled with excitement as she turned to Oliver, her voice filled with eager anticipation. “Oncle Ollie, will you train me to be the best swimmer ever?”

Ollie’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he scratched the back of his head sheepishly. “Well, uh, Magalie, I have to admit, I'm not much of a swimmer,” he confessed.

Magalie's face fell for a moment, disappointment flickering across her features.

“I'll cheer for you from the sidelines like nobody's business," he promised, trying to lift up her mood.

__________________________________________

The Belgian circuit buzzed with excitement as Charles Leclerc zipped around the track during qualifying. It is no surprise either when he got the pole position.

Charles embraced his daughter tightly as she clung to him, her tiny hands clutching his racing suit. “Did you see, Papa? You were so fast!” Magalie exclaimed, her voice filled with awe.

He beamed down at her. “Yes, Magalie, I did it for you,” he said, lifting her up so she could see the world from his perspective. “This pole position is for you.”

Magalie's eyes sparkled with delight as she recounted Charles with tales of her encounter. “Regarde, Papa! I met Ollie!”.

Charles's heart skipped a beat as he listened to Magalie's tale. “Oh là là! Mon dieu!” he exclaimed dramatically, his hand flying to his chest. “But Magalie, pourquoi Ollie? Tu préfères Ollie à ton papa?” he lamented, feigning devastation.

Magalie giggled, not quite understanding her father's theatrics. “We talked about racing, Papa! Ollie showed me his helmet and let me sit in his simulator,” her enthusiasm contagious.

Y/N chimed in. “And they discussed their favorite ice cream flavors too! Magalie was convinced that chocolate chip is the best,” she added, shooting Charles a playful grin.

Charles gasped. “Mon cœur! Mon âme! Comment peux-tu, Magalie?" he almost visibly flinch. “You prefer chocolate chip over my delicious homemade vanilla ice cream? Sacrebleu!”.

As the chatter in the hospitality club continued, Ollie casually strolled by, his charisma lighting up the room. With a theatrical flourish, he shot Ollie a mock-serious glare.

“Don't even think about stealing my daughter's heart,” Charles declared in mock seriousness.

Ollie, always one to play along, raised an eyebrow with a sly grin. “Oh, Charles, you wound me,” he replied, feigning offense. “I would never dream of it.”

Y/N, already accustomed to her husband’s flair for the dramatic, simply rolled her eyes with a fond smile, shaking her head in amusement.

But Charles wasn't finished yet. He launched into a series of grandiose tales, regaling them with exaggerated accounts of his own racing triumphs. Each story seemed to grow taller and more fantastical than the last, as Charles spun elaborate yarns of daring maneuvers and impossible victories.

Ollie played along, his laughter mingling with Charles's, as the two drivers engaged in a friendly competition of one-upmanship. Magalie watched with wide-eyed fascination.

As the playful banter reached its climax, Charles turned to Magalie. “Magalie, ma chérie, who do you think is more handsome: Papa or Ollie?” he asked.

Magalie's eyes widened in surprise at the unexpected question. “Um... Ollie!” she blurted out, her decision made with the innocence of a child.

Gasping dramatically, he clutched his chest as if struck by a sudden heart attack, his eyes widening in horror. “Mon Dieu! Ma propre fille me trahit!“ he exclaimed, his voice trembling with despair. “To think that my own flesh and blood would choose Ollie over her beloved Papa! C'est tragique!”

Y/N’s amusement bubbling over into uncontrollable giggles. “Charles, tu es si dramatique,” she teased.

__________________________________________

As the cameras pivot towards Magalie, she sits in Y/N's arms, her eyes sparkling with excitement. The journalists approach, their questions carefully curated for the young spectator.

“Well, hello there, Magalie! How are you finding your first race?” A journalist from Sky Sport greets her with a warm smile.

Magalie beams. “It's amazing! Papa goes really fast!” Her tiny hands gesture wildly, trying to capture the speed of the cars.

Y/N chuckles softly, brushing a stray lock of hair from Magalie's face. “Yes, he does, sweetheart. What's been your favorite part so far?”

“When the cars go zoom, zoom, zoom!!” she exclaims, her arms mimicking the motions on the track.

Another journalist, this one appears to be from beIN SPORTS, charmed by Magalie's animated gestures, joins in. “How about your Papa getting pole position today? What do you think about that?”

Her face lights up with pride, smile reaching ear to ear. “I knew he would win! He's the best!”

Y/N motions for them to wrap up the questions soon, and they all nodded in understanding.

“One last thing, Magalie, do you have a message for all the Ferrari fans who are watching this race?” someone inquires from the back.

“To all the Ferrari fans,” she begins, “thank you for cheering for My Papa! He loves you all very much, and he's going to win for you!”

As the interviews wrap up, one of the journalists can't resist bestowing a title for Magalie.

“Well, folks, it looks like we've found our newest addition to the paddock royalty! Introducing... Magalie Leclerc, the Paddock Princess!” The journalist announces.

Magalie glances up at Y/N, who beams with pride at her daughter. “Paddock Princess, huh?” Y/N muses. "I think that has a nice ring to it, your royal highness.”

“If I am a princess, then that means you are the queen, Maman.”

1K notes · View notes

reasonsforhope · 4 months

Text

Article Link

"Minnetonka first started selling its “Thunderbird” moccasins in 1965. Now, for the first time, they’ve been redesigned by a Native American designer.

It’s one step in the company’s larger work to deal with its history of cultural appropriation. The Minneapolis-based company launched in the 1940s as a small business making souvenirs for roadside gift shops in the region—including Native American-inspired moccasins, though the business wasn’t started or run by Native Americans. The moccasins soon became its biggest seller.

[Photo: Minnetonka]

Adrienne Benjamin, an Anishanaabe artist and community activist who became the company’s “reconciliation advisor,” was initially reluctant when a tribal elder approached her about meeting with the company. Other activists had dismissed the idea that the company would do the work to truly transform. But Benjamin agreed to the meeting, and the conversation convinced her to move forward.

“I sensed a genuine commitment to positive change,” she says. “They had really done their homework as far as understanding and acknowledging the wrong and the appropriation. I think they knew for a long time that things needed to get better, and they just weren’t sure what a first step was.”

Pictured: Lucie Skjefte and son Animikii [Photo: Minnetonka]

In 2020, Minnetonka publicly apologized “for having benefited from selling Native-inspired designs without directly honoring Native culture or communities.” It also said that it was actively recruiting Native Americans to work at the company, reexamining its branding, looking for Native-owned businesses to partner with, continuing to support Native American nonprofits, and that it planned to collaborate with Native American artists and designers.

Benjamin partnered with the company on the first collaboration, a collection of hand-beaded hats, and then recruited the Minneapolis-based designer Lucie Skjefte, a citizen of the Red Lake Nation, who designed the beadwork for another moccasin style and a pair of slippers for the brand. Skjefte says that she felt comfortable working with the company knowing that it had already done work with Benjamin on reconciliation. And she wasn’t a stranger to the brand. “Our grandmothers and our mothers would always look for moccasins in a clutch kind of situation where they didn’t have a pair ready and available to make on their own—then they would buy Minnetonka mocs and walk into a traditional pow wow and wear them,” she says. Her mother, she says, who passed away in 2019, would have been “immensely proud” that Skjefte’s design work was part of the moccasins—and on the new version of the Thunderbird moccasin, one of the company’s top-selling styles.

[Photo: Minnetonka]

“I started thinking about all of those stories, and what resonated with me visually,” Skjefte says. The redesign, she says, is much more detailed and authentic than the previous version. “Through the redesign and beading process, we are actively reclaiming and reconnecting our Animikii or Thunderbird motif with its Indigenous roots,” she says. Skjefte will earn royalties for the design, and Minnetonka will also separately donate a portion of the sale of each shoe to Mni Sota Fund, a nonprofit that helps Native Americans in Minnesota get training and capital for home ownership and entrepreneurship.

Some companies go a step farther—Manitobah Mukluks, based in Canada, has an Indigenous founder and more than half Indigenous staff. (While Minnetonka is actively recruiting more Native American workers, the company says that employees self-report race and it can’t share any data about its current number of Indigenous employees.) Beyond its own line of products, Manitobah also has an online Indigenous Market that features artists who earn 100% of the profit for their work.

White Bear Moccasins, a Native-owned-and-made brand in Montana, makes moccasins from bison hide. Each custom pair can take six to eight hours to make; the shoes cost hundreds of dollars, though they can also be repaired and last as long as a lifetime, says owner Shauna White Bear. In interviews, White Bear has said that she wants “to take our craft back,” from companies like Minnetonka. But she also told Fast Company that she doesn’t think that Minnetonka, as a family-owned business, should have to lose its livelihood now and stop making moccasins.

The situation is arguably different for other fashion brands that might use a Native American symbol—or rip off a Native American design completely—on a single product that could easily be taken off the market. Benjamin says that she has also worked with other companies that have discontinued products.

She sees five steps in the process of reconciliation. First, the person or company who did wrong has to acknowledge the wrong. Then they need to publicly apologize, begin to change behavior, start to rebuild trust, and then, eventually, the wronged party might take the step of forgiveness. Right now, she says, Minnetonka is in the third phase of behavior change. The brand plans to continue to collaborate with Native American designers.

The company can be an example to others on how to listen and build true relationships, Benjamin says. “I think that’s the only way that these relationships are going to get any better—people have to sit down and talk about it,” she says. “People have to be real. People have to apologize. They have to want to reconcile with people.”

The leadership at Minnetonka can also be allies in pushing other companies to do better. “My voice is important at the table as an Indigenous woman,” Benjamin says. “Lucie’s voice is important. But at tables where there’s a majority of people that aren’t Indigenous, sometimes those allies’ voices are more powerful in those spaces, because that means that they’ve signed on to what we’re saying. The power has signed on to moving forward and we agree with ‘Yes, this was wrong.’ That’s the stuff that’s going to change [things] right there.”"

-via FastCompany, February 7, 2024

1K notes · View notes

porcelainseashore · 3 months

Text

Heavenly Creatures

Pairing: Altar Boy! Leon Kennedy x Catholic School Girl! Reader

Summary: Growing up in a conservative, Catholic community, you and Leon were kept apart as kids for your own good. However, a fateful encounter at church many years later causes you to question those boundaries.

Content & Warnings: 18+ Smut, porn with plot, unprotected p in v, oral (m & f receiving), rimming (f receiving), semi-public sex (church), Catholicism, religious imagery & symbolism, temptation, guilt, shaming, name-calling, growing up, smoking, swearing, romance, fluff, secret relationship.

Authors' Note: Leon and Reader are in senior high and 18 when smut happens. No guarantee that you won’t burn in hell after reading this 🔥😂

Special thanks to AliBelleRosetta for being my sounding board + shadesoflsk & Cameron for your helpful feedback.

AO3 Link

Snake. Devil. Satan’s spawn.

Those were the names you had grown accustomed to as a child. You didn’t know why you were called them, instead of the one your parents had given you. You were too little to understand. All you knew was that you were made to feel different. Maybe you were really an anomaly from the rest after all.

Instead of being quiet and shy, you were loud and boisterous. It was natural for you, seeing as you were going through your tomboy phase, which was the exact reason your parents had stuck to when they received complaints about your behavior. They laughed it off, while others reigned their daughters in, forcing them into perfect Sunday dresses, braided hair adorned with pastel ribbons and clean, black Mary Jane shoes. Good enough to fit into a pretty gift box with wrapping paper. But you would tear it all down, before anyone could lay a finger on you.

Growing up in a place where other children were told to shun you was difficult at first. But then, you learnt to play by yourself and relish in the power of make believe. You climbed trees, rolled in the mud and ran through the forest fending off imaginary monsters. Sometimes, when you bumped into other groups of boys who threw stones and made fun of you, you fought back, further earning the title of crazy witch! Who needed these idiots anyway? You were your own best company.

One day, you sat in your disheveled, cream cotton dress, swinging your legs from a tree in your front lawn as usual. It overlooked the suburban neighborhood street, giving you a bird’s eye view of your surroundings. You noticed a family of three strolling along the sidewalk, though the couple gave you a disapproving look as they walked past, and whispered to their little, adolescent boy. They thought they were being so discreet, but you could hear every single word they were saying.

“Don’t pay attention to her. She’s bad news.”

Regardless of this remark, the boy gave in to his curiosity and as he peered up, you held his wide-eyed gaze. His irises were azure in color, glowing as it caught the early dusk light from different angles, shifting across a stunning spectrum of bluish, iridescent hues. You were captivated by them, and as you continued staring, his cheeks turned rosy red, though it seemed like he could not break away from you either. That moment was abruptly cut short, as his father smacked the back of his head, chiding his son for disobeying him.

“Come along now, Leon.” The older man wrapped an arm around the boy’s shoulders, turning him away from your direction.

Leon. So, that was his name. As you watched them turn the corner at the end of the street and head off, you wondered if and when you’d see him again.

━━━━━━━━━━━

Leon had heard the stories passed around about you. His parents had often commented about your family as being one of those ‘weird, hippy types’. Frankly, this didn’t scare him, but rather, it fascinated him. They made you appear like something he had read in a book about myths and legends, and he wanted to see if it was real.

The next time he went out to play in the field, he walked by your place again on purpose, even though it would have been the longer route. As he had predicted, you were up in the tree again, lounging across its branches with your eyes closed, like a slithery snake basking in the sun. Your dress was stained with grass and dirt, and your feet were soiled and filthy. Twigs poked out haphazardly from your knotted, messy hair.

You looked like a creature of sorts, alright, he thought.

He inched towards the base of the tree trunk gingerly, trying not to stir the sleeping beast. But as he got closer, he accidentally stepped into a pile of dead leaves, which crunched underfoot.

You roused from your slumber then, rubbing your eyes as you stretched your arms out with a lazy yawn. He flinched when you looked downwards at him, as if you might strike out, but you just smiled and said, “Hi.”

He was confused then. From the descriptions of you, he had expected you to breathe fire and gnash your teeth at him fiercely, but you were just a normal girl. He gave you a puzzled look, nodding as he greeted you with a stutter, “Hi… I-I’m, uh, Leon.”

“I know.” You grinned.

“You do?” He looked astounded, as if you’d conducted some dark ritual to find out.

You picked up on this and teased him, wiggling your fingers as you mouthed, “Magic…”

He laughed, relaxing his stiff shoulders and asking you for your name. He’d only known you until now as that girl, or one of those nicknames people gave you out of spite.

You introduced yourself and offered him a half-eaten apple you had munched on before napping on the tree. He hesitated at first, regarding it as if it were a forbidden fruit, but eventually he reached out for it. Gratefully, he bit in, savoring the flavorful burst of its juicy flesh.

“Do you go to church?” He asked suddenly, out of the blue.

Shielding your eyes from the afternoon sun with your hand, you squinted at him. “Yeah, why?”

“Oh.” He paused, considering his next words, though he blurted out with unfiltered honesty, “Well, my dad said that demons can’t enter hallowed ground.”

“I’m not a demon,” you huffed indignantly.

“No, you aren’t,” he agreed, waving his hands in the air apologetically, trying to salvage the situation. “I think you’re nice, actually.” His face was warm and pink again.

“I think you’re nice too.”

And it continued on like this. Some days, he’d pop over to visit and speak with you from below the tree, when he was sure no one was watching. Until a day came where he wasn’t as careful, and was spotted by a concerned neighbor, who ratted him out to his parents.

You were sad that he wasn’t allowed to see you again, but you’d grown used to being alone for most of your childhood, so you tried to put it behind you and move on, unaware that he’d often look out for you at each week’s Sunday Mass.

━━━━━━━━━━━

A number of years passed, and you filled out into your own body. You were in your senior year of an all-girls Catholic high school, and had recently turned 18. Reaching womanhood also meant that you became acutely aware of the changes in the way society treated you now, as compared to the opposite sex. Heads turned as you stalked around with one of the more unruly cliques in your school. Instead of being name-called after otherworldly creatures, you were reduced to bitch, slut, or whore.

People hated what they couldn’t understand or control. You’d been giving the nuns a hard time by asking controversial questions about the biblical text you were meant to study and recite blindly. Detention was nothing new to you and your friends, whom you’d been caught smoking cigarettes together with on school grounds. You were a rebel at heart, and the rest of the law-abiding community wanted to crush that and make you conform.

Leon, on the other hand, had been going to the all-boys school next door, which shared a brother school relationship with yours. He was in the same year and age as you, though being a man meant he had the privilege of getting away with certain things you couldn’t. Even there, your name wasn’t safe from being circulated around the rumor mill. You were the subject of boys’ locker room talk. They associated you with the ‘bad girl’ crowd, highlighting your love for reading banned books and boasting about supposed sexual escapades with you.

“She’ll do favors,” they said, making vulgar gestures by moving their fist back and forth in front of their mouth, while poking their tongue against their cheek.

Leon slammed his locker door shut and stormed off. It made him uncomfortable that they gossiped about you that way, but he was even more ashamed of the fact that he made no effort to stand up for you. He hardly knew you, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out that what they were doing was finding a scapegoat to blame. That, unfortunately, time and time again, happened to be you.

Most of the students there were sexually active anyway, but no one had complained about them. As long as one kept things on the down-low and upheld a certain moralistic façade, they were considered as ‘innocent’, ‘pure’, or ‘normal’ even. For one, he was pretty sure that his father was having an affair with the church choir mistress, but that seemed to go overlooked.

Everyone’s such hypocrites, he pondered, frowning in distaste. Including himself. Although he liked to think that he was brave and courageous, in actuality, he was afraid of rocking the boat. Fitting in was more important, just as his parents had taught him from a young age. It was the side of him that he hated the most, but could not get rid of.

Gathering his belongings, he left school and hurried off. He’d been requested last-minute to serve at Mass that evening, as one of the other altar boys had fallen ill. At church, he exchanged his school uniform for the standard black cassock and white surplice, before starting with the Introductory Rites.

You, on the other hand, had been singled out along with a bunch of other troublesome girls to attend Evening Mass with the Mother Superior that day. It was just your luck that you had to devote an hour of your time to a set of outdated rituals and prayers, with the aim of reflecting upon your sins. The most frustrating part of this exercise was that all of you were placed in the front row pews, so there was no chance of daydreaming or dozing off in front of the priest. You’d never been much of a believer, but sometimes you did speculate if God was watching your every move from above.

As you stood up for the entrance procession, which signaled the start of Mass, a familiar mop of dirty blonde hair and dazzling blue eyes passed by. You’d recognize that anywhere, but it was a wonder how you hadn’t realized that he was serving as an altar boy all this while. Maybe your Mass timings hadn’t aligned? Or maybe you just never paid much attention in church. You’d only seen him here and there when he attended Mass with his family as part of the congregation, but you ignored him back then, because you didn’t want to remember the feeling of losing the closest thing you had to a friend in your pre-teen days.

When Leon turned around to face the congregation for the greeting, he gulped as he saw you, standing almost directly in front of him as both of you made the Sign of the Cross. Speak of the devil, he muttered internally, before chastising himself for unintentionally insulting you and shook that thought away.

You gave him a coy smile as he scampered off to where he was meant to be stationed. For the first time in a while, you took the chance to admire his chiseled features and how much he had grown. He had always been attractive, but he was no longer the little boy you used to know, and instead now a fine, young man, in an even finer religious attire. Puberty did him good, you mused.

All at once, a mischievous plan flashed across your mind as you plotted how to win his attention. It would be an entertaining way to pass the time in this mundane institution. Viewing the school uniform as yet another means for the authorities to curb people’s freedom and creative expression, you had a habit of violating the dress code by making minor adjustments to it. Whether it was shortening the hem of your skirt or wearing below the ankle socks, you went for it. And today was no exception.

You waited until it was time to be seated before attempting to catch his gaze. Within a few minutes, he sneaked a peek your way and you stifled a laugh. Bingo. As you continued looking straight at him, you stretched your legs out cautiously, so as not to alert the Mother Superior, who sat beside you, to your antics. His eyes widened and flickered, as you showed off their length, rotating your ankles in small circles languidly. The other altar boys started to take note and whispered in hushed tones amongst themselves. But you only had eyes for Leon, scrutinizing him like a hawk, as you bared your teeth with a sly grin plastered across your face.

It was only a matter of time before the Mother Superior rapped you on the legs with a thin, wooden cane she carried around for doling out such punishments. The other girls in your row giggled as you returned your legs to a respectable position, disregarding the smarting pain that had accompanied the blow.

It was worth it, you reasoned, spotting Leon’s lopsided smile, as he turned away to hide his blush.

This soon carried on like an unspoken game between you and Leon. You’d attend Mass whenever he was serving as an altar boy, and he’d look out for you, exchanging glances like a secret code shared between the two of you. A sense of thrill arose within him each time, as to what you’d try next. If only he knew what you were capable of.

At some point, you grew bolder. During the Holy Communion, where Leon had been helping the priest to hold the patina under the chins of those who received the Sacred host, you made sure once again to make eye contact with him the whole way through. Your mouth was slightly agape, as you extended your tongue, clasping your hands together in a pious prayer position. When the priest placed the host in your mouth, you swallowed it suggestively, licking your upper lip for a finishing touch. Leon nearly stumbled over backwards as his face turned bright red like a tomato. The last thing he heard was your silvery laughter, and you returned to your seat as if nothing had happened. You had ensnared him now.

When Mass ended, you slipped him a note, asking him to meet you at the confessional when everyone else had been ushered out. You knelt in the penitent compartment, waiting for him to arrive, confident that he would show up. A few minutes later, you heard someone enter the booth where the priest usually sat.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” you began. Through the latticed screen, you could just about make out Leon’s face as he chuckled.

“What are you playing at?”

“You tell me,” you challenged, testing the waters. “I haven’t received any complaints.”

“Well, I have a question,” he mentioned quietly. “Do you still remember when we hung out back then? At the tree.”

There was pang in your heart, as you recalled your childhood memories. “Of course, you were the only one who bothered to speak to me.”

You pursed your lips before taking the plunge. “I really appreciated that.”

There was a momentary pause, as he took your words in. “I wish they didn’t separate us.”

“It isn’t too late to start over.” It was humiliating how eager you sounded. No matter how much you tried to repress it, you yearned to rekindle that connection you had with him once.

“Listen, I like you,” he admitted, sighing heavily. “But, I can’t go public with this. My parents-”

“Who says it has to be public?” You retorted defensively.

His heartfelt confession emboldened you, yet a part of you felt dejected that this was the best option he could offer. However, you didn’t want to concede without giving it a shot.

He made a noise which sounded like he was in disbelief. “You mean-”

“Shall I come over and show you?” You interrupted, already getting up before he could answer.

“Y-yeah,” he stammered. “I-I’d like that, I guess.”

Exiting your compartment, you stepped out and swiftly went over to where he was, closing the door behind you. It was crammed and stuffy in this tiny box with two people, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. Giving him a once-over, it struck you that he was still in his altar boy attire and perhaps what you were about to do was wrong on so many levels, but you brushed those thoughts aside.

“Um-”

Before he could speak any further, you ran your hands up along his chest and planted your lips onto his, soft and pillowy in texture. He let out a low moan, easing into your embrace as he kissed back, holding onto the back of your head for better leverage. His tongue grazed across your lips and you parted them in response, allowing it to slip inside as you tasted each other. Grabbing the collar of his cassock, you pressed your bodies together heatedly. You sucked on his tongue, eliciting another moan from his throat, as you shuffled him around, pushing his back against the wooden wall with a loud thud. Both of you had lost yourselves in a whirlwind of kisses, oblivious to the outside world and the ruckus you were making.

However, it was hard to ignore the hymn that was being sung when the next Mass started. Leon froze, before pulling away hastily. His mouth was red and swollen, and a pearly string of saliva connected it with yours.

“Shit, we lost track of time,” he panted.

If you didn’t want to be seen, you’d need to remain where you were until the Mass ended. In other words, both of you were trapped here for at least another hour.

Not being one to let such matters ruin the vibe, you responded, “That’s not a problem for me.” Trailing a lone finger down Leon’s body seductively, you let it come to rest above the growing bulge in his cassock.

“Are you serious?” He breathed, as you cupped your hand around it, palming him through his clothes.

“You got a better idea?” You murmured in his ear, squeezing his erection a little as you continued rubbing against it.

“Don’t get me wrong, it feels amazing.” His voice was strained as he spoke. “But, it’s just…”

“Catholic guilt?” You teased.

“Yeah, probably.” He nodded sheepishly.

“Well, maybe if we get you out of this thing.” You gestured to his attire. “You might relax into it more.”

“Makes sense,” he agreed, tugging the surplice over his head and discarding it to the ground. “Though it never really goes away, does it?”

You shrugged, shaking your head. “I still get it, but it’s less of an issue now.” It made you follow up with a question of your own. “Does that mean I’m a bad person?”

His eyes crinkled as he grinned. “You're doing it again.”

“Hm?”

“Guilt,” he indicated. “But to answer your question, no, I don’t think you’re a bad person.”

“Doesn’t matter anyway.” You tried to deflect the topic, knowing the rumors that people spread about you. Leon had probably heard it all. “At least there’s still hope for you.”

“Thanks?”

“Don’t thank me yet.” You winked, removing the sash from his cassock as he unbuttoned the rest of it, revealing a plain white shirt and a pair of shorts underneath.

He snickered as you clucked your tongue at the sight. “What did you expect me to do? Go Commando?”

“Would’ve been hot,” you pointed out.

Leon had always been perceptive. From your interactions, he began to suspect that sometimes you relied on lighthearted banter as a way to mask your nervousness and other underlying emotions.

Nestling his fingers under your chin, he turned you towards him. “You sure about this?”

“Mm hm.” It was sweet of him to check in. Most guys never offered you the same courtesy. “Been thinking about it since Communion,” you added brazenly.

He snorted as you gave him a quick peck on the lips. Working your way down, you kissed his clothed body, pulling the waistband of his underwear and shorts to his ankles. Kneeling before him, you reached for his cock, smearing beads of his precum carelessly along his velvety skin, while you pumped his hot shaft slowly.

He inhaled sharply, snapping his eyes shut, as he tilted his head back in pleasure. In the background, you could hear the priest’s sermon droning on.

With a smug smile, you warned, “Do me a favor and try to keep it down, will you?”

Before he had a chance to react, you filled your mouth with his cock, sliding all the way down its hardened length.

“Jesus,” he groaned.

Instantly, you released it with a pop and tutted in mock disappointment, “Taking the Lord’s name in vain?”

“We’re so going to hell for this,” he laughed faintly, tangling his hands in your hair.

“Ah-” He gasped again, as you held onto the base of his cock, lifting it to flatten your tongue on its underside. Slathering it with saliva, you took his balls into your wet mouth, one at a time, sucking on them delectably. “Fuck!”

“Don’t you ever shut up?” You joked.

“Not if you keep doing what you’re doing, angel.”

Angel. That was a new one. You’d never been called that before, but you liked the sound of it.

Wrapping your lips around his cock, you started a steady rhythm, bobbing your head up and down his shaft. Each time you came up, you flicked your tongue at the tip, licking it as you stared up at him. His eyes flew open, gazing at you with lust and arousal while you sucked him off more vigorously.

Sliding his cock in deeper, you allowed it to hit the back of your throat, causing you to make a guttural noise. Clenching his fist, he bit down hard on his knuckles to stop himself from crying out. If this was hell, he’d stay right here with you. He couldn’t think straight anymore, as he bucked his hips forward in response.

Grabbing his ass, your fingernails left crescent shaped indents on his skin, as you let him fuck your mouth to chase his high. Tears lined your eyelashes and sweat poured down your brow. It had gotten incredibly hot and humid in this enclosed space. But his muted moans only served to turn you on even more. You wondered how perverse and trashy you looked in this position, though Leon could only mumble the opposite in his feverish state.

Soon, he tensed and quivered while hissing through gritted teeth, “God, I’m gonna cum.”

Lady Luck appeared to be on your side, as the congregation were in the middle of singing another hymn, which inadvertently muffled whatever sounds were coming from the confessional. He struggled to hold in his groans as you felt a thick, salty load of his cum wash up against your throat. You choked a bit before swallowing it whole.

Collapsing backwards, you leaned against the cool surface of the seat behind you, wiping the edges of your mouth. Tucking his spent dick back under his clothes, he sank down beside you, kissing you gently and tasting himself on your lips.

“You ok?” He brushed his thumb along your cheek.

You nodded silently and smiled, contemplating if there would be a future to what you had with him now.

“I ruined you,” he jested, showering you with kisses along your jawline.

“As if.” You rolled your eyes, but deep down, you knew it was the truth.

And, just like he had read your mind, he uttered the magic words, “So, when will I see you again?”

━━━━━━━━━━━

Since the encounter at the confessional, you continued your clandestine meetings with Leon, just like back in the old days, except both of you were now wiser in covering your tracks. In public, you pretended not to know each other, yet shared furtive, longing glances when you were in the same vicinity. Sometimes, he would make an excuse to brush past you, his touch ghosting across the curve of your spine, your shoulders, the back of your hand to the tip of your pinkie finger. Away from prying eyes, you hooked up passionately, damning each other further to hell. How many levels were there again? You’d lost count.

You enjoyed the moments spent with him. The aftercare and cuddling. The long talks into the night. You understood each other somehow, it wasn’t like this with other people. So, if the Day of Judgment arrived, why would God not sympathize with you both?

Despite that, neither of you had put a label on where you stood with each other. How did this secret relationship work? If you were found out, would he ditch you like before? Would you be thrown under the bus, so that he could be purified again? It wasn’t long until insecurity reared its ugly head, gnawing at you from within.

Leon sensed something was off as you lay in his arms, naked while he spooned you in the back seat of his car, parked along a desolate dirt path near the forest. You had that pensive look on your face, like you were in a world of your own, one where he couldn’t enter.

Pulling you close to him, he kissed the top of your shoulder, coaxing you out of your reverie. “Wanna talk about it?”

You hummed noncommittally. After a long pause, you asked, “Are you embarrassed by me?”

He was caught off-guard by the question and his breathing stilled. “No,” he argued. “Why would you think that?”

“I’m just tired of hiding,” you sighed. “It’s like I’m making you do something bad.”

There was a brief ache in his chest, as guilt swelled up like a wave. Coward, an inner voice spat.

Carding his fingers through your hair, he pressed his lips against the temple of your head. “You make me feel like the best version of myself.”

“Hm.” You pinched your lips together, wanting to believe him, but you weren’t convinced.

He observed this, but decided not to press the issue any further, knowing that you needed action, not words.

She’ll be your downfall. A surly voice piped up within him, like fire and brimstone. He shook it off, ignoring the moral tug-of-war that had occurred once he made that statement, as he vowed to prove himself to you in the coming days.

━━━━━━━━━━━

The next time you’d agreed to meet was in church, after the very last Mass of the day. He was serving as an altar boy again, and you were intrigued as to whether he had planned to reenact the entire confessional scene or switch it up with something new, like making you go through the Stations of the Cross while fucking you. You giggled at the idea, only to be shushed by a fellow parishioner, whom you had disturbed in meditative prayer.

When Mass ended and everyone except yourself had left the nave, you waited patiently for him in the pews. After a while, you felt a tap on your shoulder and turned around to face Leon, who had changed into his casual clothes. As you got to your feet, he cupped the sides of your face in his hands, closing the distance, and bringing your lips to meet his in a fervent kiss. You were slightly taken aback by his initiation, since he was usually the shyer one out of the two of you.

Claiming your hand in his, he led you to the front, where the altar stood before the austere crucifix that hung from the wall. He smirked, noticing the look of shock and incredulity on your face, as it gradually began to dawn on you what he had in mind. However, he was anxious too, you could tell from the way his hand was trembling. He was sealing his fate, and you were both going down together. Nothing could bring you back after this ultimate act of blasphemy.

At the foot of the altar, he caressed his lips against yours. “I guess God is our witness now.”

Leaning in, you found yourselves consumed in a lip lock, which deepened with each passing second as you helped each other out of your clothes, kicking them off unceremoniously to the side. He spun you around, bending you forward against the smooth, marble top of the altar. The cold surface caused your nipples to harden and goosebumps to form on your skin. You shivered as he spread your legs wider apart and knelt down, holding your thighs as he licked a firm stripe along your silken folds.

As he continued to lap at the sensitive flesh, he brought a hand towards your clit, stroking it softly with his middle finger. You jerked from the sensation, whimpering as he alternated between thrusting his tongue into your heat and suckling it with his lips. There was a slight pressure as you felt one of his fingers sliding into your pussy, already soaked with arousal. At the same time, his tongue trailed up towards your rim, teasing it with long, flat licks.

“Oh my god!” You gasped, gripping the edge of the altar, as an electrifying tingle coursed through your veins.

There was a playful smack on your ass. “Forgotten the Third Commandment already?” Leon scolded.

“Huh?”

“Taking the Lord’s name in vain,” he mimicked your tone from when you had teased him at the confessional.

“Ugh,” you whined. “I’m sure this is the least of our concerns.”

You felt his hot breath against your asshole before he dipped his tongue in lightly. Simultaneously, he pumped your pussy, pushing in another finger and stretching you out, before his tongue went back to circling around your rim, inciting a string of moans from your mouth.

“Feeling good?”

“Mm, yes,” you replied hoarsely. “But when are you going to fuck me?”

He coughed out a laugh at your bluntness, before imparting a piece of unsolicited advice. “Patience is a virtue.”

You groaned at his quip. “Really, Leon? Are you-”

He interrupted rudely, pressing his hand on your back as he entered you, burying his cock deep into your cunt. You nearly screamed in ecstasy as he pounded his hips against your ass repeatedly, already setting a brutal pace from the beginning. Maybe you should’ve been careful of what you wished for.

“What was that again?” He taunted.

You growled, clenching your jaw as you felt his dick dragging against your sensitive walls. The lewd sound of skin slapping against skin echoed across the space. Your mind fogged up in an insatiable haze as you pushed back rhythmically against his thrusting, allowing him to penetrate you further, and taking pleasure in how his head brushed against your cervix with each stroke.

“So close,” you rasped, your core tightening as if it was about to burst.

At this, he pulled away briefly, flipping you over as he lifted you onto the altar top. He had a bruising grip around your thighs, which you wrapped around his waist instinctively, interlocking your ankles behind his back to draw him closer. Bewitched, he took a moment to drink in the divine sight of your flushed, moist body, supple and wanting in his arms, before kissing you sloppily on the mouth. Pressing his forehead against yours, he asserted, “You don’t know what you do to me, angel.”

With that, he rutted into you relentlessly, your breasts bouncing as you clung to the back of his neck, crying out in rapture. When you finally snapped, a glimmer from the gold cross necklace he wore daily flashed before your eyes. You looped your index finger around it, tugging at it as you peered up at the bleeding face of Christ looking down at you ominously from the crucifix. The last remains of the day’s light filtered through the stained glass behind him, casting a kaleidoscope of mottled colors across your bodies, the altar and the stone floor, like a disease.

You realized you had tempted Leon beyond salvation. But in spite of it, he had followed you willingly. This was the proof he had wanted to show you. You were the angel he would desecrate everything for. He’d cut your wings off so you’d be his and stay.

His cock throbbed with desire as he rode you through your orgasm. As he neared the edge, he pulled out, finishing himself off. Nuzzling his face into your neck, he murmured a mixture of curses and professions against your skin, while spurting hot white cum over the mound of your pussy. Holding onto the marbled structure for support, he bent over you, placing tender kisses on your eyes and your lips.

It seemed as if he had turned his back on God and worshiped you now. But instead of a guilty conscience, you felt nothing but love. Silently, both of you cleaned up and got dressed. He delicately reattached the butterfly clip that had come loose in your hair, while you wiped away the lipstick that had smudged onto his face. There would be no signs of what had transpired, except he had another surprise lined up for you.

Upon exiting the church doors, Leon took your hand, lacing his fingers through yours, as you walked out onto the street together. You were his - he’d show you off to the whole damn world without shame.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy fluff #religious au #church au #resident evil #porcelainscribbles

1K notes · View notes

saerins · 6 months

Text

[ ೀ pucker up, buttercup | itoshi sae ]

ೀ content: female reader, fluff, sae and reader are adults, pet names (sae’s choice of words are stupid/idiot, calls reader ‘my girl’), alcohol, slightly suggestive at the end. | wc 1.5k | notes: okay did a very quick drabble for sae for christmas !! merry christmas to you guys <3

ೀ summary: being sae’s girlfriend is tough. there’s a lot of things he can’t make time for, and unfortunately this time, it’s you. but somehow, he always pulls through.

it’s christmas eve and you’re at your company function, looking at the fruits of your hard labour.

the event hall is decked with christmas decorations; stockings lining the walls and corresponding to different names for everyone’s secret santa to gift accordingly, christmas lights surrounding every table, everyone getting their fair share of the catering you’d arranged.

“this is amazing,” your boss gushes as she excitedly throws her arms around you. she’s only a few years older than you, so it’s not all too surprising that she’s always super friendly with you.

“relax on the alcohol, okay?” you joke with her, smelling the liquor already.

she pouts at you, batting her eyelashes. “oh c’mon, are you still upset that your boyfriend couldn’t make it for christmas?”

you sigh, though you keep a strong front, smiling through it. being the private girlfriend of an international soccer superstar is tough; he has to miss holidays and special occasions and more often than not you can’t even get your calls through because he’s just that busy. you’d been excited for this year’s christmas though, because he had said he’d be able to fly back home this time.

but as it turns out, his manager—who so happens to love overworking him—has other plans. so all of that excitement just went down the drain. still, what else can you say to him other than good luck with it? you knew being his girlfriend was going to be tough, but it’s starting to take a toll after feeling like you barely exist in his world.

still, you stare at the message he last sent you.

i love you.

and you go soft. soft, because you know he means it. soft, because despite everything, you believe in the man you fell in love with. the one who gave you your first kiss back in high school, the one who’s so awkward that even initiating to hold hands last time had his entire face beet red. the one who never fails to assure you that in spite of the distance, he’s always still thinking of you.

you fiddle with your necklace, the promise ring sae gave you when you were back in high school sitting around your neck like it always has.

in between all the long distance arguments and the time differences and the i miss you, wish you were here with me, you still find yourself hopelessly in love with itoshi sae. even when your friends say they can’t imagine being in your shoes, even when numerous tabloids love to put models or athletes as your competition, you know there’s still no one else you’d rather be with than him.

“i’m fine, really,” you assure your boss, prying her off of you and then adjusting her so her arm is around your shoulder as you lead her to her stocking. “here, why don’t you busy yourself and see what your secret santa got you?”

you really just want to distract your boss so she wouldn’t accidentally end up throwing you a pity party. all you want to do today is to make it through it, spend the first hour of christmas day rounding up the party and then get home and sleep your day away. it’ll distract you from the absence of your boyfriend anyway.

as you watch your boss happily open up whatever’s in her stocking, you wonder if your secret santa got you anything. (of course, some secret santas are dicks and end up not getting their person anything.) so count yourself lucky when you open up your stocking to find both a gift and a card.

amused, you rip the card out of its envelope, your heart skipping a beat when you see that inside of it, there’s a picture of you and sae as high school kids, beside each other, his face deadpan while you’re grinning from ear to ear, resting your head against his shoulder. the message reads: i love you so much it’s stupid.

you’re still in shock but you open up the little gift box, maroon with a green bow on it. when you see what’s inside, you can’t help but chuckle.

holding it above you, under the light, you can see the words hey, stupid engraved on the side of the fake mistletoe before feeling a warm pair of arms wrapping around your waist from behind, cold lips catching you off guard as they press themselves against yours.

it fills you up inside, takes all the weight off your shoulders. you’ll recognise him anywhere, without having to look or hear, the way his lips feel against yours, how he holds you gently against him, laughing softly against your lips as you pull him closer to you by the collar.

never in your wildest dreams did you expect to see your boyfriend in japan, let alone at your work party of all places, and now here you both are, kissing under the mistletoe.

“woah relax there,” he teases you, pulling away but still holding you close.

he’s here, he’s actually here. his hair’s in a mess, and there are circles under his eyes, but he’s smiling. he’s smiling at you and he’s here with you and you don’t even feel the tears forming in your eyes because you’re too busy relishing in the moment.

“itoshi sae,” you call out to him, your hands patting on his body, his black coat and his scarf are real and he’s here—he’s really here. “i thought you were too busy to come back…”

how long has it been now since you’d last seen him? a year? perhaps longer? he’s been so busy nowadays that you wondered at one point if he would even come back to you at all.

sae sighs, holding your cheeks in his hands as he presses his forehead against yours. “i’m sorry,” he says tensely, shaking his head slightly. “i was away for so long, and i just…” his teal eyes stare into yours, both your eyelashes dancing against one another. “i missed you, and i just wanted to see you.”

you’re laughing in disbelief, still holding him close because you’re just that afraid that this’ll all be an illusion that might soon slip away. “and they just let you off like that? that simple?”

he presses his lips into a firm line, averting his gaze. “let’s just say that they weren’t happy about it but i’m the important one, so…” he smiles, genuinely, putting an arm around. “they don’t have a choice but to let me come home to see my girl.”

turns out, he’d called in a favour to your boss, asked her about christmas plans because he knew from your texts that you were in charge of putting it all together. and then he asked her to put the gifts in your stocking. and you laugh hearing about it, because you’re thinking of how your life could’ve gone a totally different way. you could’ve gotten into a relationship with someone else who wouldn’t do this much for you, wouldn’t make time for you, wouldn’t travel across the world and put their own things down all in the name of meeting you.

“what’re you thinking about, stupid?”

you look into his eyes, shaking your head. “nothing, it’s nothing, i just- i love you, itoshi sae.” you smile, and sae smiles too because he loves how your smile reaches your eyes. and he loves being the reason you smile so he’s going to keep being that—and he makes a promise to himself to make you happy for life. but maybe that’s a gesture for next time. right now, he just wants to spend the rest of the holidays with you.

the clock strikes twelve, and he steals the mistletoe from you, holding it up between the two of you again, wincing from how cheesy it is after he does it, earning a chuckle from you.

“merry christmas, idiot.” and he kisses you again, long and slow and completely oblivious to everyone else that’s there who are staring and clapping—half of them still in awe that the itoshi sae is here and half of them in shock after putting two and two together that he’s your special guy.

“so, you’re gonna be here till new years’?” you ask in between kisses.

sae nods, “at least, why?”

you grin, pulling him by the belt as you lead him out of the event hall. “think it’s time we get home and just spend it between the two of us, yeah?”

sae laughs, letting you drag him along, wondering whether by this time next year, will he be lucky enough to call you his wife?

but when he sees that promise ring he gifted you still nestling snug around your neck, he has no doubt. you’re each other’s for life. and you’re worth every single risk he has to take.

#bllk x reader #itoshi sae x reader #sae x reader #blue lock x reader #bllk x you #bllk x y/n #sae x you #sae fluff #sae x y/n #itoshi sae #itoshi sae x you #itoshi sae x y/n #itoshi sae fluff #itoshi sae imagines #sae imagines #bllk fluff #blue lock fluff #૪ aeri’s fics !

2K notes · View notes

writingforatwistedworld · 4 months

Note

Hi!! I really love your writting🥰 i would like to request for the self-aware au, Reader hiding behind them after being chased by some particularly pushy NPCs with Rook, Trey, and Jack please❤️

Self-aware au

I do not take any responsibility for you reading this no matter which age group you are from!

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, murder, description of violence, blood, obsession, stalking

Trey Clover/Jack Howl/Rook Hunt-Hiding behind them

Ah, what a nice day. In fact, it is perfect for trying out that recipe with that dough that needed to rest for a while

Or rather, that was his plan for the day until he suddenly heard two pairs of footsteps rushing into the dorm kitchen

And no, it was not the kind of footsteps that spoke of joy like the ones of his siblings did. from time to time, it sounded panicked

Just a second later you entered the kitchen with an octavinelle student, the latter one trying to catch up to you

Before the baker could figure out what was going on, you were suddenly behind him, using his body as a shield

Oh… oh!

Was this guy harassing you?

How dare he? How dare-

Deep breaths. Very deep breaths - would be something he would have said to himself if he wasn't this angry

By some miracle, he was able to hold himself together

He was this close to loose his reputation as "that nice hat wearing baker"

A strict look towards the student and you were finally alone with him

For you the whole thing was over but for that student?

Suddenly the poor lad fell ill, claiming that he had stomach problems

Heck, he couldn't even keep his food down

Such a shame... Trey surely hoped he would survive

Who else could he secretly gift those cakes? You? Oh no... It's just that he experiments with some new recipes...

Ignore that bottle in the cupboard

Jack is someone who keeps his friends very close and is not afraid to stand up for them

Only that he saw you as someone more precious than a friend

So when he saw you running away from a student and slipping behind him he saw the world just a tiny bit tinted red

The young wolf beastman isn't someone who uses violence just because he can do or feel like using it

(Honestly, at this point he is more like your little dog than some fearsome wolf)

Just because he didn't turn the student into very biological and mushy fertiliser for the flowers then and there doesn't mean he was calm though

Grabbing the not so nice company of yours, he told you to not worry and leave your little problem to him

Ah yes, Jack Howl, that kind acquaintance of yours

How nice of him

But you know, there are also tales about wolves acting as if they are kind just to devour you

Of course Jack didn't do that

Does not mean that things went as peaceful as you thought they did after you left

Jack usually keeps his instincts under control but on that evening he had to cut his nails very short and scrub his hands

Anyone would be horrified after the sensation of calcium breaking under their hand, splintering like old, dried out wood under a saw

He should feel guilty but... it was hard to do so

Which brings us back to a sink being used by a certain beastman

Geez, some things are so hard to get off of skin once it dries, wouldn't you agree?

First of all, it's a wonder the hunter wasn't watching you from a tree (or something like that... who knew bushes could walk in this world)

If he had he would have immediately revealed himself by slithering in between you and that oh so foolish first year

But alas, apparently a miracle happened and this time it was you seeking out him

When Rook heart the certain sound of your shoes hitting the ground he was swivelling around, a poem about his devotion towards you already on his tongue...

And them you hid behind his arm curtains (you know, their dorm uniforms sleves)

Did hiw beloved Overseer, perfection and liberatir in person finally choose him as their most favorite- no? Ok that's cool too

If this was any other situation he would have started a speech in his wannabe French, stating how short he was by your rejection

But right now he had to deal with your little stalker (don't try to act all innocent, Rook, you did the same many more times than they ever could without being noticed)

Trying to calm you down the hunter brought you to Pomfiore

And nothing weir happened

No I am not joking, Rook was his usual normal self (if we want to call at best flirtatious remarks and at worst frantic devoted ramblings normal)

From then on you were much closer to the hunter

Especially after a body was found

And oh, how grateful Rook was for not having the time to get rid of the body on that day

Of course, he had noticed how ce fou followed you two to the dorm

How trusting you were when he told you that he wanted to get you two something to drink...

And there the parasite still was, lingering around the entrance of his dorm

The only regret Rook had was finishing his job so quickly

It was always such a bore whenever his prey wouldn't squirm

Well, at least you were now close to him

Just be careful, the hunter was also back then the one bringing her highness a false heart. Who knows how much he would lie to get you all to himself?

Uh and… maybe don't open that box he has in his room in a cooler. He told you he keeps some sort of trophy in there and I think that is all we need to know

1K notes · View notes

munsonsmixtapes · 25 days

Note

Virgin!Eddie X Experienced!reader where Eddie has a wet dream for the first time and calls (reader) for a little bit of help 🤭

Ooh, yes! Thanks so much for the request, lovely!

virgin!Eddie x experienced!reader

cw: MDNI (18+) smut (p in v) Eddie receives a handjob

Rain pattered against Eddie’s trailer as he tossed and turn in his sleep. His thoughts were filled with nothing but you and he could stop seeing your naked body and the way your back arched in pleasure as he pounded into you. Your hands leaving bright red scratches down his back as you screamed his name as he said the most filthy things in your ear.

He jolted away at a loud clap of thunder and checked to see that he had in fact had a wet dream about you. He had dreamed about you so many times, but he was always able to care of it. But tonight, he didn’t want to. He wanted you to do the job for him. He wanted more company tonight than just his hands.

Eddie turned onto his side to face his bedside table and stared at his phone, contemplating giving you a call, but it was three in the morning so he was sure that you were asleep. He was desperate, but not enough to bother you while you were sleeping.

Maybe he could text you. That wouldn’t be too disruptive, right? He was just going to text you and if you didn’t reply, he was just going to have to rely on his stupid hand to get the job done. But the thing about his hand was that it wasn’t pretty and didn’t compliment him when he made a sound that was particularly hot. And his hand didn’t snuggle him after the show was over, telling him what a good job he has done.

Eddie reached over and grabbed his phone and opened up the text thread he had with you before going through your conversation before debating if he was actually going to say something. Before he could stop himself, he quickly typed out something before throwing his phone across the room.

Are you awake?

He got up onto his knees as if he could see the screen from there and felt his heart race in his chest as he waited for a reply. God, why did he do that? He should have just left it alone.

His phone pinged and he launched himself across the bed into the floor, flipping the phone over to see that you had replied.

never thought I’d get a you up text from you

What’s up?

My dick, he thought, but he thought that was too to the point.

Can I come over?

There was no way that he was going to fuck you with Wayne being in the other room, so your apartment was going to have to work.

You replied instantly.

You don’t have to ask, handsome! That’s why I gave you the key, remember? 😉

He honestly couldn’t believe that you had trusted him enough with a key to your apartment. Sure, you had been at this for months, but he didn’t think that your relationship (if you could even call it that) was at that stage. But still, he took the key found himself staring at it from time to time, knowing that you’d let him come over any time he wanted.

You had given Eddie the key months ago and this was going to be the first time he actually used it. His excuse was that he didn’t want to potentially walk in you while changing but you both knew that you couldn’t have cared less. His real reason was that a key was a big step in any relationship, and he wasn’t sure what ever was going on between the two of you, but he liked it. And he was trying to convince himself that he didn’t want your relationship to progress just because he was sure that you didn’t want it to. He knew for a fact that if you asked him to be your boyfriend, he would have jumped at the chance.

Eddie threw on his shoes out the way out the door and raced across town to get to your apartment. He had memorized the way, no longer needing his phone to get him there since he had come over so often.He had never come over so early in the morning, though, and he was grateful for the lack of people on the road so he could get to you sooner.

Eddie pulled up to your building and the elevator ride to your floor was agonizingly long as it slowly took him up to your floor. Once there, he got to your door and unlocked it, letting himself in.

The place was in a bit more disarray than usual with a few dishes in the sink and appliances that took over the counter that were usually neatly tucked away. But that didn’t surprise him since you didn’t really have much time to clean up. And Eddie didn’t think he could talk because he could barely see the floor in his own room.

He moved through your apartment and knocked on your door which you opened in a flash. You let him inside and he couldn’t take his eyes off of the baby pink silk lingerie nightgown that showed off your body very nicely.

“Hi,” you greeted him with that pretty smile and he thought he could just melt right there where he was standing. Seeing you in that outfit, he really was going to need all the help he could get.

“Hi,” he nodded and stepped towards you, his hands, gripping your waist, pulling you to him. “This is a nice little number.”

“Really? You like it?” Were you kidding? Eddie swore he was going to cum right there just by looking at you. The dress stopped right at the middle of your thighs and the cups of the top were always sheer and he could see how hard your nipples were. It was driving him mad that you both weren’t already naked.

“Fucking love it. You’re so hot it’s unfair.” Eddie was really good at compliments. He somehow always knew exactly what you wanted to hear and never failed to tell you how much he liked the way you looked. He was just so sweet and you really wished you could have him b

“You’re hotter,” you told him, your hand moving up so you could twirl some of his hair around your pointer finger.

“Impossible. There’s no competition,” he leaned forward so that his lips were right by your ear. “But if there was, you’d win hands down,” he whispered before bringing your earlobe between his teeth and giving it a soft bite before pressing his lips to your jaw. He pressed open mouthed kisses to your skin until he got to your lips, pulling you in for a bruising one.

It was messy, teeth and tongues getting in the way, but you eventually figured it out, your lips slotting together like two perfect puzzle pieces. Your hands gripped his jaw roughly as you moved his head, trying to get more of him, beginning him to open his mouth as your tongue swiped along his bottom lip.

He opened up and you slide your tongue into his mouth, letting the muscle swirl around his as you both moaned in pleasure at the feeling. You felt Eddie’s boner against your stomach and pushed down his pajamas pants and underwear, giving you a full view of his cock.

“God, I need you so bad,” he whined and you shushed him, trying to get him to calm down.

“It’s okay,” you assured him. “Don’t worry, I’m going to take care of you.” You reached for some lube and covered your hand in the stuff before giving his length a few slow pumps, causing him to let out a loud moan, as if it was a sigh of relief.

“God, feels so good.” His fingers dug into your hips as he threw his head back, shutting his eyes tight as euphoria coursed through him.

Eddie’s hands slide down and pushed up your dress to remove your underwear only to find that you weren’t wearing anything.

“You’re not wearing any underwear,” he told you and you bit your bottom lips as you looked up at him through your lashes.

“Thought it’d skip a step.”

Well, that was very nice of you.”

You continued to move your hand back and forth, picking up the pace as you did so, wanting him to feel as good as you had a few nights ago. Once he had reached his climax, you removed your hand and you pushed him down onto the bed before reaching into the pockets of his jeans before pulling out a condom. You ripped open the packet before rolling the thing onto his dick.

You then climbed onto top of him and settled yourself onto his cock, both of you moaning at the sensation as you did so. Out of all the times you and Eddie had hooked up, he had always been on top, but this time, you felt like you owed it to him to let him be on the bottom. You took no time and bucked your hips into his, grabbing onto his shoulders so you’d have more control.

“Fuck, so good, baby,” he whined and you couldn’t stop thinking about hot he looked underneath you, his hair splayed out onto the mattress. His lips so pretty and pink and kiss bitten. His eyes shut as he made the prettiest sounds, it was all so euphoric.

“You like that?” You asked, moving the hardest and fastest that you could and he came completely undone underneath you, his hands scratching up and down your back, leaving bright red marks.

“God, love it, baby. Could let you ride me all night.” You could definitely make that happen, especially since he was being so sweet and complimentary.

“Oh, I intend to.” You continued to move at the same speed and you both moaned and whined and whimpered at every little move, being nothing but vocal about how much you were enjoying your time together.

If you were being honest, Eddie could have been the only man you ever fucked for the rest of your life and would have been content. You’d never tell him, but you’d hadn’t even slept with anyone else since that night at there club and you were going to continue to hook up with him until he got bored of you. They always got bored of you.

After riding him for what felt like forever, you both climaxed and did the proper things to clean up before climbing into your bed, snuggling up in each other’s arms, your naked bodies pressed together.

You stared at Eddie as you stroked his hair, wondering why he always came back. Most people would have kicked you to the curb by then, but it seemed like the never got tired of you. He was such a gentleman and you couldn’t believe that he had given you the honor of taking his virginity in that club all those months ago.

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x fem!reader #virgin!eddie munson x experienced!reader #virgin!eddie munson #experienced!reader

497 notes · View notes

holllandtrash · 7 months

Text

say don't go | charles leclerc

pairing: charles leclerc x reader

based off of taylor swift's 'stay don't go' why'd you have to lead me on? why'd you have to twist the knife? walk away and leave me bleedin'

word count: 5.2k tags/warnings: slight angst, mentions of being disloyal, this is kinda sad, mention of smut i guess but blink and you miss it

You weren’t one to let your past haunt you. It was the past for a reason, it belonged behind you, all you could do was grow into a better version of yourself.

But what the hell were you supposed to do when Charles showed up at your door after six months of silence?

It was a week into December and you were reluctantly putting up Christmas decorations because you were tired of the comments your friends made, telling you to get into the holiday spirit. Now you had the silver tinsel gripped in your hand as Charles stood on your front step, light flurries landing on his coat only to melt immediately after.

It was the middle of the day and you lived in a crowded area, but passersby on the sidewalk and those driving past had no idea there was a Ferrari driver only metres away from them.

But no one would guess that Charles Leclerc would be travelling to Bristol during his holidays.

“What? Were you in the neighbourhood?” You asked, flicking the tinsel off of your hand and shaking off any remnants. You watched it fall to the floor before looking up, “Felt like stopping by?”

“Can I come in?” Charles asked, glancing behind you. Was he looking to see if you had company? If you had moved on? Regardless of what, or who, he was looking for, his shoulders relaxed when he could tell you were alone. All that was behind you was cardboard boxes labelled Christmas.

“Give me three good reasons why I shouldn't shut the door in your face,” your demand was laced with your usual sweet tone, the same one that always intimated Charles because he never knew what to make of it. Never once did you raise your voice, you never yelled, never showed signs of anger. Even when you were annoyed, you always sounded calm.

He sucked in a breath, “Well, it’s cold out.” He chuckled, but when you didn’t see any humour in his words he just nodded and moved on. “I was, in fact, in the neighbourhood- well I was in London, just figured I’d make a quick trip out west.”

Those weren’t good enough reasons and he knew it. You moved to grab the door and Charles reacted by holding his hand out to stop it from shutting, eyes trained on yours.

His cheeks were red, not accustomed to the British winters. He wasn’t wearing mitts and you could see how his hands had responded to the dry air by cracking at the knuckles. His lips trembled, not because he was nervous but because this was probably the coldest his body temperature had dropped to in a long time.

Which had you questioning how long he had been standing outside your door before finally knocking.

“There’s some things I’ve been meaning to say for a while now,” Charles spoke softly and you could see his breath with each word. “And you don’t need to say anything, but I’d love it if you’d listen.”

Maybe you felt bad that he was cold. Maybe you were curious as to what he had to say to you after so long. Maybe part of you still missed him and if these were the last few minutes you’d get with him, you weren’t going to let them pass.

Whatever the reason, you held the door open and he stepped inside. You watched as he ran his fingers through his hair and slid his coat off, hanging it on the empty hook on the wall. Your eyes darted down to the shoes he wore and Charles recognized that look, knowing better than to walk any further with his shoes on. He smiled, sort of, remembering the first time you asked him to take his shoes off when he entered your apartment.

If this was six months ago, you would have had slippers waiting for him to put on, but instead Charles was left to just his socks. You, though, seemed quite cozy. The matching sweats and jumper was only a shade darker than the slippers you wore and Charles almost asked where you purchased the set from, but he held his tongue because now wasn’t the time for casual conversation.

“Tea?” You offered, glancing at the kettle sitting on the stove. It had started whistling only minutes before he showed up but you hadn’t had a second to pour yourself a cup, too caught up in trying to untangle tinsel.

“Don’t want to put you out,” he shook his head, but when you manoeuvred past him to step into the kitchen, he didn’t stop you from grabbing two cups from the cupboard. He watched, standing at a cautious distance, as you made the two drinks the same way you always did.

Charles was brought back to the time he walked into his own flat in Monaco and you were kneeling on the counter, trying to find a suitable cup because all of his mugs were too big and bulky for tea. He held his hand to your back, worried you’d tip backwards, which you didn’t, but you were happy he was there to help you off the counter and greet you with a kiss.

“I’ll invest in new cups,” he said. He never did.

He didn’t like the silence that lingered between you now, probably the first time it ever bothered him, so he cleared his throat, “I like your new place.”

You nodded, “Thank you.”

He glanced around at the decor and spoke up again, “So you’ve been well?”

“You don’t need to pretend to care about how I've been.”

“I do care.”

The slow yet icy stare you gave him as you peered over your shoulder had Charles wondering if showing up here was a good idea. Instead of opening his mouth again, Charles looked at the decorations littered on the floor.

He was drawn towards the open box of ornaments that was placed on the couch. He noticed the tree in the corner, but all you had put up so far was a string of lights. Curious, he looked closer into the box and smiled to himself when he saw a vintage Formula 1 Ferrari, no bigger than the palm of his hand. He also spotted a racing helmet, but couldn’t recognize the driver it belonged to.

It wouldn’t have shocked him if the rest of this box was F1 inspired Christmas ornaments. Either ones you had purchased yourself or ones that were given to you as gifts.

Charles was always amazed at your knowledge of Formula 1. With your father being a retired driver himself, he shouldn’t have been surprised when you swept him under the rug during a trivia night. He admired your passion for the sport and maybe that’s why when he met you in the Ferrari garage, he wasn’t as quick to judge you like he was to everyone else who had purchased VIP passes for the weekend.

You were there for the sport, for the racing, you didn’t care who was driving the car, it wasn’t like you had favorite drivers.

You were raised to appreciate the history of the sport, the roots, the beginnings. Because of that, you were drawn to the older teams, the classics. Williams, McLaren and against your fathers wishes, Ferrari. So of course you wanted to experience the Ferrari hospitality during a race weekend at least once. To see the cars up close, to be in the garage, to see the race from an entirely new perspective.

It was Australia, the third race of the 2023 season. It was a race that Charles tried hard to forget due to his DNF at the first turn, but there were highlights he cherished before the incident.

He remembered standing in the garage before the first practice session and turning his head to flash a smile towards the VIP members standing at the back. He paid no attention to any of them in particular, but you stood out. The way you were so focused on the screen, taking in the Tech Talk segment that was playing on F1TV. You hadn’t even noticed Charles looking.

He saw you again the second day, closer to the front of the group before the start of FP3. You were wearing a white set, arms crossed over your chest with the headphones resting around your neck. You weren’t watching anything this time, instead you were in the middle of a conversation with a few of the mechanics.

At first, Charles thought they were flirting with you. But when you pointed at the rear wing, lines drawn across your forehead and eyebrows pinched together in studious fashion, Charles got the hint that this wasn’t just a casual conversation.

And then you held out your hand to introduce yourself, your once serious expression turning soft. You smiled at the mechanics as you shook both of their hands, seeming truly grateful to have met them.

Naturally, Charles was curious as to what sort of conversation just took place. He waited a few minutes before asking Mark, the one of two mechanics who seemed to be doing most of the talking.

“What was that about?” Charles asked.

Mark looked over his shoulder at you, but you were too engrossed in the screen again to notice the few sets on you.

“You don’t know who she is?” Mark asked.

“Should I?” Charles glanced your way. This time, you caught it.

You were also the first to look away.

“Damon Hill’s daughter,” Mark chuckled, probably in disbelief himself over who he just met. “She’s also got her masters in engineering. You know what she pointed out- the activation time for DRS is delayed compared to everyone else on the grid. I don’t know how she noticed it, but we’ll take a look at the data and if she’s onto something we’ll fix it before qualifying.”

Damon Hill’s daughter. The 1996 world champion. He had made a name for himself, known for being one of Schumacher's rivals during his prime. Charles knew he had kids, but didn’t know who they were.

He wanted to introduce himself, but he waited till after qualifying.

Was he a little taken aback when you seemed to be paying more attention to Carlos’ side of the garage at the end of the day? Maybe, but you had been watching him all weekend so far so he didn’t like the sudden change.

His P7 starting position was nothing to be overly proud of, but the congratulations was the first thing out of your mouth when he approached you.

“Thank you,” he nodded, suddenly feeling a bit more pride now than five minutes ago. He glanced at the car and then back at you, at the VIP lanyard resting over your chest, at your eyes that momentarily had him forgetting why he walked over to you in the first place.

You held your hand in the same polite manner you had with the mechanics and you introduced yourself as Charles shook it slowly.

“Damon Hill’s daughter,” he stated. “I haven’t seen you around here before.”

You cocked your head slightly, “Is that a line?”

A blush crept up to his cheeks when he realised how flirtatious he sounded without trying to, “No- I mean,” he licked his lips. “I guess it could be but I wasn’t trying for that.”

“I only just graduated,” you answered his question, which wasn’t really a question. “Figured I’d watch a few races, check out a few teams before I decide if I want to dip my toe in the motorsports field.”

“Driver?” He asked, eyebrows raised even though Mark had told him what you studied. But you laughed and Charles was glad he brought up the idea of you getting behind the wheel. He could get used to your laugh.

“Engineer,” you corrected. “To be honest, I think IndyCar might be more my thing. Plus I know Arrow McLaren is looking to expand, hire a few more performance engineers. Mind if I use you as a reference? I saw those mechanics working on your DRS set up, don’t let them take the credit for catching the activation error.”

It was his turn to laugh. He liked your humour, something else he could get used to.

“Mark mentioned you pointed it out,” Charles nodded, unable to keep from smiling. He liked the way you spoke. Not only did he find your accent endearing, but he liked how sure you were of yourself. You knew your talents, you knew what you were capable of. He admired it.

“Good luck tomorrow,” you said, taking it upon yourself to end the conversation. You adjusted the purse over your shoulder and gave him a soft smile. “It was nice meeting you, Charles.”

And then you walked off, happily letting someone else from the team accompany you, probably an engineer. Probably someone who could match your expertise in a conversation.

Charles didn’t know when he’d see you again, but he took it upon himself to make sure it was sooner than later.

Following Australia, the drivers had a bit of a break. Almost an entire month.

It was only a few days into the break when he asked his manager to get Damon Hill’s contact information.

Confused was an understatement when your dad called you and said ‘Tell me why I just got an unsolicited text from Charles Leclerc asking if he could have your phone number’.

By the end of the week, Charles had flown you from Paris, where you resided at the time, to Nice. He was there at the airport to pick you up and drive you to Monaco.

You spent that entirety of the break together.

Charles was smitten. As were you.

But you were cautious.

You knew first hand that racing was at the top of his priority list. You weren’t about to get your hopes up and think that these few weeks meant anything. He just had time on his hands and you showed interest.

However, it was hard not to fall for Charles. He treated you well when you were together. He was easy to talk to. He made you feel safe, admired, wanted. He asked all the questions he could think of to get to know you. He made you breakfast in the morning, or at least he tried to. The mornings when you woke up to the smell of burnt eggs were just as entertaining. Plus you figured you could get used to the way he wrapped his arm around your waist as you took over. The kisses he peppered on your shoulder that tempted you towards pulling him back to the bedroom.

By the time the season picked up again for round 4 in Baku, you were so used to being around him that you had to tell yourself not to be hurt that he didn't suggest you go with him.

You and Charles did a lot of things during those few weeks, but never once did you label what you were. That conversation never came up. Neither did the exclusivity talk.

He still called. He texted you daily. He treated you like you were special, but racing came before a relationship. Even your dad reminded you of that. He told you not to dwell on it, that Charles would come to his senses when he felt secure with the team, with the season. He didn’t need the support of a girlfriend, he needed the support of his team.

And then Charles informed you he was flying you out to Miami. He wanted you to watch the race again. He wanted you there.

You didn’t accompany him to the track, but he greeted you with wide arms and the brightest grin when you showed up at the Ferrari garage. His hand stayed on your lower back for a bit as he showed you around, giving you a proper tour but when you came across Mark it was almost as if Charles passed you off.

He said ‘Here, chat with Mark for a bit, I’m sure you’ve got some opinions about the car’ and then he walked away.

You tried not to think too much about it, maybe he had obligations, media, signings, something. He wouldn’t fly you out to Miami and abandon you the first chance he got. He was a driver, he had priorities. You weren’t one of them, not yet.

It was a difficult situation to be in. When Charles gave you his attention, he gave you every ounce of it. But when he was gone, he was gone. Distant, on his phone, sometimes he quite literally disappeared like at the end of the day on Saturday and you were left in the Ferrari garage wondering where the hell he got off to.

But then he knocked on your hotel room door at a little after 10 and who were you to turn him away?

Charles pulled you towards the bed, dragging you with him as he laid on the mattress. He asked about your day between the kisses he left down your neck. You answered as best as you could, but when his hands found the button of your trousers, it became a little more difficult to collect your thoughts.

When he gave you his attention, he gave you every ounce of it.

You had forgotten all about his disappearances earlier. They didn’t matter, he was here now. His lips trailing every inch of your skin as your back curved off the bed. You tried to remind him that he had a race tomorrow, that you both could just go to sleep if he wanted but Charles only smirked and raised his face back to yours.

He hovered his lips above yours, teasing you with a ghost of a kiss, “Ma chérie, I’m not going to sleep until I hear you scream my name.”

He kissed the corner of your lips and then trailed down towards your ear, adding a quiet, “At least twice,” to the end of the original statement.

And Charles was true to his word. He had you seeing stars with just his tongue alone in a matter of minutes.

Charles worshipped you, he took care of you. In a short period of time, he came to know your body and how to get the reactions he desired. He loved seeing you come undone, loving being the one to bring you to the edge and watch you spill over.

Maybe it was a pride he was chasing, but you wouldn’t think of that possibility until it was too late.

When he climbed under the covers next to you at the end of the night, you could still make out the shape of his body, his gentle features, even in the dark. Your hand found his chest, sliding upwards until it wrapped around his shoulders, pulling yourself closer to him.

He traced his fingers over your cheek, pushing a strand of hair out of your face as he whispered, “Comment ai-je eu cette chance?” How did I get so lucky?

That did it for you.

You weren’t just smitten anymore. You were in love.

Another impromptu break after Miami meant you had a few more weeks with Charles before he had to give his attention back to racing. You didn’t spend it all in Monaco this time. After about a week, Charles suggested the two of you go back to your home. Back to Paris.

Paris with him was heavenly.

The rest of the world didn’t matter when it was just the two of you together. Your days were spent taking in the city, your evenings were spent in a variety of restaurants, lounges, anywhere he could spoil you, it seemed.

It was nearing your last few days before he had to leave when he suggested you take a midnight stroll. The weather was perfect, the streets wouldn’t be too busy. You had no reason to say no.

And there was something about walking the streets of Paris with Charles at night, holding his hand while he spun you under his arm beneath the glow of a street lamp. The Eiffel Tower was sparkling in the distance. Charles’ eyes lit up brighter than it.

There was something about him. About this moment. About the last few months. All of it led up to standing here with him now.

And you knew better, but that didn’t stop you.

“I love you.”

And just like that, you faded into madness. Slowly, silently, but it was inevitable.

Charles didn’t say anything. His lips parted like he wanted to, like he thought about it, only to ultimately lick his lips and inhale a sharp breath.

By saying I love you, you plunged a knife into your own chest, opening yourself up to vulnerability, but his silence only twisted it in deeper.

You backed up, hand dropping from his. Was that his doing or yours? He whispered your name, but only out of pity. He didn’t love you. He didn’t love you.

Suddenly Paris didn’t seem so heavenly.

Charles left that night. Maybe he thought you were asleep, but you heard the door swing on its hinges. You heard the wheels of his suitcase being dragged out into the hallway. You turned over in bed, despite knowing you’d find his side empty, but you didn’t think it would turn cold so fast.

A few days later, Charles was spotted walking into the paddock of the Monaco Grand Prix, but he wasn’t alone.

Next to him, the stunning Alexandra Saint Mleux. Even her name was beautiful.

You had heard whispers that Charles and her had a history, but you didn’t think anything of it. Why would you worry yourself with speculation when he was putting you on a pedestal when you were together?

He had a way of making you feel wanted, but you weren’t the only one who felt that way.

Did she know you two were together? That he was with you in Paris? Was he seeing both of you or did he run back to her the second you told him something he wasn’t ready to hear?

You tried to move on, really. There was no relationship for you to cling to, Charles never said you were exclusive. He just knew the right words to say to make you feel like you were.

You flew to Indianapolis for the Indy500. A rash decision, but the further away from Monaco the better. Your connections at Arrow McLaren gave you the chance to get a closer look at the inner workings of the team, had you momentarily forgetting about Charles. You wanted to be an engineer, not the girlfriend of a driver. You told yourself to get it together.

But then you returned home and seeing the slippers you had bought for Charles had you wondering why you couldn’t be both. You would have been both if he just said something, if he just told you he loved you.

You should have distanced yourself from Formula 1, at least for a little while. You should have turned down the invitation from a partnering brand of Ferrari, enticing you to come to Spain for the race. You should have flown back to the states, reconnect with Arrow McLaren.

Instead you found yourself in Barcelona. The entire time you were there you knew it was a mistake and if you couldn’t figure that out on your own, seeing Alexandra chat with some Ferrari team members below while you sat up above in the hospitality was a painful reminder.

Part of you considered talking to her. You wanted to know if she was in the same boat you were- and if she was clueless, maybe give her a heads up that Charles was going to say sweet nothings to her at night only to leave her in the dark.

But Alexandra wasn’t the one you needed to talk to.

Between practice and qualifying on Saturday, you made your way to the paddock knowing that’s where Charles would be. You walked past Alexandra chatting to someone a few motorhomes down, so you felt better knowing she wasn’t currently with him.

Luck would have it, you ran into Mark outside of Ferrari. He invited you in of course, always happy to chat about the sport with someone who appreciated it on the same level and you assured him you would, you just had to talk to Charles first.

You knocked on the door of his driver's room, not even sure what you were going to say. You were hurt, you were saddened, you were angry but you hadn't had time to think about what you would say to him when you were finally face to face again.

The door swung open and there he was. Shocked to see you, first of all, but not upset. You stood in the hallway and watched as Charles took a breath of relief, a sliver of a smile creeping up on his lips as he held the door open for you to walk in.

Your heart jolted at the idea that maybe, he still wanted you. The look he gave you was almost enough for you to forget he hadn’t said a word to you since you told him you loved him.

Almost.

You stepped in and leaned against the door after it shut, keeping a safe distance as he stood back against the massage table.

Your lips parted, but before you could get a word out, his phone started to ring. You both glanced at the contact, at who was trying to get a hold of him.

Alexandra.

You swallowed, waiting until he let it go to voicemail before your timid voice filled the room. “You love her?”

Maybe Charles didn’t know how to love anyone. You’d believe it, with the way he tensed the second the word passed through your lips. He didn’t say yes, but he didn’t say no, either.

“I can’t commit, Y/N.” He tried to say, like that made up for everything. Like that’s the answer you were looking for.

“No, you can, Charles, but not to me.” You stated, keeping your voice calm. You weren’t one to yell. Causing a scene wasn’t your thing. You were always so soft spoken. Soft spoken, but straight to the facts. “Were you seeing both of us at the same time?”

“She knows, if that's what you're wondering." Charles quickly slid that piece of information in there. “She found out- about us. Threatened to leave me if-”

“If you didn’t choose?” You raised your eyebrows. Once again, his silence spoke volume. “So did you make up your mind before or after Paris?”

Charles averted his gaze for a second, “I realised in Paris I couldn’t love you the way you loved me.”

“You probably realised that a lot earlier,” you pointed out.

Charles must have known you adored him. There was no way he didn’t see the way you looked at him, the way you worshipped him. He knew and still strung you along, making you think he could love you back if you were just patient.

“You didn’t need to lead me on as long as you did, Charles.”

“I didn’t want to lose you.”

I didn’t want to lose you, he says. Bringing light to the fact that he had you. You were his, in a sense. Despite never saying the words out loud.

But he was never yours.

“So I was there, for what?” You asked. “As a backup? In case things with Alexandra didn’t work out?”

Charles was intimated by how calm you were. He would have preferred if you yelled at him, if you fought with him. It would make it easier on both ends to put whatever this relationship was to rest. Instead, you were serene. You came here to talk, to get answers, you didn’t come here to form a divide.

Because if you were being honest with yourself, you weren’t ready to let go. How could you let go when you hadn’t spoken? He hadn’t given you closure, he didn’t say I don’t love you he just…didn’t say anything.

You weren’t going to beg for him to come back, but in the far corners of your mind you were hoping that your appearance here would make him question his decision. You were banking on the idea that when he saw you, he’d remember what he saw in the first place when you met in Australia.

If he changed his mind right now, you’d put all of this behind you. You’d stay at his side, you’d be there for him, you’d be his for real this time.

If he, once again, said nothing, you’d go. You’d go and you’d stay gone.

“I loved you,” you whispered. The past tense striking Charles more than he thought it would, but he didn’t show it. Loved. You loved him, and you still could.

Thirty seconds passed. Then a minute. Almost two and the only thing that lingered between you was silence. Heavy, loud, painful silence.

You grabbed the handle of the door and decided enough time had gone on. You deserved better than this, than a man who couldn’t make a decision, than someone who played with your feelings because they couldn’t figure out their own.

The second you pulled the door back, your name fell from Charles’ lips. You were one step into the hall, halfway to gone, and he stopped you.

All he had to do was say don’t go. All he had to do was tell you he wanted you.

With your back still to the Ferrari driver, you waited for those next words but they never came. You knew they wouldn’t.

That was the last time you spoke to Charles. You knew how to stay true to your word too.

So why was he suddenly here, six months later, sitting on your couch and looking at you like he was waiting for you to say something first when you made it clear a long time ago if you were gone, you were gone.

Charles only took a sip of his tea before putting it on the coffee table. He then moved the box of Christmas ornaments, not liking the divide it put between you as if he wasn't the one to create the wedge in the first place.

You were stupid, to speak first, but you were tired of the silence. He came here for a reason and if he wasn’t going to tell you why in the next two minutes, you were going to send him back out into the snow.

“How’s Alexandra?” You asked, not that you were interested in knowing if he was happy or thriving in his relationship. You were, however, impressed to see that he could in fact commit, but you were right about that. He just didn’t want to commit to you.

“Do you care?” He asked in return.

You shook your head slightly, “I do not.”

Charles smiled at your honesty. Your gentle tone didn’t match the brutal truth.

“So let’s not talk about her,” Charles said and you nodded in agreement. He shifted in his spot, glancing at the decorations, the tea, really anything but you.

And you weren’t about to wait again, not if this was going to lead to the one thing your silence always led to.

You sucked in a breath, “Charles if you don’t tell me why you’re here…”

He nodded, knowing that this was all on him. He was lucky enough to even be allowed into your home, and he knew you were slowly regretting that decision the longer he just didn’t get to the point.

Charles lifted his head, eyes finally meeting yours. He even flinched, like he was trying to reach for your hand only to decide against it at the last second, relying on just his words for a change.

“I shouldn’t have let you go.”

Part 2 - now that we don’t talk

#charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc one shot #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x y/n #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #f1 one shot #f1 fic #holllandtrash #say dont go #cl16 x reader #cl16

1K notes · View notes