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monzamash · 10 months

Note

I just read itch and have been thinking of this. I do not know if your request are open but a blurb of you and Charles after sex in bed and Charles is watching you call every gym related, workout shop in Monaco to find a bench after the one in his gym broke

loved this so much that it inspired a little blurb x

parlez-vous français? (sequel to itch) charles leclerc x you (femreader) | 960 words 18+, minors dni

The workout afternoon delight that had you and Charles panting and sending echoed moans through an otherwise silent house had required a change in location after one too many “deadlifts”. Maybe the bench press wasn’t up to the challenge but you took the risk, knowing the consequences and it was an accident, of course, one waiting to happen according to the man brushing his warm fingertips down your spine; the unspoken promise you made hanging in the thick air.

“So,” He drawled, smug smile lacing every syllable.

“When will you replace my bench press, huh?”

A grumble fell from your lips at his leading question, head buried in a pillow and still coming down from the high that had sent your mind, body and spirit into orbit. Your tired eyes caught his glimmering with humour, tickled that you were now responsible for buying him a new bench, in Monte Carlo no less.

“But my French is so bad…”

Charles’ soft laugh sifted through your ears, his giggle showing his hand and now you knew that this was his plan all along. He was the reason it broke, not you. He was the one who insisted on fucking you faster, harder, deeper until your legs were shaking and he had the neighbours downstairs questioning whether there was an earthquake warning for the city. He had you on all fours, rocking back on his dick like your life depended on it, loosening you and apparently every screw on the frame below. Screaming out for mercy.

And now he has the audacity to look at you with those mischievous blue eyes that had gotten you both in trouble more times than you could count, thrilled that you would have to fumble your way through a phone call for him. Ah, the irony.

“I’ll help you do it. Here,” Charles held out his phone to you, number already there for your convenience and you sighed, relieved that wouldn't have to embarrass yourself.

“Merci,” You flirted, taking a moment to appreciate how beautiful he looked post-sex, eyes still hazy from the afterglow when he leaned down and pressed his swollen lips to your bare shoulder.

The line rang for a couple of nervous seconds, until a man with a thick French accent answered. “Oh, uh, hello! I mean – bonjour!”

Fuck, you already felt way out of your depth.

“Um, I am wondering if you have –“

“Pas d’anglais.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion – you’d heard that phrase before but you couldn’t quite remember why or where so you turned to Charles, who watching you intently, eyes already glowing with elation as you pressed the phone to your sheet covered chest. You could feel the blush slowly creeping up, all the way from your toes.

“What does pas d’anglais mean?” You asked, hushed voice and panicked.

Charles’ smile slipped into a smirk, “It means no English.”

“Oh, then you really need to take over,” You said so matter-of-factly that you didn’t even think twice before shoving the phone into his own naked chest.

But what you didn’t expect was a tutting from your usually sweet, saviour-complexed boyfriend and the phone to be pushed back towards you, head shaking and a smile the size of the moon looking back at you.

“Absolutely not. You promised, so try your best,” Charles encouraged, knowing full well that there was no way you could bluff your way through this one. Not a chance.

“I hate you.”

The growl in your voice made Charles laugh into his palm as you nervously brought the phone back up to your ear, heart racing and wishing the ground would swallow you whole.

“être désolé, um, do you – uh, vendez-vous… du materiel…”

You were genuinely trying and blindly casting your mind back to all of the French language-learning audiobooks you had listened to when you first started dating Charles; but time and life always seemed to get in the way of you actually learning or retaining any French at all and you weren't proud of that.

“How do you say gym equipment?” You quietly asked in Charles direction, completely frazzled before noticing that he had picked up a book and was pretending to be immersed in the worn out pages.

That was until you slapped his bicep and grappled at his face, “Help me!” You scolded above a whisper, grasping his cheeks and begging him to come to your rescue like he said he would.

When you angled his chin up to yours, he could see the fear in your eyes; cheeks flushed the same colour as they were merely moments ago, mind reliving how sweet you looked making him come.

How could he be so cruel?

Charles placed his book down and reached up for the phone, quickly rambling off a string of sentences before hanging up. You were dumbfounded and a little short of breath and he couldn't help but giggle when he looked back to you, fuming. He loved the way your forehead creased whenever you were mad, especially at him and the pout on your soft pink lips were tempting him to lean down and kiss them. But right now, as you stared him down, he knew he needed to do some damage control before trying to smooth it over with a kiss.

“Andrea has tried to give me his old one for months now so I was not worried about breaking it, really. I was just teasing,” He explained warily while brushing your hair back from your face.

And trying his hardest not to laugh at how adorable you looked.

“être désolé, mon chéri,” He added with a sweet smile, “You did try and what you did say sounded very good…”

You huffed out a defeated laugh, still feeling a little silly that you couldn't even get through a simple phone call. In truth, it was the wake up call you needed, even if it meant enduring his cruel prank.

“You really need to give me lessons if I’m going to stay here with you. Like, I need bootcamp style French lessons, baby…”

Charles chuckled and gave you a reassuring nod as he slowly leaned forward and sweetly captured your pouting lips, "We can start right now…”

The deep timbre in his voice sent a shivers dancing down your spine as you reached up and cupped his stubbled cheeks in your hands; his lips grazed the shell of your ear and whispered, “J’ai envie de toi.”

A pleasured hum tumbled out while you memorised the trail Charles was leaving down your already reddened neck, mouthing at the marks he had left earlier. It was pure bliss exchanged in soft moans as he guided you onto the soft sheet below, the promise of his words ringing in your ears as your hazy mind translated, I want you.

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc one shot #charles leclerc smut #monzamashmasterlist #monzamail #f1 imagine

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onlyonetifosi · 4 months

Text

Behind the camera -> chapter 5

<- previous series masterlist my main masterlist next ->

author note1: im sorry for the absence have been very ill but im better now i have some things to post that i will be posting these next days and weeks

uthor note2: if you want to be in the taglist comment it or send me a message <3 and i hope you like it

banner from @reveriesources she does incredible things

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the winding streets of Monaco. Yn and her twin brother, Charles, were at the heart of the glamorous city, surrounded by the energy of high-speed life and the whispers of the Mediterranean breeze. The twins had decided to gather their friends for an evening of laughter, chatter, and exploration.

"Come on, Yn, we are going to be late! " Charles said, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Yn, twirled in front of the mirror, trying to perfect the balance between casual and stylish for the evening ahead.

As she rushed to finish her makeup, Charles lounged on her bed, an amused grin on his face. "You know, Joris won't notice if your eyeliner is perfect or not."

Yn rolled her eyes, and hurriedly applied a final stroke of mascara, glancing at the clock with a hint of panic in her eyes. "Maybe I just wanted to look presentable for once, Charles, not like you” she says, feigning nonchalance.

"You know, you're not fooling anyone. We all know you're taking extra time to impress him tonight."

Yn scoffed, trying to deflect. "Oh, please. You're imagining things"

As the two siblings descended the stairs, they joined a group of friends gathered in the living room.

"Salut, tout le monde!" Charles announced as they arrived, drawing everyone's attention.

Riccardo, a lively friend with a perpetual grin, greeted her first, "Bonjour, Yn! You look ravishing tonight."

Yn blushed, "Merci, Riccardo. You're too kind"

The group set off for a stroll around the glamorous streets of Monaco. The air was filled with laughter and the excited chatter of friends.

Unbeknownst to Yn, her friends, including Joris, were well aware of her not-so-secret crush.

Joris, a boy with a charming smile and kind eyes, walked alongside Yn.

As they walked, Yn caught glimpses of Joris, the object of her secret affection. She stole shy glances in his direction, catching his eye a few times. Unbeknownst to her, Joris couldn't help but smile every time he caught her looking.

"Alors, Yn, did you pick your outfit for Joris or the entire population of Monaco?" teased Marta, a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

Yn blushed, "Marta, you know I just like to look good"

Riccardo winked, "Sure, Yn. Whatever you say"

Their journey continued through the bustling mall, and the group split up. Marta and another friend insisted on exploring a flower shop, while Charles and the rest wanted to visit the tech shop nearby, leaving Yn feeling torn because Yn wanted to go to her favorite boutique. Joris, sensing her hesitation, offered to accompany her.

"I'll join you, Yn. It seems we have similar taste," he offered with a charming smile.

Their friends exchanged knowing glances, teasing smiles hinting at the unspoken feelings between the two. As Yn and Joris explored the shops together, their interactions became a dance of laughter and shared glances.

Inside the shop, Yn couldn't resist trying on a beautiful jacket. Joris couldn't help but admire her. "Tu es magnifique," he whispered, and Yn's heart skipped a beat. {You look beautiful.}

The warmth of his compliment ignited a blush on her cheeks. They exchanged shy smiles, the air thick with unspoken emotions. Yn blushed, fumbling for words and she stammered, "Uh, thanks. I mean, merci." And their interaction left them both feeling flustered and giddy.

As they rejoined the group later, Charles pulled Yn aside, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "You know, you were redder than that jacket. What happened there?"

"Nothing," Yn mumbled, avoiding eye contact.

Charles chuckled, giving her a playful nudge. "Sure, sis. Whatever you say."

As evening approached and the temperature dropped, the group decided to have dinner at a cozy restaurant.

"Let's grab dinner, it's getting late and chilly," Charles suggested, pulling Yn closer to him protectively. "What do you all think?"

Agreeing nods and murmurs of approval filled the air as they made their way to a nearby restaurant.

"Smile, everyone!" Charles called out, holding up his phone. The group huddled together, flashing their brightest smiles as the camera captured the moment.

Charles, in his usual teasing manner, orchestrated the seating arrangements, placing Yn next to Joris. Throughout the dinner, their friends exchanged knowing glances, subtly encouraging the connection between Yn and Joris.

The warmth inside enveloped them like a comforting embrace. They settled at a large table, with Yn finding herself next to Joris, a quiet and reserved boy she'd known since childhood.

"Que veux-tu manger?" Charles asked Yn, scanning the menu with her (What do you want to eat?)

" I think I'll have the grilled chicken" she replied, deciding on the grilled chicken.

Amidst the banter, Yn noticed Joris stealing glances her way. She smiled at him, not realizing the subtle yet kindled connection forming between them.

Joris, seated next to Yn, couldn't help but steal glances at her while savoring his food.

"Tu aimes le plat, Yn?" Joris asked, his eyes showing a mix of nervousness and curiosity.

"Oui, c'est délicieux," Yn replied, appreciating the effort he took to engage in conversation.

As the dinner progressed, the group shared stories, laughter, and occasional glances. The warmth of friendship melted away the evening chill, but it was evident that the night was advancing. Charles suggested, "On devrait commencer à penser à partir, non?" (We should start thinking about leaving, right?)

The group agreed, settling the bill and heading out into the cool night. They huddled together, waiting for their parents to pick them up.

In the midst of the shared warmth and camaraderie, Joris mustered up the courage to speak to Yn. "Uh, Yn, je voulais te dire quelque chose." (Uh, Yn, I wanted to tell you something)

She turned towards him, curious. "Qu'est-ce que c'est?" she asked. (What is it?)

"Je... euh, j'aime bien passer du temps avec toi," he stammered, his cheeks tinged with a hint of pink. (I... um, I really like spending time with you)

Yn's eyes widened in surprise, a smile forming on her lips. "Moi aussi," she responded, not realizing the depth of his feelings. (Me too)

Joris hesitated for a moment, then finally blurted out, "Euh, je t'aime bien, Yn. Et, euh, je me demandais si tu voudrais peut-être… passer du temps avec moi le week-end prochain?" (Um, I like you, Yn. And, uh, I was wondering if you might want to... hang out with me next weekend?)

A smile tugged at Yn's lips, her heart warming at Joris's shy confession. "J'adorerais, Joris," she replied, her eyes meeting his. (I’d love to Joris)

As their parents arrived to pick them up, the group bid their goodbyes. Yn and Charles climbed into the car, sharing a quiet moment on the way home.

As they drove home, Yn turned to her brother, gratitude shining in her eyes.

"Ça va, Yn?" Charles asked, glancing over to his sister with a grin.

"Oui, tout va bien," Yn replied, exchanging a playful smile with her brother. “Merci, Charles. Merci pour cette soirée," she expressed, overwhelmed with a sense of appreciation for the life she had. (Thank you, Charles. Thank you for this evening)

Charles smiled, understanding the unspoken emotions. "De rien, Yn. Always here for you."

Little did Yn know, the events of the evening had set the stage for a budding connection with Joris, a connection that held the promise of more adventures and moments yet to unfold.

i hope you liked it and if you want to know more about joris and yn and the adventures they are going to follow stay tuned (also the annoying ballet girls are coming back but they are going to know who not mess with)

taglist: @love4lando @gcldtom @im-mi @topguncultleader @celesteblack08 @reblog-princess @sunf1ower16

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 5 months

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Rook, Ortho: Princess Power

BRUH 💀 Go figure, giving the guy obsessed with beauty two of the least flattering screenshots in his background frames… But hey, his groovy is very different from everyone else’s so far! ^^ Very relaxed and peaceful.

Cbjssbjsjskendb new tidbits about pre-Pomefiore Rook?? He used to cut his own hair with a knife and focused on keeping his bangs out of his line of sight… and he wasn’t as confident about his style (mood). It’s also interesting to know that he started doing ballet on Vil’s recommendation, and that has helped a lot with his posture, working out muscles he doesn’t normally use, and appreciating the art of performances. We love Pomefiore out here breaking gender norms 👊

A Tale as Old as Time.

Rook drew out a longing sigh, gently easing into the quiet of the museum. The soft sound lingered, coiling around his fingers like thread from a spool. It, too, did not wish to part ways with the stunning beauty laid out bare before it.

A fair maiden was framed in shining platinum. Hair black as ebony, lips as red as the rose, and skin as white as snow... Truly, she was the fairest in all the land.

Her graceful frame was folded, kneeling on the forest floor to greet the woodland creatures that had gathered. The pale yellow skirt of her gown spilled out, blue bodice and puff sleeves fitted well by her figure. Her face round and gentle, in spite of the high collar encircling it, crowed by a petite red bow.

Here was pure innocence, a young girl reveling in nature.

“Beauté,” he marveled—to no one in particular, but such beauty warranted verbal acknowledgement.

“It seems that this painting has captured your interest, Rook Hunt-san!” a voice chirped. A neon blue light emanated from the darkness, accompanied by the silver flash of metal.

“Bonjour!” Rook greeted Ortho. "I must confess, I have been enchanted by this particular work of art! The brush strokes, masterful! The composition, immaculate!! The subject—oh, how it makes my heart quiver with nostalgia!! I am a man close to being moved to tears!!”

Ortho curiously glanced at the girl and her animal friends. No strong emotions arose within up from him. Perhaps he did not feel as much, or perhaps Rook felt too much. “Is there a sentimental experience or memory you have related to this painting…?”

“Oui! It is a tale as old as time.” Rook gestured to the snow white young lady. “They say that this maiden was a princess forced to flee from her home country, as a hostile presence threatened her life. She retreated into the woods and found comfort in a humble life there. Her tenacity is most admirable!!”

“Tenacity… That’s the value that Pomefiore was founded on!” Ortho, floating overhead, beamed at Rook. “I understand why you would like that story. It has a good moral that sticks with you.”

“That is the beauty of telling tales! They inspire those who hear of it, ensuring that the spirit of the story is never truly extinguished.” The huntsman’s eyes held a keep glint to them. “Tell me, Ortho-kun. What do you believe makes a princess?”

The boy blinked. A split second, and he had already input the term into an internal search engine, the formal definition loaded up to recite.

“Prin-cess, noun. The daughter of a monarch or wife to a prince. A woman having sovereign power.”

“An efficient, succinct answer!” Rook applauded, his cheer never faltering. “However, my desire is to know your interpretation. In Ortho-kun’s own words, what makes a princess?”

“My own…?” The words stretched, unsure, on his tongue. Ortho hesitated—seeking, processing, and analyzing. Rook’s heartbeat sounded where there was the space for the boy to think.

Then, finally, Ortho spoke.

“From what I’ve observed in movies and books, the princess is a pop culture icon. She’s usually presented as a role model for little girls. Someone who is beautiful, dainty, and composed, wearing a pretty dress and a glittering crown."

A pause. Ortho assessed Rook’s hard-to-read, bright expression.

“… Is that closer to the response you were looking for, Rook Hunt-san?” he asked.

To this, the third year’s lips quirked. “There is no correct or incorrect answer! I was curious to see your perspective. Everyone holds one that differs, lenses of all designs and colors with which to see the world through! You have my most heartfelt thanks for sharing your view with me.”

"Oh, I see! You're collecting data from a variety of sources to compare to a standard." The android (literally) lit up from within. "Let me ask the same back! Rook Hunt-san, what do you think makes a princess?"

"Mon dieu! You've set my own trap upon me," Rook teased.

The Beautiful Queen, the Fair Maiden, Vil, his peers... So many fragments of beauty in his collection. Plucked, collected, hoarded.

He ran a finger along his chin, contemplating. The thoughts assembled like a collage. Ideas taken, cut up, and pasted together into a new, glorious artwork.

"A princess can be many things," Rook declared with certainty. "They are a princess to their very core, even when their power is stripped from them or they are dressed in only ashes and rags. What defines them is not royal heritage or political influence, but the strength of their character, their values and virtues. They are not bound by a singular trait, but are aspirations to all in their own ways."

Ortho's eyes swelled. "Eh...? That's so broad! By your definition, anyone could be a princess—even you or I!”

The huntsman threw his head back and laughed. "Broad it may be, but I am of the opinion that we all have it in us to live up to the title~”

He indicated the woman in the platinum frame. Ortho’s gaze obediently followed. "Even without a kingdom to call her own, she remained kind-hearted rather than turn to cruelty. That is why she was, and always will be, a noble soul. A princess who puts out good into the world.”

“Rook Hunt-san…”

“Ortho-kun!” Rook dramatically extended an arm to him. He was practically sparkling in the dim room. “I, too, endeavor to put out as much beauty as what is gifted to me! That is my one true calling as the Hunter of Love: to not only seek out beauty, but to cultivate and to contribute to it!”

Ortho silently stared. Nii-san did warn me that Rook Hunt-san could be eccentric, but… maybe there’s some meaning to be found in it.

Cutting through the numbers and the formulas that governed him was a fuzzy warmth. Not the familiar jolt of electricity that powered his circuits. It was too wild, too unpredictable.

Something undeniably human.

Ortho let out a giggle. "Hehe. Then you must be a princess too!"

Rook's mouth formed a small "o". Unsubtle surprise—or perhaps purposefully exaggerated. "Me? Whatever makes you think that?"

"Strength of character!" Ortho parroted mischievously. "I've never met someone as uplifting as you are. Rook Hunt-san is the type of person that sees a princess in everyone."

The boy lowered himself to a few centimeters off of the ground, pretending to dip into a curtsey. "Your majesty!"

"Fufufu. You're quite charming yourself, Princess Ortho-kun!" Rook bent into a deep bow. "Most clever in all the land, computing complex problems in the blink of an eye!”

Upon straightening, the third year laid both hands over his heart. He lifted his head toward the painting of the fair maiden in the forest. A serene smile at his lips.

It was as if he was pledging his allegiance, making a vow. A worshipper at the altar to pray.

“May we all live happily ever after,” Rook whispered raptly, “like the princesses of old.”

Forever and ever.

#twst #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #Rook Hunt #Rook birthday takeover #spoilers #something no one asked for #twst scenarios #twst imagines #twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland scenarios #Ortho Shroud #I hope y'all notice but Rook was basically describing what makes a Disney 'princess'#since not all of them in the lineup are actually royalty

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lys-lilac · 2 years

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Reverse Harem Anime List

Uta Pri

Brothers Conflict

Bonjour Koiaji Patisserie

Diabolik Lovers

Nil Adminari no Tenbin

Code: Realize

Yume oukoku to nemureru 100-nin no ouji-sama

Amnesia memories

Phantom in the Twilight

Kamigami no Asobi

Hakuoki

Kakuriyou no Yadorimeshi

B-Project

Yamato Nadeshiko Shichihenge

Norn9

Damepri Anime Caravan

Starry Sky

Dance with Devils

Fruits Basket

Maji-Kyun Renaissance

Meiji Tokyo Renka

Haruka Beyond the stream of time

Akatsuki no Yona

Kiss him, not me!

Ouran high school host club

Koi to Producer: EVOL X LOVE

Hiiro no Kakera

Kamisama Hajimemashita

La Corda d'Oro

A3!

IDOLiSH7

Kenka Bancho Otome- Girls beat boys-

Vampire Knight

Fushigi Yuugi

Ensemble Stars!

Sengoku Night Blood

(Note that some anime such as A3, IDOLiSH7, Ensemble Stars don’t particularly involve romance as a theme, but we are getting to see so many cool guys, so yeah!)

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sebastianswallows · 27 days

Text

The English Client — One

— PAIRING: Tom Riddle x F!Reader

— SYNOPSIS: The year is 1952. Tom is working for Borgin and Burkes. He is sent to Rome to acquire three ancient books of magic by any means necessary. One in particular proves challenging to reach, and the only path forward is through a pretty, young bookseller. A foreigner like him, she lives alone, obsessed with her work... until Tom comes into her life.

— WARNINGS: none for this chapter, just Tom being grumpy and hating the world

— WORDCOUNT: 3k

— A/N: This is a fic that was commissioned by @localravenclaw as a gift for @esolean 💕 It's going to be a bit of a rollercoaster, with angst and fluff and smut galore. I plan to post twice a week, Mondays and Fridays. I had a lot of fun writing it, and I hope you will have fun reading it, my dears! 💚

Tom was twenty-five. It had been seven years since he graduated from Hogwarts, and just as many since he started working at Borgin and Burkes. Now, he found himself in a sweltering place with the world passing him by. Trapped, for his sins, in a moving metal coffin. If this was hell, it looked like rolling hills, houses nestled in the fog, narrow rows of poplars and puffs of grazing sheep, all set to the tune of clinking chains and carriage shuffles. He hated this assignment.

After taking the train from London to Dover, he caught the ferry that sailed to Calais, and from there took a series of coaches and trains meant to take him on to Italy. To Rome. They had just stopped in Lyon to pick up more passengers, and now they were on their way again.

He had fought with Burke regarding the logistics of the whole thing. Why couldn’t he just use Floo like a normal wizard? But the miserable old stoat said he’d sooner trust muggle transportation than Tom’s pronunciation of Italian or French — and besides, was Floo even networked all the way down there? It didn’t matter anymore.

Tom was convinced it was all done to save costs, and perhaps for Burke to not have to call in any favours. So off he went with one measly suitcase and two billfolds of franks and lira — all of which were merely enchanted oak leaves. They would inevitably transfigure back to their original form in a couple of weeks or so, but by then Tom should be long gone. Who said money didn’t grow on trees?

He tried to distract himself from all this misery by checking his notes again. His little book cracked open, snapping at the spine, and its insides were revealed to him like a cadaver cut through with a black spidery scrawl. It was a list of books and authors, with observations added vertically on the side to save space.

“The Secrets of Wisdom, N. Tamisso 1650 — high priority, any edition. The Lost Word, B. Trevisan 1661 — low priority, optional. Delomelanicon (or The Invocation of Darkness), A. Torchia 1666 — first edition, mandatory.” The latter word was underlined three times. His notes continued with the instructions Burke had given. “Check the rare book dealers, antiquaries, private collectors if necessary. If you can not find it, find out who can. If they will not sell it, take it anyway.”

Tom’s lip curled. Whatever joy there was in being away from the squalor of Knockturn Alley was soiled by what he had to do in Rome. It wasn’t the books he minded, and in fact, he quite admired Burke’s taste in this matter. But to be flung so far away from home on such short notice, and for such a length of time, was pitiful to him. The heir of Slytherin turned errand boy…

“Excuse-moi, est-ce que — Oh, bonjour.”

Tom turned his frown toward the sliding doors of the compartment, between which stood a young man in his twenties. Lanky brown locks fell into his eyes veiling the crinkles of a smile.

“Yes?” sighed Tom.

“I was wondering if this was free,” said the boy. And without waiting for an answer, he dragged his luggage inside — three suitcases, all leather with copper fittings looking ready to burst — and closed the doors behind him.

“I suppose it is,” mumbled Tom. He subtly closed his notebook and tucked it back into the messenger bag at his feet while he kept track of the stranger from the corner of his eyes.

The fine quality of the newcomer’s clothes was somewhat disguised by how carelessly they hung around him. His white and starched shirt was loosened at the top, revealing a hint of tanned skin sprinkled with sparse curls. A golden pin kept a red and blue striped tie affixed to it, and around his pinky finger was a silver ring thickly laid with marcasites and crowned with a malachite stone. His lips were full and purple-stained from wine. His eyes were a bright blue. Judging by his pressed trousers and clean leather shoes, he was a gentleman who had arrived at the station by car — or, at least, he was the spoilt brat of one.

“Clement,” the boy grinned, extending his hand.

“Tom,” he replied, giving him a firm, brief shake.

“I’m on my way to Rome!” Clement sighed, plopping down onto the seat opposite him. Almost immediately, he cracked open a cigarette case and started fishing for a lighter in his trouser pocket. His luggage lay strewn all around the floor, suitcases filled with junk, no doubt. “You?”

“The same,” Tom said and instantly regretted sharing anything at all. With people like these — the overly friendly types — it was best to not encourage conversation.

“Oh, magnificent. Vacation?”

“Work.”

“How sad,” tutted Clement as he popped a cigarette between his lips. He offered one to Tom as well.

“Don’t smoke.”

“Ah.”

He closed the case with a loud click and set it on the table between them. With a smooth, almost theatrical motion, he lit up his pocket lighter — silver, older than him, probably an heirloom, engraved with an elaborate floral motif featuring a fleur-de-lis — and let the flame dance on the tip of his cigarette until he was satisfied.

“Don’t talk much, either,” the boy chuckled. He kept his eyes on Tom as he took a drag, then started puffing away without a care. He attempted to blow rings of smoke but failed. “What do you use your mouth for, then?”

“Cursing, mostly.”

Clement laughed. “The same!”

Tom doubted it.

The compartment soon filled with smoke, and the narrow window open at the top only made it dance around inside. The muggy summer fumes were driving Tom to madness already, and he could only hope the train moved fast enough to clear the air. But as they went further into the rural parts of France, the scent of sheep took over. Maybe it’s not too late to try to Apparate directly at the station, he thought.

“So, what do you do?” asked the French boy, vowels gliding altogether in one breath between his lips. His arm extended elegantly to tap the ash into a cheap tray by the window.

It took Tom a moment to look at him and answer. “I’m in, er, publishing.”

“Truly?” he said, excited enough to lean over the table. “That’s magnificent. I intend to be published too.”

“Oh? What do you write?”

“Poesies.”

“Poetry? Ah, not my area, I’m afraid.”

“But you must know some people…”

Tom wanted to tell him that if he were any good he’d have found a publisher already, but intuition told him to temper himself.

“I might,” he said, “but I’m afraid I’m full up at the moment.”

The boy puffed away nervously as he tapped the round gemstone of his ring against the window, and kept his eyes on him. Tom turned to watch the view rolling past them, seeing without seeing. The sensation of being watched was as familiar as it was discomforting. It crawled down his thin cheeks, his narrow neck, and from there sank into his clothes like sweat. He gazed briefly at the tapping ring from the corner of his eyes in irritation, before focusing away again. For a few moments, he thought he’d successfully ended their conversation.

“Well, I’m in show business,” Clement said instead, grinning brilliantly. There was a gap between his first incisors that made him look boyish and pure. “Theatre.”

“Your parents must be very happy.”

“No,” he laughed. “Miserable. But,” he shrugged, “it is not their decision.”

Tom hummed and said nothing else.

“Your parents are happy with your job, no? You go on important business trips to France, to Rome, and… erm. Well, it is a good job, for sure. Makes them proud, yes?”

Whatever sunshine beamed through the window was chilled and clouded by the glare in Tom’s dark eyes. Why did this bothersome Frenchman have to talk to him? He wasn’t going to keep doing it the whole way to Rome, surely…

“I wouldn’t know,” he finally said. “They’re dead.”

“Oh… Oh, I am so sorry...”

“I’m not,” he mumbled. He didn’t think Clement had heard him, but he wouldn’t care even if he did.

The boy pulled the ashtray closer and put out his cigarette, then leaned his head against the glass. Fidgeting, he held the silver case in his hands and clicked it open and closed, open and closed… He did that for quite a while.

Tom could feel him staring. Could even sense to some extent the messy thoughts inside that head: curiosity, intrigue, and joy.

What could be joyful about that moment?

Well, if Tom was being honest, this wasn’t the first time he’d had such an effect on people. Memories of Burke’s clients came back to him accompanied by the customary shiver down his spine. Clement had the same flippant merriment about him that all the others did, those careless old witches and wizards. That unguarded look of innocence surrounded by the fog of greed. An airy absence of thought and feeling. Must’ve been the side effect of all that money.

Tom had once envied such people. Had even flattered himself with the knowledge that he, however distantly, was one of them. What greater destiny than to be born to glorious old blood? What greater tragedy than to be fallen from it…? He could even remember, with much clarity and shame, how he’d spent several months during his third year obsessing over the Gaunts and Riddles, chasing up on genealogies, and smattering the back pages of his diary with heraldic designs.

But the more he understood the upper classes — their uselessness, their inborn idiocy, their paradoxical sense of superiority which stood impervious to anything reality threw at them — the more he grew to hate them.

“I am sorry if I offended…” said Clement rather softly. “Sometimes, I talk too much.”

“Oh, really? I didn’t notice.”

“No, but I do, I do…”

Tom had overshot his subtleties, apparently.

“So you are not happy with your job? Forgive me for asking…”

“No, it’s quite alright.”

“A pity, you know…”

“Why?”

“To not like it.”

“Oh, it’s not too much trouble most of the time. Why? Do you like your job?”

“But of course!” he said, blue eyes twinkling.

Tom cast a scathing look his way. How strange… He couldn’t imagine enjoying any form of employment — other than the coveted post of DADA professor at Hogwarts.

“Why are you in Rome, then?” Tom asked.

“On vacation. I am, erm, meeting a friend,” he whispered with a grin.

“A girlfriend?” asked Tom with a smirk.

Clement shook his head and giggled. “A boy friend.”

Tom’s brows nearly reached his hairline. He’d never heard of such things being bandied about quite that openly before, at least not in England. Clement seemed not to care. Must’ve been a habit of his, as he seemed to not care about much at all other than enjoying life.

“You have a fun vacation ahead of you, then.”

“More than you know,” he winked.

Tom curled his nose at that and sat back, away from the whole conversation. But Clement leaned closer, arms braced over the table lazily, eyes flashing excitedly.

“We will rob this old fool, and run with his money.”

That captured Tom’s attention again. The boy was waiting eagerly for his reaction, and not a thought ran through his head that Tom might’ve been untrustworthy. Of course, far be it from him to ruin someone else’s fun, but the scenario Clement proposed was too absurd to be believed.

So what else could Tom do but laugh? The sound of it filled the cabin, and so out of use were those muscles that his cheeks began to ache. The sight of it seemed to delight young Clement. He leaned back and gave another one of his brilliant smiles.

“You can join us, if you like,” he offered smoothly.

“Sorry,” said Tom, his cheeks still flushed. “My schedule is full.”

“Oh, pity, pity… You would like my friend, I think. His name is Donatien. He is more serious, like you.”

“Is that so,” said Tom distractedly.

“By the way, what is your hotel?”

They entered Rome on a train that ran six hours late, and wobbled on its tracks, and stank of mouldy cheese and wine rust.

Clement talked most of the way there, and seemed to be satisfied with Tom mostly reacting with brief hums and tilted smiles. They even exchanged gifts. The French boy was enchanted by what was, in Tom’s estimation, a fairly average switchblade. He’d only taken it out to peel an orange. It was something he’d bought in London right before his seventh year, and although it was quite plain, it did have some delicate embellishments on its ivory handle of two writhing snakes. That seemed to appeal to Clement, who offered his own blade in exchange — a Swiss army knife that also had a screwdriver and bottle opener tucked in its red body. Considering it a more efficient deal, Tom shrugged and accepted the trade.

Faint details came up now and then about his plans with this Donatien, but most of it was lost in smoke and loud metallic rattles. As much as Tom hated flying on brooms, even he could agree it would’ve been preferable to this…

But at least he didn’t have to fear any Ministry or Aurors in these parts. Not any that were familiar with him, anyway. The Italians had their own Ministry of Magic, of course, but it was all the way down in Mirto, Sicily, and foreigners were a low priority for them. There were so many people from all over the world in Italy those days that it wasn’t worth keeping track of them all, or at least so Burke had told him.

The train slowed and pulled into the station, and pulled, and pulled… It groaned as if in pain. Clement took the jolt of inertia as it all came to a stop with cheerful clapping, and promptly got up to collect his bags.

“So, we are agreed?”

“Absolutely not agreed. Besides, I doubt my lodgings would be to your taste.”

“Ah Tom, you do not know my taste!”

“Very well, but best keep your complaints to a minimum once we get there.”

They struggled to get everything off the train with four suitcases between them. Tom was travelling light with just the one, about which Clement made some snide comment that he soon forgot, but he helped him anyway. His own belongings consisted of plain muggle clothes and some books that Burke wished him to barter with, if it came to that. Between the lines, and between Burke’s sparse and slimy brows, Tom understood he was expected to use his charms to get a bargain price — as per usual — but he did not intend to let some fat old antiquary put his grimy hands on him. Not this time. Besides, conversing with Clement had stained his dignity enough.

Being away on the continent had one advantage, at least: he was no longer under the vulturous watch of his employer.

Tom stepped out onto the platform, muscles sore from days of sitting down, and looked ahead as if he knew where he was going. People were chatting all around him, filling the cool hall with murmurs all the way up to its dome — some in German, some in French, others in variously accented English. Tom wiped the sweat off his brow with his sleeve and picked up his suitcase to follow Clement, who was hunting for a trolley to load his luggage onto.

As soon as they stepped out onto the street, the heat of Rome in August hit Tom in the face like an oven door and he, frail and pallid thing, was not prepared for it. He squinted in displeasure, to Clement’s great amusement.

“This way, Tom!” he said as he popped on a pair of sunglasses. “I see a taxi!”

Tom had spent most of the journey brushing up on his Italian with the help of a conversation guide he picked up at the Gare du Nord. His extensive knowledge of Latin came in pretty handy. But now that he saw Clement handle things, perhaps he needn’t have bothered. His companion could easily direct the driver to the dingy old hotel Tom was staying at, the Gallienus on Via Domenichino, and chatted a bit more besides.

“Vacation in Rome often, then?” he asked.

“I just know some phrases,” Clement smiled. “You don’t need much with these people.”

The driver pretended not to understand the slight.

“Where do you want to have lunch, then?” Clement asked.

“Lunch? I’m certainly not in the mood, not now.”

“Oh come ooon…”

“You can eat on your own.”

“We can leave our stuff and take the taxi to this place I know on Via della Mercede. They make the best seafood, the best!”

It had not been until now, with this journey to somewhere far away, that Tom realised how limited his world had been at Hogwarts. He’d once felt equal parts ashamed and at a strange advantage next to the other Slytherins, his peers, all purebloods, for knowing both the magical and muggle worlds. Now, exiled for this assignment among strangers, it seemed to Tom as if he were starting life all over again. He looked out the window and everything was new, everything was strange. The buildings, the street, the people, even the clothes were different. The city, like London, was massive, but the streets were broader, blazing white. Some disappeared into little alleyways that slithered like dark serpents. Tom could easily see himself getting lost in such a place.

It was… humbling. He didn’t like it.

#Tom Riddle #Tom Riddle x reader #Tom Riddle x OC #Tom Riddle fanfiction #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #sswallow;fanfics #sswallow;made a thing #fanfic;englishclient #whew here we go 😭#I dread to think of adapting the masterlist for this lol #I might make a separate post just for all of its chapters #there will be 40 in total

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kalims · 1 year

Text

˃ ᵕ ˂ . . "what are you willing to do? oh tell me what you're willing to do."

I would,

premise. in which it's the things he's willing to do.

parts. one , two

characters. rook, cater, ruggie, lilia, epel and kalim.

contents. scenario, fluff, crack, comfort, teaspoon of angst in lilia,

includes. gender neutral reader, sebek x gn!reader (platonic) in lilia's.

cw. mentions of nudity (not what you think it is I swear)

note. not proofread, but read clarifications please thank you!! it's to clear up general idea's of the scenarios

I know most of lilia's part is sebek but I hope you know the whole point of it

my unofficial 'I am back' post

rook hunt

I would be your number one fan.

who the hell thought it would be a good idea for you to be the main character in the play?

oh wait.

that's right it's freaking vil. the worst part? it's VIL and no matter how much you resent the idea, you can't exactly deny vil all in his glory when he asks you because either way he's gonna strike you down with one look alone.

well at the very least if vil insisted you be the main lead out of... over 300 students in the school he must really be striving for success. if he wasn't he wouldn't be so lenient.

now you get why epel is both terrified and irritated at vil.

you were getting starved! (which is in fact, not true but you swear your stomach is still empty and lonely after one meal full of vegetables) maybe you don't mind veggies, maybe you do. but heck.. you enjoy those delicious, savory food once in a while.

you huff, panting as you kneel over. this was absolute hell. if you knew your character liked to apparently 'test their speed with horses' literally everyday you wouldn't have taken the spot. really though who even enjoys that?!

the play took place in an older era, where high society and such was a thing. typical main lead is outcasted yadda yadda.

you wipe the sweat off your brow and sweatdrop. "bonjour! you look positively sparkling!" a bottle of water is promptly shoved in your face, but even with the sudden intrusion of space you pay it no heed. after all water had never looked so enticing before.

though sparkling? you'd rather use the word 'hot and sweaty'. if anyone was sparkling it'd be rook. "I'm more stinky than sparkling." you can't say you enjoy the feeling of sweat on your skin.

even at your little joke his smile doesn't falter, rather it widens through the crinkle of his eyes. "you are still beautiful in my eyes, trésor"

you raise a brow at his casual compliment.

"I don't see how you'd like me racing with horses." it is rather ungrateful, you'd expect a character like yours to be on the horse, not running alongside it! magically out of nowhere rook pulls out a handkerchief which you gratefully accept.

your nose catches a whiff of the scent. wow, it smells like rook. too bad it's getting sacrificed for the better good. you think, patting down your forehead in the way vil taught you.

cause apparently just dragging it across your skin wasn't as good as patting it. though you won't question the unusual languange.

rook seemed to find your comment humorous as he laughed. "whatever you'll do. I will always admire!" well gods. his smile was contagious cause you found yourself mirroring his look. rook looks pleased with the upturn of your lips.

he catches a hold on your shoulders. "perhaps this is merely stage fright. first time, no? do not fret! I will be cheering for you if it makes you feel better."

your face twists into that of doubt. "um.. rook I love you but that seems.." embarrassing? you'd got your own share of people yelling out your name in a cheer. especially your family at an event you were featured in.

the experience wasn't that nice. it's not that you hate it, but something about it is like a thorn in your mind.

rook tilts his head. "nonsense, trésor. I will show everyone how nice your performance is, they deserve to know!" he proclaims.

oh no no no—

you chant in your head, frantically running around rook and attempting to stop him from giving you an example. just the first shout attracted the attention of your other co-workers.. "ROOK—"

"let them hear the depths of my love!"

ㅤ

cater diamond

I would be present.

cater is observant.

his ability to sway nearly every conversation to his favor is partially due to his ability to pick out the opposing person, be it a nervous twitch when the conversation tilts to a subject. or the gleeful shine in their eyes.

he can tell, especially you.

sure. he might've known you less compared to his friends but it feels like he can tell everything about you.

it does feel like a crush at first, he's questioning himself whether his feelings are actually romantic or not. borderline gaslighting himself that it's not even when he tries everything to impress you.

'you're just a friend' he tells himself but he's testing out the tricks social media told him to. holding eye contact when he can't even contain his heart.. amongst other things it's his favorite.

cause he can see your eyes, and at times you look away. clearly embarrassed by the contact.

"how's my favorite person doing?" cater slides in. seemingly out of nowhere, slinging a casual arm around your shoulder while keeping you close.

seriously. the occurrence had happened to often you had grown to find the little shoulder sling present in your everyday.

technically you are his favorite person but no matter how much he says so you just don't believe it.

you roll your eyes but can't keep the smile off your face, despite the clear look of exhaustion on your face. "just peachy. don't you have class right now?"

as far as you were aware. the time period between classes were alternating. it was the students that had to move between rooms to attend their class.

cater shrugs. "we were excused for club practice. it just ended, so I thought; why not see how you're doing?" he explains. pinching your cheek out of the simple urge and grinning when you grunt and slap his hand away.

as far as he can tell. you are definitely not feeling peachy, the bags under your eyes. more prominent than ever, or the unkempt appearance that both vil and riddle would practically strangle you for speaks volume.

"I'm fine."

cater knows that look all too well.

he tightens his grip on your shoulder and practically pushes you to his side, not really forceful. his eyes soften the littlest bit.

whatever vulnerability cater had shown for a little quickly disappeared as he simply smiles, perhaps less bright than his usual but it was.. something.

closer than you've ever been cater leans in, in a voice you've never heard. it's quiet, and gentle. "well. if you ever aren't come talk to me, okay?"

you still at the sudden warmth that jolts in your heart. "okay.."

ruggie bucchi

I would give you the tastiest piece

"—can you believe it?" ruggie huffs. words coming out in mumbles due to the amount of donuts he'd eaten in a single minute. it seemed that a mouth full of his favorite treats isn't gonna stop him from telling you all about leona's recent orders for him.

you absent-mindedly swirl your drink with a straw. "totally."

it was like, it goes in one ear and out to another. it does feel a little horrible to ignore something someone's talking about, especially if that person is someone you like! the only reason you were listening is cause you liked his voice.

you did get the gist of it though. it seemed like leona was in a bad mood nowadays, which meant ruggie had to take most of it by the increasing amount of errands leona had him run.

leona in a bad mood = ruggie's now more broken sleep.

as the resident ruggie stan you didn’t really mind him leeching off the salary you'd gotten for crowley. a few madol isn't gonna hurt your savings, plus. it's not like you haven't bought a few treats for yourself previously in the past.

you leave out the part that you like seeing his delighted face.

you did sneak a few glances by the plate almost finished by ruggie in a mere few minutes. you, by no means spent cheap money on it. for the guy you liked you'd probably buy anything he'd like (within reason) and then 'fall short' if ace asks you to buy him food.

it looked scrumptious in all honesty but from the look of ruggie's face and the assumption that he won't stop any time soon prompted you to shut your mouth and just enjoy him enjoying the donuts.

"thanks a lot for this. you know just how to cheer up an exhausted hyena up." ruggie laughs under his breath. sending you a rare look of appreciation that has you cracking a smile.

proudly, you nod. "of course. anything for you."

you wince. maybe that was too bold, but then again. it didn't seem to faze ruggie in the slightest.

after a period of silence, not exactly awkward in the slightest but rather comforting. no words needed to be said, you liked that, ruggie liked it as well. he casts you a peek.

"I can see you ogling at it. you look like me when I look at the donuts."

you frown. "no I don't.. I am not, ogling at your food."

ruggie shakes his head but there is a trace of a smile in his face. "I might be eating a lot right now but I can't leave you out of it can I? you gave it to me." ruggie says, pausing to look at you before continuing, "it's our food,"

to seemingly show you that it's 'ours' ruggie takes out the final donut in the plate and hands it to you with a grin. "I saved the best for last, here. open your mouth." he urges, threatening to squash it right in your face if you didn't with fast motions.

you sigh. he's just taunting you at this point. and, as far as you can tell that's his favorite flavor.

"but that's your favorite." you point out but ruggie's grin only seemed to spread across his face wider.

he shakes a finger in your face. "nope. correction, you're my favorite now eat up!"

you were too flustered to rebel against it.

ㅤ

lilia vanrouge

I would love with you

"aren't they simply adorable?" lilia raises one finger to point at the duo that.. didn't really seem all to adorable to you.

you sweatdrop. "uh.. yeah.. totally cute." it's not like you were gonna say outright: those are two men who are battling each other, definitely doesn't look cute to me. more like horrifying. to lilia out of all people! if silver and sebek are anything to him it'd be babies.

he beams.

it's safe to say it positively breaks down your entire body to skip a beat of your heart.

earlier the afternoon lilia had graciously extended an invitation to his dorm. something about bonding and since you're incredibly down bad, of course you wasted no time fretting over yourself as you trudged towards the mirror with barely contained excitement.

while sebek did pick you up (courtesy of lilia) you're sure he knew why you were barely able to keep yourself on your toes, hence surprising why he didn't bother to comment in it.

most probably something about the audacity of humans and defending himself if you pointed it out.

you aren't sure of the details which is admittedly kind of idiotic but did you really care? no.

but did you expect to spend your afternoon quite literally babysitting two grown men with the man you can call your yearning? quite a suprise and one you can't say you welcome.

when you accepted the invitation you didn't spend hours picking out articles of clothing and practically thrashing your wardrobe trying to make a 'casual' outfit that would appease to his eyes just to waste it on.. watching two grown men live their own lives!

frankly it's frustrating. it's endearing that lilia had his family in mind every step of the way but all the more irritating. and you don't even mean the part where he had his family in mind.

you just wish he'd realize they aren't the boys he used to baby before.

after god knows when, you watch lilia enter mother hen mode when silver fell down from his sitting-sleeping position. lilia gently lowering himself to adjust silver's position.

you look down.

and god did you feel awful for invalidating his love for family (kind of) it was too presumptuous of you to assume that you'd ever fit in it anyways.

oh well. you shrug. at the very least you were able to bear witness to it.

call it a sixth sense but you can tell sebek is right beside you. he huffs. "you, are a pitiful human." he says casually. the words are awfully mean, but you sense no particular ill intent from the boy.

instead you find it quite amusing. so you laugh quietly under your breath. "so I've been told." you can't use your fingers to count the amount of times sebek had called you that.

you both just stay like that. in silence, surprisingly no quips from sebek's mouth.

till he turns to you.

"the way you look at fathe—master lilia. you are being a coward by not telling him."

"I'm fine with that, there are things better left unsaid."

sebek stares at you. as in, stares real hard. the kind of look you'd see with someone who was feeling a mixture of confusion and frustration.

he opens his mouth as if to say something.

your own gaze lands on a poorly wrapped bandage around his arm. you raise your brows and gesture, "enough talk about me. what is that?"

great seven.. sebek had hoped you wouldn't see that, even so. he didn't pick you out as someone to care anyways (not that he wanted you to) it's just bizarre in itself.

at the mentioned he grunts and looks away. "it is merely a scratch!" he huffs. looking forward aggressively as if to try and hide away the sweat in his forehead. you roll your eyes.

it is a scratch but also not one? sebek and only noticed the blood down his arm when he was in the restroom. it seemed like silver had managed to nick him.

"sit."

"human! you are not—"

"sit."

sebek grumbles but sits down anyways. once again surprising you with his obliged silence as he waits for you to return with a new roll of bandages. the boy can feel the searing embarassment of getting treated by a human by all things!

"my my, seems like silver did a number on you did he?"

lilia chuckles deeply. sending the boy a look which sets off a fire within. sebek immediately opens his mouth to defend himself, while you. busy yourself with wrapping it around tight, but loose enough not hurt.

"silver is lucky to have done it that's all!"

you laugh.

sebek snaps his gaze to you. "what are you laughing about, human?! your way is that of a parent and I don't appreciated you flocking me." he grits out. possibly not realizing the extent of his words till he spots the look of rare suprise in lilia's face.

his face mirrors yours, but yours is definitely coated with embarrassment.

lilia giggles, a fond glance he gives you sends thousand butterflies in your stomach. "parent eh? I didn't know you yearned for another parent my dear sebek. if you wanted two that can be arranged fufufu.."

arranged?!

ㅤ

epel felmier

I would do the craziest thing with you

while you did have your own fair share of being in trouble plenty of times (a good amount stems from being with ace and deuce) you aren't sure if the potential consequences of this one can top any of them.

you squat outside the window of vil's room, which could be considered a violation of privacy if your intention was to break in this room.

right. your eyes slide to your left. in a similar position, epel sits beside you. hugging his legs to his chest looking oddly innocent for someone whose idea was to do this in the first place.

in hindsight you can call it epel's master plan to get a week with vil off his back.

apparently his master plan included adding paint to vil's shampoo, an atrocious color of bright violet. and yes, you were both on the roof. probably looking creepy as fuck to anyone else but you merely prayed that no one would look up.

"are you sure this is safe?"

"it is."

one peek down there made you question his sincerity, either he wasn't worried about falling off or was just too into waiting for vil to get out the shower.

speaking of, "what if he comes out naked?! I don't wanna see that.." you groan. shivering by the mere thought and even epel grimaced when you mentioned it.

"uh.. I hope he won't..?" so we're basing the possibilities out of your hope? great. you think grimly. you really think this is a bad idea, horrible really. but if it's epel you'll do it.

now I know what the 'in the name of love' shit they were talking about. you deadpan.

the more you stare down the more it seems horrifying to just drop down. epel huffs at you, clearly noticing your frantic eyes. "don't look down." he says, and you do just that. the problem is now you can't stop thinking about it. there isn't even a railing to stop you if you slip.

"what if I fall?"

"I'll catch you."

oh shit.

your heart rate speeds up immediately as you lower your eyes, trying your hardest to act casual.

"... with what your tiny, noodle arms?"

epel's face scrunched up at that. he casts you a glare but you know there's no malice in it whatsoever. it's become normal at this point, picking at each other. (of which you thoroughly enjoy)

he crossed his arms. "it's not—! agh whatever!" epel fumes. smacking your arm playfully as you feign a groan of pain. "my arms are manly and strong!"

you looked at him then at his arm before grinning. epel makes a look of offense.

both of you burst into a fit of giggles right after and you never thought he could look any more beautiful with crinkled eyes and a wide smile on his face.

though the moment of felt joy was hushed upon the shrill scream that definitely belonged to vil. of course, it was manly but nevertheless unable to mask the terror in it.

that was like an omen for punishment and revenge. you cover your mouth and look at epel with wide eyes.

he looks at you as well but you can tell he's holding in the cackles.

in all fairness it wouldn't have been too bad if epel used the shade of purple vil had on the tips of his hair. but this one? it's literally a bright neon that will burn your eyes for life.

you can't give yourself the moment to feel warm at your shoulders bumping, too wrapped into muffling the giggles that would definitely wake up the entirety of pomefiore from their beauty sleep.

you and epel are practically gripping each other for life, shoulders shaking in wheezes. midst that, you both failed to hear the rustle over your heads.

"my my, my ears have not decieved me! I know two love birds singing when I hear it."

"OH MY F—"

the laughing immediately seizes as you both look up at rook hovering over the two of you, donning an amused smile.

you sigh. "oh shit."

ㅤ

kalim al asim

I would give it to you

kalim is by no means rich.

he's loaded.

since the day he was born even his room as a child cost more than the monthly expense of a citizen, toys handcrafted by the most talented, a blanket soft and crocheted with the most expensive of silk.

an entire vault filled with treasures, gems, things made entirely out of gold. at some point he leaves them untouched, swimming in it out of boredom.

even scarabia wasn't exempted from his touch of gold.

you could say he doesn't know how to live other than luxuriously.

it sounds bad. he knows, but for the entirety of his life it's all he's ever known. and kalim isn't really one to break out of a habit that's been going on for so long.

nor does he see any bad in it. out of the goodness of his heart he merely thinks he's rewarding you with the things you deserve.

last week a whole lot of tuna was sent to your dorm. it was definitely the work of grim, and you imagine the little feline brought up your name in a conversation with kalim. the boy didn't have a second thought before he took out the money that didn't make a scratch in his account.

while you would have wondered who sent the shit ton that would last grim a good year it was prominent that it was kalim from the exaggerated words of happiness in the gift card, filled with little doodles. (you assume he couldn't help himself)

you make a mental note to limit the interactions between kalim and grim.

the second time it was purely out of coincidence. a mistake on your part, if you'd like to say.

off handedly you'd mentioned to kalim that if someone were to ever give you something on valentines, you'd rather it be one that's beneficial to you. a practical gift. but since it was the day of expressing love you settled for the classic choice of flowers.

everyone loves flowers!

but you didn't expect to step into the cafeteria with your friends and immediately get slapped by a straw flower that apparently sprouted wings and flew (a joke of course) but you like to think that it had something out for you.

deuce's jaw drops at the amount of wildlife around the wide room. there's flowers everywhere and in the sole center was kalim sheepishly scratching his cheek.

"oops."

you just stared around, gobsmacked and flabbergasted. "what.. in the holy name of—" you trail off.

beside you. ace grimaces, slapping away a flower that fell in slow motion beside his face. then dragging a palm across his face. "all of this and he says.. oops?" he groans.

after picking up his jaw from the floor deuce nods hesitantly. "yeah, isn't this a bit much?"

as flattered you were. it really was.

on one, sunny, hot day you invited kalim for a walk around scarabia. beyond the dorm, away from all the glamorous things.

kalim didn't complain one bit and went along without much fuss, happily even if you might add.

the sun shines down at you harshly. the weather in the desert here sure is unrelenting. you wipe the sweat off your forehead. feeling the crunch of the sand beneath your feet.

the boy isn't too far behind you, taking animatedly as you nod along.

"that reminds me! your birthday is coming up." at that, your eyebrows raise. you still can't keep the heartwarming smile off your face at the mere fact that he knows, and remembers.

you smile at him kindly. kalim flushes at the beam. "where did you hear that from?" you question absent-mindedly enjoying the walk despite the great struggle the heat brought you.

because goddamn was it hot in here!

kalim falls into step beside you. "I asked the grandmaster for it."

more like basically forced. but he doesn't know that.

he continues, "what would you like? anything you want! I'll give it to you." kalim grins. there's no doubt whatever he's saying is nothing but the truth, he has the power to get anything you ask.

you feel embarrassed at the thought that clouds your mind. one word.

you.

at your silence kalim tilts his head. "what's the matter? if you need more time to think it's alright!" he reaches out and clasps your hands together, further flustering you.

you gulp. "I just... I really want you, you and your heart." you slap yourself on the head in your mind cause god did that sound cliche.

you tense at the frozen kalim. only staying still when he breaks into this, love struck, goofy grin and giggles. he all but practically throws himself onto you in a tight embrace.

"you already do!"

ㅤ

clarifications

I've been practically dead but don't blame me I've been stressed & sick fr

after this I'm probably gonna be dead again BYE HOMIES

anyways for cater's part it's him basically being there for mc, like not just present but there.. yknow... idk if you get what I'm saying LOL

so like picture this, you're going thru a hard time and there's a shoulder to lean on which is cater. WHICH I ALSO REALIZED OMG HE DID GAVE US A SHOULDER TO LEAN ON LITERALLY WKAJSKJA

B4 you say lilia's part didn't even include the whole romance thing I just thought it'd be sweet if I incorporated his lil' family in it

so while you might not think it's a lilia x reader it really is, I'm just showing the parts that'll get lilia to love you. especially if you're doting on his babies!!

ngl reader in lilia's... I lowkey thought they were a grandma when I was building their character

'I would love with you' is loosely based off two parents loving their children lmao idk what I'm saying. anyways j hope you spotted it, lilia taking care of silver + you taking care of sebek = loving them (platonically)

draft for epel's was actually like. since rook appeared out of nowhere I wanted reader to be startled and slip off, epel actually saving them just like he said. (with his noodle arms.) you're free to imagine it! but if you do wanna see me write that just hit me up in my inbox and I'll write an alternative scenario 🤫

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thot-of-khonshu · 2 years

Text

French Lessons

Pairing: Steven Grant X f! reader

Summary: You had been in desperate want to learn French, but the absolute droll of learning through a boring app was no fun. Coincidentally, you meet a brilliant gift shop clerk at the museum who can teach you French while you can teach him a thing or two about love.

Rating: Explicit 18+ (By proceeding to read beyond this warning, you agree that you are 18 years or older)

Word Count: 5K

Content: Explicit Smut, pining, masturbation references, dry humping, fingering, handjob, fluff, romance, French, Steven Grant, slight reference to Marc Spector

Notes: My Steven fic has finally arrived!! I'm hoping to turn this into a series because I have quite a few other ideas and I don't want to leave you hanging with just a taste of the two of them. But I hope you like it and share/reblog! Love y'all!

Updated Note: Wow!! Thank you so much for all of your kind words and notes. Part 2 is currently in the works and coming soon.

Part 2

Bonjour! Je m'appelle Vivienne Rousseau et bienvenue à votre premier cours de français’!

Hello! My name is Vivienne Rousseau and welcome to your first French lesson! Did you understand my first sentence? If not, not to worry! I will teach you how to learn and with the right dedication you’ll be speaking fluently in the next 6 months! Today’s lesson is all about beginnings…

You whine as you raise your volume on your phone to stay focused. However, the tall statues and figurines in front of you were not helping like you thought it would. You had come to the National Museum to gain some peace and clarity while starting this new venture. French was always a language you had dreamed of learning, so why not start now? Sure, the grating voice of Vivienne Rousseau would drag you along through it, but this was a new adventure. The start of something interesting…

As long as you could pay attention. It wasn’t your fault Vivienne’s voice sounded like a high-pitched foghorn. But the reviews for her app were rave and they wouldn’t take your credit card information for another week, so if it became a bigger drag than it already was, you could cancel your free trial.

You walked throughout the museum trying to focus on your lesson, but rewound the same phrases over and over.

Je m’apelle Vivienne. Je suis ravi de vous rencontrer.

You were thinking it wasn’t the pyramids and statues that weren’t helping you focus, but you figured it was time for you to leave the museum, regardless. Before the trip home, you stopped at the gift shop for a bottle of water. You walked over to the gift shop counter t o grab the attention of a man entirely more focused on his Egyptian mythology book than having to sell stuffed scarabs. He looked slightly disheveled, with black curly tendrils falling all over his head. When you made eye contact with him, he had dark crescents under his eyes and a timid smile. He looked so nervous to a complete stranger, you couldn’t imagine how he was towards his coworkers.

Reaching for your water, the cord of your earbuds snapped and broke free from your phone. If you hadn’t noticed by the snapping of the cord, you would’ve noticed from Vivienne’s grating voice booming throughout your speaker:

Bonjour! Comment ça vas?

“Bien, merci. Et vous-même?” You look up and the tired, timid man has spoken, meeting your eyes with a softer smile.

You smile back and laugh. “Sorry about that. This is what happens when I don’t get earbuds from the last five years.”

“Well, it’s not about the earbuds, innit? It’s what’s in them that matters. Learning French?” He asks.

“If you could even call it that. I thought coming to the museum would help me focus up, but this woman I’m listening to sounds well braindead.”

“Je suis désolé. D'après ce que j'ai entendu, elle ressemblait à un bouton absolu.” The crinkles in the corner of his eyes became more prominent and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“I’m sorry. From what I heard, she sounded like an absolute knob.” He translated. He introduced himself. Steven. With a V. You asked Steven with a V if he’d like to make some extra money on the side and before you knew it, you were meeting at the bistro every Wednesday for an hour of French lessons with Steven with a V.

Steven was not as drab and droning as Vivienne Rousseau, quite the opposite. Before and after your hour was up, you found yourselves talking more and more about your days; him describing the gift shop and his aspirations to be a tour guide despite his awful boss Donna. You couldn’t understand how he wasn’t. It seemed like everything he talked about could circle back to his love for Egyptology and the wonder of the gods and goddesses. How does someone like that know so much about it but he’s stuck behind a desk selling crisps and plushies?

After your 3rd meeting, you’d plucked up the courage to ask him. The first thing he did was look at you after those compliments with such earnest gratitude you felt your insides melt. The second thing he told you was that he had a sleeping disorder that kept him further back in life than he’d wanted. He aspired to have adventure, and life and zest as much as he could, but for right now… the gift shop was just enough.

That was the first night you had gone to bed thinking of how kind his smile was, chasing the warmth throughout your body it had given you as if you’d just taken a shot. You’d found yourself eager for the next lesson, to hear about his new studies, to watch his hands as he notated on your writing.

You’d gotten to the bistro thirty minutes early, in your same corner table at the patio, waiting for Steven.

You waited.

And you waited.

Two hours later, he never showed.

You felt your insides deflate as you traveled home. You’d checked your text messages every ten minutes hoping to see a sign that he was okay or if he was busy or if he just didn’t want to come. Maybe he’d seen the way you looked at him in your last lesson and found it inappropriate?

You wished Steven standing you up would’ve completely turned you off to him, but unfortunately, it just had him occupying your mind more and more until the sounds of his voice describing tales of the green jewel lulled you to sleep.

You woke up the next morning to your phone going off, although it wasn’t your alarm. Steven was in the middle of writing you a flurry of text messages with apologies about how he wasn’t able to make it last night and how his sleeping had completely mucked his week up. He asked if you were free that night for your lesson and a free meal to make it up. While you agreed to see him, your worry and apprehension weren’t immediately gone. You weren’t sure if this was just his common excuse he had given women, but, it was worth it to hear him out.

You had gotten to the restaurant and there at your familiar corner table was Steven Grant, looking like the saddest dog you had ever seen. As soon as you were in eye view, he walked up to you, moving to place his hand on your shoulder but hesitating. He moved it back to clasp his other palm, whispering your name.

“I am so deeply, deeply sorry. I go to bed on Saturday and then I woke up, and it’s Thursday and I feel like I got hit by a double-decker bus and— “

“Je te pardonne. Mangeons.” You had said. I forgive you. Let’s Eat. And he flashed you that damn smile again, and you felt your insides crack like an egg to the stove.

There wasn’t as much lesson as there was dinner this night as you and Steven had discussed every topic you could. Work, music, books, television. No topic was left off the table as you waited for your food. The server brought out the very vegan Steven’s steaming lentil soup and what was supposed to be your salmon was replaced with a large burger.

“I’m so sorry miss, it’s a bit of a mess in the kitchen back there tonight. I’ll get this sorted out straight away.” The server said to you. You saw the steam coming out of Steven’s soup and instead of digging in, his hands were placed politely on his lap.

When the server came back out, he had brought trout, which you were unfortunately allergic to or else you would’ve scarfed it down by then. More than a half hour had gone by and you were still waiting for your dinner. And there was Steven, hands no longer in his lap but marking your French in his thick glasses. You took a mental note of how good he looked in them while cursing yourself for doing so.

“Steven, if you want to eat, I completely understand. Your food must already be freezing.” You said, eying the way his hands held his pen.

“Not to worry.” He said cheerfully. “The great thing about lentils is that you can eat them hot or cold and I want to make sure you’re taken care of. Laisse moi prendre soin de toi.” You immediately felt your face redden and were so glad that your food had come back correctly this time so you could bury your head in your salmon and vegetables.

When you went home that night, you thought of his thick fingers, his kind eyes and the repeat of him saying “Laisse moi prendre soin de toi” in your head as you slowly slipped your fingers under the covers, dreaming of how your French tutor would say that to the heat between your legs.

Laisse moi prendre soin de toi. Let me take care of you.

He wasn’t late for the next lesson. He was there when you had arrived, 15 minutes before, to counter the overeager 30 minutes versus strolling in right on time. You wanted him to know you care about these lessons, but maybe not too much.

When you had walked over to the table, Steven had another downtrodden look on his face. His lips were turned down, and he was looking down at the ground. When he heard your footsteps, his face immediately brightened and damn, this was not helping your crush.

“Bad day at the museum?” You greet him as he sullenly nodded.

“Donna started taking the piss at me as soon as I got into work. A child — a child!! — came up to me and asked me where the bloody bathroom was and all I hear after I show her where it is—‘Stevie, you’re not a tour guide. It’ll never happen, so stop trying.’” He mocked Donna with a nasally grating voice.

“I’m sorry. It’s like she doesn’t even give you a chance to prove yourself.”

“Exactly!!” Steven excitedly exclaims as a few people from other tables looked around. He muttered apologies. “I’m just so tired of her thinking I’m some bumbling git. It’s not like she knows where the Hathor temple is and she could answer someone if they asked her. She wouldn’t even know Hathor if she bit her in the arse.”

You giggled as he went on. “I’m sorry, I’m rambling. Let’s get on with our lesson soon, but do you mind if I eat here again tonight? She wouldn’t even let me take a lunch today!”

“Well, since you had an absolutely shit day, I think it’s my turn to get dinner. And I’ll do one extra.” The server came around to your table as Steven looked at you, puzzled.

“Excuse me, sir, but can you recommend your finest French wine?”

A couple of hours later and two bottles of wine down, dinner was finished but there yet again wasn’t much of a French lesson. Giddy and bubbly from wine, you and Steven continued your endless back and forth and it felt like you could talk to him about just about anything. You saw him look at his phone screen to look at the time and you felt your heart sink a bit.

“Oh bugger, it’s already 9 PM.” Steven frowned. “I don’t want to keep you too long. I’m sure you have plenty to do.”

“No! Wednesdays are always our nights.” You saw his smile widen when you said that, the crinkles in his eyes deepening. “Besides, I wouldn’t just consider tonight a French lesson but me trying to cheer up a friend who seems to have had a bad day.”

“Not so bad now, innit?” He grinned. You looked into his eyes with no reluctance, the alcohol warming your body giving you courage to keep contact. He had beautiful, dark eyes and his nose was so strong and defined. You knew better than to even look at his lips, though, because once you did, you would stare too long and then goodbye to your friend and French tutor.

You heard a slight rumble and felt droplets hit your shoulders. First quietly and then pounding as the rain came through like a. Luckily you had already paid for yours and Steven’s food so you ran under the patio’s awning, Steven’s arm was halfway out of his jacket when he ran over to you and then flipped the jacket over your head.

“What do we do now? I know we’re having a great time, but you’re also not exactly paying me to gossip during a rainstorm.” Steven shouted over the loud rain.

Liquid courage be damned. You thought of an offer that you didn’t want to come off the wrong way, but it was raining and you did pay him for a lesson you hadn’t exactly completed. You bit your lip in contemplation and you could’ve sworn in the corner of your eye you saw Steven eyeing your swollen bottom lip.

“My flat isn’t too far, if you don’t mind it.” Steven looked at you for what felt like a long moment and you held your breath. He nodded and kept his jacket above your head the entire way.

As soon as you had gotten to your flat, you thought the alcohol would wear off, but the last bottle you two had shared was just kicking in. The two of you ran and giggled back to your apartment like a couple of schoolchildren, and you felt so refreshed. You loved that you could be silly with him.

“This is it! Sorry I haven’t fixed it up much.” You said, tossing your shoes on the floor and your keys on your counter.

“It’s much better than my place.” Steven looked around. “You wouldn’t be surprised though, loads of books, loads of paperwork, a goldfish named Gus.”

You snorted. “Come on, my books and my desk are in the bedroom.”

He followed you into your bedroom as you turned on the desk light, lit enough to illuminate the space needed but not too bright to cause a headache. You fell onto your bed, back first, with your arms stretched out to the back of your head. It felt so good to close your eyes. It felt so good being tipsy. It felt so good being with Steven. Where is Steven? When you opened your eyes, there he was at your desk, eyeing your stack of French books.

“I have to say this is quite the collection, miss.” He took his glasses out of his shirt pocket and slipped them on and you had to shut your eyes quickly before the heat between your legs grew to an uncomfortable amount. “Baudelaire, Marceline Desbordes-Valmore and you have my favorite, Victor Hugo.”

“No way, Victor Hugo is my favorite as well!” You shot up excitedly. He had Hugo’s book in his hand as he skimmed through.

“Le Roi S’amuse, I love absolutely love this play.”

“Can I tell you something?” You swung your feet off of your bed to distract your bubbling nerves. “I’ve really wanted to pick up French just so I can read more French literature I can fall in love with. See more plays, get more cultured.”

“That’s what I like about you.” Steven said, bringing the book with him as moved next to you on the bed. “We haven’t exactly gone over this term yet, but when I think about you, I think of your joie de vivre. Your lust for life. You see things and opportunities and you take them.”

You feel yourself redden. “What exactly do you mean by that?”

“I just mean, if it was the other way around, I could’ve never walked up to an attractive stranger and asked them to teach me French.” He looks down nervously for a brief moment and then steadies himself, giving you deep eye contact. You’re almost rendered speechless.

“Are you telling me you find yourself attractive, Steven Grant?” You whisper. Your eyes are locked on each other. You’ve never seen someone with such dark, kind eyes.

“Can I tell you which verse is my favorite?” You break the silence. “It would probably do me good to have you hear some of my French tonight.” You giggle. Steven doesn’t giggle. He slowly nods as your liquid courage takes over. Your hands are shaking, but you feel the electricity.

You slip your hands onto his and help guide him to your favorite passage. His eyes don’t leave your face. It’s as if he’s studying you like a new art installation.

“La vie est une fleur, l’amour en est le miel.” You recite.

“Life is a flower, love is its honey.” Steven translates. His hands are so, so warm on yours.

“C’est la colombe unie à l’aigle dans le ciel,” you continue, briefly daring to look up at his eyes, which are now on your hands. He looks absolutely dazed, as if he can’t believe this is real.

“It’s the dove united with the eagle in the sky,” You notice Steven's hands are shaking too.

“C’est la grâce tremblante à la force appuyée,” Do you dare to move your hands?

“It’s the trembling grace to the leaning force,” He’s looking directly at you again. No wine, no French, no lentil soup could save you now.

“C’est ta main dans ma main doucement oubliée…” You rub your hands on top of his and his fingers feel exactly how you thought they would, and more.

“It’s your hand in my gently forgotten hand…” He moves one hand to your shoulder. Your heart feels as if it’s in your throat.

“Aimons-nous! aimons-nous!” There are exclamation points in the text, but all that comes out of your mouth is a faint whisper.

“Let’s love each other. Let’s love each other.” Somehow, your faint whisper is louder than Steven’s.

And then silence. You feel yourself gravitate towards him, the heat of your lips meeting as they finally collide and give you the sweetest satisfaction.

Steven Grant’s lips are softer than you could have ever fantasized. He’s gentle, slow and leaves you lingering for more. One hand is still on your Victor Hugo book, rubbing the palm of your hand as your fingers are laced together.

You break apart briefly and lean your foreheads on each other, grinning as he rubbed your shoulder.

“I feel like I’ve been wanting to do that since I first met you.” Steven confesses. You take your other hand and run it through his tussled black curls as you continue to kiss him. He follows your lead, matching the pace of your kisses and, albeit awkwardly initially, slipped his tongue into your mouth, letting you taste him.

As the kiss deepened, you heard the book slam onto the ground with a large thud as you lifted yourself onto his lap. You heard Steven gasp, and you broke the kiss.

“Is everything alright?” You scan his eyes for any discomfort.

“I’m alright, love.” His hands continue gripping your shoulders tightly. You place your hands on them, moving them slowly from your shoulders to the curve of your hips.

“You don’t have to worry.” You whisper into his lips. “You can touch me however you want.” He exhaled and gripped your hip with more confidence. His other hand moved to the back of your neck as your lips crashed together, moving at a faster pace. You moan as he slips his tongue into your mouth, which causes him to moan. You pushed against him, slowly rocking on him, your skirt slipping up by the friction.

He groans before breaking the kiss. “I should let you know something. I’m not like other men.”

“That’s precisely what I like about you, Steven.” You move your lips to the warmth of his neck, sucking on him as he groans again, shaking his head as if he needs to get out of his trance.

“No, I’m serious. I’ve told you about my sleeping disorder… how it causes me to miss certain days and how I feel so knackered afterwards. It’s… caused me to miss quite a bit out of life.”

“And I can help you make it up.” You nibble on his ear.

“I’m a virgin.” He blurts out so fast you almost miss it.

You take a moment to settle into his lap, hands still firmly smoothing out his soft curls. He looks down with a tinge of shame and embarrassment that you’re puzzled by, so you reassure him by lifting his chin up and giving him a soft kiss.

“Hey, come on now. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. It just hasn’t happened yet.”

“Yeah, at least not with the right person.” He takes his slightly shaky hand to hold the side of your face as you kiss his palm.

“Well, we can go at whatever pace you like tonight.”

"I just want to make you feel good.” Steven whispers. “Show me how to do that and I’ll be satisfied enough tonight.”

“But I want you to be satisfied too, Steven. And I think I know of a way to do that.”

You press your lips against his, but this time hungrier, needier. You wanted to show him how much you had been pining for him all of these weeks. Steven could steadily match with your pace, boldly biting your lower lip and smiling as he heard a moan exit your mouth.

You move his hand from your face, slowly sliding it down your neck, to the curve of your breast. Steven let out a whimper as you guided his hand to knead your breast. He stared at your hands together, mouth agape, eyes hooded, in a trance.

You moved his hand from your breast to your stomach, to your thighs as you guided his hand up your dress. You planted soft kisses on him while you guided him, but when you stop at the heat between your legs, he’s absolutely speechless. You remove your hand from his, letting him decide his next step.

He rubs the outline of the wetness of your underwear as you sigh in pleasure.

“Steven…” You whisper.

“I could never get tired of hearing my name said like that.” He sighed, still looking at you in absolute unabashed awe. You removed the straps from your sundress, exposing your naked breasts, and instead of the trembling nerves Steven had shown you, he was massaging and rubbing at one nipple while still rubbing the outline of your underwear.

“That feel good?” Steven murmured.

“So good Steven.” Your nipples had started to harden under his touch. Steven removed his hand from your crotch so he could steady himself and focus on putting his breasts in your mouth. He took ample time with both of them, switching back and forth and sucking on them with such passion that his eyes were shut and he was moaning, silently praising your chest.

After a few moments of bliss, you stopped him, lifting his head up as he could watch you get off of his lap and onto your knees. Just the simple action of you kneeling between his raging erection caused him to start quietly panting, not wanting any sudden movements to ruin this moment.

You unfastened his belt, eyes still met with his as you saw the bulge from his boxers. There was a slight wet spot of pre-cum on the fabric and you felt your mouth water with anticipation. You pulled his boxers down so his cock could spring free and you weren’t only surprised but very pleased.

Steven’s cock was so thick you could barely touch your thumb when wrapping your hand around him. He was already so firm and hard for you, veins slightly protruding out and more liquid glistening at the top of his tip.

“Oh my God.” Steven chanted as you rubbed him up and down. “Oh my God, Oh my God, Oh my God, I can’t believe this is happening.”

“I can’t believe you’re so big.” You say, a bit hypnotized yourself. You had fantasized about this moment but couldn’t believe it was actually happening and better than you had ever expected.

“I’m not gonna lie to you,” Steven strained out. “As much as I would love for you to put your mouth… all… over me… I think our fun would end rather quickly, and that leaves us with a bit of a problem.”

You slightly turn your mouth, upset you can’t have your mouth take the challenge of swallowing his cock just yet, but then you come up with an even better idea, giving Steven a devilish grin.

You slip his boxers back on, his bulge even more prominent than before, and Steven looks up at you with a puzzled look. You wrapped your legs around his hips and sunk your clothed crotch into his.

“Oh, fuck.” Steven moaned, calling out your name. “Fuck, that feels amazing.” He fastened his hands on your hips as you slowly rocked into him. You put your forehead onto his, breathing in each other’s air as Steven quickened the pace, the pressure of his thickness tightening your bundle of nerves. You started to grind onto him, hard and fast, as he held himself steady with the softness of your ass.

The warm pressure of his cock was about to make you come undone. His head was buried in between your breasts, not sucking at them but just breathing you in, just to make sure you were real. That this was real.

Steven pushed his crotch up against you at a pace that you knew would unravel you. Your moans together became more rhythmic.

“Steven, I’m so close, please don’t stop.” You whined. You brought your hand not tangled in his curls to your clit as you began to rub it, this just quickened Steven’s pace as you bounced on his crotch, his hands gripped on your ass so tightly you knew you’d have bruises later.

As your moans got louder, you felt yourself release, your orgasm throbbing throughout your entire body. Steven came quickly after, abruptly stopping as he released his warmth into his boxers. The two of you panted together, heads still connected through your foreheads. Closer than ever.

“Wow.” Steven meekly whispered. “That was better than I ever imagined it would be. Tu es exquis."

”Tu es incroyable.” You whispered back, looking at him as he smiled warmly at you. “See, I’ve been paying attention.”

The two of you laid there for a few moments until Steven went into your bathroom to clean up. You had slowly stripped away your dress and your bra, nestling under your duvet, leaving some space behind you for the wonderful man you were waiting for.

A few moments passed, and you felt his warm body surrounding you, arms around your waist as he lay there naked, reciting Victor Hugo’s romantic poetry into your ear.

“I reckon if I can’t give you a full French lesson, this was the best substitute.” Steven’s hands were circling lazily around your arms and you briefly reminisced about the time when he didn’t even know if a hug was appropriate. And now here he is in your bed, wearing no clothes and reciting poetry into your ear.

Sometimes real life really eclipses fantasy.

“I’d say this absolutely makes up for it, and then some. But… I think we’re going to have to go into double time next lesson to make up for it.” You grinned.

“You’re right, maybe an oral exam will have to do.” Steven awkwardly quipped and you both laughed at his awkwardly adorable attempt at double entendre.

You turned around and opened your arms up towards him. He moved his head towards your chest, arms gripping your waist tightly with the same fervor as earlier, as if you would float away and this was all a dream.

You buried your fingers in his curls, gripping your free hand to the back of his head until you drifted asleep.

Steven Grant, the shy gift shop clerk that had offered you French lessons.

Steven Grant, the brilliant, burgeoning Egyptologist that brightened your life with his stories and his warmth.

Steven Grant. The start of something new.

#steven grant #steven grant smut #steven grant x you #steven grant fluff #steven grant x reader #steven grant fanfiction #moon knight #moon knight x reader #moon knight x you #moon knight smut #oscar isaac x you #oscar isaac x reader #oscar isaac smut #oscar isaac x y/n #steven grant x y/n #marvel #mcu #mcu smut #marvel smut

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blackcherryvelvet0909 · 9 months

Text

Night Drive (Rook x GN!Reader)

You sighed as you opened the balcony doors, the cool sea breeze kissing you hello. The view that met your vision was absolutely breathtaking - not a thing could beat it. When you realized the room you and Grim would share at the resort had a balcony, you were thrilled. You figured Crowley would just stick you both in the cheapest room he could find, your only view of the alley between hotels or something. The irritation you held for the headmaster mattered not at the moment. A hum of delight vibrated in your throat as you sat back in a lounge chair to bask in the evening.

The beach was dark, quiet aside from the soft crash of the waves. The moon shone high above, its visage reflected in the sea. As another gentle wind caressed your skin and tousled your hair, you closed your eyes to further relax yourself. You faintly registered the TV as it played whatever show Grim decided to watch, the cat preoccupied by the screen. For now, he was content with his shows and ice cream. There were no chores or duties for you to attend to, either. For once, you could fully relax and be at ease.

As you opened your eyes, your gaze fell on the hotel adjacent to yours. The two were owned by the same resort - some of the wealthier students had gotten rooms there. Well, condos, really. They were twice as big as the room you were in, their balconies just as huge. You scanned the apartments from top to bottom as you wondered just how grand they were. Kalim had thought about having a movie night in his - maybe you’d get to see then.

Just as you were about to look away, you caught a glimpse of someone walking out onto one of the balconies. The figure looked familiar, so you squinted to try and get a better look at them. You quickly recognized the man now leaned against the railing: Rook. His gaze fell on the beach and its nightly splendor; it seemed he, like you, had come out to enjoy the view. You wondered how many times Rook had been to a place like this. You kept forgetting that, like Riddle, Rook’s family was also pretty wealthy. It was no surprise he was in one of the more upscale rooms.

As Rook’s head turned as his eyes swept over the area, he suddenly stopped when he looked in your direction. You felt eyes upon you - he’d caught you staring. With how keen his eyesight was, he must see how surprised you are to see him. Feeling a bit embarrassed, you smiled and gave him a small wave. Your suspicions were confirmed as he waved back. You watched as he took something out of his pocket and brought it to his face. His expression was finally revealed to you as his phone screen lit up.

He was smiling, but it was not mischievous or anything. It looked quite fond, actually - sweet. You saw in the dim light that he wore a plain dark purple t-shirt and a pair of gray sweatpants, feet bare on the concrete balcony floor. It was odd to see Rook dressed so casually, unlike how he usually presented himself around Vil. You remembered when he and Rook revealed that Rook’s original dorm had been Savanaclaw…you wondered if he looked similar to how he did now back then. You were pulled out of your thoughts as your phone rang in your pocket. When you took it out, you saw the name of the person calling: Rook.

“Hi, Rook,” you answered, a shy lilt to your voice.

“Bonjour, trickster.” You heard him chuckle as you watched him sit in a chair on his balcony. “There is no need to be shy; I do not mind your gaze upon me.”

“I know,” you mumbled. “Still, it was rude of me to stare. If you were anyone else, they’d likely think I was trying to spy on them.”

“Oui, that is true.” You watched Rook manspread as he leaned back in his chair - yet another odd thing to see. You wondered if he was often this casual away from Vil’s eye. “But is that not the thrill? To peek behind the curtains of one’s window, to glimpse into their life? Such beauty can be hidden in those private places.”

“Yeah…” You honestly didn’t know how to feel about that. It was probably normal for Rook to try and do so, but for you…you just hoped he had the decency to look away when someone was getting dressed or something. You adjusted yourself in your lounge chair as you spoke again. “Anyways, what were you doing before you came out?”

“I was in the shower,” he answered simply.

“Oh, sorry! That was weird of me to ask.”

“Non non, do not apologize!” Rook chuckled under his breath, likely seeing your flustered expression from his spot. His eyesight was so keen it was scary. “Such a normal, mundane part of life should not be shameful to discuss. It is simply one beauty becoming another!”

“That’s one way to see it,” you chuckled.

“And what were you doing, trickster?”

“Just out here trying to relax.” You glanced over your shoulder to see Grim still on the bed, eyes glued to the TV. “Grim’s watching something on the TV; I thought it’d be the best time to slip out here.”

“Ah, yes, you are quite the busy person.” You watched as Rook ruffled his hair to fluff it up. “You are like a bee buzzing to and fro, so dutiful, yet so fatigued. All to please a queen - or, in your case, a headmage.”

“Yeah,” you sighed in a mix of annoyance and frustration. “Don’t I know it.” You laughed a little as you saw a seagull fly overhead. “Don’t talk too loud, Crowley might hear you.”

“I would bear such a powerful scolding with pride.” He was certainly braver than you…more patient, too. “Should he ever find out about our little conversation, I will take full responsibility.” You could see the glimpse of a smile in the faint light of his phone. “In return, might I ask a gift from you, trickster?”

“Depends on the gift,” you mused.

“Let me aid you in your next task,” he said. “Whatever it may be.”

“Rook, you don’t have to do that.”

“I want to.” He sounded so genuine, you practically melted. Your heart continued to flutter as he continued. “Though I admire your dedication and elegance in overcoming every obstacle, I know when you have grown weak, trickster. Were it not for this trip, you would have collapsed from exhaustion.” You watched him lean forward in his chair, arm now rested over his knee; though he was far away, you felt those bottle green eyes pierce into yours. “It would be my pleasure to help someone so beautifully strong.”

If it were anyone else, you would have either questioned their motives or thought they’d torn that line from a book - or both. But this was Rook, who, despite his eccentricities, was not one to lie, at least to you. He was always so sincere when he spoke to you, gentle even. Could he really see through you that well; if so, he cared enough about you to sacrifice his precious hunting time? You’d likely be the prey then, but it just…felt different. You knew he could see the heartfelt smile that formed on your lips. In turn, you could nearly feel his breath against your ear as he mumbled a chuckle in response.

“Thank you, Rook. That means a lot…I’ll be sure to ask for your help next time I’m overwhelmed.”

“I look forward to it~”

“Henchman!” You whipped your head around to look at Grim, who now stood at the edge of the glass doors. “I’m hungry! Let’s go get tuna.”

“Grim, it’s almost ten,” you sighed. “We have some snacks in the cabinet you can ea-”

“They’re not the same!” he protested. As if to accentuate his need, Grim’s stomach growled loudly. You wouldn’t be surprised if Rook could hear it over the phone.

You sighed again, this time longer and more tired. “Alright, we’ll go see if they have some downstairs. If they don’t…I really don’t want to leave this late at night. I don’t think Ace or Deuce would be willing to come with us, and I don’t want to bother Malleus while he has a stomach ache…”

“I can drive you.”

You were nearly startled by Rook’s voice in your ear again. You were so surprised at his offer you wondered if you heard him right. “Huh?”

“Monsieur Fuzzball will not sleep until his appetite is sated, yes? Thus, you will not be able to sleep.” You watched as Rook stood up from his chair. “If there is no tuna available in the lobby, text me. I will get dressed and meet you there.”

“Rook, you really don’t have to-”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Rook tutted. “Did you not say I could help you in your next hour of need?” You could hear his smile over the phone. “It seems that hour has come sooner than expected.”

You felt guilt pang your heart as you glimpsed the time on the clock in your room: 10:12 p.m. By the time you got to the grocery store, or somewhere open late that served tuna, it’d be 10:30 p.m. It’d be so late when you got back… “You’re really sure?”

“It would be my privilege, trickster.”

Though you still felt that guilt in your gut, you couldn’t help but feel your spirits lift, your smile along with it. “Thanks, Rook. I’ll go down and see if they have some. If they don’t, I’ll text you.” You tried to think of how much money you had on you. It wasn’t much…you could at least pay for the tuna, maybe the gas to get there and back.

Apparently the hunter could read minds, too, for he caught you off guard with what he said next. “And it is my treat, trickster. A few cans of tuna and a car ride is a small price to pay for such a nightly excursion.”

You nearly giggled. “You say that like we’re going for a night out.”

“Hm…that is an idea.” He paused for a moment before he spoke again. “When it is not so late, and you are so tired, I shall see that thought is made a reality, ma petite trickster.”

“W-Wait, what do you-”

“Let me know when to come down,” Rook interrupted, already making his way back into his condo. He glanced over his shoulder to look at you from across the wide space separating you two. Once more, you could hear his smile on the other end. “I cannot wait to see what your beauty is like in the evening, [Y/n].”

The sound of your name on his lips played over and over in your head as he hung up. He hadn’t called you that before…and he sounded so sincere again. Rook was so…strange. He was always so hard to read - yet you found a smile pulling at your lips once more. You put your phone back in your pocket as you walked into your hotel room, glass door locking behind you and Grim as you shut it. Grim looked rather happy you actually took him seriously; for once, you felt the same.

Rook looked good in those ripped jeans, that dark green tee, those hiking boots, and that snapback cap, car keys in hand as he walked off the elevator to greet you.

#Twisted Wonderland: Beach Episode Mini Series #my work #twisted wonderland #rook hunt #twst rook #twst grim #twst x reader #rook hunt x reader #gender neutral reader #phone call #night drive #savanaclaw rook (mentioned)

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