#I knew I wanted it as soon as I understood what it was

[nevereclipse]

father figure

Pairing: Platonic!Tim Bradford x femme!rookie!reader

Requested Y/N: no this came from my own brain !!

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: Use of y/n, yelling (standard TO Bradford style), domestic violence from a police perspective, light verbal sexual harrassment, mentioned vomitting, mentioned anxiety/nervousness, panic attacks, referenced/discussed past child abuse (emotional, with vague mentions of physical). Tim being a big ole softie (eventually).

Words: 5k+

Summary: How you went from being Tim Bradfords boot, to his unofficial kid.

this one got away from me a lot and has not been proofread!😭 enjoy! feedback is fuel.

----

“Officer Y/l/n, you’re assigned to Sergeant Bradford.” Sergeant Grey was standing at the front of roll call, having just asked you to introduce yourself to your new coworkers. It was your first day as a rookie at Mid-Wilshire, and your stomach was alive with nerves.

“Yes, sir.” You responded, sitting back in your chair.

“Alright everyone, you’re dismissed,” Grey continued, “Stay safe out there.”

Immediately, Sergeant Bradford was out of his seat and walking towards you, his face stony. You’d been warned about him by a… Officer Chen? You couldn’t really remember her name. Still, she’d warned you about his ‘Tim Tests’ and gruff demeanour. It wasn’t helping your nerves.

“Boot! Let’s go.” Bradford snapped, gesturing you over with a flick of two fingers. You smoothed your uniform and walked over. You forced a smile onto your face, wanting to make a good impression.

“Sir, I’m-,” you started.

“Save it, boot.” Sergeant Bradford cut you off. “You will address me as only Bradford, Sergeant Bradford or Sir. Is that understood?”

You nodded, the nerves settling comfortably in your stomach. Bradford was clearly not planning to calm your worries. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Go grab the warbags and meet me at the shop.” Bradford nodded his head vaguely in the direction of the supply room, and you hurried off to prepare the war bags. The last thing you needed was to make a bad impression on someone who was already making you nervous.

---

Tim watched you hurriedly walk to the war room to set up. As he watched you go, Angela Lopez approached.

“So, what do you think of the new blood?” Lopez asked, gesturing (albeit unnecessarily) behind you.

“Too soon to say.” Tim replied, crossing his arms as he turned to Angela.

“Come on, Bradford, you always know right away.” Angela pushed, nudging Tim’s side.

Tim couldn’t deny that. He had a knack for knowing whether someone would be a good fit for policework – it was why he was an excellent TO.

Still, he paused, considering. “She’s… eager.” He hedged. It was true, to a degree. You did seem eager. But he could tell there was something more bubbling under the surface.

“Uh huh.” Lopez grinned, “Don’t be a total dick today, yeah?”

Tim glanced over his shoulder just as you walked out of the storeroom carrying the war bags. “No promises.”

---

Office Chen had been right. Sergeant Bradford was extremely intimidating. You’d graduated third at the Academy, and you knew you were good (well, competent at least), but some part of you was still constantly second guessing. Maybe it was Bradford’s height and build, or his permanently pissed off energy but an hour into your shift and you were scared. Not of him (not really), but of what’d happen when you inevitably screwed up. You’d tried to chat initially, but it hadn’t gone down well.

“So. Why do you want to be a cop?” Bradford asked as he pulled off West Olympic.

After an hour of near-silence, since Bradford had firmly proclaimed that the shop was a personal-life-free zone, the question surprised you. “Is that a trick question?”

“No. If I’m going to train you, I need to know why you’re in this car.” Bradford didn’t even look at you as he drove, instead scanning the streets around you.

You looked out your window for a moment. It wasn’t exactly an easy question to answer. Not without revealing way more about yourself then you wanted to on your first shift. Then you wanted too ever, really.  “Um.” You swallowed. “I know it’s… basic, but I want to help people.” You hedged. “People who don’t have anyone else to-.”

The shop screeched to a halt, and you were suddenly cut off by Bradford yelling: “I’VE BEEN SHOT! WHERE ARE YOU, BOOT?”

Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuck- you didn’t know. “Um…” You looked around, trying desperately to find a street sign, or some clue as to where you were. After a few more seconds, you heard Bradford scoff.

“Now I’m dead. It’s your fault.” He didn’t even look mad. Just completed blank. That was almost more nerve racking.

“I-I’m sorry, sir,” You started, hating the way your voice shook.

“Not good enough, Boot!” Tim’s voice was loud and sharp, cutting through the silence of the shop. “Apologies don’t save lives, rookie. Get out.”

Your stomach dropped. “What?”

“I said get out and walk, boot. You can get back in when you know where you are.”

In that moment, you knew you’d ruined it. This had been your chance to be a cop, and less than two hours in, you’d already fucked it up. You got out of the shop, walking along side it. Hoping Bradford didn’t notice how your legs had shaken as you left. You wouldn’t let yourself be upset by this. Bradford was just doing his job, you were perfectly safe. From him, anyway.

Still, when you finally got back in the shop, you didn’t talk again. All your focus went towards scanning your surroundings.

---

Your legs had shaken when you got out of the car. It was subtle, but Tim had noticed it. Unbidden, a touch of guilt settled in his stomach. He honestly hadn’t meant to frighten you. It was just a Tim Test – he didn’t need (nor want) you to be scared. It was hardly conducive to training a good rookie.

What bothered him most, though, is your complete silence the rest of the day. You’d been annoying chatty the first twenty odd minutes of your shift (until Tim had, in traditional Bradford fashion, banned any sort of personal talk), but since getting back in the car, you’d stuck strictly to ‘yes, sir’s and ‘no, sir’s. It had been… unnerving.

Tim didn’t like changing his training style. After all, after half a dozen rookies, he liked to think that he’d perfected his TO methods. Everyone knew that he was an exceptional training officer. The only people he ever made exceptions for were veterans like him. But the thought of scaring you every time he yelled made his stomach drop in an unpleasant way. You’d been so eager when you’d first gotten in the shop – nervous, sure, but eager. And you were so, so young. You reminded him of himself in a way.

In the way you’d immediately changed he’d yelled, which even Tim could admit would’ve been… slightly scary. And that change had implications, ones Tim didn’t like. He especially didn’t like the implication of what that made him to you. A threat. So he’d never mention it, but he did quietly resolve to adjust – adjust, not change – the way he made sure you learnt what you needed too.

---

A few weeks into your training and Sergeant Bradford had significantly lowered on your rating of ‘scary people I know.’ While he was still harsh, and quick to criticise, he’d never shown you that cold, disappointment-infused yelling that he had on your first shift. It’d made it a lot easier for you to get comfortable around him, and you’d almost immediately started breaking the ‘no personal talk in the shop’ rule.

“Anyway, then she said that I was the one who needed to check my attitude. I mean can you believe that? Me? Having an attitude?” You said, watching your surroundings (you hadn’t forgotten your first Tim Test) as you rambled about some woman you’d run into grocery shopping.

At your comment, Bradford simply side-eyed you. He did that a lot, you were realising.

“Rude. That’s rude.” You said in response to the side eye. “It gets worse, though. She had the audacity-.”

Bradford held up a hand, cutting you off. “Boot.”

You turned, “Yes, sir?”

“Stop. Talking.”

You shut your mouth, but that was mostly to hold back a slight laugh. Bradfords hands were wrapped around the steering wheel, but they weren’t white like they were when you really needed to shut up. (You’d always been observant.)

“But this is the best part of the story.” You pressed.

“Boot, I swear to god-.” Before Bradford could issue whatever threat, he planned too, someone’s voice crackled over the radio.

“7-Adam-100, we have a domestic call at 4195 Clover Drive. Neighbours reported shouting.”

Tim’s face hardened. He glanced briefly at you, and you knew, even without a mirror, that your face had paled a shade. You’d been lucky so far to not have to deal with any DV calls. Guess that luck was over.

“7-Adam-100, show us responding, Code 6.”

Tim floored the breaks a little harder than he objectively needed too.

You could hear the yelling as soon as you pulled into Clover Drive. It was distinctly male, the words harsh and clear, and coming from a house halfway down the street.

It was an effort to clear your head.

“What’s the procedure for a domestic call, boot?” Asked Bradford as you switched off your sirens and approached the house.

You swallowed, “Um.  Get inside the house to assess any damage. Separate the assumed predominant aggressor from the presumed victim or any children if possible. If there doesn’t appear to be violence, there isn’t much we can do, though.”

Bradford nodded tightly. “Good. I’ll take lead on this one.”

“Yes, sir.”

 You knocked on the front door as Bradford called out, alerting the occupants to the polices presence. The yelling stopped immediately.

“Is there a problem, Officer?” Asked a man, probably in his forties. You and Bradford pushed your way into the house as you spoke with him. There was water spilt across the countertop, and a girl in her early teens standing in the kitchen. Her face was tear-streaked, but she appeared unharmed.

“We got reports of yelling from this area, sir.” Came Bradford’s voice from behind you. Your head was starting to spin as memories flooded back to you: late nights, angry words, the occasional smashed plate. Or worse.

You didn’t hear what the man (you assumed he was the girl father) said in response. The teen was watching you and Tim with wide eyes, shaking her head. She rubbed her wrist absentmindedly, and if you weren’t so stuck in your own head, you would’ve thought to ask to see if she was injured. You turned to her father and vaguely registered that he was wearing a wife beater under his button up. Ironic.

“Let’s go, boot.” Bradford snapped, beckoning you over. His jaw was set, and he obviously didn’t believe whatever the man had said. Your head felt like it was underwater as you walked out of the house, and your stomach turned. Memories flooded your head.

Bradford was grumbling under his breath, something about hating the laws around DV in California, when he noticed you stumble towards the bushes outlining the road.

“You good, boot?” He asked, frowning something.

You nodded frantically, “Mmhm… fine, si-.” The ‘sir’ was cut off by the sound of you throwing up in the bushes. You hadn’t eaten since breakfast, so nothing really came out, but still you dry heaved, clutching your stomach.

“Shit, Y/l/n, are you okay?” Instantly, Tim was at your side, one hand on your back. You nodded vaguely, gesturing for a drink of water. He almost ran to get it. When you could finally breathe, and had swallowed nearly half a litre of water, he asked,

“Jesus, boot, what the hell was that?”

“I’m fine.” You insisted, not wanting to get into some conversation about your past: Bradford wasn’t the understanding type. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Like hell it’s not.” Bradford snapped, guiding you back to the shop. His words were harsh, but his touch gentle. A strange combination, but one that left you feeling comforted. “Listen, boot, if you’ve got something that’s going to make you react to scenes like that, I need to know. Now.”

You shook your head frantically, refusing to open up. As much as you were starting to trust Bradford, you weren’t ready to give him that information. Not when he was the age he was, the build he was, holding so much authority over you

“It’s fine, sir. I swear. It won’t happen again.” You repeated, and you meant it. It wouldn’t happen again.

Tim surveyed you for a moment, watching the guarded expression in your eyes. It was one he recognised, having seen it in his reflection countless times after teachers asked about a suspicious bruise. It was for that reason he relented, though he fully intended to bring it up again. “Fine. But if have something you need to tell me… you can, kid.”

“Yes, sir.”

---

More time passed, and even though you still refused to open about your childhood to Tim (how do you even have that conversation?), you were starting to rely on him.

It was inevitable, you supposed. Unrequited, but inevitable. After all, he was in his mid-forties, an authority figure, admittedly a bit of a dick, but you were gradually (ever so gradually) starting to see a slightly gentler side of him. So of course you looked up to him. You had daddy issues, okay?

It wasn’t a crush. You knew that for sure. You’d half expected it to be, but it wasn’t. Instead, it was a healthy dose of admiration, paired with a slightly-less-healthy dose of please god be proud of me. But that was fine. It was entirely reasonable given he was your TO. You hoped.

---

“You’re under arrest for attempted grand theft auto and possession of illicit substances,” you said, hooking handcuffs around some criminal’s wrists. He’d been a pain in the ass to catch, and you could already feel a bruise blooming across your jaw from his escape attempts. Bradford had, predictably, been unhelpful in the arrest, instead opting to analyse your fighting technique as you’d taken the crook down. He’d even cracked a rare ‘good job’ smile as you’d put the cuffs on.

You pushed the perp against your shop, already halfway through the Miranda Rights: “You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you understand these rights?”

The thief mumbled slightly, and you nodded to Tim to take him off your hands. The second your hands were off him, however, he started complaining. Loudly.

“Aw, come on man. If you’re gonna arrest me, at least let the lady cop throw me ‘round.” He said, looking over his shoulder to grin at you. You scrunched your nose. It wasn’t the first time a suspect had hit on you, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

“Nothin’? Dude, you gotta… I ain’t going to jail without gettin’ to feel some sweet lady cop ti-! Ow! The hell was that for?”

Tim scowled, hitting the suspect over the back of the head a second time for good measure (or something). “Get your eyes off Officer Y/l/n. You’re not fit to look at her.” He shoved the perp into your shop, rougher than was strictly necessary, and you couldn’t help the slight smile that crept onto your face.

“Really?” You asked, slipping into the shop’s passenger seat.

“What? You got a problem, boot?” Tim said, his voice flat. You just chuckled and shook your head.

“No problem, sir.”  

---

The silence in the shop was unbearable. It was almost lunch, and you’d scarcely said a word all day. You were preoccupied replaying your conversation with your parents from the night before over and over in your head, trying to figure out how them coming over for dinner had dissolved into fighting so quickly.

“You good, boot?” Tim asked after a particularly long stretch of quiet. “Usually I can’t get you to shut up, but you’ve barely said a word today.”

You nodded quickly, forcing yourself to focus. “I’m fine, sir. Sorry. Just tired. Besides, not personal talk in the shop, right?”

“When have you ever followed that rule? You sure you’re good, boot? Because if something’s going on that’ll affect your performance, I need to know.”

“Nothing’s going on. Sir.” You knew the words sounded thin, but what were you going to do? Complain about your parents?

Tim glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. “Uh-huh. In that case, what colour was the Lexus we just passed?”

Shit. You hadn’t been paying attention to your surroundings, too lost in your own thoughts. “Uh… silver?”

Another side eye, this one harsher than the last. “There was no Lexus. It was a Camry. And for the record, boot, it was blue.”

“I…” You didn’t really have a defence.

“Seriously, kid. What is going on?”

“Nothing.” You said, and you had to admit, you sounded like a kid. “I just. Had my parents over last night, and it didn’t… go great.”

Instantly, Tim was on edge. He wasn’t proud of the reaction, of the way his stomach instinctively dropped. He knew, he knew, that his version of ‘it didn’t go great’ with family wasn’t the same as most people’s. But this was you. You who’d thrown up at your first DV call, even without any violence. You who’d completely shut down after being yelled at.

Which is why he couldn’t help the immediate questions if: “Are you hurt?”

You tensed. Why would he ask that? “No,” you replied, “I’m not hurt.” It was true, technically. You hadn’t been hit since you were fifteen. And even then, it’d been rare.

Tim’s eyes flicked over you, trying to find a lie. “What happened?” He asked, and his voice had a weird gentleness that made you feel... strange.

You swallowed. Shrugged. “My parents came over for dinner. I did something, I don’t really know what, ‘n pissed my father off.” Your explanation was purposeful vague, but you could help but add: “He broke my favourite mug, which really pissed me off. It’s my apartment, you know? He’s not supposed to be able to break my shit anymore.” A long pause, your father’s furious insults running through your head. “He didn’t like it when I told him that.”

Tim nodded slightly, knowing exactly what you were suggesting. “He insult you?”

“Nothing I haven’t heard before.” Despite your cool delivery, the words stung. You looked away, out the window, feeling tears prick at your eyes. You didn’t like talking about this, especially not with Tim. Just because you viewed him as... something, didn’t mean he thought of you ask anything more than a rookie he had to train. A burden.

“I’m sorry, kid.” Tim said, assessing you carefully. “I know what that feels like.”

“You do?” You looked at Tim, curious, and instantly regretted it. The tears welling in your eyes were all too obvious now.

“Yeah. My dad was like that too. I got slapped around my fair share.” Tim’s words were clipped. He clearly also wasn’t fond of talking about his childhood.

“Oh.” What else could you say?

“Listen, boot. I know it’s rough. And you don’t deserve it. But you’re not whatever he says you are, okay?”

You sniffled, hastily wiping your eyes. “Yeah. I know.”

Tim nodded tersely. “Good.” There was a small moment, where Tim placed a hand on your shoulder, and you felt like things might actually be okay. Like you might actually have someone. Then, “Come on, boot. We’ve got six hours of shift left. You gonna focus now?”

---

Tim kept an eye on you the rest of the day. He’d known there was a bit of him in you, but the parallels between your childhoods made his heart crack.

He could see the countless untold stories behind your eyes, ones he’d undoubtedly heard before. And the way you’d tensed when he asked if you were hurt... you hadn’t been hit last night, but you had been before.

He really had tried to not get attached.

And look. He knew you looked up to him. He’d seen the way you preened at praise, the shaky look over to him after making a decision, waiting for his nod of approval, regardless of how confident you were in the decision. He’d tried not to encourage it – limiting praise, refusing to approve your decisions unless you did first. It wasn’t good for a rookie to get that attached to their TO, not when they were only partners for a year. It was especially not good for them to view them as some sort of parental figure. More importantly, Tim Bradford didn’t get attached to his boots.

But goddammit it. The look in your eyes when he’d told you about his dad? It made him abandon all the principles he thought he held so strongly. He’d always wanted a kid, after all.

---

“Does anyone know what day it is today?” Sergeant Grey asked from the front of the roll call room.

You groaned internally. Of course he had to announce it to the whole it room.

A few rows behind you, Officer Chen perked up, grinning, you were sure, at Bradford.

“The day Officer Y/l/n takes her six month exam.” She said.

Cheers and whistles filled the room and you almost buried your head in your hands.

“Boot!” Tim called out. You turned to look at him. “I’ll take it as a personal insult if you don’t get more than a 93 on this exam.”

Great. Like you weren’t stressed enough about the exam already. “Yes, sir.”

As Grey tried to calm the room down, you swallowed, focusing on calming your breathing. You knew what you were doing. You just had to not disappoint Tim. Not forget everything. Not be a total fucking failure.

No pressure, right?

---

Three days later, and you were back in roll call. Grey had written three numbers on the white board. An 84. A 91. And a 95. Your stomach dropped at the sight of the 91 and the 84. Of course you’d failed. Of course. Why hadn’t you worked harder? You’d been a straight A student in high school, and university, why was this different?

“Can anyone guess which of these belongs to Officer Y/l/n?” Grey asked the room. Various answers were shouted out, most leaning towards the 95, until Grey cut them off and said: “The 91. Good work, Officer.”

You could only nod, your head already pounding. You’d failed. Not really, not truly, but enough. And Tim. What would he do?

You didn’t notice everyone leave the room. Didn’t notice Tim approach you, not until he was practically having to shout in your face.

“Boot? Boot! Y/l/n!” The sound of your name, paired with Tim waving a hand in your face, snapped you back to reality.

“Yes, sir?” Your voice had an almost unnoticeable tension to it. A shake. Please, please don’t be mad.

“Let’s go, boot. Why aren’t you getting the war bags?” Tim asked, completely ignoring your test results.

Completely ignoring your test results? What? Why wasn’t he yelling, reaming you out for disappointing him? He’d been very clear with his expectations and he’d never been one to let you down gently if you did something wrong.

“Sir?” You asked, confused.

“What is it, boot?” Tim asked, exasperated. You should’ve been on the road by now. Wait, where you okay...? Your eyes were wide. Almost afraid.

“Why aren’t you mad?”

“What? Why would I be mad-..? Oh.” Tim looked down at you, his face softening as he recalled what he’d said before your test. What you’d told him about your past. “About your test? No, kid, I’m not mad. I was screwing with you when I said you needed to get a 93. A 91 is an excellent result, boot “

“Oh.” You said quietly, looking away sheepishly. Of course he wasn’t mad. This was Tim.

Tim looked at you like you were an idiot, but somehow, you didn’t feel stupid or insulted. “Yeah, oh. You’re not a disappointment, kid. Not to me. Now hurry up and get the war bags sorted.” Tim clapped you on the shoulder as he sent you on your way, and you couldn’t help but think that this was what a father was supposed to be like.

---

“Red or black?” You asked Tim during one shift a month or so later. It was a random question, but you wanted his opinion.

Tim glanced at you. “As concepts, or…?”

“As dress colours.” You elaborated, before hesitantly adding, “I have a date.”

The shop skidded to a stop. “Woah, woah. You have a date? When? With who?” Tim was turning instantly, all his attention on you.

You bit back a laugh. “Tonight. With a boy. Jacob. And I don’t know what to wear.”

Tim frowned. “Where did you meet this ‘Jacob?’” He couldn’t help the protective instinct. The last time one of his rookies went on a date, she got kidnapped. And you weren’t Lucy (he wasn’t in love with you) but he did… care.

“At a bookshop. Calm your farm, Bradford. It’s one date. You really pulling the protective dad card right now?” You smirked, watching the slight red colour Tim’s face.

“I- no. I’m not pulling a card, boot. I’m just… curious.” Tim spluttered, not wanting to admit that he was definitely acting like a protective dad.

“Uh huh. He’s a good guy, Sarge. He’s funny, and sweet, and I actually like him.” You said, as if the concept of actually liking a guy was foreign. It had admittedly been a while since you went on a date. “So, red or black?” You repeated, crossing your arms. Your cheeks were the tiniest bit pink.

Tim glared from the corner of his eye. “Black.”

“Thank you.”

In signature Bradford fashion, Tim huffed and simply said, “For the record, I still don’t like this whole ‘date’ thing, boot.”

---

The date was a success. So much of a success, in fact, that three dates later, Jacob came to pick you up after work the next day. It was adorable, and he showed up with fresh flowers and a planned date, and it would’ve been perfect, if you hadn’t been leaving the station with Officer Bradford.

The same Bradford who’d been demanding more information about “this Jacob person” ever since you’d first mentioned a date.

So, while you were excited about the date, you weren’t thrilled at seeing Jacob stand in front of you, levelled by one of Tim’s many practiced glares.

“Who are you?” Tim asked, crossing his arms. He knew exactly who he was.

“I’m Jacob…?” Your boyfriend said hesitantly, trying to figure out why the man in front of him was staring at him so intimidatingly.

You winced and jumped in quickly. “Jake, this is Tim. My TO?”

Recognition clicked quickly in Jacob’s eyes.  He instantly stuck out a hand to Tim, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Uh huh.” Tim raked his eyes over Jacobs outstretched hand, but didn’t shake it. “You got a last name, Jacob?”

“Anderson.” Jacob supplied immediately, lips twitching faintly in amusement.

“What do you do, Anderson? If you say screenwriter, you’re going in a cell.”

Jacob chuckled. “I’m a teacher, sir.” Tim didn’t look impressed, but he didn’t look totally disgusted either. Which, to you, was a win.

“Is this the part where you tell me not to hurt Y/n?” Jacob asked with a barely contained grin.

Tim glowered. “Yes. In fact, consider this your one and only warning. Hurt her, and I’ll find a way to make you spend the rest of your life in a cell.” Tim crossed his arms over his chest, and God you were glad he’d never given you that look before.

Pitying your partner, you jumped in and placed yourself between the two most important men in your life. “Oookay, Bradford, chill. We’re going to go now. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay, sir?”

“Uh-huh. See you tomorrow, Boot.” Tim’s words came out tense, and he didn’t take his eyes off you until you were well out of the carpark.

---

The day had arrived. You’d officially been a police officer for an entire year. You weren’t a rookie anymore.

It was everything you’d dreamed of it being.

“Finally, congratulations to Officer Y/l/n for completing the FTO program and surviving her rookie year. Welcome, officially, to the team, Y/l/n.” Grey walked over to you, shaking your hand proudly. “Good work, kid.”

“Thank you, sir.” You beamed, returning the handshake. Grey dismissed the rest of roll call, and you walked out of the room. You could barely make it a few steps without someone grabbing you, hugging you or congratulating you in some way. You’d never been happier.

You reached the edge of the room and were met with Sergeant Bradford, a rare smile on his face.

“Congratulations, Y/l/n.” He said, reaching out a hand.

“Don’t even try.” You said, knocking his hand out of the way and pulling him into a hug. It was unprofessional, you knew, but you couldn’t help it. Aside from your boyfriend, Tim had managed to become one of the most important people in your life over the past year.

Tim froze for a moment, but gently returned the hug, patting your back a couple times. You thought you heard Harper snicker from across the room. You definitely heard Lucy say the word ‘Dadford.’ She wasn’t… entirely wrong. You had found a father in Tim. Maybe one day he’d even admit it – in actual words, not just actions. You still laughed every time you thought about his interrogation of Jacob when they’d first met.

You pulled back and only then did you shake Tim’s hand. “Thank you, sir. For everything.”

Tim nodded, the smile lines by his eyes crinkling. “You’re welcome… Y/n. I’m proud of you, kid.”

You smiled softly and forced yourself to only say, “Have a good shift… Tim,” before hurrying away. But as you got into your shop (your shop, for the first time), you didn’t stop a few happy tears from falling.

---

You were nervous. It was your second time riding with Tim since graduating the FTO program and you were nervous. It had nothing to do with riding with Tim, however, and everything to do with what you were going to ask him.

“Tim?” You asked, hesitant.

“Yeah, Y/l/n?”

“I have to tell you something.” You fiddled with your left hand nervously, already missing the weight on your finger.

Instantly, Tim was softening and frowning, “Are you okay, kid?”

“Yes! Yeah, I’m okay.” This time you actually meant it. “I have news, though.”

“Oh?” Tim turned to you for a second, before looking back at the road. “What is it?”

You swallowed, and then, “Jacob asked me to marry him. I said yes.”  

Tim had finally come around to Jacob a few months ago. Little did you know, but Jacob had actually asked Tim’s permission before proposing. You’d told him once about how you wished you had a father that you still spoke to, just for that reason. Jacob had known Tim was the next best thing.

Tim smiled widely, “Congratulations, Y/n. I’ll be expecting an invite to the wedding.”

“Actually, I wanted to ask you about that.” This was where the nervousness was coming in. You were pretty sure the butterflies in your stomach had reached your lungs too.

“What is it?” Tim tilted his head slightly.

“Will you walk me down the aisle?” Tim froze, shocked. You quickly rambled on, as you so often did when nervous, “You don’t have to, I just-.. I don’t talk to my bio dad, and you’re the closest thing I have to a father, and it would mean a lot to me, and-.”

“Relax, Y/l/n,” Tim cut you off with a smile. “I would be honoured to walk you down the aisle.”

The smile on your face then was the third biggest you’d ever smiled. The first had been when you’d graduated the FTO program, and the second when Jacob had proposed. But this… this was an entirely different feeling. This was the feeling of your whole life, finally working out. You had a career, a fiancé, and now, a father. A real one, who never insulted you or made you feel worthless.

What more could you ask for?

fin

!! DO NOT REPUBLISH OR FEED TO AI !!

[omgfangirlland]

The Shadows That Nurture 2

Hii! Here is the second chapter. I will post the chapters when the next one is either 50% or 90-100% ready, based on how long it has been. Hope you enjoy!

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Breakfast became awkward as soon as you shyly walked in, hunger beating the desire to stay hidden in your room- in hindsight, maybe you should have. They were chatting so eagerly, laughing. You wanted that too but as soon as you peeked through the door the noise stopped. It was like the first day of kindergarten. Lonely, your palms were sweating with anxiety, and- and you missed your mom.

You tried introducing yourself to Richard, but you were met with a hum and one singular glance, no interest from the older boy, your supposed brother. Bruce- you’d rather him not look at you at all. It was like he was trying to read your mind and dissect it.

By the time you had it in you to speak again, to try and create some bonds, it seemed like they couldn’t get away fast enough. They both looked so tired. You’d think they would have taken their time. Your eyes meet Alfred’s icy blues once the room is empty.

“Do they hate me?... Did I do something wrong?” Alfred’s whole body flinched at the question, unseen by the untrained eye. The old man felt pity, a bit of guilt for the way he, himself, acted. But the mask of indifference he’s been trained for years to keep took its place once more.

With a gentle hand, he did his best to soothe her worries. Bruce could never hate a kid, Alfred was sure… He hoped he was. Alfred shook his head- no, he shouldn’t doubt his child- Master Bruce. He shouldn’t doubt Master Bruce like that. He knows better. The old man cleared his throat. “Here, young miss. Master Bruce wanted you to have this. Just like Master Dick has.” His explanation of what and how to use the little black card and the modern phone came just as quickly as his try at making connections between the two kids.

“Giving a kid unsupervised access to so much money and the internet sounds like a bad idea.” Your mumbling made Alfred’s lip twitch. It was and he said as much, but it was what Master Bruce wanted, and what he wanted he got… usually.

And with that, Alfred left too. You understood why he left; he seemed to be the only employee. Taking care of such a big house all on your own must take all day, and to have to cook as well… Poor man, Bruce mustn’t like him very much either. He was old, ancient to your five-year-old self, maybe you could help with something.

After finishing your meal, you take the dishes and carefully put them in the sink. You wanted to wash them but sadly, the counter was taller than you. Instead, you focused on cleaning the table and pushing the chairs back into their place.

Bruce must have gone to work, and Richard to school. Your brows furrowed and your lips stuck out in a pout. You were supposed to go to kindergarten. Neither of the adults seemed worried about that, and you didn’t know how to get there either, so it must be a deliberate choice. Maybe it was closed. Or maybe they forgot.

Your feet carried you across the manor, from the withered garden to the many floors of the cold house, relying on the whispers from the shadows to know what door you can open, and which way you should go. They were leading you in a specific direction, you knew, but what else could you do but listen? Not like you had anything else to do or anywhere to be.

You stopped as soon as the shadows stopped whispering. The overlapping murmuring going silent made the room feel colder, and yet your amazement at the object before your eyes filled you with the warmth and hope you needed to survive another day. It was a simple thing, a painting.

A couple, a woman sitting on a chair and a man standing tall beside her. The position on any other would seem imposing, controlling even, but the hand on her shoulder wasn’t gripping her. It was a tender caress of care that reflected in the man’s face as a gentle smile and his eyes fixated on the woman, his wife. The painter did a great job of portraying the love and softness the man held for his beloved, as they did for the warmth in her smile and mischievously happy gleam in her eyes.

She was beautiful, full of life. Her dress was silky white. Must have been painted on the day of their wedding. She was the perfect picture of elegance as beautiful, shining pearls adorned her neck and the bottom of her dress, and yet… Her eyes seemed as sad as they were happy. She probably missed her mami too. You couldn’t imagine marrying someone and leaving your mom, but then again, you’re young and idealistic, dreaming of things that cannot be anymore.

You sat there for what felt like hours, taking in every little detail you could. You wanted to do this, to paint, to draw, to have your art hung for generations to see. Maybe you could fix the garden as well. Make it a beautiful background for your art, and a little something to make you feel useful. Now… how do you get back to your room?

The shadows seemed to giggle at how your demeanor soured once you realized how lost you actually were. Nevertheless, once they had their fun, they led you back to where you needed to be, gently nudging your tired little self back into the walls of your room. All that walking exhausted you so much, a nap was long overdue- you were sure they’d wake you up for lunch or dinner.

They never did. You woke up at one in the morning, more tired than when you went to sleep, and ten times hungrier and colder. Maybe they didn’t have dinner? The trash in the bin and half-chopped veggies in the fridge told a different story. It seems you’ll have to fend for yourself once more.

Tag List: @bat1212

[oh-phoenixx]

"Ball" - Black Brothers/Jegulus microfic - 937 words

-

It didn’t take a genius to figure out why Remus had all his scars, why he and his friends were busy every full moon. After realising that Remus was a werewolf, Regulus understood quickly what his friends had done to help him. He decided to do some research into becoming an animagus, and at first, it was just to understand how his brother, James, and Peter had done it. He had no desire to become an animagus himself, really. But he grew curious, eager. It was a long process, yes, but he could do it. 

So, on a full moon, he put a mandrake leaf in his mouth, which he would have to keep there until the next month. He collected everything else he would need with the help of Pandora, the only person he had told his plan. 

Regulus stopped Sirius outside the Great Hall after the following full moon. “Sirius, can I talk to you?” Regulus asked, his voice coming out smaller than he had intended.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Sirius replied with a nod, waving his hand for James, Peter, and Remus to go inside. “What’s up?”

“Don’t laugh,” Regulus started nervously, “but I’m…I’m trying to become an animagus. And I know you and your friends already are, and I wanted your help.”

Sirius’s eyes widened. “I don’t know what you mean, we, uh, we aren’t…”

“Sirius,” Regulus sighed. “I know you are, I’m not an idiot. And I know that Remus is a-” Regulus looked around, remembering that they were in public. “Well, I know what he is.”

Sirius gaped at him further, looking worried. He seemed, for a moment, as though he might argue, but instead took a deep breath and gave in. “Fine. I’ll write down the steps.”

“I’ve already done it all. I just,” Regulus’s voice became an embarrassed murmur, “I wanted you to be there when I, um, transformed.”

Sirius’s concerned frown turned into a grin, and he tried to ruffle his brother’s hair. Regulus sidestepped and glared at him, though Sirius wasn’t deterred. 

Regulus regretted asking him for help, though, when he transformed the next day and it turned out his animagus was a tiny black kitten. When he managed to become human again, Sirius was clutching his stomach and laughing like a maniac.

“It’s not that funny!” Regulus grumbled.

Sirius didn’t seem to agree.

-

Quite soon after becoming an animagus, Regulus found that it was much more comfortable for him to be a cat than a human being. Maybe it was because he was always trying to make himself smaller anyway; maybe because, as a cat, he could just hiss at anyone who came too close, which was not ‘socially acceptable’ for a person.

Regulus sat outside the Gryffindor common room one day, and followed after a student as they stepped inside the portrait. He had intended to talk to his brother, but once inside he found Sirius, James, and Marlene all sitting by the fire. He walked over and curled up by Sirius’s legs, not wanting to disturb his brother's evening.

“Aw, look at him!” James nearly shouted, leaning down to stroke Regulus.

“Don’t, James,” Marlene warned, “I tried to pet him the other day and he scratched me. He’s evil.”

“He’s not evil, Marls,” James frowned, scratching behind the cat’s ears. “He’s a little ball of fluff.”

James picked the cat up and set him on his lap, stroking him absent-mindedly as he continued his conversation with Marlene. Sirius, however, glared at the small black cat. If anyone else had tried that, Regulus would have hissed or bitten them. Regulus was sure, as Sirius looked between him and James suspiciously, that he knew.

It became a habit for Regulus, going into the Gryffindor common room and sitting with James. Everyone else was confused as to why the little black cat hated everyone but him, and James took pride in this. 

“What do you think I should call him?” James asked his friends, the cat nuzzling his face. 

“Leo,” Sirius scoffed. 

James didn’t hear the sarcasm in his tone, and held the cat a few inches from his face. “Leo!”

-

“Regulus,” Sirius called.

Regulus tried to walk away, pretending not to have heard him, but Sirius caught his arm before he could. He dragged him to an empty corner of the hallway, trying to catch Regulus’s eye. 

“You’re in love with him,” Sirius stated. Regulus’s mouth opened and closed, searching for a defense. He couldn’t find any. “It’s okay, you know,” Sirius said, softer now. “But I wish you would have told me.”

“Thought you’d laugh,” Regulus mumbled. “It’s stupid.”

“Nah, it’s not. I mean, I probably would have laughed, yeah, but it’s not stupid.”

Regulus rolled his eyes, and he would never admit that knowing Sirius wasn’t annoyed felt like a weight being lifted off his shoulders. Steeling himself, Regulus clenched his jaw and fixed Sirius with a glare.

“If you tell him, Sirius, I swear I will pull your fucking teeth out,” Regulus threatened. 

“Yeah, whatever you say, loverboy,” Sirius grinned, walking away. 

-

It was months before Regulus built up the courage to confess. He was looking everywhere but James’s eyes as he wondered how to phrase this. 

“I know what you’re going to say,” James smiled down at him.

“You do?” Regulus asked, taking a deep, shaky breath.

“You’re Leo,” James declared, seeming proud of his discovery.

Regulus tried to form words, though was momentarily stunned. “That’s not- I was going to tell you I was in love with you, but how did you know about-”

“You’re in love with me?!”

[eggcompany]

Divorced Zaundads AU

Except they get back together after years of being apart.

Silco grew his business, renting a big empty apartment that didn’t smell like their old apartment above the bar. He mostly just sat on his little balcony and smoked cigarettes. He spent all his time alone, doing yoga in his living room and eating salad. Food didnt taste good when he made it. Nothing felt good if he was doing it by himself.

Vander raised little Violet and baby Powder. He tried his best but he felt kinda… empty. He was stressed and did his best working the bar and taking the kids to school and trying to keep the apartment clean. He sometimes still grabbed four plates for dinner.

Everything falls into place one day, after three years. Silco’s in a bad place. He’d been drinking and yelling at employees and just spending every minute out of the office sitting in the dark of his apartment. Vander was burnt out, going through the motions. He just wanted to sleep all the time.

Silco decided he’d go to the place him and Vander used to go to. The bridge. He threw on his coat, wearing his slippers and wrinkled silk pajamas, and went out to smoke a cigar and over look the river.

Vander decided he needed to go on a walk, get some fresh air. Benzo had agreed to babysit AKA sleep in the recliner in the apartment living room just in case one of the girls woke up. He ended up at the river, the bridge, the one where he asked Silco to spend their lives together.

Silco didn’t notice him until Vander was leaning against the guardrail next to him. He could’ve cried. He was warm and the smell of him was so bone deep familiar. Silco didn’t mean to let the sob out.

“I missed you. I miss you so fucking much it’s killing me.” Silco said as Vander pulled him into a hug, so close, so tight. Vander held onto him like he’d never let go, nosing at his dark hair.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I just- I need you.” Vander said and Silco nodded, hands twisting in Vander’s jacket.

Silco was being pushed away, his hands coming up to wipe away his tears before Vander was leaning down to press a kiss onto his lips. Neither of them knew who started it but soon they were making their way to the closest motel.

It was a blur of familiar hands, clothes hitting the floor, whispered ‘I love you’s, and what they both needed. The intimacy of being with someone who knows every inch, every good spot, everything.

Vander kissed across the scar on Silco’s face, the mark he’d caused, even as Silco cried, the feeling of being full, for the first time in so long, he could feel Vander’s heartbeat, his sorrow.

“I wanna go home.” Silco said as they laid together in the motel bed, cuddled close, satisfied and happy.

“I what you home. It’s where you belong.” Vander said and pulled Silco impossibly closer.

When the morning rolled around Silco put his pajamas back on and his coat, a giddy, teenage kinda laughter filled them as they put their clothes on and left the motel. It was a flower bloomed again for the first time in the spring.

The girls were happy when their papa came back. Powder clinging to his pant leg, violet was a little more withheld. Silco understood. The scars and his eye, she was afraid of him. It was okay.

Soon he let his lease end and their apartment, the one that they were always supposed to have, was bright and back to the way it was supposed to be.

[peachyprophets-blog]

DROWNED LOVE, LET ME SEE YOU AGAIN (Finale)

Epic x Reader

CW: Yandere themes, attempted suicide (only mentioned), death of the main character, PLOOOOT

Description: you have forgotten your past with Odysseus and Penelope, but you still have an empty place in your heart. You have tried several times to throw yourself off the mountain and find peace. And when Odysseus wakes up on Calypso's island, a sudden thunderclap sounds that briefly shakes the world...

AN: This is the last part of this story, how do you like the plot? I hope you liked this fanfiction, I had a lot of fun writing it!

Part 6 Wake up!

PREV

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Emptiness filled you when you were torn from your dream. The dream was a paradise for you, you felt free again after such a long time. Free from the gods, free from the pain, free from the emptiness in your soul and your heart. But the dream shattered when delicate hands glided over your sleeping form and shook you awake. When you opened your eyes you looked into the face of the beautiful Aphrodite, goddess of love and beauty. "Oh my darling, you don't have to sleep out here," her voice rang out, filled with concern. With her help you slowly got up and yawned quietly, mourning your dream. But as soon as you realized where you were, the emptiness filled you again. It locked you in a loneliness that no god in the world could have filled. Aphrodite took you into the great hall, you were like a doll that only moved when someone pulled you behind her. Aphrodite didn't let go of your hand either, it had always been like this ever since you tried several times to throw yourself off the mountain. A god always had a hand on you, whether they held your hand, put an arm around your shoulder or waist, or carried you in their arms. Aphrodite pulled you next to her, and so the days passed in which you lived like a doll.

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Reader POV:

I sat at the window of the temple of Athena, the goddess who still treated me as a human. She was my favorite of all because she didn't force herself on me, I waited for her because she was visiting a mortal. When she came back there was a thoughtful expression on her face, as if something was bothering her. "Lady Athena?" I began, "What are you thinking about?" I completed my question. When she looked at me her gaze softened and a slight smile graced her lips before she answered me. "You know, I once had a boyfriend but we parted ways years ago," her voice rang out, she sounded so serious. "But now I know that I have to make it right again." She said seriously. I nodded at her, she told me about her plan to convince her father Zeus to release her friend. I was slowly becoming curious who this friend was, but she didn't really answer that question. I listened carefully to Athena's plans to convince Zeus. Once she mentioned the name of the friend she wanted to save, but the name sounded unfamiliar to me and I can't remember what it was. "I really hope you can free your friend, Lady Athena." I smiled gently at the goddess of wisdom, I felt most comfortable and understood around her. But she still couldn't fill the void, I knew that she was trying too and that made me feel very guilty towards her.

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On Ithaca the sun was high in the sky, suitors gathered in the halls of the palace and craved the attention of the queen: Penelope. Penelope had now waited 16 years for her husband Odysseus and her future wife (Y/N). She missed them both from the bottom of her heart but also had to be there for her people and her son. The Queen of Ithaca knew that something was wrong because her memories of (Y/N) were also blurry. It was as if something, or rather someone, was trying to destroy the connection the three had with each other. Penelope sat at her loom and continued weaving the picture she was working on and thought about the past but could only remember the time with Odysseus and slowly the memories of the young woman she and Odysseus once loved disappeared completely. Telemachus, who was standing in the large garden of the palace, stared at the statue of his father. In his hand he held a small book that was bound in leather. A diary of his father that he had found back then, in it was written everything about the woman who had followed him into the war after Telemachus was born, (Y/N) future wife of Odysseus and Penelope. For a moment, the young prince's eyes glowed gold. "Destroy it." A woman's voice rang out, and Telemachus tried to ignore it again like he had done for the last few months since he had found the book about (Y/N). He wanted to get to know her and love her like his parents did, but this person was against it.

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??? POV:

I had to prevent her existence from being passed on, and the little prince didn't make it easy. I had already robbed Penelope and Odysseus of their memories of her. And I was responsible for her forgetting her previous life. Now I just had to convince the Prince of Ithaca and everything would go according to plan. My golden eyes took over the prince's again and I finally had full control over the boy. As Telemachus I walked through the halls, ignoring his mother's suitors because I had to destroy this book. I came to a carmine and threw the book in there where I watched as it was destroyed in the fire, this filled me with satisfaction. "Telemachus, what are you doing?" I turned around in shock and saw his mother, the Queen of Ithaca, standing in front of me, looking questioningly into the fire. "Nothing mother, I'm just burning your suitors' letters." I answered and she nodded before stroking his head lovingly. "Thank you, Nyx," she said before turning away and disappearing back into her room. Shortly afterwards I left the boy's body and made my way to Hades, who asked me to do all this.

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The light shone brightly on the Queen of the Gods Hera. "Never once had he cheated on his wife," Athena's voice rang out. Hera, who immediately recognized that Athena was telling the truth, looked angrily at her husband. "Release him," her words sounded sharp and were aimed directly at Zeus. Zeus, who had been sitting completely relaxed on his throne until now, twitched his eyebrows. Had Athena tried to embarrass him? She shouldn't get away with that, she wants a fight? She'll get it. The clouds closed in before it started to thunder and flash loudly. When you saw the storm, you just stared up at the sky.

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Y/N POV

It was strange, my whole body started to shake but not out of fear. Poseidon, who was sitting next to me, put an arm around me to calm me down, but it didn't work. And slowly they came back, memories that had disappeared. Absolutely everything came back into my head like a wave and I stood up before I stared angrily at Poseidon, "You killed 558 men, you monster." I accused him. But before he could answer, my legs started running. I knew that I would never be able to escape from here and that there was only one chance. I could only escape from eternal imprisonment if I...

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Everything suddenly fell silent when a loud thunder shook the world. Odysseus, who had already been imprisoned on Calypso's island for seven years, raised his head when he heard that. Athena, who was supposed to be struck by lightning, stared in horror at your figure that had been struck by lightning. The world stopped turning and everything seemed bright to you. Your body felt an endless pain that didn't last long. The gods rushed towards you and Apollo was the first to reach you, lifted you in his arms and tried to heal you, but as soon as he put his hand on your body, it shattered into a thousand pieces that slowly dissolved into nothing. Your existence had been wiped out, at least for the moment. At the same time in the underworld, Hades sat on his throne, he could observe everything that happened on Olympus. He knew that the gods were beside themselves with anger and grief, but that was the only way he could save you. He had found out about you early on through his wife Persephone and felt sorry for you, so he had sent Nyx with the task of wiping out your existence. But he knew that now you would be able to live a life without all the pain.

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Y/N POV

I tried to open my eyes, everything was so quiet that it was already too loud for me. Every now and then I saw old, long-forgotten memories, my parents, Odysseus, Penelope, the war and more. Then I suddenly felt a warmth shining on my face and a loud noise. "What...?" I said in a scratchy voice before slowly opening my eyes.

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The morning sun was shining in the sky and filling the room of the girl with the (H/C) hair with golden light. When she opened her (E/C) eyes she found herself in her room again. She sat up sleepily and rubbed the sleep from her eyes that was still blinding her perception. When she forced herself to get up to turn off the alarm, she let her gaze wander out the window. It was a beautiful spring day and the sun was shining pleasantly on her face. She let this moment sink in and relaxed completely. The young woman went through the day she had planned in her head. When she opened her eyes she started to get ready, she put on a white long-sleeved blouse and simple black high-waisted jeans. She looked over at a shelf where her jewelry was, she took a gold chain with a sun pendant from the shelf. She had had this chain since she was born, it was tradition in the family that every member receives such a chain as a gift after birth. She also decorated her fingers with gold rings. After putting on matching sneakers the young woman looked in the mirror and nodded contentedly, in the mirror she looked at her desk and remembered that she had to slowly make her way to university. As she went to the desk she looked at a book, it was the Odyssey which they were currently discussing at university. The young woman loved history in every respect, but the Odyssey in particular had won her heart even if it seemed to her as if something was missing from it. Like a person who was never mentioned or was intentionally removed? As the young woman was packing her bag she stared at a fruit that had not been on the table yesterday, a pomegranate….

-Peachyprophet

TAG LIST:

@doodle-with-rhy

[acapelladitty]

appetency

Summary - After having a difficult few days, Edward wants you to fuck him.

Fic Masterlist ☆ AO3 Link ☆ Ko-Fi

It was his eyes that were the giveaway.

His gaze, so sharp and yet shifty as it typically darted across every inch of a room in a bid to work out where the exits and potential dangers lay, was always skittish but on days like these where that prey-like uncertainty hardened into a focused determination, you knew he wanted something.

And the bulge of his cock as he pressed it awkwardly into your back while wrapping his arms around you from behind was also not exactly subtle.

The week had been hard on you both and, at times like this, you understood his wants as clearly as you understood your own. All it had taken was the offer, whispered lowly into his ear, and he was jelly in your hands.

Now, with his elbows pressing into the sheets and his knees spreading wide to allow you unfettered access, he looked surprisingly serene as he looked back over his shoulder to watch as you slowly coated the head of the dark, silicone cock with a healthy amount of lube.

"Mmm," humming you place the dildo in one hand as you brush a fingertip along his hole to coat the puffy skin there with lube, "and how am I using you tonight, Eddie? Fast and hard or slow and steady?"

"Slow," he gasped out. "I want to feel every bit of you." Pushing back against your finger, his thighs were visibly trembling at the gentle contact and his breath stutters as you insert your finger, running it along the inside rim of his ass. He's warm and wet from the lube, making movement easy and you quickly decide to move on.

Since one finger wasn't enough, you insert another and immediately begin to scissor him open, pushing your fingers deep to the thickest part as you slowly stretch him open for more. His skin was soft and doughy, easily redenning beneath your grip as you scored your nails across his hips and enjoyed the livid welts which were quick to appear as he pushed back against your digits.

"Greedy boy." You chastise lightly, leaning forward to stroke through his sandy hair with your free fingers. "Do you need another one?"

"Yes!" He breathes out, his fingers curling into the sheets as his knees widen further. "Please, I need- ah."

His plea cut off by your third finger as it pushed roughly into his ass, you take your time in opening him up - rubbing your fingers along each of the sensitive nerves that circle his rim as you keep your fingers slick with lube. The skin of his back is trembling, the anticipation and arousal making him lose some of his composure as soft groans slip free of his chapped lips.

Pausing after only a few minutes, you pull your fingers free and wipe off the excess lube onto the dark rubber of the cock which is still clenched in your other hand. You had considered breaking out the harness and strapping it around your waist to really show him a good time but something about the intimacy of just holding the cock that would soon be making him groan was too tempting to ignore.

Plus, it gave you more room to play with him.

His skin flushing, you offer up an unseen grin at just how vocal he was being - his tilted head preventing the sheets from catching any of his gasps or grunts as he rolls his ass into the space your hand had just occupied, demanding more and willing to take it. Ignoring him, you finish lubing up the cock which sits heavily in your hand before splaying your fingers across his ass.

"Ready?"

His hole is slick and prepped nicely, the slight gape your rough fingers had left him with ensuring that the stretch of the dildo wouldn't be unbearable or tear his delicate skin, and you press the head of cock to his hole; allowing him to feel the size of it as a visible shudder runs down his aroused skin.

"Yes. Please fuck me."

Knowing what he wants, what he needs, you shift your empty hand to curl around his thigh and hold him tightly in place. His sandy hair falling forward due to his tilted head makes it impossible for you to see his full reaction but there's no mistaking the yelping inhale which curls within his throat and you sink the cock into his ass with one shallow thrust - allowing around four inches to impale him with a firm determination.

Your hand firm as it loops around his thigh, the tremble of his legs as his ass is forced to stretch around the cock is intoxicating, igniting that wicked streak in your chest that devours his submission and the pleasure it brings him. He'd taken thicker but tonight wasn't about pushing his limits, it was something much more mellow.

"Mmm," humming in approval, you pull the cock free until only the slightly flared head remains before sliding it back in with a fluid motion, "does it feel good, baby?"

"It feels so, god- fuck, I'm so full."

His words are stuttered, fingers clenching into the sheets as he pushes back greedily towards your hand.

"Stop that." A sharp command, one pairing with a soft slap to Edward's ass that pulls a quiet rumble as you discipline him. "You get what I want to give and that's all."

As desperate to please as ever, the way he immediately folds to your demand straddles the line between endearing and pathetic and you reward him with a slow yet deep thrust, one which you know will force him to feel every inch of the cock as it brushes his prostate and fills him up. Edward moans into the sheets, the cheap fabric catching the brunt of the noise as he tilts his head to the side and inhales shakily while you fuck him.

"You take my cock like a pro, Eddie." You shift your hand to press your thumb against the stretched rim of his ass as you speak, enjoying the way you can feel it twitch under your touch. "I mean look at how easily you swallow every inch. You were made for my cock. Can you feel it?"

Looping your hand around his body once more as you keep his ass impaled on your cock, the rubber as deep as it could go, his ass is hot against your palm as you wrap the fingers of your other hand around the head of his cock and rub the glans there with short, sharp motions.

"Mmm, I can feel how hard you are, baby. Does having your ass fucked feel that good?"

Edward's reply is incomprehensible, the added stimulation of his cock pairing with the stretch of his ass to rob him of his senses. His cock jerks in your palm, your fingers quickly growing damp with his pre-cum as you feel his release approaching. His tells were the same as always, his cock twitching with need as his voice wrapped around a particularly high, whining noise being enough to pet you know that he was almost there.

Returning your thumb to his cockhead as you slightly build the pace of the cock still buried within his ass, you spread the pre-cum there as you pull him to his release. It's surprisingly muted, his canting hips only bucking for a few more moment before his body stiffens and his head buries itself in the mattress - the cheap fabric of the sheets absorbing his whines as your hand is coated by thin ropes of his cum.

You abandon the rubber cock, leaving it buried deep, as he continues to thrust himself into your hand, chasing the high of his orgasm with a reckless desperation. The flush of his face has crept across his skin and you trace the outline of it while you finish jerking him off with a dampened hand, pushing him as far as he's willing to go until the overstimulation proves too much.

Later, when the clean-up has been completed and his stuttered breathing has long since settled back into a comfortable rhythm, the remainder of the night would find him wrapped up in your arms - his sandy hair tickling your chest as his soft snores roll across the otherwise quiet room.

[willowsnook]

in love?

Could you write a leclerc’s brothers love triangle? charles x y/n x arthur? 🤭 from @dovesboccianoifiori

charles leclerc x reader x arthur leclerc

"Are you ready, mon chéri?" Arthur called out from your living room.

"Just about!" you replied, shoving the final things into your suitcase. The two of you were set to leave for Greece on a family vacation for the next week. Running through your mental checklist, you decided that you probably had everything. Lugging your suitcase out to the living room, Arthur smirked at you.

"Pack your whole closet, hmm?" he teased, and you huffed.

"You never know what we might need!"

He laughed and grabbed your suitcase from you, pressing his lips against yours in a quick kiss.

"I forgot to tell you, but Charles is actually coming now," Arthur said, and you raised your eyebrows in surprise.

"I thought he had to be in London with Sarah?" you asked. Sarah was a well-known model who had been dating Charles for about six months now. You didn’t really care for her, finding her to be a bit of an airhead.

"They broke up," Arthur said, and you snorted.

"What reason this time?" you asked. Charles had a string of exes over the past couple of years, and all the relationships ended because of some weird nitpicking excuse he had come up with. One was because he didn’t like the perfume she wore, another had an old picture up on socials of her in a McLaren fit, and so on.

"She’s allergic to dogs," he mused, and you giggled.

In the two years you had been dating Arthur, you had never seen one of Charles’ relationships last longer than six months. It was like he was cursed. You had grown up with the Leclercs, so you knew him very well and never understood why he had such a hard time in relationships. From your perspective, he was quite the catch, and you always wondered how life could have been different if you were with him, though you’d never admit that to anyone.

Loving Arthur had always been easy. It was steady, warm, comforting—like slipping into a well-worn sweater on a cold day. He made you laugh, made you feel safe, made life simple. There was no second-guessing, no whirlwind of emotions that left you breathless.

But Charles—Charles was something else entirely. He was fire and chaos, tension so thick it stole the air from your lungs. With him, nothing was certain. He made you feel seen in a way that scared you, made you question everything you thought you knew about love. You hated how easily he got under your skin, how one look from him sent your pulse racing. And you despised the part of yourself that wanted to lean into that feeling instead of running from it. But you were with Arthur, so none of that mattered.

A half-day of traveling later, you arrived at the villa that the family had rented for the week, and it really was gorgeous. Arthur took your luggage upstairs while you headed to the patio, where everyone was hanging out.

"Y/N!" they cheered as you walked out, and you were enveloped in hugs. Charles stood off to the side, brooding, and you took the chance to chirp him.

"Hi, Charles, getting a dog soon?" you asked, and he rolled his eyes before pulling you into a hug.

"Ha ha, very funny, Y/N," he grumbled, and you beamed. He couldn’t stay mad at you for long, his frown quickly morphing into a soft smile.

As you pulled away from Charles' embrace, you couldn't help but notice the way his eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than usual. There was something different in his gaze, a spark you hadn't seen before. You brushed it off, attributing it to your imagination.

The evening progressed with laughter and chatter as the family caught up. You found yourself stealing glances at Charles throughout dinner, noticing how he seemed more relaxed than you'd seen him in years. Without Sarah or any other girlfriend around, he appeared lighter, more like the Charles you grew up with.

Arthur had his arm laid carelessly behind you, and after two glasses of wine, you found yourself nodding off into his shoulder.

"Ready for bed?" he whispered in your ear, and you nodded absentmindedly. Saying your goodnights, you followed him up the stairs and to the room you were sharing.

"Charles seems happy," you commented, and Arthur hummed in agreement.

"I’m just happy we don’t have to spend this vacation with Sarah," he admitted, and you giggled.

"What, you don’t want to spend your time having to explain every joke you make?" you asked in mock offense.

You squealed as his arms wrapped around you and pulled you into the bed. Straddling him, you rested your hands on his chest, warmth spreading through your body.

As you gazed down at Arthur, his eyes sparkling with adoration, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt. Your mind kept drifting back to the way Charles had looked at you earlier. You pushed the thought aside, focusing on the man beneath you.

"I love you," Arthur murmured, pulling you down for a kiss.

—-----------------------------------

The next morning, you woke early, the unfamiliar bed and jet lag disrupting your sleep. Quietly, you slipped out of bed, careful not to wake Arthur. You made your way downstairs, planning to enjoy a quiet moment on the patio with a cup of coffee.

To your surprise, Charles was already there, nursing his own mug as he stared out at the view.

"Couldn't sleep?" you asked softly, joining him at the railing.

He turned to you, a small smile playing on his lips. "Not really, too much on my mind."

"I’m sorry to hear about you and Sarah," you said softly, and he laughed, shaking his head.

"Don’t be," he said. "It was never serious."

"Seems like no one you date is ever serious," you commented.

He sighed, looking over the waves before speaking again.

"I feel like I’m just waiting to feel that fiery passion about someone, but it never happens," he admitted.

"Do you ever think that maybe love isn’t a fiery passion?" you countered, and he raised an eyebrow at you in confusion. "When I think about the love Arthur and I have, it isn’t a fiery passion. It’s stability, it’s a warm embrace, it feels like home."

Charles didn’t say anything at your admission, just gave you a weird look.

"I’m not sure I agree that’s true love," he finally said before heading back inside.

You frowned at his comment. Of course, it was true love. You couldn’t imagine life without Arthur; he was your rock.

—--------------------------------------

Later that morning, Arthur stirred awake, reaching for you, only to find the bed empty. With a groggy sigh, he pulled himself up and ran a hand through his messy hair before heading downstairs, where he found you in the kitchen, pouring a fresh cup of coffee.

"Morning, mon amour," he murmured, wrapping his arms around you from behind and pressing a lazy kiss to your shoulder.

"Morning," you replied with a smile, leaning into his embrace. "I was just thinking we should go explore the town today. Just the two of us."

Arthur perked up at that, a boyish grin spreading across his face. "I like the sound of that. Let’s get ready and head out."

After a quick breakfast, the two of you set off, hand in hand, strolling through the charming cobblestone streets of the Greek town. The sun was warm, but the gentle sea breeze made it comfortable as you wandered past whitewashed buildings with bright blue doors, flower-covered balconies, and quaint little shops.

At a small market square, you stopped to admire the vibrant stalls selling fresh fruit, handmade jewelry, and local crafts. Arthur picked up a delicate bracelet, the beads painted in shades of blue and gold.

"This would look beautiful on you," he mused, gently slipping it onto your wrist.

You smiled, admiring the way it sat against your skin. "It’s perfect."

Before you could protest, Arthur handed the vendor a few bills, grinning. "A souvenir for our trip."

"You really didn't have to," you said, but he just shrugged, eyes twinkling with mischief.

"I'm your boyfriend; spoiling you is in my job description."

You rolled your eyes playfully but couldn't fight the warmth spreading in your chest.

Continuing your walk, you came across a cozy little café tucked in a corner of the town square. The scent of freshly baked pastries filled the air, and you tugged Arthur inside, settling at a small table with a view of the bustling street.

As you sipped on a cool iced coffee, Arthur reached across the table, brushing his fingers over yours absentmindedly. "You seemed distracted last night," he said softly, watching you closely.

Your breath hitched slightly, but you forced a smile. "Just tired from the trip."

Arthur studied you for a moment, as if deciding whether to believe you, but eventually, he let it go.

After finishing your drinks, you spent the rest of the afternoon exploring hidden alleyways, stopping to take pictures, and making each other laugh with inside jokes. Arthur never let go of your hand, his thumb tracing lazy circles on your skin as you wandered.

As the sun began to dip toward the horizon, casting a golden glow over the town, you and Arthur found yourselves sitting on a stone ledge overlooking the sea.

"This has been the perfect day," you admitted, resting your head on his shoulder.

Arthur pressed a kiss to your hair. "Every day with you is perfect."

For a moment, you let yourself believe it. You let yourself drown in Arthur’s warmth, in the steady, familiar love he gave you.

But then your mind wandered back to the morning. To Charles. To the way he looked at you. To the way his words lingered in your mind, unsettling you in a way you couldn't quite explain.

And that’s when you realized—something had shifted.

When you got back to the villa, Arthur headed upstairs, saying that he was exhausted. Charles had seemed to just get back from dinner with some friends he knew in town and ran into you in the kitchen.

“Heading to bed?” he asked.

“I’d rather not, I’m not that tired,” you replied.

“Late-night beach walk then,” he suggested, and you found yourself nodding. He was your friend, and this was normal. You and Charles had done plenty of things alone before, this was no different.

The two of you set out, walking along the water and chatting about the day’s events. Lost in conversation, you missed a small hole a kid had dug into the sand and stumbled forward. Charles' arms shot out to grab you, safely pulling you into his chest.

As you stood there, pressed against Charles' chest, time seemed to slow. His arms were still wrapped around you, strong and secure. You could feel the warmth of his body, smell the faint scent of his cologne. Your heart began to race, and you found yourself unable to look away from his intense gaze.

"Are you alright?" Charles asked softly, his voice low and concerned.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. You should step away, you knew that. But something kept you rooted to the spot, lost in the depths of Charles' eyes.

He made no move to let you go either. His thumb brushed lightly against your waist where he held you, sending a shiver down your spine. The air between you felt charged, electric with unspoken tension.

"Y/N," Charles murmured, his face inching closer to yours.

Your breath caught as you stood frozen, but Charles snapped out of whatever he was thinking, quickly letting go of you. The walk back was silent, but Charles stopped you before you turned toward the house.

“You are going to hurt him,” he said suddenly, and you turned to him, a confused look on your face.

“What are you talking about?”

“Arthur,” he said, clearing his throat. “You don’t love him, not really.”

“Is this because of our conversation earlier?” you asked, irritation filling your voice. “I love your brother, nothing is going to change that.”

“Of course, you love him,” Charles said. “You love him as much as you love Lorenzo and Pascale, but you aren’t in love with him.”

You flinched back like you’d been slapped. “How dare you? You don’t know anything.”

He scoffed, looking up at the house. “I’ve watched you these past couple of months. I notice how you are toward him, and honestly, how he is toward you. You treat each other as if you’re just best friends who stumbled into a relationship.”

“We are best friends,” you seethed. “What the fuck are you talking about, Charles? Watching me? Like you have been this whole trip? You don’t think I noticed? What, so I can be your next six-month conquest? Someone you can collect?”

His jaw clenched at your words as he took another step toward you.

Charles' eyes darkened, his expression shifting into something unreadable. His voice, when he finally spoke, was laced with frustration.

"Is that what you think of me?" he bit out. "That I'm some selfish asshole who just goes through women for fun?"

You let out a bitter laugh. "I don't have to think it, Charles. Your track record speaks for itself."

His nostrils flared, and for a moment, he looked like he wanted to argue—but then, something in him snapped.

"You know what? Maybe I do go through relationships too fast. Maybe I haven't found the right person yet. But at least I’m not lying to myself about being in love when I'm not."

Your hands curled into fists at your sides. "Screw you, Charles."

He leaned in, his voice a low, taunting whisper. "You don't get it, do you? One day, you're going to wake up and realize that Arthur was just the safe choice. The easy choice. And by then, it'll be too late."

Your breath caught in your throat. Heat flared through your body—not from attraction, but from sheer, unbridled rage. Before you even processed what you were doing, your hand flew up and cracked across his cheek.

The sharp sound of the slap echoed between you. Charles’ head snapped to the side, his jaw tightening as his skin flushed red where your palm had connected.

A heavy silence fell. Your chest rose and fell rapidly as you stared at him, your hand still tingling.

He turned back to you slowly, his tongue darting out to wet his lower lip, his expression unreadable.

"You done?" he murmured, voice rough.

Your fingers trembled at your sides, anger and something dangerously close to regret warring inside you.

"Go to hell, Charles," you spat before storming past him, heading toward the house.

You didn't look back.

But you could feel his eyes on you the whole way.

—---------------------------------------------------------

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Arthur asked you, worried. You had been uncharacteristically quiet the whole morning.

“Yeah, just sad we’re leaving,” you lied, forcing a small smile on your face. Last night felt like an open wound, and the faster you could get out of here, the better. Following Arthur downstairs with your stuff, you joined the family in saying goodbye to one another as everyone departed back home. When Charles didn’t say goodbye to Arthur, just motioned for him to load his bags in, a sense of dread overcame you.

Since you all lived in Monaco, naturally, you’d be taking Charles’ private jet back.

Arthur chatted about the trip the whole way to the airport, getting minimal responses from both you and Charles, but he didn’t seem to notice. As you boarded, Arthur sat across from his brother, and you moved past the two, choosing to sit at the front of the plane.

“Mon chéri?” Arthur called out. “Why are you sitting over there?”

You gave him a fake smile, “I want to read my book, and your talking will distract me.”

You tried to sound teasing but knew you fell flat. Arthur looked at his brother, but Charles refused to meet his eyes, looking out the window instead. True to your word, you spent the rest of the flight reading and were relieved when you landed.

Arthur said goodbye to Charles, and you prepared to play pretend, but Charles looked at you for three seconds before turning and getting into his car without a word. You stared after him, hurt written all over your features, which didn’t go unnoticed by Arthur. He didn’t say anything, but it gave him something to think about.

-----------------------------

The next couple of weeks were weird. You and Arthur fell back into your normal routine and social calendar, but it felt like there was a new distance between you. You noticed yourself pulling away from him a little bit, and his nonchalance about it threatened to confirm what Charles had said.

It was Friday night, and the two of you had just gotten back from dinner with your friends, Arthur following you to your apartment.

“Have a drink with me on the balcony?” he asked, almost nervously.

“Sure,” you replied, going to grab two wine glasses from the cabinets and filling them with a new bottle you had just bought. You met him outside, and he was quiet, contemplative, as he gazed out at the skyline. You handed Arthur his glass and took a sip of your own, leaning against the railing beside him. The night was warm, a soft breeze brushing against your skin, but the weight in your chest made it hard to enjoy. Arthur was never this quiet.

“I’ve been thinking,” he finally said, breaking the silence. His voice was careful, measured, like he was picking his words delicately. “About us.”

Your fingers tightened around the stem of your glass. You knew this was coming. You had felt it in the way his touch had grown less frequent, in the way your conversations had started to feel like those of two friends catching up rather than lovers sharing their lives.

“Yeah?” you prompted, keeping your voice steady.

He turned to look at you, his brown eyes filled with something like fondness—soft, but resolute. “I think we both know this isn’t working the way it should.”

Your heart clenched, but not in the way you expected. There was no sharp pain, no suffocating grief. Just a slow, aching realization that he was right.

You swallowed, setting your glass down on the small table beside you. “Arthur, I—”

“You don’t have to say it,” he interrupted gently. “I’ve known for a while now.” He exhaled, shaking his head with a small, wistful smile. “You know when I knew for sure?”

You stayed silent, waiting.

“That day we got back. When Charles walked away from you without saying goodbye.” His voice was steady, but there was something sad in his expression. “I saw the way you looked at him, like he had just taken the air right out of your lungs.” He gave a small, dry chuckle. “You’ve never looked at me like that.”

Your breath hitched. You wanted to protest, to deny it, but the words wouldn’t come. Because he was right.

“Arthur, I love you,” you said, and you meant it. Just not in the way you were supposed to.

“I know,” he murmured. “And I love you too. But not the way we should.”

Tears pricked at your eyes, but they weren’t from heartbreak. They were from the quiet, bittersweet truth settling between you.

He reached for your hand, squeezing it gently. “You’re my best friend. And I don’t want to lose that.”

You nodded, blinking back the tears. “Me neither.”

Arthur smiled then, small but sincere. “Then let’s not.”

The two of you sat in silence for a little while longer, sipping your wine, watching the city lights flicker in the distance. And for the first time in weeks, you felt like you could finally breathe.

The transition from dating back to friends was so simple that it was confirmation that it was the right thing. You still hung out with Arthur and your other friends weekly, but it felt easier, like you weren’t pretending any longer. You knew Arthur had told Charles, and he had tried to call you, but you didn’t answer. Your fight in Greece was still fresh on your mind. With the F1 season in full swing, you never saw him at family dinners either, which was okay with you.

You took the month after the breakup to fall back in love with yourself, picking up new hobbies and going on weekend trips alone or with other friends. That one month turned to a few, and it wasn’t until after the season was over that you saw Charles again.

The Leclercs had invited your family to their annual holiday party, and this time for sure you knew he was going to be there.

“Are you nervous?” Arthur asked, scrolling through his phone, lounging on your bed while you got ready.

“Why would I be nervous?” you asked, not even bothering to look away from the mirror. You could feel his eyes roll.

“First time seeing Charles since Greece,” he commented.

“Shouldn’t this be weird for you?” you questioned. “We dated for two years, or have you already forgotten?”

“I try to forget,” he shot back with a cheeky smile. You huffed, but a smile broke through on your face as you laid against him on your bed.

“I want you to be happy,” he said softly.

“I am happy,” you insisted. “Your brother is a pain in my ass.”

“He has a right to be. I kept him away from you for two years.”

“You were exactly who I needed to be with during that time,” you said honestly. He pressed his lips against your forehead in response before pulling you off the bed.

“Time to see if you were worth the wait,” he smirked, and you shoved him into the wall, ignoring his complaints.

The party was in full swing by the time you arrived, and Arthur immediately peeled off, looking for Lorenzo. You greeted your family, chatting with your parents for a bit before you saw him.

Charles stood across the room, laughing with a group of friends. He looked devastatingly handsome in a dark suit, his hair perfectly styled. Your heart skipped a beat as his eyes met yours over the crowd. For a moment, time seemed to stand still as you held each other's gaze.

Then he was moving toward you, excusing himself from his group. You felt rooted to the spot, unable to look away as he approached.

"Y/N," he said softly when he reached you. "You look beautiful."

"Thank you," you managed, your voice barely above a whisper. "You clean up pretty well yourself."

A small smile played at the corners of his mouth. "Can we talk? Somewhere private?"

You nodded, following him as he led you out to a secluded patio. The cool night air was a welcome relief from the warmth of the party inside.

“You came with Arthur?” he said, almost like a question, and you nodded.

“He’s still my best friend, Charles,” you said, amused.

Charles nodded, a hint of relief visible in his eyes. "I'm glad. I was worried things might be awkward between you two."

"It was at first," you admitted. "But we realized our friendship was too important to lose."

He took a step closer to you, his voice softening. "And what about us? Is our friendship too important to lose?"

You felt your heart rate quicken at his proximity. "I don't know, Charles. You said some pretty hurtful things in Greece."

"I know," he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "And I'm sorry. I was frustrated and jealous, and I lashed out. But I meant what I said about you and Arthur not being right for each other."

"You were right," you conceded quietly. "But that doesn't mean there's anything between us."

Charles' eyes locked onto yours, intense and unwavering. He reached his hand up to your face, brushing his fingers along your cheek as he cupped your jaw. Your breath hitched at his touch, and you felt yourself subconsciously melt into him.

“Now tell me, mi amor,” he whispered. “That there isn’t anything between us.”

“Th-there isn’t anything between us,” you stuttered out, and he grinned, knowing he had you. His hand moved to the back of your head with a tighter grip, and he brought his face down, his nose almost touching yours.

“Oh yeah,” he murmured, lips lightly brushing against yours.

You stood frozen, your heart pounding in your chest as Charles' lips hovered just millimeters from yours. The tension between you was electric, crackling in the air like static. You knew you should pull away, but every fiber of your being was screaming for you to close that final gap.

"Charles," you breathed, your voice barely audible.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to meet your gaze. His eyes were dark with desire, but there was a vulnerability there too—a question.

"Tell me to stop," he murmured. "Tell me you don't feel this too, and I'll walk away right now."

You opened your mouth, but no words came out. How could you deny what was so glaringly obvious? The electricity between you, the way your body responded to his touch, the longing that had been building for years—it was all laid bare in this moment.

Instead of speaking, you found yourself leaning in, closing that last sliver of space between you. Your lips met his in a kiss that was both soft and urgent. Charles responded immediately, one hand cupping your face while the other wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against him.

The kiss deepened, years of pent-up passion pouring out. Your fingers tangled in his hair as his tongue swept into your mouth, igniting a fire that spread through your entire body. You gasped against his lips, overwhelmed by the intensity of it all.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathing heavily. Charles rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed as if savoring the moment.

“This doesn’t mean anything is changing right now,” you said once you caught your breath. “I’ve just learned how to be independent again. I don’t want to lose it.”

“That’s fine, mon chéri,” he said genuinely. “I’ve waited a long time for you. What’s a little longer?”

He led you back inside, his hand glued to the small of your back as you rejoined Arthur, who was talking to Lorenzo. Arthur gave you an “I told you so” smirk while Lorenzo’s eyes widened at Charles' hand.

“Damn, when do I get my turn with you?” he joked, and Charles glared at him while you and Arthur laughed.

“Never,” Charles said.

[patchworkcuddlebug]

What's Best

(Special thanks to @honouredsnakeprincess for the inspiration!)

The doll was escorted through the doors of a house owned by what it once considered its family. It remembers it being three stories, with all three bedrooms on the second floor. It was never allowed in the basement, where its father would work on his projects.

The mother stood behind it, hands resting firmly on its shoulders. "Do you still recognize your home, Benny?" Her voice could be best described as clinging to optimism, forcing an undertone of cheeriness that is often used with children.

"Yes." The doll nodded.

More words were said. Expressions of relief, appreciations of normalcy. The doll patiently waited for her to continue.

Soon enough, she was escorted up the stairs. Their child, once the doll's brother, remained locked in his room without giving response. Just as he always had. The mother quickly ushers along.

They arrived in a plain bedroom, kept plain from disinterest. It was messy from dispassion, just as it was left on that fateful day. A living space in the barest minimum of the term.

It wanted to clean it, oh so badly it did, but it was told it could do no such thing anymore.

"I can't imagine what you're going through." The mother lamented as she guided the doll to the bed. "A doll, of all things... I never imagined it could happen to my own son..." She leaned against the wall, mourning what stood in front of her. "You're so lucky we found you, I can't imagine what it was like to be put to work like some... thing."

The doll felt a familiar inclination. A good doll would take more care to make sure that it is understood, politely correcting the misunderstanding. But it knew much better than to try and resist her.

"You should rest for a while, you've been through so much." The mother commands, lingering in the doorway of the uninhabited bedroom. "I'll make you something to eat, okay?"

The doll stood next to the bed. "This one does not feel hunger."

The mother didn't flinch. "Well, it'll be there when you're ready."

The doll kept quiet. It wanted to be polite, to help her understand. But it knew better.

It took the moments alone to try and find stillness, to remember Miss. The witch that gladly accepted it, making it such a pretty doll and giving it such a fulfilling purpose. It feels guilt that it wasn't there to serve her now, but...

...stillness. This one needs rest.

. . . . .

Macaroni and cheese.

It felt no particular reaction to seeing the meal in front of it. A dutiful resignation, perhaps, knowing its orders were to eat. A good doll follows its orders.

Cognitively, it recalled all the nights upon nights that it enjoyed the meal. It clung to that memory like a life raft as the family stared it down.

It's food. That's all it was. The doll tried to reassure itself with this thought, using the mantra to struggle against the visceral feeling of wrongness. Its porcelain teeth gnashed together, impacting and scraping in its mouth and the food was slowly reduced to a paste fine enough to swallow. It sank into the doll's gut, an unwelcome intrusion that made its wrongness known with a bloating ache.

The first bite has been overcome.

The mother sighed in relief, preformative cooing to the father. "Oh, thank goodness he's eating again!" she said to nobody in particular, receiving no acknowledgement in turn.

The doll looked down at the monster on the plate in front of it. It wanted to be good, it really did, but it felt no satisfaction from this obedience. Miss was always so gentle, so caring, so encouraging. Everything she ever asked of the doll was so reasonable, to clean or to cook or to do little favours. It never had to hurt itself like this.

"This one is sorry, but it would like to be excused." The doll hung its head, apologetic and shameful.

An incredulous shock crossed the mother's face, before quickly turning into frustration. "Benedict McLain!" The mother burst upward as if loaded with a spring, desperate to tower over the others. "You have been missing for months, I will not allow you to deprive yourself of a home cooked meal!"

She stepped to her left, standing directly between the doll and the door.

The doll quickly relented. "Understood." It nodded, returning to its chair.

It knew better. Truly, it did.

"Thank you" said the mother, her indignation satisfied. "I know you've been... with that witch for a long time, now." The doll swallowed its resentment at Miss being referred to with such an exaggerated disdain. "But soon you'll learn what it means to be part of a family again, to be a person with feelings and desires and... a family."

The doll politely waited for her to finish. It knew better.

"We just want what's best for you, Benny." It could see now the falseness in her expression, after finally being shown true compassion by Miss. She was much too focused on forming her expression, on making it known how deeply she felt what she said she felt. She was an actor, a bad one, trying desperately to fill herself up with what she found appropriate. "Now please, it up. You don't want it to get cold."

The doll wanted to wish that maybe, someday, she would know emptiness. But it knew better.

. . . . .

The brother entered the house's landing. For once, he didn't let the home's door slam behind him. Rather, he gently allowed the edge to hover in the doorway without properly closing. The mother didn't comment on it, hoping the lack of scolding would speak for itself.

"Oh, and it looks like the hermit has decided to grace us this morning!" The mother smiled playfully at her own joke. As she did, the brother nonchalantly shuffled through the kitchen, leaning against the counter opposite to the door. The mother, of course, politely faced him, not wanting to look like a bad mother. He brought attention to all the new and interesting ideas that he had been learning from his friends online, a topic begetting the mother's full attention.

The doll acted. Last night it had shifted the carpet covering the stairs to the side. Not only would it muffle the impact of its feet, but the edges of stairs are never as worn as their middle, making them much less likely to creak.

Ever so slowly it opened the door. It spared just enough time to thank the brother, from the bottom of its core, for oiling the hinges. It would never forget such kindness, its only regret that it couldn't help him in turn.

It was slow, at first, careful to hush its steps on the dirt yard of the property. Its steps picked up as it passed the fence of the family's neglected apple orchard, and once it turned the corner and lost sight of the house behind it, it broke out into a sprint.

It ran, and ran, and ran, passed the train tracks and the farmland and the driveways dotted along the end of the highway. It ran for what felt like hours, thankful to Miss for freeing it from muscles that could ache. Freeing it from the maddening helplessness of compliance with the careless. Freeing it from the fear that it would be stuck as their son for the rest of its days.

The doll burst through the door of the manor, laying eyes on its witch as she was startled out of her melancholy. She stumbled from her place on the couch, casting her wine bottle aside to clamber to the doll. She lifted the doll, her doll, and danced with it.

"Oh, Magnolia!" the witch cried out in ecstasy. The doll smiled, overtaken by the joy of simply being able to smile, at hearing its real name again.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry I couldn't find you sooner! I tried everything, and I was so scared I lost you for good..." she could only hug her doll tighter, burying her face in its shoulders. "I missed you so much, darling, I'm so, so happy you found your way back to me!"

The doll could only hug her back, excitedly switching between gratitude and reassurance. Everything, every feeling, babbled out thoughtlessly, the love and excitement too much to hold back. But there was one in particular, spoken through a tight embrace flooded with mutual tears, that the witch would remember for the rest of her days.

"This one will always find its way back to you, Miss."

[nitadllyss]

I would die if you left me

Yandere Minho × Female Reader

Genere: Angst, Psychological Drama.

Content Warning: Emotional and Psychological Abuse, Manipulation and Control, Possessive Jealousy,Domestic Violence, Self-Harm or Suicidal Threats, Anxiety and Emotional Distress, Toxic and Destructive Relationships

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He loves you in a way that no one could understand. He needs to be the only one in your life, the only one for real.

The time he saw you so close to your best friend, with his arm around your shoulder while you both laughed together over a childhood story, he felt his heart tighten, as if the air was escaping him. His hands and feet grew cold, and a wave of dizziness hit him to the point where he almost vomited. In that moment, he understood that he wasn’t the only one capable of making you laugh, touching you, or looking at you with love. That thought made him sick. The idea that someone could take you away from his side filled him with irrational jealousy.

That was the beginning. Without you realizing it, you stopped seeing your friends. You no longer went to social events, and you couldn’t remember the last time you went out alone or chose your clothes without his approval. You felt suffocated. Minho was in every corner of your life, as if you couldn’t even think without him trying to invade your thoughts.

One day, determined to regain some control, you planned to take a walk with your friends while he wasn’t around. You made sure he wouldn’t find out, and as soon as he left for work, you began getting ready. You felt free, beautiful, light. You enjoyed your time with your friends, wearing a short without feeling guilty, but you knew you had to return before he came back.

When you got home, you locked the door behind you and, as you turned around, you saw something that froze your blood. Minho was kneeling on the living room floor, his head lowered, tears dripping from his chin and soaking his shirt. He looked up, and you saw his eyes swollen and red, but his face was empty of expression. He stood up, and you took a step back, bumping into the door. Your heart was racing, and your limbs felt cold from the nerves.

“You left,” he said in an authoritarian tone, walking toward you. “Who gave you permission to leave without me?” he yelled, grabbing your arm with such force that his knuckles turned white.

You were paralyzed. The grip on your wrist hurt, and when he squeezed harder, you couldn’t help but wince in pain.

“Answer me!” he shouted, his eyes wide open, staring at you. “I was so scared... I didn’t know where you were or if you were okay! Don’t ever do that again! Understand?”

The pain in your wrist was unbearable, but you tried to stay strong.

“Minho, you’re hurting me,” you said.

He abruptly let go of your wrist, as if he didn’t even realize what he was doing. When you looked at your skin, you saw the marks of his fingers. He had never been physically rough before, and you weren’t willing to tolerate it.

“You can’t act like this just because I went out after months with my friends. It was just a walk. I’m fine,” you said, rubbing your wrist. “I don’t understand what’s going on with you, but I’m fed up. I can’t breathe, Minho. You don’t let me do anything on my own, and the one time I try to do something for myself, you treat me like this.”

His eyes fell on your legs, staring at the short you were wearing.

“Did you go with him?” he asked, clenching his jaw.

You didn’t want to answer. He had no right to be angry about that. It hurt that he ignored everything you had just told him. You decided to go to your room to grab your things and leave, knowing that he wouldn’t change.

Before you could step out of his range, he grabbed you by the hips and pulled you towards him forcefully.

“Why let them see you like this? I know what they think when they look at you. I know how much they want you to be theirs...” he said, his voice trembling. “Why do you do this to me? After everything I do for you…”

His grip was so tight that you feared he would leave marks. You tried to break free, but he wouldn’t let go.

“Minho, stop,” you said, your voice trembling as you pushed his hands away. “I can’t keep doing this. I love you, but I can’t handle your jealousy or possessiveness. It’s over.”

You tried to keep it together, but the tears kept falling uncontrollably. Minho began to tremble, and suddenly, he started crying uncontrollably.

“You can’t leave… you can’t leave me,” he said, pleading, but his tone bordered on commanding.

Your hand reached for the keys on the door, but the sound of a knife being taken from the table made you turn quickly. Minho was holding the knife, taking aggressive steps toward you.

“I have so much love to give you... Don’t you see it?” he said, his voice cracking, as he pointed the knife at his own throat. “I can’t imagine life without you. Why are you hurting me like this?”

The knife barely touched his skin, leaving a tiny scratch, but enough for you to feel like the world was falling apart.

“Minho, please, put that down. You don’t have to do this,” you begged, stepping closer to him, terrified.

“Don’t leave me with all this love in my hands, because I won’t be able to handle it,” he said, smiling through his tears as dark desperation filled his eyes.

You hesitated. You didn’t know what to do. He kept begging.

“I promise I won’t be this possessive... Please don’t leave. I love you, you’re my whole life,” he kept pleading. The more you listened, the more dizzy your mind became.

You moved slowly, your eyes fixed on the knife.

“Put it down… I’m sorry if I overreacted. But please, enough.”

You carefully took his arm and managed to pull the knife away from his throat. He threw it to the floor, and before you could react, he hugged you tightly.

“Don’t ever leave me. Please... I love you so much. You’re my reason to live.”

You stayed still, cold, trapped in his embrace. Even though you didn’t say it out loud, you knew you were trying to convince yourself of something that wasn’t real anymore.

He loves you... he just wants to protect you.

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This is my first writing, so I hope I did it right. English is not my first language, so I apologize if there are any mistakes.🙏🏻💕.

[avanwithoutaman]

Write anything about tassita and my life is yours

Drumroll please 🥁🥁🥁

I present:

𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝘾𝙐𝙎𝙏𝙊𝙈𝙀𝙍’𝙎 𝘼𝙇𝙒𝘼𝙔𝙎 𝙍𝙄𝙂𝙃𝙏- 𝘼 𝘿𝙄𝙉𝘼𝙃 & 𝙏𝘼𝙎𝙎𝙄𝙏𝘼 𝙊𝙉𝙀𝙎𝙃𝙊𝙏

(Starlight Express)

Because who doesn’t love sarcastic, die-hard besties.

———————————————————————————

REQUEST: (by anonymous) ‘Write anything about Tassita and my life is yours.’

Will be uploading to Ao3 and eventually Wattpad under the same username!

I haven’t proof read this one too much, so I apologise if there’s any mistakes.

Enjoy!

———————————————————————————

“Tassita! Tassita- I need you to help me.”

The sudden burst of noise took the quiet coach by surprise.

It had been a calm evening before then- a few moments of relaxation to himself after a long day of continuous chores down at the yard. He had no idea what the incoming commotion was about, but by the frantic look on the carriage who had just burst through the door, assumed that he was about to find out.

“What the hell-“

The newcomer- immediately recognisable by the neon shine of her pink and blue hair- seemed utterly beside herself.

She tumbled on in without knocking, immediately tossing her purse onto the couch and ignoring the confused glare from the coach upon it. She had absolutely no spacial awareness, and the quiet carriage started to believe that even if he wasn’t there, she would still have continued rambling as though he was.

Whatever mission Dinah was on seemed to be an important one however, so begrudgingly, Tassita listened to her droning, allowing himself a moment to wince at the volume.

The dining car continued onwards for her newfound audience member, pacing around the room as if whatever was happening was a life or death situation.

It was soon revealed however, through gasping breath and panicked eyes, that it wasn’t.

“Greaseball’s got her first night off in ages and I really wanted to do something nice for her so we booked to go out and, oh my god, my hair- it just won’t go right- and I’ve tried everything but it just looks so bad and I don’t want to do the normal buns but I’m struggling with everything else and-“

A small, quiet snort escaped Tassita’s nose, bringing his hand to his mouth to hold in the full laugh that was threatening to show.

In initial reaction, he didn’t know why Dinah seemed to care so much. Sure, he understood her wanting to look nice, but if she looked perfect on the daily anyway, what was the point in changing a good thing?

Even though her words were flowing like a faulty tap, the dining car didn’t fail in hearing the muttered giggle.

She paused, whipping her head around and scrunching her brows, frantically bringing her hand away from her hair.

“Tass, this isn’t funny!”

Tassita smiled, choking back another laugh at her pained expression.

“Yes, it absolutely is.”

Dinah huffed in return, throwing her arms down to her side and whining out in despair.

“No, it’s not! I look a mess- and Greaseball won’t like me if I look a mess-”

The mention of the champion ‘not liking’ the dining car brought a sour taste to Tassita’s mouth. Greaseball was temperamental on the best of days- moods swinging faster than the British weather changed- so he assumed, through the stress and frantic pacing, that that was what Dinah was truly worried about: not being good enough.

Which was disgraceful, really, cause if anything, Greaseball was the one who wasn’t good enough.

The quiet coach sighed.

“Dinah, c’mon, of course Greaseball will like you. Don’t be daft.”

The words in which he was emitting weren't fully believed, even to the speaker. They were both unfortunately very aware that the dining car would have to look her best- and to the standards that the perfectionist requested, not just her daily style.

It didn’t help that the car was already riddled with insecurity because of the stupid diesel, so Tassita knew that whatever task was ahead would be a tough one.

Dinah huffed.

“That doesn’t mean that I don’t want to look my best, though! I want to make it special- she’s too used to seeing me in my stupid work clothes.”

Tassita nodded, having already mentally accepted the task, but still taking the opportunity to possibly avoid it either way.

“Did you not think to ask Belle for help first?”

From across the room, the coach rolled her eyes and shook her head in a disbelief.

“Have you seen the time? Anytime past six and she’s a no-show.”

She was correct, it was six forty-five. Belle would be out like a light by now.

“Right.”

“Please, Tass,” she continued onwards, rolling forwards and bringing her hands together in a pathetic, childlike beg, “you need to help me or I might as well just die.”

Although the begging was borderline pathetic, Tassita could see how genuine she was by the look in her eyes. Although part of the act probably was a joke, there was still a tinge of deep rooted fear hidden somewhere within the frantic carriage.

It was quite upsetting to see, honestly. He hated when she got herself in such a state for such an unnecessary reason.

“Fine. Fine, I'll help.”

Dinah’s new expression practically lit up the room.

“Oh, thank you! Thank you thank you thank you- I love you.”

The carriage rushed over to the sofa, leaning over and planting a kiss upon the cheek of the sassing coach with a loud, obnoxious ‘mwah!’

Tassita laughed and wiped the lipstick residue from his cheek as Dinah took no time in crossing her legs and tossing herself onto the floor, facing away from her friend and leaning back against his legs.

“There’s some stuff in my bag.”

As Dinah settled in front, the quiet coach reached over to the purse which had been previously tossed beside him.

Inside laid a brush, a few hair ties, and some sort of setting spray. He nodded in thought as he gathered the items onto his lap.

“So, then, what were you thinking?”

The car on the floor hummed for a second, grumbling out in decision.

“Well, I was trying to braid it, or something. I dunno. Something new. It wasn’t going too well, though, obviously.”

Tassita tutted.

“Should’ve woken that stupid coach up- you know she’s better at braids than I am.”

The loving insult brought a chuckle to Dinah’s throat, and she took no time in turning around to swat the legs of the coach behind her.

“Don’t be mean.”

“It’s fine- she can’t hear me.”

As he rolled his eyes with another, small chuckle, the two settled down again, returning to position and preparing for the task. He grabbed a chunk of bright, pink hair, and started separating the section.

As he worked, Dinah continued talking.

“Besides, you’re really good at them too.”

“Barely.”

“Well it must be true, since I’m here and not anywhere else.”

Tassita grumbled.

“Yeah, only cause there is nowhere else.”

He could practically feel Dinah rolling her eyes through the back of her head.

“There were plenty of people that I could’ve asked, I’ll have you know- so you should think yourself lucky that I chose you.”

The quiet coach shrugged and started braiding the section he’d separated.

“Oh yeah? Like who?”

“Momma, duh. She’s practically a master- I mean, have you seen how small the braids on the side of her head are? I’d not have the patience.”

He shrugged again, mocking smirk growing on his features.

“But you love me too much to have asked Momma first, right?”

The dining car huffed.

“I can practically smell your ego right now.”

Without missing a second, the two burst into their typical fit of laughter again. It was hilarious, to be able to bully each other without a single care that anything would ever be taken seriously.

Sure, the sensitive tendencies of the dining car and then her mean, taunting humour didn’t seem like they’d mix, but she always perfectly knew what to say- sarcasm or not. It was the perfect mix, and Tassita loved her for it.

“Be quiet, I’m trying to work.”

The following minutes were just that; quiet. It was quite peaceful, really, with the two of them sitting in the shed in silent comfort. It was the calm before what would assumedly be the storm of Dinah’s night out, and she seemed quite content in the moment at hand, staring off into the distance as her friend worked on her looks.

They were both always grateful for their small, shared moments- even if Tass would’ve ideally preferred at least some alone time that evening.

As he carefully gathered the remaining, stray strands of Dinah’s hair and tucked them carefully into the main plait, he tilted his head.

“I think this’d look really cute in a bun, y’know.”

The coach huffed.

“But I always have my hair in buns.”

“No, I know- but this one’s different. Trust me, it’ll look really cute… and if you’re worried that too much of a change won’t be beneficial for a certain someone then this is definitely a safe way to go.”

Dinah seemed to consider it for a moment, reaching up to feel behind her head as Tassita let a few strands fall back down by her face. It was true, Greaseball probably wouldn’t appreciate too much of a change.

“Okay, I trust you.”

“Damn right you do. This is Tassita’s salon, not Dinah’s. Catch up.”

Dinah giggled.

“I’m gonna give you a one star rating.” She then taunted, bringing her hands up to mimic writing on an imaginary keyboard before sarcastically continuing her review. “Hair stylist is rude and has a humongous ego. Whatever happened to "the customer’s always right?”

“You’ll get banned from the salon if you continue with that attitude. I’m doing you a favour here, remember.”

“Damnit… I suppose I’ll have to behave.”

Dinah lowered her hands from the fake keyboard and leaned back against Tassita’s legs. She let a small, grateful sigh escape her lips as he pulled one of the final ties into place and eventually let go of her hair.

“There,” he smiled, pulling back to admire his work, “it looks good.”

As she leaned forward and looked back to the coach behind, Dinah smiled, a slight blush covering her cheeks.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah! It looks great, if I do say so myself. And I guess that you also look good too…”

“Hey!”

“What?!” He retaliated, dodging another playful hit. “I’m joking, you always look good.”

The dining car looked down in thankful shyness.

“You don’t really think that.”

Tass rolled his eyes in reply.

“Of course I do. I mean, if it helps, I deffo would if we weren’t ga-”

“Woah! Woah, Tassita stop-” The squeaking words cut him off as he jokingly smirked and gestured towards the coach in front, features twisting into a sarcastic, unserious look. “That’s disgusting.”

The quiet carriage laughed.

“What? I’m just being real-”

Dinah returned the gesture, fully comfortable in the fact that it was just a joke and would never be anything more than that.

“Well, thank you for the attempt at the… erm… confidence boost?”

Tass tutted.

“You know that it worked.”

She fake shuddered as he winked at her.

“Get away from me, you absolute freak-”

Not long after, she turned and took a stand as Tassita laid back carefully onto the couch. Their humour died down alongside, replaced gently by an air of pure thankfulness and mutual appreciation.

Dinah brushed down her skirt and watched as her friend put the unused products back into her purse.

She watched on carefully for a moment, bringing a hand up to her hair to brush a strand behind her ear, and then nodded downwards.

“Thank you, Tass- for doing this for me.”

He smiled.

“Of course, babe. I am always happy to help you, y’know- even if you do burst in here at annoying fucking times.”

The coach in front of him shied away.

“I know. I’m, um, sorry for that.”

“Hey, don’t apologise, I’m only joking. I can recognise a train who’s on the brink of an absolute mental breakdown if I see one. Couldn’t have you losing the plot any further now, could we?”

As the two giggled again, Tassita waved his hand.

“Alright, go on then, go enjoy your time with that brute. And no, I don’t want any of the details, thanks.”

[flightfoot]

Do you have any good fic recs on Ladynoir. Them just hanging out or being angsty? They don’t have to be long either

Hopefully these fic recs work out for you!

Veritas by writer_slk

The latest akumatized villain is filling the mouths of its victims with criticisms and complaints. If left unchecked, every relationship in Paris will be put at risk. While Ladybug and Chat Noir are trying to stop the villain, Ladybug learns something about her partner that she didn’t want to know and then says something she didn’t mean to say.

---

Imaginary Friend by Engineerd

Alya went back to typing on her screen. “You’re right,” she agreed. “All that pressure? No wonder Ladybug made herself a boyfriend.” “Chat Noir is not her boyfriend,” Marinette scoffed. In which Ladybug summons Chat Noir as her lucky charm one day. (She keeps summoning him.)

---

The Son of my Enemy by Saccha

Cat Noir never wanted to be a villain, but he doesn't have a choice. Ladybug wishes she could save him. A reverse love square, villain!Cat Noir AU.

---

you deserve to be loved and you deserve what you are given by thescuttlebug

Marinette is terrified, suddenly. She’s not like this. She’s not this kind of alpha, to get her head turned by any pretty pheromones she trips over. She’s not--she’s not disloyal, she’s not inconstant. Chat smells like moonlight, like the sudden shock of night air and the terrifying rush of leaping out into the empty dark, like deserted city sidewalks and unfamiliar corners: something midnight-metallic, something strange, something wild. Nothing like Adrien. Not a single note in common. She’s not like this. She’s not like this. He smells-- He smells-- “Ladybug,” Chat croaks, still staring at her. He smells stray.

---

Evergreen by tanyatakaishi

Everything was gone. The entire cityscape had been obliterated, leaving them in a valley of trees. Blue mountains, peaks dressed in snow, stretched tall in the distance and at their foot lay an array of vineyards, miles wide with no civilization in sight. AKA: two heroes lost alone in the woods with no cheese.

---

As the dust settles by Pengirl91

After Ladybug lost everything and yet her partner stood by her, she realized what she had been trying to lie to herself about for months. She is undoubtedly in love with him. The only problem is that she's terrified of what that could lead to and there's a monumental task ahead of them before it might be safe to act on her feelings for him... more than she already has. Post Strike Back with my hopes, wishes, and predictions for season 5 as I wait with great impatience. Now complete.

The meat of this story is mostly a SentiAdrien fic. Adrien discovers that Gabriel is Hawkmoth, so Gabriel orders him to stay silent about what he found out, as well as giving orders to help him with plans to obtain the Miraculous he needs. Luckily, he doesn’t know that Adrien is Chat Noir...

---

I (Wish I) Knew You by @buggachat

University has been hard on Marinette. Making new friends and maintaining her grades is a lot easier said than done when she has to disappear at odd times to fight akumas. She's struggling, and with Alya away with family and Adrien painfully out of reach, she's never felt lonelier. If only she could talk to someone who really understood her struggles... but it's not like Chat Noir would know anything about loneliness. Right?

Nice aged-up Ladynoir fic here! Marinette’s struggling with losing friends and lovers because of her flakiness due to her superhero activities, until at last she breaks down. Thankfully, Chat Noir’s there at least - and it soon turns out he’s got problems of his own that he’s been hiding.

There’s some fluff and angst, it’s mostly just the two of them navigating life, dealing with their feelings and talking things out.

---

To Have Loved by @trishacollins

Adrien struggles with the loss of children he never had, with a life he remembers living but that wasn't real. The only person who understands him is Ladybug, his wife and his children's mother. Sleeping alone is such an empty feeling. Together, they might make a start at healing. Or they might just make a new disaster.

I love Jubilation angst. Depending on how "real" that timeline felt, waking up could be devastating - and Chat WAS certainly devastated in that episode. It's akin to the Pevensie kids in Narnia growing up, becoming rulers, and then tumbling out of the wardrobe a couple decades later, the same age at which they left. Of course Ladybug and Chat Noir would cling to each other afterwards, the only other person who remembers that imaginary timeline.

That's not all this story entails, however. Gabriel isn't too happy about Adrien sneaking out as much as he has been, and he WILL get answers, one way or another...

---

in which chat noir comes up with an awesome gift for ladybug by @mixelation

If his Lady wants ultra rare Adrien Agreste merch, then that’s what his Lady will get! Written for the Miraculous Ladybug Secret Santa exchange.

This was really sweet and I love how mixelation wrote Adrien's internal narration! You really viscerally understood his thoughts and feelings. It had some of the intimacy of a first person perspective, but well, in third person.

---

Mamma Mia! by @ladynoirfanao3

When Marinette discovers she is pregnant, she is distressed to realize any of the three men she slept with in the recent past could be the father; Chat Noir, Ladybug’s partner and ex with whom she had gone through a tearful breakup - the mysterious Cat Walker, Ladybug’s rebound - or Adrien Agreste, Marinette’s current boyfriend. Bit of a twist on the base concept of Mamma Mia, where she doesn't realize all three potential fathers are, in fact, the same man.

So this is a fun little fic. I loved seeing Adrien and Marinette independently wrestle with the situation - Adrien, with maybe being the father of his former girlfriend's children (but maybe not), and Marinette, with needing to tell her former and current boyfriends that they might or might not be the father, and having to deal with a potential change in their relationship because of that.

Oh yeah, this fic is rated M, but the sexual content is relatively mild. The foreplay is detailed, but the actual sex is just implied.

---

Bend the World Around It by @kasienda

“Tell me it was real." She can’t look at him. She can barely stand the pain in his voice. She definitely can’t face it. “It wasn’t.” He shakes his head, and turns to her - his eyes swirling in their intensity. “That’s not what I meant and you know it. Tell me that you were there. We were there together, having the same dream.” She squeezes her eyes shut. She wants to lie to him. She needs to lie to him. But she can’t. Lying would be like it never happened. But it did happen. And if it’s all they get to have, she wants him to know it. “I think we were having the same dream,” she whispers, unable to meet his eyes.

So this is an adorable Jubilation aftermath fic, with Ladybug and Chat Noir both mourning the loss of what only they remember, of a dream that never was. And them deciding that screw it, it may not have been real to anyone else, but it was real to them. They remember those years together, and they want to live together, if only during the times when they can afford to be missing from home. They remember being happily married, and crave that life.

---

(Drag) Kings And Queens by @entity9silvergen

Marinette sees one of her commissions on drag performer Chat Noir and a friendship is born. If only she could get her girlfriend Adriana to go to one of his performances… Adrien plays with a new side of himself through drag with some help from his new online friend Ladybug. If only his newfound confidence could help him work up the courage to tell his boyfriend Marino about it… Closeted T4T Drag AU based on buggachat’s tumblr post with lots of extra identity shenanigans.

So like entity says, this fic is based on one of @buggachat's tumblr posts.

Though it actually manages to be even MORE queer since both Adrien and Marinette are trans.

It's an utter delight! The drag performances are a treat, and I love the identity shenanigans XD. It's just a lot of fun.

---

Phantom Pains (and other hints of you) by @buggachat

She couldn't remember anything. Not where she was going, where she'd been, why she was in this stairwell, or even her own name. But as she watched the blood pool at the base of the steps, she at least knew one thing for certain: the corpse was hers. Getting used to being dead was going to have its growing pains. — “Well, unlucky lady,” Chat Noir greeted with a bow, “Can I get your name?” “Didn’t we just talk about this? I told you, I don’t remember it.” “And I told you,” he reminded, “that you can just pick whatever fits you best.” — Ladybug and Chat Noir may not remember who they once were, but at least the two lost souls can find comfort in each other's company. But as Ladybug starts uncovering more and more memories of her life, letting the past go doesn't seem as easy as Chat Noir claims it to be.

So this is a beautiful, sweet, tragic love story of two lost souls wandering around with each other, yet with Ladybug still desperately wanting to be found, to remember who she was - and wanting to know why Chat so adamantly wanted to stay amnesiac. It's got some neat worldbuilding, and some fantastic prose. It's just a really nice little story!

[guhamun]

❝CU, ENOUGH.❞ JIANYU EYED Cu a bit, a small hint in his stare to not push too much. Calcharo wasn’t someone who could be brute forced into anything, and constantly poking at something he clearly held no interest in discussing would only make him angry, which in turn, would ruin what they had set out to do to begin with as he could hold onto anger for a very long time. He was in a good mood right now. Jianyu wanted to keep it there for as long as he possibly could before that ‘storm’ that he discussed with Cu came over the horizon. They had a very small window for peace at the moment. Very, very small if the mercenary leader was suddenly beginning to hone in on the very thing both of them were hoping he’d ignore for the time being. As Jianyu had expected, Cu’s words were, once again, ignored, Calcharo not even bothering to pay it any attention. His focus was on one thing and one thing only: picking at the other’s brain to know if they had any knowledge of this unknown individual who had already come into Huanglong making waves.

     ❝Hmm…I suppose that’s true. To the people of Huanglong, there isn’t much difference between the two on the surface – at least when it comes to travelers from the region.❞ He couldn’t ignore the fact that Rinascita had opened their doors to more visitors as of late, so that was something to keep in mind as well. ❝Nobles, as you know, will do anything to get their foot in the door. There's always a potential one will send a 'representative' of the House who knows just how to act to get someone to drop their guard. Whether that is someone from that house specifically, or someone who works for them, it doesn't really matter at the end of the day.❞ Anything was free game to those who liked to play games. That aside… ❝Yes, I would like you to look into those flowers. I haven’t seen them myself, but if they are very particular, I might not be able to identify the meaning.❞ He gave an offhand wave of his hand, soon continuing onwards to show their conversation was over. ❝Send me a message when you figure something out.❞

     Jianyu watched as Calcharo took his leave, soon shooting Cu a pointed stare when he was sure the other was out of earshot. ❝You sure don’t know how to shut it, do you? Thankfully, I wasn’t caught in the crossfire again.❞ Honestly, he had warned them to be mindful of themselves. Cu was a guest. He wasn’t a member of the Ghost Hounds and if he annoyed Calcharo too much, he wouldn’t allow him to come to the base anymore. All the problems that would cause... Jianyu gave a long sigh, dragging a hand down the side of his face. ❝Anyway, everything seems to be falling into place, I think. Anything further from here won’t have my involvement…though, really…I don’t think I’m needed anymore.❞ He knew his leader – understood his mindset from proximity and observation -- at least as well as one could with someone who kept primarily to themselves. The other's thoughts were not firmly on that strange visitor despite the questioning. They were probably still lingering on Jiyan. A good thing.

Cú Chulainn felt a bit bad for Jianyu, but sacrifices needed to be made for the greater good, and these experiences helped build character anyway. That aside, as expected, the mercenary leader ignored his question or, more precisely, didn't want to talk about it. That would be fine if he was only trying to get a reaction from the other, but he didn't go above and beyond to keep Aalto busy and used Jianyu as a shield twice to get ignored. "Remember you're the one who assumed Jiyan was seeing someone when I was clearly talking about you. Instead of glaring at innocent travelers, you should be looking into yourself and wondering why everyone thinks you two are a thing. Jinzhou isn't the New Fed, baseless rumors aren't a thing here." He would've preferred to be more subtle about this but, considering how senselessly oblivious Calcharo was when it came to Jiyan, he was left without much of a choice.

That aside... Ugh... Stupid Conall... They always liked making an entrance, and he could already see things getting more bizarre from here. He calculated that they had about 3 more days of 'peace' before Conall showed up. But he also was in a difficult position now. He didn't want to lie to Calcharo, but he didn't want them to stress needlessly when they were in a good mood. Besides, when else if not now to think about their relationship with the general? "You sure it was someone from the New Fed? Ever since Rinascita opened its doors, there's been a good number of travelers hailing from the isles." An understandable confusion for ones that aren't used to seeing people from either nation. "It could be a mere coincidence. I mean, fancy flowers is more of a nobility thing, and you ever heard of a noble traveling by foot, and helping commoners on top of that?" Him, and Mortefi, but they were exceptions to the rule!

"Anyway, if you still want me to look into it, give me a day to properly look at the flowers. Most Houses have their own unique species."

[forgotn1]

Unfortunately, being worthy of and deserving of love doesn't mean you will ever actually find the love that you need. The universe is under no obligation to provide it or even give the opportunity for it to happen. For some, it just won't happen no matter how much they want or need it. That hole will always exist and cannot be filled by any other type of love except that which it was meant to hold. And that fucking sucks, but there's not much that can be done about it except learn to accept it and try to find meaning elsewhere.

[neproxrezi]

reason 846 i hate job interviews: just had a mock interview at a training place and part of the feedback was that i could have dressed smarter for it, by which they meant 'a shirt and trousers' and like. i was wearing womens smart office wear that i have worn to office jobs before so i have to assume they meant 'wear mens office wear', and i just think im gonna have to ask them what they think i should do toward that end because that just does not have an easy answer

[collideliketwostars]

I wait for you

;Alex G

[moonlitwitchdaisy]

this is what happens when social butterfly talks too much

“h-how filthy you are.” nanami’s voice was husky and laced with warning, trembling slightly as he spoke with each thrust, pinning you firmly to the bed and fucking you from behind.

what had led to this?

you had no idea.

you’d barely come back from school when nanami declared you were heading to his place. as soon as he opened the door, he kissed you roughly, scooped you up, carried you to his room, and bent you over, spanking your ass with fervor.

and god, it hurt.

his thick cock hit all your sweet spots with every thrust, making you bury your face further into the sheets beneath you. this position made you feel every inch of him so intensely that, even though you felt full to the brim, you still wanted more.

nanami groaned deeply, landing another sharp smack on your reddened ass. “what’s your deal, huh? trying—ugh—trying to drive me insane?” his large hands gripped your hips tighter, pushing his cock deeper into your sensitive walls.

“w-what are you talking about?” you managed to stammer, barely coherent, consumed by the maddening pleasure of his cock filling you.

“liar.” smack. “don’t even try to test me—fuck, you feel so good…”

it was too much. you’d already come so many times that each orgasm felt stronger and more frequent, your body trembling as nanami kept pounding into you without missing a beat, determined to ruin you completely.

“do you have to be so friendly with everyone?” his tone was sharper now, tinged with jealousy.

“i am not friendly—ahh ken, please—” your words broke off into a moan as he found that perfect spot inside you, sending you over the edge again.

“again? what a needy girl you are. did i tell you to come?” his pace slowed. nanami knew your orgasms were becoming more frequent as he kept thrusting his cock into you over and over again. that's why he wanted you to beg him a little.

“no, no, don’t stop!” you whined desperately, protesting the sudden lack of movement inside you.

“then why were you talking to them?” he thrust in just the tip before slamming his cock back inside you. “i hate how much of a social butterfly you are.” he pulled out until only his head was inside again.

oh. you finally understood why your boyfriend had been so riled up.

“they-they just needed the notes, ken.” the words fell from your lips in a shaky mumble.

“notes, huh?” he let out a bitter laugh, plunging deep enough to make you scream. “don’t they have their own hands to write? did it have to be you?”

“they m-missed class.”

nanami chuckled darkly, the sound sending shivers down your spine. “sure, sweetheart.” he pulled back only to resume his relentless pace, pounding into you as if it were the last thing he’d ever do, fully intent on claiming every inch of you.

“never again—fuck—never give them anything, got it?” he punctuated his words with a rough thrust, making sure you felt every single one.

“yes.” your answer was muffled, your face buried in the sheets as waves of pleasure overwhelmed you.

a firm slap landed on your already sore ass. “louder sweetheart.”

“fuck, yes ken. i won’t talk to them again!” your hands clawed at the wrinkled sheets beneath you, gripping them tighter.

“that’s my girl.” nanami tilted his head back, feeling his release building as his pace became more frantic. “now i’m going to fill you up, sweetheart. i won’t stop until every inch of you is dripping with me.”

his grip on your hips tightened, his strong hands holding you so firmly it made your skin burn. you felt the warmth of his release spilling inside you, your toes curling at the sensation. there was something so satisfying about taking all of him, knowing you were the only one who could make him lose control like this.

when he finally pulled out, not a single drop escaped you. he’d made sure of that.

you shivered as his warm lips pressed against your sore, reddened ass.

“my beautiful girl. i love you so much,” he murmured, his hands now gentle as they rubbed soothing circles over your tender skin.

then, just as he’d carried you to the bedroom earlier, he scooped you up again and took you to the bathroom. there, he filled the tub with warm water and bubbles, treating you with all the care in the world, a stark contrast to his earlier roughness.

when nanami got jealous, he could lose himself completely—but no one else could fuck you like that or pamper you afterward quite like he could.

a little note: i'm so horny and i need jealous nanami.

all rights belong to the @moonlitwitchdaisy do not copy, reproduce, or translate my work.