#apparently we hardly knew ye

[incognit0slut]

Much Ado About Nothing (Act III, Scene V: The Temporary Bliss)

Your fleeting moment of happiness is quickly overshadowed as old wounds from the past resurface.

Part warning: (18+) fingering, protected sex (because helping him roll down a condom is hot), and, unfortunately, angst Words: 4.8k A/n: so this is the last part of Act III: The Deception, you might want to prepare yourself as we get closer to the truth

SERIES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

You were a coward. A fool. A mess. You didn’t know what to label yourself anymore, or if there were even words to describe the way you felt. But you did know one thing—you didn't have the strength to confront Spencer, you couldn't even see his face without feeling sick. So you did what you did best.

You avoided him. Plain and simple.

It was actually easier than you had expected. After that dreadful weekend, there seemed to be enough cases to distract you. You traveled across the state, one week in a new place, and another in a different city. By the end of the month, you hardly thought about him at all. Your friends seemed to be unaware of the underlying tension between you, and even if they did notice, they surprisingly kept their thoughts to themselves—everyone except Derek who teasingly pointed out that you seemed more focused on your work than usual.

You had shrugged off his comment with a forced laugh, brushing it off as if it was just a harmless observation. You told yourself that you were fine, that you had everything under control. But despite your efforts to stay distracted, the reality was different. The moment the plane landed back in Quantico, you knew you would have to face him again, especially when Emily suggested to hit the bar.

Her reason was to blow off steam after a gruesome few weeks, which was followed by a chorus of agreements from the team. Now you were left with no more excuses. Your eyes drifted toward him, his gaze slowly met yours, and that was how you found yourself in the same dingy, low-lit bar the team always gravitated to an hour later.

The familiar murmur of conversation and clinking of glasses greeted you as you entered the place. While the others settled to their usual spot in the corner, you quickly made a bee-line towards the bar. The bartender, a tall man with a slightly overgrown beard and sharp blue eyes, looked up as you approached.

He was cute, in a rugged, rough-around-the-edges kind of way. You would normally find yourself attracted to these types of men—confident, approachable, and with a certain easygoing charm. But apparently, your heart had other ideas, preferring a certain someone with a genius-level IQ with warm brown eyes.

“Hey, you're back," he greeted you, nodding his head. "Haven’t seen you in a while."

You leaned over the bar. "It's been a busy month."

"Where did you go off to this time?"

"Chicago."

He whistled softly. "Chicago, huh? Must have been a big one to send you all the way there." He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “What did the bad guy do this time?”

You gave a small, secretive smile. "You know I can't talk about that. That's classified information."

The corner of his lips turned into a wide grin. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.” He picked up a glass and began wiping it down. “So, what’ll it be tonight? Your usual Margarita?”

You hesitated, shaking your head.

"Sex on the beach?"

Normally, you'd ask for either—you preferred something light and tangy, a drink that was strong enough to take the edge off without overwhelming you. But tonight was different. Tonight, you needed something with more kick.

“Give me a shot of tequila—no, make it two.”

A frown briefly crossed his face. “Are you sure?”

No.

“Yes,” you insisted. “I need something stronger tonight.”

The man studied your face for a moment before he nodded, pouring two generous shots in front of you. He turned to grab lime wedges from the small fridge under the counter but stopped abruptly when he noticed you’d already downed one of the shots.

"Wow, you weren't kidding.”

The strong liquor burned your throat. “That is disgusting.”

“That’s why you need this to chase it,” he said, sliding the lime wedge and a pinch of salt towards you. “Here.”

You purposely ignored him and brought the second glass to your lips, feeling the burn even before you swallowed.

“Here, take it.”

“No, I’m fine.” You pushed the now empty glass toward him, making a face. “Pour me another one.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Oh, come on! I’m here with the gang!” You gestured toward the corner where the team was sitting. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

He hesitated, glancing over your shoulder and then back at you. “Fine, but this is the last one,” he said, reluctantly pouring another shot.

You gave him a quick nod, grabbing the shot and lifting it to your lips, steeling yourself for the burn. Just as you were about to drink, you felt a firm hand on your wrist. Your body tensed, not because of the sudden interruption, but because you felt another hand resting at your back before it slowly slid across, settling just at the soft curve of your waist.

You didn’t have to turn your head to know who it was. His smell was unmistakable—clean, with a hint of soap and the faintest trace of coffee.

“I think you’ve had enough.”

You watched as Spencer took the glass from your grip, settling it on the counter. Your brows knit together in confusion. “What are you doing?”

But instead of answering you, his eyes were focused intently on the bartender. “You shouldn’t have given her another glass.”

The bartender’s eyes widened slightly, and he held up his hands. “Hey, she asked for it.”

You nodded along. “To be fair, he did offer me Sex on the Beach.”

That didn’t seem to help. Spencer’s grip tightened on your waist, and you could feel him pulling you slightly closer to him. “That’s not funny. We need to get you some water.”

“Reid, it’s just two shots—”

He cut you off, turning back to the bartender. “Can she get a glass of water?”

The bartender nodded, quickly grabbing a glass and filling it with water. He handed it to Spencer, who then turned his attention back to you. “Drink this, please.”

“Seriously, I’m fine,” you protested.

He placed the glass in your hand. “Drink it.”

“Two shots,” you argued, finally facing him. “It’s not a big deal. I’ve drunk a lot worse than this.”

“I'm aware.”

“Then why does it bother you so much?”

He went quiet for a moment, his eyes drifting between you, the glass of water, then back to you.

“Because I don’t like being the reason you’re drinking something you hate in the first place.”

You quickly downed the cool water. How could you even answer that? Your skin suddenly felt hot, and your palms grew clammy as he kept his hand on your waist. You looked away, unable to meet his gaze.

“It’s not because of you,” you said, shrugging as you set the glass down.

"Isn't it, though? Why else would you be reacting this way?"

“Maybe I just like tequila now. Did you ever think of that?”

“You hate tequila," he replied as if it was common knowledge.

“Yeah, well, maybe I’ve developed a taste for it.”

“So you’ve suddenly decided you like something you’ve been avoiding for years?”

“Maybe I’m trying new things,” you shot back, your tone sharp. “Maybe you should try it too.”

There was a moment of silence as he considered your words. "I am trying new things."

You felt him tug you slightly, letting your body fall against his. Your heart sped up as you stared up at him. Even in the dim light of the bar, his brown eyes seemed to catch the faint glow, looking lighter and more intense than usual. You watched as his gaze drifted slowly to your lips.

"Reid..."

"Hmm?"

"What are you doing?"

His expression softened as he looked back at you, his hand still resting lightly on your waist. "I'm trying to play the perfect boyfriend."

"So this is all an act?"

This was it, the moment of truth, the point where everything could change. He took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving yours. “No,” he said quietly, his thumb brushing against your hip.

Your hand fell to his chest, fingers pressing lightly to feel the rapid beat of his heart. It was pounding, just as fast as yours.

"Spencer..."

He let out a sigh—a sound that seemed to carry both relief and a touch of disbelief as it left his lips. "I thought I'd never hear you call me that again."

He was right. Ever since you drifted apart, calling him Reid felt safer, like a barrier that kept things distant and professional. Spencer was too personal, too intimate for the walls you had built around yourself. But now, standing so close, it felt like the past and present were colliding, making everything more confusing.

Your finger played with the knot of his tie, absentmindedly tracing the pattern. "You're making this more complicated."

He nodded. "I know."

"We're supposed to break this off."

"I know."

"We're supposed to stick to the plan."

He opened his mouth, then closed it, struggling for a moment before replying, “If that's what you want, then we'll go through it. But...”

You raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue. "But what?"

"But I need to know if it’s really what you want." His voice faltered slightly. "If you want me to leave, I will."

His question hung in the air like a thick fog, making it hard for you to think clearly. It was a simple choice, wasn't it? Stick to the plan, keep up the fake dating, and finally break it off. No mess, no complications. But why, then, did the thought of him leaving feel like a heavy weight in your chest?

You caught him nervously trailing his bottom lip with his tongue—a habit of his when he was deep in thought. The simple gesture made you feel an unexpected pull, and before you knew it, you found yourself pressing closer to him.

“Spence,” you murmured. “You’re making this really hard.”

“I don’t want to make it hard,” he said quietly. “I-I just I need to know where we stand.”

You hesitated, your heart pounding in your chest. The words felt heavy on your tongue, but you knew you needed to say them.

"I want you to leave," you started, watching as his expression shifted, a hint of pain flickering in his eyes as he slowly pulled away. But before he could step back, you tugged on his tie, pulling him back towards you. "But I'm leaving with you."

His eyes widened slightly. "What do you mean?"

And suddenly, a wave of embarrassment washed over you, and you looked away. "What I'm trying to say is... that—well..."

"Well?"

Your gaze focused somewhere beyond his shoulder, finding it easier to speak without meeting his eyes. "I want to finish what we started that morning."

He blinked, processing your words. "You mean... when we..."

"Yeah."

You noticed his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed hard. "Oh." He leaned in slightly, his hand moving to rest on the small of your back. "How drunk are you right now?"

You couldn't help but let a laugh escape your lips, finally looking back at him. "I had two shots!"

His expression softened, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You know what this means, right?"

"What?"

"If we…" He trailed off, clearing his throat before continuing, "If we do this, it'll change everything."

You smoothed down his shirt, your fingers lingering on the fabric. "I know."

"And you still want that?"

"I do."

He took a deep breath, searching your eyes for any hesitation. "And you want to leave... right now?"

"Look, if you don't want to—"

He quickly cut you off, shaking his head with a slight, nervous chuckle. “No, I do. I just… I want to make sure you do too.”

"I wouldn't be saying this if I didn't mean it."

His eyes softened. “You’re right,” he said, the corners of his mouth lifting in a hesitant smile that looked almost like a grimace. “Okay. Okay. We’re doing this.”

Seeing him easily flustered was always amusing for you, and this time was no different. "Come on," you urged him, taking his hand in yours. "Let's get out of here."

"Wait, shouldn't we tell them we're leaving?"

You glanced back at your friends. "And tell them what? That we're going to have sex?"

He almost tripped over his own feet. "Well, when you put it that way…"

You squeezed his hand and flashed him a smile over your shoulder as you started toward the exit. With a quick, eager step, he followed behind.

Spencer’s apartment was just as you remembered—deep green walls, warm lighting, bookshelves lining every corner. But you barely had a moment to register your surroundings before he had his face buried in your neck.

His lips found the sensitive spot below your ear. Your fingers gripped the fabric of his shirt as his mouth trailed a wet path down your throat, and you had to push against his chest slightly because he was pressing you too hard against the door. For a man who spent most of his time buried in books, he seemed to have an unexpected strength that took you by surprise.

“Hey, hey,” you murmured, a soft giggle escaping as you tilted your head to look at him. “Slow down.”

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes before leaning down again, his hands coming up to cup your face as he kissed you.

His lips were hot against yours, moving with an eager, almost desperate need. He sucked gently on your lower lip, pulling it into his mouth before releasing it with a soft, audible pop. The sudden absence of his mouth left your skin tingling, only to be followed by the gentle graze of his teeth, a playful nip that made you gasp and clutch his shirt tighter.

You felt lightheaded, melting under his touch as his tongue teased the seam of your lips, coaxing them open as his tongue teased the seam of your lips, coaxing them open. You let him in willingly, your tongue meeting his eagerly. The sensation left you feeling hot and dizzy, your entire body craving for more of his taste. It was as if his kiss was an intoxicating drug, leaving you utterly addicted. Even when he pulled away slightly to catch his breath, you grabbed him again, pressing your lips firmly against his.

Spencer sighed with pleasure as he held the back of your head, his fingers splaying against your scalp. You weren't sure how long you stayed like that, lost in the way his lips moved against yours, but the instant you felt his growing bulge brush your hip, you gently pushed him away.

A thin, glistening string of saliva followed you, and you reached up to wipe it from his mouth with a quick, almost embarrassed swipe. His breath came in ragged gasps as he looked down at you, his eyes wide in surprise.

"Sorry, I-I got carried away," he mumbled, letting his hand trail down your spine. "We don't have to do this if you don't want to."

You looked up at him, your eyes searching his. "You thought I pushed you away because I want us to stop?"

"Uh... maybe? I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

"No, Spencer," you said softly, reaching up to loosen the knot of his tie. "I pushed you away because I need you to take me to your bed."

He watched intently as you pulled off his tie, and when you pushed his suit jacket off his shoulders, his hands fell to his sides.

"Are you going to watch me undress you, or are you going to help?"

A slow smile spread across his face as he shrugged off the jacket completely, his hands moving to the buttons of his shirt. "I think I can manage that."

He started to unbutton his shirt, his fingers brushing against yours. The moment the last button was undone, he let the shirt fall to the floor with a soft rustle. Your palm glided over his chest as you took in his bare skin. You expected his body to be lean—he had long limbs, after all—but you didn't expect the subtle, defined muscles beneath your touch.

"Spencer, have you been working out?"

You could tell he was embarrassed by the way he shifted his gaze from you. "Morgan convinced me to stay in shape," he admitted with a shy smile. "He insists it's part of the job."

You plant a kiss right above his heart. "Well, it's definitely working."

The warmth of your lips seemed to ease his embarrassment, and he let out a soft sigh, his hands coming up to caress your back. You glanced up at him again. "Will you take me to your bed now?"

He quickly nodded and guided you towards his bedroom. Once inside, you pushed him down onto the edge of his bed. His hands roamed across your body as you slipped between his legs, slowly unbuttoning your blouse. The front of the fabric fell away and his gaze followed every movement, his hands eagerly helping you slide it off your shoulders.

Your bra came off next, the straps sliding down your arms as you tossed it aside. His eyes swept over you with admiration as he licked his lips, his gaze lingering on the exposed curve of your body. He pulled you closer, his hands gripping your waist as he pressed a series of hot, open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone and down to the swell of your breasts.

When he wrapped his lips around your nipple, a sharp, electrifying pleasure shot through you. His tongue flicked and teased, alternating between gentle suckles and soft nibbles that made you gasp and arch into his touch. You tangled your fingers in his hair, holding him to you as he continued his ministrations, moving from one breast to the other.

The hand on your back slid lower, his fingers finding the waistband of your pants. You felt him unbutton them, the fabric loosening around your hips. With a firm but gentle tug, he slipped your pants down your legs, followed closely by your panties, until both garments pooled around your feet.

His hand began running up your leg, fingers slipping between your thighs. He let go of your nipple and looked up at you with those brown eyes that seemed to gleam under the light. “Can I touch you?”

You brushed his hair back gently from his forehead. “You’ve touched me before.”

“I want to hear you say it.” 

You felt his fingertips brush so lightly over your clit and you nodded. “Yes,” you breathed out, “You can touch me.”

All you could do was sigh as his fingers moved again. He was so gentle, so careful, sliding his fingers up and down your folds, spreading your arousal with each teasing stroke. His eyes never left your face, watching every flicker of pleasure that crossed your features, drinking in the way your lips parted and your breath hitched with each touch.

"Th—That feels good," you cooed, your eyes fluttering low but not completely shut, wanting to see him as he worked over you. He followed your gaze where his fingers continued their exploration, gently pulling back the soft flesh to expose your clit. He traced light, feathery strokes over the sensitive skin and the motion left your legs shaking, nearly losing balance if he weren't holding you against him.

He grabbed the back of your thigh. “Put your leg up here.”

You complied and rested your feet on the bed, giving more access. The new position allowed him to press his fingers more deeply against your clit, his fingers moving in a steady rhythm. You were trembling, mind numb from the way he was touching you, and you almost couldn’t take it when he dipped his middle finger inside your cunt.

"God, Spencer,” you gasped, dropping a hand to the wrist that was nestled between your legs, nails digging into his skin. He slipped another finger inside you, and your eyes screwed shut this time. You could feel his fingers curling inside you, seeking, then finding, the tender spot that made you cry out in pleasure.

Everything became a blur after that. His fingers continued to thrust into you, and with each movement, you grew wetter, the slick sounds of your arousal echoing throughout his room. You clung to his shoulders for support, your breath coming in ragged gasps as he pressed soft kisses across your chest. His thumb then brushed against your clit, applying just the right amount of pressure in gentle circles.

"I'm…” Your eyes fluttered open when his mouth latched onto your hard nipple. “I'm gonna come... if you... keep doing that..." 

You weren't even sure why you were warning him, but you couldn’t stop yourself as your hips rolled against his hands. His thumb circled your clit faster in response, and the world around you began to spin. You gasped his name, the sound escaping your lips in a desperate, breathless moan.

When his teeth softly grazed your sensitive nipple, you finally snapped. Wave after wave of orgasm bliss rolled through your body, the pulse of pleasure sending your thighs trembling as he held you through all of it. It's all too much, too intense, and you were left completely spent, shaking, breathless, and needing to lay down immediately.

Spencer caught you as you collapsed on top of him, the force of your weight pushing him onto his back. You stayed like that for a moment, trying to catch your breath, your chest rising and falling rapidly against his. But it didn't last long when you felt his bulge press right between your thighs. Without thinking, you found yourself rolling your hips.

He let out a sharp gasp, his hands gripping your hips tightly as you moved against him. You could feel the heat radiating from him, the hardness of his erection pressing against you through the fabric of his pants as your face hovered above his, lips barely touching.

"So when are you going to fuck me?"

He bucked his hips against you. "I-I... I have a condom in my drawer."

His words made you falter. Why does he have a condom?

It was stupid, really, you knew why contraception was necessary. But the thought of him having an active sexual life with someone else after you had drifted apart stung deeply. It wasn’t technically your business, but knowing that he might have been with others hurt, especially when the last man you had been close to was him.

"Spence... why do you have a condom?"

You hated how small your voice sounded.

He gently brushed a strand of your hair behind your ear, his eyes searching yours as he weighed his words before letting out a sigh. "After… after that night, when we—almost… I just wanted to be prepared. I didn't know if… if we'd ever…"

You slowly relaxed. "So you haven't used any?"

He shook his head. "No, I haven't."

Your heart swelled at his words. You leaned in and kissed him softly, a sudden rush of affection washing over you. "Well, I think it's time we put it to use," you whispered against his lips, the hint of a smile playing at the corners of your mouth. "Where did you put it?"

"Bottom drawer, on the left."

You pulled away to reach over to his drawer, hearing the sound of his belt buckle unlatching behind you. Your eyes briefly flashed towards the book sitting on the nightstand, a glimpse of its cover catching your attention. But you didn’t dwell on it, you were too focused on rummaging through his things until your fingers brushed against the familiar texture of the wrapper.

He was completely naked as you turned to face him again, your eyes catching his cock resting perfectly against his stomach as he leaned back against the pillows. You crawled over to him and leaned down, placing a soft kiss on his bulging tip.

He let out a sharp hiss. "I-I don't think I can last long if you do that."

You smiled and straightened yourself, your fingers delicately tearing open the wrapper. You could feel his eyes on you, half-lidded with desire, his focus narrowing to the way your fingers brushed against his skin. His body tensed, and his breathing grew heavier, as you slowly slid the condom down his length.

The thin latex felt almost invisible under your fingertips, allowing the heat radiating from his body to seep through. He couldn't take his eyes off you, mesmerized by the way your fingers glided over him so effortlessly. Your touch was firm yet gentle, and when you finally reached the base, you gave him a final, possessive squeeze.

Spencer let out a shaky breath, his hands finding your hips as you positioned yourself over him. You hovered above his tip, teasingly brushing it against your entrance before slowly sinking down. You paused halfway, adjusting to his size, feeling lightheaded as he stretched you regardless of how wet you were. It was overwhelming, but the numbness was exactly the kind of rush you were seeking.

And finally, with a deep breath, you let gravity pull you down, taking him all the way in.

You both gasped at the sensation, the intense fullness causing your muscles to clench around him. His grip on your hips tightened, his fingers digging into your flesh as he steadied you. Then, slowly, you began to move, lifting yourself slightly before sinking back down.

Your breaths synchronized, shallow and quick, as you found a steady rhythm. Spencer’s hands guided you, his palms pressing firmly on your hips before trailing back to your ass, squeezing the soft flesh. You held onto his jaw as you leaned in, your lips meeting in a heated, breathless kiss. His tongue slid into your mouth and your brain turned to mush.

He kissed you hungrily while your hips continued to rise and fall, each movement driving him deeper inside you. You felt his hands roam your body, one sliding up your back to pull you closer, while the other remained on your ass, encouraging you. You moaned into his mouth, the sensation of his lips and his cock brushing your tight, inner walls making you tremble with pleasure.

You pulled back slightly, resting your forehead against his. "S-Spence..."

He nipped at your bottom lip, casually biting and pulling it between his teeth. "Mhm?"

You didn’t know why you had called out his name, only that you needed to. It was more of a reflex than anything else, a desperate need to connect as your pace quickened. He let out a low, throaty sound of pleasure as your walls clenched around him. And that was when you heard your name on his lips. It was soft, but it was enough to drive you to the edge. You rolled your hips urgently, trying to chase that familiar, blissful sensation but your thighs started to burn, your movements slowing down a little. He sensed your struggle and tightened his hands on your waist.

His fingers dug harshly into the tender skin of your sides, his hips bucking up to meet yours with force. His thrusts suddenly became more relentless, each powerful push driving him deeper inside you. The slick, wet sounds of his cock sliding in and out of your cunt filled the air, the squelch of your joined body punctuating with each thrust.

The pleasure built within you, coiling tighter and tighter until it was all-consuming. Finally, with one last, powerful thrust, you were both pushed over the edge. Your body convulsed with the force of your orgasm at the same time he spilled into you. His head fell back against the pillows, his eyes squeezed shut as your fingers dug into his shoulders, riding out every wave of your climax.

It took a few more minutes before you felt his body relax. You did the same, collapsing on top of him as he is hands softened their grip on you, gently caressing your back.

"Are you… okay?" You simply nodded, too tired to find your own voice. His thumb brushed your side. “Are you sure?”

You nodded again, snuggling yourself closer, feeling the weight of your body pressing down on him. He kissed the top of your head.

“I know you’re making yourself comfortable, but I really need to go to the bathroom.”

You lifted your head, meeting his eyes. “Would it bother you if I peed at the same time you clean yourself?”

The smile that spread across his face lit up his features. “Of course not.”

You pressed a soft kiss to his chest before reluctantly rolling off him. Spencer slid off the bed and reached for your hand, helping you up. You both moved to the bathroom, where Spencer headed for the sink to wash up while you made your way to the toilet.

As you sat there, you thought about how surprisingly natural this felt—almost as if you had done this before. The way he naturally kissed your cheek before exiting the bathroom didn’t feel awkward or out of place, it was oddly comforting. When you finally finished, he was already waiting for you in comfortable clothes. He stretched out his hand, and when you took it, he pulled you close. “Are you hungry?”

You found yourself nodding. “I could eat something.”

He smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’ll make us some sandwiches, I think I have enough stuff in the fridge,” he suggested, and then added somewhat sheepishly, “I also, um, put some fresh clothes out for you to use. I hope that’s okay.”

Your heart might burst at how adorable he was. “Thank you, Spence. That’s really sweet.”

He gave your hand a gentle squeeze before heading to the kitchen. You picked up the clothes he had laid out for you—a soft t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, but as you held them, your gaze drifted back to the book sitting on his nightstand. Curiosity got the better of you, and you picked up the book, studying the cover.

The Narrative of John Smith.

You opened it, noticing the handwritten quote on the first page.

“Love is our true destiny. We do not find the meaning of life by ourselves alone, we find it with another.” —Thomas Merton—

A sudden feeling of nausea hit you, as if you’d been punched in the gut. You flipped through the pages, trying to steady your breathing. It wasn’t the softness of the paper that greeted you as you slipped onto the next page, but the sharp edges of something hard brushing against your fingertips. You carefully pulled out what seemed to be a photograph, your heart sinking as you realized whose it was… Because right in your hand, Maeve was smiling back at you.

Maeve.

Maeve. Donovan.

Everything suddenly came crashing back, the past shooting straight to your heart. The memories, the pain, the confusion—it all flooded your mind in an instant. You remembered why you and Spencer had drifted apart, why that night had changed everything. The woman staring back at you was the reason you had shut yourself off from him in the first place.

No, it wasn’t all her fault—you’d be a heartless fool to blame a dead woman for something she couldn’t control. But she had consumed his mind. The presence she held in his life was enough to end the friendship you once had. And now, holding the photograph, you felt an overwhelming tightness in your chest that made it hard to breathe. The walls seemed to close in, the room feeling too small.

You needed to get out of here.

You quickly pulled on your clothes, the fabric feeling suffocating as you hurriedly dressed. Your movements were frantic, driven by a need to escape. You dashed out of his room, but Spencer was already standing by the bedroom door.

"I was just about to call you, the food is—hey, what's wrong?"

You walked past him, the pain constricting your chest so tightly that you could barely breathe, let alone speak. “I… I need to go,” you stammered out over your shoulder.

Spencer's face fell as he saw the distress in your eyes, his hands reaching out to stop you as you headed for the front door. He turned you to face him, and the moment he saw the tears threatening to spill, his own expression crumpled in worry.

"What happened?" he asked softly, his hands gently cupping your face. You flinched and shoved him away.

“Don’t touch me.”

You noticed the hurt in his eyes, but you barely looked at him, trying to control your own emotions. Your mind was a whirlwind of confusion. You felt the lingering warmth from the post-orgasmic rush, the serotonin still buzzing in your veins, but at the same time, the gut-wrenching pain was consuming you. The fleeting sensation you’d felt moments ago seemed like a cruel mockery now, as your heart twisted with every beat.

“You’re really leaving?”

You slowly nodded, refusing to meet his gaze.

“Just like that, after tonight?”

You remained silent, your mouth shut tight. Then you heard him mutter something under his breath, barely audible but unmistakable.

“That’s what you always do, isn’t it?”

Your eyes snapped to him. “What is that supposed to mean?”

There was a heavy silence, a beat of rising tension as his eyes narrowed at you. “You run away when things get hard.”

You stared back at him in surprise. “Is that what you think I’m doing?”

“Yes,” he said sharply. “Every time we get to a point where we might actually resolve something, you disappear.”

Was that really how he saw you? Someone who ran away at the first sign of trouble? The thought was a bitter pill, one that left a heavy, sour taste in your mouth.

“That’s not fair,” you protested, shaking your head as you felt the sting of tears at the corner of your eyes.

“Well, you know what’s not fair?” His voice suddenly turned a pitch higher, each word cutting through the air. “Pulling me into this—this whole fake relationship thing and then running away when it starts to mean something real.”

“What?” The accusation stung, a sharp jab to your already fragile heart. “You think this was easy for me? You think I didn’t have doubts?”

"I think you dragged me into this and now you’re scared because it’s not just a game anymore," he pressed, his eyes flashing with frustration as he stepped closer. “Every time l show that l actually care, you run away.”

“I don’t run away.”

“Yes, you do. You always bail on me,” he argued, his tone growing sharper with each word. “Just like that morning, just like now, and just like that night—”

You finally had enough.

"Don’t you dare bring that up!” You snapped. “You don’t get to use that against me. You know exactly why I had to leave!”

Spencer flinched as if he was struck. The impact of your words hit him hard, and you could see the hurt and realization dawning in his eyes. His posture sagged, the tension in his shoulders melting away as the anger drained from his face. “I know, I know,” he whispered, the regret clear in his voice. “I-I’m sorry.”

Your heart ached, the pain of old wounds reopening. The memories of that night, the way you felt invisible and helpless—it all came crashing back. You shook your head, taking a step back, needing to put distance between you. “No, I can’t do this right now.”

You turned away, desperate to escape. The walls felt like they were closing in, your chest tightening with every breath.

“Wait,” he called after you. “I’m sorry. Please… I don’t… stay, please.”

You paused slightly, but you couldn’t let yourself give in. Not when every painful memory from that night seemed to claw its way back to the surface. Not when the fear of getting hurt again loomed so large. Not when you knew if you turned back now, you might never find the strength to walk away again.

“We should end this whole thing,” you said quietly, each word feeling like a knife twisting in your heart. “I’ll tell Hotch first thing in the morning.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and final. The reality of what you had said sank in, and for a moment, it felt like time itself had frozen. His face fell, a look of utter devastation crossed his features as his eyes searched yours, trying to grasp at the fragments of what was left. He opened his mouth to speak, but you couldn’t bear to face him any longer.

You slowly reached for the door, wrenching it open before stepping into the cold night. You left him standing there, watching helplessly as you walked away for what felt like the hundredth time.

[dilemmaontwolegs]

The Bucket List || CL16

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!reader Summary: Life changes in the blink of an eye with a diagnosis and you are forced to face your mortality with the help of Charles Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, implied smut, grief, implied character death.

WC: 5.8k

Story || Death Scene || Two Years Later || Bucket Moments || Five Years Later

The winter break was meant to be a time for Charles to relax but one simple act had put an end to those plans. It had been a little joke between lovers while you were getting dressed. Charles had seen an opportunity and taken it, cradling the swell of your breast in his palm and giving it a quick squeeze.

“Honk, honk!”

You gasped at the sudden pain that flared and rubbed at the aching area. Charles was immediately sorry, apologising profusely as he brushed your hand aside and massaged it gently for you.

“It’s ok, Cha, this one’s been a bit tender lately.”

“What do you mean?” His concern was palpable and his hand flattened so the palm was pressing into your flesh. You couldn’t hide the wince at the spot he touched and he couldn’t hide the fear in his eyes.

“What?!” You stepped away and grabbed your breast, almost immediately feeling what he felt as your heart began to hammer hard in your chest. “It’s probably nothing, boobs are lumpy all the time.”

“Yeah…” he murmured distractedly. “We should probably check just to be sure. Right?”

You tried to nod casually but it was too hurried. “I mean, just to be sure.”

Everything moved quickly after that. The exhaustion was no longer jet lag. The low red blood count was no longer anaemia. The lump was no longer just fatty tissue.

“What happens now?”

You looked at your boyfriend, but his eyes were fixed on the doctor who had been explaining the test results. Charles had done all of the talking while you sat in a state of shock. You didn’t even feel like you were inside your own body but floating somewhere in the room and watching from outside.

“We could take a biopsy to be certain but the tests so far are quite conclusive and I wouldn’t recommend waiting. We could fit you in to remove the tumour in the next couple of days and have you home for Christmas.”

You knew this already. He had spoken about removing the lump. You couldn’t bring yourself to call it a tumour because, benign or malignant, it made it too real. Removing the lump was the extreme simplification of what he really meant. Mastectomy. Double to be precise. The risk was too great to leave the other breast untreated, apparently.

“We’ll take the surgery as soon as possible.”

You blinked at Charles, waiting to see if he would even look in your direction before making such a decision but his chin was resting on the tip of his steepled fingers. He leaned forwards, digging his elbows into his knees as he always did when he was deep in thought.

“No,” you rasped. “I can’t do it.”

“Yes, you can,” Charles replied without even looking at you. He had hardly looked your way since the first appointment a week ago.

“I’ll give you two some time to talk,” Doctor Hall said softly as he rose from his chair and left the room, the click of the door closing too loud in the heavy silence.

“It’s my body, Charles,” you whispered, your throat too hoarse to manage anything louder.

“I know that, but this is your life we are talking about.”

“We don’t even know for certain that it’s…that it’s…”

“It’s cancer,” he said with a sigh, “not saying it doesn’t change the test results.”

Your eyes burned, your tear ducts working overtime all week. The harsh lines on Charles’ face softened as he saw them well on your waterline before spilling over. Pulling you into his lap, he cradled your head to his chest as you ruined yet another one of his shirts with your makeup and tears.

“Mon amour, we will get through this but we have to trust the doctors.”

“I won’t have boobs,” you whispered as your voice broke.

Charles curled his finger under your chin and tipped it back as he searched your eyes for the answer. He found what he was looking for and dropped his forehead to yours with a shake of his head. “You will still be the most beautiful woman in the world. And I need you in the world, mon amour, do you understand that? I need you to fight this.”

A few days turned out to be just one after the oncology department received a large, anonymous donation. The private room in the hospital was filled with bouquets from friends and family, their floral scents were almost able to erase the tart smell of bleach. You still felt numb to the entire experience and Charles watched on with concern as you stood in front of the bathroom mirror.

Your reflection was the same, yet it wasn’t. Permanent marker pen lined the skin that would soon be permanently marred. The outlines accentuated what would be taken from you and you turned to your side profile, trying to imagine waking up without the pieces of your body Charles had loved.

“The surgeon said there are options, if it’s really that important to you,” Charles said as he pushed off the doorway he had leaned against and walked into the room. “But you don’t have to think about that now.”

You let him drape the surgical gown over your arms and they fell limp at your side while he tied the bows to keep your modesty. “Come and lay down with me,” he murmured as he took your hand and led you to the bed. You hadn’t been sleeping well, neither of you had.

It was narrow but Charles made space for you to lay in his arms with his chest pressed to your back. Monaco was alive outside the window you faced but the sounds didn’t reach you. Instead of watching the cars on their journeys you turned your eyes up to the cloudless sky and spotted the gulls that danced in the salt air.

“I lo-.”

Charles’ chest shuddered with the breath he took before he kissed your temple and whispered, “Don’t.”

“I need to tell you.”

“We promised, not until you wake up.”

“But what if I-”

“Don’t,” Charles begged, a wet drop falling into your hair. “Please.”

A knock sounded at the door but you kept your eyes firmly only the white feathers of the bird that landed on your windowsill outside. Charles pressed his lips to your temple once more before releasing you from his hold and climbing off the bed.

“I’ll be right there when you wake up, mon amour.”

“I…I’ll see you soon.”

He smiled sadly as you caught yourself from saying what you wanted to say, that sad smile remaining while your bed was wheeled away. You craned your neck as you were taken further down the hall, wanting to memorise the way he looked in case it was the last time you had the chance.

As promised, you woke up bleary eyed and groggy to those gold and green eyes, his hands holding yours tenderly as he sat beside your bed.

“Hi, beautiful,” he greeted as his smile brightened your day. It was a true smile, one you hadn’t seen for over a week, one that crinkled the corners of his eyes and revealed the dimples in his cheeks. “I love you.”

You felt drunk as the anaesthesia still circulated your body and you were sure you slurred the words you had been banned from telling him before. “I love you.”

You dozed in and out of consciousness until the pain relief began to wear off and breathing itself hurt. The bandages across your chest irritated your skin and the stitches pulled with every little movement. Charles noticed it all.

“I’ll see if they can give you anything for the pain.”

You caught his hand before he could leave and winced as the IV line in your hand tugged uncomfortably. “I’m hungry.”

Charles chuckled, knowing you would be after eating nothing before the surgery, and cradled your cheek gently. “Maman’s on her way with your favourites. I’ll be right back, baby.”

Charles arrived back with a large bag of hot dishes from your favourite restaurants around the city and the promise that the nurse would bring some medicine around soon. 

“We’ll have someone come and move you up to the ward shortly,” the kind nurse said after she had given you another dose of pain relief. “You’ll be able to see your visitors there.”

You thanked her since you knew your parents would have been waiting with Pascale, Arthur and Lorenzo too. Charles had been keeping them updated since you woke up and his phone was constantly going off with notifications from your friends. 

“How are you feeling?”

You placed your fork down into the empty bowl and Charles whisked it off your lap and tidied up the rubbish with the need to keep himself busy. “I don’t know,” you admitted as your head began to clear from the anaesthesia. “Two weeks ago we were partying in Baku and now we’re here. I still don’t know how this even happened. What if they made a mistake? This was all done so quickly.”

Charles carefully tucked the sheet back around your body after helping you to lie back down. “Mon amour, this is one of the best hospitals, they wouldn’t have done this unless it was the right decision for your health.”

“I know, I know. I just don’t know how to feel anything right now, except confusion.” You took his hand as he sat back into the chair beside your bed and kissed his knuckles. “How do you feel?”

“Me?” His brows pinched together as if he hadn’t been thinking for himself, and he really hadn’t. All of his thoughts and feelings had been focused on you. “I’m relieved, I suppose. You are here, I get to kiss you and hold your hand. That is good.”

You smiled at the hope in his voice. “I don’t remember a kiss.”

“Ah,” he hummed with a nod as he leaned closer until his lips were so close you could feel the heat of them as he whispered, “This one.”

You were warned that day two would be the hardest. The hard drugs had worn off and what you were supplied with took away the dull throbbing ache when you were stationary but did nothing to prevent the sharp pain of moving. 

Charles had just lifted you back into bed after helping you go to the bathroom when the surgeon arrived with a forlorn look on his face. Immediately you felt the air leave the room.

Doctor Hall started with the good news, that the surgery went as planned with minimal bleeding from the tissue removal, but then there was a pause. Your fingers tightened around Charles hand as the doctor flipped the piece of paper on his clipboard over and clicked the end of his pen. 

“When we began the removal of the tumour we found that the shape wasn’t exactly as we expected from the ultrasound.” He drew an oval shape on the paper before adding webs spindling off in all directions and pointing to them. “We removed as many of the tentacles as we could find but they are invasive and so we would like to start chemotherapy as soon as you have recovered from the operation.”

Charles' knee shook the bed as it bounced nervously. “Chemo?”

“Does this mean it is definitely c-cancer?” you stumbled over the word as you said it aloud for the first time.

The doctor nodded. “We were quite sure before but pathology confirmed it with the sample we sent.” 

“What about Christmas?” you asked. “Can I still go home for Christmas?”

The doctor nodded again and you exhaled in relief. Christmas had been organised to be held at your house for months and it would give you a chance to do something normal after your life had been thrown off the rails. You needed this Christmas. 

“We will schedule you in for after New Years, but you wouldn’t want to delay it much further than that.”

“Thank you,” Charles choked out for the both of you as you fell silent and he left. “What are you thinking so hard about, beautiful?”

“The menu. It needs to be special. And I want to invite everyone.”

“What, slow down, what are you talking about?”

“Christmas, Cha, I need to start planning now.”

Charles knew you were deflecting, pouring yourself into a future task so you didn’t have to think about the present. You had already gone through enough, so he bit his tongue and took a second to clear the thoughts he wanted to voice. Instead, he asked, “who, exactly, is everyone?”

“Slow down, you’re meant to be relaxing,” Charles warned as you rushed around the house for a last minute tidy up. “Don’t hurt yourself, baby, let me help.”

“I love you, but please leave this to me. I know where everything is.”

“I do too,” he exclaimed, falling silent when you picked up a remote that had stopped working. You had asked him to get the batteries for it the night before, but he hadn’t been able to find them. 

“Second drawer in the kitchen,” you said as you tossed it to him and folded the blanket you snuggled under with him every night. “But you knew that right.”

He sent you a charming smile as he backed out of the room. “Of course, honey.”

You chuckled at his retreating figure. “Thought so.”

You had just finished lighting the scented candles around the house when the front door opened and Arthur breezed into the living room. 

“Merry Christmas, ma chére. Shouldn’t you have your feet up?” he tutted as he kissed your cheeks, careful not to hug you since your chest still hurt. 

“Merry Christmas, Tuthur.” His smile lifted at the old nickname and it only grew as you said, “You know how well your brother cooks. Be glad I don’t have my feet up.”

Everyone arrived steadily after Arthur and as the night grew colder every seat in the living room was taken by your guests. You could have imagined it being just like every other family Christmas as you sat on Charles lap and listened to Joris recount how he had spent the winter break so far.

You could have imagined it being just like every other family Christmas, but it wasn’t.

You were self-conscious in a way you never were before. The dresses you had loved so much were now something you couldn’t bear to wear as it accentuated the changes in your body. You had taken one shopping trip with Pascale so you could buy some presents but by the time you had got home there was a photo circulating the F1 WAG pages. The comments had nearly made you sick as they compared your flat chest to that of a young boy, or joked that the championship wasn’t the only thing that was lost at the end of the season. 

You knew it was only a matter of time before the truth came out but you doubted they would feel any remorse, anyone who could say such things through a keyboard didn’t have the emotional capacity to feel guilt. 

When midnight came and went, so too did the guests. Tipsy and jolly, they said their goodbyes and well wishes until the house fell quiet except for the music playing softly from the speakers. Charles pulled you into his arms and gently rocked you side to side as you laid your head on his chest. “Merry Christmas, mon amour. I didn’t know what to get you this year, so I was absolutely selfish and got this.”

Charles stepped out of your embrace as he dropped to one knee and held a ring out. Similarly designed to his mother’s, the ring was timeless and elegant with a large princess cut diamond. “Will you make me the happiest man and marry me?”

You had waited years for the question but the answer that fell from your lips went against every fibre of your being. Your hands covered your mouth but there was no silencing the words as they hung in the air. “I’m sorry, I can’t.”

Confusion slapped Charles’ pink cheeks and he swallowed twice before his voice could work again. “Why not?”

“You know why,” you whispered. 

“No, I don’t.”

“Because I’m sick, and I don’t want to make plans if I’m not going to be there to…I just don’t think now is the right time.” You took the ring from his fingers and sighed with longing. “It’s beautiful, Char.”

“Hold on to it for me,” he said as he stood up and closed your hand around it. “When you beat this, I’ll be waiting, mon amour, however long it takes. I’ll wait for you.”

You held the ring tight as you closed the distance and put all the words and emotion you couldn’t articulate into a kiss, deepening it until you were breathless and needy. “Come to bed,” you breathed against his lips.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” He looked pained by the very idea, or maybe it was the weeks of celibacy after your surgery.

Lacing your fingers together, you took a step towards the stairs and gently tugged him to follow. “You could never hurt me.”

The moment had been weeks in the making as the chemotherapy took its toll on you. For days after the treatment you had been ill and Charles had been at your side with a bowl ready for when you emptied the contents of your stomach. Then your muscles ached and you could barely hold your own weight up to walk. Just when you thought the worst had come to pass you felt the first strands come loose.

“Hello, my dear,” Pascale answered your call, only to be met with a hiccup. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

“M-my hair,” you stammered as you looked at your reflection in the bathroom mirror. Charles had been out shopping but you saw his face appear behind you as you turned to show him what filled your gripped fist. “It’s my hair.”

“I’ll be over shortly, just let me lock up the shop,” Pascale soothed before ending the call.

“I just brushed it,” you hiccuped as you touched your hair again, more of it floating to the tile floor. “It won’t stop.”

“I know, baby,” he murmured as he took your hand and brushed the hair from your palm. “Maman will know what to do. We’ll get through this like we have everything else, together.”

Pascale promised she could have a wig made for you if you wanted one but it was already late in the evening and you knew she was exhausted from working all day. You did however accept her offer to shave the rest of your head so at least the patches of missing hair didn’t stand out as much. Charles had sat with you in the bathroom and held your hand the entire time before asking his mother to shave his next.

“No, I love your hair,” you argued as he pulled his shirt over his head to save it from getting covered in the short dark strands.

“I told you we are doing this together,” he replied as he kissed your knuckles and nodded to his mum to proceed.

It took a while to get used to the smooth feel of skin on your head but you came to prefer it to the wig that Pascale crafted, somehow finding hair that was almost the exact same shade and texture to your natural hair. The moment you got home from any outing you would pull the wig off with a grateful moan just as you used to do with your bra.

“Are you going to be alright? Maman said she can come and stay with you.” Charles sat on his suitcase so he could zip it closed before looking up to where you sat in bed with a book on your lap. “I don’t like leaving you here alone.”

“I’ll be fine,” you reassured him. “It’s only for two nights.”

His team had let him get away with having one extra night at home before going to Bahrain for the 2024 pre-season testing, but it was still too long away from you in his eyes. You would have been with him but you were due some follow up tests.

“You’ll be so busy you won’t even have time to miss me,” you teased, spurring him to climb onto the bed and cage you beneath him.

“I miss you every second we are apart.”

You recognised the number calling your cell phone because you still had nightmares from the last time they rang. A pit of dread was already opening in your gut as you hovered your finger over the green button. You debated not answering the call but if you didn’t answer it then he would try Charles’ number next - and he needed to focus on driving.

You wished you never answered the call.

You had been quiet the entire drive from the airport to the hotel Charles was staying at. He wasn’t one to push you to talk before you were ready but he was certainly worried when he reached across the gearbox and placed his hand on your lap. He spared a glance to you as he gently squeezed your thigh but still you didn’t react, or take his hand, or even blink.

You didn’t remember the walk from the car to the hotel room. You were busy thinking about how you were going to break Charles’ heart, something you had never imagined you would have a hand in. You never wanted to hurt him, you loved him more than life itself, a life that was going to be shorter than you had once thought.

Charles stood quietly in the doorway to the bedroom, your suitcase still in his hand. He watched as you pulled your wig off for the first time since leaving Monaco and listened as you sighed heavily. His feet only carried him closer when you pulled a piece of paper from your pocket and held it out silently.

“What’s this?” Charles asked as he unfolded the note you had written on the plane. You had almost 10 hours to think of everything you wanted to do while you could and his eyes scanned over the list. “Baby, what is this?”

“It’s my bucket list.”

“A bucket list?”

“It’s a list of what I want to do before I die.”

“I know what a bucket list is!” He took a breath and ran his hand over the fuzz that had grown back on his scalp before lowering his voice as he shook the paper. “Why am I holding yours?”

His green eyes blurred with tears as you bit your lip and looked at your feet. He was already shaking his head in denial, wet droplets soaking into the list.

“My results came back…”

“Non, non, baby, non…”

“I’m sorry, Charles,” you choked as he fell to his knees and let the paper fall to the floor. His arms encircled your hips and you cradled the back of his head to your stomach as he cried against you. You finally let your own tears fall, the tears you had held back since you received the news. “I’m so sorry.”

Charles missed testing the next morning as he held you in his arms. The tears had long run out but the sadness still remained. He had laid with you all night as close as your bodies would allow and together you had seen the sunrise over the desert. He had listened to you quietly recount the doctor’s words but most of it made no sense to him. 

Metastasized. Stage four. Terminal. The information ruined him.

“How long?” he finally asked. He looked at the paper that was still on the bedroom floor before clearing his throat and trying again. “How long do we have?”

You didn’t know if answering him would help or not but he was waiting for an answer as you rolled over to face him. The last three months had taken a toll on him and dark circles rimmed his eyes and they no longer held the same brightness. They were only going to dim more at the news. “Six months, maybe a year.”

He was silent, but you knew it wasn’t because he hadn’t heard you. Emotions warred behind his eyes before he climbed out of the bed and walked into the bathroom, locking the door behind him.

You hated the silence but the screaming was worse. The painful wail echoed around the room and you felt it shatter something deep in your chest, before something shattered in the bathroom.

Pulling your knees up to your chest, you held yourself together while Charles fell apart.

You weren’t sure how long he screamed at the universe, how many times he asked it why, what he had done to deserve to lose someone else he loved. You weren’t sure how long it took him to clean the blood from his fist and wash his face of the tears before he unlocked the door and slipped back into the bed.

“Whatever you want, mon amour,” he promised as he unclenched your hands and curled his body around yours. “Anything you want to do, we’ll do it. We’ll do it all together.”

You stood at the edge of the lookout and smiled at Charles as he took the photo, another one for the memory box you were making together. Charles kept his promise, taking you everywhere around the world with him to tick off the items on your bucket list.

You had watched him win his home race for the first time and gone to a couples cooking class.

You visited all the Disneyland Theme Parks you hadn’t been to before: the Tokyo one when he raced in Suzuka, the Chinese one when he raced in Shanghai and the Floridian one when he raced in Miami. 

Charles had taken you to Iceland to camp under the northern lights and to Pamukkale in Turkey where the blue waters were meant to work miracles. It hadn’t cured the illness that ravaged your body but each activity you crossed off cured some of the sadness in your soul.

“It’s bigger than I imagined,” Charles commented as he looked up at Christ the Redeemer. “What size shoes do you think he wears?”

“Well you know what they say about big feet.”

Charles’ head fell back with a laugh. “You cannot say that about Jesus.”

You fluttered your eyelashes innocently as he stepped closer to take a photo of you together. “I was going to say he wears big socks, get your head out of the gutter.”

“Of course you were, mon amour.” Charles’ lips curled up in amusement and you relished the way his eyes crinkled before you rose onto your toes so you could kiss him before the smile faded. 

The flash of his camera captured the moment and you reluctantly pulled away as the sun began to set on another day spent living. The days were getting tiresome, your energy flagging as the medication changed from treating the illness to managing the pain. You had read enough to know that time was running out.

“We should get going, don’t want to miss our flight to Vegas.”

“About that…” he trailed off as he pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and placed it in your hand. “I made a list of my own.”

Marry the woman of my dreams.

“I can only do it with you by my side.”

—

Pascale had created a beautiful headpiece for your wedding but when it came time to leave you hadn’t been able to place it on your head. A year ago you had only dreamt of the day you married Charles and in all those imagined scenes you had your hair styled up like she had crafted on the wig with pearl pins and a delicate tiara. But a lot had changed in a year, you had changed. 

“Oh, sweetheart, you look beautiful,” she said as she wiped her eyes. Your own mother was speechless as she pulled you into her arms and held you tight.

“I’m going to ruin my makeup if you two don’t stop crying.”

“Honey, let her go,” your dad said softly as he placed a hand on your mother’s shoulder. “It’s time.”

Your throat felt as if it were closing and for a second you held on tighter before you both opened your arms. “I love you,” you said to them all as you looked at the proud but sad smiles on their faces. “Thank you for making this possible, for both of us.”

Your father grabbed the wheelchair you had been using, the exhaustion sometimes too much for you to handle, but you shook your head. “I’m going to marry him on my own two feet.”

You knew Charles had a lot of help organising the wedding because there was no way he could have done it on his own. The entire paddock had come to a standstill at the end of Media Day and you found yourself walking down a makeshift aisle on the grid to the starting lights. 

Hundreds of friends joined your families on the track and you had no doubt that Charles had flown them all there at his own expense. 

“When you said married in Vegas, I thought you meant the White Chapel,” you whispered with a giggle.

Charles' smile grew at the sound and he took your hands in his. “That’s something tacky Pierre would do.”

“Hey,” the groomsman objected beside Charles. “Elvis isn’t tacky. Focus on your own wedding, mate.”

You laughed at the exchange before Lorenzo cleared his throat and your eyes widened as you realised he was the celebrant. “Is this legal?”

“The online certificate I got says so,” he said with a wink. “But if you’ve changed your mind I can skip the legal bits.”

Your eyes lit up with amusement. “No way, I’m not going to miss having you as a brother-in-law.”

“And I thought we were here because you wanted to marry me,” Charles joked. He had waited so long to marry you but now that the moment was here he was in no rush for it to end. He wanted to stay in this moment forever, where you were lighthearted and smiling. Where you weren’t lost in thought but present in the moment, with him. 

“I do,” you said with a grin before peeking back at his older brother. “Does that count, can I kiss him now?”

Lorenzo wrinkled his nose and shook his head. “I’m afraid it’s not quite, shall we get started?”

Charles could hardly keep still with his excitement. “Ready, baby?”

You reached into a hidden pocket in the dress and pulled out the engagement ring he proposed at Christmas with. Slipping it into your finger, you gave him a serious nod. “Now I am.”

—

“Good morning, Mrs Leclerc.”

You smiled as Charles kissed your shoulder blade and rolled you over to face him. He had already showered and dressed for the day before climbing back into bed with you and you peeked at the clock to see he would almost be late. 

“You should be at the track already,” you hummed between the sweet kisses he peppered across your skin. 

“Wasn’t going to miss watching you wake up as my beautiful wife for the first time.” His smile wavered as he kissed your forehead before pressing the back of his hand to it. “How are you feeling?”

“A little tired, but last night was worth the lack of sleep.”

He smirked and traced your lips longingly with his eyes. “Definitely worth it. But you don’t feel hot or cold?”

“Focus on FP1, Cha,” you said with a little push for him to get out of bed. “You’re going to be late.”

He playfully nipped your collarbone before getting off the bed and blowing you a kiss. “Rest up, mon amour, I’ll come back between the practices.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, more than the moon and the stars.”

“Hopeless romantic.”

“Love of my life. Fire in my loins. The apple of my-“

“Go away!” You tossed a pillow at him before falling back into the warm blankets with a laugh that turned to a yawn. “Profess your love to someone else and let me sleep.”

“Never,” he chuckled quietly as he watched your chest rise and fall into a steady rhythm. “It will only be you.”

Your health deteriorated rapidly after Vegas and your doctor urged you to return to Monaco, but you weren’t ready to leave just yet. There was only one thing left on your bucket list and it was within your grasp. Charles and Max were neck and neck in the championship but you had faith your husband would triumph in the end. So instead of heading home you remained by his side in Qatar and Abu Dhabi, letting him hire a medical team as a trade off for ignoring your doctor's advice.

It wasn’t just the season coming to an end and you could both feel it as Charles prepared for the final race. You didn’t have the strength to go to the track and see him start from pole, the prime position for the championship deciding race. You barely had the strength to stay awake for the whole race but you fought against the heaviness in your body and scanned the screens that had been brought into your room.

Pride made you heart light as you watched the world through Charles’ eyes. The onboard camera was clear ahead, all his competitors in his rear view, and as the laps passed by his lead grew wider. Charles was flying and he was taking you with him.

Charles took a seat on the centre podium as confetti rained down and fireworks exploded overhead. He wiped the sweat and champagne from his face before reaching into his race suit and grabbing the pen and paper he had tucked away.

Putting a strike through the last line he held it up triumphantly to the camera. “We did it, mon amour, we did it.”

You smiled as if he would see it and closed your eyes as you lost the battle. “I’m ready to go home now.”

The Bucket List:

Sleep under the northern lights 

Swim with sharks

Skinny dip (not with sharks)

See Christ the Redeemer

Bowl a strike

Go to every Disneyland once

Ride an elephant

Go to India for the colour festival 

Win an escape room

Learn to whistle 

Have a mud bath

Teach Charles to cook

Watch the Grand National horse race

Get a tattoo

Learn to use chopsticks

Throw beads at Mardi Gras 

Have my palm read

Try absinthe 

Ride a luge

Go to a rage room

Join the mile high club 

Catch a fish

Make a will

Bathe in healing waters 

Charles Leclerc - World Champion

Click here for the requested last day alive.

[atlabeth]

mine forever

request from @nghtwngs

pairing: nikolai lantsov x fem!tidemaker reader

a/n: SO sorry for posting this early and having to delete 💀 i was formatting and didnt realize i was not saving it as a draft lmao. but thank you for sending this in love!!! and PLEASEE send in as much nikolai as you want i miss writing for him so much

wc: 1.4k

warning(s): hurt/comfort. reader is insecure, nikolai is the sweetest as usual

join in on my 3k celebration!!

“You’re avoiding me.” 

Your eyes didn’t move away from the horizon when you heard Nikolai’s voice, though you felt your muscles tense. 

“Clearly not well enough,” you remarked. “Seeing as you found me.” 

“You know I’ll always find you,” Nikolai murmured. “But that means little if you will not talk to me.” 

Of course you were not talking to him. You did not know how to talk to him—not when you so clearly didn’t understand the issue plaguing you. 

All you’d ever known was the life of a Grisha. You were tested when you were young, revealed to be a Tidemaker, and whisked away to the Little Palace, where you’d been honing your abilities ever since. You rebelled against the one thing you knew, joined the side of the Sun Summoner, and now you were in the midst of a war for the very survival of your people. 

There were so few Tidemakers left after the Darkling’s massacre, which meant Alina and Nikolai were counting on you more than ever in their fight to reclaim Ravka. 

But when you needed your powers most, they disappeared. 

You— you just didn’t understand, because it didn’t make sense. You’d spent years studying the Small Science and how to wield it, how to manipulate the water around you no matter how miniscule. 

This was not merzost. You had never tampered with the way of the world, never attempted to bastardize the abilities you’d been granted.

Like called to like. There was a part of you that connected to the water, that allowed you the affinity for all of this.  

You had just… lost it. For no apparent reason. 

“There is nothing to talk about,” you stated simply. The cold of the railing shocked your fingers as you set your hand down, but you welcomed any sort of feeling. 

“Do not be ridiculous,” Nikolai said wryly. He came out onto the balcony and stopped beside you. You could see him looking at you through your peripherals, could feel his intent gaze. “Nobody avoids me unless they have a reason.”

You huffed a bitter laugh. “I certainly have a reason, moi tsarevich.”

“So we’ve gone back to titles?” Nikolai’s lips quirked up. “Shall I start referring to you as Grisha? Tidemaker, even?”

You scoffed. “That would be inaccurate.”

“Ah,” he nodded. “We’ve reached the root of the problem.”

“We hardly did anything,” you said. “Do you talk just to hear the sound of your own voice?”

“I do, as a matter of fact,” Nikolai said. “But you should know your scornful words have no effect when I’m aware of your true feelings.”

“If you are aware of my true feelings, you should know I would like to be left alone.” 

“You want to be left alone because you feel useless without your power,” he said. “Any man worth their salt would not fall to that, and fortunately, I’m worth quite a lot.” 

You finally turned to look at Nikolai, though you could not muster the full force of your anger when you did. He had that slight smile still, the glint in his eyes, and all you could think was that you didn't even deserve this kindness. 

“Because I am,” you said. 

He shook his head. “You are not. Far from useless, actually.” 

“You served in the First Army, didn’t you?” 

“I hardly see how that’s relevant—” 

“Just answer my question.” 

“...Yes,” he said. “I was infantry. The 22nd Regiment.” 

“And if you had lost the ability to shoot a gun, would you be allowed to stay on the front lines?” 

Nikolai shook his head. “I will not participate in hypotheticals to help you feel worse.” 

“Because you know it’s true.” You looked back out at the horizon—the sun was steadily setting. “I have no place here anymore.” 

He said your name with a slight huff. “That is not true.” 

“I’m not Grisha anymore!” you exclaimed as you whirled back to face him. “The only reason I have ever gotten anywhere— the only reason I am here, the only reason I ever met you in the first place— it is all because of my power.��� You pulled your jacket tighter around yourself in the wake of a cold wind. The material was noticeably thinner than your kefta, but you could not bring yourself to wear it anymore. “I’m useless now. To— to Ravka, to the Second Army— to you.” 

His brows furrowed. “You are not useless to Ravka— and you could never be useless to me.” You averted your eyes, unable to meet the full weight of his softened gaze, and his frown deepened. “That’s what this is about then? 

“Don’t act like it’s so ridiculous,” you muttered. 

Nikolai had the nerve to laugh, and you glared at him. He held up his hands in defense, but he could not fully bite back his smile. 

“I apologize, lapushka, but I did not even consider that as an option for why you were so upset.” 

Nikolai took your hands in his, hands that had been the key to your power the entire life, that were failing you, and he held them like nothing else in the world mattered. “Do you know how absurd the thought of me not loving you is?” 

You glanced away, but Nikolai gently cupped your chin with a few fingers and tilted you back to meet his eyes. 

“Because it is,” he continued, letting his hand fall back down to grasp yours. “I love you with everything in me. I love you because you are you—not because of your powers. Not because you are Grisha.” 

“Who am I if I am not Grisha?” Your voice came out as little more than a whisper, near a desperate plea. You’d never felt weaker, never felt smaller. The only thing you’d known all your life had been ripped away from you, and you felt as if you’d been shoved into an endless void. 

Nikolai said your name softly as he squeezed your hands. “You are a soldier of great renown. A revolutionary on the right side of history. The most loyal friend someone can have. And lest you somehow manage to forget it, you are the woman I love.”

“You deserve better than—” you swallowed the lump in your throat. “—than some broken, failed Grisha.”

“You are not broken,” Nikolai murmured, and he never looked away from your eyes as he lifted your hand to press a kiss to the back of it. “We are merely on… a different path.” 

“A different path,” you repeated, and you could not help your wry laugh. 

“Yes,” he nodded. “And we will go down every step of it together. Do you understand that?” 

Nikolai fought for everything he had, despite his standing as a Lantsov. He was a soldier on the front lines, he rose through the ranks on the sea under a pseudonym, and now he was clawing his way through useless formalities in order to take back the throne that he deserved. 

And here you were—someone who was given everything because of some power inside you. And now you didn’t even have that. 

It just did not seem right. It did not make sense. For a man as powerful as Nikolai to stick by your side despite such a misgiving. 

“If you don’t, that is alright.” Nikolai shrugged. “I will just have to spend extra time showing you how much I revere your very being.” 

“Nikolai,” you murmured, and his grip on your hands tightened. 

“I cannot pretend to understand what you are going through,” he said. “I cannot lose what you have lost because I’ve never had it in the first place. But I can promise you wholeheartedly that we will figure out what is wrong. Together.” 

“And what if we don’t?” you asked. You couldn’t help it. 

“Then nothing will change,” Nikolai vowed. “Milaya, nothing can tear me away from you, whether you are Grisha or not. Do you understand that?” 

A part of you still could not. Who were you if you were not of use? 

But when you met Nikolai’s eyes, those beautiful hazel eyes that seemed to glow with the sunset, full of softness and admiration and love, you found that you could start to.

You may not have believed in yourself, but Nikolai did. And that had to mean something.  

“I’m beginning to,” you murmured. 

“Good,” he said, and his lips quirked into a smile. “But fear not, milaya. I hold enough love for you inside of me for the both of us in the meantime.” 

[lokis-army-77]

Premium Air

mondern!Eddie Munson x fem reader

Word Count: 1.1k

It's a few days after April Foos, Eddie isn't expecting you to pull a koke but you have something up your sleve.

Warning: noting! unless you count cursing

Thank you to my beta readers @munson-blurbs and @lofaewrites

Masterlist

You loved seeing the harmless little pranks that people would play on their significant others on social media and with April first already behind you, you knew Eddie wouldn’t suspect a thing. 

It was a bright Wednesday afternoon, you were at Robin's for a much needed girls day when you decided to put your little prank into action. 

"Hey, Rob, you wanna watch as I give Eddie a mini heart attack?" You ask as you wiggle into a more comfortable position on her couch.

"Oh my god, yes!" She excitedly shuffles over to you, leaning her whole body over your right side. 

You're both a giggling mess when you send the first text message. 

Hey, so my tire pressure light just came on, do I need to go have it checked?

It takes a few minutes but he eventually responds.

Is it still driving alright? 

Bring it to the shop when you get home from Robs, I'll fill it up before I leave work.

Yeah, it's driving just fine. The screen says it's my front passenger side tire.

You'll be fine to drive back home, I'll fill it up then, baby.

You leave it be for around thirty minutes as you and Robin think of what you should say next.

So Robin said I should go get it checked out and we were worried I wouldn't be able to drive all the way to your shop so I came to the one by her house.

I didn't know air was so expensive 😫. 

It was no more than a second later that your phone started to ring in your hands. Eddie's contact photo lighting up the screen. You swiped it away and you could feel Robin beginning to silently laugh 

Sweetheart, answer the phone.

Another call that you decline.

What do you mean expensive? Answer your phone!!!

Don't worry, Eds, the guy gave me a good deal! I think it's bc he thought I was pretty.

What do you mean by a good deal? Sweetheart, how much did you pay?

You and Robin can hardly contain your laughter. Tears are running down your faces. 

"I feel so bad, but it's so funny!" You cry. 

Robin nods along, "Don't, it's totally hilarious." She wipes her tears away and points at your phone, "Don't acknowledge those questions yet, say something about how he didn't notice the pretty comment."

You get to typing, fingers gliding over the keyboard.

Wow, I would have thought you'd be upset at another man...

Baby ,that is the last thing I'm worried about. HOW. MUCH. DID. YOU. PAY.

Well he said it was like premium air so it was on the more expensive end but apparently it won't seep out as fast as regular air.

You can see the read receipt and the three little dots as he begins to type. Your heart is beating wildly in your chest as the typing stops and he calls you again only for you to ignore it once more. 

Robin is beside you, howling as she holds her stomach. "This is the best thing I have EVER witnessed in my life!"

PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY, ANSWER YOUR PHONE. HOW MUCH DID YOU SPEND? BECAUSE PREMIUM AIR ISN'T REAL

So the guy said it's usually 250 for all 4 but he said he'd give me a deal and give me all 4 for the price of 3... is that not how much it usually is?

You need to tell me what shop you're at. Are you still there? Put me on the phone with this fucking guy

Eddie, I'm not putting you on the phone with him.

Sweetheart, why in the world would you take your car to someone else??? I'm literally a mechanic. IT WOULD HAVE BEEN FREE!! 

Are you mad at me?

No, I'm not mad at you baby. I just need you to put me on the phone with the shop owner or someone, anyone. Air in all 4 tires is never gonna be over like 5 bucks...

I told you I'd take care of it, why didn't you just listen 

You almost double over, laughing harder than before. You could tell you were stressing him out, that he was trying to keep from freaking out. 

"Oh my god!" You cackle, "I think it's time to break it to him or else he might actually have a heart attack or maybe an aneurysm. 

Eddie calls you one last time and this time, you answer, sushing Robin as you press the speaker button. 

"Thank fuck, Sweetheart, put me on the phone with the asshole that scared you." His face was gruff, the growl of irritation bringing a shiver lust down your spine. 

"Eddie, baby, calm down." 

"I'll calm down when I get you your money back," he huffs. You can hear the sounds of his shop muffled through the speaker. 

You can't help the giggle that slips past your lips when you make eye contact with Robin. 

"This is not funny," he stresses. 

The giggles continue to bubble up, "I know I know, but I can't help it. I love you so much."

"I love you too, now please let me talk to the guy, I really don't wanna ask again." 

Robin takes your phone at that point, clearing her throat and proceeding to do her best impression of a blue collar man.

"Hey, this is Rodger, at you just got pranked garage, how can I help you?"

"Yeah, you can help me, I-" Eddie stops mid sentence. 

You've got your hand covering your mouth as you try, and fail, to cover your chortles.

"Wait a second... Robin?" All the building anger in his voice disappears as he slowly realizes what's happening.

Robin begins wheezing as you grab your phone back, "We got you!" You gleefully exclam into the phone.

"We got you good!" Robing teeters back on her legs, almost falling from the couch.

You can hear the shaky sigh of relief fron the receiver on the other end. "Thank God. Baby you had me going crazy over here. I was about to drive to every garage in town to find you."

"I'm so so so sorry, baby. I really am but we didn't do anything for April fools like we usually do and I just knew you wouldn't be expecting this."

Eddie lets out the longest sigh of relief you've ever heard. "Shit, sweetheart, I'm getting too old for these pranks."

"You're 35." You deadpan.

"And it's all down hill from here."

You can't see it but you know he has a shit eating grin on and you roll your eyes. "I'll make it up to you when I get home."

"You better."

[averywiseanimatedcat]

6 months on it still thinking about how much of a shock that kiss must’ve been to Aziraphale.

The way Crowley steers his cooperation around really gave Aziraphale no warning at all. I was thinking about the development of their body language and it’s interesting to me so have an analysis under the cut.

Crowleys body language doesn’t change all that much over the course of their history. After their initial meetings as angels then in Eden, Crowleys already leaning in, orbiting and slinking around in quite a comfortable, familiar way. He tends to angle his body towards Aziraphale and stands quite close to him. He shows no sign of being fearful or uncomfortable. He quite happily moves in and around Aziraphales personal space without a care in the world even when they hardly knew each other yet.

Aziraphale however starts out looking guarded and unsure. He often stands facing forward while talking to Crowley sideways.

As we go through history Aziraphale becomes more comfortable. He opens up, starts to angle his body more towards Crowley, stops guarding with his hands and moves into Crowleys space on his own. And he starts to initiate physical contact where it’s not even necessary.

But the only times I can think of Crowley initiating physical contact before the kiss are ones that could easily be written off as just friendly or something else like

The wall push (which was aggressive)

The magic shop handshake is practical for sealing the deal

The handhold for the swap (mutual initiation, also practical we assume)

Sitting on the arm of the chair and kinda sorta leaning on Aziraphale when Muriel turns up

Crowley also tends to reject Aziraphales touch by removing himself from it like in the 1800’s, dodging with some roundabout footwork or leaning away. With moments like the pub or the shoulder touch he doesn’t have much of a visible reaction. Granted his eyes are hidden but Aziraphale probably thinks he just doesn’t like being touched. And yes, apparently they like holding hands, but do they know the other likes holding hands?

And I can hear you say ok then why does Crowley always put himself within touching distance if he don’t wanna be touched? Yeah, he does, but from Aziraphales perspective Crowley has always done this. He’s always been standing close or leaning in. It’s just how he is. Aziraphale is the one who’s changed. He’s become walking megaphone just blasting ‘please hold my hand before I discorporate on the spot pleasepleaselpleaseplease…’

Aziraphale is clearly a physical touch being. Brilliant acting and direction with Michael and how Aziraphale reaches for Crowley in the most stressful or emotionally charged moments. How there’s times where he seems to stop himself mid motion from touching Crowley. Such as after Gabriels appearance and Az is trying to keep Crowley calm

When Crowley says he’s going to take the humans out

And when Crowley goes to take Maggie and Nina out of the bookstore when Heaven and Hell are there. There is a safety element here as it’d be unwise for him to show his affection with Heaven or Hell around but Aziraphales first instinct is to reach for him. And again, great direction and acting with how David just gets out of the way like Crowley does it all the time. It’s another dance they do, Aziraphale pursues with physical affection, Crowley avoids. And Aziraphale doesn’t want to cross boundaries he’s perceiving Crowley to be putting up around physical affection so he’s holding it back.

And I think all that is part of the reason Aziraphale looks angry after the kiss. He’s possibly thinking (among many other things) that Crowley has rejected or ignored his physical affection all this time, making Aziraphale think he didn’t want it when he did. And that would be a painful thing to realise when you thought you yearned alone.

So I don’t blame Aziraphale for being upset when he gets this sudden enormous dose of physical contact out of the blue. He had no warning. On the contrary, Crowleys been acting like a big, prickly, demonic cactus. And it would’ve been endlessly confusing to be kissed after years believing the want for even the lightest of touches wasn’t reciprocated.

[suzukiblu]

If you feel up for it, for the writing meme prompt, Clark Kent/Lex Luthor, with the song You And Me by Lifehouse? If it's not your thing I totally get it though and hope you have a great time and fun writing the things that do catch your fancy!

I think we ALL knew that I was gonna do baby Kon for this, lbr. Also ngl, this came out way more cracky than the prompt would suggest it should've but it is absolutely my favorite thing I’ve written for this meme so far, as the necessity for the following cut should help attest, haha.

Unfortunately, Lex takes one look at Cadmus’s progress report on the newly-crafted Experiment Thirteen and realizes he has paternal instincts. 

Well, that’s inconvenient. And a little disgusting, honestly. Certainly a disappointment. 

He supposes it could be worse. He could be Lionel about this. 

Anyway, that’s how he has a physiological four year-old on his lap when he hears the news about Superman coming back to life and fistfighting an evil cyborg with his own face about it, because of course the man didn’t have the decency to just stay dead. Why would he, after all? 

Lex needs a drink. That would be a bad example for the physiological four year-old, though. 

Then again, Experiment Thirteen should be completely immune to the effects of Earth-based alcohol in about another four to six months of consistent yellow sun exposure, so . . . 

Lex is halfway through his second brandy when Superman shows up on his balcony at super-speed wearing a very pretentiously dramatic black suit and looking both winded and bewildered. And still alive, unfortunately. 

“Don’t you have a murderous cyborg to be ensuring is in custody?” Lex asks dryly, deciding to just not acknowledge the presence of the physiological four year-old who’s moved on to messily but methodically coloring on the floor underneath his desk. Lex didn’t actually give Experiment Thirteen either a coloring book or crayons, mind, but he appreciates the clone’s resourcefulness in breaking into the office supplies. Anyway, it’s useful for developing its hand-eye coordination and fine motor control. 

Superman’s pupils are pin-pricks, barely even there at all. Which is an unusual reaction from him, and Lex notes that fact reflexively but doesn’t particularly care about it. Meant-to-be-dead people do unusual things, especially the alien ones. And it isn’t as if–

“Baby,” Superman blurts, his eyes wide. 

Lex . . . pauses. Takes a slow sip of his brandy. 

Alright then. 

“Yes, I’ve noticed,” he settles on eventually, raising an eyebrow at him. Experiment Thirteen peers out from under the desk, immediately decides Superman isn’t an interesting presence, and then goes back to coloring all over Lex’s floor. It seems to be drawing either a puppy or a chain of complex genetic sequencing, but judging by the kinds of things it’s been drawing so far, it’s fifty-fifty. Lex has been getting the impression the clone actually likes art, which is a baffling interest to find in his own progeny, but how does that quote go . . . “I am a warrior, so that my son may be a merchant, so that his son may be a poet”? 

Or something like that, anyway. 

“No, I–baby,” Superman stresses, looking bewildered as he floats down a little closer to the open balcony door. 

“. . . yes, I’ve noticed,” Lex repeats, raising his eyebrow again and taking another sip of brandy. Superman looks frazzled, bobbing up a little higher in the air again to get a better view of Experiment Thirteen under the desk. Experiment Thirteen keeps ignoring him in favor of its coloring, displaying no apparent interest in the most powerful uninvited guest in the history of illegal immigration. Lex experiences a moment of overwhelming paternal pride, which is such a bizarre and unanticipated experience that he doesn’t even know what to do with it. 

“Where’d he come from?” Superman asks with a wondering expression. Ugh.

“A cloning lab,” Lex replies dismissively, setting his near-empty glass down on the desk. It’s hardly worth lying about Experiment Thirteen’s origins at this point. He didn’t want to murder everyone in Cadmus to keep the secret. He might need them if there’s an issue with Experiment Thirteen’s genetics later, after all. “We mixed it up a couple weeks ago while you were off wasting everyone’s time being dead."

“You had my baby?” Superman says, tilting in the air and still staring at Experiment Thirteen, as if he's somehow forgotten both how much kryptonite Lex owns and how much kryptonite he keeps specifically in this office. “While I was dead. You had my baby while I was dead.” 

. . . alright then, Lex thinks again, both eyebrows raising this time. 

“I really wouldn’t put it that way, personally,” he says. “Also, I don’t recall saying it was in any way yours.”

“Baby,” Superman repeats inanely, then lands on the floor and ducks down into a crouch to peer under the desk better, his pupils still reduced to barely-there pinpricks. Lex is so mystified he doesn't even activate the security system or the weaponized red sun lamps. Experiment Thirteen frowns at Superman–Lex, again, basks in unanticipated paternal pride–and then turns its back on him and hides all its drawings from him as seriously and carefully as if they were under NDA. 

It's almost adorable, frankly. 

Not that Lex finds things adorable, of course. 

“His heartbeat's so cute,” Superman says, looking absolutely fascinated. Which is surprisingly useful of him to mention, actually, since Lex had previously been vaguely concerned that Experiment Thirteen's odd thrumming heartbeat might be a sign of a heart defect, but apparently it’s just a Kryptonian thing. A . . . “cute” Kryptonian thing, according to Superman. 

Lex is increasingly mystified by this interaction. 

“Can’t say I’ve spent much time listening to it, personally,” he lies, because he has in fact obsessed over that heartbeat’s health and stability since first finding out about its unusualness and has done a truly aggravating amount of research into heart murmurs and conditions and the like. But that’s hardly Superman’s business, now is it. 

“. . . what’s his name?” Superman asks hesitantly. Lex is possibly having an out of body experience. 

“Experiment Thirteen,” he says. Superman immediately looks offended. 

“We need to give him a name, Lex,” he says. Lex, again, has an out of body experience. 

“‘We’?” he repeats incredulously. “I made it, I get to decide what it’s called.” 

“He’s got my DNA!” Superman protests, looking indignant. Lex has absolutely no idea how to process that expression. 

“It has both our DNA, in fact, yours was too irritating to stabilize alone,” Lex informs him dubiously. More accurately it was literally impossible to stabilize alone, but he’s not mentioning that to Superman. “So it has my DNA, and I made it. And also put eight point two billion dollars into its production, as a lowball estimate. Therefore I’m the one who decides what its name is, thank you very much.” 

“Lex,” Superman says disapprovingly. “You can’t call a baby Experiment Thirteen.” 

“It’s physiologically developed enough to complain if it doesn’t like it,” Lex retorts, narrowing his eyes at him. Superman frowns at him. Lex has never had a more ridiculous conversation with the man, including all the times Superman’s tried to appeal to his nonexistent “better nature”. “Well it is.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Superman says, then ducks back down and peers at Experiment Thirteen again, gentling his voice to address it while Lex is still incredulously mouthing “ridiculous”? to himself. “Would you like a real name, kiddo?” 

Experiment Thirteen sticks its tongue out at him. 

Lex is finding parenthood to be a very rewarding experience, actually. 

[nevertheless-moving]

unable to stop dwelling on the discworld trouser leg of time where, in the penultimate fight scene in Nightwatch, Carcer manages to kill teenage Sam Vimes.

Which means that the future that Duke Vimes came from can no longer exist, which means he can’t go home. Meanwhile you’ve got a bunch of history monks with stored up temporal energy, a prepared space outside of time, and the need to do some desperate damage control before the Auditors get involved. Death shows up, reality is unweaving, Sam is reading Carcer his discworld miranda rights because what else is he supposed to do.

and finally, with little other option, the monks de-age Sam so he fits the time period and send him back out into the fray.

(they didn't call it deageing of course. His memory is hazy, splintered during that terrible in between moment, They....took the time out of him? Sanded away the edges of his self for a terrible, workable fit? It...wasn't a good feeling.)

Just—damn. Sam Vimes having to live his whole crapsack life over again, but this time as his disillusioned-reillusioned, unwillingly-character-developed, noir-epic, Duke of Ankh, Commander Sir Samuel Vimes self. 

Younger (Older? He's never felt so Old, His steps so Childlike, reality twisting in his gut like one of Dibbler's pies) Sam Vimes walking around in a haze after the revolution. Desperate to go home, knowing he can’t. Wanting to drink. Knowing he can’t.

The whole precinct feels pity, he really took Keel’s death hard, hardly speaks except to do his job. Eventually he has to grit his teeth and start being present, because what else is there to do?

Resists the urge to drink until Colon takes the whole watch out to celebrate because -he’s going to be a father!

Come on Sammy, one drink won’t kill you— and after the first drink he’s cracking jokes and after the second hes smiling and after the third hes honestly the life of the party and sometime after that he’s crying about how he was going to be a father and my wife would be ashamed if she saw me drinking like this and— 

Oh shit, Did anyone else know he had a wife?? A PREGNANT wife??? What—aren’t you like 12—no you're 17 now aren't you but when did—

You guys n’ver met ’er—oh gods none if you ev’n know ‘er, is jus’ me...

What—when did you lose—

I lost her the same damn day I los’ ev’rythin else, whadya think...bleeding Carcer...the fuckin revolution...

So! That! Sam only vaguely remembers the night, but rumors travel faster than light on the disc, so by the next day the whole damn city knows about poor Sam brung low by the loss of his poor, tragic, pregnant wife, so young to be a widower, and the Seamstresses nod because they already knew, don’t ask them how, somethings you just have to know in that trade.

And his mother—I don’t know, sue me, I’m a time travel fiend but there’s something deeply intriguing about a man meeting his dead parent, who is somewhat younger than him, and stepping into the old relationship like a badly fitting thing that's supposed to fit well. She would know, right? How would she deal with her son’s impossible grief? Maybe she wouldn’t know—he spent most of the time out of the house, running with different street gangs, maybe he avoids her until she dies and lives with the guilt twice over. God, we don’t even know her name. There’s just so much narrative and emotional potential that I don’t even know where to start.

When he’s on duty, which is most time - it’s agonizing because at first he remembers cases, saves lives that would have been lost. But the more time passes, the hazier his memory because in the original timeline he was becoming an alcoholic. Fuck! A kid dies and he could have saved her if he hadn’t been such a drunk, if he had just remembered where the asshole lived, but it’s all a haze, and he wants to drown out his guilt, but that’s what caused this in the first place.

Good young Sammy, who spends his rare off-time in dusty libraries (and yes, the irony that he’s apparently Carrot now is not lost on him) reading gods-only-know.

It’s not like he can ask the wizards for help, cutthroat and vicious as they are now in the not-so-distant-past.

Good young Sam, who...talks to the Broken Drum’s pet Bouncer like he’s a real person and not a dumb rock? That’s a bit weird, but he’s a bit of a funny guy.

Good old Sam, who believed the testimony of the dwarf who said the humans were trying to rob him and let the dwarf go??

the PROBLEMS this man would cause, good grief. Can you imagine a moderately progressive middle aged man with some degree of begrudging diversity and equity training that he did, for all his sins, pay attention to, suddenly going back to like, 1990, going back just 30 years, and going...oh damn this is kind of fucked up, no man you can’t say that, holy shit.

Except Sam’s lived through even more rapidly shifting social moroes! There’s no seamstress guild, there’s no women allowed inside the university, there’s no black ribboner’s society. People hunted trolls for their teeth! But Sam can’t just unlearn everything, and he can’t shut up, and he has no real luck and anyway he would absolutely get himself (temporarily) fired.

FUCK. Sam has no idea what to do with that. None. Zero clue. Wanders around in a haze until that dwarf he saved from police brutality finds him and insists on repaying the debt. No, he insists, do you have any idea what debt means to a dwarf?

“Sort-of?” he replies hesitantly, and that honest admission of incomplete knowledge shows a hell of a lot more respect and understanding than any self proclaimed dwarf-expert ever did.

Gets a job as a surface man, hauling rocks into the city. It’s backbreaking work, but, in true Discworld fashion, it’s also one hell of a workout (again the irony of being Carrot is not lost him. he freezes for a minute while hauling a rock cart, when he remembers he's technically Lost Nobility too, in a strict sense, but someone curses at him in the street and he's comfortingly grounded)

And here is where this au slides into a SPECTACULAR romantic comedy, BEAR WITH ME. Because in his time on the Watch he’s already done noir, action adventure, war story, detective who dunnit, psychological horror, but guards guards only allowed him to be a romance protagonist in an extremely limited context.

Give me righteous, twenty-something-looking, can’t-say-he-doesn’t-have-style, young Sam Vimes, not an alcoholic,  being fed three square meals a day by his dwarven forced found family, hauling rocks. He is startled to find him bumping his head on a low hanging bar that he doesn’t think used to be there, eventually realizing that he’s an inch or two taller than he remembers. Huh. Guess all that bearhuggers really did stunt his growth.

Still doesn’t get what some of the looks from women he’s getting are about, sure, he’s dirty but so is everyone else. Fine, he took his shirt off, but it’s hot out, there’s far wrinklier than him hauling heavy loads, get a life. 

Happens to glance in the Ankh one day when it’s particularly slow and shiny and is startled to realize that he might be turning heads for a different reason. Oh. Right, not that he was ever a heartbreaker, but he did alright for himself... when he was a younger and his face hadn’t been broken so many times. Which...it isn't now.

Is mildly disturbed by the revelation.

Especially once things blow over at the precinct and what with high mortality rates, he ends up with getting hired again. The boys are delighted to have him back, nevermind that he’s an odd one, noone is ever quite in your corner like Vimsey, absence makes the heart fonder, no one else works that hard, and he’s not even competition for promotion. All around great guy, we should set him up with somebody and just, no.

It just keeps getting worse! He’s literate! He’s a feminist! He believes abuse victims! He’s got a tragic backstory! He’s unreasonably good in a fistfight! He’s kind to animals! Word gets around that there’s a good man on the watch and he’s just waiting for a good woman to come snap him up. The widower excuse doesn’t hold people off completely, and for some it’s its own sort-of appeal. 

Things REALLY become stressful after he rescues that carriage full of noblewoman.

What’s he supposed to do? Let them get robbed? Or worse? Chasing down and beating up 10 goons is as easy as beating up one, when they’re that stupid, getting separated like that, drunk and distracted, and he knows these streets better than anyone, really it’s nothing. And oh lord he’s Modest too.

I mean, they were genuinely greatful, as genuine as people like that are capable of being, the skill having grown rusty. And then there is something...magnetic about the man. An air of command.

So, soon enough you get Lady Marigold of Marigrave calling on Treckle Road for that gallant young officer who rescued them, she really needs to thank him. And Viscountess Elanor Thitzferal specifically requesting that he guard her at her next soiree. And Baroness Julieta van Shoeholten insisting that he come to her home while her husband’s away, for... manly protection.

Aaaah just zero sympathy from the guys. None. 'It’s become a competition, they’re just trying to see who can get me into bed first, it’s like I’m a piece of meat, you can’t send me sir, the Marquess greeted me in a nightee last time you made me go to—' and 'small gods Vimes are you even listening to yourself, shut the hell up'.

Simultaneous to this, (again this is several years into the timeline) swamp dragon accessories come into style. Which means abandoned swamp dragons scrounging on the street. Vimes takes one back to his apartment, blows his paycheck on dragon medicine, and eventually, heart in his chest, brings it to the Ramkin estate. The sunshine orphanage doesn’t even exist yet and he’s just standing outside the gates like an idiot, what is he thinking. Turns around, but her carriage is pulling up and—

well. they meet. it's cute. he's never felt so young. he's never felt so old, too old for her, too poor—

and certainly her thoughts linger too long on the awkward, kindly, handsome young commoner, but is it any wonder she doesn't quite connect it to the stern, dangerous, sexy young guard the ladies seem to be in some quiet, cuthroat competition over?

i have this gorgeous, absurd scene in my head in which Vimes is strong armed into standing guard at some high society soiree and one of the pushiest ladies insists he dance with here, or, if he prefers, if he's not confident about his skills, he can dance with her in-private at her home and he’s like [grinding teeth, looking for a way out, seeinf one] “I would be honored to dance with you.”

Steps right into some ultra-complex dance with multiple partner swaps (she never thought he'd pick this one, devilishly intimidating to one not strictly trained, and you barely spend anytime with your first partner).

But he does alright. Better than alright, for a common man, sometimes misstepping but his hands and feet always end up where they need to be. Raises several eyebrows part way into the song because he's throuwing in some slightly scandalous, no innovative, extra lifts and twirls that wouldn't become fashionable for another decade or two. Who even is that guy? Some out of towner? No, no he's in a guards uniform...how very strange.

Gets to Sybll and she's used to embarrassment during these dances, she tries to get out of them when she can... but can't always. Men awkwardly skipping the lifts, or worse, trying and failing. But him — oh it's him, the one who helped little Erold, and looked at her like—like—well like she was someone beautiful. And he's doing it again, and he's strong and there's a quiet moment where she's in the air, they lock eyes, and the rest of the room melts away.

And then the partners change again, the moment ended.

Just...living throught it all again. To the left, a dance he almost knows the steps to, throwing others off balance with erratic moves , honest mistakes, and delibrate stepping on toes. Improvising. Ruining. Improving. Getting far, far too much attention.

Hes almost excited when the first assassains start coming after him. It's like a hobby.

Everyone tells him he should get a hobby.

Interactions with young vetinari...I don't have the energy to write it all down, the slow circling in on each other, both burning with the need to fix the city, save it, their city.

needless to say he ends up fired again, life under real threat after offending some high lord.

Conveniently enough he has an employment opportunity- bodyguard to fucking Vetinari on his 'grand sneer.' The bastard knows vimes isn't what he seems, though sam is pretty sure that he doesnt know the exacts.

Vetinari hypothesis:(the ghost of keel? Keels son, with some hereditary curse? Or a larger spirit of justice possessing a string of unrelated souls? He knows things he shouldn't- mind reader? Fortune teller? Havelock once arranged for a wizard to bump into him on the street, the magical fool gave an odd double look and then muttered something about destiny looping in on itself giving him a headache. Destiny? Lost noble? And hes far too familiar with sybyl, one of the few bearable noblewomen in this city. And his thoughts on guilds, when havelock can trip him into speaking... Most of all, if hes reading him at all correctly (for all the mystery hes not that hard to read, unless thats a very clever cover) then it seems that behind those dark haunted eyes is Respect. Loyalty. For vetinari. What an interesting man. A puzzling asset. An intriguing threat. )

Did I mention the timeline is changing, healing slowly around the place where it was torn? Healing enough around scars to perhaps get some flexibility back, with some painful stretches and...massaging of said scar tissue?

And hes heading to unresting uberwald, a place where a werewolf pack still hunts humans and, truely unrelated but perhaps equally exhausting, an eldritch spirit of vengeance just might be looking to stretch its legs in a hapless vessel?

Opening drabble Vimes Vetinari Meta (Unwell) Scene from the Uberwald Grand Sneer

[sugarcoatedstarkey]

Best friends-part 1

Pairing - Rafe Cameron x best friend!reader

Summary - it’s been 2 years since you’ve seen Rafe, he has a gf and a business degree. You are dating his cousin Cooper and still very involved with the Cameron’s.

Warnings- Descriptive sexual assault, mention of domestic Violence, drinking, language. 18+ no minors

Your families had been friends for years, you had grown up with Rafe. He was your best friend, you couldn’t do anything without each other. Your parents would always joke around that the two of you would get married.

When you turned 14 you realized you might be in love with your best friend romantically but you knew he didn’t feel the same way. He was popular with the ladies, usually bringing a new date to a party each night. He would still tell you that you were his number 1 girl.

That’s when you become self conscious of the way you looked, you started wearing makeup, getting your hair done and exercising religiously. Just so you could match up to the girls he was hitting on.

When you both turned 18, he took off to college. Getting his business degree so his dad would let him run part of the business.

You stayed back though, doing most of your courses online. You couldn’t leave, not when your dad was so sick. So you stayed and wondered what Rafe was up to, you didn’t see him for over 2 years.

You messaged here and there but things weren’t the same anymore. After a while of waiting for him, you realized you needed to move on. You wouldn’t hope and pray that one day he would wake up and feel the same way you do.

So when his older cousin Cooper asked you out on a date, you said yes without a second thought. He was exactly 2 years and 6 months older than you, he’d never given you a second look until the New Year’s party, you had been waiting for Rafe to show up. But to avail he never showed, you met Cooper properly that night and he was instantly obsessed.

Fast forward 8 months into a relationship with him, you found yourself sat on the floor of Tanny Hill. Watching as everyone opened their Christmas presents.

You had been invited by Ward before he had even thought of inviting Cooper and his side of the family, you had to pretend to act surprised when Cooper asked you to come. You knew he had invited you since your dad had passed away, your mum had gone back to work not long after he passed and she was apparently to busy to come home for Christmas.

This year Rafe came on, he was sitting on the large black lounge, arm slung around his girlfriend Lola. She was lovely, blonde with a die for figure. Everything you weren’t. Rafe looked more mature, but happier.

He still caused butterflies to swarm your belly, your heart to stammer in your chest. He still hugged the same and spoke the same, still picked on you in a way that had you giddy.

“Who wants a drink?” Coop questions, stumbling in his step slightly. You shook your head and stood up, he had been drinking since 9am and it was 2pm now. He was wasted. He could hardly stand by himself, using the door frame for support.

“Coop I don’t think you need another drink” you whispered, following him into the kitchen. He waved you off and continued to mix liquids into a shaker.

He had started drinking a lot in the past 3 months, work had been stressful and deadlines where being thrown left and right at him. You suspected he was also nervous about Rafe coming home, he knew how close we used to be.

“Could you open that?” He asks, pushing you the unopened bottle of champagne. His hands gripped the table to steady himself, he chuckled under his breath and looked up at you.

“Open it!” He ordered, you jumped slightly at his aggressive tone. You hated when he drank, he was a whole other person. Mean, manipulative and always ended up hurting you in some way.

You proceeded to uncork the champagne and passed it back to him in silence, he snatched it from you without a thank you and went back to making his drink.

He took a gulp of his drink and walked around to you, sculling back the last of it, he reached out for you. flinching away from him as he placed his hand on your hip.

“Oh come on babe, I didn’t mean to yell” he whispered, pressing his lips to your cheek. You nodded your head in silence, holding your breath. The stench of alcohol on his breath made you woozy.

His lips trailed down your neck, sucking harshly at the skin. He pushed your back against the island bench, trapping you between his large arms. Grinding himself against you.

“Coop, not now. Someone could walk in” you whispered, moving to duck under his arm. He grabbed the pony tail that sat low on your head, pulling you back up to him.

“You don’t get to deny me what’s mine” he growled, his hand gripping the base of your throat. Tightening his fingers around it roughly.

“Coop” you cried, your throat began to burn and the breath you desperately wanted to take was trapped. “You're hurting me!”

He wasn’t listening though, his eyes were glazed over and the expression on his face was no longer him. He was the Cooper you had started to hide from when he came home at 2am in the morning.

“Shut the fuck up” he shouted, his fingers slipped under the material of your sweater. Groping the flesh of your breast roughly, scratching the skin raw.

You had started to cry at this point, tears staining your cheeks. You were thankful that this house was so big, no one would be able to hear you. You didn’t want anyone to witness this.

Cooper began to unzip your jeans, sliding his shaky hand under your panties until he found what he was looking for.

“Cooper!” You cried out, searing pain shooting through you as his fingers roughly entered you.

Tears were blurring your vision now, his lips were all over you. You were struggling to breath from his mouth on your lips and his fingers around your throat.

He began to unzip his own pants, pulling your hand away from the bench and down his jeans. Your fingers frozen, he manipulated them until they wrapped around his cock. “Come on y/n, just a quick fuck and you can go back to the fucking Cameron’s” he slurred, pulling your jeans down to expose your green panties. “Fuck, my favorite” he laughed, he spun you around pushing your face into the table.

The alcohol Cooper had spilt was now all over your face and in your hair, he had you pinned under his hand. Pulling his cock out of his pants, he didn’t warn you or ease you into it. He slammed his hips into you, causing you to cry out in pain.

You squeezed your eyes such and dug your fingernails into the wooden bench, trying to take yourself to a happy place. Anywhere but here.

“Fuck! Get a roo-” Rafes voice filled your ears, the once deafening buzz was gone and you pried your eyes open. Rafe only needed a second to realize you were in distress.

The once disgusted look in his face had vanished and was replaced with anger, his brows knitted together as he took in the scene in front of him.

“Fuck off bro” Cooper shouted, pushing your head back down onto the table and thrusting his hips again, he had no shame.

“Rafe!” You choked, pleading for him to do something. Rafe seemed to have gotten out of the trance he was in and he began bounding towards the two of you.

Cooper pulled himself out of you, tucking himself back into his pants stumbling backwards into the sink.

“What the fuck is wrong with you!!” Rafe screamed, he fisted the front of Cooper's shirt and pulled him closer.

You could tell he was fighting with himself, he didn’t want to cause a scene. Not when his dad was around, he couldn’t risk losing the business.

You had pulled your pants up in hurry, clutching the table in pain as Ward stepped into the kitchen the moment Rafe’s fist was in the air, he took one look at you crying and looked back at the boys.

“What happened?” He questioned, causing Rafe to drop his fist and look back at his dad. “He was assaulting y/n”.

This seemed to anger Ward as well, he nodded his head and stepped over to you.

“Let’s take you somewhere else” Ward whispers, he puts his hand out for you to take. You look back at Rafe and cooper, Rafe nods his head towards his dad. Cooper doesn’t even look at you, he’s so far gone his eyes are rolling behind his head.

You step over to take Ward’s hand and let him take you to his study, he situates you on the couch and hands you some water. You give him a soft smile and move your head to stare out of the window at the sea.

“I’ll be next door” he states, he wants to give you a moment of privacy. He also knows you won’t talk about it to him, you’ll want to talk to Rafe.

You're unaware how much time passes but the door to the study creaks open, Rafe steps in with a bag of ice over his hand.

“Y/n”

You turn your head back to the window, cradling your throat in your hands. The aching hadn’t stopped, the burn in your throat was brutal. No amount of water was easing the pain.

“Can I use your shower?” You asked, moving from your spot and walking towards him. You winced in pain, you hadn’t realized how sore you were. Cooper had been much rougher this time. “Here I’ll help you”.

You let him walk you up the stairs to his room, he pushes the door open. His girlfriend Lola lay on top of his mattress reading a book, her head whips around and sorrow feels her features when she looks at you.

“Sorry babe I thought you were downstairs” he smiled at her, she pulled herself from the bed quickly and flattened her dress. “I’ll use Sarah’s shower” you stated, pulling away from Rafe and walking yourself across the landing with a whimper.

“I have to help her babe” Rafe states and his arms are back around you in a second. You let him lead you into Sarah’s room, he flips the switch in the bathroom and turns the shower on.

“Thanks Rafe” you whisper, you give a soft hug in appreciation and he kisses the top of your head like he used to. Your heart swells, he pulls away and gives you a smile.

“I’ll get you some of Sarah’s clothes” he states and steps out of the room, he goes to close the door but you grab the handle before he can. “Leave it open a little please”.

He nods and steps away from the door, he searches through Sarah’s draws and grabs her a pair of loose shorts and oversized shirt. This should do, he thought to himself.

He walked back to the bathroom, catching a glimpse of you reaching for the towel. He could see old bruises on your arms and the fresh bruises on your hips, he closed his eyes when he caught sight of the harsh scratches on your breast. He knew he shouldn’t look, but you’d seen each other naked before. Okay maybe you were only 15 but still.

“Rafe” you called out, he was at the door in seconds handing you a pile of clothes. “Let me get yours washed” he says, you look down at your clothes and back at him. “No I’ll do it” you went to grab the clothes on the bench but he was faster than you. “Rafe” you warned but his eyes were already looking at the clothes in his hands, the sight of bright red blood stained on your once favorite pair of panties.

“Fuck” he grunted, balling your clothes up in his fists. “I’m getting dad to call the dr” he states, you shake your head grabbing his bicep. “No please Rafe, I’m fine. I don’t want another dr looking at me” you cried, he pulls you into a hug and squeezes you softly against his chest.

“Does this happen a lot?” He questions, he knows he doesn’t have a right to ask. The two of you hadn’t spoken properly since he left and he knew that was all his fault.

“When he drinks a lot he is this whole other person, it only started happening recently. I was never around when he drank before” you mumbled against his chest, you could hear the harsh thump of his heart as he took in the new information.

“He pushed me around a couple of times, forced himself on me a few weeks ago when I told him I missed you. Today was different, he was brutal.” You say, pulling yourself away from his hold. You grab the clothes he brought in and begin to change, keeping the towel around your body until the oversized shirt cover your naked body, stepping into the shorts.

“I’m so sorry I haven’t been around y/n” he says, taking the towel from you and hanging it on a hook. He watches you throw your clothes into the trash, and lets you walk out of the bathroom first.

“Y/n”

Cooper's voice frightens you, you step back hitting Rafe’s chest in the process. Your heart races as you take in his swollen bruised face, you didn’t like it. “Coop, Ward told you to leave” Rafe states, stepping around you and walks towards him. “I know I know, I just needed to see y/n. I’m so sorry this happened again baby, you know I love you”.

You shake your head and walk back into the bathroom closing the door behind you, you didn’t want to hear it, he was just trying to get you to forgive him. Take him back and pretend like none of it happened.

It was the same every time, this time he’d gone too far.

“Get out Cooper now, I’m fucking serious. Your lucky I didn’t call the fucking cops you piece of shit!” Rafe bellows, you hear a thump against a wall. Either Rafe hit the wall or he hit Cooper who fell into the wall.

“Fuck!” You hear Cooper shout, the door slams behind him. You're pressed against the bathroom door in silence, body shaking in fear.

Rafe taps on the wood quietly and you open the door for him. “He’s gone, let’s get you something to eat yeah?”.

Part two

Taglist - @laylasbunbunny @h34rtsformilli @lydiasxxsworld @hallecarey1 @mountloverr @outerbankspov @cameronmedia @crunchy-leaves77 @vigilanteshitposting @pedrisgatorade @phoenixssugarbaby @rafemotherfuckingcameron @s-we-e-t-t-ea @rafesthroatbaby @alltoomay @moremaybank

(please note a lot of people who commented or like my taglist post I am unable to actually tag, so sorry!! And if you no longer want to be tagged just let me know)

[animeficsworld]

I Thought I Knew You

Warumono x Reader

Summary: You get kidnapped and soon you realize your kidnapper is someone you already know.

The day you were kidnapped you were told they were going to bring you to their boss.

But currently, he was off.

Apparently, even the big boss of an army had days off... who could have thought?

One of the mignons told you that you were being kept to study humans so they could easily destroy humanity.

You were a gift for their leader basically.

How rude these mignons were.

Even if they fed you well during the weekend, even if they kept you company and even brought you a TV, you wanted to go home and cuddle with your boyfriend.

He must be worried by now.

You met your boyfriend months ago at the ZOO. He seemed to be obsessed with the pandas and you started a conversation. 

And now, you were here, locked in a cage, watching TV while eating snacks.

It could be worse.

But then, Monday came around. The big scary boss was back.

And they brought you to him almost as soon as he came back.

As you were brought in with chains around you, you looked at the scary boss.

You decided to show no fear in the hope he would let you go.

"Sir! We've abducted a human to study them so we can easily destroy them!" one of the mignons said but you and the boss were both frozen as you looked at one another.

It was a silent two minutes before you spoke up.

"EH?!" was all you could manage.

You two were left alone, with you now sitting in a chair in front of his table.

You looked at him as he avoided eye contact.

"So, you were dating me so you could destroy humanity."

Damn. You went straight at it. No sugar coating.

"Not at all. You caught my attention and before I knew... I..." you knew he hardly ever talked about his feelings. 

But now you were very conflicted. 

"I love you." he said and your eyes snapped up at him. You could imagine how difficult it was for him to admit his feelings, let alone in a situation like this. "I'm sorry." was the next thing he said.

You almost didn't want to believe that he just said those things. But you could tell it was all true.

He was genuinely sorry.

"I will need some time to think." you ended up saying and soon, you were hope.

You wanted to sleep, you wanted this all to be just a bad dream, but sadly, it wasn't.

It was real, and you had to deal with this somehow.

One week passed, and you felt like you were put in turmoil.

Every time you thought you came up with a solution, you were right back at the drawing board, back at square one.

Because in all reality, your boyfriend was a villain who swore to destroy humans.

And yet, you loved him.

You loved him and his curly hair, you loved him and his panda obsession, you loved him and his overdramatization.

You loved him.

And he confessed his love to you.

Which would have baffled you, to begin with.

He sure showed his affections but he never spoke of them.

One Saturday, you finally decided to go over to his place and talk.

So, on your way you went.

You found him at home and soon, you sat on one and of his sofa while he sat on the other, avoiding your eyes.

"I have decided to leave humanity." you suddenly looked at him as he was watching the floor. "I have realized how I broke your heart, it was never my intention to meet you, never my intention to fall in love and to hurt you as a result. It just... happened. I'm sorry."

"I don't want you to leave." you replied rather quickly. "I understand you never meant for all of this to happen but it did. You cannot just come into my life, make me fall in love with you and then leave! How is that fair?"

"I thought... you came to break up with me?"

"No, I wanted us to talk about this. But I didn't want to leave you. I was hoping, you would... take me with you when you have your plan..."

"You would... join me?"

"Yes."

You made your decision, was it a bad one? Possibly. But you didn't care, you saw him with his hair pulled back, everyone scared of him, a true villain, and you lost right then and there.

"Would you truly?" he asked and you nodded and smiled.

For the first time ever, you saw his smile.

You saw him smile and you knew you would never be able to let go of him. Whether he is a villain or not.

You soon moved over to him and allowed him to hug you.

"My Queen." he whispered into your ear as you let out a long sigh of relief.

You made the best decision. 

[oliversrarebooks]

The Rare Bookseller Part 69: Emily's Lady

Previous > Masterlist > Next

tw: mind control, captivity, blood drinking, character death

October 1925

"Emily!"

"You know her?" said Alexander.

Emily tore her gaze away from Miss Lily, her expression dazed and drowsy as she regarded Oliver. "Hello…?"

"Emily, it's me, Oliver! We were in the auction house together. Don't you remember?"

Her brows furrowed in confusion, as though considering Oliver's words was taking a great effort.

"Oh, that's right, of course you were," said Miss Lily. "I remember now. Unfortunately, she likely does not. I was employed to fade most of her memories as part of her pet conditioning." She stroked Emily's hair with something like a fond smile. "It's okay, Emily, dear, it's nothing at all to worry about."

An empty smile returned to Emily's face as Miss Lily pet her, and a feeling of sick dread pooled in Oliver's stomach. He remembered how hard she had fought, how adamantly she hadn't wanted the vampires to take her mind. Now, she might not even be able to remember the person that she was -- like Miriam, who was lounging on Miss Lily's lap.

But it was one thing to meet Miriam and another thing to have actually known Emily before she'd been enthralled. Before both of them had been enthralled.

"Oliver, dear, please don't stare at Emily like that. You're making her uncomfortable."

"Sorry, sir," he said automatically. Emily did indeed look uncomfortable, fidgeting with her fingers. "I didn't mean to stare, Emily, I was just happy to… meet you again. I hope you've been well?"

She nodded shyly. "I've been very well. My lady is so kind to me."

"And who is your lady?" asked Alexander.

"Lady Jessica, sir."

Fitz groaned. "Oh god, we'd better send this girl away before --"

"Oh, there you are!" The voice was high-pitched and frilly, and belonged to a vampire in an elaborate rose-pink gown, dripping with even more jewelry than Emily was, carrying a hat covered in dried flowers and peacock feathers and netting. "You got away from me. I should have guessed you'd have found Lily here. How are you this evening, Lily?"

"Surrounded by my handiwork as usual."

"And oh!" Lady Jessica rounded the table to advance at Fitz, who looked appropriately alarmed. "If it isn't Fitzwilliam back in town! Why, it's been simply ages since I've seen you last!"

"I see you're still as charming as the first time I met you," said Fitz.

"I do remember that -- I remember when you were just the most adorable thrall. If only I could have gotten my hands on you! You would have been so precious to doll up and coddle."

"Yes, no doubt," said Fitz icily.

"And isn't that the star of the auction house?" Jessica's eyes went wide as she turned to Oliver, and Oliver couldn't help but flinch closer to Alexander. "How absolutely wonderful. I can't help but be jealous that you got to him first." Before Oliver knew what was happening, Jessica was practically on top of him. She smelled strongly of rose perfume and… and…

…and Oliver could hardly think, as though his thoughts were all coated in heavy syrup, thick and sticky. He lolled over into his master's lap, head filled with cottony bliss. Gosh, his master was just so… so… His master was saying something, and his voice was rumbling through Oliver's chest, and he felt like he could just bathe in it for days. Oliver nuzzled his head against his master, and the scent of old books and fireplaces overcame the sickly perfume.

And then, as suddenly as it began, his head cleared and he blinked heavily. Blood rushed to his cheeks as he realized what a fool he had been, rolling about on his master like a playful kitten. He sat up straight. "What just happened, sir?"

"Jessica's proximity robs humans of their mind," said Alexander casually, apparently unbothered by Oliver's unseemly behavior.

"He responds to it so well!" Lady Jessica was on the other side of the table now, next to Emily, giggling. "That poor thing worries far too much for a thrall, I can tell. I don't know why you don't have Lily take some of those worries away for him."

Oliver's breath caught. "No -- no thank you, sir," he said, dearly hoping that Lady Jessica wouldn't convince Alexander to leave him in an embarrassing stupor for good.

Alexander pulled Oliver close once more, and Oliver could feel the reassurance rolling off him. "I'll tend to my thralls as I see fit, thank you."

"Of course, of course!" she said. "I'm just surprised that you brought such a precious thing along with you to the Tiger's Eye, after what happened to Lord Edgar."

"Hold on, what happened to Lord Edgar?" said Lily, interest piqued.

"You don't know? I'm shocked! Well, I'm not shocked that Lord Alexander didn't know, reclusive as he is, but I thought you heard everything about everyone, Miss Lily."

"Well, that just means that you get to be the first to tell us."

"Yes, I want to hear this, too," said Alexander, leaning in.

"It's only been the talk of the town, darlings. It isn't every day that a vampire of Lord Edgar's stature is reduced to dust."

"Dust!" said Lord Alexander. "You must be joking."

"I can tell you all about it!" Jessica looked very happy to have an excuse to gossip. "Here, pet, amuse yourself while the vampires talk." She pulled a pad of paper and some crayons from her purse, handing them to Emily, whose face lit up as though she'd been handed a great prize. She curled up in a ball between Lady Jessica and Miss Lily, happy as a clam to draw in the notepad.

"So anyway, you know how Lord Edgar would frequent this place, drinking far too much and bragging about this and that. He brought one of his thralls, the short one, I'm not sure if you remember her, but…"

Lady Jessica continued to chatter about vampires Oliver had never heard of, and he couldn't focus. His train of thought kept straying to Emily, occupied in simple crayon drawings like a child. She must be around Lady Jessica's mind-melting influence all of the time, and between that and Miss Lily erasing her memories, she didn't seem to have much of a mind left.

Did she realize that anything was wrong? Her expression seemed to indicate that she didn't. He hadn't thought anything was wrong when he'd fallen under Lady Jessica's power moments ago, either, perfectly content to frolic in his master's lap.

That could have been him.

Although Oliver's memories of the night of the auction were something of a blur, he remembered Lady Jessica now. He'd met her when he was on display, calling him a pet and making him act like a puppy. If Alexander hadn't bid on him, hadn't gotten into a bidding war with Lord Jameson, perhaps it would have been him sitting there coloring, mind as empty as a child's, with no inkling that anything had ever been different.

And who's to say he hadn't been changed?

Oliver thought that his memories were intact and that his personality had only been altered to serve his master -- but would he even know about any part of him that had been stolen without a trace?

It wasn't something he had thought about much ever since he'd arrived at Alexander's. Alexander, whose song so effortlessly subdued Oliver's mind. Alexander, who had instilled such a deep sense of loyalty within him. Alexander, who was still a dangerous vampire in every way.

"I'm not surprised," Fitz was saying. "He was far too cocky for his own good. It was only a matter of time before a hunter got the drop on him."

"What a thing to say!" Jessica chided. "I know you had your differences, but surely he didn't deserve that."

"But how could a vampire hunter get so close to Lord Edgar?" Alexander said. "I've never known a human who could keep their will intact when he starts his enthrallment."

"That's what everyone is wondering," said Lady Jessica, with the tone of voice you might use to tell a ghost story around a fire. "No hunter has ever posed a serious threat to Lord Edgar before. Some vampires think it might have been the witch that Lady Evelyn claims to have encountered -- a witch who can make herself immune to enthrallment."

"A witch, you say?" Alexander leaned forward with keen interest.

Lady Jessica laughed. "Really? I didn't think you would be the type to believe in stories like that."

"It's not just a story," Alexander insisted. "There are many accounts of witches who have wards against vampires. It's a very real possibility."

"If you say so!"

A witch who could resist enthrallment, who was killing vampires… if such a person existed, they'd be a grave danger to his master. The thought of Alexander being killed before his eyes was enough to shake Oliver from his vague concerns about his master's enthrallment. Even if he had been altered in ways he couldn't perceive, even if Alexander wasn't really as kind as he seemed, Oliver couldn't bear the thought of seeing him killed.

"I'm deeply sorry for the delay, sirs. Here are your refreshments." The waitress had returned with a tray of drinks, and she placed a glass of deep red wine in front of his master.

"Be a dear and top up my champagne, won't you?" said Lady Jessica, handing the waitress a flute. "We should really be talking about more pleasant things than hunters. After all, I don't think I've properly shown off my new thrall!" She placed her hand on Emily's head, and Emily looked up with a submissive smile. "Isn't she just absolutely lovely? She looks like a picture in a magazine. And she's so quiet and docile, too! I'm obsessed."

She hadn't been quiet and docile before Miss Lily enthralled her, that much Oliver was sure of. And she certainly didn't seem like the type who wanted to look like a picture in a magazine.

"I'm very pleased with how she turned out. I knew she would be worth the training when she arrived in the auction house," said Miss Lily. "I do hope you keep her longer than your usual habit."

"Oh, Lily, you know I simply can't bear to keep a thrall longer than is fashionable! Not all of us get so attached to our thralls as you and Alexander," she said with a laugh. "Besides, when the time comes, I'm sure she'll do quite well on the secondhand market."

"Secondhand market?" said Oliver in horror. All eyes at the table turned to him.

"Nothing you need to worry about, Oliver," said Alexander.

But it was too late. All of his dread and rumination was bubbling up inside him, along with an emotion that had become so divorced from him that it felt alien -- anger. "How could you?" he said. "You had Emily's memory wiped, you made her into a shell of her former self, all just for your pleasure, and then you'd just discard her when you get bored? How could you treat her that way?"

"Oliver," his master warned, and there was a note of control in it, inducing Oliver to shut his mouth.

Lady Jessica's face twisted into a sour mask. "Lord Alexander, you really do need to keep a better leash on your thralls. We all know you're more than powerful enough to control them effortlessly. It's unseemly to allow them to disrespect their betters like this." Oliver didn't miss her pointed glance to Fitz, who was watching the situation with great amusement.

"Oliver is free to say as he pleases," said Alexander, and this time the warning was directed towards Lady Jessica.

"I just never understood that," said Lady Jessica dismissively. "Thralls are such precious and delicate things. They need discipline to keep them in line. It's not healthy to be so permissive."

"Listen, Jessica," said Miss Lily, intervening before Alexander could open his mouth again. "If you ever do get tired of Emily, do let me know. I can make sure she goes to a good home, or perhaps keep her myself."

The fake-sweet smile returned to Lady Jessica's face. "You're all so sweet when it comes to your thralls. It's so charming." She downed the rest of her champagne and stood up, swaying slightly, pulling Emily up after her. "Well, I had better mingle with the rest of the crowd. The night's still young, you know!"

Lady Jessica wasn't even out of earshot before Fitz laughed uproariously, leaning over to clap Oliver on the shoulder. "Excellent work! I thought she'd never be driven off."

"You shouldn't encourage that sort of behavior," said his master.

"Why not? You didn't mind when it was me."

"I suppose I didn't."

"I'm sorry to have embarrassed you, sir," said Oliver. "I just can't bear to see Emily like that."

"It's all right, Oliver, I'm not cross with you. I also find her practice of discarding her thralls abhorrent. But I've known her for a long time, and her mind is thoroughly made up, so I try to keep the peace."

Oliver thought that this was the kind of difference of opinion that shouldn't be smoothed over so easily, but the fire within him was already quenched, so he swallowed it. "I understand, sir."

"And that's nothing you ever need to worry about yourself. I would never give you over to the secondhand market, not for any amount of money. You'll always have a place in my home."

"Thank you, sir." Oliver did believe him. He remembered the fierceness in Alexander's voice when he told him he'd never let him go.

"I have the blood you ordered, sirs," said a waitress. She was holding onto a leash attached to a man who was wearing nothing more than a collar. He stared straight ahead, unblinking, and there were scars from bites all over his neck, arms, and thighs.

"None of us ordered any blood," said Miss Lily, as casually as can be.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, sirs! I must have the wrong table!" She bowed and led the poor man away.

That could have been him, too, if he had been caught by a different vampire, if he'd had worse blood…

"Lex, look!" said Fitz. "Did you see what that vampire is wearing? I can't believe he walked out like that in public!"

Oliver certainly couldn't concentrate on any of the idle gossip about the Tiger's Eye patrons, not when he was so keenly reminded that he was still merely a defenseless human in a den of hostile vampires.

---

"Oh, that was so much fun!" Lady Jessica was slurring her words. "I had so much fun. Did you have fun? I had fun."

"Fun," Emily repeated in her daze. Her lady's aura was filling the carriage, and Emily's thoughts were slowed to a crawl, on top of her lady's drunkenness making her feel dizzy.

Usually, she would just let go to the sensations, not bothering to fight the stupor, but tonight, for some reason, her thoughts refused to stop. There was something bothering her. Something important.

Her lady had talked about giving her away when she was done with her. Emily knew that, though. Her lady had been very clear on that point, often using it as a threat when Emily misbehaved.

No, that wasn't it. This was something new.

That thrall knew her name. That thrall knew her. His name was Oliver. That seemed important. Why did he know her?

"I was thinking, maybe we could arrange a playdate between you and Alexander's thrall," Lady Jessica said, as though she could read Emily's thoughts. Perhaps she could. "He lives just a block away, you know. You'd set a good example for him, and I could silence that poor thrall's mind for a bit. I feel awful for him, having so much fear when he should just enjoy serving."

"This one would like that, my lady!" said Emily. "Please."

"Yes, I will do that, then. I'll have to call on that stuffy Alexander and ask him."

Emily knew that her lady usually didn't follow through on things that Emily wanted, so she shouldn't raise her hopes about this, but she really did want to see Oliver again, especially when her lady wasn't around and she could think a bit more. Maybe then she could remember how he knew her.

The carriage came to an abrupt halt, the horse making a distressed sound. "What is that?" said Lady Jessica irritably. "Keep moving, I wanna go hooooome."

There was no response from the coachman.

"Ugh, I have to do everything myself. Stay here, dear." Lady Jessica stumbled drunkenly out of the carriage.

"Oh, a hunter. How very precious," said her lady, and Emily sat up at attention. "Why don't you come closer, sweet girl. Come closer, that's it. Such a good girl. Such a --"

Silence. Emily strained her ears to hear. Had her lady killed the hunter? Her mind felt so much more clear all of a sudden, as though a fog was lifting.

Footsteps approached the carriage, and the door swung open.

It wasn't her lady. It was a stranger, a woman with a leather vest and weapons strapped all over her body. Emily screamed and backed away, fumbling for the latch of the other door.

"Wait!" The stranger grabbed her wrist. "I'm not going to hurt you. I promise."

Emily tried to comprehend the situation in front of her, and to her surprise, she found that she could. "You're… you're that hunter, aren't you? The hunter who can resist enthrallment?"

"Oh, you've heard of me!" she said with a grin. "My name is Vivian. I'm not going to hurt you. I'm going to rescue you."

"You killed my lady," said Emily numbly. She should feel bad about that. She should cry and rend her hair. But for some reason she felt only a vague sense of relief.

"I did, but I only kill vampires. Never people, and never thralls." The stranger looked her in the eye. "You still have some of your mind left, don't you? I think I can help you."

"Help me…" Thinking felt so much easier than it had just moments ago, but she still felt slow and muddy. "Yes, please help me."

"I will. I'll help you. You're free now."

"I'm free." The word tasted like sunshine.

Previous > Masterlist > Next

Freedom for now.

Next week, everything goes wrong for Fitz.

@d-cs @latenightcupsofcoffee @thecyrulik @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @wanderinggoblin

@whumpyourdamnpears @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @pressedpenn @pigeonwhumps @amusedmuralist

@vampiresprite @irregular-book @whumpsoda @mj-or-say10 @und3ad-mutt

@sowhumpshaped @whumpsday @morning-star-whump @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl

@steh-lar-uh-nuhs @pirefyrelight @theauthorintraining @whump-me-all-night-long @anonfromcanada

@typewrittenfangs @tessellated-sunl1ght @cleverinsidejoke @abirbable @ichorousambrosia

@a-formless-entity @gobbo-king @writinggremlin @the-agency-archives @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi

@enigmawriteswhump @bottlecapreader @whump-on-a-string @whumpinthepot

@cinnamoncandycanes @avvail-whumps @tauntedoctopuses @secret-vampkissers-soiree @whatamidoingherehelpme

@strawbearydreams @ghost-whump @tippytappytyping @natthebatt @fire-bugg14

@fuckcapitalismasshole @slightlydisturbedbeans @paperprinxe @demetercabingreen-thumb @the-broken-pen

@pokemaniacgemini @jumpywhumpywriter @basica11ywhumped @anoontjecanush @cepheusgalaxy

@whump-me-harder

[adventuringblind]

Mr. Blue Sky

Charles Leclerc x Reader x Max Verstappen

Genre: Fluff

Request: Yes, I loved every second of this. Y'all are welcome to send me your own ideas :)

Summary: After Max gets cheated on, he can't stand being in the house where it happened. Reader and Charles take him in and show him he's still loved.

Warnings: cheating

Notes: No hate to Kelly. I just needed this as a plot point.

Fun fact: my mom calls Valentine’s Day ‘legislative love day’ and will only do any remotely related activities on the 15th because she has a point to prove.

Masterlist

The sound of Charles' phone buzzing at an ungodly hour is what you woke up to. The room is still pitch black, and you can hardly make out Charles in the bed.

He rolls over and pucks up the phone. "It's Max." He states. Voice filled with the sleep from which he was dragged.

He answers the phone, and you curl up into him, hoping to listen in. "Max? Are you-"

You can hear faint mumbling and the occasional choked sob on the other end of the line. "Breathe, Max. I'm going to come get you. Can you stay on the phone with me?" Charles is throwing off the covers and looking for his car keys.

You look at Charles for some sort of answer. To which Charles pulls the phone away from his ear and kisses your head. "Kelly cheated. I'm going to go get him."

You nod your head in understanding. You clamber out of bed and see Charles off to the door.

Your grateful that Monte Carlo is a small city and that it doesn’t take long for him to come back. His body shouldering a drunk Max through the door.

Max is no coherent and reeks of alcohol. His eyes are puffy and his cheeks tear stained. His lips tremble as them mutter words neither of you can understand.

Your heart hearts for him. You and Charles had made an effort to be around the Dutch. You both actively became friends with him and found yourselves in each others company often.

And did you both end up falling for the same pair of blue eyes? Yes.

It was actually Charles who brought it up first. You’d never considered the idea of being with more then one person. Then you got to know Max and you found yourself considering more often then you’d admit.

Neither of you knew if Max would ever be into that and neither of you wanted to ask. The possibility of ruining what is currently a good friendship was not on the to-do list. Plus, he had Kelly and P.

You shake of your thoughts and help Charles get Max into the guest bed. You and him do your best at cleaning him up and making him comfortable despite the fact he is less then cooperative.

When you two are finally back in your own bed, Charles sighs in pained defeat. “She cheated on him while he was out with P.”

You cringe in disgust. “Has it been going on long?”

“Apparently so. About four months.” Charles climbs further into the blankets and pulls you into his chest. “He gave her the apartment. He was out late because he didn’t know where to go.”

“We could offer him a place here for the time being.” You suggest. The slightest hint of a smirk playing on your lips.

“Pretty sure you are just wanting to see more of him.” He chuckles. “But yes, I think it’s a good offer until he figures things out.”

“Don’t lie, you stare at him all the time! You’re going to be the one who outs us.”

“Shush amour. I’m exhausted and I know you are also. Now sleep.”

~

The week brings interesting events. Max does take the offer to move in, though he’s been quiet and reserved since he started staying with you. Max, Charles, and Lando went back to, now Kelly’s apartment, to get his stuff.

He comes back into the house crying. His heart shattered and the apartment a mere reminder of the events that occurred.

Your grateful it’s the off season and Max will hopefully have some time to process before the start of the new season. You and Charles don’t push him and give him space when he needs. Though you also invade when you can see he’s spiraling. Desperate attempts at not letting him go into those dark places are often just you being in the same room as him.

~

By the time Christmas rolls around, he’s doing the slightest bit better. He’s been out of the room more and you haven’t had to force him to eat. He decorates the apartment with you and Charles.

It’s disastrous.

The three of you can’t stop laughing at the mess you’ve made of the decor.

The three of you spend Christmas Eve with Charles’ family. Max hadn’t wanted to go home to his less then festive father and Victoria was away with her in-laws.

You obviously weren’t going to leave him alone and Pascale had been thrilled when he said he’d come to dinner.

You could tell he felt awkward and out of place at first, but everyone did their best to make him feel welcome. Soon he was relaxing, sipping on his drink and engaging in conversation.

~

Christmas and new years had gone by to fast. January had now descended and the cold weather had yet to completely let up.

Originally you thought Max would be out by now. That he’d want his own space as soon as possible. It’s not like he couldn’t afford it. Yet he stayed and you and Charles welcomed him in.

Max was seemed like he was healing. His eyes had regained their light. The one they lost those first days of December. He definitely hadn’t moved one though. You and Charles could still hear the soft sniffles from his room at night.

He may be smiling, but he’s still broken hearted.

The most interesting new additions are the cats. The felines that are Max’s children. He would probably murder for his cats and become the next John Wick. There is something wholesome and sweet about his interactions with his pets.

Charles on the other hand has a bad relationship with animals in general. Small felines included. He like them, they just don’t like him back yet. Max has been letting him feed them until they realize he is nice.

You also have learned that you can share meal prep with Max. You’d banned Charles from it after he tried once and failed miserably. Max isn’t the best in the kitchen, but he helps out and cooks some nights.

~

February. The month of love.

Everything around reminds Max of what happened. How he will not be doing anything special for the holiday. He doesn’t even want to go out of the apartment and you and Charles have to drag him to go get fresh air.

The fateful day comes around and you and Charles have agreed to keep it small.

Corny, sweet, and romantic is Charles definition of a good day and treats you accordingly.

You try to get Max to come eat something but end up just leaving it at the door.

Despite what people may think, Max is romantic at heart. Charles learned this last year when the Monegasque asked him if he was doing anything with Kelly for the holiday.

You and Charles are lounging on the sofa with a movie playing in the background. His arm draped around you and mouth pressing silly kisses along your jaw.

“I can feel your worry radiating from here.” Charles stops his kisses and you roll your eyes at him in response.

“He’s not eaten all day and I’ve heard him crying. Just wish I could help is all.”

Charles hums in your ear. “We could see if he wants a distraction.” He punctuates his sentence with a cheeky smile.

“Charles Perceval Leclerc! You can not seriously be suggesting what I think you are.” You playfully bat his arm. “I highly doubt he would neither want that or like that.”

“How about we ask and then go from there.”

“I think you just want him to fuck you.” This time it’s your turn to give a cheeky smile.

~

This is definitely not how you envisioned asking Max about this would go. His teary eyes haven’t looked away from Charles since the pretty male started talking.

This left you in an odd place of trying to read his reactions and getting absolutely nothing.

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to or if you’re not into it. We would completely understand.” Charles laughs but you can tell he’s nervous. His body language betrays him.

Max looks between the two of you like he’s considering something. “You’re telling me you’ve both been crushing on me since last year? And I didn’t notice?”

“You’re very oblivious at times.” You shrug.

“That’s fair but also not the point.” Max stands up out of the bed and starts pacing. “I just don’t understand why me. You two are amazing people and you’re so great together.”

“Y/N has a numbered list of reasons in her phone that we’ve created in case this ever happened.” Charles looks at you expectantly but Your already pulling up the list.

“-please don’t read it I’m already blushing and that will make it worse. Maybe one day but not now.”

All of you freeze at the fact he insinuated a future.

“Does this mean you like us back?” Charles almost purrs. He’s so flirty now but if this goes farther then just a confession tonight he’ll be stuttering and weak in the knees. You know from experience.

Max is the stuttering mess right now however. He’s lost all of his words and is simply gesturing with his hands.

“Breathe Maxy, take your time.” He manages a few and usable to get a grip on his thoughts.

“I’ve to confess something first.” You both look at him expectedly but don’t push him. “The reason Kelly cheated on me is because she’d found a journal of mine. It was a thing my therapist told me to do and so I did. When you two started coming around more, I fell hard. For both of you. I wrote about to hopefully understand myself better and get the thoughts out of my head but they stayed and I hated myself for it. She read it and thought I cheated first so she just did it back.”

He’s in the verge of tears again but you and Charles can only stare I’d utter disbelief. Apparently, both of you are also oblivious.

“Please say something.”

“I think it must be fate.” Again that smirk is tugging at Charles lips.

The air in the room is replaced by a new tension. The kind Charles was originally insinuating before you three started talking.

“So about that proposal then…”

Valentine’s Day definitely couldn’t have ended any better.

[atlabeth]

bad luck - nikolai lantsov

summary: you have little hope after being captured by slavers in the depths of ravka. but then your ship is commandeered, and you get a little more than you bargained for with your privateer savior.

a/n: sorry that it has been a while since ive posted anything on here and sorry about my neglect for my other series but i am a nikolai lover first a writer second and a person third!!! apparently i cannot write a normal length one shot with this man but i hope you enjoy

wc: 5.3k

warning(s): fem!reader, sturmhond!nikolai, reader is captured by slavers but there is no detail, mentions of fighting and killing, mentions of arranged marriages, reader is highkey annoyed by sturmhond lmao, but a fluffy (and lowkey steamy) ending

At first, you’d thought you were hallucinating. 

You couldn’t remember the last time your captors had given you, given anyone in the brig, water, and the beginning of a spiral into insanity wouldn’t have exactly surprised you. 

Explosions, gunshots, the screams of dying men. You’d imagined the entire crew dropping dead many times so it wasn’t a shock that this was where your madness would begin. You just closed your eyes, tried to pretend you weren’t in chains, and reveled in the sound. 

And then the door to the brig was broken down, and your eyes shot open. You moved to the front of your cell, gripping the cold bars as you looked to see what sort of new danger had been brought upon you. 

Instead, you were met with a cocky-looking man—though he hardly appeared old enough to be called a man—a pistol in his relaxed grip and another hanging by his side. His bright teal frock coat didn’t belong in a dingy place such as this. 

“Hello, all,” he said pleasantly. “I am happy to say this ship has been commandeered.”

Your grip slackened. “What?”

Your question was drowned out by immediate rioting by all the other prisoners, and the man glanced at the woman by his side. She took one of her two axes from its place at her hip and walked over to your cell. Her golden eyes gleamed, and her axe moved in a barely visible flash. She’d chopped the lock clean off, and the cell door creaked open. The whole brig had fallen silent. 

You took another step back, eyes still wide. The man walked up next to her, peering inside your cell at all the prisoners bunched in together, but when his eyes met yours, they widened. His entire body went rigid for a moment, so imperceptible that you thought you’d imagined it when he looked away. 

“I have no desire to keep you all here against your will,” he said. “Call me your liberator, call me your savior, call me a captain who just hates slavers—it doesn’t matter to me right now. The only thing that matters to me right now is that this is my ship.”

“Are we free?” you asked.

Again, the captain’s expression changed ever so slightly when he looked at you—this time, you knew you hadn’t imagined it. 

“Yes,” he said, the corner of his mouth turning up in a slight smile. “You’re free.”

You couldn’t help but smile yourself, and the chains around your wrists felt lighter knowing they would be off soon.

The captain cleared his throat as he turned away, looking at the rest of the prisoners. “Now, do any of you know where they keep the keys on this ship? If we can’t find them, Tamar here will use those handy axes on your shackles.”

Someone spoke up and the captain sent one of his men off to retrieve them, then he looked at the golden-eyed woman. Shu, no doubt. “Tamar, get the rest of these cells open then bring them above deck. I’d like to make a speech.”

She nodded and got to work. Soon enough, you were breathing in salty air and reveling in the wind on your face. You’d been below deck for far too long, and the feeling of sunlight on your skin was glorious. You allowed yourself a moment to close your eyes and just enjoy it. Your mind blocked out the spilled blood and dead bodies of the crew that you had to walk through. You wouldn’t shed any tears for them, but you weren’t accustomed to the brutality that your parents sheltered you from. 

“I’d like to introduce myself to you all.” You opened your eyes and the captain was speaking, standing in front of the orderly line you’d all formed. The Shu woman from before—Tamar, he called her—stood at his left, and a similarly golden-eyed man had just joined them. Between his size and her axes, you were quite thankful they were—at least for now—on your side. 

“You can call me Sturmhond,” he said. “Perhaps you’ve heard of me, perhaps you haven’t. I don’t particularly care. As you likely saw, each and every man and woman previously aboard this ship is dead, in case you doubted my promises to your freedom. That is what I care about.” 

The thought would have normally made bile rise in your throat. You may not have been accustomed, but you liked to believe you weren’t wholly naive. 

“But I want to be clear,” the captain said, “this is not a rescue. This is an opportunity.” 

Sturmhond gestured with his head and a woman stepped forward, lithe with wispy hair divided into two braids. She moved her hands apart and concentrated, and with a few concise movements, the cuffs around your wrists broke apart and fell to the ground. Your eyes widened, and the exacerbated clatter made you glance down the line, same as some of the others—she removed everyone’s shackles at once. 

Sturmhond kept company with Grisha. You knew the captain was Ravkan from his accent, but any connection to the Grand Palace and the King sent unease trickling down your spine. The chances were small, what with how much time Grisha spent in the Little Palace—Saints, the Fabrikator might not even be Ravkan—but there was still a chance. The last thing you needed was to be recognized. 

“We didn’t really need the keys,” Sturmhond said with a boyish smile. Again, you were struck by how out of place he looked—he should have been in university, not heading operations like this. “I just wanted to make you all squirm a little. Tamar’s axes are quite terrifying.” 

“Who says we want any part of your opportunities?” asked a man from down the line. 

“Because I’m allowing you the choice,” the captain said. “Those of you who wish to be free of the sea and her constraints, we are by the Zemeni border. You will be dropped at the nearest harbor, and your fate will be back in your control.”

There were grumblings throughout your fellow prisoners and you glanced at them. It was a better offer than any of you would have gotten, a chance for freedom that you thought was long past you. Novyi Zem had no grief with Ravka, so you would be safe enough there. You could get a job working the fields or in a factory, and once you had enough you could book passage back to Ravka. You could find your family again. 

Your throat tightened. You ran from them—that was why you were here in the first place. Maybe it would be better to try and start a new life all together, nameless in Novyi Zem. No one would ask questions, you were sure of it. You would be in control of your fate again. 

And then the captain got a glint in his eye. Your spine straightened almost on instinct. 

“As for those of you who want revenge,” he tilted his head, “you can earn a place in my crew.” 

“Why would we work for you?” a woman from across the brig shouted. “We’ve got our freedom!” 

“Because there is little more satisfying than causing the destruction of those who tried to destroy you,” Sturmhond said. “And because the sea is rather lovely when you’re not a captive.” 

“That is my opportunity to you all.” He clasped his hands together, the wind ruffling his red hair. “A chance to help those like you, and put slavers at the bottom of the ocean where they belong.” 

“Why would we want to work with pirates?” you spoke up. “We have lives to get back to. And half of us aren’t fighters.” 

You didn’t know what it was about you that made Sturmhond’s expression shift just so each time he looked at you, but it was beginning to irk you. 

“Privateer, actually,” he corrected. His voice was annoyingly smooth, and his unyielding confidence even more irritating. “As I said, it’s your choice. And it will take us three days to reach Novyi Zem, so you will have time to decide.” 

You huffed a laugh, but decided to stay silent. You’d dealt with too many men like him, but it wasn’t a bother—in three days, you would be back in the same position you were in before your bad luck struck. 

“Now,” the captain said with an equally smooth smile, folding his hands behind his back, “any questions?”

Nobody spoke up. Whether it was out of fear or simple ambivalence you didn’t know, but you didn’t feel like getting on the captain’s bad side. You planned to keep your head down for three days and figure it all out in Novyi Zem. 

“Wonderful. We’ll divide our forces between this ship and the Volkvolny,” he said. “Any of you who wish to transfer ships will be allowed.” His lip curled as he looked around the dingy conditions of the slaver ship. “I doubt you want to spend much more time on board this wreck.”

“Some of my crew will get you situated as we prepare to set sail,” Sturmhond continued. “If you find you have any burning questions later, save them or direct them to Tolya here.” He gestured to the Shu man as tall as a tree standing by him, and he only looked slightly irritated to be given up like that. 

“I suppose the only thing left to do is officially welcome you aboard.” Sturmhond swept an arm through the air. “I hope you’ve all earned your sea legs.”

He walked off, Tolya and Tamar following him. They must’ve been his first mates—you were immensely glad they weren’t against you, what with his size and her axes.  

But as he did, you couldn’t help but stare. The strangest feeling had come over you during his speech, one that was exacerbated every time he passed the slightest glance at you, every time his expression changed. He was just… unnatural. Unsettling.

You allowed yourself a deep breath and shook your head, trying to focus on the crewmember that was speaking to you all. You didn’t care if he was unnatural or unsettling—you would be gone in three days. 

All you had to do was keep your head down. 

-

Sleep wasn’t easy after the day you’d had, but your tired limbs won out after an hour or so of staring at the ceiling. The cot you’d been assigned wasn’t much for comfort, but it might as well have been the plushest mattress you’d ever felt after what you’d been sleeping on before.

You slowly opened your eyes, your grogginess fighting against you at every step, because you had the dimmest feeling that something was wrong. When you saw golden eyes above you, you nearly screamed.

You thankfully held it in, but you could feel your heart hammering in your chest. 

“What are you doing here?” you whispered.

“Sturmhond wishes to speak to you,” Tamar said, wholly unfazed as if she did this all the time. She probably did. 

“Why?” 

“My job isn’t to ask questions,” Tamar said. She left it at that, and you sighed as you pulled yourself out of the hammock. You followed her, squinting in an attempt not to bump into anything in the darkness. The Volkvolny wasn’t familiar to you yet, but it was easier once you were above deck. You rubbed the grogginess out of your eyes when she opened the door to the captain’s quarters for you. 

She didn’t follow you in, and you didn’t know whether it was a relief or not. 

“Ah. You’re here.” Sturmhond turned around from a cabinet, holding a bottle of kvas, a slight smile on his lips. “Drink?” 

“You didn’t just invite me here for a nightcap,” you said placidly, “did you?” 

“Of course not,” he said. “I thought it would remind you of home.” 

You frowned. “You’re Ravkan. Who’s to say I am too?” 

“How did you know I was Ravkan?” 

“Your accent.” 

“Then how do you think I knew you were Ravkan?” 

“Maybe I will need a drink,” you said bitterly. “It’s the only way I think I can keep dealing with you.” 

Sturmhond sighed as he poured a fair amount into two cups. “Such harsh words for a noble girl. Quite a stroke of bad luck for the daughter of a duke to end up on a slaver’s ship.” 

“Who’s to say I’m the daughter of a duke?” you asked. 

He arched an eyebrow. “Do you really want to keep playing this game?” 

You crossed your arms in response, and he shook his head with a chuckle. 

“An accent gives quite a bit away,” Sturmhond said. “It’s also obvious to anyone that looks at you—and I assume you have quite a few admirers. You speak Ravkan like a princess, like you were taught in schools rather than the streets. You have a gleam in your eye that says you still have hope. And,” he looked you up and down, “you carry yourself with confidence despite your position. Not the attitude of a girl on the other side of the ditch.” 

Your lip curled. “How astute of you.” 

“Thank you,” he said with a smile. 

“Born and raised in Os Alta,” you acquiesced. You offered a thin smile of your own back. “And I suppose you’re correct. Bad luck seems to follow me as of late.”

“You wound me,” he said, pressing a hand to his chest. “Are you claiming that my rescuing you is a continuation of your bad luck?”

“I thought you said this wasn’t a rescue, captain.”

“Sturmhond,” he said.

Your lips twitched in a momentary smile. “I thought you said this wasn’t a rescue, Sturmhond.”

“It isn’t,” he agreed, taking a sip of kvas, “it’s an opportunity. I’m just curious of what drove your choice.” 

You crossed your arms. “Strange of a pirate to be so curious about a prisoner.” 

“Privateer,” Sturmhond corrected, “and you’re no longer a prisoner.”

“My point still stands,” you said wryly. 

“Is it wrong of me to be curious?” he asked. 

“It’s pointless,” you said. “And if you’re done with your little interrogation, I’d like to get back to sleep.” 

“I’m not here to be your enemy.” He sat up, taking another sip of his drink. “Surely you understand that.”

“I understand it perfectly well,” you said. “I just don’t see why you care.”

“Fine,” he amended, “I’ll let you be. Just one more question.” Sturmhond sat up in his chair, leaning forward as he looked you straight in the eye. His were the strangest shade of green. “Why did you run?” 

You actually recoiled at his question, your reflex winning over any desire to hold back your emotions. “Excuse me?” 

He didn’t waver. “I thought my question was quite clear.”  

You picked up the cup he’d poured for you and threw it back. The kvas burned your throat—your tolerance never was all that—but it didn’t make much difference with the scowl already on your face. 

“You don’t get to ask me questions, pirate.” 

“Privateer,” you heard him correct, and it only made you slam the door harder on your way out. 

-

Three days of keeping your head down should have been easy. Sturmhond, however, appeared to have a different agenda. 

He ignored you for the entire next day, but that night, Tamar was waiting for you before you could even get to the barracks. 

“Seriously?” you asked. “Did he not get my message clearly enough last night?”

She shrugged. “He just asked to see you again. I don’t know why.”

You sighed and made an offhanded gesture. “Fine. Let’s go.”

You opened the door yourself this time when she got you there, not even bothering to shut it as you stared at Sturmhond.

“What are you playing at?” you demanded. 

“Good evening to you as well,” he said. “How did you sleep?”

“What are you playing at,” you repeated flatly. 

“I’m not playing at anything,” he said. “Is it a crime to enjoy your company?” 

Your jaw ticked, and your hands clenched into fists. “If you’re after what I—”

“I’m not after anything,” he assured with a frown, “and certainly not what you’re thinking.”

His interruption peeved you, but you found that you actually believed him. The tension eased from your shoulders ever so slightly.

“…Good,” you said after a moment. “But I still don’t understand the need for these meetings. I plan to be gone by tomorrow.”

“Because I know you,” he said. “You may not know me, but I consider myself generally knowledgeable of Ravka and its upper class.”

“What,” you said wryly, “do you want my advice on how best to rob them?”

“Of course not,” Sturmhond said. “I wouldn’t need your advice for that.”

You huffed a laugh. “So what do you want?”

“I’ve been at sea for quite some time,” he said, “and you’ve only just left Ravka. I’d very much appreciate it if you could share some of your insider knowledge on the Lantsovs.”

“You assume I have any.”

“I assume that the woman who used to be Nikolai Lantsov’s betrothed would have some,” Sturmhond replied smoothly.

Your heart stuttered for a beat at the mention of Nikolai. Any doubt Sturmhond might have had over his claim had to have dissolved with your expression. 

He arched an eyebrow. “Well?”

You allowed yourself a deep breath before you finally took the seat across from him.

“Fine,” you said. “You’ve got me. I’m the daughter of a Ravkan duke and I used to be engaged to a Lantsov prince. Did you just want to prove your knowledge?”

“Not at all.” Sturmhond wisely poured an additional glass—brandy rather than kvas, thankfully. You needed something stronger if you were to deal with this. “I want your knowledge.” 

“My being betrothed to Nikolai is why I don’t know as much as you think,” you said. You downed half the glass at once and your chest burned less than the memory. “Nikolai and I were to be wed when we were of age, yes, but he disappeared before I got the chance.”

“Disappeared?”

You nodded. “He was meant to come back after his service so we could prepare for the wedding. Instead,” your lips curled in a disdainful smile, “he up and left. The king broke off our engagement and I haven’t heard a word from Nikolai since.”

Sturmhond frowned. “My deepest apologies.”

You shrugged. “He made his choice. Apparently he’s in Ketterdam studying, but I very much doubt that. He was never good at sitting still. But wherever he is, I hope he’s still alive.” You huffed a laugh. “I cannot imagine Vasily taking the throne.”

“I’m sure he is still alive,” Sturmhond said. “And I’m sure he hasn’t forgotten you.”

“How kind of you,” you said dryly.

He was silent for a long moment before he spoke again. “You say you plan to be gone by tomorrow. Does your plan include returning to Ravka?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “But I ran from my family and my fate, and that’s why I ended up here. I don’t think I can go back just yet.”

“And what fate did you run from?” Sturmhond asked.

“A marriage I didn’t want,” you said plainly.

“As opposed to the marriage you did want.”

“Are we done here?” you asked. “Because I don’t think you need to know more of my personal life.”

Sturmhond smiled after a moment and nodded. “Yes. But I’d like to see you one more time tomorrow, before we officially part ways.”

“You’re not going to change my mind,” you said.

“And I don’t intend to. There’s just one last thing I wish to share with you.”

“And you can’t do that now?” you asked wryly.

“Patience is a virtue, darling.”

“Don’t call me that.”

He held up his hands. “Enjoy the rest of your night.”

“You’re very strange for a pirate,” you said.

“I’m quite normal for a privateer,” Sturmhond said.

You huffed a laugh and shook your head as you stood. “Enjoy the rest of your night, privateer.”

You felt his eyes on you as you left, and now more than ever you couldn’t shake that feeling. You looked at Tamar as you shut the door. 

“How long have you been part of his crew?”

“A few years,” she said.

“Do you ever get used to him?”

Her lips quirked into a smile. “No.”

You sighed as the two of you started to walk. “What a surprise.”

-

You were at Sturmhond’s door the next afternoon, Tamar by your side. She hadn’t come to deliver you, but on your way there she told you she would be joining you. You certainly weren’t going to refuse her.

As usual, you didn’t bother to knock. As usual, Sturmhond was sitting at his desk. Tamar followed you in and shut the door, not as usual. Your brows knit together slightly. 

“You actually came,” he said.

“Consider me intrigued,” you said. “I couldn’t just walk off and never know what you wanted to ‘share with me’.” 

The corner of his mouth curled up into an achingly familiar smile. “You’re just as fiery as I remember.”

“We just met,” you said dryly.

“On the contrary.” Sturmhond sat up, and he removed his jacket. A metal pin glinted on his vest, a crowned double eagle. The Lantsov coat of arms. Your frown deepened. “You spent the other day describing our lost time together.”

“I’m…” you blinked and shook your head. “I don’t understand.”

“I’m Nikolai Lantsov,” he said. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t make me say all my titles, though.” 

For a moment, you just stared at him. And then you laughed in complete disbelief. 

“Is that what this is? You consider me a fool?”

“On the contrary,” he repeated. “It is because of your intelligence that I deigned to reveal myself.” He offered a wry smile. “And because you don’t hate me the way you should.”

“You cannot just say something so absurd and expect to believe it,” you said. “Anyone can rummage up a coat of arms. I have not heard and or received a single word from Nikolai, and now I am supposed to believe that he is right in front of me?”

“It sounds absurd when you put it like that,” Sturmhond said with a frown. 

“Because it is absurd,” you enunciated. “I actually thank you for this, because now I know I’m making the correct choice. You may be a good captain, but you are a complete blackguard.” 

You turned and offered a tight smile to Tamar. “Please move. I’d like to leave.” 

“He speaks the truth,” Tamar said. “I promise you. He’s Nikolai Lantsov. My brother tailored him into Sturmhond at the beginning of all this, when we joined his crew. ” 

You paused and looked back at the pirate claiming to be the man you loved. “What?” 

“Nikolai Lantsov is much more valuable as a hostage on the seas,” he said. “No one spares a second glance at Sturmhond.” 

“Then change him back,” you said, looking back at Tamar. “Get your brother and make him change him back if you want even the slightest chance of me believing these lies.” 

“They are not lies,” she insisted. “And I’m not the best tailor.” 

“You’re both Grisha,” you said flatly. 

“Heartrenders,” Sturmhond (Nikolai?) supplied. “My most trusted crew. Come on, Tamar— I believe in you. Work your magic.” 

She rolled her eyes as she walked over to him, and though your immediate instinct was to take the exit you’d been given, you crossed your arms and waited as she did her work. It didn’t take long for his muddy green eyes to change to hazel, his red hair to blonde. A slightly less broken nose. 

He… he looked like the Nikolai you knew. It was staggering to just be standing across from him—or at least a mirror image of him—after so long apart. Older, more weathered, but with the same glint in his eye. The same glint that you looked forward to with each day, the glint that you remembered when you didn’t have him anymore. 

“That doesn’t mean much,” you finally said, glancing away. “If you can tailor him into Sturmhond, surely you can tailor him into a Lantsov.” 

“You overestimate my tailoring abilities,” Tamar said dryly. 

“I still don’t trust it,” you said, and you started again for the door. 

“When we were seven, I convinced you to sneak out of our etiquette lessons and go down to the river,” he suddenly said. Your hand froze on the door. “You scraped yourself on a particularly sharp rock while we were traversing the waters—you still have the scar on your ankle.”

You turned around. “How do you know that?” 

“My father held a party and your family attended,” he continued. “We were ten and it was the most boring night possible. We evaded our parents’ attention and snuck off to the kitchens.” He smiled. “I don’t think I’ve ever had so many pastries in my life.” 

A smile of your own, almost subconscious, began to form on your lips. You hadn’t thought of that party in years. 

“And when I was fifteen, the year before I enlisted, I did the worst thing I could have done to your father.” He chuckled and shook his head. “I took one of his prized swords and did all sorts of moves trying to impress you—I only managed to dent it and get banned from your home for months.” 

“I can’t believe you remember that,” you murmured. 

“And…” he sighed and opened his drawer, rummaging around for a moment. He held a ring between his fingers when he emerged, and your heart stopped beating for a second. “I still have this.” 

Your hand was shaking when you reached beneath your collar and took hold of the string around your neck. You pulled it into view, and the ring hanging on the bottom glinted in the light. 

Your engagement rings still matched perfectly. 

Nikolai’s smile was bright as you remembered as the realization hit. “And you still have yours.” 

“Of course I do,” you said. “It was a lot of work to keep it in my possession.” 

“I’m glad you went through it, then.”

“It really is you,” you whispered, letting your makeshift necklace fall back against your skin. “I— I just don’t understand. Why are you here? Why are you playing pretend as a pirate?” 

“Privateer,” he corrected. He glanced over at Tamar, still holding her post. “Could you give us a moment alone?” 

She nodded and left, shutting the door behind her. The room felt smaller with just you and Nikolai in it, with the man you were meant to marry who left you in the past. 

“I do this because I can do much more to help Ravka from the seas as Sturmhond than gallivanting around court as a second son—a bastard son at that. My parents appreciate Sturmhond much more than they would Prince Nikolai.” 

“I appreciated Prince Nikolai,” you said. “I appreciated just Nikolai. You could have at least sent a letter.” 

“I know,” Nikolai said. To his credit, he did look mournful. “If there is one thing I regret about all of this, it is how I left you. I said what I said the other day because it’s true—I have not forgotten you. I never did.” 

“Then why go through all of this with me?” you asked. “Why annoy me into spending time with you?” 

“Because I’ve always been quite good at annoying you,” Nikolai said wryly, then his expression sobered. “And because… I didn’t know how you would feel about me after all this time. Everything you said yesterday was true—I did leave you, and I haven’t said a word to you since. I wouldn’t be surprised if you hated me, and if you did, I didn’t want to force myself back into your life.” He managed another small smile. “Fortunately for me, you did not hate me.” 

“I could never hate you, Nikolai,” you murmured. “I— I loved you. For a long time, and I think I still might.” 

“Even more fortunate for me,” he said softly. 

“So why didn’t you come back?” you asked. 

“I…” he sighed, running a hand through his hair. Still cut in a military style. “You talked about how you despised your parents for forcing you into a marriage at such a young age. I didn’t want to force you into a life with me. If I had known you—” he chuckled, a boyish smile on his lips— “if I had known you loved me, I don’t know if Sturmhond would have ever come into fruition.” 

“You are the reason I was here,” you said. “My parents thought they struck gold when the king agreed to a marriage between us. I thought I had struck gold as well, in you—a marriage my parents wanted couldn’t have been all bad if you were meant to be my husband. But you left that in the dust, and they still wanted a husband for me.” 

“A marriage you didn’t want,” he echoed, his eyes soft. 

You nodded. “They did all the work behind the scenes—I was going to meet him on our wedding day, some Kerch banker’s son. And I just… couldn’t face a life like that. So I ran. And with all the luck in the world—” you gestured lazily— “I ended up here.”

“Then I suppose it’s only fair that I ended up rescuing you,” Nikolai said. 

“I thought this wasn’t a rescue,” you said wryly. 

He chuckled and shook his head. “No. It’s still an opportunity— one I think you’ll like much more.” 

You arched an eyebrow. “Oh?” 

“I plan to go back and take the throne someday,” Nikolai said, moving around his desk to be closer to you. “But I don’t want to miss another moment with you, not now. So until then,” he took your hand, encasing it between his own, and the warmth it provided was something you’d sorely missed, “will you do me the honor of sailing by my side?” 

“I’m not a sailor,” you said with a breathy laugh. 

“I can teach you,” he said eagerly. “I can teach you everything I know until you’re a better privateer than me. And you can teach me everything I’ve missed while being at sea—all the noble things I ought to know for when I return home.” 

Your lips quirked in a smile, hardly able to contain the giddiness bursting in your chest. Your life went from destruction at the hands of slavers to renewal with Nikolai Lantsov by your side once more. 

“How can I refuse?” 

Nikolai grinned, and he tugged on your intertwined hands to pull you into a kiss. It wasn’t the first one you’d shared, but it was surely the best. It felt like a promise of something new—the promise that he wouldn’t let you go like he did before. 

You were breathless when you pulled away, and the sight of Nikolai, blonde hair slightly ruffled because of you, his lips slightly red because of you, made you kiss him even harder the second time. 

Your back hit the side of his desk and Nikolai was practically on top of you, seven years of lost love pouring through him all at once. 

“And if it wasn’t clear,” Nikolai murmured between kisses, “I never stopped loving you for one moment.” 

You groaned and pulled him even closer, your hands clenched tight around the fabric of his jacket. “You wear too many clothes.” 

“Then fix it.” His voice was sultry in your ear and you didn’t know how you went seven years without him. 

You were very thankful that he asked Tamar to leave. 

[samkerrworshipper]

Lucy x reader riding her thigh or abs pls 😩😅😅

euro champs and abs | lucy Bronze x reader

warnings: smut, fluff, ab riding, MINORS DNI 18+

part 2 / aftercare <- just for my fluff girlies 😘

“If you win the Euro’s I’ll let you have me, however you want, for however long you want, doing whatever you want.”

They were the famous last words that I’d given to Lucy before her game, motivation, because for her I knew there was absolutely no better motivation than sex. She was a fucking horny little bitch, always and I used it to my advantage, often, it was the perfect form of bribery.

What I hadn’t expected when they won was for Lucy to cash in on that so soon, we’d been downstairs out with the team for hardly two hours when she approached me. I’d been sitting with Tooney and Less, the babies of the group who were apparently massive lightweights because they were both slurring their words as they tried to crack jokes that were completely incoherent.

“I think it’s about time that we gave me my prize, hm?”

I shivered as Lucy’s breath and voice brushed against my neck, slightly thicker with the alcohol that I knew she’d consumed. I turned my head towards her, so I could get a proper look. She was still in her playing uniform, as were the majority of the girls. She wasn’t drunk but she was definitely a few drinks in, Lucy could handle her alcohol concerningly well, in fact she’d drunken most of our friends under the table, bar the Aussies and Irish who nobody could come close to, there was something different in their blood, I was sure of it.

“If that’s what you want my girl.”

Lucy smirked at me and nodded and there wasn’t a single part of me that could deny her, there wasn’t a bone in my body capable of doing so. So I said my goodbyes to the two youngsters before taking a final swig of what was left in my glass and following Lucy out of the room and back to our hotel room.

Almost as soon as we got through the door her lips were on mine, capturing them in a bruisingly deep kiss that sent shivers down my back all the way to my toes. She was pulling me by my belt into her and everything about it was so fucking perfect. Once she was satisfied I was close enough to her body she started to undo my belt, she struggled for a few seconds before getting it off and dropping it to the floor. Lucy’s lips were hot, nibbling along my jaw and lips in the softest way I knew she was capable of, her eyes were on my own, the big orbs staring directly into mine as she started to undress me slowly. We were both breathing heavily, gasps leaving both of our lips every few seconds. Lucy was whispering I love you against my lips as many times as she could, and it had me practically shaking in my jeans.

“What do you want my love?”

Lucy’s hands were currently occupied with my jeans, struggling to pull the zipper off.

“Want you to ride my abs.”

I couldn’t breathe, I swore Lucy had actually taken the air from my lungs and just as I was about to choke on my own breath Lucy’s thumb was on my lower lip, looking to me for an answer.

“Only if you want to.”

Lucy’s hands were back at my jeans, having worked out the zipper she was now pulling the denim down over my thighs and ass, letting them pool on the floor and helping me step out of them.

“Yes, Yes, a thousand times yes.”

Lucy smirked at me, replacing her thumb with her lips and catching me in another painfully good kiss that had her hands tangled in my hair, smashing our teeth and lips together. When she finally pulled away her face was flushed and my hair was a distraught mess, neither of us cared though, why would we. She was a European champion and I was her fiance, life could not be better. Next thing I knew she was picking me up and I was wrapping my legs around her, attaching my lips to her neck whilst she moved us over to the bed and sat herself down before leaning herself down so she was lying against the pillows and I was straddling her hips.

I continued to sloppily kiss at Lucy’s neck, making very faint marks as I moved my way along, until she was pulling my head back gently with her hand secured around my hair.

“Those panties are so sexy, baby, but I think they would look far sexier in the pile on the floor. They're not doing much now anyways, you’ve already soaked through them.”

I nodded eagerly at Lucy, lifting my hips up so she could slide the items off of my hips and down my legs, leaving my bottom half naked and resting securely on her still clothed hips.

“I think you’re overdressed as well sweetheart.”

Lucy nodded at me, making quick work of lifting the both of us up and slipping her shorts and boxers off and then quickly lifting her shirt over her head to reveal her six pack to me, glistening in the light of our hotel room and leaving her equally bare as me.

“Better?”

I replied to her by pressing my lips back on her own, taking her bottom lip in my teeth and biting down enough to earn a little squeal from her.

“Why don’t you show me how well you can get yourself off on my abs baby?”

I swore once again that as the words were murmured against my lips that once again the oxygen was taken from my lungs. I removed my mouth delicately from Lucy’s and moved myself up from her hips, lifting myself up and setting myself back down onto her abs that I loved so much. I would be lying if I said I hadn’t fantasised about this somewhere along the way, I mean there was something so fucking delectable about the muscles that adorned her torso.

As soon as I sat myself down on them I could feel every single detail of them under me, I didn’t even have to move to feel the friction of her muscles tensing and simply existing below me. Lucy pressed her lips to my hips, pressing a delicate kiss to each hip bone before looking up at me, her eyes were full of list and seduction, everything that made me giddy on the inside.

“C’mon baby, make me proud.”

Her words of encouragement and her hands securing themselves on my waist were enough to guide me to start moving and almost immediately I was a moaning mess. The feeling of her skin and her slightly soft but also rock hard muscles underneath my clit and pussy was electric. Lucy’s hands on my hips, gripping down on the places she’d just kissed and was now bruising also adding to the pleasure that was building up in my stomach. I was coating Lucy’s whole torso in my juices and adding to experience as I continued to rub myself up and down her curves and edges, finding the spots that felt the best and rubbing myself up against those particular spots with a little bit more energy behind my hips. Slowing pushing myself towards the edge as I pushed my clit up and down the hard muscles that felt like a fucking dream against my sensitive nub. I knew Lucy could feel that I was getting close, my body giving me away as my thighs and pussy clenched against her skin as my body clung to her skin searching for more, searching for a release.

“Let go baby, I know you can do it, let go for me.”

As soon as the words left her mouth I was plummeting over a cliff of pleasure, my body spasming on top of Lucy's hips, mine jerking against hers which left me an oversensitive whimpering mess until Lucy lifted me off of her body and set me down next to her on the bed. It took me a few seconds before the orgasm finally ridded itself of my body and I was left in the post-orgasmic bliss, Lucy’s arms lazily wrapped around my torso.

“How about you clean up the mess you’ve made and then we go for round two?”

I was very happy to clean up the mess I’d made, leaning down to lick my way up between the valley of her muscles, flattening my tongue out against her muscles to lick up the mess that I’d made all over her. It was filthy and dirty and everything that I loved about sex with Lucy. I kept going, revelling in the sounds that I was making Lucy produce. Normally we would have tried to be quieter, considering that we were staying at a hotel with her teammates but they’d just won the fucking Euro’s and I could guarantee that all of the girls were most likely getting laid tonight but someone.

Once I was done I reached up to press my lips to Lucy’s, letting her taste me, she smirked devilishly against my lips, her tongue reaching into my own mouth to lick up whatever she could find, ravaging my mouth until she had tasted every inch that she could.

“So, round two?”

[tomriddlehyperfixataion]

Rumor has it - Tom Riddle x reader - Part 1/2

...i-i dont even know, enjoy this fic that I've been giggling and kicking my feet over Afab reader, has a last name, she/her reader

=

There was a rumor going about school-that apparently had started from a Slughorn party-after party. It was quite outlandish-many didn’t believe it-others hoped it was true and they were the one involved in it.

What was that rumor? Tom Riddle had a crush.

Who was he crushing on? No one knew, all anyone got out of him was the word ‘yes’ when asked if he liked anyone during truth or drink. It had been the first time anyone had seen him blush-his pale cheeks and ears during apple red, his cheeks puffed slightly as he sunk into his chair and sipped at his butterbeer.

Many wondered who started this rumor, and if it was true or not; because Tom had never shown any interest in romance before-boy or girl. He had flirted once or twice-then usually abandoned that tactic when he got what he wanted-which garnered him a playboy title. He really wasn’t; a playboy by definition was someone who didn’t care for personal feelings and had many sexual relationships.

Tom didn’t care for sexual relationships, before now(as the rumor suggested) he hadn’t even had a crush before.

The great hall was a mess of voices, many of them whispering about the rumor and Tom felt eyes on him as he tried to study. It was bloody study hour after all-that usually meant ‘be quiet’ or at least be respectful to those who are trying to study.

“Who do you think it is?” one voice whispered from the Ravenclaw table-which right now had several Slytherin and Hufflepuff sitting at it-since house tables were really only assigned during dinner. “I dunno, I know Olive Hornby hopes it’s her heh-did you see her face when she first heard the rumor?”

“yeah, her eyes lit up like Christmas had come early,”

Tom sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose-heavily regretting not taking a shot when he had been asked that question during the after-party. He had thought-possibly, maybe, it wouldn’t spread about. He had thought what happened at a party-stayed at a party. But he had been wrong, and now his secret was out and being spread like wildfire.

Yes-Tom Riddle had a crush, and he had had it since 4th year. Who? He would never tell; he had hardly admitted it to himself this past summer when he realized why this particular person plagued his thoughts like no other had before-they had even overtaken the chamber and horcruxes in his mind.

Tom was 16 years old, and dealing with liking someone for the first time.

He detested it(he didn’t), he just wanted them to disappear from his mind and life and never have to think of them again(a lie, he wanted nothing but to be around them all the time).

“Honestly, you’d think Tom Riddle is the only boy in existence with how they talk about him,” Tom glanced up from his potions work, seeing Viktoria Klopstock arm In arm with (y/n) Alexander; the two talking about the rumor swirling through the school. (y/n) snorted at Viktoria’s quip and shook her head, catching Tom’s eye for a split moment and smiling at him like she always did.

Tom couldn’t help but stare.

“Well, he is the heartthrob of the school, or did you not say that only a few months ago?” (y/n) teased back, laughing as Viktoria sputtered and glared at (y/n) with flushed cheeks, her pale complexion stark against her dark brown hair. “You-I was simply making an observation!“ (y/n) just hummed in response to Viktoria’s sputter, sitting down with their other friends, Walter Deville and Lucy Billington, and laughing as Viktoria attempted to defend herself over her past comments on Tom.

“Keep telling yourself that Viv, we all know you fancy him,” (y/n) teased and Viktoria just kissed Walter in protest, who chuckled and shook his head, brushing back his dark curly hair. (y/n) tossed her head back while she laughed and Lucy shook her head at her friends, returning her attention to her divination book.

Tom tore his eyes away when (y/n) glanced back at him, swallowing harshly against the dryness of his throat.

Yeah, Tom Riddle had a crush all right, and no one would ever know who it was.

But…

Tom glanced back up-seeing (y/n) still looking at him, seemingly lost in thought and Tom had to look away as he felt heat buildup in the tip of his ears.

He had a feeling it wouldn’t stay a secret for long.

-

“Hey Tom!” Tom forced himself to stay perfectly calm as he turned on his heel to face (y/n), who was walking up to him with her broom in hand-clad in her Slytherin quidditch uniform. “Alexander,” Tom greeted, mentally patting himself on the back as he forced down the waver of his voice. “is there something you need?”

(y/n) shook her head, just smiling, a strand of her hair falling into her eyes. “Not really, just wanted to know if you’ll be at the game this Saturday?” Tom shrugged, he had never been one for quidditch, it was a brutal game that always resulted in pointless injuries. But when he looked at (y/n), who seemed so excited at the prospect of him being at that game(her first game actually, a chaser had gotten injured and she was finally coming off the bench after being on the team for a year), he caved.

“I’ll be there,” Tom said instead of saying he was going to be busy, and (y/n) beamed. Tom couldn’t help the flutter of his chest at the sight of it, meant for him. “what time? I’ve never been to a match, not since first year anyway,” Tom asked and (y/n) happily told him what time the match was, it was Slytherin against Ravenclaw, and he nodded, taking a step back as she went off to practice, giving him one last grin.

“Oh I’m so doomed,” Tom breathed, feeling that now familiar heat travel to his cheeks and ears, catching a glimpse of his apple-red face in the reflective glass of a window. “so doomed.”

To this day-he had trouble figuring out why he was attracted to (y/n), it wasn’t as if she had come out of nowhere, they were in the same year, and same house-and she was a high-class halfblood(pureblood father and halfblood mother), from one of the richest families in the uk-right behind her friends, Deville being the richest of the four.

Tom had noticed her from the start really, while he was walking down the cars of Hogwarts Express, seeing her with her three friends laughing away with her head in Deville’s lap, a chocolate frog in hand. She had seen him and smiled, waving at him shyly.

Tom had just blinked-the socially awkward child he had been-and carefully waved back, then continued down to find an empty car.

Then she just kept showing up, sitting next to him in class, being partnered with him in assignments; always smiling at him and greeting him with a wave. Tom simply got used to her, almost began expecting her really, she was probably the only person in Hogwarts that didn’t annoy him to all hell just by existing.

He supposed that’s how she slipped through the cracks-by not being one of the several banes of his existence.

But then the calm expectancy became heat rushing to his face when she sat down with him in the library to study, butterflies in his chest and gut when she glanced at him, trembling hands when she smiled at him, sharp intakes of breath when her hand rested on his shoulder to pass by him in a busy hall.

Tom was utterly infatuated with her and he had no idea how to handle it, but he dreaded the idea of disappointing her(agreeing to come to a stupid game just so she would be happy), felt the burning pit of jealousy in his gut when someone got far too close to only want friendship(he had never wanted to fist fight someone before then), and had the desperate need to just-hold her hand.

He had never wanted to hold anyone’s hand before.

But then he wanted to be around her all the time, just to stare at her freely, curl his fingers into her hair, touch her lips with his thumb, and bring her into a kiss.

Tom groaned at the thoughts going through his mind, his face burning against his palms as he rubbed his eyes. He was really so doomed, here he was-attempting to unlock all the secrets of the chamber of secrets and become one of the greatest wizards of all time-and he was constantly plagued by thoughts of (y/n) Alexander.

He remembered only a few days ago, after he had been researching horcruxes and the chamber-they had been the only thing resounding through his mind as of late. But with a call of his name and (y/n) asking him if he was okay(he was visibly distracted) Tom had just nodded, feeling his lip quirk up without his control. And for the rest of the day, the only thing he could think of was (y/n) Alexander.

Tom sat down in potions class, getting out all his things, but still-the only thing in his head was (y/n) Alexander. Her eyes, her lips, the curve of her jaw and cheeks, the way her head tossed back when she laughed particularly hard, the curl of her nose when she snarled at Black during practice because he had made one too many comments.

“So doomed,” Tom muttered to himself, getting out his quill and ink well, looking up at Professor Slughorn as he greeted the glass.

Oh to be young and to be in love.

-

The wind from the quidditch pitch threw his hair around-his scarf tucked tightly into his jacket so it didn’t fly away. It was loud, very loud, something Tom expected considering he could hear the crowd from the bloody library sometimes.

“Hello, and welcome to Hogwarts' sixth match of the season! Today’s game, Slytherin vs Ravenclaw!” The respective houses roared with support for their teams, and Tom saw the Slytherin team soar high above the pitch, his eyes drawn to a particular player.

Alexander; 3

She had a wild grin on her face-the wind curling her hair and flushing her face, she zoomed past Black and settled with her teammates as they all gathered in the air. The referee stood at the bottom and said something Tom couldn’t hear and opened the box that sat at her feet; in an instant-the bludgers flew up, along with the snitch.

With a blow of a whistle-the quaffle was tossed into the air and the game began.

(y/n) had snatched it before anyone else could grab it-flying up and over the Ravenclaw’s heads, laughing as they gave chase. She was quick-a blur to the naked eye, but that was the same for the other players, however- there was something about her speed; flying just fast enough to keep out of reach.

She easily made the first score-throwing her first up in victory as the bell rang to announce it. “(y/n) Alexander makes the first score of the game! Ten points to Slytherin!!”

Tom couldn’t keep his eyes off (y/n), her smug smirk giving him those silly butterflies as she flew back into the game, avoiding bludgers and other players with graceful ease. Tom’s knuckles cracked as a bludger came soaring right for her-but she quickly noticed and hooked her elbow around her broom, swinging around, under, and getting back on top within a split moment as the bludger zoomed right where her head had been.

“Holy shit! She’s good!” someone yelled from behind him, the Slytherin crowd cheering loudly as someone scored once again, (y/n) laughing heartily as she caught the quaffle from her teammate and flew off-her grin turning to a glare as she nearly crashed into one of the Ravenclaw chasers.

“It's odd seeing you here!” Someone yelled over the noise of the crowd and Tom spared a glance to see Abraxas-who almost seemed nervous. Tom just shrugged, looking back up and searching for (y/n), who had disappeared from his gaze the moment he looked away.

 “I think I get sports now,” Tom just said(which made Abraxas sputter in confusion because Tom had loathed quidditch before now), finally locking onto (y/n) again, his lip quirking as she snatched the quaffle mid-air, suddenly flying up as two Ravenclaw players tried to slam into her on either side-only to get each other and fly off their brooms.

“oooh!” Nott laughed from behind Abraxas, the crowd watching in tense anticipation as (y/n) continued flying up, and then suddenly-she started free-falling, the quaffle and her broom still tight in hand. Tom tensed-wondering what was going on-but he relaxed as he saw the grin on (y/n)’s face.

Just as she passed by the horde of Ravenclaw players that had been trying to get back the quaffle-she straightened out and headed straight for the pitch, faking out the Ravenclaw keeper and scoring another 10 points.

“That’s another 10 points to Slytherin! They lead Ravenclaw 30 to nothing!”

Tom squinted at the roar of the crowd around him and quickly planted his hands over his ears-it was far too loud for him now, but he didn’t want to leave early-it might make (y/n) disappointed that he left.

At that moment-(y/n) spotted him and she looked overjoyed to see him, waving eagerly. Tom grimaced back and she laughed, tossing her head back like she always did. Tom felt that now familiar heat burn at his ears and he sighed-glad he was covering them at the moment.

No one could say (y/n) Alexander wasn’t a brilliant chaser-through the next half hour the match played-she scored more than half the points Slytherin gained, and snatched the quaffle mid-air as the Ravenclaw chasers attempted to pass it multiple times.

She was quickly becoming a threat, grinning while bludgers and other players tried to knock her off-but she easily dodged each one, even jumping off her broom at one point to avoid a collision.

At one point she went high up-avoiding any players or bludgers and wiped her sweat-soaked face with her jersey, allowing all to see her stomach-which made Tom’s face flush with both jealousy and something else as the crowd whistled at her, some of the boys cat-calling her.

Tom never wanted to hex someone more.

But she caught his eye as she brought down her shirt and grinned, and Tom had a feeling she had done that on purpose-which made him think; why would she? unless she either just wanted to rile him up or…Tom swallowed down the hope in his throat as he thought; (y/n) might’ve done that to get his attention.

Well, she had it-if that’s what she wanted-and Tom doubted she would lose it.

“Rouge bludger!” someone yelled and Tom tore his eyes away, only to comically widen them as a bludger came rocketing towards him-right at him-all of the beaters were on the other side of the field, and Tom wondered how they had hit the dammed thing over to the stands. He felt hands on his shoulder-most likely Abraxas-that tried to pull him down and away-but the bludger was fast and Tom had a feeling he would be spending the next week in the hospital wing.

But something flew right where the bludger had been heading and snatched it out of the air-only feet away from where Tom was standing. He let go of the breath he had been holding and looked over the edge-seeing (y/n) with the bludger in the crook of her arm, it struggled to get out but she had a tight grip. Her face was set in anger-her eyes saying ‘murder’ as she threw the bludger right back at the ones who had accidentally hurled it at Tom-unfortunately being her own team.

She yelled something and even Black seemed to curl under her words-nodding sheepishly with the rest of the team.

Tom felt his stomach flip-flop, his mouth going dry and his face blooming with red as she pointed back towards him and continued to yell-the match being put to a halt while the referee took the rogue bludger and checked it(it was supposed to be bewitched to redirect the moment it went towards the stands)-“you nearly hit Tom!” she yelled over the roar of the wind and crowd, her lip curled into a snarl.

“You all right, my lord?” Abraxas asked, his hands still on Tom’s shoulder, and Tom nodded-eyes locked onto (y/n), who glanced back at him and drew her eyes all over him-nodding when she saw he was perfectly fine.

“Just fIne,” Tom said, ignoring the way his voice cracked like it did when he hit puberty. Abraxas frowned but nodded, the match soon resuming.

Tom really understood sports now, he really did-because that was really really hot.

The crowd started to chatter-all about (y/n), about how she caught a bludger(which-Tom learned just now-were made of IRON?!) going full speed and continued to hold it with one hand-even as it attempted to escape.

Tom realized that’s maybe why Black looked so sheepish-(y/n) had caught and held onto a 150-ish pound iron ball with no injury(to his knowledge), she was not a witch to be trifled with.

And Tom’s heart and stomach did another flip, his eyes once again on (y/n) as she used her anger to score three more times, and finally; the snitch was caught by the Slytherin seeker-ending the game.

Slytherin had won by a landslide, 240 to 60.

The Slytherin crowd exploded into cheers as the other houses booed or left the field in defeat, and from the stands-Tom could see Black hold out his hand to (y/n), and offer her the main chaser position. She grinned and took his head, her eyes turning a bit sharp as she tightened her grip, and Tom’s stomach did one last flip as he saw Black wince.

“Oh I'm so bloody doomed,” Tom muttered to himself over the blaring cheers of the crowd-turning on his heel as he saw the Slytherin team make their way off the pitch.

He didn’t even bother to look behind him to see if Abraxas and Nott were following-they always did. He made it down the rickety stairs in record time, panting slightly as he caught his breath-seeing (y/n) with the team making their way back to the castle.

Tom swallowed harshly, seeing McLaggen waltzing up to her, looking all too smug for Tom’s taste. “Alexander!” Tom called out right when McLaggen opened his mouth-both (y/n) and McLaggen looking shocked to hear her name from Tom’s mouth.

From behind him-he could feel the bewilderment from Abraxas and Nott. But (y/n) smiled at him, her hair wind-swept and cheeks slowly cooling back down, sweat drying on her face and neck. Tom licked his lips, feeling his ears start to burn as she waved off her team and walked towards him-broomstick in hand. “Tom!” she said, grinning still, leaning on her broomstick as she stopped in front of him and tilted her head. “How’d you like your first game since first year?”

“Good-great-you,” Tom cleared his throat-suddenly very nervous, his throat dry and ears burning, his usual calm and collected behavior nowhere to be seen. (y/n) bit her lip a bit-something that made Tom’s brain fumble and he paused in his words.

Oh, yes, he was gone for this girl.

“You-you played great, can’t say I’ve seen a better chaser,” Tom finished his sentence, breathing slowly as (y/n) just grinned, her eyes twinkling.

“Thank you, but you also don’t have many other chasers to compare me to, for all you know-I could be dog-shit.” Tom found himself snorting and shaking his head at (y/n)’s lack of elegant words, waving his hand towards the pitch. “Believe me, I saw enough from your teammates and the Ravenclaw chasers-you were the best on the field.”

(y/n) laughed, her head tossing back with the action and Tom found himself staring, his gaze softening as (y/n) continued to giggle as she calmed down, shaking her head as she bit her lip. “Honestly Tom, you’re funnier than others give you credit for,” Tom just hummed, he thought he was hilarious.

Thankfully, (y/n) seemed to think so too. Tom opened his mouth again, glancing around-seeing McLaggen staring daggers into him-but he quickly looked away when he caught Tom’s eye. “I just wanted to say, thank you for catching that bludger, I would probably be in the hospital wing right now if it weren’t for you,” Tom said with his usual charming grin, patting himself on the back for returning to his normal behavior.

(y/n) nodded and clapped his arm once, sending fire through his veins at her touch-his mouth going dry again. “Like I was gonna let it hit you, but, you’re welcome Tom. What would the world be like without your pretty face?” (y/n) teased and Tom’s mind went blank.

“You think I’m pretty?” Tom asked, his voice cracking slightly as his jaw went slack, the flush on his ears growing towards his cheeks as (y/n) nodded with a grin, her eyes sparkling still. He knew most of the students of Hogwarts found him attractive-but to know (y/n) thought he was pretty-wow…just-wow.

“Yeah, I do,” (y/n) breathed out, her eyes traveling his face and Tom didn’t mind being looked at like that for the first time. Usually, he hated being studied like he was just a pretty thing to look at-but-if it was (y/n)? he wouldn’t mind being studied all day.

“uh-cool,” Tom muttered back-shaking his head. Cool? Cool?! Just-cool? ugh, how lame was he?! “um-did, any chance you would like to go to Hogsmeade with me next weekend?” Tom asked, eyes going wide at what tumbled out of his mouth, where did that come from?!

He could feel the shock and disbelief from Abraxas and Nott-considering Tom had not shown interest in anyone ever, and now was suddenly asking out (y/n) Alexander.

And then they realized; this was the girl Tom had admitted to liking at the after-party, and they grinned at each other while they watched Tom practically make a fool of himself in front of his crush. (y/n) seemed to come to this realization as well, and she stuttered for a moment, blinking quickly before she nodded, stepping closer to Tom. “I would love to, um, three broomsticks? I know a corner in there that’s nice and quiet?”

Tom nodded-he really didn’t go to Hogsmeade often, he found nothing of interest there. But he supposed now there was someone of interest there worth going for-especially if she already had a place for them to go that was quiet and secluded, just how he liked it. “Sounds good,” Tom breathed, a smile growing on his face that had (y/n) staring at him, and her smile grew, reaching to her eyes.

God, he never stood a chance, did he?

“Great, I’ll-I’ll see you then,” (y/n) said, her voice wavering with excitement and Tom nodded, his hands behind his back as (y/n) skipped back with a grin, waving goodbye and then running towards her friends who had been waiting for her, and Tom couldn’t help his smile when she screamed and jumped into Viktoria’s arms. “Tom Riddle asked me out!!!”

“You just asked (y/n) Alexander out,” Abraxas said from behind Tom and Tom whirled around, very aware that his face was bright red and he was grinning like a madman. “yeah-I did….I have no idea how to go on a date,” Tom said after a short pause, still grinning-he couldn’t stop.

Abraxas just laughed and Nott stared, unsure of how to handle any of this. “We’ll help, my lord.”

-

The next week passed by both quickly and all too slowly. Nerves jumbled about in Tom’s gut as the weekend came ever closer, he could hardly focus in classes-all he could think about was (y/n). God, he had actually asked her out-after nearly two years of staring and (unknowing) yearning, he was going on a date with the first person he had ever felt attracted to. His stomach had been doing somersaults all week at the thought of her, of their upcoming date-and the idea that it might turn into…something more.

The Chamber and his Horcrux research had been pulled off the stove-only (y/n) Alexander remained.

His followers were-no help. They just made him more nervous will all the “advice” they gave him.

“Don’t be overbearing,”(duh?)

“Don’t only talk about yourself, girls hate that,”(also duh)

“But don’t ask about her too much she’ll get overwhelmed,”(Tom was beginning to doubt these knuckleheads had ever gone on a date)

“make sure to order for her, girls like it when a man takes charge,”(yeah he wasn’t going to take Black’s advice)

“be cool and aloof-like you always are really,” (Tom thought (y/n) liked it when he fumbled a bit honestly, she seemed charmed when he was making a fool of himself asking her out.)

But really, Walter Deville had the best advice for Tom when the time came around for the date-he took Tome aside as he passed by him in the hall, giving a stern look to Tom’s followers who were ready to protest. “Look, Tom, I’m going to give it to you straight, (y/n) is a lady, you must remember that, but she is not judgmental, she does not care for your background nor your status.” Tom felt some of the nerves in his gut decrease a bit-but Walter wasn’t done. “She likes you, Tom, she really does like you, but she has a very high standard-not out of training from her mother or the family, but for herself, if you do not treat her with kindness and be a false version of yourself around her; she will drop you quicker than a basilisk can kill. Treat her well, and treat her kindly, or you will regret it.”

Tom swallowed at the last bit-very much hearing the seriousness in Walter’s voice. It wasn’t a ‘we will hurt you if you hurt her,’ it was ‘she will hurt you if you hurt her,’ and Tom didn’t doubt she would. “Clear?” Waler asked, grinning as Tom nodded. “Crystal,” Tom muttered, stumbling forward as Walter laughed and slapped Tom’s back.

“Oh don’t be so grim! I have faith in you, Tom,” With another pat on Tom’s back, Walter walked off, and Tom was just as nervous as he was before.

-

Tom had very few outfits, he had his uniform and its extra pants, shirts, and vests, his uniform from the orphanage, a suit(a gift from the Malfoys for a Christmas party from last year), and very little extra. He ended up wearing the suit because he didn’t think anything else fit the situation.

He hoped (y/n) wouldn’t be put off by the lack of casualty, but he had an inkling she wouldn’t mind at all.

She didn’t, her eyes traveling his well-dressed form with appreciation and a heat that made Tom’s ears burn, coughing slightly into his fist. “hi,” she said quietly, stepping closer to him as he waited for her by the carriages to Hogsmeade. “hello,” Tom said back, his lip quirking. (y/n) Alexander looked-breath taking, her skirt flowing gently in the late fall breeze.

“You look very handsome,” (y/n) said with a soft smile, her hands moving up to tug at his suit jacket, holding each side with both hands and getting a better look at what lay beneath the jacket. “Thank you, you look-“ Tom could hardly finish his sentence, just letting out a slow breath that had (y/n) giggling, her smile growing.

“let’s get going, shall we?” (y/n) asked, taking Tom’s arm as he offered it and he nodded, leading her to a carriage and helping her inside like the gentleman he was; taking the seat from across her-the two falling into a comfortable conversation as the carriage went off to Hogsmeade.

(y/n) indeed had a quiet corner for the two of them, hidden away from the noise and tucked away from sight, letting them talk quietly and share small smiles and glances they didn’t have to worry about others seeing.

Tom, quite honestly, had never expected to have such fun on a date; he never expected to go on a date ever really. But here he was, on one with (y/n) Alexander, at the three broomsticks; drinking butterbeer and sharing an appetizer.

Tom could hardly keep track of what they talked about-but he felt himself grow more comfortable and his nerves almost disappear the longer they sat there. Tom chuckled at something she said and she stared-smirking a bit as Tom cleared his throat at her gaze-his ears burning. “I like your laugh,” she muttered, leaning on her arm, her eyes burning into his soul.

“Thank you,” Tom muttered, licking his lips nervously, which were quirking up into a smile that mirrored (y/n)’s gentle one. “You don’t laugh often, do you? At least not genuinely.” (y/n) asked, tilting her head a bit and Tom shrugged.

“Not much that I find genuinely funny, really,” Tom muttered, rolling his jaw a bit but (y/n) just laughed, biting her lip. “Suppose you find me funny then? Good, wouldn’t do us any good if you didn’t.” Tom laughed gently again, but nodded in agreement.

“I do,” Tom mumbled, hiding his slight flush behind his glass of Butterbeer. (y/n)’s soft grin widened and Tom’s blush darkened a bit, drifting his eyes away from (y/n)’s gaze. God he was absolutely gone for this girl, he really never stood a chance.

They talked for a bit longer, and (y/n) eventually gave him a look that made him go quiet, tilting his head in curiosity. “this is your first date, right?” she asked and Tom slowly nodded. “yes, I’ve never been interested in anyone else,” Tom said honestly and (y/n) glanced away with a chuckle, hiding her grin in her shoulder.

“I don’t suppose it’s yours though,” Tom said, glancing down at his hands. (y/n) nodded, but then shrugged. “Yes, but this is the first date I actually wanted to be on though, so-you’ve already made top marks.”

Tom frowned, glancing up at (y/n) who was shifting in her seat. “Wanted to be on?” Tom asked curiously and (y/n) nodded, glancing down at her watch.

“Yes, my mother likes to set me up on dates hoping i'll find a suitor that adheres to my tastes-but I have yet to find one in the ones she sends. Usually, they’re all pompous bores who couldn’t care less about me other than my money and what status they’ll gain by being with me,” Tom slowly nodded, hoping she didn’t think he was doing the same thing.

Honestly-half the time he forgot (y/n) was an Alexander, or was more well known as Lady (y/n) Alexander, and not the amazing girl he had been crushing on since 3rd year and had only realized it the previous summer.

“Why is she setting you up on dates?” Tom asked, leaning back in his chair, his face set into a perfect calm. (y/n) sighed, leaning into her palm, her eyes distant. “She wishes for me to marry by twenty, something about heirs and my duty as Lady Alexander,” Tom swallowed the pit in his throat, his eyes drawing down. He knew (y/n) did not care for status and money, but her parents most likely did, and Tom was not a man of status-even if he was descended directly from Slytherin, and from his limited research, his father was of the high class.

But Tom had no money, and his father had no knowledge of him-besides, Tom had no want for that acknowledgment.

“Tom,” he looked up, and swallowed again as (y/n) reached across the table and took his folded hands with a smile. “things like status and money do not matter to my family, my mother just wishes for me to be taken care of if anything should happen to the Alexander fortune. Most of all she wishes for me to find love, to be treated kindly, and be held dearly; if I married a poor man with nothing to his name-if all he could give me was his heart and soul-my family would be overjoyed that I had found a man like that.”

Tom just stared, that pit in his throat only growing heavier as he blinked back a burn in his eyes. “Oh,” Tom breathed instead of responding, his cheeks flushing as (y/n) smiled at him. His heart was beating out of his chest-trying to hop into (y/n)’s hands and be kept.

He was so-fucking-doomed.

-

“Is-is he smiling? Actually smiling?” Black asked quietly as he, Abraxas, Nott and Mulciber all watched as Tom walked through Hogsmeade with (y/n) Alexader tucked into his side, the two holding hands and talking quietly-both of them smiling.

“Yep, he’s smiling…” Abraxas muttered, leaning against a wall and watching as the two new lovebirds walked past, (y/n) tugging Tom into honey-dukes with shining eyes as Tom chuckled fondly.

“He is gone gone for her,” Avery said as he walked up, hands in his pockets. The other boys nodded; they had a feeling certain planned things had quickly gone down the drain all thanks to (y/n) Alexander.

Oh, the things Love can change.

-one year later-

 Tom was very sure he was deeply in love with (y/n) Alexander, for one year after they began dating-she stood with him in the chamber of secrets, discovering his past, all his darkest desires and wishes-and was not deterred by any of it. If anything-her affection towards him seemed to grow, for as he spoke to open the chamber, she stepped closer, carefully watching his lips as he spoke parseltongue. She immediately closed her eyes and let him guide her as he summoned the basilisk-putting her utmost faith and trust in him as he placed her hand upon its scaley nose.

Tom had never felt more love for her and had never felt more love from her for him, he had trusted her with his deepest secrets over the last year as they dated, even his wish to become immortal, even his fear of letting love into his heart.

And she never shied away, she never shunned him, she only took his hands and held him close-guiding him through the pitch-black maze of his mind. He even told her about his plan for Horcruxes.

He ended up with a dead stare and a long sigh. “That’s-quite honestly Tom, so stupid.” She muttered and Tom frowned, taking a step back but she stopped him and took his face, giving him a smile that was slightly strained. “I do not think of you any different, but dark magic such as that is not worth it, yes your soul will live on but it will be shattered and disfigured, leaving you with ultimately a cursed life and weaker magic because it is so strained across the separated souls. If you wish to live forever-I will be by your side, but horcruxes are a stupid and simply bad idea.”

Tom…honestly couldn’t argue with that. (y/n) smiled and pecked the corner of his lips, which made Tom want to tilt his head slightly so he could kiss her properly-but at that point they hadn’t had their first kiss yet. “Promise me you’ll drop the idea of it? Horcruxes?” (y/n) asked gently, still holding his face, looking into his eyes.

Tom nodded immediately, he would do anything for (y/n), anything. She smiled and kissed his cheek again, moving her hands down to grab his and guiding him from the chamber and back up to Hogwarts. Tom only felt a slight pit of guilt in his gut, since last year, just before school ended-he had attempted to create a Horcrux by using the chamber, but it had eventually slipped his mind as (y/n) took over all thoughts of his plans for it.

But he had never truly opened the chamber of secrets-and he would keep his promise to (y/n), he would find a way to become immortal, and he would share it with his (y/n) Alexander, so they would be together forever.

-

Tom took a deep breath that rattled in his chest as he stood before (y/n)’s father's office doors in the Alexander mansion, it was the spring break of their final year, and Tom had been invited over since he was dating the heiress to the fortune. In his pocket, he had a small box that contained a silver ring with a small obsidian piece mounted atop-it was all he could afford with the money he scrapped from his last year of stipend from the Hogwarts fund.

It helped that (y/n) had insisted on buying him new robes and taking care of this year's curriculum items-as a gift for becoming head boy. He had tried to deny it all but with a stubborn huff from his beloved (y/n) Alexander, Tom relented with a soft smile and sigh, following her around as she bought his books and whatever else he might need.

Tom took another deep breath-nerves settled deep in his stomach and knocked on Lord Alexander's office door. “Come in, come in,” He called and Tom opened the door and stepped inside, giving a polite nod to John Alexander-the father of his girlfriend(and hopefully soon to be, fiancée)

“Tom, how nice to see you, how can I help you son?” John said with a grin, putting down his quill and setting his intertwined hands on the desk, giving Tom a warm grin. Tom opened his mouth a few times, and then shut it-unsure of how to say anything. The Alexanders were one the top families of both the muggle world and wizarding world, the Deville’s being the top dogs really, was Tom really going to soil their family line? To bring a bastard son into their practically royalty family?

Yes, yes he was-because he loved (y/n) and he didn’t want to let her go to some-rude rich boy who didn’t know how to love her correctly. “i-I was hoping,” Tom started, clearing his throat as his voice cracked. John’s smile only grew, seemingly knowing what Tom was about to ask. “if…” Tom took another deep breath, straightening his back and looking Lord Alexander in the eye. “I was hoping you would approve of me asking for your daughter’s hand in marriage.” Tom got out in one breath, his jaw clicking as Lord Alexander just stared at him, that warm smile still there-but a twinkle in his eye that made Tom nervous.

“i-I love her dearly Lord Alexander. I do not have money, and I have no status to offer her, nor do I have a proud lineage or background, but I would love her for the rest of my life, and beyond it. I know there are many men who you would prefer her to marry but-“ Tom was stopped with a hand to a shoulder, and he hadn’t realized he had been staring at his shoes. Tom looked up, seeing John-beaming.

“I would be honored if my daughter married a good man like you Tom, you love her dearly and that is all I could wish for my little girl, as does her mother. You have my blessing Tom Riddle; you’ve had it since we first met.” Tom, actually felt like crying-staring wide-eyed at John, who chuckled and opened his arms for a hug-knowing Tom didn’t like to be touched without permission. Tom stepped into his arms and squeezed, a few tears escaping his closed eyes as John hugged him tightly. “Welcome to the family Tom, I cannot wait to call you my son.”

Tom smiled into John’s shoulder, sniffing slightly as John patted his back and took a step back. “Thank you sir, I’ll cherish her forever,” Tom said quietly, smiling still as John nodded-patting Tom’s shoulder again.

“I know you will, now come on, I think the girls are outside having lunch.” Tom nodded and turned on his heel-unable to keep the smile off his face as he walked outside to the patio to see his girlfriend(hopefully soon to be fiancée) sitting under the sun with her mother, Viktoria, and Lucy, the four sharing a plate of snacks and tea by the pool.

“Tom~” (y/n) sang, holding out her hands to him and he quickly walked over to her-giving one last thankful smile to John before taking his beloved (y/n)’s hands, stepping close and moving his other hand to her shoulder as she leaned against him. “How nice for you two to join us! We were just talking about you,”

“Good things I hope,” Tom joked, obeying (y/n)’s tug as she made him sit down with her on the chair, his gaze and smile softening as she chattered away John mirroring Tom’s position as he sat with his wife. “of course,” (y/n) said with a tone that meant she was lying and not trying to hide it, and Tom sighed shaking his head fondly.

Oh, how he loved (y/n) Alexander and had never expected it.

Perhaps it was a good thing he had let it slip he had a crush at the Slughorn after-party last year. If he hadn’t-he didn’t think he would’ve gained the courage to ask (y/n) out after that fated quidditch match.

-end-

Part 2 - its just fluff lol

[isagrimorie]

[initial reactions] Agatha All Along 1x06 - Family by my side

I know this episode isn't everyone's cup of tea. Still, I like it for its plot and worldbuilding and for helping me understand more of Teen, officially William Kaplan, aka Billy Maximoff.

I like they've significantly simplified Billy's whole backstory although the black heart thing makes me side-eye again.

I've always enjoyed seeing how the non-powered people of the MCU fare. Honestly, they seem like a bundle of nerves and anxiety, which is valid.

I love seeing the Kaplan parents are lovely and really love William.

Billy living his new second life, uncomfortable in his new body and a new identity. But also, finding some acceptance and comfort in the messy coven he found himself in.

In bullet form because there's a lot to get through:

I honestly loved that the whole coven met Billy/William before they formed a coven, almost like its fate.

So anyone else get a... Bad Wolf kind of feeling when Billy looked up Agatha? Very Immortal/Doctor who btw looking up an immortal.

The links that Billy was suddenly on to had a very... Bad Wolf type of clues where Agatha left breadcrumbs as a message to herself.

- the show dropping in all the casual lore that the show presented.

(Witches can choose how they age and present themselves, lol there's a typo).

Very Doctor Who survives the epic disaster. I bet Rio was mad she missed Agatha during this.

LMAO, Apparently, Agatha is Jolene.

So this one? This is the part where it starts feeling like the Bad Wolf clues to me. Breadcrumbs leading Agatha back to Agatha. Because I still feel like Agatha had a back-up plan and this was one of them. Triggering the back-up plan.

Agatha, do you really have succubus powers or did you start that rumor yourself???

Our first look at Hexed!Agatha.

We don't see Rio, so either Rio isn't really there or she's in a different form than Agent Vidal.

But also: I'm calling it. The painting Agatha has is important somehow.

She keeps looking at the painting and that's where she saw Rio being. Agatha kept looking at the painting when she was confused:

And then Agatha touched it as Billy started chanting. Somehow, that painting is a touchstone.

Um, I missed this but the spellbook actually mentioned that Billy shouldn't attempt using it if the personal item the bonded person has, shared energy with someone else.

"Be careful not to use an item that shares energy with an additional person, or an item belonging to many."

So.

I feel the hair inside the Cameo/Broach may have some unforeseen consequences.

I really liked that Agatha was the one who rescued herself. She's like a cockroach. She's not gonna die, until she's good and ready to die and not before then. Just like my other beloved, Katherine Pierce.

Agatha was actually impressed and not angry with Billy for that maneuver but not above roasting him for being.... such a Maximoff. Overly dramatic, overly self-righteous.

But also she made sure that Billy did not feel ashamed for using his powers. Something I think she wished someone told her. For all of Billy's anger towards, I think he appreciated that Agatha accepted Billy as a Witch.

Agatha was also hurt by Billy's mistrust of her but covered it so quickly with snark and humor. What a sad clown.

TLDR, RIP Coat. We hardly knew ye!

[tr1nd2de]

Old enough

I just saw a post from Wonderjanga (C.C. And Great Grandpa Wayne), and it improved my head cannon about Billy telling the league, that he remembers everything he went through in those 84 years of the time bubble.

I wasn't going to post this but I changed my mind. In my Head Cannon, Billy is already older, like 16 or 17 years old. He has been in the league for a few years since he was a kid.

Ever since Captain Marvel (or Billy Batson) joined the league, he's hardly ever asked for a reunion so it would obviously be a proven thing to deal with. Bruce was worried about this, for a few weeks now Billy has been acting strangely, missing some meetings and not responding to the communicators or the messages we send him.

So him calling a meeting was important, especially because he said it was urgent. The league members were quick to arrive, even Flash who is usually late arrived early, Billy didn't say much he just looked down trying to understand something... something was wrong Bruce could feel it.

Billy: Thank you for coming, I would like to say that the problem is not the end of the world, at least not our world but mine. I recently discovered why Fawcett has so many mental hospitals.

Superman: What do you mean by that Billy?

Billy: Do you remember the Justice Squad?

Wonder Woman: Yes, I fought alongside them in the second war, its members were Bullet Man and Woman, Golden Arrow, Mr. Scarlet and his helper Pinky, Mega Spy and Ibis the Invincible.

Green Arrow: From what we know, they returned to the United States for an urgent government mission. We have no further information about them to this day. Some myths say they were killed, others say they deserted and disappeared from the map. I prefer to believe the latter.

Billy: I found out what happened to them. When they returned for an urgent mission, they were assigned to deal with a being called King Kull. Just like Vandal Savage he is also a caveman, high intelligence and physical condition. In prehistoric times, King Kull was the ruler of a race of proto-humans known as the Undermen (also called the Beastmen), a brutish but technologically advanced race who ruled over humanity until they were finally overthrown in a revolt. Kull survived into the 20th century trapped in a state of suspended animation. When he woke up he decided that humans should suffer the same as he suffered, so he built a Suspendium bomb.

Batman: What would Suspendium be?

Billy: Suspendium was an artificial compound developed by Dr Silvana.

Flash: Since when has Silvana been alive?

Billy more than me and you

J'onn: Where are you going with this Billy?

Billy:Well... I-I knew Fawcett wasn't a "normal" place, not because of the abundant magic that pours into the city from the Rock of Eternity, but because of everything, the culture that hasn't advanced, the fashion sense that hasn't changed, and so on. I kept this in my head and went looking for answers, not only out of curiosity but because of memories that didn't make sense. Memories that I no longer remembered, I lived them.

Black Canary : Are you okay Billy?

Billy: yes, as far as possible.

Billy: I followed the clues that my memories gave me, and I arrived at an old building, the facade of Sivana, one of the Solar Centers, there was a passage to the basement and there I discovered where the old heroes of the Second World War ended up. They were trapped in a state of suspended animation, all of them, I came to the conclusion that the effect of the Suspendium had worn off after all these years. Apparently the Justice Squadron was unable to get Kull to detonate the bomb, everyone on Fawcett was affected, the heroes and Kull were trapped in a state of suspended animation that has not yet passed.

(Hal) Green lantern: Holy shit...

Billy: Yeah, holy shit. Well that was my report for the month, I would like to take a really long vacation, recommended by my psychiatrist.

Black canary: Psychiatrist!?!?!

Billy: Yeah, I'm seeing a-a psychiatrist, after discovering that my life was a loop of suffering and pain, finally my mind gave out and I developed a dissociative personality disorder, I-I- this is the first time I've come to consciousness. I-I-I have a few already, one of them is an 8 year old child called Hedwing, the other my supposed evil twin, all I fight are the sins, he was born from them I don't know his name yet...

Black Canary gets up and goes to Billy and hugs him."Oh Billy you don't deserve this"

Batman takes off his hood and stands up, hugging Billy. "I can't do much for you, but I will do what I can to help you, money won't be a problem."

wiping away the tears. "T-thanks, but that's not the whole problem, m-my Captain form also had new personalities."

After coming back from the shock Superman says: My God, I didn't know that was possible...

Not either, but the personalities that came are called Lord Shazam and a goth who says he has no name. says Billy leaving the hug: Lord Shazam prefers not to leave the Rock and Goth likes to explore the world.

So you mean that all that discussion about you being a child was a complete waste of time? Flash says trying to break the ice.

running his hand through his hair and leaning back in his chair (Hal) Green Lantern says: Nice try Barry, but how old are you Billy? Because the second war was about 85 years ago.

Well... coincidence or not, the Suspendium bomb exploded 84 years ago, in 1940 when I was 10 years old and had already been at war for 1 year. says Billy sitting in his chair.

Living for a long time has its consequences, Billy, but you are not alone, not today or tomorrow, because you have us and me, we will help you, little brother. Diana says, smiling at Billy.

Thanks but still, it's not something I like since well... I was childhood friends with Thomas Wanye. Billy looks at Bruce.

My father? Were you my father's childhood friend?.

Oh yes, how could I forget, Tommy was wild but fun, we got a good scolding from our parents, good times, I think that if the bomb hadn't exploded I would be a friend of the family, and possibly the one who would have been adopted would have been you. Smiling from ear to ear, Billy says looking at Bruce.

I don't know if it was good but that's it, have a good day, or night or afternoon, aah be well.

The End.