#but sounds like solid work from charles | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tteotlma · 2 months ago

Text

Whiskey and Wishful Thinking

-- unrequited love and misplaced desires

Logan/Wolverine x Reader 6.2kw(😵‍💫)

a/n: this idea has been in my head for a while now and i didn’t really edit —

TW: 18+ MDNI AFAB!Reader, alcohol abuse/intoxication, sexual content (explicit), Emotional manipulation, unrequited love, mild violence (Logan crashing into things), infidelity (emotional), sexual encounter under the influence, emotional distress/angst, mild language, p in v

—

The quiet whirring of the air conditioner filled the cavernous space of the library, its cool breeze a stark contrast to the sweltering August heat outside. You circled the poster board laid out on the worn wooden table in front of you, your fingertips ghosting over the glossy photos and carefully cut-out newspaper clippings. Your chin rested on your hand as you examined the display closely, brow furrowed in concentration.

The new semester at Charles Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters was starting in a week, and you were determined to be prepared. This wasn't just about having a visually engaging classroom; it was about proving yourself. Your second year as a teacher here was right around the corner, and you still had people to impress—or maybe overshadow. The pressure to live up to the legacy of the school's illustrious faculty weighed heavily on your shoulders.

You were in the middle of rearranging a faded photo of Richard Nixon next to a more vibrant one of Mystique—a stark visual representation of the complex history you were trying to convey—when something caught your eye. A small tear in the corner of the Mystique photo made you frown. It was barely noticeable, but you knew it was there. Much like the small imperfections in your own mutation that you tried so hard to hide.

As you reached for the tape to add more photos, a thunderous crash erupted from the direction of the front door, reverberating off the mahogany bookshelves and causing the chandeliers to tinkle ominously. You startled, your elbow catching the edge of the poster board and sending a cascade of photos fluttering to the floor like autumn leaves.

"Dammit," you muttered under your breath, dropping to your knees to gather the scattered images. Each one represented hours of research and careful curation. There was Erik Lehnsherr in his prime, Charles Xavier before the wheelchair, headlines about the Mutant Registration Act—pieces of a puzzle you were trying to fit together for your students.

As you collected the last of the photos, another crash followed, accompanied by a string of muffled colorful curses that could only belong to one person: Logan.

You rose to your feet, brushing dust from your knees and straightening your top. A part of you wanted to ignore the disturbance and return to your work. After all, you weren't one of the X-Men, just a history teacher trying to make a difference in your own small way. But another part, the part that had brought you to this school in the first place, urged you to investigate.

With a last, longing look at your unfinished project, you began to walk down the corridor, your footsteps echoing in the empty hallway. The warm wood paneling and lush carpets couldn't quite muffle Logan's gruff voice, slurred and aggravated.

"Who the hell locked the damn door?" he growled loud enough to be heard through the mahogany, followed by another thud that sounded suspiciously like a body hitting solid wood.

You rounded the corner just in time to hear Logan slam against the door again. Sighing, you approached, your hand hovering over the ornate brass doorknob.

"Logan?" you called out, trying to keep your voice steady. "The door's always locked after midnight. You know that."

There was a moment of silence, then a muffled grunt. "Oh. Right." You heard him fumbling on the other side, likely searching for keys he didn't have. "Must've... must've forgot."

You leaned closer to the door, lowering your voice. "Did you lose your keys again?"

"Didn't lose 'em," Logan grumbled, his words slurring together. "Just... misplaced 'em. Temporarily."

Rolling your eyes, you turned the lock. "I'm letting you in. But please, try to keep it down. Some of us are trying to work."

As you swung the heavy door open, the full impact of Logan's state hit you like a wave. He was leaning heavily against the doorframe, more disheveled than you'd ever seen him.

His usually wild hair was a mess, matted in places as if he'd been running his hands through it repeatedly. His leather jacket was askew, one sleeve pushed up to the elbow while the other hung loosely at his wrist. The strong scent of whiskey wafted from him, mixed with something earthier – had he been in the woods?

His eyes, usually sharp and alert, were unfocused as they landed on you. For a moment, they seemed to look through you rather than at you.

"Work?" he scoffed, stumbling slightly as he entered. "It's summer, kid. Live a little."

The irony of his statement, given his current condition, wasn't lost on you. But as he brushed past, the scent of alcohol growing stronger, you couldn't help but wonder what had driven him to drink so heavily tonight. Logan had his demons, sure, but this seemed excessive even for him.

"Logan," you said softly, reaching out to steady him as he swayed. "What happened? Are you okay?"

He paused, turning to look at you. For a brief moment, his tough exterior seemed to crack, revealing a glimpse of raw pain underneath. But as quickly as it appeared, it was gone, replaced by his usual gruff demeanor.

"I'm fine," Logan grunted, his voice rough as gravel. He shrugged off your hand with a forceful jerk that nearly threw him off balance. "Just need to sleep it off."

As he stumbled towards the stairs, you stood frozen in the foyer, a war of emotions raging within you. Frustration at the interruption of your work battled with genuine concern for your colleague. The sound of his heavy footsteps echoed through the hallway, each thud against the hardwood punctuated by a slight scuff - clear signs of his unsteady gait.

BAM

The sound reverberated through your chest, jolting you into action. "Oh my- Logan!" The twisting knot in your stomach unraveled, replaced by a surge of adrenaline as you found yourself on your knees beside the fallen giant. The polished wood floor was cool against your skin, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from Logan's body.

"Are you okay?!" Your voice came out higher than intended, tinged with worry. You gently turned his body, your hands careful but insistent. Logan's face came into view, his rugged features slack, eyes roving aimlessly. They passed over your face without a flicker of recognition, unfocused and glassy.

"Clearly not," you muttered, answering your own question. The words tasted bitter on your tongue, worry and frustration mingling in equal measure. You patted his stubbled cheek, the coarse hair rough against your fingers. The familiar texture grounded you, a tactile reminder of the man beneath this drunken exterior.

"Come on, you big lug." Your fingers curled around his jacket collar, the worn leather an old friend under your grip. You could smell the years of use on it – a mixture of tobacco, whiskey, and that indescribable scent that was purely Logan. You tugged, your muscles straining against his dead weight. It was like trying to move a mountain, and you felt a bead of sweat trickle down your back with the effort. "I can't get you up those stairs, but we can try to find something else."

Logan stirred under your hands, a low groan rumbling from deep in his chest. You could feel the vibration of it through your palms, like the purr of some great, dangerous cat. Keeping a steadying hand on his arm, you helped as he struggled to his feet. His muscles were taut under your touch, coiled with a strength that, even in his inebriated state, was intimidating.

The scent of whiskey hung heavy in the air around you both, an almost visible miasma. It mingled with the earthy smell of his leather jacket and something so distinctly Logan – a heady mix of cigar smoke and pine that usually brought a sense of comfort and safety. Now, it just emphasized the bitter truth that in trying to distance himself from his pain, Logan had simultaneously distanced himself from the man you once knew.

He was mumbling, disconnected words tumbling from his lips like scattered puzzle pieces. You caught fragments – "Jean" and "Summers" among them – each name landing like a small stone in the pit of your stomach. But you weren't really trying to piece it together, not now. Your mind was already racing ahead, calculating the logistics of moving him, wondering if you could manage to get him to the nearby study with its comfortable couch. And, if you were being honest with yourself, a small part of you was wondering how soon you could get him out of your sight and return to the normalcy of your work.

You watched, as if in slow motion, as Logan threw a heavy arm around you. The sudden shift in weight knocked you off balance, causing your body to shove even closer to Logan's as you struggled to support his swaying form.

You closed your eyes, trying to distract itself with thoughts of your discarded project in the library. You tried to reimagine your pre-arranged photos and timelines, hearing them calling to you like a siren song of productivity and purpose. But it was hard to focus on that, not with the heat radiating off of Logan's body making your skin feel like it was sizzling, every point of contact between you a livewire of sensation.

You could feel every hard plane of his body pressed against you, the heat of him searing through your clothes. The closeness was both thrilling and terrifying, and you quickly shook your head, pushing the confusing thoughts away. Right now, Logan needed a friend, whether he (or you) realized it or not.

"Alright, big guy," you said, your voice sounding strained even to your own ears as you adjusted your grip on his arm. Your fingers dug into the solid muscle there, seeking purchase. "Let's get you somewhere you can lay down before you fall again and cause some damage." You began to guide him, every step a careful negotiation between his unsteady feet and your determined support. It was like trying to direct a landslide – Logan's bulk and uncoordinated movements making each step a precarious balancing act.

"I-I'm fine," he slurred, his words thick and syrupy. His head bobbed with each trudging step, reminding you of those drinking bird toys. "Jus' needed a break." The words were punctuated by a hiccup that shook his whole frame, and by extension, yours.

"A break from what?" You grunted, the words coming out breathless as you strained to keep him walking in something resembling a straight line. The carpet runner in the hallway bunched under your feet with each step, creating small obstacles you had to navigate around. "It's the last week of summer."

The reminder seemed to hit Logan like a physical blow. He let out a loud groan, the sound rumbling through his chest and into yours where you were pressed against him. Suddenly, his body went limp, all semblance of cooperation vanishing in an instant. He stumbled again, but this time, anchored to you as he was, he dragged you with him.

"No, no Logan," you gasped, your muscles screaming as you struggled to keep both of you upright. Your feet scrambled for purchase on the polished wood floor, sliding dangerously. For a heart-stopping moment, you thought you were both going down, but somehow – through sheer determination or dumb luck – you managed to keep moving.

With a final, herculean effort, you maneuvered Logan's bulk towards the library. The giant sofa loomed before you like an oasis in a desert, promising relief from your burden. And of course, because the universe seemed to have a twisted sense of humor tonight, it was right next to your craft table. The carefully arranged materials – your planned escape from this chaos – now stood as silent witnesses to your struggle.

As you finally deposited Logan onto the couch, the leather creaking under his weight, you couldn't help but wonder how this night had spiraled so far from your quiet plans. The Logan-shaped imprint of heat on your body slowly began to fade, leaving you feeling oddly bereft despite your earlier desire to be free of him. You stood there, catching your breath, watching the rise and fall of Logan's chest as he settled into the couch, already half-asleep.

As you finally deposited Logan onto the couch, the aged leather creaked in protest under his substantial weight. You couldn't help but marvel at how drastically this night had veered from your meticulously laid plans. The Logan-shaped imprint of heat on your body slowly began to fade, leaving behind a peculiar sense of absence. It was a feeling that caught you off guard, considering your earlier desperation to be free of his burdensome presence.

For a moment, you stood there, your chest heaving as you caught your breath. Your eyes traced the rise and fall of Logan's broad chest as he settled into the couch, his features already softening with the onset of sleep. The furrows in his brow, usually so pronounced, began to smooth out, giving him an almost peaceful appearance that seemed at odds with the tumultuous events of the night.

Shaking your head, you turned back to your project, eager to lose yourself in the familiar comfort of organization and creativity. Each piece fell into place with a satisfying click, the world narrowing down to the careful arrangement of photos and timelines. Time seemed to slip away as you worked, the rhythmic sound of Logan's breathing fading into white noise.

Despite the rhythmic process you had created, your mind managed to stray to the man beside you. Logan's presence, even in his unconscious state, was impossible to ignore. Your eyes drifted from your work to his sleeping form, tracing the rugged lines of his face that you'd memorized long ago.

A familiar ache bloomed in your chest, a bittersweet mixture of longing and resignation. How many days and nights had you spent like this, stealing glances at Logan when he wasn't aware, allowing yourself to imagine a reality where his eyes would light up at the sight of you? But that was a fantasy, and you knew it.

Your fingers absently toyed with a photo of Jean Grey that had fallen from your timeline. Even in this candid shot, her beauty was undeniable. Logan's voice, slurred with alcohol, echoed in your mind: "Jean." Of course, it always came back to Jean.

You couldn't blame him, not really. Jean was everything - brilliant, powerful, compassionate. And you? You were just... you. The history teacher who helped patch him up after missions, who listened to his rare moments of vulnerability, who silently loved him from afar.

A soft murmur from the couch drew your attention. Logan's face had contorted, his lips moving soundlessly. Was he dreaming of her even now? The thought sent a pang through your heart.

"She's with Scott, Logan." You shook your head.

The words tasted bitter on your tongue. Because that was the cruel irony, wasn't it? Jean was utterly devoted to Scott Summers. Her love for him was as clear as day to everyone - everyone except Logan. He clung to hope like a drowning man to driftwood, blind to the fact that Jean's heart belonged to another. Just as he was blind to your feelings for him.

You turned back to your work, trying to lose yourself once more in the familiar task. But your eyes kept drifting to the leather jacket draped over a nearby chair - Logan's jacket. How many times had you imagined him placing it around your shoulders on a cold night? How many times had you dreamed of being the one he looked at with that intensity, that raw need?

But those were just dreams. Reality was this: Logan, passed out on the couch beside you, murmuring another woman's name in his sleep. A woman who would never return his feelings. And you, silently loving a man who would never see you as anything more than a friend.

The spell was abruptly broken by a loud, guttural grunt from the couch. Startled, you whirled around, your heart leaping into your throat. Logan's peaceful demeanor had vanished, replaced by a mask of distress. His forehead was creased, beads of sweat forming at his hairline. His hands twitched at his sides, fingers curling as if grasping for something just out of reach.

The realization hit you like a splash of cold water: he was having a nightmare.

Pushing your chair into the table with a soft scrape, you rose to your feet. Your movements were slow, deliberate, as you approached Logan. Years of living in a school full of mutants with varying degrees of control had taught you the value of caution, especially when dealing with someone as potentially dangerous as Logan in a vulnerable state.

You positioned yourself at the head of the couch, carefully staying out of range of his arms - and more importantly, his claws. Your eyes flicked nervously to his hands, half-expecting to see the glint of adamantium at any moment. Swallowing hard, you steeled yourself and reached out, your hand hovering uncertain over his forehead.

For a heartbeat, you hesitated. The man before you was a far cry from the intimidating, gruff Logan you knew. In sleep, trapped in the throes of a nightmare, he looked almost... vulnerable. It was a side of him you'd never seen, never even imagined existed.

Taking a deep breath, you gently placed your fingertips on his temple. The skin there was hot to the touch, almost feverish. You could feel the rapid pulse of his temporal artery beneath your fingers, a testament to the intensity of whatever visions were plaguing him.

"Logan," you whispered, your voice barely audible even in the quiet of the library. "It's okay. You're safe." He let out a soft moan. Your fingers comb through his unruly hair, something you had never dared to do before. His usual gruffness is stripped away, and what remains is raw, untethered vulnerability—both his and yours.

His breath is uneven as he shifts under your touch, but your movements remain steady, soothing him. The weight of unspoken feelings that have built up over the years presses down on you. The sight of Logan up close so troubled and lost pulls at your heartstrings in a way you can’t ignore anymore.

"Logan," you whisper again, this time more firmly, urging him back to reality. His eyes flutter open, hazy and disoriented. For a moment, they lock onto yours. There's no Jean, no Scott, no X-Men—just the two of you in this quiet, dimly lit room, the air thick with unspoken tension.

His hand moves up to catch yours as it rests on his hair, his grip surprisingly gentle despite the strength behind it. "Why... why are you here?" he mumbles, voice still hoarse and thick with sleep, but there’s something else beneath the surface.

"I'm here because you needed me," you reply softly, the words feeling far too loaded but still true. The tension in his grip tightens, and for a split second, you wonder if you're imagining the way his eyes darken, the hint of desperation and something else swirling within them.

"Don't you have someone else to take care of? I'm not worth the trouble..." His words are a mixture of bitterness and regret, and it cuts deep. You shake your head slowly, heart pounding in your chest.

"You are worth it, Logan," you whisper, barely able to believe the words have left your mouth. Maybe it’s the weight of the years you’ve spent suppressing your feelings, or the heavy air filled with alcohol and desperation, but something shifts between you two in that moment.

Without thinking, Logan sits up, his grip on you tightening as he pulls you closer to sit beside him, bodies pressed together. The sudden movement leaves you breathless, your body leaning against his, faces only inches apart. His breath is warm and carries the sharp, smoky scent of whiskey, but beneath it lingers something else—something raw, unspoken, and heavy between you. The proximity feels electric, the tension between you simmering just beneath the surface.

For a split second, neither of you moves. You can feel the thrum of Logan’s pulse where his chest presses against yours, and his eyes, dark and stormy, search your face for something—maybe reassurance, maybe an answer to a question neither of you has dared to ask aloud. The weight of unrequited love hangs between you, an invisible thread that pulls you closer even as you hesitate. You've both been running from this, denying it, but now it feels inevitable.

Logan's hand lingers on your arm, his rough fingers brushing against your skin in a way that sends shivers down your spine. His jaw clenches, and you can see the battle raging inside him, the unspoken words on his lips threatening to spill out. "I—" he starts, his voice rough and hesitant, like he's about to confess something too heavy to bear, but you don’t let him finish. You can't, not when you're both teetering on this razor's edge.

You lean in and kiss him, your lips meeting his in a soft, tentative press. For a heartbeat, Logan freezes, his body going rigid with surprise, but then something in him snaps. His right hand snakes down your left side pulling you even closer, as his other hand cups the back of your neck, and he pulls you deeper into the kiss, his lips urgent, almost desperate. It's not gentle—it’s raw, filled with the intensity of everything he's never said. The kiss is a release of all the years spent pining for someone else, all the nights spent wishing for what he could never have.

You know this isn’t love, not the kind either of you have been hoping for. It’s about filling the hollow space left by the people who’ll never look at you the way you want them to. You’re both seeking something that’s just out of reach, using each other to drown out the ache of unrequited love that’s settled deep in your bones. Jean's name might as well be carved into the air between you, but tonight, that pain is dulled, replaced by the heat and urgency of the moment.

His grip on you tightens as the kiss deepens, a silent understanding passing between you. This isn’t about forever. It’s about right now—two people grasping for something real, even if it’s fleeting, even if it doesn’t fill the spaces you need it to. You know that come morning, things will be different, but for now, you both allow yourselves this escape.

Logan’s tongue licks tentatively at your lips, you give him the permission he’s silently seeking as your lips part. You feel lightheaded as his tongue slides into your mouth, and your groin feels hot as Logan lets out the filthiest groan into your mouth.

You let out a soft whine as you grab at his shirt, his muscles hot and firm under the fabric. As Logan continues to indulge in the taste of you, fingers trail down the front of his shirt all the way to and under the hem. Your fingers lightly drag across the thin sliver of skin and you feel Logan’s hip twitch, and he pulls away sighing lightly into your mouth.

He adorned the sexiest look on his smug face. Granted he still looked inebriated but this time instead of being drunk on whiskey.. he was drunk on you. Mother of all that is good and well, you know you should say something, be reasonable, smart, but dammit if there’s one thing you will stick by it’s that you will always help a friend in need…

You bring him close, hands clasping behind his neck and pulling him in as you swing your leg over his lap straddling him. His hands immediately meet the small of your back, and he leans in to kiss you again pulling you flush to his chest.

Now its your turn to take control in the kiss, Logan pliant as you lap at his mouth. He lets you think your in charge until he takes you by surprise and uses one hand to grab the hair at the back of your head. You lose your rhythm for a second and he takes the opportunity to push his tongue along yours, saliva pooling in your mouths and melting in the middle. He begins to suck on the slick pink muscle and you give in.

Whatever ounce of worry, hesitation, anxiety, any reservation whatsoever you could have had left your body and you gave in to desire. That bitch, that deliciously sinful demon had got her way as the muscles in your legs gave in and you relax onto Logans lap. He continues to slurp at your mouth, and you mewl. Never in your life had anyone done this to you before. Not only was it filthy, it was incredibly hot.

The heat in your groin burned your insides leaving you with an ache you needed to relieve. Your hips buck reflexively as you feel a wetness pool on the fabric of your underwear. You let a moan slip out of your mouth, and Logan let out a deep and throaty chuckle. His fingers go back beneath the waistline of your pants, fingers gripping the flesh of your hips and grinding you down against his pelvis.

You threw your head into the crook of Logan’s neck as he began to buck his hips into yours at a steady rhythm. His fingers digging harder into your skin, as he applied more pressure. You could feel the thin fabrics of your underwear and sleep shorts soak the more you rubbed against Logan. You began to gyrate your hips in tighter circles.

“Ah, fuck.” You breathed out as you pressed your forehead to the brute of a man beneath you. “Logan, Logan, come on, stop teasing.” You panted between breaths. Logan shifted a bit beneath you causing your neglected clit to get caught during your motions. Your head lolled to the side and then back as a whimper turned into a full cry of frustration. God, you wanted this pain, this ache you were feeling to go away and you’d do anything to make it stop.

Logan’s grip tightened on your hips, as he stilled your body for a second.

“What the fuck,” You hissed, trying to slide your wet heat on Logans definite show-er and grower but the man loved to tease. Logan continued to hold your hips and you began to grow frustrated. The feeling of his smirk against your neck causing tears to come to your eyes.

“Logan, please.” You whimpered, your voice shaking. You feel him freeze and you mentally shoot yourself in the foot— You didn’t want this to be a thing with emotions, it was bad enough that the first time you’re having sex with the man you’ve loved for five years is as a one night fling. You didn’t want to have to think about the emotional repercussions before having what you’re pretty sure is going to be the best orgasm of your life.

In a moment of panic, and wanting to shift the focus you lean forward, and your hands find the button of Logan’s pants. You unbuckle the belt, and he peppers kisses along your shoulders, your fingers fumble with the button, and he noses your jaw, you slide down the zipper and he pecks your neck. All of a sudden the intimacy becomes too much so you trail your hands at the band of his underwear and you begin to pull the fabric down. Coarse hair grazes your fingers, and before you can stop yourself your hand runs up his stomach, and down back to his groin— his breath shudders against the nape of your neck as he begins to nip at your skin.

Before you can fully expose the man he grabs your hand and puts it on his shoulder as if saying to let him do the work. You obey and lift your hips to give him space. Next thing you know your being guided back close to him, hovering over his groin.

While you hadn’t seen his dick fully yet, you knew the mutant was big. You could tell regardless of the scenario. The way he walks, the way he sits— legs spread so wide it’s like he’s constantly inviting you to kneel between them. Missing the opportunity this time didn’t make you think any different though, this man was massive. The heat within your body was already painful enough, but now the heat you feel outside your cunt was unbearable.

Your right hand slid between your bodies as you reached for Logan's thick dick. He let out a low growl as your fingers wrapped around his shaft. Logan's fingers reached for the fabric between your thighs, moving the soaked cloth to the side urging you to put his cock inside.

You guide the tip to your entrance and you can feel your cunt clench around nothing in anticipation. You feel heat rise to your cheeks in embarrassment, but the aggression in Logan’s breathing gives you relief that you’re not the only one desperate. But for who it was is a different story.

Logan got impatient and lifted his hips to push the tip past, and your mouth fell open as a silent moan possessed your body. God, you were right. He was so thick, the stretch was borderline unbearable but before you could fully adjust Logan began to thrust up even further. His dick going so deep, the tip hit the spongy part.

He let out a strangled grunt as he held your hips down, and you squirmed.

“You needa stop that.” He barked, as he rolled his head back against the couch rest, trying to control himself as he felt your hole clench around him.

“I’m sorry,” You sob, trying to adjust but the pain and pleasure were too overwhelming you could feel yourself losing focus.

“I just–” He shushes you by cradling you against his shoulder, arms enveloping you in a tight hug, and just when you think you’ve calmed down he devours you like you’re his last meal. He wraps his arms around you and lifts you from his lap before he brings you down and he thrusts up.

A sob escapes your lips as his hips fire off like a pistol, thrusting in and out, brutal but so worth it as your desires are finally being satiated. He’s holding onto you like if he let go you’d float away. A string of curses fill the air as he continues to pump into you.

“Fuck, fuck, Logan.” You mumble, words slowly leaving your mouth.

“Awe,” Logan tuts as his hips fall into a normal pace, his hand coming to caress the back of your hair. “Don’t tell me this pussy is lightweight, we’ve only just started and you’re already acting like this?” You don’t respond, and instead let out soft moans as he continues to fuck into your abused cunt. Logan uses the opportunity to pull you back by your hair (again) to examine your face. It’s flushed red, glowing with perspiration, your chest panting as you try to catch your breath.

“No baby that won’t do.” He caresses the hair out of your face and nuzzles his face against yours. His facial hair prickling your skin. He places a kiss on your forehead before he pounds into you faster, deeper than before. You can barely keep your eyes open and all the sounds that leave your lips are just pathetic little whimpers and sobs.

"M'close." He grunts and you can't help but agree. "You gonna come, sweetheart?" You can't find the words and nod, pliant like a ragdoll in his arms. He groans.

"C'mon. You can do better than that, can't ya? Tell me."

"Fuck yes," you pant, your voice barely audible between gasps. You writhe beneath him, desperate for something to anchor yourself to, but with his hands pinning your wrists, the only thing you manage to grab is the rough hair on his lower abdomen, the friction of it grounding you as much as the heat and slap of his body. "Please… don’t stop."

His grip tightens on your wrists, the pressure pushing you to the edge as he moves faster, his breath hot against your skin. Each thrust sends a jolt through your body, every nerve alight with anticipation and need.

"That's it," he growls, voice thick with control as he watches you fall apart beneath him. "Let go."

You can feel it building, the tension coiling in your core, and with one final snap of his hips, you shatter—your body arching, toes curling, a strangled cry escaping your lips. The world blurs, everything outside this moment fading as you hit your peak, wave after wave crashing over you.

But even through the haze, you feel him reaching his own release. His pace becomes erratic, his muscles tensing, and as he finally falls over the edge, his body tight against yours, he groans—a low, guttural sound—before the name slips out.

"Jean—"

The word cuts through the air like a knife, your euphoria draining in an instant, replaced by a sharp, hollow ache in your chest.

Your heart plummets, and the warmth of his body that moments ago felt so consuming now feels like ice against your skin. The name he whispered isn’t yours. It echoes in your head, louder than the pounding of your pulse, louder than the ragged breaths you're both still catching. You feel like you’ve been struck, yet somehow, you’re not surprised. You always knew this wasn’t really about you. But it doesn’t stop the ache spreading through your chest.

You close your eyes, swallowing the lump in your throat as the reality of it all comes crashing down. This was always going to hurt.

For a few seconds, neither of you moves. The weight of the moment lingers, heavy and unbearable. His body relaxes, but the guilt etched into his expression is unmistakable, and you can feel the shift in the air. The intimacy that just moments ago had been raw and consuming has evaporated, leaving behind only an awkward silence and a sense of regret so thick it’s suffocating.

You disentangle yourself from him slowly, the warmth of his skin now foreign, a reminder of what you never really had. You sit up, your body still trembling, trying to piece together your scattered thoughts. The room feels stifling now, every breath you take thick with the weight of everything left unsaid.

Logan’s eyes open, still clouded with the haze of pleasure, but they widen when he realizes what he’s done—what he’s said. Panic flashes across his face, but it’s too late. You’ve heard it, and you can’t unhear it.

“Shit…” he mutters under his breath, his hand reaching out as if to apologize, but you’re already pulling away, slipping out of his grasp like sand between his fingers.

“It’s fine,” you murmur, voice barely above a whisper, though the crack in it betrays you. You force yourself to keep moving, pulling your clothes back into place, each motion slow and deliberate, as if trying to hold yourself together with every button and clasp.

He doesn’t say anything, and for once, you’re grateful. You don’t want to hear an apology, you don’t want to hear him stumble over words of regret. You don’t want to hear him say her name again.

You stand up, back turned to him, your chest heaving not from passion, but from the pain you can’t quite swallow down. Your hands are shaking as you adjust your clothes, but you refuse to let him see it. You knew this was a mistake. You knew this wasn’t love.

“This was never meant to fix anything,” you finally say, your voice steadier than you feel. “I was just… trying to help.” The words taste bitter, but they’re true. You’d gotten caught up, you’d let yourself believe—if only for a moment—that maybe it could be more. But it never was.

Logan sits up, running a hand through his hair, looking at you with something that could almost be remorse. But it doesn’t matter anymore. He made his choice long before tonight.

With one last glance over your shoulder, you meet his gaze. His eyes are still shadowed by the weight of his unrequited love, and you can see it all too clearly now. You were never the one he needed. You never stood a chance.

“I’ll be fine,” you lie, turning back to the door, your footsteps heavy as you leave the room, abandoning the project you had started earlier that night, each step pulling you farther away from the moment that should’ve never happened.

But even as you walk away, you can’t shake the feeling that for a second, despite knowing better, you let yourself believe it was real.

———

a/n: i thrive off of feedback and criticism.

265 notes · View notes

velvetsainz · 1 year ago

Text

summary: [ cl16 x fem!reader ] charles is in maranello but that doesn't mean he can't help. part one.

word count: 1.3k

content warnings: smut under the cut (minors dni pls!), porn with a dash of plot, use of explicit language, phone/skype sex, masturbation, toys, overstimulation, praise kink, google-translated french (kay strikes again), fluff, i still really like em dashes

a/n: part twooooooooo! (you can totally read this before part i—this is just a sister smutlet ;) ) i've been really pleased with the response to part i, so i was super duper motivated to get this cranked out for you guys. there's mentions to previous encounters, and i'm very tempted to flesh those out in the future along with the allusions to future events. anyways, eat up! enjoy, loves! xx

You could be a tease, but Charles Leclerc was a bigger one.

“Charles, I swear to God that—”

“That what, chérie? Hm?,” he asked as he quirked an eyebrow to you, waiting for you to answer as he watched over the Skype call. You let out a frustrated sigh, sinking back into the bed and allowing your thighs to relax once more.

“So impatient, mon ange…,” he chided, hand working slowly, lazily over his length. You were on the doorstep of your climax when he’d suddenly cut the power to the delicious little bullet in your hand. He’d been teasing you for a solid thirty minutes now, listening to soft moans and needy whines as he built you up before allowing your orgasm to recede away once more.

You scoffed, brow furrowing and lid heavy with need. “Well yes, but-but–,” you stammered as you tried to think of some good reason why you just needed to come. You couldn’t—no reason that would be particularly compelling when he was like this.

As much as you enjoyed your games with your fiancé, your thighs were beginning to cramp and you swore you were going to have to change the sheets now, too.

You’d gotten on your usual Wednesday night call, mood worse than usual. It’d been a long day and you were just ready to put it all behind you, bury yourself in the fluffy duvet of your shared bed, and scroll TikTok aimlessly for a few hours to allow yourself the time to rot in peace.

Charles, on the other hand, had other ideas. If he’d been there, he’d have happily buried his head between your legs until you couldn’t put together a coherent thought and the tension had melted from your shoulders and jaw. Seeing as he was in Maranello, though, he had to find another way to get you in a better headspace.

Enter: the vibrator.

Well, a remote-controlled bullet. One that he could control with an app on his phone, the bastard. Some men found toys in the bedroom to be a competitor, but the Monégasque saw them as an accomplice of sorts; they were friends, not enemies.

In the moment, though, the little fucker sure as hell seemed like an enemy to you.

“Please, baby,” you whined for him, pouting with glossy eyes to the camera, “you already know it’s been a long day.”

Charles hummed, taking pity on you as he turned the vibe on once more to a low-power setting. You took a stunted breath, eyes closing as pleasure rolled through you once again. The sound went straight to his cock, angry red in his hand as precum leaked over the vice grip he held it in.

“Thankyouthankyouthankyou,” you whimpered fervently as the toy kicked up another speed, sending you careening towards your climax.

“I wish I could be there, chérie,” he coaxed as he watched you start panting once again, breaths coming in stuttering bursts with whines trapped in the back of your throat. “J'adore entendre tous ces jolis sons, ma jolie,” Charles purred, pulling a particularly pitiful moan from you. He laughed as he ticked the power up another notch, “Oui—juste comme ça, chérie.”

You could feel your orgasm coming at you hot and fast, mouth falling open as your hips dug into the soft material of the mattress. A tear spilled from the corner of your eye at the sheer sting of need coming into full view, one of your hands planting hard into the bed beside you as your eyes rolled back in reflex.

“Charles, please, I-I-I—”

“C’est bon, minette,” he soothed, his own desire starting to rear its head, “Let go—let it all go for me, mm?” He set the devilish little toy onto full blast, and you didn’t wait for him to rethink his offer.

You babbled half-coherently as something melted in the pit of your belly, washing over your senses until your ears rang and your legs buzzed. You could feel your sweat pooling in the small of your back as loose strands of hair stuck to your forehead and neck from the matching sheen that covered them, and your partner had turned the bullet to its lowest power setting to nurse you through the aftershocks that rocked your hips. You were well and truly dripping at this point, a small wet spot forming under you on the white sheets. You really should have put down a towel before you got yourself into this mess.

But with no warning, as you basked in the afterglow of a much-needed orgasm, the toy went into full power once more. Your eyes shot open and hips jolted away from the sensation as you looked to the screen after a moment of realization. “Baby, no, I–t-too sensiti—,” you started to whimper to Charles as you heard the sounds of his own pleasure growing more prominent.

“Yes, mon ange,” he said firmly, hazel eyes dark with pleasure, “Just one more—I know you can.” He watches as your brow furrows once more and your hand disappears between your legs once again. Never did he ever think he could be so jealous of a fucking hand.

You mewled as you fought the stuttering of your hips each time you pressed the toy to your already-aching clit. Still, in no time you were there once again, and Charles cursed and muttered under his breath as he watched the show you put on for him.

“Merde—”

“Such a good girl, yes—”

“Going to fuck you so good—”

“Fuck…fuck—”

He grunted your name once more and came with a growl, jaw slack as he spilled over the fist that held him so tightly. Meanwhile, you were coming down with glazed eyes and parted lips, breathing hard as you let out a quiet “fuck.”

“Oui,” Charles agreed teasingly as his head dropped back behind him lazily.

Toy discarded onto the bed next to you, you rolled onto your side to face him on the video call. “Why do you have to work so far away sometimes?,” you grumbled rhetorically, pouting as your body pooled in one of his old t-shirts and your breathing started to match something more normal. Your body had lost the tension it had been carrying, those dual orgasms working to relieve the stress you’d felt when you’d started the call. Still, a toy was a poor replacement for the man on the other side of the call, and you wanted him there with you more than you’d wanted that first orgasm. You hated making him feel bad about being away, but damn did you need to be fucked within an inch of your life right about now.

He tsked softly, lifting his head once more to see your pout. “I know, mon cœur,” he nodded, adjusting the lid of his laptop to angle more towards his face, “but if I didn’t come to Maranello, I wouldn’t get anything done. We’d be like bunny rabbits—like Corsica.”

Memories of that trip came back, causing your tummy to flip at thought. You really had fucked like rabbits on that trip, and no surface was safe from the fury of your shared lust. Nothing was sacred and anywhere that had just enough privacy was good enough for one to start tormenting the other with their fingers…their lips…their—

“I don’t see why that’s a problem,” you teased back, smile finding your lips once more as you shrugged your shoulders nonchalantly. One elbow helped prop your head up while the other hand rested between the soft skin of your thighs.

“My sunburn disagreed,” Charles chuckled as you found yourself laughing with him. “I looked like a…a—what’s the word? Homard?”

“Lobster?,” you chimed in with a smirk as you remembered just how red he’d been. You swore you‘d slather a metric shit ton of aloe on him during that holiday. The way he’d keep you warm in the cold showers, though…

“Yes, a lobster,” he sighed, dropping his head into his hands at the thought. “Chérie, it hurt so bad—and Carlos wouldn’t wouldn’t stop laughing at me in the paddock in Spa!”

“But you would taste wonderful dipped in butter!”

“You are an idiot, chérie.”

“And knowing that, you still wanted me to be your wife. So who’s the bigger idiot in this equation, baby?”

886 notes · View notes

maopll · 1 year ago

Text

🫧 — NOT SO SECRET CONFESSION :

# genshin impact !

⌗ a/n : I changed it a little. the original request wasn't like the one I'm writing but definitely a lot same. I hope this is also to your liking :D

⌗ warning : slight angst(zhongli), your best friend being so real.

⌗ characters : kaeya , diluc, zhongli, kaveh & gn!reader

「 summary 」 : your crush was just passing by the little cafe downtown for some errands. while you were talking about your ideal type, it was clear it could only be one person and even you said it was him. however, you were unaware of the same man eavesdropping on your conversation with a very obvious blush on his face. so could this be the start to a budding love?...

‣ 𝐊𝐀𝐄𝐘𝐀

Klee wanted to get a few pastries from the bakery in mondstadt, so he was put to the job. While he was returning, he heard the voice of a very familiar person. 'Oh? it seems like knight y/n is slacking off,' he thought to himself. He wanted to ask why you were here, but he stopped as soon as he understood the topic of your conversation with a colleague.

"Honestly, any man who is tall, dark-skinned, and has long hair is a solid 10/10 for me. They would be eye candy for sure." Your friend agreed with you saying,"Very real of you y/n, but why does that sound like someone WE know...". "We know someone who looks like this?" Kaeya is no fool. The description you provided does trace back to the only prominent figure in mondstadt that has the same features. He was breathing heavily, and his heart was thumping in his chest. "Wait... yeah, it does sound like someone we know..." "It's the cavalry captain kaeya, isn't it ?" There it is, there was his name. His eyes widened partly from shock and partly from relief, knowing that his secret crush also crushes on him. He peaked at you from the corner of his eye, and you were just as flushed as him. "Well he does look very...handsome. Do you think I should uhhh try telling him how I feel or should I wait some more?" you asked your friend.

He departed from the cafe where you were since he had to return. He hopes that you will come to tell him your feelings at the earliest. He's not that patient when it comes to his love life. It's better if you confess to him. Otherwise, he might have to step up his game...

‣ 𝐃𝐈𝐋𝐔𝐂

It's the work hours, and he needs to get the tavern job done and bring the ice cubes since they have run out of it. Handing over the work temporarily to Charles, he dashed his way towards the designated shop when he heard a very familiar voice. Who was this again ? Oh, it was the regular customer of Diluc every night at exactly 10 p.m. He favoured you quite a lot. Free drinks, empty reserved seats in a quiet corner, and so and so. It was quite clear to people close to Diluc that he was your secret admire, though they never admitted it. So imagine his feelings when he overheard your conversation that also shows your true feelings towards him...

He's a gentleman, and he doesn't like eavesdropping, but the conversation that he happened to chance upon piqued his interest. "Tall, mysterious, rich, handsome, long hair, will cry for me and in front of their mother. This sounds like a dream guy for the girlies!" Your friend looked at you with a cheeky grin and said "oh I know the one who you're talking about!" You squealed,"Don't say so loudly! shhh...what I'd they hear it, " you said in an embarrassed tone. Diluc was expecting to hear his name the most but felt as if it might not be him. 'what if its not me?' he thought. But his worries would melt away with the name. "it's master diluc! I knew it he WAS the best man for you y/n".

Diluc heaved a sigh of relief. Getting his feelings reciprocated was one of the best things that ever happened to him. Not only was he a man of few words, but he also rarely showed his emotions. The prospect of being with you in the future, smiling with you, spending most of his time with you. You could be the very light that would shine upon him in his dark night.

‣ 𝐙𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐋𝐈

He was stoic and often came as impertinent to many women and his colleagues. You were, however, different from the ones he has come across. You patiently listened to him and even made remarks if necessary. Later, he felt these feelings rising up in his chest. His heart would thump heavily in his chest whenever he would meet you, he would often get flustered whenever you would be around. But...he was good at hiding these feelings ! so you couldn't even know if he felt the same as you ! but he soon found his answers upon...eavesdropping...

He was passing by Yuehai Pavilion after getting Director Hu's job done. But he heard your voice, and although it was quite rude, he couldn't help but hear what the topic of the conversation was that got you so hyped up. "Gentlemen with a favourable gait, tall and long hair is what I seeketh," you friend snickered, "drop the accent, but where will you find such a man? It's basically impossible to find someone who fits your standards lower your expectations y/n. " You frowned, "But I know this man! he fits, no...breaks the bars I tell you!". Zhongli wasn't feeling jealous at all. No, no. But he thought, 'There can't be a man who resembles your taste except me. I am what people say god-carved'

Lo and behold, there was his name being mentioned. "It's Mister Zhongli, isn't it? Good luck having your shot at him. He looks rather stone cold to be able to reciprocate how you feel y/n." Zhongli wouldn't deny that. That's just how he's been described all his life by people. But he felt sad because what if you pushed him away because of his personality?. He sighed and walked away since he couldn't leave work for so long with a heavy heart.

"I love him for who he is. He is a great guy his personality is nothing like how they make it up. He is rather sweet and gentle. How about I ask him out after his work has ended?". And thus marked the end of your conversation with your friend.

‣ 𝐊𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐇

He's always had a puppy crush on you since the time you two were students at the akademiya. It's just that he never mustered up the courage to go up and ask you out. Although he would sneakily drop hints that he does like you in conversations and touches that would last longer, you never picked those up. He was quite disappointed but adjusted himself day by day. But it all shatters into pieces during that one faithful day, and he again finds himself returning to how he was back when you two were young.

He sat down by a fountain observing the scenery before him. He carefully sketched it into his canvas. He had total concentration until that one familiar voice and that one familiar way of saying his name that he heard. 'Oh, it's my past crush... Will they remember me?'

He didn't mean to eavesdrop, but your talk seemed a little...attractive since you wouldn't really get THIS worked up over someone or something. "and this is precisely why I find myself liking blondes! tall, lean figure, and artistic face and blonde, blonde, blonde!" Your friend scoffed and said "yes yes fine! I get it that you like blondes. But is there even anyone that matches your description of an almost dream-like significant other?". You pondered on that topic for a while, and on the other hand, Kaveh was also thinking, no, distressing if there truly was anyone who had the face that caught your gaze. He frowned. Until he heard you say his name. his name.

"Kaveh fits the standard for me! he looks just like a dream! how can you not like his personality, charisma, and his face." Your friend smiled and said, "Looks like you found who you like. Have a go at him. I'm sure he will show the same feelings as well." That had to be the best day of his life. Although you were unaware of his presence, he hoped that you would keep him in your mind until you confessed.

393 notes · View notes

bestedoesmeow · 2 years ago

Text

𝓬.𝓵 x reader

* You thought it would be a good idea to test out the kissing with pop rocks thing with your bf.

tw: kissing🫡

It was raining cats and dogs that day in Monaco, and the heavy sounds of the falling raindrops were all over the living room where you and Charles were lazily wasting your time. He was on his phone, scrolling through his Twitter feed, while you were tucked in a blanket watching Bob's Burgers, trying to keep your eyes open since it was almost impossible for you to with the relaxing sound of rain and Charles's steady breaths. Charles's one hand was rubbing your ankle with slow and regular movements, like he was trying to sing you to sleep. You let out a little smile before closing your eyes and placing your foot on Charles's lap to reassure him to keep doing what he has been doing for the past few minutes. He let out a brief chuckle before finally opening his mouth to speak after almost thirty minutes. '' Voulez-vous plus de cela huh ? He asked playfully, locked his phone, and put it on the coffee table before starting to rub your ankles with his soft, solid, and strong hands. After almost three minutes, the lights went out, leaving you two in darkness with only the heavy sound of the wind and the rain.

“I'm going to get some candles from the kitchen; do you want anything?" He asked as he stroked your hair.

"Maybe the chocolate chips I bought earlier today." You said, switching into a sitting position. He kissed the crown of your head as he made his way to the kitchen. After almost a minute, Charles made himself comfortable next to you on the couch and placed the already-lit candles on the coffee table before handing you the paper bag of chocolate chips. He also had a little package in his hand; you took a bite from the cookie before letting Charles grab a bite.

"What's that in your hand?" You inquired, attempting to read the writing on the package.

"It's Pop Rocks; yesterday, when I was out to get groceries, I saw this near the cash register, and it made me remember my childhood." He said this before grabbing your cheeks and kissing them.

"Little Charlie used to have pop rocks a lot, huh?" You said before letting out a warm laughter. Thinking about Charles as a child always made your heart melt. He placed his arms at the back of the couch.

"Oh, Chéri, I was obsessed; my mother used to hide them just because I was refusing to eat any other thing." His pleasant laughter filled the room while you were playing with his fingers.

"I heard kissing while having them in your mouth is quite an experience," you said before raising your head from his chest to face him with a sideways smile on your lips.

"Oh, veux-tu que je t'embrasse?" Oh, how I'd love to do that. He said this as he slowly cupped your cheeks and rubbed his nose against your neck. For a split second, you forgot who you were. To feel Charles's nose on your neck and his consoling hands moving on your back was too much to handle. You grabbed his chin to pull him into an almost desperate kiss. Your lips were moving steadily at a rhyming pace, Charles's fingertips were moving around your bare skin under your sweater while his lips were working their way to your neck.

''Vous sentez si bon, amour.'' He muttered it under his breath before returning it to your lips, this time more seductively, harshly, and affectively.While melting under his touch, you never wanted it to stop; you always wanted to have him this close, feeling the warmth of his body, his lips, mouth, and hands. When you drifted away to take a breath, your thumb was still under his chin. His eyes were scanning every part of your face with loving intensity.

"Now that was one hell of an experience, that Pop Rocks," you said while Charles's thumb was traveling on your bottom lip, making you dizzy. He kissed them before pulling you up next to him on the couch.

"Are you hungry?" he asked. Your legs were trapped between his; he always did this whenever you were laying together. He said it was to keep them warm.

"Well, not anymore after I had that many Pop Rocks."

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x y/n #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x you #f1 imagine #f1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 fandom #scuderia ferrari

971 notes · View notes

aletterinthenameofsanity · 1 month ago

Text

Charles, Edwin, and Monty (Pirate AU)

So Charles leans in and kisses Monty.

It’s different than kissing Edwin, no lantern light upon his mouth, just the moonlight through the porthole, and yet it’s just as special.

Edwin Payne is Charles Rowland’s North Star, the guiding light by which he has built his life for so long, and that will never change, but there is something else settling between his ribs as well, something warm and solid and here.

Charles’ hand lifts on instinct to cup the back of Monty’s neck and pull him in closer, deepening the kiss, while Monty’s hand goes to Charles’ waist to pull him in closer, and their hands are covered in blood.

But they’re always covered in blood. That is what being a pirate is, violence and theft and finding safety on the sea in the arms of those you trust your very life with.

Charles’ heart has always yearned for love. It has always loved too much and too hard to survive.

And it is certainly big enough for three.

-aletterinthenameofsanity, picture a man turning back to shore (i can only think of you)

Some days I'm tired of trying, honey

But you're like a thousand miles from me

I'm wrapped and worn come and find me

Don't send me flowers or a letter

Cause only your arms can make me better

And I know I can be hard to carry

And I've got some beasts I need to bury

But you've got the antidote for me

Honey, make me healthy

-Flannel Graph, Honey, Make Me Healthy

@deadboy-edwin @icecreambrownies @anonymousbooknerd-universe @ashildrs

@tragedy-machine @orpheusetude @jaysbraindump

@pappelsiin @itsbitmxdinhere @rexrevri @sweet-like-h0ney-lavender @saffirez

@the-ipre @sunnylemonss @days-light @agentearthling @helltechnicality

@sethlost @catboy-cabin @secretlyafiveheadeddragon @vyther15

@anything-thats-rock-and-roll @queen-of-hobgobblers @every-moment-a-different-sound

@nix-nihili @mellxncollie @tumblerislovetumblerislife @lemurafraidofthunder

@likemmmcookies @wr0temyway0ut @thelakeswillbreakourfall

@sapphic-corgi @occasionaloneshots @troublegoblin

52 notes · View notes

wisteriagoesvroom · 7 months ago

Note

lestappen + beach day

The whistle blows. The spike was solid. There was no way it was out. It was simply impossible. He’d worked perfectly with Pierre on it. Pierre going low on the dig, Lando shouting when Charles leapt and smashed it down the court, right in the gap where two bodies stood.

It was good. And Charles is good at a lot of things. But the problem was, the other person standing on the other side of the net, looking shockingly muscular while topless, of course had to be one Max Verstappen.

(It’s very hard not to stare at the gleam of his boobs while Charles stalks up to the net. He adjusts his sunglasses. That is what they did in the films. So he can channel being cool for now, too.)

“It was not over the line. Absolutely not.”

“Mate.” Max replies. “You can clearly see there is a dent there.”

“The edge of the ball did not touch that line.”

“Are you blind?”

“The way your chest is shining? Yes, perhaps.”

Somewhere off court, Alex makes an ooh noise. Somewhere off court is the sound of George slapping Alex’s shoulder, ostensibly to make him shut up.

On the back of Max’s court, Oscar adjusts his cap. “Listen, it’s a friendly—”, but the noise dies in his throat as Charles shoots him a look.

“It’s not my problem if you’re so easily distracted.” Max continues. He steps closer to the net, and rests his hands on his hips.

“And it’s not my fault if you’re blind and can’t see that the ball was clearly out.”

As if sensing that this is going to take a while, Oscar rolls his eyes and goes to open the cooler with the popsicles. Lando follows in quick succession, and Pierre mutters a few choice words in French that Charles chooses to ignore.

Charles feels like his mother’s carefully taught decorum is the only thing keeping him from smacking Max or escalating the situation to something even worse to contemplate, and certainly against FIA parental guidance rules.

“Why are you always being so difficult, Max?”

Max shoves up his sunglasses higher on his head. Charles realises with a start that Max’s nose is sun-flushed, and he’s got the start of some freckles just below his eyes.

(Charles will spend too much time staring at the ceiling fan later in bed, trying not to remember the exact placement of these very freckles.)

“Because, Charlie.” Max says, carefully, clear enough for the whole court to hear, “I think you like it quite a bit when I do.”

#lestappen #1633 #max verstappen #Charles leclerc #cl16 #mv33 #3316 #wiz.promptfills #look i did this prompt fill while in transit #if it’s bad do not judge #i mean fine if you judge #judge it silently #thanks #I hit post too soon so if you saw the unfinished version? no you did not #THERE WERE SO MANY TYPOS ON THE FIRST DRAFT BLESS Y’ALL FOR NOT SAYING ANYTHING

72 notes · View notes

moeitsu · 7 months ago

Text

The Tie Which Linked My Soul To Thee

Ch 10 - Since Last I Held That Hand In Mine

Summary: The Course of True Love and other Revelations

Ao3 Wattpad Masterlist - All Chapters Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

AN: ~8k words, I want to start tagging people in the next chapters. So if you'd like to be tagged when I post let me know!

Story Tags: Widowed, Original Character(s), High-Honor!Arthur Morgan, Arthur Morgan Does Not Have Tuberculosis, Arthur Morgan Deserves Happiness, Chubby!Arthur Morgan, Canon Divergence, Mutual Pining, Slow Build, Eventual Smut, Eventual Sex, Eventual Romance, Emotional Sex, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort,Touch-Starved, Sexual Tension, Friends to Lovers, Child Loss, Infant Death, Trauma, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Torture, Blood and Violence, Survivor Guilt, Aftermath of Torture, Caretaking, Injury Recovery, Period-Typical Racism, Anxiety, Self-Hatred, Night Terrors, Emotional Constipation, Self-Doubt, Men Crying, Bathing/Washing, Sweet/Hot, Romantic Angst, Romantic Fluff

As the soft light of dawn filtered through the trees, the melodious chorus of birdsong stirred Kate from her slumber. Rising from her cot, she welcomed the new day with a sense of purpose. Arthur's unexpected kiss last night had left her reeling, yet she felt its undeniable reality like the solid ground beneath her feet.

From the moment they first met, something about Arthur had intrigued her—an unspoken vulnerability beneath his tough exterior. She glimpsed it again last night, in the tender way he cradled Jack and the gentle touch of his calloused hands against her cheek. His kiss carried a longing, a shared ache that resonated with her own soul.

Despite the stories she had heard about Arthur's reputation as an outlaw, Kate refused to believe that violence defined him. She sensed a yearning for a better life within him, much like her own. He desired a world where strength did not equate to brutality, where he could shed the role of a hardened outlaw for something more tender and genuine.

With a satisfying stretch, Kate rose from her cot and cast a glance toward Arthur's tent, finding it empty—an indication that he was already up and about. Determined to catch him, she made her way over to the chuck wagon, exchanging greetings with others in camp as she helped herself to breakfast. Despite her hopes of a shared meal, she realized Arthur must have been out working already. Slightly disappointed, she sat alone, her thoughts lingering on their fleeting moment and the desire for another chance to talk.

As the day passed swiftly, Kate kept an eye out for Arthur's return, but to her surprise, he hadn't shown up by dinner. Contemplating waiting through the evening, she hesitated, feeling the ache of sore muscles from chopping wood and hauling buckets of water. Eventually, she resigned herself to the night, hoping for a better opportunity in the morning.

The following day mirrored the routine—Kate rising early, only to find Arthur's tent deserted once more. Concern gnawed at her as she asked Karen, who had been on guard duty the previous night, if Arthur had returned. The answer was no, leaving Kate troubled and wondering about the cause of his absence.

By the evening of the third day, Kate's worry had escalated into a swirling storm of thoughts. Had she said or done something to upset him? Did Arthur regret their shared kiss, causing him to avoid her? Unable to find solace in uncertainty, she tossed and turned that night, her mind racing with possibilities and unanswered questions.

The next morning, Kate was roused from sleep by the rhythmic sound of approaching hoofbeats. Her heart quickened with hope, expecting to catch a glimpse of Arthur's brilliant white mare, Belle. However, it was Charles arriving on Taima, dismounting with a few pheasants in tow. Kate rubbed her temple, frustrated with herself for feeling so eager. Since when have I become such a lovesick maiden? She thought bitterly, pushing the thoughts aside. Determined to appear nonchalant, she pulled on her boots and made her way over to Charles by the hitching post.

"Morning, Charles," she greeted, leaning casually against the post.

"Good morning, Kate," Charles replied warmly.

She couldn't hide the uncertainty in her voice. "Have you seen Arthur lately? I, um, wanted to talk with him about something."

Charles glanced back toward the trail. "He should be back any minute. I ran into him on my way in. I think he was out with Trelawny for a bit, robbing a stagecoach or something," he muttered, focusing on his hunt.

Kate blew out a breath and turned back toward camp, searching for some work to distract her while she waited for Arthur's return. To her surprise, she noticed Hosea waving to her from the center of camp. He sat comfortably in a folding chair, a newspaper folded in his lap.

"How's the heat treating that bullet wound?" Hosea asked, his tone friendly yet concerned.

Kate placed a hand over her stitches. "Aside from sweating through all the cloth, I'd say it's healing just fine," she replied with a smile. "And how are you feeling?"

Hosea waved off her concern with a chuckle. "I'm as good as they come, sweetheart, just an antique in need of a little polish, is all." He motioned for Kate to take a seat across from him, and she obliged.

"I've been thinking," Hosea continued, "you're a smart woman, and we could certainly use your help in this mess we've found ourselves in between the two dumbest families in Lemoyne."

Kate was about to voice her concern when Hosea cut in again. "Now, Arthur's told me you like to keep your nose out of trouble, and I don't blame you. Although it's not that easy when you're surrounded by a bunch of half-wits," he chuckled dryly.

Her mind lingered on the second part of their conversation. Arthur talked about me with him?

"I was thinking you and Arthur could go explore the Gray's plantation, talk to some folks, see what you can find out. Nothing illegal, no harming anybody, just gathering information."

Kate's face brightened at the prospect of spending the day with Arthur, even if it meant work. "I'd be happy to help, Hosea. I'll do my best to gather whatever information we need," she replied eagerly, a spark of determination in her eyes.

"Atta girl," Hosea nodded approvingly before calling out to Arthur, who had just returned to camp. "Arthur! Come join us. We're discussing a little venture for you and Kate. Think you two can handle Caliga Hall today?"

Arthur approached them with a warm smile, leaning casually against the post of the awning to escape the relentless sun. "I'm gone for three days, and suddenly you wanna run with the outlaws?" he teased, nodding towards Kate. "I thought you wanted to keep out of trouble."

Kate leaned back in her chair, a hint of smugness in her tone. "Last I checked, I've been running with outlaws for the past three weeks. Besides, there's no harm in talking to folks," she retorted confidently.

Arthur chuckled and shook his head. "Well, Miss McCanon, wherever I go, trouble always seems to find me. You sure you want to go?"

Kate wasn't sure why Arthur was using formalities with her all of a sudden. Was he being playful or trying to create distance? Whatever his intentions, she was determined to find out. "I think you know better than most, Mr. Morgan. I can handle myself just fine," she replied, emphasizing the formality of his name.

Arthur chortled as he gestured for Kate to follow him towards the horses. "Well, c’mon then woman. We've got work to do!"

Kate glanced back at Hosea, who wore a knowing smile as he returned to his newspaper. It seemed as though everything had gone according to his plan. She began to wonder if he had invited her on purpose, giving the two of them a chance to talk alone.

Kate felt suddenly nervous as she followed Arthur towards the horses. His playful demeanor and the sudden use of her formal name had sparked a whirlwind of questions in her head. Was he trying to keep their interactions professional, given their recent intimate moment? Or perhaps he was trying to mask his own feelings, unsure of how to navigate the situation himself.

As they reached the horses, Kate grabbed the reins of her mare, Lorena, and glanced over at Arthur, who was securing his saddlebag. She couldn't shake the feeling of uncertainty that lingered between them. A part of her felt a flutter of nerves. What if she misread the situation? What if their connection meant more to her than it did to him? She longed to talk to him about it, but found herself unsure how to broach the subject.

As they rode through the bustling streets of Rhodes and then onto the dusty road leading to Caliga Hall, Arthur began to fill Kate in on his recent adventures. The past three days had been eventful, to say the least. Trelawny had tipped him off about a lucrative stagecoach passing through Rhodes, but tracking down the informant had taken longer than expected.

Arthur's voice was tinged with gravity as he recounted the ordeal. "Took me nearly two days to track down Trelawny. Turns out, the poor bastard had been snatched up by bounty hunters. They roughed him up pretty good too." His words were laced with concern, and she couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt for her earlier assumptions.

Kate listened intently, the rhythmic clop of their horses' hooves matching the steady pace of Arthur's story. The reality of their lives as outlaws became all too clear in that moment. Here they were, riding through the sunlit countryside, but the shadows of danger loomed ever closer. Trouble always seems to find me, and he wasn’t lying.

As Arthur finished recounting the past few days, some of Kate's concerns melted away. She realized how trivial her worries about their recent encounter had been. Arthur had been preoccupied with far weightier matters, yet he was here now, by her side. Perhaps his mind had raced with a million thoughts as well.

"I'm sorry, Arthur," Kate said softly, her gaze fixed ahead on the winding road, “I hope your friend is alright. It sounds like you two have been through a lot.”

Arthur turned to her, his expression softening. "No need to apologize, Kate. S’just part of the life we lead. Besides, it's good to be out here with you, away from all the chaos."

A soft flush crept up Kate's cheeks at Arthur's compliment, and for a fleeting moment, she entertained the idea of abandoning their mission altogether. The notion of spending the afternoon riding together, engaged in easy conversation, tugged at her thoughts like a gentle breeze. She longed to feel his lips on hers once more, the memory vivid in her mind—the taste of his mouth, the comforting scent of his presence.

With a bashful smile, Kate turned her gaze away, her attention drawn to the dusty road ahead. The path was flanked by open fields, the sprawling land filled with tobacco plants. As they approached the grand entrance of Caliga Hall, the imposing structure loomed in the distance, a reminder of the task that awaited them.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Kate marveled at the ease with which they slipped past the guards, thanks to Arthur's clever use of his newly acquired Sheriff badge and her guise as a journalist. The ruse seemed to fit naturally, lending an air of legitimacy to their visit. Their pretext? To delve into the rich history of the Gray family—a tale that promised intrigue and secrets.

Navigating through the vast estate, they engaged with a few hesitant workers, who reluctantly directed them toward Beau Gray, the youngest son of the family. The workers seemed wary, reluctant to speak openly about their employer, but they hinted that Beau was known for being talkative, perhaps to a fault.

They finally located Beau outside a tool shed, engrossed in scribbling a letter on an open book, seemingly evading his labor duties. His demeanor suggested a man eager for distraction, a perfect opportunity for Kate and Arthur to unravel the mysteries veiled within the Gray family legacy.

"Mr. Gray?" Arthur inquired, breaking the young man's focus from his notes.

Beau looked up with curiosity, setting aside his notation, “that would be my father, you can just call me Beau,” he replied, extending a hand towards Arthur before acknowledging Kate. “Hello miss,” he greeted with a nod, “what can I do for you friends?”

Arthur, ever the jester, retorted, "Oh, we's friends now, are we?"

Beau chuckled, his eyes crinkling with amusement. "Not yet, but here's hoping," he quipped, flashing a friendly smile. "You know, we don't get a lot of traveling men around here, and suddenly there's a whole phalanx of mysterious, yet strangely helpful Yankees about the place."

Arthur's hand unconsciously drifted to his gun belt as the other scratched his chin. "Is that so?" he replied, intrigued by Beau's sudden observation.

Sensing the tension, Kate interjected, "Mr. Gray—sorry, Beau—we'd just like to ask you some questions about your family. You see, we're writing an article for the paper about your tobacco fields. The plantation has been quite successful, especially since the war."

Beau eyed her with suspicion, snapping his book closed. "And what did you say your name was, Miss?"

Kate hesitated, feeling the weight of her fabricated identity. "I'm Madeleine. Madeleine McCanon," she stammered, her confidence waning.

"Miss Madeleine, you're either a terrible journalist or an exceptional bullshitter," Beau teased with a grin. "Nobody in this old dust bucket town gives a damn about our tobacco fields. They're too busy getting drunk off the Braithwaites' moonshine."

Kate gawked, “I um, well we—you see we’re just,” she stumbled over the words. Arthur eyed the young man with a threatening gaze.

Suddenly, Beau burst into laughter, slapping his book against his thigh. "I'm just messin' with ya, Miss! I can tell you're looking for something. And it ain't some groundbreaking story. Don't worry, your secret's safe with me," he assured with a wink.

Kate flushed with embarrassment, unsure if she had just blown their cover. Was I really that obvious? Perhaps they weren’t the first travelers to sniff around their family feud. Arthur smirked under his hat and hid his gaze from Kate, it amused him to see her so flustered on her first job. Especially since she had teased him so many times with her own playful jabs.

Arthur maintained his facade as a simple sheriff. "I don't know nothin' 'bout a secret," he replied casually, playing along with the charade.

"Well, I got a secret of my own," Beau announced, setting his book down on a nearby wooden crate.

"You secretly normal?" Arthur quipped under his breath, shooting a quick glance at Kate.

Beau raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"Nothin’," Arthur muttered, scratching the back of his neck. Kate swallowed a laugh at Arthur's impatience with the boy—a side of him she hadn't seen before. When he wasn't being gruff or soft, he could be surprisingly playful.

Unfazed, Beau continued, "The thing is, I don't care if you kill the whole lot of us," surprising Kate with his nonchalance, "and the Braithwaites too," he added in a hushed tone, checking around to ensure they weren't overheard.

Kate raised her hands defensively. "We ain't here to kill anyone."

"I love her, you know," Beau declared earnestly.

Arthur exhaled. "Love who?"

"Penelope," Beau replied dreamily, then shook his head. “But it's impossible, she’s a Braithewaite.”

Kate couldn't help but smile at the young man's lovesick dream. "Love tends to be complicated," she added sympathetically.

"I'm the son of Tavish Gray, nephew of Leigh Gray, and the grandson of old Murdo Gray," Beau paced with frustration. Arthur crossed his arms and leaned against the wooden shed, letting Beau ramble.

"We Grays have been loyal to the state. We've been murdering Braithwaites for years," Beau explained, revealing the deep-seated family feud. Kate's nerves prickled; this feud was more than stolen goods and moonshine—it was generations of bloodshed, and could get very ugly if they were not careful.

"Why are your families so hell-bent on killing each other?" Kate asked, intrigued.

"Who the hell knows! It was so long ago nobody even remembers," Beau exclaimed, his hands waving through the air.

Kate shot a glance at Arthur. This feud was messy, and they were tracking mud through their own home. "Sounds like a lot of blind loyalty and stupidity," she remarked.

"Exactly!" Beau exclaimed with emphasis, relieved that someone understood. "Why should I be loyal to some nonsense while she—" He paused, breathless, as thoughts of Penelope overwhelmed him. "Oh, Miss Madeleine, she's amazing."

Arthur chuckled at Beau's lovesick revelations as he continued. "She's like a woman from the future! Like tomorrow… if tomorrow turns out fine."

Kate smiled warmly, a glimmer in her eyes. Oh, to be young and in love again, she thought. She had missed that feeling—the rush of emotions, the intensity of desire. It was as if Beau and Penelope were characters straight out of Shakespeare's Romeo & Juliet, caught in the throes of a tragic family feud. Yet, despite the adversities, nothing could sever the deep bond they shared. She silently hoped their story would have a different ending than the fairytale.

Arthur stepped away, shaking his head slightly. “Kid, I’m sorry for your predicament. But there ain't much we can do ‘bout that. We don’t wanna get involved in your family’s feud.” he said firmly as he started to walk off. Beau looked crestfallen, and Kate hung back for a moment.

Turning to her with pleading eyes, Beau implored, "Please, Miss, will you help me?" Arthur halted at his question. "I'll pay you. The Grays, we always have money."

Taking Beau's hand in hers, Kate spoke confidently, "Of course I'll help you, Beau, and please, keep your money." Arthur shot her a disapproving look, but she paid it no mind.

Beau's face brightened as he hurriedly finished addressing his letter to Penelope. “oh thank you! Thank you miss, I know she loves to sit out in the gazebo on the edge of the Braithewaite property,” he explained, sealing the envelope with a lick. He then pulled out a small blue box from his pocket and handed it to Kate gently. “Will you give her this bracelet too? It's real sapphire, a brilliant blue, just like her eyes.”

Kate nodded, tucking the items into her bag. Her heart ached as she looked at Beau, wishing she could pluck the two lovebirds from their tangled nest and set them free. They deserved happiness. Families could be complicated, and blind loyalty only served to clip wings and poison blood. The least she could do was deliver a letter for him.

As they mounted their horses and set off towards Braithwaite Manor, Arthur finally voiced his thoughts on Kate's new approach to the family feud.

"So, now we're running errands for the boy with puppy eyes for some Braithwaite woman?" Arthur remarked, a tinge of bitterness in his tone. He seemed agitated that Kate had agreed to deliver the letter, for free nonetheless. "We were supposed to be gathering information, not delivering little trinkets and love letters."

"We can do both, Arthur," Kate responded calmly, her gaze steady. "We've learned that this feud runs deep and has a lot of history. We also know how influential the Grays are in this town, and they've got money—according to Beau, at least. Besides, this gives us an opportunity to speak with a Braithwaite. If Penelope is anything like Beau, she might shed some light on this mess."

Arthur sighed and shook his head. "This just seems foolish. Sneakin’ onto their property, looking for some young maiden. What if we get caught?"

Kate chuckled. "Oh, don't tell me you and Mary never snuck around," she teased. Arthur's head snapped in her direction at the mention of Mary's name. "Yeah, the girls told me all about that. You would sneak out of camp just to see her. Abigail even mentioned her father catching you two in the barn once—"

"Alright, that's enough," Arthur interjected, clearly embarrassed. "That's different. And remind me to tell the girls to quit gossipin’ about my love life," he muttered.

"It's not so different, Arthur," Kate continued, her voice softening. "It's young love. Delivering this letter is the right thing to do, the kind thing. And it might benefit us too. And don’t give me that 'what if we get caught' nonsense. You're a damn thief!" She grinned.

Arthur chuckled, a smirk playing on his lips. "Can't argue with that, I reckon.”

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

As they approached the grand white manor, Arthur led the way with purpose, and Kate followed closely behind. They dismounted their mares and hitched them to a sturdy tree just shy of the estate's property line. With a finger pressed to his lips, Arthur gestured for Kate to follow him quietly.

They moved between small sheds and dense trees, keeping low to avoid the prying eyes of the guards patrolling the area. The shoreline provided some cover as they made their way toward the back of the manor. Then, just as they had hoped, they spotted a picturesque white gazebo adorned with bright yellow and pink tulips.

In the middle of the gazebo sat a young woman with a plait of golden yellow hair—Penelope Braithwaite. She was a vision against the backdrop of blooming flowers, her delicate features illuminated by the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees as she fanned herself in the heat. Kate could see how a young man like Beau would be enraptured by her.

The two messengers approached Penelope as she sat on a chair in n the gazebo, Arthur taking the lead. "Are you Penelope Braithwaite?" he inquired politely.

"Why, yes I am," Penelope replied with a warm smile. "Who might you folks be?"

Arthur introduced himself, "Names Arthur, and this is Madel—"

"Kate," she interjected smoothly, correcting him. "Beau asked us to deliver a letter for him." Kate reached into her bag and produced the parcels, handing Penelope the letter first, followed by the small blue box, “and a gift.”

Penelope's eyes sparkled with delight as she clutched the letters to her chest. "Oh, Beau!" she exclaimed, "he is just so—"

"Strange?" Arthur blurted out, earning a light smack on the arm from Kate and a pointed look.

Penelope giggled softly. "Well, yes, he is a bit strange. But also so human," she mused, rising to pour tea from a nearby pot. "Our families are stuck in the Dark Ages, or cave people perhaps. I don’t know," she explained, handing them each a cup of tea, which Kate accepted gratefully.

Penelope continued, her tone becoming more serious. "Beau, he's different from all that, you know? But if they found out about us, my family would kill him. And probably send me to live someplace horrible like… Ohio," she added, clearly disliking the idea.

Kate listened intently, settling into a wicker chair across from Penelope. Arthur stood to the side, leaning casually against the railing, sipping his tea as if he were content to let the women handle the conversation.

"Have you ever been to Ohio, miss?" Penelope inquired, her expression thoughtful. Kate shook her head in response.

"Well, neither have I, but my Uncle has a factory there. He was the only one to leave the family. But he’s still a vicious snob," Penelope sighed, clearly frustrated. "Families are... are..."

"Complicated," Arthur finished her sentence, his tone understanding. He placed his empty cup down on the railing and leaned back comfortably, arms crossed.

Penelope turned to Arthur, sitting up in her chair with curiosity. "Have you got a family, sir?"

Kate noticed the brief glance exchanged between them, Arthur's eyes darting away when they met hers. "No... not really, miss," Arthur answered softly, his gaze distant.

"Well, my family can’t stand me. They say my ideas are above my station," Penelope huffed, her grievances evident. "They can all rot," she added sourly.

Kate sympathized with her, she was feeling suffocated by her family, misunderstood and invisible. From what Beau had shared about the ongoing family feud and the rigid divisions between the Grays and Braithwaites, Kate could understand why Penelope felt trapped. The feud seemed to extend beyond mere disputes over land or assets; it was ingrained in their identities, dictating their choices and relationships. The gravity of their circumstances painted a vivid picture of the isolation and despair that came from being caught in such a divisive and long-standing conflict.

As a woman of Penelope's status, Kate understood that her family would likely orchestrate a marriage, selecting a suitor deemed suitable based on social standing and economic advantage. This prospect robbed Penelope of her agency, relegating her fate to the whims of her kin. It was not a fate she wished upon anyone, unable to choose whom you love.

Penelope pulled a delicately sealed envelope from her purse and slid it across the table toward Kate. "If you see Beau again, could you please give this to him?" she asked earnestly.

Kate smiled warmly and took the letter without hesitation. "Of course, Penelope. I'd be happy to," she replied, her eyes reflecting Penelope's joy.

The young woman beamed gratefully. "I can't thank you enough!"

After bidding Penelope farewell, Kate and Arthur retraced their steps back toward their waiting horses, moving with stealth to avoid drawing attention from the vigilant guards. As they reached the safety of their mounts, Kate turned to Arthur, anticipating his response.

"I know what you're gonna say, Arthur," she began, her tone determined. “But we still have all day. If there’s something else you need to do, I can manage here just fine." Sensing he may disapprove of another letter delivery.

Arthur mounted his horse, turning to her with a genuine smile, and fondness in his eyes, “I’m right where I need to be Kate,” his voice carrying a warmth that caught her by surprise, “lead the way.”

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

As they rode back towards Caliga Hall, the late afternoon sun bathed the landscape in a warm, golden glow, casting long shadows across the rolling hills and reflecting off the surface of the nearby lake. The air was filled with the soft sounds of birdsong and the rhythmic clop of their horses' hooves. Kate and Arthur rode side by side, their horses moving with an easy familiarity. Occasionally, their eyes met for fleeting moments.

Approaching the stables, the rustic wooden buildings came into view, surrounded by the verdant greenery of the estate grounds. Amidst the bustle of stable hands and horses, the figure of Beau Gray emerged, his attention wholly focused on grooming his chestnut mare.

Kate dismounted gracefully, her boots landing softly on the packed earth. Arthur followed suit, swinging down from his horse with practiced ease. With a confident stride, the two approached Beau.

The young man looked up from his task, surprise lighting up his features as he recognized Kate and Arthur approaching. A broad smile spread across his face. "You're back so soon! Did she give you anything for me?" Beau asked eagerly.

Arthur casually draped his arms over the stable gate, leaning his weight against it as Kate retrieved the parcel once again from her bag. She handed it over to Beau's anxious hands, and he snatched it eagerly. "Oh, thank you!" he exclaimed, pushing past the gate and causing Arthur to stumble backwards.

"Easy, kid. Your woman ain’t goin’ anywhere," Arthur said with a chuckle, attempting to calm Beau's excitement.

Beau tore into the letter as he moved into the sunlight, finding a seat on a nearby wooden crate. Arthur shook his head with a smile and reached up to pat the boy's horse. Meanwhile, Kate moved to where Beau was sitting and leaned against the stable wall beside him while he read the letter.

"You two make quite the pair, you know," Kate mused, her gaze softening.

Beau glanced up briefly from the letter, his eyes filled with adoration. "Penelope is my sun and my stars, Miss. I count myself lucky to be graced by her light," he said poetically. It was clear that he loved her dearly.

Beau's eyes returned to scanning the handwritten letter, and after a moment, his voice grew concerned. "My god… this woman, she is going to get herself killed," he added, his tone grave.

Kate perked up at his comment, and Arthur turned around to face them. "What did she say?" he asked, curiosity etched on his features.

Beau sighed heavily, his distress evident. "The women’s suffrage march is today. 'Round here, they don’t even like the idea of men voting. They’d bring back the monarchy if they were given half the chance," he said with a bitter tone, placing a hand on his forehead in distress. "Progress is a dirty word in these parts, unlike incest," he added bitterly, folding the letter and sliding it into his back pocket.

He paced the floor of the stable, biting his nails eagerly as he continued to rant. "They want me to marry my cousin Matilda!" Kate grimaced at the idea. "I want to marry Penelope!" Beau's movements quickened, displaying the helplessness he felt in his heart. "They’re gonna—oh, her family will kill her if they know she’s at the rally!"

Kate intercepted his movements and placed her hands on his shoulders. "Take a breath, Beau," she urged, her voice calm.

But he seemed unable to calm down, continuing his lamentation and shaking his head at Kate. "They’ve done it before, miss. They locked her older sister in some old shed and left her there to die, all because she tried to run away."

"Shit," Arthur muttered under his breath, his expression darkening with concern.

Kate nodded understandingly, masking the fear that rose in her own heart. Their families were brutal, not only killing each other but murdering their own kin. Beau was not lying; Penelope would be harmed if something was not done. "What can we do?" she asked calmly.

"You’ve gotta help me," Beau pleaded, desperation clear in his eyes.

Kate nodded firmly, her resolve clear. "Of course we will, Beau. Where is the rally? We should get moving quickly." The young man eagerly nodded in response, slipping from her grasp to immediately start saddling the horse he had been brushing just moments ago.

Arthur stepped closer to Kate, his expression no longer one of annoyance but of genuine concern. He spoke in a low voice near her ear, his tone serious. "You know this is more than just runnin’ love letters now. This could get real ugly," he warned.

Meeting his gaze with determination, Kate replied firmly, "Nobody is dying today if I can help it. And I can’t in good conscience let them take this on alone. They’re just kids, Arthur."

He nodded with a solemn smile, a flicker of admiration in his eyes. "You're a good woman, Kate," he said quietly.

Their moment was interrupted by Beau's urgent voice. "We're losing time, mount up!" he called out, already heading down the dirt path.

Kate and Arthur swiftly climbed into their saddles, ready to follow. "Slow down, kid!" Arthur shouted after Beau, who was racing ahead.

"If we don’t get there in time, my true love might be shot!" Beau retorted, his voice filled with worry as they tried to close the distance.

Arthur nudged his mare forward to catch up with Beau. "Listen, Beau. If she wants to rally, you gotta let her rally. It’s her choice," he advised.

"As good as the cause is, Mr., I can’t let her become a martyr for it," Beau replied earnestly. "I can’t marry some statue built in her honor."

"She's a smart woman, I'm sure she knows what she's doing," Arthur reassured him, his voice calm yet firm.

With Beau leading the way like a knight in shining armor, the trio left the plantation behind, galloping down the road toward Rhodes. The urgency in Beau's movements reflected his determination to reach his beloved in time.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

They swiftly approached the wagon at the intersection leading into Rhodes, where women gathered around the sides holding up signs, preparing to march for their rights. Kate was awestruck by the turnout—a formidable group of determined women, their resilience and strength on full display.

Beau nearly threw himself out of the saddle and approached Penelope eagerly, who looked shocked at the sight of him. “What are you doing here?” she said earnestly.

Beau took her hands in his own, pleading, “I cannot let you go through with this, my love,” Penelope pulled her hands away disapprovingly, “they’ll kill you!” he urged.

“I’m ready to die for the cause,” she said rather dramatically, puffing out her chest and standing tall.

The young man gawked, his head turning between Penelope and Arthur before focusing on him altogether. “Do something, please!”

Arthur chuckled with a shake of his head, “Do what? Fight this mob?” He gestured to the group of women as the leader of the march gave a speech from atop a soapbox. “They’d eat me alive,” he quipped.

“This is not a laughing matter, sir! They need protection, mostly from my family. My uncle is the sheriff of this town, remember?” Beau said earnestly, turning his attention back to Penelope. “My darling, I beg you.”

Kate stepped between the two squabbling love birds, a determined look on her face. “I’ll tell you what, why doesn’t Arthur drive the wagon for you? That way you can focus on making your voices heard,” she suggested with a warm smile. “Beau and I will ride alongside you, keeping our eyes peeled for any signs of trouble.”

“Sure thing,” Arthur agreed, adjusting his hat. “I can handle that for you.”

Penelope beamed with gratitude. “That would be wonderful!”

Beau looked down, defeated, and Kate gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder before they headed back to their horses. His lover climbed into the back of the wagon with the other girls as Arthur took up the reins.

Kate paused beside Beau, offering him heartfelt advice. “Beau, that woman of yours is like forged iron—strong, resilient, meant to withstand the heat. But if you try to hold her back, she'll start to rust. Let her show her strength, encourage her resilience. Support her, and you'll both turn out just fine.”

They followed along the back of the wagon as it began to steadily move down the dusty streets of Rhodes. Beau looked up at Kate with gratitude. “Thanks, Miss. I really appreciate that.”

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Kate found something profoundly captivating about forbidden love. It defied all reason and logic, drawing strength from adversity. Their love was a testament to resilience, a beacon of hope amidst turmoil. Despite every obstacle life threw their way, their love persisted like a flame in the dark, unwavering and enduring. It was a reminder of the spirit of young hearts, yearning for connection and understanding in a world fraught with division. The human desire to be loved would stretch across any ocean, face any storm. Kate wondered if Arthur's heart had felt like a hurricane the night they kissed, much like hers did.

As the wagon reached the end of the road near the bank, Arthur smoothly dismounted from the driver's seat and extended a hand to assist Penelope down. They had drawn quite a crowd—angry, drunken men stumbled out from their homes, shouting lewd remarks at the women.

“Mr. Morgan, I present to you the male of the species,” Penelope remarked sourly.

Arthur chuckled and rubbed his neck. “It’s a pretty dumb specimen, I’ll grant you that.”

The leader of the march ascended the stairs and resumed her impassioned speech. Arthur scanned the crowd and spotted Beau and Kate standing to the side of the building. Kate kept a watchful eye on the proceedings, while Beau's attention was solely focused on Penelope. Arthur noticed two men approaching them and decided to intervene.

“What are you doing here, boy?” demanded a balding man with a large gut, addressing Beau.

Without turning to meet his gaze, Beau replied sarcastically, “Hello, darling cousin.”

The man raised his hand as if to strike Beau. “Don’t you dare speak to me like that! Now answer me, what are you doing here?”

Beau sighed, showing annoyance but remaining unfazed by his cousin. “Trying to listen, I suppose,” he answered casually. Kate edged closer to Beau, assessing whether these men posed a threat. She shared a quick glance with Arthur, who was making his way towards them.

“Haven't you got something better to do? You cocky little—” The man raised his fist again, only to find Arthur gripping his wrist firmly. “What the?”

Swiftly, Kate positioned herself behind the second man and gently squeezed his shoulder. “We were just leaving,” she said calmly. “No need to get up in arms.”

“Who the hell are you?” the other man demanded.

“Like the lady said, we were just leaving,” Arthur repeated, guiding Beau away from the confrontation. They moved quietly to the back of the bank, out of earshot of Beau's relatives.

Once they felt they were out of immediate danger, Arthur chuckled and clapped a hand on Beau's back. “You know, I ain’t never voted before, but I'm kinda gettin’ hot for voting rights,” he joked.

Beau pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to hide his smile. “I don’t know whether to take you seriously, Mr. Morgan,” he sighed. “My cousins are a cause for concern. If they found out about Penelope and me…”

“I think everyone already knows about Penelope and you,” Arthur said sympathetically. “I just met you and I already know about Penelope and you.”

Kate turned to them, adjusting her hat. “Beau, I think it's for the best if you just rip the band-aid clean off. The sooner it's out, the sooner it's resolved.”

The young man sighed deeply. “Our families, we bury our secrets and we bury them deep. If we come clean about this, we would both end up buried under some silo next week. That’s our family's idea of resolved.”

Kate and Arthur exchanged a sympathetic look. “Listen kid, I think you and the girl need to leave. Get out of here while you still can,” Arthur advised reassuringly.

The trio made their way over to their horses, the sounds of the women's rally having died down in the bacground. “I will,” Beau said hopefully. “Once I have enough money. My family, well, they have plenty of money. But I don't.” He glanced back toward where Penelope mingled with the crowd. “I love her, I truly do.”

“Well, if you stay long enough, maybe you’ll die for her too,” Arthur said gravely.

“I thought you were trying to make me feel better,” Beau quipped with a smirk. “But I should probably go before my cousins find me again.” He reached out a hand and shook Arthur's firmly. “I appreciate your help, Mr. Morgan.” Then he turned to Kate and did the same. “Miss, I can’t thank you enough for your kindness. I hope I see you again sometime.”

Kate placed her hand over his and smiled warmly. “And I hope that when we do, it's far away from this nonsense,” she added with a wink.

Beau mounted his horse and took off down the dirt road back toward the plantation. Turning her attention back to Arthur, a satisfying smile tugged at her lips as the two climbed into the saddle of their own mares and made their way out of town.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

As evening settled in gracefully, casting a golden glow over the landscape, Arthur and Kate found themselves in a secluded haven about a mile from camp. They nestled into the soft grass near the serene shoreline of the lake, savoring a well-earned meal together. The air was filled with the delightful aroma of flowers, and the melodic song of mourning doves mingled with the soft rustle of leaves.

They laid out a simple feast of canned strawberries, crackers, and cheese, enjoying each bite amidst the tranquility of nature. The sun, now dipping toward the horizon, painted the sky with hues of orange and pink, casting a warm and comforting light over the scene. The gentle breeze carried with it the whispers of the day, bringing a sense of peace and contentment.

Their horses, nearby but unbothered, grazed leisurely on the lush grass, grateful for the treat after the day's journey. As they shared this quiet moment together, the beauty of the surroundings seemed to mirror the warmth and closeness between them, creating a space of solace and connection away from the chaos of the world.

Arthur removed his hat and laid back in the grass, he watched as Kate sat next to him, her eyes fixed on the changing colors dancing across the water's surface. In the warm glow of the sun, Arthur couldn't help but admire Kate's profile—the graceful curve of her nose, the delicate sweep of her eyelashes, the soft contour of her lips. Memories of the night they kissed stirred within him, a rush of nerves mingling with a sense of doubt. The past three days his mind had wrestled over the moment.

As if sensing his gaze, Kate turned to meet his eyes, her own radiating warmth like the sun's gentle embrace., “I had a great time with you today,” she said softly, her voice carrying the weight of shared moments. “Thank you for staying with me, and helping those young love birds.” She smiled.

Arthur nodded, a slight breeze tousling Kate's hair. They sat so close the wind brought her scent right to his lungs, he could smell the lavender shampoo she used, and the sweet smell of strawberries on her breath. His heart began to thump loudly in his ears, the familiarity of her presence stirring something within him. “You certainly make it hard to say no,” he remarked with a faint smile, “those two make quite the pair. You think they'll be alright in the end?”

Kate sighed wistfully, stretching out on her back beside him, their shoulders brushing lightly. "I know they'll figure it out," she said, her gaze drifting upward to the evening sky. "They're smart kids. They deserve happiness, especially in the midst of all they’ve been through."

Arthur glanced skyward too, clouds morphing into shapes above them. "If only it turned out that way for everyone," he murmured quietly.

Turning her attention back to him, Kate watched the gentle rise and fall of his chest, and studied the rough features of his face. She noticed the small scar on his chin beneath his beard. The dimple at the bottom of his nose, and the way it was slightly crooked. No doubt from a bar fight. Feeling bold, she snaked her hand through the grass until she felt the gentle warmth of his fingers. Sliding her own beneath his palm, seeking his touch.

Arthur turned to her, his expression slightly surprised. The air between them felt charged, filled with unspoken words that seemed to hang in the balance. As Kate sat up, she extended her hand to stroke his cheek, feeling the softness of his beard beneath her fingertips. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach, and she summoned her courage.

"Arthur," she whispered, her voice barely audible, "I want to kiss you again."

Arthur's throat tightened, his thoughts obscured by shadows of uncertainty. He gently released her hand from his cheek, but retained it in his own grasp, his touch conveying a mix of affection and restraint. He looked into her eyes, which held a sea of anticipation and vulnerability.

Kate blinked, her breath caught momentarily. The response she received was not what she had expected, and a flicker of disappointment passed over her features.

"Sweetheart," Arthur murmured softly, his thumb tracing gentle circles on her skin, "you're a good woman. I know that. But I’m not some starry-eyed, lovesick teenager anymore." His voice carried a raw honesty, revealing a vulnerability rarely seen. "I–I’m not a," He faltered, avoiding her gaze, his thumb seeking reassurance along the ridges of her knuckles. "I'm mean, nasty, and ugly. You, you’re kind, honest, and beautiful. I ain’t the kind of man you deserve."

Kate's eyes traced the shadows on his face cast by the setting sun, her heart heavy with understanding. She couldn't bear the weight of his self-doubt. "I don’t think that's true at all," she said softly, her voice a blend of compassion and conviction. "Arthur, you’ve got a good heart. Maybe it’s been hardened by life, but I see the man you are beneath it all."

Arthur glanced down, and Kate lifted her hand, placing it gently under his chin to urge him to meet her gaze. "We’ve all got our scars," she continued, her eyes reflecting unwavering sincerity. "But those scars don’t define who we are. You’re strong, and you’re capable of kindness. I see it in you."

Arthur's expression softened, his gaze meeting hers with a mixture of gratitude and doubt. “Kate,” he murmured, his voice wavering. “I’ve seen things. Done things... I ain’t proud of. It’s just who I am, and I know I’m only gonna disappoint you.”

“But I’ve seen you stand up for what’s right,” Kate replied, her voice steady.

The air around them seemed to hold its breath, the evening sunlight filtering through the trees casting dappled patterns on their intertwined hands. Kate's touch was a silent reassurance, a gesture of unwavering support amidst the unspoken fears that haunted Arthur's mind.

As they sat there, a tranquil moment enveloped them, broken only by the rustle of leaves and the distant call of birds. Kate continued to hold his gaze, her eyes conveying a quiet determination. She believed in the goodness that lay beneath Arthur's hardened exterior, in the man he could be if given the chance.

Arthur had built walls around his heart, layers of protection forged from past regrets and hardships. But Kate was stubborn, undettered to find the cracks in those walls and gently chip away at them, revealing the heart within. She knew that beneath the rough exterior, Arthur deserved to feel the love and acceptance he had denied himself for too long.

“I’m sorry, Kate, but I can’t drag you down with me,” Arthur finally confessed, his voice heavy with regret, his inner turmoil laid bare by the words he spoke. He sat up abruptly, and Kate's hand fell into her lap. She longed to speak, to plead with him to stay and open up, but she sensed his nerves, his vulnerability. This was difficult for him, and he was struggling with his own demons. She realized this wouldn’t be easy. Real love takes time, effort, and patience.

“It’s getting late, we should head back,” he said standing, mounting Belle a moment later. Kate followed closely behind, settling into Lorena’s saddle.

As Arthur led the way back to camp with a steady gait, Kate rode behind, her gaze fixed on the broad back of the man she was beginning to understand more deeply. Shadows lengthened in the fading light, casting an ethereal glow over the landscape, but within Arthur's heart, she sensed a darkness that transcended the approaching night.

She noticed how his shoulders tensed and relaxed with each movement of Belle beneath him, as if he carried the weight of the world on his broad frame. The air seemed charged with unspoken emotions, heavy with the weight of his doubts and fears.

Kate's heart ached with a newfound ambition. She knew Arthur wanted to be held like a knife—sharp and unyielding—but she was determined to hold him like water, gentle and patient, allowing his ambiguity and unease to slip through her fingers. She longed to reveal what glimmered beneath the surface of this complex man, to show him the capacity for tenderness and love that he believed himself unworthy of.

As they rode on, the setting sun painted the sky in hues of gold and amber, the trees casting a long shadowy figure across the path. Kate's thoughts swirled like the breeze around them, grappling with the intensity of her feelings for Arthur and her resolve to break through the walls he had erected around his heart, and reveal the silver lining.

"I've got nothing but time, Arthur Morgan," she murmured, her voice a whisper on the wind, "I'm not giving up on you."

47 notes · View notes

magewolf-the-artist · 8 months ago

Text

Ahh, Charles Brook my beloved

1. Me when I first started drawing this doodle dump: Oh golly gee brain, what should we draw first? My brain: Charles on a toddler leash with Susan holding it and looking tired Me: Wowie sounds fun! Yeah this doodle pretty much summarizes their dynamic in the Domestic K-9 AU

2. There's a graphic description of somebody being killed in the next paragraph so feel free to skip over it

To make a long-ish story short, Charles was snooping around the backstage area as his daughter, Lily's, birthday was wrapping up, he found Susan on death's door inside the Banny animatronic and freaks tf out, Bon finds him and they play a terrifying little game of hide and seek, and just as Charles thinks he's fine, WHAM! His faces gets smashed into the floor by Bon, turning his skull into a fine mush and killing him pretty much instantly. Ironically in this AU at least, his death was the most merciful because he at least got the insta-kill treatment rather than suffering through hours or days of agony. I imagine in death, his face kinda sags forward. Kinda like a bag of sand taped to a wood plank.

3. So semi-recently I think, Charles was confirmed to have ADHD, and I saw some doodles by @xzbat-loverzx about one of him stims being clicking a pen and I thought, "Ah yes, perfect". Not really a ton else to this doodle, except I can imagine BSI employees constantly leaving pens and pencils behind whenever they stay at the K-9 Facility

4. This one is my favorite and the one I'm the most excited to explain!

So the first few weeks or so at the K-9 facility was, to put it lightly, a fucking nightmare for Charles (and Rosemary but I'll cover that another time). He was constantly eaten away by guilt, shame, anger, fear, and sadness and generally he was an incoherent, delusional wreck, even on his good days. At some point he managed to get it into his head that he could break out of the facility by body slamming the walls which, A, they are made of solid concrete, and B, even if he did break them, he'd be greeted by an avalanche of dirt. But again, he wasn't really in his right mind at the time

Susan was kind of in a hell of her own during that time considering she'd have to be the one to repair him afterwards. Those episodes are actually the reason the plastic casing on the Boozoo animatronic's upper right arm and the left hand is missing, because at some point they sustained so damage that they just fell off. Susan didn't exactly have a ton of patience for this, and his incoherent babblings whenever she would pull him away would only make her more pissed off. This isn't entire fair to him of course, as he is not at all in his right mind, but in fairness to her, the idiot would slam himself into the walls whenever she took her eyes off of him for even a SECOND, even if it was just to retrieve tools or spare parts from the tool closet.

Eventually what happens is that Susan convinces Bon to hold him down while she goes over to the tool closet and retrieve whatever thing she needs, idk man, I'm not into robotics. When she gets back, Charles is unusually quiet and Bon is trying not to laugh his ass off. Oddly enough, he doesn't take the opportunity to make some snide comment or mock either of them while she works, he stares at the both of them silently.

Once that's done, Susan very begrudgingly thanks him for the help and, with possibly the most shit eating, Cheshire cat, smug as fuck grin, Bon replies, "That's what friends are for." And then she smacks him.

#the walten files #walten files #susan woodings #twf fanart #twf banny #twf bon #charles brook #the walten files fanart #twf boozoo #twf #twf susan #twf charles #Domestic K-9

49 notes · View notes

starzzach · 3 months ago

Note

*ahem* son of the sea god ? 👀

hiiiiiiiiii malllllllllll

this one is really funny bc i have 1 wip of them being the gods, and this wip of them as the children of the gods set in a percy jackson-esque universe.

i haven't worked on this fic in a while but there's a solid enough foundation i think the snippet (under the cut) will make sense!

In fact, he hopes he can get another kiss out of the whole encounter, but Charles is sighing, standing up and tugging on the collar of his shirt, dragging Carlos with him. “Come on,” he says airily, dusting down his shorts, and tousling his perfectly styled hair. “It’s time for lunch.” Pointing down at the camp, he uses his other hand to take Carlos’, leading him down as if he hasn’t used this path countless times.

There are jeers and whistling from some of the other campers when they emerge, but Charles doesn’t drop his hand. Rumours have flown around about the two of them for more summers than Carlos cares to count. Lando spies him from the archery range, waving wildly in greeting. Carlos doesn’t have the chance to wave back, jerked yet another way by Charles’ iron grip. “Where are we–?”

“Lunch,” is the only answer he gets.

They’re, like, not really heading to lunch though. Unless the layout of the camp has completely changed in the months Carlos has been gone, the mess hall is in the opposite direction to which they’re moving in. He tries to fall in step with Charles but he’s making it much harder than it needs to be with the length of his stride. They walk past the Zeus and Hera cabins through to the Poseidon cabin, which Charles opens harshly with his shoulder, nearly knocking the door off its hinges. “You’re stronger these days,” he tries to joke, but Charles merely shoves him in, rolling his eyes. “What–”

“Gods,” Charles complains under his breath, hardly audible over the shut of the door behind them, “why can’t you take a hint?” Carlos only has a moment to try and comprehend the situation before Charles is walking them backwards, capturing his lips in a kiss so brutal he wonders whether the goal of all this is pain or pleasure. The air in the cabin has always been slightly salty, but Charles’ sweetness almost seems to be in a battle with it. Carlos loses himself in the embrace as his back hits the wall, arms hesitantly encircling Charles’ waist as his hands make their way along his jaw to his hair.

An embarrassing noise escapes from Carlos, and he can feel Charles smile against his mouth, grip lightly tugging on Carlos’ hair in retribution. Carlos would stay here forever if he could, hiding away from his responsibilities and lost in Charles’ embrace instead. He deserves it, after the last two, three, four, five years. If it’s what Charles wants too.

Charles leans back, nibbling on his bottom lip before he lets go. He doesn’t go too far. Carlos doesn’t think he could take it if he did. His breathing is heavier than normal, which he takes as a small victory along with the redness coating his whole face, stretching down his throat and disappearing into the neckline of his shirt. But even after all that, he still looks mildly irritated.

“What hint?” he asks incredulously, brows furrowing. He’s getting increasingly tired of being left out of the loop, especially like this.

But Charles steps back for real this time, clearly wanting to use his hands in what is sure to be an argument, and Carlos feels his loss immediately. “After this winter?” he says, as if that makes anything clear. “You don’t even check to see if I’m here? If I came?”

He sounds… he sounds something close to hurt. Carlos’ frown deepens. He’s actually seriously at a loss here. Much had happened last winter, but nothing immediately comes to mind. “What?”

“You–” And, yes, here is the hand irritated hand waving, accompanied by his signature pacing. If the other campers could see him now, the senior counsellor of the Aphrodite cabin losing his shit over Carlos of all people, well, it would cause serious scandal. “You’re so annoying!” he huffs out, and Carlos blinks.

He was. Well, expecting worse. “But, why?”

Charles covers his face in what seems to be a silent scream. “If you want to be together then we have to be together,” he stresses, glaring venomously at Carlos as if he’s a piece of mould on the wall and not someone he’s proposing a real romantic relationship to. “Stupid. You’re so stupid, gods.”

“But I didn’t even do anything!”

“Exactly!” he says, and now he’s more confused than ever. “You can’t just kiss me and then not make anything, you fool.”

“Do,” he corrects distractedly, trying to process the whole conversation. He cannot quite tell if Charles is speaking, well, normally, or if his words have a sweet tinge to them, fogging up his thoughts. He blinks and then looks back up at Charles in surprise. “You want to be together? With me?”

Charles closes his eyes, counting wordlessly to himself. After a beat, he says: “I’m going to drive my knife through you.”

Carlos is sure even his ears turn red. “Oh.”

“‘Oh’,” Charles mocks, but he’s red himself, too. That’s him blushing twice in one day. A new record. (Certainly not, but, come on. Carlos has earned the right to exaggerate.)

After a few moments of silence, they both speak up at the same time.

“So–”

“You–”

Carlos scratches the back of his neck in a nervous gesture, holding out his other hand for Charles to hopefully take. Hopefully is pushing it, because his arm doesn't feel like his own, but the air tastes salty again on his tongue. “Lunch?” he asks, avoiding his eyes. They’re green in this light, and he doesn’t think he’ll be able to look away if he does.

Charles clears his throat. “Okay,” he says indifferently, interlocking his fingers with Carlos’ as if that was a totally normal thing to do.

As if Carlos wasn't going to obsess over this for at least tonight.

honestly this fic has been kind of a headache to characterise bc half of their backstory is inapplicable due to their new parentage so. yeah. also i won't be hearing any complaints about their godly parents ESPECIALLY if its about charles (if you're thinking why not ares for carlos. you are thinking correctly)

#zach answers asks #zach writes #charlos #staring mournfully at my wips

20 notes · View notes

pucksandpower · 1 year ago

Note

if requests are open, can I pls request baby vettel telling her brothers (the grid kids) she has a "boyfriend" when she comes home from kindergarten one day ??? if requests are closed, please ignore 💗 love your works so much !!

Grid Kids: Cooties

Sebastian Vettel x wife!Reader x platonic!drivers

Summary: the grid kids take being big brothers very seriously

Series Masterlist

“No.”

Max’s voice is firm, his face aghast.

Charles, sitting next to him, nods in agreement. “I thought we agreed that you’re not allowed to date until you’re 40?”

Your daughter looks up from her crayon artwork, her little brows furrowing. “But Tommy said we’re boy ... boyfr …”

Lance interrupts, “Boyfriend and girlfriend? No, no, no. Absolutely not.”

George chimes in, holding up a toy car, “Tell whoever this Tommy is that you’re too busy racing to have a boyfriend.”

Lando adds, “Besides, boyfriends mean cooties. Do you want cooties?”

She tilts her head, pondering the dire consequences of these so-called cooties.

Charles, trying to be the voice of reason, kneels down to her level. “Sweetie, you’re a smart, wonderful little girl. And Tommy is, well ... you can do better.”

Mick, watching the entire exchange, laughs. “Guys, she’s just a kid. They’re probably just sharing crayons.”

Lando looks scandalized, “Crayons today, hearts tomorrow. It’s a slippery slope!”

Sebastian, watching the overprotective madness unfold, turns to you with a smirk, “I think our daughter has a solid set of bodyguards.”

You laugh, wrapping an arm around him. “Good luck to any actual future boyfriends.”

Your daughter simply shrugs, scribbles something on a piece of paper, and hands it to Charles. “For Tommy.”

Charles reads aloud, “We can be friends. But no cooties. Okay?”

***

The next day after school, Max bends down to your daughter’s eye level, “Now, which one is Tommy?”

She points a tiny finger to a little boy playing with a toy car on the playground. He has sandy hair and an innocent expression as he makes car noises.

Lando claps his hands together, “Alright, mates, game faces.”

George rolls his eyes but can’t help his grin, “Really? We’re really doing this?”

Lance nudges him, “We have to ensure he’s good enough for our sister!”

As the grid kids approach Tommy, he looks up, wide-eyed at the small army of grown-ups marching towards him.

Charles squats down, “Hey there, buddy. You Tommy?”

Tommy nods slowly, clutching his toy car.

George, leaning down too, tries to sound stern, “We heard you’re, uh, dating our sister.”

Lando, animatedly acting out air quotes around the word dating, adds, “We just wanted to have a quick chat.”

Mick, clearly finding the whole situation hilarious, jumps in, “You know, about intentions and all.”

Tommy blinks, “Inten-what?”

Max clears his throat, “Look, Tommy, we just want to make sure you’re treating our sister right. No stealing her toys or snacks.”

Lando jumps in again, “And absolutely no cooties. We had a long talk about that.”

Tommy nods fervently, “I don’t have cooties!”

Charles chuckles, “Good to know. So, you’ll play nice with her?”

Tommy nods again, “I promise. I just wanted to show her my new car.” He holds up the toy proudly.

George pats him on the head awkwardly, “Alright, Tommy. Just remember, we’re watching you.”

***

“Operation Sneaky Sneak is a go. Over,” Lando whispers dramatically into his walkie-talkie from his hiding spot behind a bush.

“Copy that,” George responds, trying to peer into Tommy’s living room window from a tree branch, “They’re ... playing with dolls? Oh, and there are some cookies. Over.”

Lance, hidden behind a garden gnome, chimes in, “I hope they're chocolate chip. Over.”

Charles, from his spot on top of a garden shed, adds, “No visual on any suspicious activities. Just some Barbies about to get the worst haircut of their life. Over.”

Mick, wedged between two trash cans, mutters, “Feels like we’re in a bad spy movie.”

Max, crouching behind a car, counters, “Feels? We ARE in a bad spy movie.”

Suddenly, the back door to Tommy’s house swings open and out step his parents, chatting and laughing. The grid kids freeze.

George, panicking, whispers into the walkie-talkie, “Abort mission! I repeat, abort!”

Lance tries to slink away, “Going dark! Going dark! We have been compromised.”

But it’s too late. Tommy’s mother spots them. “Um, gentlemen? What are you doing?”

Charles attempts to play it cool, “Oh, you know, just ... birdwatching. Beautiful sparrows around here.”

Tommy’s father suppresses a grin, “In our backyard? With walkie-talkies?”

Lando, thinking on his feet, responds, “Modern birdwatching. Very high tech. Over.”

Mick gives him a look, “Did you seriously just say over out loud?”

Max tries to salvage the situation, “We just wanted to ensure the playdate went ... smoothly.”

Tommy’s parents burst into laughter. “You guys really care about her, huh?”

Before anyone can respond, there’s a rustling from above. Thunk! “Ow!” Thwack! “Not the face!” Crash! “My hair!”

Everyone’s attention is immediately drawn to George who has dramatically fallen out of the tree, hitting almost every branch on the way down.

Rubbing his back, George groans from where he’s splayed on the ground, “Guess I should leave the climbing to the kids.”

Tommy’s mother takes pity on the fully grown children masquerading as adults in front of her, “Would any of you like to come in for juice boxes?”

The grid kids exchange sheepish glances. “Yes, please,” they reply in unison.

2K notes · View notes

secret-unburnt-guitars · 10 months ago

Note

Hi i don't know much abt styx aside from general prog fandom osmosis but kwh has always intrigued me a little bit. Can you explain it in excruciating detail? (genuinely i'm not being sarcastic)

*cracks knuckles*

on february 22, 1983, styx released their eleventh studio album Kilroy Was Here. it was a concept album/rock opera though dennis deyoung likes to call it more of a "rock theatrical experience" in recent interviews. they even made a minifilm they played before the concert!!!! you can find it and the rest of caught in the act on youtube

it was made partially as a response to the rise of the satanic panic in the early-mid 1980s. people started to believe that rock music was evil and hiding satanic messages. the band was targeted by the public when they were accused in particular by the government of arkansas (i think?) of putting backwards messages (called backmasking) in their song Snowblind (the line "i try so hard to make it so" sounded like "satan moves through our voices" to some people. i own a copy of paradise theatre, that track in particular is damaged.).

and then dennis deyoung had a GREAT IDEA!!!!!!!!

imagine a big ol lightbulb flashing over him while the rest of the members of styx watch in mortal dread

so basically the album follows a sort of loose and vague backstory that's somehow still solid enough for people to follow some sort of a plot in their head (which is slightly backed up by Caught In The Act, the designated KWH "concert," which i'll get to in a second). the basic synopsis (paraphrased but still in excruciating detail) is as such:

set in a futuristic chicago(?) rock and roll has been made illegal under code 672 (prohibits the playing and purveying of rock music). Dr. Everett Righteous (played by JY), who was responsible for this, is the leader of the majority for musical morality or the MMM for short. the MMM is one of the strongest organizations in this universe since you know. they literally convinced congress to criminalize an entire genre of music for the entire country. righteous also hosts a television show where he encourages the public to burn guitars and records in a huge bonfire during “nightly rallies”. he also projects himself onto a big triangle over the skyline which i think is fucking hilarious i haven’t been able to get over it

Robert Orin Charles Kilroy (played by Dennis DeYoung, of course he's the title character), was a prolific rock musician at the time of the ban. he was thrown in prison for breaking the law and after being framed of murder. they accused him of bashing an MMM crusader's head in (which he obviously didn't do) after they raided one of his concerts at the paradise theatre. he then goes to rot in prison and is subjected to attempts of brainwashing by the dr. righteous show with the other “rock n’ roll misfits” they’ve arrested. it doesn’t work lol. i don't understand how it would work BECAUSE IT'S NEVER EXPLAINED

the prison kilroy is rotting in is maintained/monitored by japanese import, mass produced robots dubbed the "robotos," hence the title track. ignore how racist they look, it was 1983, this is not my fault

i mildly dislike them but it sucks how they’re essential to the plot ANYWAYS

here comes Jonathan Chance, (played by Tommy Shaw, albeit reluctantly) who is a rebel that is part of a underground resistance (that's only really mentioned once). with his friend, he breaks into some unknown area that is most likely a recording studio and hijacks the live television recording of the dr. righteous show. he proceeds to namedrop himself and then run off

credit to @mccoys-killer-queen for the gifs!!

kilroy sees this happen, which inspires him to attempt to escape the prison. kilroy incapacitates a roboto that visits his prison cell and disguises himself as it so he can escape without being noticed (i do not like the way he does this)

after kilroy escapes, he goes throughout the city and leaves messages for jonathan, leading him back to the paradise theater which is now the Dr. Righteous Museum for Rock Pathology

it's got a bunch of shitty animatronics that include people like jimi hendrix and elvis presley, but at the very back is an animatronic of kilroy repeatedly bashing in someone's head

this is my favorite part of the minifilm which i've basically explained sorry. you see like what you think is another roboto emerge from the shadows, and then it takes off its mask AND IT'S THE ACTUAL KILROY!!!

(this is taken from the live show, the transition is so goddamn dope)

and then dennis deyoung prances around and has his little pick me theater main character moment and sings mr. roboto and dances and stuff it looks so stupid. the live version of mr. roboto is way funnier than the official music video i don't know. i posted it about here before but i love this part in particular

so that's how kilroy and jonathan meet and that's basically the plot of one of styx's most popular songs!! sorry i gave kind of a play by play of the minifilm

now here's the fun part !!!! (unfinished lore/controversy)

unfortunately the reception of this album was less than satisfactory for most people back in '83, since KWH was way far away from the brand that styx had made for themselves in the 70s. they made art rock and prog, but this was just straight up synthpop. some people liked it though. i read somewhere in an article that it "alienated their male audience" and honestly if you're alienated by a little bit of gay pick me theater bs from your favorite band, that's a you problem

caught in the act was the designated "kilroy concert" that styx did sometime in 1983. the concert, however, doesn't give any. depth. to any additional explanations of multiple plot holes present in the story. as much as i love and cherish dennis deyoung he didn't do a very good job at writing this.

caught in the act felt more like a compromise than a show, seeing as the banter after the performance of mr. roboto was very bare? kilroy explains to jonathan that he was framed for murder, and then he goes in depth on the night it happened. "the crowd was totally psyched," he says, and then it goes to JY performing a guitar solo, which leads into the rest of the concert. the entire concert was portrayed as a flashback and gives no real backstory to any of the established characters. and then at the tail end of the concert they get "raided" by the MMM and you watch as an MMM officer murders one of righteous' own followers with kilroy's guitar. they cut back to kilroy and jonathan, they sing haven't we been before, and then kilroy hands jonathan this sick ass glowing guitar, then they perform the world's worst finale. the dance party ending of caught in the act. it sucks. it's horrible. i hate it. also there is no dennis deyoung in the kilroy was here universe lmfao

i'm still grateful for the concert though don't get me wrong!!! amazing concert

if the rest of styx didn't want to rip dennis deyoung apart for making them do this (i recently learned from a manager that DDY made them turn down an opportunity to perform at one of the largest concerts of the 80s, because he was like "but muh kilroy"), i believe songs off the album like High Time and Double Life would have been performed at Caught in the Act. both extremely lore-heavy songs, especially double life. i really wish they played double life. but c'est la vie, i guess.

literally everyone in the band hated dennis' guts so much while they were making this (justified, he was a stubborn asshole during production) but god was it worth it. for me at least. i imagine one of the conversations about production went like

JY: dennis have you considered that maybe this is a bad idea Dennis: i'm gonna make you the villain of the story if you don't shut the FUCK UP

i still think that JY had a little bit of fun though. he was hamming it tf up as dr. righteous i'm sorry you need to watch the mv's which you can find on youtube as well

but unfortunately tommy shaw wasn't having a good time at all, he literally quit on stage and stormed off and styx split for a while bc of this album i mean LOOK AT HIM HE'S SO PISSED OFF

overall this album is both cheese AND corn, worst album i've ever listened to, and yet it's given me a purpose in life. i've written 7,000+ words in one document about this album just to try and fill in the blanks the lore has, it's got so many. it's a running joke on this blog, i really hope you check out the album, because i think it's wonderful and it's endearing regardless of the controversy, it's too late for me. save yourself

#styx #styxposting #kilroy was here #styx band #dennis deyoung #tommy shaw #jonathan chance #dr. righteous #styxblr #robert orin charles kilroy #this took me two days to prepare and write #sorry to everyone else that already knows the story front and back because of me (consider this a refresh)#or to anyone that already knew the story even before me #god i wish i was there to experience it.#i would've died and gone to heaven #i watch the live show and my heart is warmed because i know for a fact that someone in that audience was as insane about this story as i am #and was probably losing their shit in the audience #perhaps it was a birthday gift. or something they had completely given up hope on seeing #also righteous canonically owns a fried chicken brand named Dr. Righteous' Fried Chicken as a play on KFC #i had to stop watching the minifilm for fifteen minutes and go do something else because i was so disgusted by the fried chicken plot point #and DDY milks the fuck out of it in CITA when he goes 'and i was eating that G R E A S Y fried chicken'#the pain and agony #it's so unnecessary #caught in the act #i might be a little ill in the mentally

51 notes · View notes