#doesn’t mean that that’s what Arthur would do

[everlastingdreams]

The Weeping Monk x Fem!Reader : Forged Of Fire Chapter 35

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Story Summary: Raised under the tiranny of your own family, and forced to steal to earn your keep, you struggle to survive. Born from a Fey mother, and a Manblood father who wanted only sons, you are forced to hide your Fey side. When you are ordered to steal from Father Carden by your half-brother, Cassian, your life spirals out of control and you find yourself at the mercy of the Weeping Monk. The life you knew changes drastically when Cassian betrays you in the cruelest of ways. A trade is made, a promise is broken, and a debt must be paid.

Chapter Title: Destined.

Notes: /

Warnings: Angst. Hurt. Trauma bonding. Intrafamily violence. Depression. Self-harm. Suicidal thoughts. Violence. Torture. Gore. Pining. Trauma. Self-Flagellation. Manipulation. Strong Language. Blood. Misogyny. PTSD. Spicy and smut parts. Slight redemption arc. Lima/Stockholm syndrom-ish. Childhood trauma.

Other warnings: Jealousy. Forced Marriage. Forbidden Love. Romance. Slow-burn. Found Familly-ish. Comfort. Fluff. !SMUT and SPICE!

Word count of this fic: +250K

Chapter:  35/47

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Immediately you looked back to where Lancelot had been when you fell asleep the night before. He was nowhere in sight and neither was the Sword of Power.

You grew alarmed. “What do you mean ‘gone’ ?!?”

Gawain tried to bring the news as quietly as he could, “Someone saw him leave in the dark. They are all uneasy with this, do not stray from my side.”

Finally you noticed how a lot of the group was looking at you with great suspicion. Merlin kept himself to the side, but Arthur and Red Spear were vigilant and visibly irritated.

“Did he say anything to her?” Arthur asked Gawain in a rude manner, loud and harsh.

The knight looked at you, you shook your head. Lancelot had not given you any warning and you couldn’t understand why he would have left without saying a word to you.

Arthur almost shouted at the knight, “I told you he would go back to them!”

You sprung to Lancelot’s defense, “He would never do that!”

He turned to you. “One of Red Spear’s crew saw him leave in the night and he is not back yet.”

“I know him.” You tried to be calm. “There is a good explanation for this. He wouldn’t have just left!”

Arthur did not bother to hide his anger. “Or maybe you can’t accept that your husband is a lying bastard who’s on his way back with his paladins to kill us all! You are a fool for trusting him!”

“Stop it, Arthur.” Gawain warned.

Arthur lashed out at him verbally, “Am I wrong to assume this?! You heard what Gareth said, he locked his own wife up and I doubt that was all he did, you know what paladins do to Fey! Someone like that doesn’t just change!”

  "You’re right.”

  The familiar voice came from behind you, there Lancelot stood with Goliath’s reins in hand, and Bear’s reins tied to them.

“Locking her in a room was the least of my crimes against her.” he said coolly. “When her and I met, I was cruel. She was a threat to my life only because she is of the same clan, if anyone of the Church saw her marks it would have meant my death.”

“Lancelot-” you wanted him to stop before it escalated.

“He wants honesty and he shall have it.” Lancelot said, stepping forward, trusting that Goliath remained on the spot he was at. He faced Arthur, heavily insulted by what he must have overheard. “You want the truth of it all.”

Arthur gave a sharp nod. “It’s about time.”

He rolled his tense jaw. “Father Carden ordered me to gain her trust, to forge her into a weapon as I was forged. And as time passed I indeed gained her trust, but I never expected her to gain mine. I betrayed her, I lied to her, I thought I could have her love and Father Carden’s, and I was wrong. She fled when she found out the truth, I saw her run from me, the hatred in her eyes…”

A pause fell and he reluctantly broke his eyes away from Arthur. Gawain was ready to step in.

“You wanted it all. Greed.” Arthur stated.

Merlin looked upon the scene, as if he had lived through a similar matter once long ago, he did not interrupt and watched it happen with interest.

Lancelot felt the stares on him. “I lost everything, including my faith. I was beaten to my knees and the only thing that made me rise to my feet again was Percival standing against the Trinity Guard to help me. My loyalty lies with him and her, I’d sink my sword into myself before I would be so careless to risk being shunned by them. As to answer your doubts, when we were in Ravenwick I saw-” he pointed at Bear, “the horse I had once given her standing among those of the paladins. Last night I went to retrieve it.”

“You went all the way back there for a horse?” Arthur blurted out.

Pym smacked Arthur’s arm, mumbling, “Shut up, it’s sweet, he got her her horse back…”

Lancelot appeared quite proud of the fact. “They were too drunk to notice they had five horses instead of four. I doubt one of them could count in their state.”

“See.” Gawain said to Arthur.

Arthur was starting to come around. “I guess he wouldn’t tell me about all those bad things if he wanted to trick us… It would be stupid.”

For Lancelot the matter was not fully settled yet. A low warning followed, “Your grievance is with me. You do not cast down your frustrations upon my wife. I accept your hatred for me, but I will not accept it towards her. I advise you not to use that sort of tone with her again.”

Hearing him defend you in that low voice with those sharp darkened eyes had your heart racing.

Arthur swallowed his pride, barely, “I did not mean to offend.”

“You called me a fool.” you reminded him.

Pym chimed in, telling Arthur a very snotty sounding, “You did.”

Gawain was thoroughly amused by Pym involving herself, especially because he could see the Manblood start to falter.

Arthur finally apologized to you. “I’m sorry. I was too quick to judge.”

“You promised Lancelot a chance, and we have done nothing to make you doubt our intentions. I led you to that coin because I did not want anyone here to starve.” you said. “We are here to help.”

Arthur yielded, giving a nod in Lancelot’s direction.

“I trust them.” Merlin suddenly spoke. “He rode off with the sword both Uther and the Church desire. Instead of giving it to one of them for clemency, wealth or power, he returned with it. Not many would not be tempted.”

Lancelot was appreciative of the support that the magician showed him, it was what made the others of the group leave him alone. All returned to their own tasks, some started a bonfire to prepare a meal and of course Percival went to see if he could be of help with that. Gawain had a short firm word with Lancelot about taking this sort of risk and why it was foolish. You were petting Bear, telling him how much you had missed him. One of Red Spear’s crew was quick to offer looking after the other horse you had been riding before Bear’s return, which you agreed to.

After undergoing Gawain’s scolding, Lancelot walked over to you. “Are you happy with Bear?”

“Of course I am.” You arched a brow in suspicion, “Was that all you did last night, steal Bear back?”

That small flicker of his gaze spoke volumes. “What?”

Your stance changed as you confronted him. “You were gone for quite some time. I love having Bear back. What I don’t love is waking up to find out that my husband left in the middle of the night without so much as a word to me.”

Was he being reprimanded? Your stern tone made his gaze drop to your lips to view the slight pout. That ribbon of irritation that had laced itself through your voice somehow captured and drew him in. He felt warm, somehow bothered, and it was a mixture he recognized from the night in Gramaire. But now that feeling presented itself in him at the wrong time and place, and still he loved how it felt. It was quite confusing.

You noticed how distracted he looked, “Are you listening?”

He hummed, blinking twice before lifting his gaze up to your eyes and seeing the building irritation in them.

“Lancelot.” you said his name in a scolding manner. “Did anything else happen last night?”

“No.” he said.

Your expression fell, he was lying, you could just feel it. “No?”

Again, he stayed with his answer. “Nothing else.”

You could not hide your disappointment. Why couldn’t he just say it? Had he done something that he knew would upset you, is that why?

Your tone was coolly. “I’m going to the river to freshen up.”

Instantly his expression changed, he knew his answer had upset you.

“I believe we will have a meal soon.” he tried to call you back.

“I’m not hungry.” you walked away, through the trees and towards the river. It was necessary to calm down before it could lead to an argument all would witness, it would make matters worse if they saw you angry at him after last night.

      There was little time to spend alone, you caught his scent before even hearing him approach. You splashed water in your face, hoping it would cool your rising temper. He stopped right beside you, watching how you remained on your knees by the river.

This time he was quick to confess. “Last night I have stopped by the manor again. It was not my intent, my only wish was to take Bear back, but I acted impulsive.”

“Why?” You frowned up at him.

There was a hint of shame in his features while he spoke of it. “After seeing how you were, how that place affected you, I wished to see it burn.”

There was no anger in your tone, “That was not your decision to make.”

He agreed. “I realized that when I was there and did not follow through with my plan.” For a second it appeared that he wanted to reach down and touch you, but he decided against it. “While I was there, I could not stop thinking about how I was serving the Church while you lived that torment.”

Your hand grazed his own. “We both suffered, Lancelot. You shouldn’t diminish your own experience by comparing it to mine.”

He exhaled a deep quiet breath. “I found some matters there that I had wanted to discuss with you in private, not in front of others.”

“That’s why you didn’t tell me?” you realized.

He gave a nod. “In the wall where Red Spear found the chest, two letters were hidden. One your mother wrote but Aldith must have intercepted it, my father was meant to be the recipient.”

Your interest was piqued. “Your father? You mean Ban?”

“Yes.” he said. “And the other letter was one that my parents wrote to your mother.” He took two small rolled up pieces of parchment from where he had stored them near a dagger, handing them over for you to read. “As my parents were of royal blood, they intended to seek others of higher standing to be a match for their future children. Your mother became a Lady by marrying Aldith and therefore she was requested to notify Ban should she come to be with child. I like to believe that we were betrothed before either of us were even born.”

In the letters, you could find all he was telling you about. His parents had wished to plan ahead for the future. It was common within royal families to arrange and discuss such manners long before the child was even born, a promise of marriage to strengthen claims to land and power.

You couldn’t believe it, what were the odds that they would have picked you as a match? “Our parents were going to arrange for a joining between us… Well, maybe they would have chosen someone else for you.”

He reached down, letting his index finger caress your cheek whilst you looked up at him. “They would have chosen you, I have no doubt on the matter.”

“Why the flattery?” you playfully pushed his hand away and rose to your feet. “What else did you find?”

His small smile fell and he took back the letters to keep as they involved his parents. “I also found a letter addressed to Father Carden, written by Aldith but he must not have been able to send it before having to flee Ravenwick. I left the letter there.”

By the change in his tone, you could already guess nothing good was in that letter. “What was in that letter?”

He was visibly uncomfortable with the topic. “Aldith wished to attempt to try and ruin your reputation in the hope that Father would bend to his will.”

You persisted. “What was in the letter, Lancelot?”

He was deliberately vague. “It spoke of your past in regards to your… chastity.”

Your brow arched. “You mean he called me a whore. How many people did he claim I shared my bed with?”

He had not expected the blunt response, he was far more stressed to speak of it than you were. “One.”

“Oh? I did not expect him to be honest about that.” you scoffed. “Does it bother you to know?”

“No.” He was fidgeting with his fingers.

You saw right through him. “You can tell me.”

He breached the subject carefully. “You never told me about that part of your past.”

That was true. You got up from the ground. “It was a man I met, someone who was known to be experienced and I was curious.”

Lancelot tried not to think too much of it, but you could see him struggle with it.

But the truth was what he deserved and you did not want to keep it from him. “I slept with him. He taught me things. But I didn’t like how it meant nothing. I meant nothing to him, and he meant nothing to me.”

He couldn’t manage to look at your face, you prayed it wasn’t because of how the scriptures forbade such behavior.

You tried to be open about it, even though your different upbringings made it difficult. “I prefer to sleep with someone that I actually love and care about.”

His upbringing came to light again when he readjusted his stance because the word had made him uncomfortable. “He was… ‘experienced’?”

You never wanted him to think he could not match a past experience. “Don’t do that, Lancelot. It is not the same.”

He looked away, a pensive look in his eyes.

You put those fears in him to rest before they could grow. “He was. But he wasn’t so good that I craved him everyday like I do you.” His eyes snapped to you. “You big oaf. I’d rather argue with you for the rest of my life than spend one more second in that man’s bed.”

“You crave me?” Was what he chose to put his attention on.

It was something you had wanted to keep for yourself, but by trying to build up the self-esteem he deserved to have you had spilled the secret.

“Uhm…” your voice wavered. “Ugh. I wasn’t going to say that, I do not want you to think that I’m not happy with the way things are between us now. It is enough for me, I am content.”

He saw no insult or fault in it. “But you would be open to more.”

It was a statement, and you found comfort in how calm and collected he was while saying it. “Only when you’re ready.”

He took a step to the side, nodding to himself. For a moment he watched the river’s stream, the topics of conversation must have been flying through his head.

You got closer, standing at his side, and wrapped a hand around his arm. “Whenever you get quiet I believe your thoughts are the loudest.”

The small curve at the corner of his mouth confirmed it. “It would calm them if I knew that you were not upset with me for going back there.”

Your forehead brushed against his arm affectionately. “I’m not. And I love that you brought Bear back to me.”

He turned, moving an arm around your waist and suddenly pulling you against him. “I gave him to you. I always told myself that I would retrieve him when I could.” His forehead rested to yours, his hands came up to knead at your upper arms.

“Just don’t risk your life to do these things.” you said.

He breathed out, “It is worth it.”

You leaned back, warning him with your eyes. “Don’t you dare.”

That stubborn man was holding back on arguing over this.

Your hand came to his chest and slowly made it’s way up. “I should remember to reward you for being so thoughtful. You forfeited your sleep to bring back Bear.”

He declined. “I need no reward.”

You caressed his jaw, then brushed your thumb over the corner of his mouth and teased it over his bottom lip. “Oh, I can think of a reward you will not wish to refuse.”

He swallowed hard. His gaze dropped. Not a second later he tried to kiss you, you leaned back further and broke away. With a cheeky smile you took a couple of steps back and saw how he was quick to go from confusion to understanding your intent to tease him.

After a moment of thought to find something to distract, you held up your wrist with the bangle. “We could use this time to help me learn how to read it’s inscription instead of filling it with sin.”

A chuckle tumbled out of him. “Very well.”

He picked up a thin branch from the ground, knelt down and began to draw symbols in the soil with it. “Come closer.”

That mischievous smile he gave did not make you reluctant to do so, you stepped closer to see what he was drawing.

He was detailed in the drawings. “To learn the language of the Ash Folk, it is best to start with that of the Fey. The Ash Folk had knowledge of older symbols and their meaning, knowledge that apparently was not passed down to many others.”

A small circle shape with swirls on the inside, a hexagon with lines connecting each of it’s corners on the inside.

“Little.” he pointed to the circle shaped one, then to the hexagon, “Ember.”

You looked into the bangle, seeing how the engraving matched the symbols on the soil. He proceeded to draw more symbols, the basis of the Fey language, to show what they meant. After some minutes, he asked you to draw one of the symbols to test if you were paying attention. You began, a circle and some line inside of it. He clicked his tongue, looking dawn and seeing a flaw that you then managed to correct.

“Well done.” The praise fell. “Symbols that are used for directions are made in such a way that the Fey can simply make them with rope and branches and hide them in the forest for other Fey to find. This is one of them.”

“This means ‘South’, right?” you hoped it was correct.

It made him smile. “Yes.”

“You were truthful when you said you would help me learn this.” You rose from the ground, he did as well. “You also promised me that you would teach me to wield a sword as well as you.”

There was a hint of a smirk on his lips. “That may have been too confident of me to say.”

“Do you doubt your skill as a tutor?” you inquired.

With a wicked grin he fired the jest. “I doubt your skill as an apprentice.”

You gawked at him. “You arrogant twit!”

He sounded overly confident on purpose. “You heard how well those Trinity Guards fared against me.”

You parroted his words childishly in a mocking tone to let him hear how arrogant it was. He snorted a quiet laugh that he could not prevent, covering his mouth a little with his hand.

There was soil on your trousers that you brushed off. “Fine. If you don’t think I can improve to your standard, I will just ask someone else to help me learn.”

It amused him to rile you up a little. “Which unfortunate soul?”

A glare was send his way. “Gawain. I heard Arthur is good with a sword too. And if they refuse, I might ask Gareth when I see him again, I doubt he will refuse. Even one of Red Spear’s crew will be kind enough to help.”

That smug smile faltered, and when you were about to walk past him you heard steel being drawn, the flat of his sword was one step in front of your torso to halt you.

The idea alone that another would be using a sword to tutor you, while you were still in the early stages of learning… the risk it posed chilled him to the bone.

You looked to the side, making eye-contact. “What?”

The icy tone made that smug smirk return to his face. “I do not enjoy the idea of you being at the end of a sword that is not mine.”

Your gaze swept over him. “Are you being metaphorical?”

He clearly had not expected the bawdy tease and swallowed down the surge of nervousness it caused in him. “I mean it. I do not trust another to tutor you, I will not see you hurt.”

You kept teasing, too amused by how his expression changed when he was subjected to it. “Alright. Then I hope you keep your promise. I prefer your ‘sword’, and your skill.”

The flat side of his sword came to rest on your chest as he stepped closer. “Do you hope to shock me with your lascivious speech?”

You bit the inside of your cheek. “Your innocent reaction tempts me to do it. Maybe my desire to corrupt your innocence comes from how attractive I find your responses.”

“Oh?” he said smugly, a tempting smile graced his lips. Then he reached down with his free hand, sliding it over your waist and hip before drawing out your sword from it’s sheath. “Spar with me.”

Your chest shuddered under that tone he had used, his mouth said ‘spar’ but his eyes told different.

He handed you your sword and bumped into you on purpose when taking place a few steps away from you. “Attack.”

It was nothing short of a command, a successful one as you did exactly what he asked. You charged and lunged at him, he did not even lift his sword to block, he just moved aside and gave your shoulder blade a light push when moving just past him. Almost did you lose your balance because of his arrogant way of sparring. It was mildly infuriating to see how long it took for him to actually use his sword to block your attacks, he was fast and every move you made he must have seen a hundred times already in battle with others. It was what made you impatient and reckless, and when you tried to disarm him he simply grabbed you by the waist and with one strong tug he had your back against his chest.

He hushed you, hot breath in your ear, “Do not let frustration cloud your instinct, you can do better than this. I have seen it.”

“You’ve never taught me how to react when someone grabs me like this.” You broke free from him, spun around, and held the tip of your sword at his chest. “You are not playing fair.”

You knew that look, that darkening of his eyes because they could not take enough of you in all at once. The sly smirk, the lick on his lips to wet them, and the flow of his gaze over you.

Another sweep of his eyes over your form. “I made no such promise.”

You lunged at him, he moved his body swiftly to the side and grabbed hold of your arm, allowing him to send you stumbling forward and away from him. But you tripped and landed on all fours on the ground, an array of profanities flew out.

He tried to hide his chuckle under a false cough and came to offer you a hand to stand up. You swatted it away. He tapped the flat of his sword against your thigh, close to your rear and got tossed a handful of fallen leaves up at him. You were on your feet seconds later.

“You… you-” you barely held back.

“What?” He dared you to say it.

His eyes sparked with amusement when you clenched your fists shut to keep yourself from saying it.

“Go on.” he persuaded alluringly. “Let us hear if you have any insult for me that I have not yet heard.”

You swallowed the words down, feeling too prideful to resort to harsh profanity against him.

He tilted his head a little, grinning, “No?”

You rolled your eyes and went to move past him, he stopped you by grabbing your elbow.

“I do enjoy that haughty look in your eyes now.” He did not let you take another step. “The arrogance one would expect from a Lady.”

Was he truly bringing up that title you often forgot you even had? That made you try and pry his hand from your elbow, but his hold didn’t loosen. Instead he took some steps to the left with you, dragging you along whilst ignoring how you were trying to get his grip on you to weaken. With one firm tug, he nearly tossed you with your back against a tree. One could so easily forget that many had tried to fight him off, and many had failed. He held you against the tree, the hold on your arm had only moved not lessened.

“I am not some spoiled noble ‘Lady’ !” you nearly snapped it at him.

“I know.” His gaze dropped to your mouth. “Not yet.”

What?… “I beg your pardon?”

“I assure you, you will be spoiled.” He pinned you against the tree with his body, firm and warm against you. “So spoiled…” He teased your jaw with his lips. You felt him make a rolling movement into you, only once and it was very likely just an innocent move, still your body was tricked into believing more was to be expected. His scent was too close, he was too close, and it was making your head spin. Tempting. But you wanted the lesson you were promised. With a push you made him stop, a second push made him step back. He looked like a whelp being denied attention.

“My lesson?” you reminded him.

He mistook it for rejection, you could see it in his eyes.

You got closer to him, giving him your sweetest smile. “You promised me you’d teach me.” Whispering, “Keep your promise.”

“I am distracted.” He felt somewhat ashamed to admit it. “Forgive me.”

You grew worried, “What is distracting you?”

A quiet confession, “Your presence.”

It got clear what sort of distraction was bothering him, you should have known after noticing the way he had been looking at you. A former monk, one who had only just begun to explore the pleasures freedom outside the clergy had to offer. And with the way he was acting, it was obvious that he struggled to hide and contain the desire he was harboring.

“Do you need me to leave you alone for a while?” you asked.

A tilt of his head. “The opposite.”

Well then. “Then let’s continue sparring.”

He gave a small favor. “I will go slower.”

Your pride was worth denting if it kept you from breaking a limb. “Perhaps for the better.”

This time he attacked first, you parried just in time and he gave you only a second to gain some distance. He proceeded to test your ability to defend yourself and ward off the attacks. Only once did you stumble over a branch on the ground but luckily kept your footing.

“Very good.” he noted. “Be aware of your surroundings.”

A good advice with the many small branches scattered around the place. Slowly you eased into the spar, your movements grew more fluent. He praised your successes and tried to correct your flaws. Your confidence grew and you got faster. He did not move as fast as he normally would, allowing you to be more at ease.

You attacked once, twice… wondering if you had imagined that he had looked surprised when you did. You tried other ways of moving, ways he may not expect and one of those ways took him off-guard. He had to take a step back to parry your attack, his boot hit a larger rock and down to the ground he went.

You had never seen him so inelegant and barely held in a laugh. “You alright?”

With his back on the grass he groaned, having to pick his pride up from where it had crashed down with him.

You moved to his side, put your hands on his shoulders and straddled him on the ground, holding him down with a little effort. “I won.”

There was this stupid arrogant smirk on his face, like he wasn’t intimidated in the slightest. Like you were a pup barking down at a wolf.

“Don’t do that.” you scolded.

The smirk grew. “Do what?”

That smugness shouldn’t have suited him so well. It wasn’t fair. “I can read it off of your face that you are not that impressed.”

“I am impressed.” he countered. “However, you have seated yourself on me and I find it impossible not to have my attention drawn to that instead.”

You chuckled at how matter-of-factually he had sounded, but went quiet when he put his hands on the sides of your waist and slid them down over you until they landed on your hips.

He hummed quietly with a rather timid smile. “You do have a tendency to put yourself in my lap…”

You fired back a risky jest, “I heard no complaints from you the last time. I did hear you sound very relieved when I brought you to your release. I wasn’t sure if you were actually going to let me move on you like that.”

He shifted a little under you, swallowing hard, gaze unmistakably sweeping over you. His voice sounded deeper, warmer, “You made me feel fulfilled.”

You had to have known what it did to him to be reminded of it, whilst sitting in his lap and looking down at him in the way you had done that night. He wanted to touch, to close his hands over the curves you had let him hold and fondle, but the risk of being seen was too high. Still, he could not resist letting this continue and let it build up his need for you.

He sat up all of a sudden, letting a hand go to your thigh to give it a squeeze, then let his thumb dip into your inner thigh. “I keep thinking of you.”

A playful grin. “Of me, or of what we did together?”

“Both.” he gave an honest answer.

Having him touch your inner thigh was awakening your desire for him, but you were very aware that this was too close to where the group was probably eating their breakfast of the day. He kept caressing your thigh, letting his thumb draw circles in your soft flesh.

One look was shared and he got up off the ground with you, taking you by the hand and leading you further away from the river. There were large rocks not far away and the ground descended between them into a narrow path, above your head the roots of a large tree growing over the rock formation covered the place well. There was little time to be in awe over how beautifully the roots had grown over the rocks, he moved you with your back against the rocks and muffled your surprised gasp by kissing you hard. There was a certain urgency in him, as if he wanted to steal all he could before it was too late, it was an urgency you shared. You pulled him close, kissing him back with the same fervor. Your jacket was moved open, he caressed your abdomen before going higher, his intention was clear.

You sped up his slow and careful process by taking his hand and putting it on your chest where he had been making his way up to. “Touch me.”

A sound rumbled through his chest, he took that offer without questions. As he kissed you, he fondled and kneaded to his leisure, your body curled into him, melted into his hands. It was titillating to know that this was all so new to him, that he battled between that timidness and that growing lust. His mouth wandered to your neck, his hand to your thigh. By his own initiative he dared to touch your rear and took hold. You jolted in surprise, made eye-contact, and saw how his eyes had darkened. There was not a speck of regret on his face, on the contrary, he kneaded at your rear after seeing that flustered state it got you in. You began to kiss his neck, feeling free to touch him too, snaking a hand under the hem of his shirt and feeling the tensing of his abdomen. He slid your jacket down from your shoulders, getting it out of the way by letting it drop to the ground. He made a guttural groan and it send your heartbeat up the hills, a gasp fled your lips.

You only noticed that he had begun to undo the cords of your bodice when he was at the fourth loop. “Lancelot…”

He brushed his mouth just below your ear, the palpable urgency was growing in him. His hot breath past by your ear and your knees threatened to buckle. You could feel your markings rise to the surface, as if they came at his beck and call.

You heard a voice calling out Lancelot’s name and broke away from him, quickly you grabbed your jacket from the ground and put it back on. It was a difficult task to lace the bodice back up again so fast, even if he only managed to loosen half of it.

Lancelot was not as hasty. “It is Arthur.”

You grew anxious. “He will ask why we are so far away.”

He was nonchalant about it. “Pay him no mind when he asks, I will handle it.”

The lack of haste in him increased your nervousness. “Come on, we shouldn’t wait until he finds us here.”

With a light chuckle he followed you out of the narrow path back towards where the group was at.

Arthur met you half-way. “Where have you gone?”

The suspicion in his tone was obvious, you struggled to reply. Lancelot took you by the elbow and continued his path like nothing was the matter.

“We are wed.” he told him whilst walking by Arthur. “Must we inform you of what we do whenever we are alone?”

Arthur had a look of recognition, suddenly stumbling over his words. “Oh. Well. No. I… that’s…”

You gawked at the bold way Lancelot had silenced that suspicion in Arthur again, this time you were the one who wanted to hide from sight.

          Upon arriving back to the group no one else really seemed to have noticed your absence, no one except for Arthur, Red Spear and Gawain. Arthur went right to Gawain, undoubtedly to tell him about it. You walked away from Lancelot’s side to go and see if there was still something left to eat, Percival had kept some bread and roasted potatoes aside for you. As you sat down beside the boy and ate, you kept catching Lancelot look your way and how Gawain rolled his eyes when he noticed him doing it. He had gotten some things to eat from Gawain, clearly in the hope of putting his attention on something else. You tried to focus on your meal, appreciating the fact that Percival was considerate enough to even keep some aside. When Lancelot came over to speak to you and Percival, Merlin walked over to him before he could.

“Those who chase the sword cannot handle it’s power. But those who let the sword come to them…” Merlin told him. “You have the sword that many go to war for, yet you leave it behind to walk the forest with your wife.”

“Yes.” Was all Lancelot replied to that, not bothering to deny the implication under Merlin’s statement.

“It’s corruption seems to have no power over you.” Merlin was pleased. “And between us, your attention is where it should be.” He nodded down to you and Percival. “I made the mistake of letting power consume me, and I lost those I loved.”

Lancelot went to Percival’s side, touching the back of the boy’s head lightly. “I have no desire for power. I have all I need.”

Merlin smiled, seemingly lost in the memory of his past life. He tilted his head, and with a respectful nod he walked away.

Lancelot knelt down beside Percival. “I purchased a scarf in Ravenwick last night for you, and a blanket should we need to sleep in the forest again.”

The boy had not expected a gift, let alone two. “Really?”

“They are in her horse’s saddle bag.” He told him.

Percival was up on his feet and quick as a fox to run to Bear to see his gifts.

“That was sweet.” Your heart warmed at the sight of Percival smiling widely as he put on the scarf.

Lancelot whispered, “He is a clever boy, impatient and disobedient. Brave and kind. A joy to be near.”

That was an accurate description of the boy. You wiped your hands on the grass and stood up. “Be sure to tell him that, he was struggling with everything going on. He lost so much, we need to be there to help him.”

He spoke quietly, while watching the boy show his scarf to Pym, “And we will be. I won’t let him have the past I had, Percival will know that others care about him.”

You suddenly recalled something of the night before, it had happened while you were half-asleep. “Last night, I heard him say ‘Nimue’ in his sleep.”

It visibly pained him to hear it. “He is mourning. I fear he hides his suffering often.”

With a soft smile, you asked, “Spoken from experience?”

He hummed quietly. “I find it difficult to mourn while my conscience reminds me of the wrong Father Carden has done.”

It was something you knew he struggled with. “As long as you know that mourning him is normal, you knew him well.”

Whilst trying to offer some words of comfort, you noticed how his attention had drifted away. His eyes were fixed on the trees behind you, something had caught his eye.

Red, moving slowly at a distance, circling the group who was unaware. Just as he had once taught them.

He spoke, “Go to Percival, walk normal, take him to the rocks where we were earlier.”

“What-… why?”

He took you by the arm and started walking. “We’re under attack. Paladins are here. Remain calm, let them believe that we are not aware they are here.” He let go. “Go. Now. There is not much time.”

You quickly nodded and went to fetch Percival. When you reached him, Lancelot was already informing Gawain and the knight whistled towards Arthur. Gawain gave a discreet signal that told both Arthur and the Red Spear that trouble was coming.

You were walking when Pym passed by and stopped her. “Pym, can you fight?”

She began to ramble, believing you were questioning her bravery. “Of course I can fight. I can fight really well. I’ve fought a lot-”

It caused you to doubt her claims. “Otherwise you need to come with us. There’s paladins about to attack.”

“What?” She was alarmed. “Well… I’ve not really fought yet…”

Just as you’d assumed to be the case. “We’re going to take shelter by the rocks not far from here so we don’t get caught in between Red’s crew and them.”

After saying that, she did not waste time joining you and Percival to get to a safer place. The sound of steel being drawn came from all around you and signaled that it was too late. A rain of arrows descended upon the area, you were just in time to pull Pym out of the way of one. Chaos erupted as paladins charged from between the trees to attack, and to your great dismay they were accompanied by four of the Trinity Guard on horseback who looked to be in charge of them. Within seconds you were in the midst of a battlefield, clutching at Percival’s jacket to not lose track of him.

“What do we do?!?” Pym was understandably panicking and drew her sword.

You drew your sword as well. “We ward them off as long as we can.”

And that was exactly what you had to do, forming a shield with Pym to ensure no one was able to get close to Percival. Pym’s skill with the sword could be summed up with her swinging it and hoping for the best outcome, not many would be brave enough to even try and most would choose to flee. She acted as a set of eyes to watch your back, letting you know what was behind you. You used all you had been taught and managed to ward off the attacks from paladins long enough for some of Red’s crew to come and help. Two paladins had been badly wounded by your blade, and one of them fatally. But it was hard to fight when your focus was on keeping two other people safe. Red’s crew was the most uncoordinated, reckless group of fighters you’d ever seen and somehow they were winning. Three of the Trinity Guard left alive were fighting against Red Spear, Arthur and Lancelot. And when the paladins came to outnumber them, Arthur was distracted by Red Spear being pushed to the ground. It was a distraction that would have proved him fatal if Lancelot had not gotten in between him and the Trinity Guard about to strike him with a flail. The flail missed Lancelot, but the fist of another struck his jaw, the ring sitting over the guards glove cut through his skin. Arthur had gotten Red Spear up off the ground in mere seconds, and in those mere seconds Lancelot dealt with the guards who had believed him to be an easy victim without the help of the others. Blood stained his face, dripped down his sword and covered the top of his hand. Even from a distance one could see the stunned reaction on Arthur and Red Spear’s faces. They acknowledged his part in their survival, for the first time seeing just how brutally he could fight. This time for them, for the right people, for the Fey.

Red Spear’s crew, along with Gawain and Merlin, stood their ground against the paladins, their skill in battle formed the deciding factor. The few paladins who were still alive tried to flee, apart from one.

A paladin had noticed the sword on the saddle of his former leader, a sword that matched the description him and his red brothers were given. He hastily approached Goliath and started to try and take the sword. The stallion turned, bit down on the paladin’s robe at the shoulder, and proceeded to toss him to the ground. After dragging the paladin for a couple of feet along the ground, you had to shout to Lancelot to make him notice.

He went over to his loyal horse and gave the order. “Goliath. Loose.”

Goliath let the paladin drop to the ground and watched how his rider grabbed the man by the neck of his robe.

“Broth-” The paladin choked on the word at the force of Lancelot lifting him up a little.

“How did you find us?” He pressed his sword against the paladin’s neck. “Speak!”

The paladin struggled to talk. “We were on our way to Ravenwick.”

They had not followed him last night, this happening was mere coincidence. It was fortunate that the others were near to hear it, or they could have blamed him for leading the enemy here by accident.

“Are there more of you coming?” Arthur asked the paladin.

Lancelot pressed the blade just enough against the skin that it drew some blood. “Answer him.”

The paladin winced. “No! We were to replenish our necessities in Ravenwick and travel to the Holy Father.”

A few seconds passed as Lancelot determined whether or not he believed that answer. “He’s telling the truth.”

Without warning, he cut the paladin’s throat and offered his former red brother a quick death. A choice that Arthur met with dismay.

Lancelot noticed the appalled expression aimed at him. “We cannot take the risk that he goes to warn others. Do you wish us to be chased to our graves?”

“We could have discussed this first!” Arthur protested.

“He would have returned with others. I know them.” Lancelot reminded him. “And if Red Spear’s crew does not find the other ones who have fled, they will return with larger numbers. You cannot trust them.”

Gawain spoke up about the situation. “You know that he is right, Arthur.”

Arthur struggled, an understandable reaction to have.

“Look around you.” Lancelot put his attention to those of the crew that had fallen. “Under the command of the Trinity Guard they will not show anyone mercy. Their task is to wipe the Fey, and all who oppose the Church, out of existence. Arthur,-”

“I understand that.” Arthur stopped him. “I just wish we didn’t have to resort to this.”

Lancelot showed his sympathy. “Unfortunately, we do. Let us hope we see the day were this seizes to be necessary.”

The Manblood fixed his eyes on Goliath. “Say, how did you train your horse how to do that?”

He followed Arthur’s gaze. “Do what?”

“What he did…” Arthur gestured to Goliath. “He stopped that paladin from stealing the sword.”

“He just does that.” Was the short answer he gave, as if it was completely normal behavior for a horse.

A drop of blood fell from the cut on Lancelot’s jaw, drawing your attention. You quickly took out a small piece of rag from your satchel to use and gingerly dabbed at his jaw with it. It took you a few seconds to realize his cheeks had tinted and what the reason for it was, Gawain was giving him this smirk that told he would tease the Ash Man about it later. It didn’t make you stop and you went ahead to try and wipe some of the blood from his hands too.

Lancelot cleared his throat to draw your attention. Your eyes snapped up to his and realized he was crumbling under the stares others aimed at him.

“Thank you.” he whispered.

Merlin was visibly entertained to see someone like the former Weeping Monk so self-conscious by the small act. He asked you, “Would you happen to have another one of those?”

You saw Merlin point at the rag, and reached into your satchel for a clean one that you handed to him. “Of course.”

Merlin looked at every single one near him. “Never feel embarrassed to be on the receiving end of your lover’s gentleness in front of others. Take advice from this old man.”

Merlin thanked you and walked away. Percival came to your side, looking a bit shaken by the passed battle and Lancelot quickly placed a hand on his shoulder for comfort.

“My crew is hunting the last two down. We we wait here until they return.” Red Spear came to inform.

“Is that wise?” Arthur asked. It earned him a very nasty glare from her, it had not been a request, he understood that now.

Whilst the others conversed about the next course of action to take, Lancelot came to see if you and Percival were unharmed.

There was a drop of blood on the boy’s cheek that he noticed, he wiped it away with his thumb. “Are you wounded?”

Percival shook his head. “No. Yuck, that had to be from those paladins.”

He wiped the blood on the rag you had given him to use. “You fought?”

The boy pointed at you. “She cut one near his neck and blood went everywhere.”

Percival went ahead and acted out how the blood had sprayed from the paladin’s neck, you could barely make eye-contact with Lancelot as the boy spoke so enthusiastically about your actions. He gently squeezed Percival’s shoulder, it made the boy slow his talking down to a slow halt.

“I am glad you are unharmed.” Lancelot gave his shoulder another squeeze.

He had said it with such warmth that Percival almost couldn’t believe it was meant for his ears. The boy’s eyes were filled with a mixture of emotions, they harbored admiration towards the Ash Man. And maybe, just maybe, Lancelot knew that the boy saw him as the example of the person he would grow up to be like.

Percival had a timid sweet smile, then caught himself and redirected the attention elsewhere. “Your sword’s filthy.”

He looked down at the sword still in his hands, blood was still slowly rolling off of it down to the grass, with the rag he tried to clean most of it off.

Then, the boy let some of that true empathy shine. “Did they hurt… you?”

To hear a child concerned for his well-being surely stunned him. “I’m alright.” A smile. “Just some bruises and small cuts. It will heal.”

You knew that he was still healing from the fight in Morrowstead. “You should see a healer when you can.”

He teased, “Both of you are concerned for my health?”

“Listen to her.” Percival was stern. “She’s clever.”

“And I am not?” he cocked a brow.

The boy blurted out, “Not always.”

He rolled his eyes at the jest and the boy grinned in mischief.

Gawain came to speak to the three of you. “We pass through Onsdell tonight. Red Spear wishes to have her wounded helped by the healers there. We have agreed to pay for a room in the inn there for the night. What say you?”

“Will it be safe?” Was what Lancelot wanted to know.

“Onsdell remains neutral to the Fey. But I suggested being discreet about our kind.” Gawain answered. “We will rent a room in the inn just outside of the city, it is less visited then the ones in the midst of Onsdell. It will be calmer and we can simply travel back into the city tomorrow to visit the market.”

Lancelot gave a nod. “Very well. These healers in Onsdell, I have heard of them. They live in what used to be an abbey, do they not?”

The knight confirmed, “That is correct. But they are not of the Church.”

He crossed his arms. “You believe they will receive us there?”

“All are welcome there.” Gawain said. “As long as we are respectful, they shall be as well.”

“And what with him?” Lancelot discreetly dropped his gaze to Percival. “The city is frowned upon by the Church, it is no place for one so young.”

Percival was quick to voice his demand, “Oi! I’m coming with you!”

Gawain send Lancelot a knowing look. “You are worried to expose him to it.”

“Why does the Church frown upon Onsdell?” you asked.

The knight offered no help to explain, and simply tried not to grin while looking at Lancelot who struggled to find the right way to answer that question.

With a deep sigh, Lancelot explained it to you, “It is considered a place of perversion and degeneracy by them. The scent of ale is seeped into it’s soil. Even Father ignored it’s existence, to him it was nothing more than the place where the lost souls would spend the last of their days in exile. A place to be forgotten about until after the war, it was one of their least concerns.”

Gawain reasoned about it, “But the city’s reputation is highly influenced by those who follow the Church. We will be safe there simply because the inhabitants are used to the presence of strangers like us. And the paladins prefer not to show their faces in such a place.”

“That may be right.” Lancelot concurred.

Gawain reached out and patted Percival on the shoulder. “And our young knight here has seen things much worse than he might see in Onsdell. It will be alright.” He saw the worry in the Ash Man’s eyes. “It will be alright, brother.”

The trust Lancelot had in Gawain was palpable. “Very well then.”

“Can we go visit the market there?” Percival carefully asked.

“What is there you wish to purchase?” Gawain wondered out loud.

“Anything that stills his hunger.” Lancelot blurted out, earning a small glare from the boy, but Percival would not deny that it was true.

Pym approached you, tapping you on the shoulder, “Do you know how to sew a wound shut?”

You turned to her. “Yes, why?”

“Can you help him while I help the others?” she asked.

A young man stopped beside her and she gestured to him, it was one of Red’s crew and blood was dripping down from a gash on his lower arm.

“Gods…” you hastily went to help him, shocked that he was so calm as if it were just a small scratch.

While you helped him, Pym told you about how the crew often got the strangest injuries and walked around with them as if it were nothing. A few tankards of ale and chests of gold were what the crew considered medicine, much to Pym’s utter disbelief. And still, you could tell that she had grown attached to the rowdy bunch. It only proved that kindred spirits could find each other even in the most unexpected ways.

Taglist:

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Please let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist of this story. Using this old list from the previous fic.

[rdr2gifs]

Some of the antagonise options outside of the story are so vile they actually make me uncomfortable. It’s hard talking about Arthur because he is bound to be different for everyone. I cannot say that Arthur wouldn’t say that because the fact stands that the option to say those things is in the game.

However, it does not sit well with me that Arthur would talk in such way to Abigail, Tilly, Mary-Beth, Charles, Jack, Lenny, Karen.. It is not aligned with how he talks/writes about them/with them in cutscenes whatsoever. This is obviously my personal opinion but I just don’t understand how someone can watch all the scenes, hit the antagonise button and think: “yes, that’s totally how he would talk to them.”

On the other hand, with characters such as Uncle, Micah, Bill, Kieran, Strauss and even John and Sean Arthur can be seen antagonising them 80% of time in the cutscenes, which is why I think it makes sense to antagonise these characters and it is in line with how the character is presented outside of the player’s control ( even tho I personally only antagonise Micah and Bill).

Arthur can also say he has always hated dogs when that’s obviously not true as he had owned a dog himself, which he loved enough to have a picture of hung above his bed and take baths with. Which is why I personally take the optional antagonise lines (especially said to gang members) with reserve.

[adhd-merlin]

sorry but I was rewatching some bits of The Hollow Queen and the transition from daegal's tragic death in merlin's arms to arthur sitting at the table and telling his wife "I still can't believe how lucky I was! :)" while merlin limps in the background is kind of funny

[aetherdecember]

Another snippet from my Flipping the Coin au. Probably won’t make it into the actual fic, but I’ve been obsessed with these two and keep finding myself writing moments like this ^^

…

Mordred was sprawled over Arthur’s chest, with his thumb tucked in his mouth, and blue eyes serious as he listened to the story with the gravity of a judge. The two of them are slumped in their favorite armchair, the red velvet blotchy from numerous spilled drinks, sticky snacks, and misguided attempts at crafts. It was too warm for a fire, but in the dim evening, with the lone table lamp for light and the window cracked open for a breath of air, it took Arthur back to countless evenings spent in another room. One built of stone and lit only by candle flame.

Aloud, Arthur read, “Because he was the king…”

Personally, it wasn’t his favorite retelling, but Mordred had seen his name on the cover and insisted on hearing it, so he had conceded. Maybe he should’ve waited until Mordred was older before telling him that there were stories about characters who shared their names, but in these last few years, the events from long ago had been so close to mind Arthur had wanted to share it. He assumed Mordred would fixate on the sword fighting and tournaments. Instead, Mordred had picked a book that started with babies being sent out to sea.

“Two by two, he carried—“

Mordred pulled his thumb out of his mouth. “Did you really do that?”

“No.” Arthur marked his spot with a finger and ruffled the thick, black curls. Still damp from the bath, they were in need of a comb. And soon, if Arthur hoped to avoid dealing with tangles. “I never did that.” Dipping his fingers to tickle the back of Mordred’s neck, he smiled as Mordred giggled and tried to escape. “I could never.”

Sitting up, Mordred’s knobby limbs found all of Arthur’s soft spots as he settled knees first on top of Arthur’s chest. “If you had to, could you?”

“Would you,” Arthur automatically corrected.

“Would I?” Mordred’s pitch went comically high. “Nooooooo! Would you!”

Arthur gave him a look, one that Mordred immediately leaned in and mimicked with a giggle. “Would I, Arthur Penn, a man far removed from the ancient past, cast a boat full of babies into the ocean? Absolutely not.”

“What if Merlin told you to?”

He’d never had to. History hadn’t played out like that. But Arthur couldn’t tell his young son that he definitely knew it hadn’t happened because he couldn’t even explain his own past and all that entailed. All Mordred knew was that his father was named after King Arthur, so that meant he’d been named after Mordred. Because they were father and son and that was how it was supposed to be. He didn’t know that in another life they hadn’t been related and that the first time Merlin met Mordred he had helped save him.

“Nope.” Arthur popped the ‘p’. Out of Mordred’s sight, he set the book on the ground. It was time for a better story anyway. “Not even then.”

“What if Merlin did it?”

“Listen, let me tell you about the—“ He almost said ‘the Mordred I knew’ but luckily stopped. Instead, he says, “—the story I heard. It took place when Uther was still king. The first time Arthur met Mordred he was only a little boy…”

[merlins-strawberriesandroses]

I get what you mean op, but I always assumed Merlin said what he did during the disir episode because he was told Arthur living was the only successful way for magic to become legalized. And it was Arthur’s decision in the end to make. I know he died at the end, and probably that could’ve been prevented had either made a different choice sometime in S5, but I think condemn is maybe too active of a word for what happened, for various reasons. Not saying it was inevitable Arthur would die, but he was really prone to dying 😭 he’s still alive in s5 because of all that Merlin has done. I think in the end it's still Uther's mistake, and the fact that it didn't get rectified in time, that condemns Arthur as surely as it birthed him.

neither nimueh nor uther knew of the price for arthur's life but uther wanted him enough to risk it and ended up losing the love of his life. merlin didn't know the price for putting arthur's life over magic, but he wanted arthur to live badly enough to risk it and ended up losing him. the parallel is insane and it's always been over arthur's life. ygraine's life was the price for uther's mistake and arthur's life was the price for merlin's. uther and merlin both unknowingly condeming the people they love. I'm going insane if you haven't noticed.

[no-144444]

the grid: No Nut November!

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Featuring: Oscar Piastri, Lando Norris, Lewis Hamilton, George Russell, Alex Albon, Franco Colapinto, Logan Sargeant, Daniel Riccardo, Liam Lawson, Charles LeClerc, Max Verstappen, Paul Aron, Arthur LeClerc.

thank you to the person that requested this!!!

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Oscar Piastri: wouldn’t do it. 

Even if every driver on the grid was offering 1,000€ each as a prize, he was not giving up fucking you for an entire month. 

Even though he looks like a sweetie pie he would absolutely be a freak in the sheets and he was not about to give up the only way he actually gets his frustration out (aka fucking you). 

Everyone kind of boos him for it but then half way through the month he gets to be smug while they’re all miserable and complaining, because he can fuck his girlfriend whenever he wants. 

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Lando Norris: would try, but definitely fail. 

He wouldn’t care about the prize, he’d just have such a ‘how hard can it be?’ attitude. 

Newsflash: extremely. 

You would not make it easy for him either; wearing the sluttiest clothes, basically giving him fuck me eyes all the time, enjoying it when you see him get hot and bothered. 

He snaps on his birthday, and fucks you for hours straight. You can barely walk the next day. 

He decides to own up and pay his part of the bet with no shame, he has a hot girlfriend and he likes fucking her, sue him! 

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Lewis Hamilton: wouldn’t even try

He’s uninterested in the things most of the grid do in their spare time, and he knows they’re uninterested in him too. They don't need to know about his sex life, but what people can guess is that it is very much alive. 

I mean… you two had a baby literally 8 months after your wedding, to the day. 

The other 3 kids don't exactly help his case… 

He’d say yes, just so he could be added to the group chat and he would tell you who is winning and losing.

He’d lose on the first day with no shame. Everyone knows he's just here for the public shaming of others. 

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George Russell: would win

Not saying he’s not a freak in the sheets, but he would set up the entire thing (group chat, the money pool, etc.) and he cannot be seen lacking. 

Even if it wasn’t his idea, he still needed to win. 

You do make the entire month absolute torture though. 

Matching sets, showing as much skin as possible, everything. 

Even walking around the apartment naked. 

But somehow, he doesn’t budge. 

At the end of the month he does fuck you for ages, and you literally cant get out of bed, let alone follow him to a race. He tells the media you’re sick and all of the drivers have the dirtiest laughs as he explains. Despite every question, they keep their mouths shut. 

George did announce that he won at the end, much to your chagrin. 

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Alex Albon: he’d last a while

 He would honestly be pretty good. 

He kind of breaks the rules, he constantly gives you oral and jerking himself off, but it wasn’t specifically stated in the rules (apart from the name… but whatever)

He makes it like halfway through the month until a particularly bad race result. 

He fucks you all night. 

When you both get to the paddock in the morning, George pays him a visit to collect the money like the smug bastard he is. 

He heard you two last night. 

He was 4 doors down. 

Oops. 

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Franco Colapinto: he’s the one who accidentally tells the press. 

We all know Franco is awful at keeping his mouth shut, and in an interview he somehow lets it slip that he needed to find George to give him money. 

They ask him what for. 

He says ‘the bet’ and explains that they’re doing NNN this year and that he lost. 

It was worth it though, you two hadn’t seen each other in months (you were busy in uni, he was busy at races) and he just had to have you. 

He made it like a quarter of the way into the month. 

He didn't really care. 

The drivers honestly just found it funny that he told the media. 

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Logan Sargeant: would make it most of the way, but just fall short by like 4 days.

He had done so well, ignoring all of your sexual advances for the majority of the month…

Then he got drunk. 

Drunk Logan and drunk you? Yeah, you’re fucking. 

He couldn’t keep his hands off you, and he paid the price. 

He paid up sheepishly the next day, George looked at him with the smuggest smile ever. 

Logan didn’t even care. He fucked you twice as much as before. 

He has to make up for lost time, right? 

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Daniel Riccardo: he would lose immediately.

This man is a 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓀 

He would kind of do the same thing as Lewis, pay to just watch the rest of them loose. 

He does last a little bit longer though (in their eyes).

 He doesn’t pay up until the second week even though he’s been fucking you the entire time. 

He has absolutely no shame about it either. 

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Liam Lawson: he would almost win.

He's such a cutie. I think he’d somehow abstain for a while. 

He’d get to around the 26th, and then give up. 

The month was torture though. 

You literally would beg him every night, and he would just have to say no. 

You were impressed at how long he lasted. 

But then he gave in after he scored points in mexico...

Yuki ratted him out to George, he was very embarrassed.

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Charles LeClerc: he would lose immediately.

Charles is an idiot. 

He would lose the first day by accident, and then try to pretend that it doesn't count until George actually comes knocking on his drivers room door looking for the money. 

He heard you, of course. 

Charles reluctantly watches the rest of the month play out, bitter that his own forgetfulness took him out so early. 

He vows to win next year. 

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Carlos Sainz: wouldn’t do it. 

He’s not giving up fucking you for a month. No way. 

He also wouldn’t be interested in the sex lives of others enough to even pay into it like Lewis. 

His sex life is his own, and as much as he loves healthy competition, this is a race he’s happy to lose. 

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Max Verstappen: would be a huge bitch all month.

Dude is like a moody teenager when he’s not getting it. 

Daniel persuades him to do it and he makes it a few days in.

Literally turns into the biggest moody bitch ever.

By the 8th day everyone is begging you to just fuck him so he’ll stop being such a cunt to them.

You do. 

He pays up and spends the rest of the month fucking you. 

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Paul Aron: he would almost win.

He would last pretty long. Like maybe more than half the month

Despite his playboy facade, he’s actually more into cuddles and shit like that. 

 But after a bad race…

Yeah, he pays up with zero shame. 

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Arthur LeClerc: he would lose, in two ways. 

Y’know how quickly Charles lost, yeah he’d be worse.

He wouldn’t forget, he’d just think that he can get away with fucking you all month but of course, that doesn’t happen.

George comes knocking after Charles tells him he can hear you two.

You are deeply embarrassed that your boyfriend's brother heard you two having sex, and you impose a ban for the rest of the month. 

You say it’ll help you both be more aware of when and where you’re doing it, and how to not get caught by his brother again. 

He curses out his brother the next time he sees him.

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navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

[gd-dollopole]

Let’s take into consideration:

Arthur would rather waste precious time before an important council meeting to run around the entire castle and search for Merlin, who, in his very honest opinion, is the worst servant of the entire kingdom or that he had ever known, than to call literally anyone else to help him dress (as if there wouldn’t be anyone ready to assist Arthur, their king, with clothes);

Arthur, and therefore Agravaine (which makes it all the more hilarious) knows every single place where Merlin could be, at that precise moment, or during that day in general; (EDIT: As someone pointed out in the comments, everyone and Agravaine included, knows who is the “dollophead”)

The guards nod to Agravaine without asking anything, which only means that it is canon that everyone in Camelot knows Merlin by name; EDIT: It also means that the guards deal with this on a daily basis. They must be tired.

The aforementioned point implies that everyone knows how Merlin looks like, that also means Merlin is known to never leave Arthur’s side, even during council meetings;

Arthur is running around the castle in what today we would call a pyjama, just because Merlin didn’t wake him up with, “Rise and Shine”. And he’s barefoot. That’s right. The king of Camelot, everyone, has just walked barefoot in Merlin’s chambers, in the armoury, where other knights probably are, and in the bloody stables (yes, the ones where the horses and their dungs both are), without boots on, just to look for Merlin;

Arthur is more distressed in this scene than in the one where Morgana declares war in season five. He’s fretting like a mother hen. Not only he is without breath, which means he was just coming back from his checking around, but he is red in the face and almost yelling in desperation. “Does he expect me to dress myself?!” Because apparently, Arthur literally cannot do anything without Merlin by his side. The way he says, “No sign of him” to Agravaine is so endearing, and he shouldn’t be this adorable. Unfair, Arthur. Really unfair.

Arthur just yells, (and distressingly looks around) in hope that Merlin will come back to him, because he always does. *sounds of my heart breaking into millions of pieces*

And last but not least, Arthur shouts, “Last night!”, which means the actual reason he’s going around searching for Merlin, it’s because he’s worried his world will end without his quirky and clumsy servant by his side (and the love of his life). Merlin is currently out on a quest with Gwaine to look for Gaius, since he has been kidnapped, but the problem is that Arthur doesn’t know this. What he knows is that he has fought with Merlin the day before about Gaius in the council chambers, and believes Merlin is gone for good, this time, and solely for the fight they had. Arthur feels more than guilty that he can’t make it up to his best friend, the love of his life (Agravaine helped Morgana kidnap Gaius, and it explains the ending of the scene, where he understands where Merlin is.) Now Arthur is worried that his last words to Merlin were harsh. He had last seen him when he was done with his duties the night before, and then Merlin disappeared.

No wonder they deleted this scene.

[pucksandpower]

Royal Pardon

Charles Leclerc x Arthur’s best friend!Reader

Summary: Charles isn’t a violent man at heart, but when he saves you from being harassed while celebrating his Monaco win, he quickly realizes that there’s not a single line he wouldn’t cross if it means keeping you safe

Warnings: attempted sexual assault, violence, and injury

Note: a break from your regularly scheduled October programming because Charles just won the United States GP and that calls for a celebration

The music pulses through the club, a steady, hypnotic beat that thrums in Charles’ chest. He’s never felt like this — untouchable, invincible — as if tonight could stretch on forever, an endless loop of victory and laughter.

He’s just won Monaco.

Monaco. His Monaco.

The thought alone makes him smile, a small, private thing that he hides behind the rim of his champagne flute.

Around him, the crowd swirls in a blur of lights and shadows, everyone shouting their congratulations over the music, pulling him into hugs and clapping him on the back. Arthur is here somewhere, of course, dragging you along because where else would you be? The two of you are like shadows, inseparable since childhood.

Charles can still see you, just barely, out of the corner of his eye, chatting with a couple of Arthur’s friends near the bar. You’re laughing, a sound that somehow cuts through the noise and settles in the back of his mind. It’s a good sound, one that feels familiar, like home.

“Charles, mate!” A voice shouts, pulling him back. Max is there, leaning in with a grin that’s all teeth, like he’s just as buzzed on adrenaline as Charles is. “I swear, you’re going to be insufferable after this. Monaco, finally!”

Charles laughs, shaking his head, though the truth is he probably will be insufferable. But can anyone blame him? He’s worked so damn hard for this, pushing through every setback, every disappointment. And now, here he is, celebrating the win of his career in the only place that really matters.

He’s about to respond when someone else pulls him into a hug, a flurry of excitement and congratulations that Charles barely processes. He doesn’t mind, though. Tonight, it feels like nothing can touch him, like nothing could ever bring him down from this high.

But then, something shifts. It’s subtle at first, just an itch at the back of his mind, a sense that something isn’t right. He glances over to where you and Arthur were standing, but Arthur is gone, nowhere to be seen. And you … you’re not laughing anymore.

Charles’ stomach twists. You’re cornered against the bar now, a man leaning in too close, too aggressive. Charles can’t see your face clearly through the throng of people, but the way you’re holding yourself, tense and small, tells him everything he needs to know.

His blood turns to ice, freezing the euphoria in his veins. He can’t hear what the man is saying, but it doesn’t matter. The way the man’s hand snakes around your waist, the way you try to push him off with trembling hands — Charles’ vision goes red.

He’s moving before he can think, pushing through the crowd with a single-minded focus. The people congratulating him moments ago scatter as he brushes past them, their laughter and cheers fading into the background noise.

“Hey!” Charles’ voice cuts through the music, sharp and commanding. The man doesn’t even turn at first, but you do, your eyes wide and glistening with unshed tears. Charles feels something break inside him at the sight, but he channels it into a fury that propels him forward.

When the man finally notices Charles, it’s too late. Charles is on him, grabbing the man’s shoulder and yanking him away from you with a force that sends the man stumbling backward. “Get the fuck away from her,” Charles snarls, every syllable dripping with venom.

The man barely has time to react before Charles slams him against the wall, the impact rattling the bottles on the shelves behind the bar. Charles’ forearm presses against the man’s throat, cutting off whatever protest he might have had.

“Charles, stop!” You gasp, your voice choked with a mix of fear and something else, something that twists the knife already lodged in Charles’ chest. He doesn’t stop, though. Can’t stop. The image of the man’s hands on you is burned into his mind, and all he can think about is making him pay, making him hurt.

The man struggles, clawing at Charles’ arm, but it’s useless. Charles is stronger, fueled by a rage that’s been simmering just beneath the surface for too long. The man’s face turns red, then purple, and still, Charles doesn’t let up. His grip tightens, and he leans in closer, his voice a low, dangerous whisper.

“If you ever so much as look at her again, I’ll fucking kill you.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and deadly serious. The man’s eyes widen, a flash of genuine fear crossing his face, but Charles doesn’t care. He wants him to be scared. Wants him to know that there’s no escaping this, no escaping the consequences of what he’s done.

“Charles, please!” Your voice breaks through the haze of anger, and it’s only then that Charles realizes how close you’ve gotten. You’re right there, your hand on his arm, tugging gently, desperately trying to pull him away.

He looks at you then, really looks at you, and sees the tears streaming down your face, the fear etched into your features. It’s like a bucket of cold water dumped over his head, shocking him back to reality. The club, the music, the people — all of it comes rushing back in a disorienting wave.

Charles blinks, his grip on the man loosening just enough for the man to gasp for air. He’s still furious, the anger simmering beneath the surface, but he’s no longer blind with it. He takes a breath, then another, trying to regain some semblance of control.

“You’re lucky she’s here,” Charles says quietly, his voice barely more than a growl. He shoves the man away from him, watching with cold satisfaction as he stumbles and nearly falls to the floor.

The man doesn’t stick around. He scrambles to his feet and disappears into the crowd, no doubt eager to get as far away from Charles as possible. Good. Charles hopes he never sees the man again, because he’s not sure he’ll be able to stop himself if he does.

For a moment, Charles just stands there, his chest heaving with the effort of reining in his emotions. The crowd has started to notice the commotion, a few curious onlookers craning their necks to see what’s going on. But none of that matters. None of them matter.

All that matters is you.

Charles turns to you, his expression softening as he takes in your tear-streaked face. “Are you okay?” His voice is gentler now, full of concern that wasn’t there a moment ago.

You nod, but it’s a shaky, uncertain thing. “I-I’m fine,” you manage, though it’s clear you’re anything but. You look like you’re about to collapse, your legs barely holding you up.

Without thinking, Charles steps closer and wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. You don’t resist, you just sink into him, your fingers clutching at the fabric of his shirt as if he’s the only thing keeping you upright. And maybe he is.

“It’s okay,” Charles murmurs, his voice low and soothing. “You’re safe now. I’m here.” He holds you tighter, as if he can shield you from the world, from everything that just happened. And for a moment, it feels like he can. Like nothing bad can touch you as long as you’re in his arms.

You don’t say anything, just press your face into his chest, your breath hitching with the remnants of your tears. Charles presses his lips to the top of your head, a gesture that feels both instinctive and impossibly intimate. He’s never held you like this before, never been this close, but it feels right.

The music still pounds in the background, the lights still flash in a dizzying array of colors, but it’s all distant now, muted. The only thing that matters is you, and making sure you’re okay.

Charles pulls back just enough to look down at you, his hands resting on your shoulders. “Where’s Arthur?” He asks, his voice still soft but edged with a protective concern.

“I-I don’t know,” you admit, your voice small. “He was here a minute ago, and then …” Your words trail off, and Charles doesn’t need you to finish the sentence to know what happened next.

He clenches his jaw, trying to keep his anger in check. Arthur should have been here, should have been looking out for you, but he isn’t. Charles isn’t sure where his brother is right now, but he’ll deal with that later. For now, he needs to focus on you.

“It’s okay,” he says again, though the words feel inadequate. “You’re with me now. No one’s going to hurt you.”

You nod again, but this time it’s a little steadier, a little more certain. “Thank you,” you whisper, the words barely audible over the music.

Charles shakes his head. “You don’t need to thank me,” he says, his voice rougher than he intends. “I’ll always protect you. Always.”

The weight of those words hangs between you, a promise that feels more real than anything else in this moment. Charles knows, without a doubt, that he means it. He’ll protect you, no matter what. Even if it means facing down every threat, every danger, with the same ferocity he showed tonight.

He takes a deep breath, trying to let go of the lingering anger. The night isn’t over yet, but he’s not sure how much longer he can stand to be here, in this place that suddenly feels too crowded, too loud, too full of people who didn’t notice, didn’t care. Charles’ grip tightens on your shoulders as he scans the room, trying to spot Arthur in the sea of faces. But it’s a lost cause — the club is packed, and he knows Arthur could be anywhere.

“Come on,” Charles says, his voice a bit steadier now. “Let’s get out of here.”

You don’t argue, just nod and let him guide you through the crowd. The bodies pressing in around you both feel suffocating, the music that once electrified the night now grating on Charles’ nerves. He keeps a firm hold on your hand, as if letting go might mean losing you to the chaos.

As you near the exit, the cool night air becomes a welcome relief, a sharp contrast to the oppressive heat inside. The streets of Monaco are quieter now, the party shifting indoors as the night grows late. Charles doesn’t stop moving until you’re both far enough from the club that the noise fades into a dull hum, barely audible over the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks.

He finally releases your hand, only to immediately wrap his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. You’re shivering, whether from the cold or the shock, Charles isn’t sure. Either way, he holds you tighter, wishing he could do more, say more.

But the words don’t come easily. They never have. So instead, he just walks with you, slowly, allowing the night air to calm the both of you. You lean into him, and he can feel the tension gradually leaving your body, though you still seem a little too fragile, too breakable.

Charles isn’t sure how long you walk like that, side by side in the near silence, before you finally speak.

“Charles, I …” Your voice is hesitant, unsure. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t been there.”

He stops walking, turning to face you, his expression serious. “You don’t have to think about that,” he says, his voice firm. “I was there. And I always will be.”

You look up at him, your eyes searching his face for something — reassurance, perhaps, or maybe just understanding. “But what if next time-”

“There won’t be a next time.” Charles cuts you off, his voice harder than he intends. He takes a breath, softening his tone. “I won’t let there be a next time.”

He can see the worry still etched on your face, the remnants of fear that haven’t quite faded. He wishes he could take it all away, erase the memory of that man and the way he made you feel. But he knows he can’t. All he can do is be there, to protect you, to make sure you know that you’re not alone.

“You’re safe,” he repeats, quieter now, but with no less conviction. “As long as I’m here, you’re safe.”

You hold his gaze for a long moment, and he wonders what you’re thinking, what’s going on behind those eyes that have always been so easy for him to read. Eventually, you nod, and some of the tension in your posture seems to melt away.

“Okay,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “Okay.”

Charles nods too, though a part of him still feels on edge, like the danger hasn’t completely passed. But he pushes that feeling down, focusing instead on you, on the fact that you’re here with him, and that’s all that matters right now.

“Let’s go,” he says again, but this time, his voice is softer, more gentle. He takes your hand again, lacing his fingers with yours, and starts walking, leading you away from the club, from the noise and the memories that he hopes you’ll never have to revisit.

As you walk, the tension between you both begins to ease. The night air is crisp, carrying the scent of the sea, and for the first time in what feels like hours, Charles allows himself to breathe.

He glances over at you, your profile illuminated by the soft glow of the streetlights. You look calmer now, more like yourself, though there’s still a shadow of what happened lingering in your eyes. Charles’ heart aches at the sight, at the knowledge that he couldn’t protect you from that, even if he was there to stop it from getting worse.

But he doesn’t say any of that. Instead, he just keeps walking, his thumb brushing absentmindedly over your knuckles, a silent reassurance that he’s here, and he’s not going anywhere.

Eventually, you reach the familiar streets that lead back to your apartment. The night is quiet now, the revelry of earlier giving way to the peaceful stillness of a city that’s finally starting to sleep.

When you reach your building, you both stop, lingering on the sidewalk as if neither of you wants the night to end just yet. Charles knows he should say something, anything, but the words are stuck in his throat, too heavy and too complicated to untangle.

You’re the one who breaks the silence, your voice soft but clear. “Thank you. For everything.”

He shakes his head. “You don’t need to thank me,” he says, echoing his earlier words. “I meant what I said — I’ll always protect you.”

There’s a pause, a beat of silence that stretches on just long enough to make Charles wonder if you’re going to say something more. But you don’t. Instead, you step closer and, without warning, wrap your arms around him in a tight hug.

Charles is momentarily stunned, his breath catching in his throat as he processes the warmth of your embrace, the way you cling to him like he’s your anchor in a storm. He hesitates for only a second before his arms come up around you, holding you just as tightly, if not more.

The hug lasts longer than it probably should, but neither of you seems to want to let go. When you finally do, you pull back just enough to look up at him, your eyes searching his with a softness that makes his chest tighten.

“Goodnight, Charlie,” you say, your voice barely more than a whisper.

“Goodnight,” he replies, his voice equally soft, as if speaking any louder would shatter the fragile moment between you.

You give him one last, lingering look before turning and heading into your building, the door closing softly behind you. Charles stands there for a moment, staring at the door, as if willing it to open again, as if hoping you might come back out and say something more.

But you don’t, and eventually, Charles turns and starts walking back the way you came, his thoughts a tangled mess of emotions he’s not sure how to deal with.

The night is still, the only sound the distant crash of the waves against the rocks. Charles lets the quiet seep into him, trying to find some semblance of calm, but it’s difficult. The image of you, scared and vulnerable, keeps flashing through his mind, a constant reminder of how close you came to being hurt.

He knows he should feel relief — that you’re safe, that the night ended without further incident. But instead, all he feels is a gnawing sense of guilt, of not having been there sooner, of not being able to protect you from everything.

Charles clenches his fists, his nails digging into his palms as he walks. He doesn’t want to think about what could have happened if he hadn’t been there, doesn’t want to imagine the fear and pain you might have endured.

But he can’t stop the thoughts from coming, can’t shake the anger that simmers just beneath the surface, threatening to boil over at any moment.

As he rounds the corner to his own street, Charles makes a silent vow to himself. He’ll be more vigilant, more careful. He won’t let anyone hurt you ever again. He’ll be there, always, to protect you, no matter what.

And if anyone tries to come between you and your safety again, well … Charles isn’t sure he’ll be able to hold back next time.

He reaches his apartment, but he doesn’t go inside right away. Instead, he stands outside, staring up at the stars barely visible above the city lights, his mind still racing with thoughts of you.

Eventually, he takes a deep breath and turns to unlock his door, stepping inside and letting the door close behind him with a quiet click. The apartment is dark and silent, but it doesn’t feel like home tonight. It feels empty, hollow, as if something is missing.

And Charles knows exactly what that something is.

As he heads to bed, his thoughts are still on you — on the way you looked at him tonight, on the way you clung to him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded. And somewhere, deep down, Charles knows that you’re more than just Arthur’s best friend to him.

But he’s not ready to confront that just yet. Not tonight.

So he pushes the thoughts aside, focusing instead on the promise he made to himself: to always be there for you, to protect you, no matter what.

It’s a promise he intends to keep.

***

The morning sun stretches over Monaco, its golden rays catching on the waves that lap against the harbor. The city is just beginning to stir, and for a moment, everything feels like it should: calm, peaceful, normal. But as Charles hits his stride on his morning run, his mind is anything but calm.

The events of last night replay in his head on a loop, the image of you — shaken, scared, fighting back tears — burned into his memory. Every step he takes feels heavier, weighted down by the anger simmering just beneath the surface.

He’s tried to push it down, to focus on the steady rhythm of his breathing, the sound of his shoes hitting the pavement, but it’s no use. The rage is still there, as fresh and raw as it was the moment he saw you in that club.

Charles turns a corner, heading down toward the harbor where the yachts bob gently in the water. The morning air is crisp, a stark contrast to the heat that still lingers in his chest. He needs to clear his head, to shake off the lingering sense of helplessness that clings to him like a shadow.

But then he sees him.

The man is walking casually along the harbor, hands in his pockets, his face a picture of smug indifference. He looks like any other tourist enjoying a morning stroll, not like someone who was grabbing you, hurting you, just hours ago.

Charles stops dead in his tracks, his breath catching in his throat. For a split second, he thinks he’s imagining it, that his mind is playing tricks on him. But no, it’s him. The same face, the same sneer that Charles wanted to wipe off with his fist last night.

Something snaps inside Charles. The anger he’s been trying to control, trying to bury, erupts like a dam breaking, flooding his veins with adrenaline. His vision narrows, locking onto the man who dared to touch you, who thought he could get away with it.

Without thinking, Charles changes direction, his strides long and purposeful as he closes the distance between them. The man doesn’t notice him at first, too absorbed in whatever thoughts a man like him could have. But then, as Charles gets closer, something makes the man glance over his shoulder.

His reaction is immediate. The smug look falters, replaced by a flicker of recognition, then quickly by a lazy grin that only fuels Charles’ rage.

“Well, well,” the man drawls, stopping to face Charles, clearly not sensing the danger. “If it isn’t the big hero himself. What’s the matter, Leclerc? Didn’t get enough attention last night?”

Charles doesn’t answer, his jaw clenched so tightly he can feel his teeth grind together. He’s close enough now to smell the lingering stench of alcohol on the man’s breath, the same breath that spewed vile words at you.

The man chuckles, a sound that grates on Charles’ nerves like nails on a chalkboard. “You know, she had it coming,” he says, his tone almost conversational. “The way she was dressed, the way she looked at me — what did she expect?”

That’s all it takes. The words cut through Charles like a knife, sharp and searing, and before he knows what he’s doing, he’s grabbed the man by the front of his shirt, shoving him back against the railing of the harbor.

“What did you say?” Charles’ voice is low, dangerous, barely more than a growl. His knuckles are white where they grip the man’s shirt, every muscle in his body coiled like a spring ready to snap.

The man’s grin only widens, unfazed by the fury in Charles’ eyes. “You heard me,” he sneers. “And you know what? There’s nothing you can do about it. We’re in public, Leclerc. You’re a famous guy — can’t have your precious image tarnished, can you?”

Charles’ lips curl into a smile, but it’s not the kind that reaches his eyes. It’s cold, calculated, the kind of smile that sends a chill down the spine. “You think I care about that?” He asks, his voice dangerously calm.

The man’s bravado falters just a bit, uncertainty flickering in his eyes, but he doesn’t back down. “Yeah, I do. You’re not gonna do anything. Not here, not in front of all these people.”

Charles laughs, but there’s no humor in it, just a bitter edge that makes the man shift uncomfortably. “You really don’t get it, do you?” Charles says, his voice softening into something almost pitying. “This is Monaco. And I’m Charles Leclerc.”

The man’s face pales slightly, but he still tries to hold his ground. “So what? You think being a driver gives you a free pass to do whatever you want?”

Charles’ smile widens, though there’s nothing friendly about it. “Exactly.”

Before the man can react, Charles yanks him away from the railing, dragging him along the harbor. The man stumbles, trying to pull away, but Charles’ grip is ironclad, unyielding. The few people who are out this early watch with interest, some even clapping or calling out congratulations as they recognize Charles.

“Hey, what the hell?” The man protests, his voice rising in panic as he struggles against Charles’ hold. “Let go of me!”

Charles doesn’t respond, his eyes focused straight ahead as he forces the man to walk, his grip tightening whenever he feels him start to resist. The man’s attempts to free himself are pathetic, laughable even, compared to the strength Charles has built up over years of training, of pushing his body to the limits.

As they pass by a group of people, one of them cheers, “That’s the way, Charles! Show him who’s boss!”

The man tries to appeal to the onlookers, his voice frantic. “Someone stop him! He’s crazy!”

But no one moves to help. They just watch, some amused, others indifferent, as Charles continues to drag the man through the streets of Monaco like he’s nothing more than a piece of trash that needs to be disposed of.

“Where are you taking me?” The man demands, his voice trembling now as fear starts to seep in. “You can’t do this! I’ll-I’ll call the police!”

Charles’ laugh is cold and devoid of any warmth. “Go ahead,” he says, not slowing down for a second. “Tell them Charles Leclerc is dealing with a problem. See how far that gets you.”

The man’s protests grow weaker, his struggles more desperate, but it’s clear he knows there’s no escaping this. Charles is too strong, too determined, and the reality of his situation is starting to sink in.

The two of them reach a more secluded part of the harbor, where the buildings are fewer and the noise of the city fades into the background. There’s no one around to witness what’s about to happen, no one to hear the man’s cries for help.

Charles comes to a stop in a narrow alleyway, shoving the man against the wall with enough force to knock the breath out of him. He leans in close, his face inches from the man’s, his voice a low, dangerous whisper.

“You made a mistake last night,” Charles says, his tone icy. “You thought you could get away with it because you were in a crowded club, because she was alone. You thought no one would stop you.”

The man’s eyes are wide with fear now, all traces of his earlier arrogance gone. “I-I didn’t mean-”

“But you did,” Charles cuts him off, his voice like steel. “You meant every word, every touch, every threat. And now, you’re going to pay for it.”

The man tries to push Charles away, his movements frantic, but Charles is relentless. He grabs the man by the throat, pinning him against the wall, his grip just tight enough to make him understand how serious this is.

“You think I can’t do anything to you because we’re in public?” Charles hisses, his breath hot against the man’s ear. “You’re wrong. In Monaco, I can do whatever I want. And no one will stop me.”

The man’s hands claw at Charles’ arm, trying to pry his fingers away from his throat, but it’s useless. Charles is too strong, too focused, his anger giving him a surge of power that the man can’t hope to match.

Charles leans in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You hurt someone I care about. Someone I’ve known my whole life. And for that, I’m going to make sure you never forget what happens when you cross me.”

The man’s breath comes in short, panicked gasps as he realizes the gravity of his situation. He tries to speak, to beg for mercy, but Charles isn’t interested in hearing his excuses.

“Please …” the man finally manages to choke out, his voice barely a whisper. “I-I’m sorry …”

Charles’ eyes narrow, his grip tightening for a moment before he abruptly lets go, letting the man collapse to the ground in a heap. The man gasps for air, his hands trembling as he scrambles to his feet, his eyes wide with fear.

But Charles isn’t done. He grabs the man by the collar, dragging him deeper into the alley, where the shadows swallow them both. The man’s struggles are weak now, more out of instinct than any real hope of escape.

“People like you,” Charles says, his voice low and menacing, “think you can do whatever you want. But here’s the truth: you’re nothing. Just another coward who preys on the vulnerable. And cowards like you don’t get to walk away.”

The alley is cold and dark, the early morning light barely reaching the grimy corners where Charles drags the man like a lifeless doll. The sounds of Monaco are distant now, just a low hum that fades into the background. The only noise that matters is the ragged breathing of the man at Charles’ mercy, and the echo of their footsteps on the uneven pavement.

Charles stops abruptly, his grip still tight on the man’s collar. He looks around, taking in the silence, the isolation. This place, this forgotten corner of the city, is perfect. No one will find them here. No one will hear what happens next.

He shoves the man against the wall again, harder this time, the force of it knocking the breath out of him. The man lets out a choked gasp, his eyes wide with fear, the bravado from earlier completely gone.

“Please,” he stammers, his voice trembling. “I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean-”

Charles cuts him off with a sharp punch to the gut, and the man doubles over, wheezing. “Don’t bother,” Charles says coldly. “You’re not sorry. You’re just scared. There’s a difference.”

The man tries to straighten up, but Charles doesn’t give him the chance. He lands another punch, this time to the man’s jaw, the crack of bone echoing in the alley. The man’s head snaps to the side, blood already beginning to trickle from his split lip.

“You like hurting people, don’t you?” Charles asks, his voice calm, almost conversational as he paces in front of the man. “That’s what you were doing last night, right? You saw her and you thought you could do whatever you wanted.”

The man groans, trying to push himself up from the ground where he’s fallen, but Charles is on him in an instant, his knee pressing into the man’s chest, pinning him down.

“You thought she was alone,” Charles continues, his voice still eerily calm as he looks down at the man struggling beneath him. “You thought no one would stop you.”

He leans in closer, his knee digging into the man’s ribs, making it harder for him to breathe. “But she wasn’t alone. And now, you’re going to pay for what you did.”

The man tries to shake his head, his breath coming in short, panicked bursts. “I’m sorry,” he gasps out, his voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t know-”

Another punch, this one to the side of the man’s face, silences him. Charles doesn’t care about his excuses, his lies. All he cares about is making sure this man understands the pain, the fear that you felt last night.

He grabs the man by the hair, forcing his head up so their eyes meet. The man’s face is already swelling, bruises blossoming under his skin like dark flowers. “You think this is bad?” Charles asks, his voice low, dangerous. “This is nothing compared to what you deserve.”

The man whimpers, his hands weakly trying to push Charles away, but it’s no use. Charles is relentless, his grip like iron as he drags the man up and slams him back against the wall.

“You like to take what you want, don’t you?” Charles says, his breath hot against the man’s ear. “Well, let’s see how you like it when someone takes something from you.”

Without waiting for a response, Charles delivers a brutal kick to the man’s knee, and the sickening sound of bone cracking echoes in the alley. The man screams, a high, desperate sound that only fuels Charles’ anger.

He watches dispassionately as the man crumples to the ground, clutching his leg, his face contorted in agony. “Hurts, doesn’t it?” Charles asks, his voice devoid of any sympathy. “Now imagine how she felt. Imagine how scared she was, how helpless.”

The man tries to crawl away, his movements sluggish, hindered by the pain, but Charles isn’t done. He grabs the man by the ankle, dragging him back, his face set in grim determination.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Charles says, his voice flat, emotionless. “Not until I’m finished.”

He pulls the man up, slamming him into the wall again, his grip never loosening. The man’s head lolls to the side, blood dripping from his nose, his mouth, but Charles doesn’t care. He won’t stop until the man feels every bit of the fear and pain he inflicted on you.

“You think you can just walk away from this?” Charles asks, his voice soft, almost a whisper, but there’s a dangerous edge to it that makes the man’s eyes widen in fear. “You think you can just go back to your life, like nothing happened?”

The man shakes his head weakly, but Charles doesn’t believe him. He knows men like this, cowards who prey on the vulnerable, who think they’re invincible because they’ve never had to face the consequences of their actions.

“Wrong,” Charles says, his voice hard, unyielding. “You’re not walking away from this. Not ever.”

He lands another punch, this one to the man’s ribs, and the man gasps, the air knocked out of him. Charles steps back for a moment, watching as the man collapses to the ground, coughing, wheezing, barely conscious.

“Look at you,” Charles says, his voice filled with contempt as he circles the man like a predator. “Pathetic. All that confidence, all that arrogance — gone. Now you’re just a scared little boy, begging for mercy.”

The man’s eyes flutter open, bloodshot and filled with pain. He tries to speak, but all that comes out is a low, pitiful moan. Charles crouches down beside him, his eyes cold, calculating.

“Did you really think you could get away with it?” Charles asks, his voice soft, almost gentle, but there’s a cruel undertone that makes the man flinch. “Did you think no one would care? That no one would come for you?”

The man doesn’t answer, his body trembling, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. Charles watches him for a moment, his anger still simmering, but there’s a part of him — a small part — that feels a twisted sense of satisfaction. This man, this coward, is finally paying for what he did.

But it’s not enough. Not yet.

Charles reaches down, grabbing the man by the throat, his fingers digging into the bruised flesh. The man’s eyes go wide, panic setting in as he struggles to breathe, his hands weakly clawing at Charles’ arm.

“You’re not going to forget this,” Charles says, his voice low, dangerous. “Every time you look in the mirror, every time you see those scars, you’re going to remember what happens when you cross me. When you hurt someone I care about.”

The man gurgles, his eyes rolling back in his head, his body going limp in Charles’ grasp. For a moment, Charles considers finishing it, squeezing the life out of the man until there’s nothing left. But then he releases his grip, letting the man collapse to the ground, gasping for air.

The man barely has the strength to lift his head, his eyes filled with a mixture of fear and desperation. “You … you can’t … do this,” he wheezes, his voice weak, barely audible. “I’ll … have you arrested … for attempted murder …”

Charles stares down at him, a cold, humorless smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He chuckles, a low, dark sound that sends a shiver down the man’s spine. “Go ahead,” he says, his voice dripping with contempt. “Try it. See how far you get.”

The man’s eyes flutter closed, his body trembling uncontrollably as the reality of his situation sets in. He’s helpless, broken, barely clinging to consciousness. And Charles knows that the man’s threats are empty, born out of desperation, a final attempt to grasp at some semblance of control.

“You’re nothing,” Charles says, his voice cold, final. “No one is going to believe you. Not after what you did. Not after what I’ve done to you.”

The man’s breath comes in short, shallow gasps, his body shuddering with pain and exhaustion. Charles watches him for a moment longer, his expression unreadable, before he finally stands up, looking down at the broken, bloodied man at his feet.

“Consider this a warning,” Charles says, his voice low, menacing. “Stay away from her. Stay away from Monaco. If I ever see you again, I won’t stop next time. I won’t show mercy.”

The man doesn’t respond, barely clinging to consciousness, his body slumped against the wall like a discarded puppet. Charles takes one last look at him, his eyes cold, before he turns and walks away, his footsteps echoing in the silent alley.

As he steps out into the morning light, the anger that had consumed him begins to fade, replaced by a cold, detached calm. He knows what he’s done, knows that he’s crossed a line that most people wouldn’t dare to. But he doesn’t care. He did what he had to do, what you needed him to do.

And he’d do it again in a heartbeat.

***

The atmosphere in the police station is tense, a quiet hum of activity threading through the open space. Officers move about, their conversations muted, eyes occasionally flicking toward the door where Charles Leclerc is expected to enter any moment. There’s a palpable discomfort in the air, a mix of respect and unease. No one wants to be the one to arrest Charles Leclerc. And yet, protocol demands his presence.

When Charles finally walks in, the room seems to still. Heads turn, eyes widen slightly. He’s dressed casually — sweatpants, a loose-fitting t-shirt, and a pair of sneakers. Despite the nonchalance of his appearance, there’s an unmistakable tension in his shoulders, a hardness in his eyes that wasn’t there before.

The desk sergeant, a middle-aged man with graying hair and a lined face, stands up hastily. “Monsieur Leclerc,” he begins, his tone overly formal, almost reverent. “Thank you for coming in on such short notice. We’re, uh … we’re very sorry about this.”

Charles offers a curt nod, his expression unreadable. “What’s this about?” He asks, even though he already knows.

The sergeant hesitates, glancing around nervously. “We, uh, received a complaint this morning,” he explains, his voice wavering slightly. “From a … an individual who claims that you assaulted him.”

Charles’ lips twitch into something resembling a smile, though there’s no warmth in it. “He’s not wrong,” he says, his voice low, almost a growl. “I did.”

The sergeant’s eyes widen slightly, and there’s a nervous shifting among the other officers in the room. This isn’t how these things usually go. “Monsieur Leclerc,” the sergeant begins again, more carefully this time, “we understand that this man may have … done something to provoke you. But we have to follow protocol. We need to ask you some questions.”

Charles crosses his arms over his chest, leaning back slightly as he regards the sergeant with a cold, detached stare. “Protocol,” he repeats, his voice dripping with disdain. “Fine. Ask your questions.”

The sergeant shifts uncomfortably, clearing his throat. “Did you, uh, did you physically assault the complainant?” He asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes.”

There’s a collective intake of breath from the officers around them, as if they can’t quite believe what they’re hearing. The sergeant blinks, clearly taken aback by Charles’ bluntness. “And … do you regret it?”

Charles laughs then, a dark, humorless sound that sends a shiver down the spines of everyone in the room. “Regret?” He echoes, shaking his head. “No, I don’t regret it. In fact, I’d do it again.”

The sergeant’s face pales, and he looks around as if searching for some way out of this conversation. “Monsieur Leclerc,” he begins again, his voice trembling slightly, “I don’t think you understand the situation. You’ve just admitted to a serious crime. We … we can’t just let you go.”

Charles’ expression hardens, his jaw clenching. “Yes, you can,” he says, his voice cold, unyielding. “And you will.”

The sergeant opens his mouth to protest, but before he can get a word out, the door to the station bursts open, and the man from the alley stumbles in. His face is still bruised, his movements stiff and pained. But there’s a look of triumph in his eyes as he spots Charles standing there.

“There he is!” The man shouts, pointing a shaky finger at Charles. “That’s him! That’s the bastard who tried to kill me!”

Charles turns slowly to face the man, his expression unreadable. There’s a moment of silence, the air thick with tension. The man, emboldened by the presence of the police, takes a step closer, his voice rising with every word. “You think you can just walk away from this, Leclerc? You think you’re untouchable? I’m going to see you rot in prison for what you did!”

Charles doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he reaches into his pocket, pulling out his phone. The man falters slightly, confused by the lack of reaction. Charles taps the screen a few times, then puts it on speaker.

“What are you doing?” The man sneers, though there’s a hint of uncertainty in his voice. “Calling your lawyer? That’s not going to save you.”

Charles doesn’t bother to reply. The phone rings once, twice, before a familiar voice answers on the other end.

“Charles,” comes the smooth, authoritative voice of Prince Albert of Monaco. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Charles doesn’t take his eyes off the man as he responds. “Your Highness, I’m at the police station. There’s a man here trying to press charges against me for something I did last night.”

There’s a brief pause on the other end of the line, and then Prince Albert’s voice, calm and steady, fills the room through the speakerphone. “I see. And what exactly did you do, Charles?”

Charles’ eyes narrow as he stares down the man, who is now looking increasingly nervous. “I made sure he understands that there are consequences for hurting people I care about,” Charles says, his voice low, menacing. “I made sure he knows that no one lays a hand on her without answering to me.”

The silence in the station is deafening. Every officer in the room is holding their breath, waiting to see what happens next. The man’s face drains of color as he realizes what’s happening, who Charles is talking to.

Prince Albert’s voice is measured, careful. “And you believe this was necessary?”

“Yes,” Charles replies without hesitation. “It was necessary.”

There’s another pause, and then Prince Albert speaks again, his tone decisive. “Then I trust your judgment. You did what you had to do. Consider this a royal pardon. I’ll have an official document delivered to the station within the hour.”

The man’s mouth falls open in shock, his eyes wide with disbelief. “You … you can’t do this!” He sputters, his voice rising in desperation. “He assaulted me! He nearly killed me!”

Charles finally lowers the phone, ending the call. He slips it back into his pocket, his expression as cold and unyielding as ever. “You heard him,” Charles says quietly, his eyes locked on the man’s. “You’re done here.”

The man looks around wildly, as if searching for someone to back him up, but all he finds are the wary, sympathetic gazes of the officers. No one is going to help him. No one is going to defy Prince Albert.

The desk sergeant clears his throat, stepping forward. “Monsieur Leclerc,” he says, his voice carefully controlled, “it appears that you’re free to go.”

Charles doesn’t smile. He simply nods, his gaze never leaving the man who stands trembling before him. “Good,” he says softly. “Because I have more important things to do than waste my time here.”

The man opens his mouth to protest again, but the words die on his lips as Charles steps forward, his presence overwhelming, almost suffocating. “You should leave Monaco,” Charles says, his voice low and dangerous. “Before I change my mind about letting you live.”

The man stumbles back, his bravado crumbling as fear takes hold. He casts one last desperate glance at the officers, but they all turn away, unwilling to meet his eyes. He’s alone in this, and he knows it.

With a final, defeated whimper, the man turns and flees from the station, his steps hurried, unsteady. Charles watches him go, his expression unreadable, his heart pounding with a mixture of adrenaline and satisfaction.

The desk sergeant shifts awkwardly, unsure of what to say. “Uh, I … we’re sorry for the inconvenience,” he stammers. “It’s just … we had to follow procedure …”

Charles waves a hand dismissively, already heading for the door. “It’s fine,” he says, though there’s a hardness in his voice that suggests otherwise. “Just make sure this doesn’t happen again.”

The sergeant nods quickly, grateful for the reprieve. “Of course, Monsieur Leclerc. It won’t happen again.”

Charles doesn’t respond. He steps out into the sunlight, the tension slowly draining from his body as the warmth of the day washes over him. The streets of Monaco are as busy as ever, people going about their lives, oblivious to what just transpired inside the police station.

He takes a deep breath, letting the air fill his lungs, grounding himself. The day is far from over, and there are still things he needs to do, but for now, the threat has been neutralized. The man who hurt you is gone, and Charles made sure he’ll never come back.

As he walks away from the station, Charles can’t help but think of you, your face, your voice, the way you smiled at him when you were just a little girl. He knows he’s crossed a line today, done things that most people wouldn’t understand, wouldn’t condone. But he doesn’t care. He did it for you.

And he’d do it all over again if he had to.

***

Charles stands outside your apartment, a paper bag of takeout in one hand, his other raised to knock on the door. He hesitates for a moment, nerves he didn’t expect twisting in his stomach. It’s strange, feeling nervous about seeing you. He’s known you for years — watched you grow up, shared countless family dinners with you, laughed at your jokes, teased you about your school crushes.

But this … this feels different. Everything feels different now.

He finally knocks, a light tap that he knows you’ll hear. A few seconds pass, and then the door swings open, revealing you standing there in a casual outfit, your hair pulled back, a soft smile on your face.

“Charles,” you greet him, your voice warm, familiar. “Come in.”

He steps inside, glancing around the cozy space. It’s a small apartment, but it’s yours, filled with little touches that scream your personality — bookshelves overflowing with novels, a blanket draped over the back of the couch, a half-finished puzzle on the coffee table. It’s homey, comfortable, and it smells like the vanilla candle you always seem to have burning.

“I brought lunch,” Charles says, holding up the bag. “Figured you might be hungry.”

You smile, your eyes brightening at the sight of the food. “You know me too well. What did you get?”

“Your favorite,” he replies, setting the bag down on the table and beginning to unpack it. “Pasta from that little place near the harbor.”

“Perfect,” you say, moving to grab plates from the cupboard. “You always know how to spoil me.”

Charles chuckles, though his mind is far from the light-hearted conversation. There’s something heavy sitting on his chest, something he knows he needs to tell you, but the words stick in his throat. Instead, he focuses on the food, dishing out generous portions onto each plate.

You both sit down at the small dining table, and for a few minutes, there’s nothing but the sound of forks scraping against plates and the occasional hum of satisfaction as you enjoy the meal. It’s comfortable, easy — just like it’s always been between you.

But then, as if sensing his unease, you break the silence. “So, I heard the craziest thing this morning,” you say, your tone light, almost teasing. “One of my friends told me that you were almost arrested yesterday. Can you believe that?”

Charles’ fork pauses midway to his mouth, his heart skipping a beat. He hadn’t expected you to bring it up so casually, hadn’t prepared himself for this moment. He forces a smile, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Oh? What did she say?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “She said she heard you were involved in some kind of fight and that the police were called. I told her she was crazy. I mean, you wouldn’t hurt a fly, right?”

There’s a playful glint in your eyes, but Charles can’t bring himself to join in. Instead, he sets his fork down, the sound of metal against porcelain unnaturally loud in the quiet room. He looks at you, his expression serious, all traces of his earlier smile gone.

“Actually,” he begins, his voice low, steady, “it’s true.”

Your smile falters, confusion flickering across your face. “What do you mean?”

Charles leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest as he meets your gaze head-on. “I was at the police station yesterday,” he says, the words heavy, deliberate. “They called me in because that guy — the one who … hurt you — he tried to press charges against me.”

You stare at him, the shock evident in your wide eyes. “Wait, you’re serious? This isn’t some joke?”

“I’m serious,” Charles replies, his voice calm, almost too calm. “I’m not proud of what I did, but I’m not ashamed of it either. He deserved what he got.”

For a moment, you just sit there, trying to process what he’s telling you. You set your fork down, your appetite suddenly gone. “But … Charles, what did you do?”

Charles takes a deep breath, his eyes never leaving yours. “I made sure he understood that there are consequences for his actions. That he can’t just walk away after what he did to you.”

Your hands tremble slightly as you reach for your glass of water, taking a sip to steady yourself. “You … you didn’t …”

“I didn’t kill him,” Charles says quickly, sensing your fear. “But I hurt him. Badly. And I don’t regret it.”

You’re silent for a long moment, your mind racing. The Charles you know — the Charles you grew up with, the one who used to give you piggyback rides when you were too tired to walk — wouldn’t do something like this. But then again, this isn’t just anyone we’re talking about. This is you. And for Charles, you’re different. You’ve always been different.

“I did it to protect you,” Charles continues, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “I couldn’t just stand by and let him get away with what he did. I couldn’t …”

He trails off, his gaze dropping to the table, his shoulders slumping slightly. It’s as if all the fight has drained out of him, leaving behind only the raw, honest truth of his actions.

You swallow hard, trying to make sense of everything. “But … you could have been arrested. You could have gone to jail.”

Charles laughs, a bitter sound that holds no real amusement. “Not in Monaco,” he says, shaking his head. “Not for this.”

You furrow your brow, confusion evident in your expression. “What do you mean?”

Charles sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I talked to Prince Albert. He gave me a royal pardon. The guy had no chance.”

You blink, stunned by the casual way he says it, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. “A royal pardon? Charles, that’s … that’s not normal.”

“No, it’s not,” Charles agrees, his tone somber. “But I don’t care. I’d do it all over again if it meant keeping you safe.”

The weight of his words hangs between you, the gravity of the situation finally sinking in. You’ve always known Charles was protective of you, but this … this is something else entirely. He’s crossed a line, and there’s no going back.

For a moment, you’re both silent, the tension in the room thick, suffocating. Charles watches you, his heart pounding in his chest, waiting for you to say something, anything. He’s prepared for you to be angry, to be horrified by what he’s done. But he wasn’t prepared for the look of sadness that crosses your face, the way your shoulders slump as if the weight of the world has suddenly fallen on you.

“I don’t know what to say,” you finally whisper, your voice shaky. “I never wanted you to do something like this for me.”

Charles leans forward, reaching across the table to take your hand in his. His touch is warm, steady, and for a moment, it grounds you, pulls you back from the edge of the panic that’s been rising in your chest.

“I know,” he says softly. “I know this isn’t what you wanted. But it’s what I needed to do. I couldn’t just stand by and let him hurt you.”

You squeeze his hand, your grip tightening as if you’re afraid to let go. “But what if you had been arrested? What if you couldn’t get out of it? I couldn’t bear the thought of you being locked up because of me.”

“I wouldn’t let that happen,” Charles replies, his voice firm, resolute. “I told you, I’d do anything to protect you. And I mean it.”

You look up at him then, your eyes searching his, trying to find some sign that this is all just a bad dream, that you’ll wake up and everything will be back to normal. But all you see is the truth — the raw, unfiltered truth of what Charles has done, and why he did it.

“I don’t know if I should be angry or grateful,” you admit, your voice trembling slightly. “You’ve always been there for me. But this … this is something else.”

Charles smiles then, a small, sad smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You don’t have to be anything,” he says softly. “Just know that I’ll always be here for you. No matter what.”

For a moment, you just sit there, holding his hand, the silence between you heavy with unspoken words. There’s so much you want to say, so much you want to ask, but you can’t seem to find the right words. Instead, you focus on the warmth of his hand in yours, the steady rhythm of his breathing, the way his eyes never leave yours.

And then, before you can second-guess yourself, you lean across the table and press your lips to his. The kiss is soft, tentative at first, but it quickly deepens, the tension that’s been building between you finally finding release.

Charles’ hand comes up to cup the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair as he pulls you closer. The kiss is everything you didn’t know you needed — desperate, passionate, full of all the emotions that have been bubbling beneath the surface.

When you finally pull away, you’re both breathless, your foreheads resting against each other as you try to catch your breath. Charles’ eyes are dark, his pupils blown wide, and there’s a look in them that you’ve never seen before — something raw and vulnerable, something that makes your heart stutter in your chest.

For a moment, neither of you says anything, the silence heavy with the weight of what just happened. Charles’ hand is still in your hair, his thumb gently stroking the back of your neck, sending shivers down your spine. You can feel his breath on your lips, warm and steady, as if he’s trying to anchor himself in this moment, to hold onto it for as long as he can.

Eventually, you pull back just enough to look into his eyes, your own heart pounding so loudly in your ears that you’re sure he can hear it too. “Charles …” you begin, your voice barely above a whisper, but the words catch in your throat. You’re not sure what you want to say, what you’re supposed to say. Everything feels too big, too overwhelming.

Charles doesn’t say anything, just watches you with that same intense gaze, his eyes searching yours for something — reassurance, maybe, or understanding. Slowly, he lowers his hand from your hair, his fingers trailing down the side of your face before he lets it fall to his lap. The loss of his touch leaves you feeling cold, and you almost want to reach out and pull him back to you, to kiss him again and forget everything else. But you don’t.

Instead, you take a shaky breath and try to gather your thoughts, your mind racing. “What … what does this mean?” You finally manage to ask, your voice trembling.

He looks down at his hands, his brows furrowing in thought. “I don’t know,” he admits quietly. “All I know is that I’ve never felt like this before. I’ve known you my whole life, but … this is different.”

You bite your lip, trying to make sense of it all. “I’ve always cared about you. You know that. But I never thought …” You trail off, unable to finish the sentence, but the implication hangs in the air between you.

Charles finally looks up at you again, his expression softening. “Neither did I,” he says, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “But now that it’s happened … I don’t think I can go back. I don’t want to.”

You’re silent for a moment, the weight of his words settling over you. There’s a part of you that wants to be cautious, to protect yourself from whatever this is, but there’s another part — one that’s stronger — that wants to take the leap, to see where this could go.

“I don’t want to either,” you whisper, the admission almost too much to say out loud. But it’s the truth, and once it’s out there, you feel a sense of relief, as if a weight has been lifted off your shoulders.

Charles’ eyes soften even more, his smile widening slightly. He reaches out, taking your hand in his once more, his grip warm and steady. “Then let’s see where this goes,” he says, his voice low and full of promise.

You nod, unable to keep the smile off your face. “Okay.”

For a moment, you both just sit there, hands intertwined, the food on the table long forgotten as the reality of what just happened begins to sink in. There’s still so much you need to talk about, so many questions that need answers, but for now, this is enough. The kiss, the confession, the promise of something more — it’s all more than you ever expected.

Charles gives your hand a gentle squeeze, his eyes never leaving yours. “Whatever happens next, I want you to know that I’m here for you.”

You smile, your heart swelling with affection. “I know,” you say softly. “And I’m here for you too.”

He nods, his expression earnest. “Good.”

The silence between you is comfortable now, the tension from earlier finally dissipating. You feel a sense of peace settle over you, a feeling that everything will be okay, no matter what comes next.

Finally, Charles glances at the table, his smile turning sheepish. “We should probably finish our lunch,” he says, his tone light.

You laugh, the sound easing the last of your lingering nerves. “Yeah, we probably should.”

You both pick up your forks, and the conversation shifts back to lighter topics, the ease between you returning as if nothing has changed. But you both know that something has. There’s a new understanding between you, a new connection that wasn’t there before. And as you finish your meal, stealing glances at each other across the table, you can’t help but feel excited about what the future might hold.

***

Monaco at night is a different kind of magic. The streets are quieter, the buzz of the day replaced by the hum of luxury cars and the distant sound of waves crashing against the harbor. The city glows with a soft, golden light, the kind that makes everything look a little more romantic, a little more surreal. And tonight, with you tucked into Charles’ side as you walk home from dinner, it feels like the world has shrunk down to just the two of you.

You’ve been together for a few years now, and yet there’s still a thrill in the way he holds you close, his arm draped around your shoulders as if he’s claiming you all over again. There’s something comforting in the familiarity of it, the way your bodies just fit together, like two puzzle pieces that were always meant to be.

The conversation between you is light, filled with teasing banter about the dessert you shared at the restaurant — how he insists you ate most of it, and you argue that he’s the one with the sweet tooth. It’s the kind of easy back-and-forth that comes with knowing someone inside out, with having weathered storms together and come out stronger on the other side.

But as you turn down a quieter street, the atmosphere shifts. It’s subtle at first — a flicker of movement in the corner of Charles’ eye, the sense that you’re being watched. And then, out of nowhere, a voice cuts through the night, crude and jarring in its tone.

“Hey, baby, how about a smile?”

You freeze, your muscles tensing instinctively. The voice belongs to a man leaning against a lamppost, his eyes raking over you with a leer that makes your skin crawl. You feel Charles stiffen beside you, his arm tightening around your shoulders protectively. But before you can react, the man pushes off from the lamppost and approaches, his hand reaching out to touch you.

It all happens in a blur. The man’s fingers graze your arm, and you flinch back, your heart racing. But before you can fully process the disgust that courses through you, Charles is already moving.

The look in his eyes is one you recognize — a dark, dangerous glint that you’ve only seen a handful of times, but each one burned into your memory. It’s the same look he had that night at the club, the night he became more than just your protector, the night everything between you changed.

He’s about to lunge, his body coiled like a spring, ready to unleash all the anger simmering beneath the surface. But you place a hand on his chest, stopping him just in time.

“Charles,” you say softly, but there’s a knowing edge to your voice, a familiarity with the situation. “Should I call Prince Albert? Let him know you might need another pardon?”

Charles pauses, his gaze flickering to yours, and for a moment, the tension eases. The corners of his mouth twitch upward, a dark, almost feral smile playing on his lips.

“Yeah,” he replies, his voice low and laced with a dangerous amusement. “This must be the fourth one this year.”

You can’t help but laugh, the sound lightening the mood, if only for a second. “Actually,” you correct him, your eyes sparkling with mischief, “it’s the fifth.”

His smile widens at that, a soft chuckle rumbling in his chest. But the humor doesn’t last long. The reality of the situation pulls him back, and his expression hardens once more as he turns his attention to the man who dared to touch you.

“Stay here,” Charles says, his tone leaving no room for argument. It’s the voice of a man who’s about to do something he won’t regret — something he’s done before.

You nod, trusting him, knowing that whatever happens next, it’s out of your hands. And as Charles steps away from you, you can’t help but feel a strange sense of satisfaction, a sense of justice in knowing that this man is about to face the consequences of his actions.

The man, oblivious to the danger he’s in, sneers at Charles, clearly unbothered by the presence of another man. “What are you gonna do, pretty boy?” He taunts, his voice dripping with arrogance. “You think you can scare me?”

Charles doesn’t respond immediately. He takes his time, closing the distance between them with a measured, almost predatory grace. And when he finally speaks, his voice is as cold as ice.

“You have no idea who you’re dealing with,” Charles says quietly, the words laced with a threat that hangs heavy in the air.

The man laughs, the sound grating and unpleasant. “Oh, I know exactly who you are,” he sneers. “You’re that driver, right? Leclerc? Big deal. Doesn’t mean you can do whatever you want.”

Charles tilts his head slightly, as if considering the man’s words, and then, to your surprise, he laughs — a dark, cruel sound that sends a shiver down your spine.

“You think being in public will protect you?” Charles asks, his voice dripping with mockery. “You think because there are people around, I won’t make you regret ever laying a hand on her?”

The man falters, some of his bravado slipping as he realizes that Charles isn’t backing down. He glances around, perhaps expecting someone to come to his aid, but the street is empty, save for a few onlookers who are too far away to hear the exchange.

Charles doesn’t give him time to think. With a speed that takes the man by surprise, he grabs him by the collar, yanking him forward with a strength that belies his lean frame. The man stumbles, his cocky demeanor evaporating as he realizes he’s in over his head.

“You should have walked away,” Charles murmurs, his voice dangerously calm. “But now … now you’re going to pay.”

The man struggles, trying to push Charles away, but it’s futile. Charles is a professional athlete, his body honed for strength and endurance, and the man is no match for him. Within seconds, Charles has him pinned against the wall of a nearby building, his forearm pressed against the man’s throat.

“Get off me, you psycho!” The man chokes out, his voice panicked as he claws at Charles’ arm.

But Charles doesn’t budge. He leans in closer, his face inches from the man’s, his eyes filled with a cold, calculated fury. “You’re going to regret ever touching her,” he says quietly, his words laced with venom.

And then, without warning, he drags the man away from the wall, pulling him down the street with a force that makes it clear this isn’t just a warning — it’s a promise. The man tries to resist, tries to fight back, but it’s no use. Charles is stronger, faster, and more determined, his grip unyielding as he hauls the man toward a darker, more secluded part of the street.

You watch from a distance, your heart pounding in your chest. Part of you wants to stop him, to tell him it’s not worth it, but another part of you— the part that remembers the fear and helplessness you felt when that man touched you — wants Charles to follow through, to make sure this man never does this to anyone else again.

As they disappear around a corner, you take a deep breath, trying to calm the whirlwind of emotions inside you. You trust Charles, you know he’ll be careful, but you can’t help the worry that creeps in, the fear of what might happen next.

Minutes pass, each one feeling like an eternity, and then finally, you hear the sound of footsteps approaching. You look up, your breath catching in your throat as you see Charles emerging from the shadows, alone.

His expression is unreadable, his eyes dark and stormy as he walks back to you. For a moment, neither of you speaks, the silence heavy with unspoken words.

Then, without a word, Charles pulls you into his arms, holding you close as if he’s afraid to let go. You wrap your arms around him, burying your face in his chest, the steady beat of his heart grounding you.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his voice muffled against your hair. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

You shake your head, pulling back just enough to look up at him. “You don’t have to apologize,” you say softly, your hand cupping his cheek. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

He smiles then, a small, tired smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m okay,” he says, though you can hear the weariness in his voice. “But he won’t be bothering you — or anyone else — again.”

You nod, knowing there’s more to the story than he’s telling you, but you don’t press him. Not now, not when he’s holding you so tightly, as if he’s afraid to let you go.

“Let’s go home,” you say gently, taking his hand in yours.

Charles nods, his grip on your hand firm as he leads you back down the street, away from the darkness and into the light. And as you walk together, side by side, you can’t help but feel a sense of relief, a sense of safety in knowing that no matter what happens, Charles will always be there to protect you.

[potato-lord-but-not]

I think it’s doing both

Haven't seen the "Oscar would have wanted nothing more than for his letter to have helped Arthur in whatever way he needed, and it did, by providing something for him to burn for light" post yet so I'm making it myself.

[wonderjanga]

Can I Please be Your Friend?

Billy doesn’t have friends. Between being Marvel and working odd jobs, he hasn’t really had the time some. So when he got invited to join the newly formed Justice League. He was ecstatic! Sure, these people were at least a very minimum of 20 years older than him and sure they would probably talk about taxes and stuff, but superhero friends! Meanwhile, the Justice League is like, “wow this guy is so social. I like it!”

Marvel: “You have a lighthouse…?” *sounds so amazed*

Aquaman: “Yeah. My dad was a lighthouse keeper so I got it when he passed.”

Marvel: “That’s so awesome! Can I come over?”

Aquaman: “Oh, okay? Sure?” *a little surprised he asked but eh whatever*

That was how Arthur spent the day showing Cap around the lighthouse. The man was a really good listener and was surprisingly very interested in listening to Arthur talk about how to use the light. You couldn’t even ask Arthur how they both ended up jumping off the railings of the lighthouse of dive into the water. You also couldn’t ask him how they ended up having a water fight, with the Atlantean calling for some sea creatures as back up. You also also couldn’t ask him how shocked a hotdog vendor was when he saw Captain Marvel and Aquaman, both of which who are supposed to be revered heroes, soaked, looking like wet dogs, asking for a couple of hotdogs after they nearly caused a tidal wave.

They got scolded by Batman a little while later for acting like children and almost causing the previously mentioned tidal wave. It was a little funny to see Batman scolding a man a solid two feet taller than him.

Soon after that whole incident, Marvel went to befriend Martian Manhunter next.

Marvel: *staring at J’onn while holding a box of cookies*

MM: *can hear him thinking about how to approach him and looks over to Marvel*

Marvel: *thinks a little too loudly and J’onn hears a nearly deafening “FRIEND”*

MM: *flinches and clutches his head* “Captain. Is something the matter.”

Marvel: “Oh uh…” *walks over and looks between the cookies and J’onn* “I was uh- wondering if you wanted to eat these with me.”

And that’s how J’onn spent the rest of the afternoon eating cookies with Marvel. J’onn had at first thought Marvel was quiet because he was something humans called awkward. But no, every now and then, when J’onn forgot that humans preferred to keep their thoughts private, he’d hear how happy Marvel was that he accepted. He’d also heard a couple other voices which was slightly concerning. He didn’t know if that was normal for humans or not.

Then, the next was Batman. Bruce honestly didn’t even know how they had started talking about this. All he knows is that they were talking about the team’s performance in the field, then that somehow transitioned into talking about superheroes in general, which then somehow led to fictional superheroes, which led to now:

Marvel: “Oh, you like Gray Ghost?”

Batman: “I was… a fan of him when I was a child.” *doesn’t know why he’s telling Marvel this*

Marvel: “Cool! Did you see the movies?”

From there on was a forty minute yapping session about Gray Ghost, his lore, the movies, the comics, the action figures, and so on.

Marvel: “I even had his comics as a kid too.”

Batman: “Really? Reprints or originals?”

Marvel: “I wanna say originals? What do you mean by reprints though?”

Batman: “Reprinting is when they take a comic, and remake it to look a little better, such as brighter colors or slightly tweaked dialogue, so they can sell it again.”

Marvel: “Oh. Then I’d say I probably have originals then.”

Batman: “Interesting. Those are collectors items now. They go for thousands.”

Marvel; “Really?!” *eyes nearly bug out of his skull* “Huh. I had no idea. Which ones did you have?”

Batman: “Mostly reprints. But I do have a couple originals on display.”

So yeah. The two were geeking out and stuff. Bruce honestly has literally no one to talk about this with so he’ll admit he was a little (a lot) happy.

We can’t forget the other JL heroes though.

Flash: “Like, he is so nice, and for what?”

GL: “I know right he let me ramble for like 45 minutes about planes! He was asking questions too!”

Supes: “And he’s always willing to help with anything. I didn’t even get to finish asking if he could cover my monitor shifts before he said yes.” *sounds slightly guiltily (he still feels bad for asking)*

In conclusion, Billy really wants to be friends with these guys, and his methods are definitely working.

[cherryblossom-enthusiast]

Unrequited (Arthur Morganxf! Reader) - RDR2

A/N: Whoever decided that there could be a button where Arthur Morgan says "good girl" how ever many times you want, I hope both sides of your pillow are cold.

Synopsis: Arthur loved Mary, didn't he? So, why was it he was spouting all this nonesense about loving you?

Warning/ Tags: Angst. But like SO MUCH FLUFF. Allusions to Sex. Mentions of violence. Coarse language. Kissing. Hurt/ Comfort. Angst with a happy ending.

Word Count: 6.1K

Masterlist

Even now, Arthur Morgan was a lovesick fool for Mary Linton.

You shouldn’t have been surprised; you weren’t really. Arthur doesn’t talk about her much anymore, but you’d known him long enough to see he’d never really let that part of himself go. The part of him that loves. That dreams of something better for himself even if he thinks he’s the big, bad, scary man that he is.

And maybe in some aspect, he is that man.

Threatening, bartering, killing. Sometimes you look into his eyes and see nothing but a hard, desolate exterior that wouldn’t think twice about shooting anybody up so long as Dutch told him to do it. But the reality Arthur Morgan doesn’t want to accept is that there’s goodness hiding within the moulding of a gunslinger enforcer.

You can glimpse that goodness when he helps a woman on the road or gives medicine to a man dying from snake poison, and you can especially see it when he’s hauling his ass on his horse to help Mary even when he’s being pulled left and right to finish errands for the camp.

So no, you shouldn’t have been surprised that Arthur would ride out the earliest he could to help his past lover.

But hell, why did it have to hurt you every damn time?

He returns to camp just after the sun rises and light starts to colour the world around you. The air is still crisp, and the heat of the sun is non-existent on your skin.  You’re brushing your horse’s mane when you hear the familiar holler of his voice towards Bill. You don’t look towards him as his horse trots towards the hitching post.

As he dismounts, he greets you, a little pep in the tone of his voice.

It irritates you immediately.

“Mornin’.”

You grit your teeth and put on the brightest smile you can muster. “Mornin’!”

He takes a moment. His eyebrows crease. “Something matter?”

“Uh-?”

“Nothing it’s just-“ he breaks to think about the right words to say. “You don’t look- Never mind.”

This only encourages you to grow your façade stronger. “So,” you start “what’d Mary need this time?” It comes off a little pettier than you intended it to be. He doesn’t deserve that, hell, Mary didn’t deserve your bitterness either, fine woman she was.

That little fact seemed inconsequential however every time he uttered her name and the familiar feeling of jealousy pricked, downright stabbed itself in your gut.

He picks up on your tone, not appreciating it one bit. The displeasure that carves into his expression almost makes you wince and the fake smile that’s plastered on your face twitches the slightest bit. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You take the coward’s way out, you always do.

You break eye contact and continue to brush away the embarrasment. You’re rewarded by a loving whinny and it almost distracts you from the ice-cold awkwardness you’ve built around this conversation. “Nothin’, just asking.”

Whether he believes your fib or doesn’t, he doesn’t let it show. But him moving on has you thanking God regardless. He takes out a brush, starting to work on his own mare’s mane. “Good girl.” He whispers. Warmth creeps up your neck as your ears tingle towards the baritone timber of his voice. It makes you lose all self-respect for yourself. He sneaks a look at you for the tiniest bit of time before continuing your conversation. “Her brother was involved in some weird religious group.”

“Is that right?”

“Yep,” he sighs “buncha turtle lovers.”

That gets a genuine chuckle out of you even though you don’t understand it. When you glance towards Arthur’s direction, the indifference has faded away from his features and all that’s left is a sarcastic smirk in its place. All frost has melted away and all too quickly you’re back to the ease that usually came with your dynamic.

You can’t help but throw a snide joke his way. “Gosh, if you’re still this involved in their family drama, you should just make it official and propose again.”

The idea haunts you, of course, it does. But you weren’t going to let Arthur know that. The more you joke, the more it becomes real, the more your true feelings become buried underneath a pile of age-old lies and supportive nonsense. Because at the end of the day, if it would make Arthur happy, you’d keep biting your lip and pushing him towards that happiness. 

Love worked funny like that.

His smirk falls and you’re worried you pushed it a tad bit too far. “I tried once and I don’t know if it’ll ever happen.” He turns almost sombre, like thinking back on old memories that were equal parts sweet and bitter and this bothers you in a different way.

“I sincerely think if you were to propose to her right now, she’d say yes with no questions asked.” You hope he sees the genuineness in your intentions.

He merely gives you a scoff, slightly shaking his head. “Yeah well,” he trails off. “It’d never work out now.”

You decide not to continue pushing. It’s obvious he doesn’t want to dig deeper into the situation and even in your sorry narrow-minded state, you could understand and respect keeping your mouth shut when you needed to. You lick your lips and stick another sickly-sweet smile to your face. “Well, you continue on moping, but I can’t say I’ll be sticking around to see you grumbling around.”

That gets him to snort. “And where will the rough and tough princess be today? Helping a rabbit off the road? Wait-“ he pauses for dramatic effect “Talking to the birds and singing em’ a song?” He makes himself chortle quietly at the idea.

“I have a date.”

That gets him to stop cold turkey. He’s only met with a smug appearance on your end. “You?”

You fake great offence and snap at him. “Hey! Even I can seduce someone if I try!”

“No, I know- I” He appears shaken up about your revelation and for a moment, the tiniest fraction of a second, you could almost see the tensing of his jaw. “With who?”

It’s your turn to leer at him. “Why’s it matter?”

“It doesn’t I-“ he stutters “I just-“

You raise an eyebrow. “Well if you must know, he works at the hardware store.” You say as you recall the day you met the gentleman. “I helped him carry out some tasks and he gave me a daffodil in exchange, of all things.” You pointed at the flower currently tucked in the band of your hat. “Cutest thing.”

“Is that right?” He gruffed out.

“Mhm, so I’m gonna escort him and his granddaughter to a birthday party out in Strawberry.” You giggle. “He said he needed a ‘fighter’ with him because of his ‘old bones’ and ‘lumbago’” You roll your eyes. “Sounds like Uncle.”

This seems to take Arthur by surprise. The dark clouds in his eyes clear out and his eyebrows furrow in confusion. “Wha-?”

You bite your lip to keep your internal laughter from spilling. “Listen, I offered.” You explain. “He’s been giving me discounts at the store and that girl is just the sweetest thing and well-“ you shrug, “I couldn’t say no like the goddamn softie I am.”

The blades in his eyes dull at the statement. The mysterious scrunch of his shoulders from earlier disappears. He steps away from his horse and walks around his mare to shorten the gap between the two of you. It reminds you that he’s tall, much bigger than you are. “That bleedin’ heart of yours is gonna get you killed one day.”

He mutters his words lightly and yet, there’s some odd sadness you don’t understand attached to it. He puckers his lips as if he wants to say more on the matter yet can’t.

You put on your best Arthur impression, puffing up your chest and scrunching your face. “Well, somehow this don’t suit me, now does it?”

He wouldn’t even have to touch you.

At that, Arthur chuckles deeply. “Nah, you obviously ain’t tall enough to be me, shortcake.” He jabs you playfully at the shoulder and in response, you over-exaggerate the motion of being pushed back.

Though, if he really wanted to, Arthur could have you on your back in less than a second.

Before you can go further down that rabbit hole of thoughts, you carry on with the train of humour. “Besides, heard from Jerry there’ll be plenty of cute fellas around to keep me entertained.”

The clouds start to roll back in his demeanour, dare you say with a touch of thunder this time. “You gonna be looking at other men?” The lightness in his voice is gone, only replaced with the venom from before.

You’re befuddled at the quick-changing atmosphere, but don’t go back on what you said. “All I’ve got to look at are you folks all day,” you quip “A girl needs a change of scenery every once in a while.”

He crosses his arms, clearly not amused. “We not pretty enough for you?”

“Well, you are certainly, but I don’t know about Pearson.”

You purse your lips immediately and silently curse yourself at the admission. That same old shit-eating grin makes a comeback. “Is that right?”

You push his arm back, but unlike him, you hardly get the man to move more than half an inch. “Oh shut it.” You quickly un-hitch your horse and mount her. All you want to do is wipe his lips so it turns back into his usual frown, but you’re afraid you’d just embarrass yourself further. “I won’t be back for a while.” You pull your horse away and pat her on the side. “Didn’t know children’s birthday parties could take so damn long.”

“How long will you be gone for?” He mumbles, voice noticeably quieter.

“However long it takes for a fella to get me off.”

Arthur’s eyes widen. The sun highlights the tips of his ears go red. “Wha- What?” He strained out like he wasn’t quite sure of what he just heard.

A real, true laugh comes out of you then as you spur your horse into action, cantering away from camp. You don’t wait to hear the rest of what he has to say. His flushed look is enough of a prize to take with you.

You replay it all the way to Strawberry.

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

It was well past sundown when you return. Truthfully, you don’t even know what time it is, all you knew was that you were gone long enough that laying down on your cot would be much appreciated by your aching muscles. There’s a light breeze and you take your hat off, shaking out your hair.

The party was a success. Jerry and his granddaughter got to and from Strawberry safely, and really, that was all you could wish for when you were being hunted constantly because of the bounty on your head. You knew you offered, hell you were pretty self-approving when you did. But even then, you made sure to ask if Jerry really wanted a gunslinger as an escort, to which he replied, “Oh, shove it.”

Wonderful man.

The rest of the camp, well those that were here anyways, aside from Bill who was back on guard duty, are already fast asleep. The crackle of the fire is the only sound filling your ears other than your own footsteps.

There’s a small oil lamp turned on in the corner of your vision, brightening the blue hue and you instantly know the only bastard who would be up at this hour.

He’s drawing again. His brows are focused in that way you loved so much and he only looks up from his journal once you amble closer towards him. You almost hate that you’ve disrupted him. You could watch him draw for hours and hardly get bored.

He closes the book and looks up at you. You nod towards his hands. “You’ll have to show me what you’re working on at some point, Picasso.”

Arthur lets a huff through his nose. “Not gonna happen.” He motions you to sit beside him and you take him up on his offer. You catch a whiff of his scent, something like tobacco mixed with old leather. It may have been slightly repulsive to anyone else, but this was Arthur, and all it made you feel was safe. “You was gone a long time.” He points out, a bitter tinge to his voice. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

You tilt your head at him. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Arthur’s eyes narrow. “You just went off and didn’t come back until now.” The bitter tinge morphs into something like annoyance. “I was worried.” He mumbles low.

“Oh, I was fine.” You bump your shoulder against his, but it again, doesn’t make him sway. “Besides, I had a fella with me.”

His hand, the one closest to you, balls up at his side. He’s always been hard to read, but he clearly isn't happy at your revelation. You had half a mind in this late hour to stew in that fact. “Did you now?”

“Sure, one of them single fathers.” You let a small laugh escape you and shake your head, kicking the dirt with your worn-out boots. “Don’t worry, I’d never steal one from a married woman.”

“Was he…cute?” He mutters.

“Never thought I’d hear the word ‘cute’ come out of Arthur Morgan’s mouth.” You catch a glimpse towards him and again note the same pink twinge on his ears, probably embarrassed at being called out on something so stupid.

You finally start to feel that familiar flutter in your stomach hidden behind all that supportive “do what makes you happy nonsense”.

No, you couldn’t have that.

So, you bury it down.

It just became easier that way after all these years.

“That ain’t the damn point.” He continues to grumble. “Was he?”

You ponder the question for a short while. “I mean, he was alright in the looks department, not cute-“

He cuts you off quickly. “Just alright?” He scoffs lightly.

You remember the aforementioned single father in question. His looks are the last thing on your mind. He was alright, not cute, not ugly. Sure, you wouldn’t want to sleep with the man, but-

“He was damn good with his kid, and I thought I’d like to get to know someone like that more.” You reveal through a whisper.

This causes Arthur to frown, but his expression softens. Some of that constant bitterness fades away. “You- “he cuts off and thickly swallows. “You weren’t doing anything strange were you?”

You can feel a prickle of heat in your face at the question. “I mean, we talked sure, but if anything, I just maybe wanted to indulge in a fantasy.” You shrug.

He snaps his gaze back towards you. “A fantasy?”

“What it’d be like-“

God, why was it so hard to say?  “Being normal, having a family.”

The silence that follows is thick and you immediately scold yourself for ruining a perfectly airy conversation just like this morning. You regret it, you do, but you can’t deny how nice it is to finally get that dream off your chest. It wasn’t original, what woman at camp, save Mrs. Adler, didn’t want that stability?

The feeling of riding was freeing. It gave you the grace of flying during a time when you were being held down and that will never change. But nowadays, you find that instead of being held down, you want to be held close. To be called important, matter to someone, so that when you felt lost soaring, you’d always have a beacon home.

“Damn it, you can’t be sayin’ things like that.” He forces out a murmur, a shred of his usual gruff tone.

“You ever think about that?” You tread lightly. “Having kids? Building a farm out somewhere and just-“ a deep sigh escapes you. “living and not surviving?”

It takes him a while to answer your question.

“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t.” The vulnerability colors his voice and it starts to trip you over the edge.

You nod, pursing your lips. “With Mary?” You meekly ask, the crickets chirping making the exchange more awkward. You almost cringe at the silence of it all.

He tenses at her name and it seems like you get your answer.

“With Mary? I mean-“ He tries to dissuade you with absolutely no conviction in his voice. He pauses and curses under his breath. Arthur shakes his head, closing his eyes a moment. “Y’know, it ain’t always about Mary.”

You scoff in disbelief. “Arthur, it’s always been about Mary.” Sighing deeply, you bite your cheek at the acidic truth. “Even when you met Eliza, it was still about Mary.”

He’s taken aback by your statement and a subtle look of frustration overcomes his features. “No, it hasn’t.”

You want to say more, but your sardonic nature halts at his stoic reply. It’s like your heart stops, a coldness and a shrill wake your senses from the inside out. “What?” Your brain halts, all thought ceasing to exist except to process his next response. He tries to avoid eye contact, but you seek his gaze as you tilt your head sideways. “Arthur, what do you mean?” You repeat more sternly, begging to get a straight answer.

He throws you a stick of dynamite.

The smoke clears and all that’s left is the destruction that caters right in the center of your chest.

“What about you?” His voice is hoarse like this is the most difficult thing he’s ever had to squeeze out of his mouth. “What about when it became you?”

Ka-boom.

There’s no longer just a flutter in your stomach, there’s a whole damn circus, and it decides to release the butterflies you worked so hard to keep from their magical chest of caution.

You shake your head and your body goes rigid. You move away from him and stand abruptly as you place your hands on your hips. He’s quick to follow you on your feet.  A sarcastic laugh leaves your throat before you can stop yourself. “Arthur-“

“No, let me finish.” He steps in front of you and holds your shoulders square, turning your body towards him. Even in your bubbling anger, you hate the way your skin immediately melts under his touch. His eyes and actions are pleading for you to stay, so you let him speak, biting your tongue to keep yourself from interrupting. He stumbles over his words. “It’s been you for a long damn time.” He admits. “But I was, I don’t know-“You notice the light sheen of sweat gracing his forehead. “I was scared to say something.”

“If this is some dumb joke-“

“No!” He immediately denies like he’s appalled you would even think of it in that way. 

“Well,” you sneer “I’m sorry if I have a hard time believing that.” You remove his hands from your shoulders stiffly and start to trudge away back to your horse.

In the years you’d known him, Arthur had been a force, even more so when he was younger and reckless. He was stubborn as a mule and despite keeping the peace for the most part, there was a strut in his step when he walked because he knew he had the power to change that fact whenever he wanted and get away scotch-free. Arthur was arrogant in that way, always threatening people with a smirk or an edge to his voice.

But this is the first time you see him flinch and it happens to be at your curt words.

A lump catches in your throat, but you’re too annoyed to care, all but continuing the short distance back to the hitching posts. Arthur is hot on your tracks, not letting up one bit. Maybe Bill was overhearing, maybe one of the girls stirred awake. It didn’t matter, you couldn’t care less. You just wanted to get the hell away from here.

His catches up to you in no time, his strides much longer than yours. He steps in front of your path and when you make a move to step aside, he mirrors your actions. You click your tongue, glowering at him from beneath your lashes. “Look,” he starts “now I know you may not like me, but I-“

That gets your anger rising to incomparable heights. “Not like you?!” You practically shout out. Looking around, you remember where you are and it’s the only reason your voice lowers. “Arthur, I’ve liked you since the day I met you!”

His eyebrows pull together and his nose crinkles. Arthur’s face morphs into something like agitation from its previous confusion. “So, why all this attitude?”

You’re dejected. “Why all this attitude?” You softly hiss. “Why all this attitude when I’ve loved you for years and all I’ve heard about is Mary?”

Arthur winces. He steps back from you, recoiling like he’s just been shot by a sniper rifle.

Good, you think. He should feel like a right asshole.

“’Why all this attitude’ he says!” You giggle manically at the sheer ridiculousness of it all. “Where do I even start?” You begin to rant, hands back on your hips to give you some sort of anchor from sinking towards the ground.  “I don’t know Arthur, maybe it’s because while I’ve been here stewing in self-pity, you were always out seeing her.  Maybe, it’s because every time you were young, drunk, and broken, you’d come back whispering her name, mistaking her for me, and I was the one helping you pick up the pieces.”

Your heart was racing a million yards a minute, but you couldn’t stop now. All the hurt and sorry baggage poured out like molten lava, burning with years of intensity. “Or maybe-“ you point an index finger at him and snap sarcastically as if you’ve just discovered a newfound truth “Maybe, it was because I worked so damn hard to tell myself I wasn’t in love with you and you just-“ your voice breaks.

Arthur doesn’t interrupt you at any part of your monologuing. Just like usual, you can hardly decipher his emotions except notice the colour draining from his face.

“So, I’m sorry that I don’t believe you when you say It’s been me.” You continue. “You’ve given me no reason to believe otherwise.”

You sidestep him, not taking a single look back in fear of him seeing the tears threatening to spill from your eyes. You unhitch your horse, giving her a slight pat before mounting her again.

- - - - - - - - - - -

You don’t see or speak to Arthur for a few days after your argument.

You don’t have much energy to talk to anyone really.

So, you somehow end up back at a familiar field surrounded by evergreen trees and flowers. The crystalline water of the hot springs gleams in your eyes and a chill wind sends shivers up your spine.

You set up camp and stay a while. The serenity of the woods is welcomed. You don’t consider yourself the best hunter, but fishing didn’t require the same amount of dexterity. It's quiet, peaceful even. All you hear is the chirp of the birds and the steady flow of water.

It gives you time to cool off, reflect on everything that’s happened.

The more time you spend out here, the more hesitant you are to leave. It's a nice reprieve from the perils of civilization and you find yourself slipping away, trying to grasp a sense of comfort that's unimaginable for you most days.

Tends to happen when you're an outlaw, you suppose.

But one day, as you’re laying under the shade of a tree, feeling the blades of soft grass beneath you, you hear heavy footsteps starting to approach.

There's no need to bother even acting surprised.

Arthur takes a seat beside you with a deep sigh. He leans back, using his hands to support him.

The both of you are silent for a while, not one peep out of your mouths. You expect it to be uncomfortable but having him by your side brings an ease you haven’t felt in days. Arthur continues to stare up at the sun starting to descend in the horizon and you follow suit, eyes trained to the sky above.

“When I met you, I thought you were nothing more than a naïve, innocent little thing.” He starts, baritone drawl catching you off guard. You don’t realize how much you’d missed hearing it until now. “You were this small girl I needed to protect. “

 You glance towards him and notice the small smile now gracing his lips, his eyes glossed over like remembering memories from so very long ago. “You could barely ride a horse, hell, you could barely mount one.”

The genuine warmth in his voice continues to chip away any frustrations left within you as you recall those days like snapshots in your mind.

“Every day, it was something new with you.” He laughs out, making your heart traitorously skip a beat. “You were learning the ropes of it all, and for a while, you were just a ratty brat who wanted to try on boots that were too big for her.”  He pauses and you look at him more clearly this time, head turned towards him fully in an effort to really listen to what he has to say. “But Mary, she-“ he swallows “I could just turn my thoughts off with her.”

He gives out another sigh. “I loved her, I did.” He admits. “It was so easy loving her at the time. We had no expectations of one another, and then all of a sudden that shifted and I don’t know if I could have been the man she needed me to be.”

You ache but it’s not because he mentions his past lover’s name.

“So I ended up actin’ like a goddamn fool. Boozin’, sleeping around.” He groans, obviously not proud of his previous ventures. “Dutch and Hosea, they couldn’t pull me out of it. I mean, they tried everything, but then-“ He releases a relieved chuckle. “Some woman I’d never met before poured a bucket of cold water over my head and pulled out her revolver, threatening to shoot my dumb ass if I didn’t get up.”

You snort as you’re reminded of that day.

It was dry and humid, overall making it a miserable summer afternoon. Arthur stumbled back into camp smelling like he was doused in moonshine, groggy and slurring his words together. Even Hosea, forgiving as he was, cringed at his sorry state.

You just about had it.

After collecting some from the nearby stream, you pushed Arthur down and doused him in ice-cold water. He sputtered, clearly not happy about what you just did and attempted to get up to confront you. You pulled out your gun before he could and shot right between his legs onto the dirt below. “If you don’t pull your damn weight around here, I’ll make sure the next shot hits!” you shouted, utterly disappointed.

“Good times.” You mutter and Arthur’s smile widens.

“Sure.” He agreed. “When my eyes started to clear, I swear to god I thought I was looking at an angel.”

You had a hard time believing that too. “You looked at a woman who just shot at you and thought she was angelic?”

He tries to find better words. “I guess you looked ethereal all together.” He tries to explain. “Like you were something I’d see at the pearly white gates of judgement.”

You sat amused at his thoughts. “That so?”

He’s finally able to make eye contact with you and revels in that fact. “My vision was still a little hazy and you just stood over me, posture straight, hat on.” He takes his hand and scratches his chin. It’s a tick for when he’s nervous. “Your hair had a glow to it from the sun and your eyes, they just- had this fire in em’ I’d never seen before.”

His shoulders drop and the mood suddenly turns mellow. “When we were ridin’ around and ended up at this clearin’, you just took off without me and I realized how much you’d grown into yourself right under my nose. You didn’t change much, you were still the same old, sunshine, animal-lovin’ princess, but the way you carried yourself? Asserted yourself more?  God-.”

He holds your gaze as he continues and it’s like the world holds its breath for whatever he has to say next. “You rode off, hair wild, not looking back at me one bit and I just couldn’t stop starin’ at you because I thought you were such a damn sight.”

“It made me wonder-“ his words trail off. He stops for a while and you let him. You know how much courage it was taking him right now to admit this to you, letting down those guarded stone walls he loved so much.

You lick your lips, and in an act of your own bravery, you settle your hand on top of his, to which he visibly softens upon. “Made you wonder?” You urge.

“If that’s what Mary felt like, seeing me go all those times.” He finishes. “Because I hated it. I hated every time you got on that horse and left, and it would only hurt less whenever you came back.”

Arthur’s hand starts to clench, but you flip his hand in yours so you can interlock your fingers properly. You give his hand a squeeze and the tension eases off.

“But then I hear you wantin’ to go off with some man and all I could do was mope like a sorry idiot because what if-“ His throat works. “What if you rode off and didn’t come back this time?”

“Oh, Arthur.” You softly coo.

His hand starts to make small slow circles over your hands. “You know I realized something when I last saw Mary that I didn’t before.”

You’re expectant to hear what it is.

“Every time it got a little too rough between us, she was done with me.” He perceived. “I don’t blame her, she deserves someone to make her happy, but I wasn’t gonna change fast enough in her eyes.” He squeezes your hand tighter. “But you- you didn’t expect me to change on a dime. You were patient, you understood that I didn’t want to start a family not because I didn’t want to, but because I was afraid of feeling that pain again.”

After clenching his jaw, he takes his other palm and cups your cheek with the utmost tenderness a man of his size could muster. “With you, I feel like I can be something else, something good.” You lean towards his touch, begging that if this were a dream, you never wanted to be woken up. His gaze is soft on your features, highlighted by the starlight above.

“I fell in love with you a long time ago Arthur Morgan.” You confess. “I keep running away because no one holds me close enough to keep me somewhere.”

You feel a lump in your throat as you remember all the times you rode off wanting to hear him shout "Wait!", but he never did.

“I know and I’m sorry for that sweetheart, I really am.”

Tears start to escape your eyes and you don’t bother wiping them away. “Loving you hurt so much Arthur.” You whimper. “I started to pack all of those feelings away if it meant I didn’t have to ruin what we already had.”

He presses his rough lips to your forehead and leans back. “I know sweetheart, I’m sorry.” He tilts your chin up with a finger. “If I could go back and change the way I handled it all, I would.”

“Give me something to believe that this is real. That I’m not just making this up in my misery.”

Arthur takes a moment to look at you before he speaks. He takes the time to figure out how he’s supposed to approach what he wanted to convey “Close your eyes for just a second.” He mumbled, his voice pleading.

You don’t question it and do what he wants you to do. You fully accept you’d be one of those pathetic individuals who’d follow him off a cliff if it meant staying with him and keeping him safe.

In the darkness, you feel him pick up your hands and place them on his chest. Under your palms, you feel the fast thrum of the beat of his heart and the laboured way his chest rises. You stay like that for a few seconds and match your breathing to his.

“Okay,” his voice cuts through your thoughts “now open your eyes.” You follow his command and you open your eyes to Arthur with a tender expression. You feel his breathing get faster, like he’s almost waiting for a reaction.

You tilt your head. “What?”

Arthur chuckles quietly at your question. “This is me trying to prove I’m serious about you.” His hands are still around your wrists, keeping your palms on his chest in place.

“By what? Letting me feel you up?” You jokingly say. “Arthur, who do you think’s being lugging your heavy ass around when you’re drunk, cause it sure as hell ain’t Uncle-“

Even in the darkness that surrounded you, you can sense his embarrassment. He starts to sputter to quickly get words out “Wha- no, that’s not what- I- you-“ He stutters, clearly flustered at the comment. He sighs. “Now, that’s not what I meant and you know it, sweetheart.”

“So then, what?” You push. You’re not trying to be obtuse in any way, but you want to hear a proper answer.

Arthur swallows awkwardly. “I’m just- I want you to know that my heart beats for you.”

It puts you in such a complete state of shock, it renders you speechless.

Just a couple of days ago, you would have been thirsty to hear those words drip out of his lips, but now that you’ve actually heard him say it, you don’t know how to exactly respond.

“Sweetheart?” He calls, voice laced with worry.

You slowly lean down and press your ear against his chest, wrapping your arms around him. He smells like gun smoke and mountain air. The fast bu-dump of his heart is intoxicating, making you break out into a smile.

After a few seconds, he slowly places his own arms around you and pulls you in closer. His hold is firm. Secure. A bandwagon of bandits or federal agents could show up this instant and he wouldn’t let anything or anyone so much as even look at you the wrong way.

He tucks your head under his chin. “I can’t give you a house, or children, or land right now, but I want you to know you have my heart.” He places another soft kiss on your forehead. “You’ve had it for a long time and it’ll always be yours as long you’ll have me.”

“Well, I never thought Arthur Morgan was capable of such sweet words.” You tease.

You feel the rumble of his chest as he freely laughs. “Well, there’s a lot we don’t know about each other it seems.”

You give his statement some thought. “Maybe we can start to find those things about each other out.”

He nods against you. “I’d like that.”

You sniffle and follow him in letting out a laugh. “I’ll end up falling asleep here if we keep this up.”

He snickers at your comment. “I guess I’ll just have to carry you to bed then, huh?” He teases back, his tone light and playful.

You push away from his chest and fix your gaze directly at him, a dazed smile on your face. “I guess you’ll just have to, Arthur Morgan.”

His breathing hitches, obviously not expecting to be accepted on his offer. “Yeah, I suppose I will, sweetheart.”

You place a kiss squarely on his mouth and he reciprocates it almost immediately.

You grasp his face with your hands and do something you’ve been wanting to do since the day you met him.

His lips, though slightly chapped are soft and his stubble that he hasn’t shaved for weeks tickles your cheeks, poking you in a pleasurable way. You taste the tobacco on him and though you don’t smoke, maybe through kissing him you get the appeal. Fingers thread through your braid that’s falling apart by the second.

For the first time, you don't hold the butteflies back.

You part your lips to deepen the kiss and allow him to explore your mouth with his tongue.

It becomes hungry. Insatiable. It's years of pent up frustration and confusion exploding into a possession that consumes your whole body. He groans and you barely notice when he scoops you up, hooking his arm under your legs. “God, we could have been doing this earlier.” He growls.

As you giggle against his lips, Arthur continues to carry you, walking briskly towards your tent.

And the world around you stayed silent that night, except for a few hushed noises.

- - - - - - -

A/N: Yee-haw. Pls interact, I need to to talk to more RDR people lmao. pls.

[mortalmab]

Merlin puts up a sheet in the armory where all the knights can see. It’s their names in brackets like a tourney list. They were not aware there was a tourney coming up? What is this?

They notice Merlin observing them and making some notations. Not just during practice but all day. When he sees them around the castle, when they are relaxing at the Rising Sun, everywhere. It’s getting unnerving.

After a few days, some of them have moved up in the lists and some have not. And they have no idea why. Sir Ban seems to have bested Sir Agravaine (though let’s be honest, most of them would say they weren’t surprised). Sir Gareth won against Sir Kay and would now be facing off against Sir Devore who had won against Sir Mellion.

Now the knights are on their best behavior whenever Merlin is around. They still aren’t sure what they are being judged on, but damn if they aren’t going to WIN!

The next time the brackets go up, more knights are knocked out of the running for…whatever the criteria are.

The knights are now doing their absolute best on the practice fields. King Arthur commends each of them for their form - on point like he has never seen. Some kind of fire has been lit under them and he doesn’t know why but he likes it!

The next brackets go up and still they are no closer to figuring out why the winners are winning. You would think they would be insufferable about it - like any tournament - but since they don’t know why they were winning, they can’t be sure they are doing the right thing to win next time.

The knights of Camelot are suddenly the most chivalrous, most well behaved, most dedicated to their craft in all of Albion. The people are amazed at their sudden kindness and generosity. Meanwhile each of them grow more and more paranoid as the brackets keep going up.

Quests! Maybe it was quests? The knights start going out on quests and the word fame of Camelot spreads.

Arthur cannot figure out what has come over them all.

Arthur: Merlin, have the knights seemed…different to you?

Merlin: oh, you mean since I put up the lists?

Arthur:…what lists?

Merlin: the lists where they think they are competing with each other.

Arthur: competing for what?

Merlin: I have no idea what they think they are competing for but they sure are working hard to win it!

Arthur: and how exactly are you determining these “winners?”

Merlin: oh I’m just flipping a coin. They don’t know that though and they are all being extra nice to me😁

Arthur: so this was all…

Merlin: for shits and giggles, yeah

[livwritessometimes]

F1 Drivers & Their Couples Halloween Costumes

: Max Verstappen, Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Charles Leclerc, Carlos Sainz, George Russell, Lewis Hamilton, Pierre Gasly, Alex Albon, Franco Colapinto, and Daniel Ricciardo

: Main Masterlist

: Author’s Note - Ik I’m a little late, but I had terrible migraine and just could not bring myself to finish this. But here we are! Here are some costumes I think that F1 Drivers will wear with their girlfriends

…

Max Verstappen

- Was absolutely against any stupid costume but the moment he saw this, it was over for him.

- For someone who was not interested in dressing up, Max took an awfully long time to make the cat’s head.

- Tried to show his outfit to Jimmy and Sassy……ya let’s just say, it did not go as well as he would have liked it to go 🤭

Lando Norris

- I mean….do I even need to explain this one???

- Lando was the one who came up with the idea (shocker)

- Put more effort and dedication into making the boobs than he does in race strategy! (He’d like to call this costume his life’s best work)

Oscar Piastri

- After rejecting several costume ideas (which included salt & pepper, socket & plug, jam & toast) he finally gave in to this costume (not that he had a choice)

- Decided to be Pete (totally called McLaren to get the orange hoodie set)

- Wanted to truly understand the essence of the character (spent 20+ hours trying to memorise the rap)

Charles Leclerc

- Honestly….even Charles has no idea why he suggested this costume.

- He wanted to do something fun….so he asked Arthur for help (this actually explains a lot why he was dressed like The Simpsons)

- This costume really grows on him, especially the headpiece (the expression reminds him of his years in Ferrari)

Carlos Sainz

- Tbh he has no idea what he’s doing! He’s just happy to be included.

- He doesn’t have many opinions about the costume; he just likes the fact that he gets to be close to his girlfriend.

- Gets so many compliments that he’s already started planning for next year’s couples costume.

George Russell

- Made a bet with Alex about who can become the most iconic Disney duo….hence Darla and Nemo 🐟

- Is more than happy to wear an orange wig, plaid skirt and glittery sweatshirt…🤨

- Even called Toto and asked him to play the dentist as a way to gain bonus points.

Lewis Hamilton

- He would rather die than be caught in these tacky outfits….which is why he found the best costume to wear!

- Got the suits custom made from the best designers (yes the alien is also custom made 👽)

- Won the best costume award (are we even surprised tho 🤷🏻‍♀️)

Pierre Gasly

- Just don’t ask why….this is what Pierre came up with!

- Now you might think the girlfriend is dressed as the chicken. Well….YOU’RE WRONG!!!

- Pierre insisted on dressing up as the chicken (bonus: he even asked Yuki to dress up as a knife)

Alex Albon

- Made a bet with George and he knew exactly what he wanted to become!!

- Truth be told, Alex made one hell of a Vector.

- He was surprisingly good at putting on the bald cap for Gru….which makes you wonder this isn’t the first time he’s done this 🤔

Franco Colapinto

- He had no intention of dressing up but got invited by the other drives, so he had to come up with something QUICK!

- Voila! Did a quick google search and decided to dress up as the first thing he saw.

- Not the best costume but 8/10 for his efforts and last minute planning 🥉

Daniel Ricciardo

- Does this not look like a pose Daniel would 100% do!!!!

- He said #Green&Proud

- Tried a lot to convince Max to dress up as the donkey 🫏….ya it didn’t happen!

…

Tags: @wobblymug | @evasmlp | @ln8118 |

[infictionalwonderland]

. . . fred weasley with it girl veela girlfriend (you, bitch!)

babe.

he is your biggest fucking fan

drooling and wide eyes when he even HEARS the click of ur cunty shoes xxx

genuinely stand by the fact he has shirts with ur face on

to him, you’re everything & more

no1 advocate for anything you do

‘yeah, love, you should do that. definitely’

‘mhmm, anything you want darling’

GRRRRRRRR 🐱🐱🐱🐱

eats up every single one of ur cunty fits

you look so damn good babe and he makes sure you know it

‘you’re the most beautiful girl i have ever seen, love. seriously’

‘if you don’t stop smiling like that, im gonna be forced to take you against this fucking wall love’

OOPSIES

HOW DID THAT GET THEERRREEEE

knows the whole school and literally the whole world is obsessed with you and is here for it

(but is also not)

he loves that people know how special you are bc you fckn are

but like

when he sees whores staring at you with gaping mouths and starry eyes he’s like

she’s MINE.

doesn’t enjoy people staring at his girl

10000% the type to wrap his arms around you and pull you back into him, genuinely acting as a shield for the stares

pd(bloody)a!!!

he’s a big big fan

obvs if it makes you uncomfy, he’ll understand and back off! your comfort is his main concern

HOWEVER

if you like it just like he does…

arm wrapped around you waist while you’re walking around

HANDDD HOLDING

he loves cuddling you

ur like his squishmallow 😘😘😘

he really enjoys showing you, all the time, how much you mean to him. how obsessed he is with you. bc he wants you to know

will readily admit to the fact he is very much on ur pink bedazzled leash xxxxx

he’s ur mf bitch ❤️❤️❤️

if ppl try and take the mick out of him for it he literally could not care less

and what???? it’s true

he would kiss the ground you walked on if you asked

if he notices you getting uncomfortable w ppl staring at you, he’s not afraid to confront them (if you want that)

‘yeah, mind looking anywhere bloody else mate?’

‘if you done leering at my girl you wanker, feel free to piss off’

if people happen to not heed his warning, he’s not afraid to fight someone for you

(one time he did and arthur got called in to ‘deal’ with his son—he gave him an approving hug and a chocolate frog)

you & the weasels are like this 🤞

ginny does not resent you bc ur a veela, IN FACCTTTT she actually really looks up to you and admires you, knowing you’re so much more than ur beauty

she’s wants to BE you

(apart from the dating her brother part, gag)

george calls you ‘little legend’ he thinks you’re great for making his brother so starstruck and mushy-goey all the soft things.

genuinely cannot wait for the day you become his sister in law 🤧

after ron got over his creepy little crush, he’s grown to see you as someone he adores (even if he would never admit it) and someone he really feels safe with

you make him feel wanted in his family and actually loved—for that, he loves you more

charlie thinks ur an absolute riot 😭😭

the first time you met you had pulled a prank on the twins, turning their skin lilac and giving them unicorn horns with fuzzy purple fur everywhere (human unicorns)

he’s adored you ever since

bill loves you like a little sister and fleur and you are legit best mates!!!

arthur holds you very dear to him as he sees how good you are for his son and how much of a good individual you are in general

molly was slightly hesitant initially

BUTTT then you knitted her and arthur winter hats for christmas, sent them with a cutesy note and some sweets and she knew she’d love you

(she really, truly does)

#fredweasleyisurseximinion

he wrote that himself xxxx

[landososcar]

so american ; CL16

pairing(s) ; charles leclerc x american!reader

summary ; in which a trip to monaco turns permenant because of one ferrari racing driver

warnings ; fast paced relationship, smau, google translated french (pls correct anything that’s wrong) & FLUFFF

note ; lol sorry i lowkey disappeared. anyways. here’s charles and leo (aka everyone’s fav duo)

instagram !

liked by friend1, charlesleclerc, and others

youruser leo & i might never leave 🥰🇲🇨

view all comments

friend1 monaco is so so beautiful

yourbff you can’t leave me here alone in the us

youruser but…

charles_leclerc im stealing her

yourbff you’ve know her for 3 weeks

charles_leclerc whats your point ??

friend2 the states miss you come home

friend3 leo has a new lap to sit in????

yourbff i feel cheated on

charles_leclerc i’ll make sure you don’t leave ☺️❤️

youruser having the best time of my life with you🫶

yourbff saying you’re not gonna let her leave is kinda creepy not gonna lie…

charles_leclerc you’re just jealous coz she doesn’t wanna go back to the us and wants to stay with me

friend4 you look so happy😁

instagram !

liked by fan1, fan2, and others

cl16updating recent pictures of charles with a puppy, fans who asked him about the dog say his name is leo and he is not charles dog but he is staying with him for a while!! we are also unsure who the girl in his car in the last picture is, if anyone has any idea please share her instagram @ with us!!!!!!!!

view all comments

fan1 omg he’s not his dog??? i’m devastated now i wanted leo paddock appearances

fan2 idk maybe if you guys find her instagram @ don’t share it,, if charles wanted us to know about her he’d share with us

fan3 if she doesn’t want us to know about her maybe she shouldn’t hang out with the prince of monaco

fan4 she should be able to hang with whoever she wants. some of y’all are so weird

fan5 imma steal that dog

fan6 that means we probs won’t get leo in the paddock😭

fan7 maybe leo is the girls’ dog and she’s a friend of charles visiting him or something idk

imessages !

translation 1: ‘i’ll miss you so much’

translation 2: ‘we can be crazy together, my love’

twitter !

instsgram !

youruser added to the story!

charles_leclerc added to his close friends story!

charles_leclerc replied to your story

↳ you always do baby

↳ god you’re so cheesy

↳ i hate you

↳ can we go back home i miss leo

↳ charlie babe leo will be fine by himself for 3 hours

↳ i know i know

↳ i just love him so much

you replied to charles_leclerc’s story

↳ CHARLIE DELETE

↳ THE DOGS ARE OUT😭😭😭

↳ LEO GOT OUT??????????????? WHERE IS HE ??? IS HE SAFE??? DID SOMEONE FIND HIM??:??;??/??

↳ omg baby no leo’s fine i’m sorry for worrying you

↳ why would you joke about that

↳ i think i nearly had a heart attack

↳ you’re more obsessed with leo than me

instagram !

liked by user1, user2, and others

f1wagupdates charles and his girlfriend (leo’s mum — we don’t know her name) this saturday. the owner of the first pic said that they were out for dinner with pascale, arthur, lorenzo, and their girlfriends.

view all comments

user1 she so beautiful oh my god

user2 where’s leo

user3 girl she doesn’t have to take him everywhere

user4 i think her name is y/n… my cousin in america said that she looks like someone she used to go to school with

user5 i looked through charles’ following and he follows a private account with that name @youruser

user6 ooo that could be her fs

user7 did she really leave leo alone.. she’s a bad owner wtf

user8 leo is a dog he’ll be ok by himself for a few hours omg you just want a reason to hate her go touch grass

twitter !

twitter !

instagram !

liked by carlossainz55, lorenzotl, and others

charles_leclerc happy gorgeous amazing month ☺️❤️

view all comments

user1 CHARLES who is THAT

user2 Y/N CONTENT ON THE MAIN ‼️‼️‼️

carlossainz55 whipped

user3 omg is she playing his piano

user4 yes with her feet

youruser love love love you

charles_leclerc chérie💓💓

user4 anyone else think they’re moving REALLY quickly…. like i heard they’re living together already

user5 who CAREEESSSSS

user6 it’s none of our business

yourbff you’re all she talks about oh my GOD

charles_leclerc are you jealous

instagram !

liked by leclerc_pascale, yourbff, and others

youruser “too much, too soon” i’m living with him lol

view all comments

yourbff remember when we had conversations that weren’t about him

youruser wdym

yourbff i hate him

yourbff you’re OBSESSED with him

yourbff you guys are DISGUSTING

youruser you sound jealous

yourbff i AM. that little french driving man STOLE my best friend

charles_leclerc FRENCH????????

friend1 miss you 🫶🫶

joris__trouche ❤️

friend2 come visit soon we miss youuuu

friend3 you’re so so so gorgeous

charles_leclerc MON AMOURRR

charles_leclerc YOURE SO BEAUTIFUL I WANNA KISS YOUR FACE

yourbff can you get me a ticket to the miami gp so i can see my wife pls

charles_leclerc no you’re gonna try steal her back

yourbff @youruser ur boyfriend is being mean to me

youruser charlie i lost my miami paddock pass can you get me another one pls but like could you put it under the name y/bff/n y/bff/ln please, for no reason☺️

charles_leclerc okay baby💓💓

youruser stop it i love you so so much you’re so adorable😭

leclerc_pascale Leo ❤️

youruser he misses you 🥰

imessages !

my other works !

[potato-lord-but-not]

Do you think Arthur introduced John when he got his human body and Oscar and Noel had to suddenly deal with John looking NOTHING like what they had imagined in their heads. To Arthur this is exactly how John looked. But To Noel and Oscar it's like "...I thought he was gonna be scrawny and pathetic like you."

honestly I think Oscar had the most accurate idea of what a literal god would look like as a human,, maybe a bit on the hotter side cus he’s very very gay but that made his mental image much more accurate to real life (I mean have you seen John? cmon) Arthur still doesn’t really know what he looks like so he’s still kinda guessing- Noel tho uh he was WAY off