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corrupte3d-mindz · 6 months ago

Text

Forever a Shelby

Thomas Shelby x Wife Reader

Summary: Thomas and you get married.

Wordcount: 4.2k

Warnings:

protective! Thomas, cocky! Thomas if you squint, kissing, lap sitting,

Thomas Shelby stood at the altar, the weight of his suit jacket pressing down on his broad shoulders. The church was grand, decorated with white lilies and gold ribbons, a stark contrast to the gritty streets of Birmingham that he knew so well.

Sunlight streamed through stained glass windows, casting a kaleidoscope of colors across the stone floor. The pews were filled with both Shelbys and Changrettas, two families whose histories were steeped in blood and rivalry. Today, however, was meant to be a day of unity, a truce symbolized by the marriage of Thomas Shelby and the daughter of his fiercest enemy, Luca Changretta. Arthur stood beside him, a rare softness in his eyes as he glanced back at the congregation. He reached out, patting Thomas on the shoulder, his grip firm but comforting. "Nervous, Tommy?"

Thomas turned his head slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching in what could almost be considered a smile. "No, Arthur," he replied, his voice low and steady. "Nervous ain't in my nature." His accent, thick and rich, rolled off his tongue, a constant reminder of his roots.

Polly Gray sat in the front row, her dark eyes fixed on her nephew. There was a mixture of pride and apprehension in her gaze, a silent prayer for the future. Beside her, Michael leaned back, arms crossed, a smirk playing on his lips as he observed the gathering. Arthur's wife, Linda, looked on with a serene expression, her hand resting in her lap. John sat a few rows behind, bouncing his baby on his knee, his wife Esme smiling warmly at the scene. Ada, dressed in a striking blue dress, chatted animatedly with Finn, while Johnny Dogs and Isaiah exchanged hushed whispers, their eyes darting around the room. The tension in the air was palpable, a heady mix of anticipation and unease. Thomas felt it in his bones, the weight of expectations and the ghosts of the past pressing down on him. Marrying into the Changretta family was a strategic move, but it wasn’t a strategic move on his part, it was love. Yes, Thomas Shelby had fallen in love with a Changretta but the same could be said for her.

“Now, hush Arthur. She’ll be walking down that aisle any minute now,” Thomas murmured, his voice a low growl that carried an edge of authority. He straightened his posture, his gaze fixed on the ornate doors at the end of the aisle

Arthur looked at him again; “You sure you’re not nervous?” Thomas could feel the eyes of everyone in the room on him, waiting for his reaction. He turned his head slightly, his gaze locking onto Arthur’s for a moment before he replied.

“I said I’m not fucking nervous, Arthur,” he said, his voice low and steady, laced with a thick Birmingham accent that carried an edge of impatience. To emphasize his point, he kicked Arthur in the back of his left knee, causing his brother to stumble briefly. Thomas chuckled, a rare, genuine sound that broke the tension momentarily. He could always count on Arthur to lighten the mood, even if unintentionally.

The sound of the organ began to fill the room, a deep, resonant melody that signaled the start of the ceremony. The guests fell silent, their attention shifting to the doors that were slowly opening. Thomas took a deep breath, his heart pounding in his chest. This was it, the moment that would seal their fate, for better or worse; who was he kidding? It was for better! As the doors opened fully, revealing her figure, Thomas felt a rush of emotions. She stood there, framed by the golden light that spilled in from the hallway, her silhouette ethereal and almost otherworldly. Her dress, a delicate creation of black lace and satin, hugged her form gracefully, the long train trailing behind her like a whisper. A veil covered her face, but even through the sheer fabric, Thomas could see the outline of her features, delicate and serene.

Her father, Luka Changretta, stood beside her, his expression a mask of pride and caution. The tension between the two men was palpable, a silent reminder of the bloody history that lay between their families. Thomas’s eyes never left her as she began her slow walk down the aisle. Each step she took seemed to echo in his mind, a steady rhythm that matched the beating of his heart. He could see the slight tremble in her hands, the way she clutched her bouquet of white roses a little too tightly. Despite the nerves, she moved with a grace and determination that he found both admirable and endearing.

Arthur leaned in slightly, his voice a whisper in Thomas’s ear. “She looks beautiful, Tommy.”

Thomas nodded, unable to tear his eyes away from her. “Aye, she does,” he replied, his voice softer now, filled with an emotion he rarely allowed himself to feel. In that moment, he felt a connection to her that went beyond their shared history, beyond the political and familial implications of their marriage. It was something deeper, a bond that he hoped would grow stronger with time. The sound of the organ began to fill the room, a deep, resonant melody that signaled the start of the ceremony. The guests fell silent, their attention shifting to the doors that were slowly opening. Thomas took a deep breath, his heart pounding in his chest. This was it, the moment that would seal their fate, for better or worse. But it was never worse, it saw always for better. As she reached the front of the aisle, Luka placed her hand in Thomas’s, a gesture heavy with significance. Their eyes met, while under the veil; a silent understanding passing between them, He lifted the delicate veil that covered her face, their eyes meeting in a silent understanding. This was not just a marriage of convenience or strategy; it was a commitment to each other, to the future they would build together.

Jeremiah stood before them, the priest's presence both comforting and solemn. His voice, deep and resonant, filled the chapel, echoing off the ancient walls. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to join together in holy matrimony Thomas Michael Shelby and _______ LaPaglia Changretta." His words carried the weight of history and expectation, binding not just two people, but two families with a fraught past.

Thomas's eyes flickered to the woman beside him. _______ LaPaglia Changretta. She was beautiful, her dark hair cascading in soft waves over her shoulders, her eyes a deep, enigmatic brown. Her dress was elegant, simple yet stunning, the black fabric contrasting sharply with her olive skin. She stood with a quiet grace, her expression serene, yet there was a fire in her eyes that spoke of strength and determination.

Jeremiah's voice cut through the silence. "Do you, Thomas Michael Shelby, take _______ LaPaglia Changretta to be your lawful wedded wife?" Thomas felt the weight of the moment pressing down on him. Every decision, every move he made was calculated, and this was no different. "I do," he said, his voice steady, firm. It was a commitment not just to her, but to the path he had chosen, the alliances he was forging.

He turned to her. "Do you, _______ LaPaglia Changretta, solemnly swear to love, honor, and obey till death do you part?" Her response was immediate, her voice clear and unwavering. "I do." There was a finality in those words, a binding promise that echoed through the chapel, sealing their fates together.

Jeremiah's proclamation was met with a collective breath, as if the entire room had been holding it in anticipation. "I now pronounce you husband and wife." The words hung in the air, a declaration that felt both momentous and surreal. Thomas turned to his new wife, his expression unreadable. He leaned in, his lips brushing against hers in a kiss that sealed their union. It was a kiss that spoke of duty and obligation, but beneath it all, there was a spark, a glimmer of something more. As they turned to face their families, the applause was polite, restrained. This was no ordinary wedding, and the people gathered here understood the gravity of the situation. Arthur left the alter and walk to the pew to join his family. Their expression a mix of approval and caution. Polly Gray, ever the matriarch, watched with a keen eye, her sharp mind assessing every nuance, every subtle shift in the room.

The Changrettas were less expressive, their faces a mask of formality. Luca Changretta's presence was a dark cloud, a reminder of the delicate balance they were trying to achieve. His eyes bore into Thomas, a silent challenge that promised future confrontation. Thomas took her hand as they walked down the aisle, the weight of expectation heavy on his shoulders. Every step was a reminder of the path he had chosen, he wouldn’t ever regret it; the future he was forging. The guests rose as they passed, their eyes following the couple, whispers of speculation and curiosity filling the air. This was a union that would be talked about for years to come, a merging of two powerful families with a history of bloodshed and betrayal.

Outside the chapel, the sun shone brightly, a stark contrast to the somber atmosphere within. The reception awaited, a lavish affair that promised to be both a celebration and a test of the new alliance. As they stepped into the sunlight, Thomas felt the warmth on his face, a brief respite from the shadows that seemed to follow him wherever he went. He glanced at her, her smile a beacon of hope in the uncertainty that lay ahead.

"Welcome to the family," Thomas said, his voice low, the Birmingham accent thick and unmistakable.

The kitchen was a stark contrast to the rest of Arrow House, filled with the smell of freshly baked bread and the earthy scent of the wood burning in the hearth. Thomas stood at the head of the room, his piercing blue eyes scanning the room, ensuring he had the attention of every man present. The weight of the day was palpable; this was his wedding day, a day that marked a significant turning point in his life and the Shelby family. His dark suit was meticulously tailored, each stitch a testament to his attention to detail, and his peaked cap sat jauntily on his head, casting a shadow over his face that made his intense expression even more formidable.

"Right, boys, you're all here," he began, his voice carrying the authoritative edge that had come to define him. The men around the kitchen, his brothers Arthur, John, and Finn, along with Michael and a few trusted others, like Charlie and Johnny Dogs turned their attention to him. Each face was a study in respect and a touch of fear, for they knew Thomas was not a man to be crossed, especially not today.

"Today, this is my fucking wedding day," Thomas continued, his tone brooking no argument. His words hung in the air, heavy with the unspoken understanding that this day was sacred, not just for him, but for the entire Shelby clan. It was a rare occasion of vulnerability, where the hard-edged leader allowed a glimpse of the man beneath the armor.

John, ever the irreverent one, couldn't help but interject. "Yeah, and you said there'd be no bloody uniforms," he said, his voice tinged with a mixture of defiance and humor. The tension in the room crackled for a moment, a testament to the volatile nature of their relationships. Thomas fixed John with a steely gaze, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Nevertheless... Nevertheless, John..." he began, his voice a low growl that seemed to reverberate off the walls. He took a step closer, his presence dominating the room. "Despite the bad blood, I'll have none of it on my carpet." His words were a command, not a request, and the message was clear: today was about unity, not division.

His gaze swept around the circle, making eye contact with each man, ensuring they understood the gravity of his words. "Now for my wife's sake, nothing will go wrong," he declared, his voice firm and unyielding. His love for his bride was a rare softness in his otherwise hardened demeanor, and he was determined to protect her from the chaos that often surrounded the Shelbys. Thomas pointed outside the kitchen, towards the bustling preparations for the wedding. "Those bastards out there are her family," he said, his voice tinged with a hint of disdain. He had little patience for those who might threaten the harmony of his wedding day, and he would go to great lengths to ensure everything went smoothly.

His hand traveled around the circle, pointing at each man in turn as he spoke. "And if you fuckers do anything to embarrass her, your kin, your cousins, your horses, your fucking kids, you do anything..." His voice trailed off as he fixed his gaze on Arthur, the eldest and most unpredictable of the brothers. There was a pause, a moment where the weight of his words seemed to settle over the room like a heavy fog.

Isaiah, leaning casually against the counter, broke the uneasy silence. "Tom..?" Thomas's gaze snapped to Isaiah, a flicker of impatience crossing his features. "To... WHAT!?" he barked, his voice low but commanding.

He hesitated, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "What about snow," he ventured, his tone cautious. John eyes narrowed, the muscles in his jaw tightening. "Yeah, their women are sports, I’ll say that.."

"No. No. No." Thomas cut him off sharply, striding towards Isaiah with purpose. He stopped inches from his face, his breath hot and laced with the smell of tobacco. "No cocaine," he said, jabbing a finger towards Isaiah's face for emphasis. "No cocaine."

The room fell silent, the tension palpable as Thomas turned his attention to John, who stood to Isaiah's right. "No sport," Thomas said, waving his hand dismissively. "No telling fortunes."

He began to pace, the soles of his polished shoes tapping rhythmically against the tiled floor. Each step seemed to echo with unspoken threats, a reminder of the consequences of disobedience. He approached Arthur, his oldest and most volatile brother, stopping just short of him. "No racing," Thomas ordered, his voice a low growl. Arthur met his gaze with a slight nod, the fire in his eyes dimmed by his brother's authority. Breaking from the circle, Thomas crossed to Finn, the youngest of the Shelby brothers. Grabbing Finn's face with his left hand, he forced him to look into his eyes. "No fucking sucking petrol," he snarled, his grip tightening. He delivered a light slap to Finn's cheek, a reminder of the discipline he expected. "Out of their fucking cars."

Satisfied, Thomas released Finn and turned to Charlie, who had been lingering on the edge of the group. "And, you, Charlie," he said, his voice softer but no less intense. "Stop spinning yards about me, eh?" Charlie, taken aback, spoke up as Thomas turned his back. "I'm just trying to sell you to them, Tom," he defended.

Thomas took a deep drag from his cigarette, the smoke curling around his face as he exhaled. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, a rare sign of the stress he carried. Returning to the center of the circle, he spun slowly, addressing them all. "But the main thing is, you bunch of fuckers," he began, his voice rising with intensity. "Despite the provocation from her family, no fighting."

He turned his head slightly, locking eyes with Isaiah. The room seemed to hold its breath as Thomas slowly made his way toward him, the echo of his footsteps on the wooden floor punctuating the silence. As he reached Isaiah, Thomas lifted his chin with a firm but controlled hand, forcing Isaiah to meet his gaze. His eyes were cold, yet there was a flicker of something deeper—an unspoken understanding, perhaps. “Oi,” Thomas began, his voice a low growl that resonated with authority. He pointed a finger at Isaiah, his expression unwavering. “No fighting.”

With a swift, deliberate movement, Thomas shifted to his right, positioning himself in front of John. He didn’t waste a moment, his finger darting out to point at John with the same intensity. “No fucking fighting,” he repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument. John's smirk faltered under Thomas's glare, replaced by a nod of compliance.

Thomas moved again, this time to Arthur. Their eyes met, and an unspoken tension filled the air. Arthur, ever the wild card, was the one Thomas needed to keep in check the most. Pointing at his older brother, Thomas's voice was a commandment. “No fighting.” Arthur, his usual bravado momentarily subdued, nodded with a grunt, understanding the gravity of the order. Next, Thomas’s eyes fell on Michael, who was leaning against the wall with a nonchalant air. Without a word, Thomas pointed at him. Michael straightened up, his casual demeanor replaced by a look of acknowledgement. The silent exchange spoke volumes—Michael knew exactly what was expected of him.

Finally, Thomas turned towards Finn’s direction, his youngest brother, “No,” he said, his voice slicing through the tension. He then swung his gaze back to Arthur’s direction. “Fucking.” And finally, his eyes landed on Charlie's direction. “Fighting.”

The room fell silent once more, the weight of Thomas’s words hanging heavily in the air. Each man understood the simplicity of the command. In this room, defying Thomas Shelby was not an option. Thomas took a drag from his cigarette, the ember glowing brightly in the dim light, and exhaled a plume of smoke. He walked towards his coat, which was draped over a chair between Michael and Arthur. “Good,” he muttered, his satisfaction evident in the single word. With his back turned slightly, Thomas didn’t see the butler approaching. The man, new to the household and unfamiliar with the Shelby way, hesitated for a moment too long. The collision was inevitable. The impact was sudden, and Thomas spun around, his face a mask of fury. “Get the fuck off me!” he snarled, shoving the butler to the ground. The bottle of wine the butler had been holding shattered on the floor, red liquid spreading like blood across the wood.

Arthur, ever the enforcer, hurled his glass at the butler, the sound of shattering glass echoing through the room. The butler scrambled to his feet, fear written all over his face as he hurried out of the kitchen, leaving behind a mess of broken glass and spilled wine. Thomas exhaled one last plume of smoke before stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray. He adjusted his coat, smoothing out the fabric as he straightened up. “Right,” he said, his voice breaking the silence. “Let’s get this done.” He turned on his heel and strode out of the kitchen, his family and comrades falling into step behind him. The sound of their footsteps echoed through the hallway as they made their way towards the main event. Thomas’s mind was already racing ahead, planning, strategizing, ensuring that everything would go smoothly. But the words he had spoken in the kitchen lingered in the air, a solemn vow that no matter what happened, there would be no fighting. Not today.

As Thomas Shelby sat at the head of the table during his wedding dinner, the room was alive with the clinking of cutlery and the murmur of conversation. He raised the crystal glass to his lips, savoring the last drops of whiskey that burned pleasantly down his throat. Setting the glass down with a soft clink, his eyes swept across the room, taking in the faces of his family and the guests. His gaze lingered for a moment on his wife her beauty striking even in the dim candlelight. She was radiant, her smile lighting up the room. But as his eyes drifted to her father, he noticed the man's steely gaze fixed upon him. Thomas arched an eyebrow, a faint smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

"You look absolutely stunning today, luv," Thomas remarked, his voice low and tinged with admiration. "Hard to keep me eyes off of you." He reached out to gently squeeze her hand, a small, affectionate gesture amidst the formality of the occasion.

"I can say the same for you, Mr. Shelby," she replied, her smile radiant as she returned his gaze, her eyes sparkling with happiness.

Thomas smiled, a rare, genuine expression that softened his features. His attention then shifted to her father, a man of stature and presence, seated a bit farther down to her. "Well, you're not the only one whose eyes are on me, eh?" he quipped, a hint of playful charm in his voice.

"Luv," he murmured, leaning towards his wife, "would you mind telling your father to stop staring me down, eh?" His tone was light, teasing, but there was a hint of challenge in his eyes.

His bride glanced nervously at her father, then back at Thomas. "Tommy, I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice tinged with apprehension, "but that's just how he is."

Thomas nodded slowly, his gaze unwavering. "I see," he replied, his voice low and measured. He leaned back in his chair, his mind working quickly. He was used to dealing with difficult situations, but this was his wedding day, a day that should have been free of such tensions.

There was a moment of hesitation, a flicker of doubt in Thomas's eyes as he considered the weight of his actions. But then, with a determined glint in his eye, he reached out and gently cupped her face in his hand. She looked at him, her eyes shining with unshed tears, and he knew that this was where he belonged. Leaning in, he pressed his lips to hers in a kiss that was both tender and passionate, a silent declaration of his love and commitment. The room erupted into applause and cheers, the sound echoing off the walls as Thomas and Luka's families celebrated their union.

Hours had slipped by like fleeting ghosts since Thomas had exchanged vows, and now, in the quiet intimacy of their bedroom, he sat with his new wife perched gently on his lap. The flickering light from the bedside lamp cast a warm glow, accentuating the soft features of her face and the delicate curves of her figure. He gazed at her, his eyes tracing every line, every contour, as if committing her beauty to memory.

"You're absolutely gorgeous, Mrs. Shelby," he murmured, his voice a low, husky rasp that betrayed a hint of awe. His hands, calloused yet gentle, cradled her waist, fingers tracing idle patterns on the fabric of her dress. The weight of her presence on his lap was a comfort, grounding him in the reality of this new chapter of his life.

"I like when you call me Mrs. Shelby," she said softly, her voice a soothing melody in the quiet room. Her words were like a balm to his weary soul, a reminder of the new life they were beginning together.

Thomas wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer to him. He rested his chin on her shoulder, breathing in the scent of her hair. It was a moment of peace amidst the chaos that always seemed to follow him.

"I like it too," he replied, his voice low and gravelly. "It suits you, Mrs. Shelby."

"You're fuckin' perfect for me... y'know that?" Thomas's voice was low, almost a whisper, but filled with sincerity. His hand reached up to cup her face, his thumb brushing gently against her cheek. There was a gentleness in his touch, a rare vulnerability that he showed only to her.

Their lips met in a tender kiss, a silent affirmation of their love and commitment to each other. It was a moment of pure intimacy, a shared connection that transcended words. Her hands roamed freely, exploring his body with a familiarity that spoke of countless nights spent together. Thomas pulled her closer, his other hand wrapping around her waist, holding her as if afraid she might slip away. Their kiss deepened, a silent communication of their love and desire for each other. It was a dance they knew well, a rhythm that was uniquely theirs. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss even further. His hair, usually so meticulously styled, was now a tousled mess, a testament to the passion between them. She loved the way his hair felt between her fingers, the way it seemed to have a life of its own.

They broke the kiss, but remained intertwined, her head resting against his chest, his chin on her shoulder. They sat in comfortable silence, the weight of the day's events slowly settling on their shoulders. The gravity of their new union was not lost on Thomas; he knew the responsibilities that came with it, the need to protect and provide for his new family. His mind drifted to the future, a future now entwined with hers. He thought of the challenges they would face, the dangers that lurked in the shadows of their world. But he also thought of the moments of joy, the simple pleasures they would share.

Author’s Notes:

Y’all, I fucking love this oneshot..it’s so cute I finally did my own rendition of the wedding scene..ahhhhhhhh I feel like I got it just right y’all..ahh it’s fucking cute!!!

Deadass I should have written smut but nah, I don’t feel like it

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ink-through-her-veins · 2 years ago

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Arthur is courting Merlin. Everyone in the castle knows… except apparently for Merlin.

Arthur gives Merlin a neckerchief. Two days later, he uses it to bandage a new knight’s wound. Arthur picks Merlin flowers and Merlin chops, grinds and boils them into remedies. Arthur tries to take Merlin on a romantic picnic and Merlin packs a crossbow instead of a picnic basket.

It’s driving Arthur insane. He’s so desperate that he’s almost to the point of actually talking to Merlin but he knows he can find the perfect gift to express how much Merlin means to him, he just needs to try harder.

He asks Gwen for advice. He buys Gwaine endless amounts of ale and pumps him for knowledge on Merlin’s likes. He pulls Lancelot aside after training and grills him on everything he knows about Merlin.

It becomes clear that Arthur needs to make a grand gesture. So when Merlin walks into his chambers that night, Arthur blurts out, “I know you have magic and I’m going to repeal the magic ban for you.”

Merlin shrugs his shoulders and nonchalantly says, “That’s nice” without even a thank you.

After preparing Arthur for bed, Merlin goes to the tavern for a celebratory drink. He sits beside Gwaine and helps himself to his jug of ale, ignoring the empty jugs littering the table.

“The Princess is trying to court you, you know?” Gwaine drunkenly slurs into Merlin’s ear, his arm slung across Merlin’s shoulders.

“I know.”

Gwaine looks cross eyed and confused. “But you rejected all his gifts and we all know it’s not because you don’t love him because you’re ass over kettle for him, completely looney—“

Merlin smirks, shrugs his shoulders and admits, “He hasn’t said a word about it. He just keeps throwing gifts at me and ordering me to pack picnics. He’s going to repeal the ban on magic for me and he can’t even say, ‘Merlin I would like to court you.’ Relationships require communication and Arthur needs to be taught how.”

The door to the tavern slams closed. Just inside the door, still in his sleep clothes and wearing his boots on the wrong feet, stands the King, wide-eyed from the sheer insanity of the man he loves.

“Merlin!” Arthur shouts in the suddenly silent tavern. “You absolute menace, fool and love of my miserable life, I would like to court you. Is that all right with you?”

Merlin smiles, takes a drink of his ale and only has time to say, “I suppose” before Arthur drags him back to the privacy of his chambers so they can snog each other senseless.

#Merlin is a little shit #but he isn’t wrong #he’s doing the Triple Goddess’s work #preventing Arthur from becoming his father #merlin #merthur #merlin x arthur #merlin emrys #arthur pendragon #bbc Merlin #ITHVmerthurficlet

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theemporium · 1 year ago

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What about 🧸 and Charles Leclerc ? Literally whatever you desire, maybe featuring his family or other drivers?

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

“I’m going to cry.”

“Charles—”

“Look at him, mon amour! He looks so cute!”

The Monaco Grand Prix was important for every driver due to its history and nostalgia, but it meant so much more to Charles. Ever since he was a child, he dreamed of racing on the streets he grew up on. He dreamed of being in a car, hearing crowds scream his name as he crossed the finish line. He dreamed of standing on the top step of the podium and holding the trophy in the air proudly at his home race.

The Monaco Grand Prix meant everything to him, and it meant everything to him to have the people he cared about most there with him. He wouldn’t dream of racing without having his friends and family and biggest support systems by his side. It was what truly helped him and motivated him through the day.

With you, that circle extended. And now, it extended once more when little Matteo Leclerc was born.

It was Charles' dream to have a family. To meet the love of his life, to grow and live with her, to take that step into creating a lovely family together. And Charles knew you were the woman for him when he first met you. He had blurted as much in your face the first time he spoke to you. And now years later, to have the son you both created in his arms, it felt like a full circle moment.

Yes, the Monaco Grand Prix was always important to Charles but this one was more important than the rest—this was the first time his son was coming to his race, to his own home race.

“I would not have dressed him up like this if I knew you’d get so emotional,” you teased your husband, watching as his eyes welled up as he gently cooed at the giggling boy in his arms. Mattheo was still young, just shy of turning one years old in a few weeks during the summer break.

“Oh hush,” Charles sniffled. “I would have cried anyways, regardless of what he was wearing.”

“So the Red Bull merch would have been too much?” You joked.

Charles narrowed his eyes. “Don’t say bad words around my son,” he said with his chin held high before he turned to Mattheo, his face softening in seconds as the boy garbled and reached for his father’s face. “My son is a Ferrari fan, through and through.”

“Don’t disown him if you find him in the McLaren garage later,” Arthur piped up, walking towards the two of you with a mischievous grin on his face. “I heard Norris has baby merch waiting to change Matteo into.”

Charles’ hold became more protective of his son. “Over my dead body.”

You rolled your eyes, lightly hitting Arthur’s arm. “Stop messing with him.”

“But it’s so fun,” Arthur whined in response.

You snorted. “It is.”

“Ah, ma vie, look at your mama and uncle teaming up on me,” Charles whispered loudly to his son, gently rocking him back and forth as the young boy stared up at his father with eager eyes. “It’s just you and me against the world.”

“Stop turning my son against me or I will let Lando change him into that horrendous orange merch,” you jokingly threatened, trying to bite back your own grin when you saw Charles grinning.

“I’ll make it up to you later, mon amour,” Charles winked.

“Aw, bleh! Not in front of my nephew!” Arthur fake gagged, which only seemed to make little Matteo burst into a fit of giggles. “Go get ready before you miss the start of the race! And give me my nephew before you scar the poor boy for life!”

It took ten minutes to convince Charles to let go of Matteo, his heart shattering a little when the young boy became frustrated and fussy after being parted from his father. But you kissed him on the lips, whispering good luck and telling him to return safely to his family on the other side of this race.

And that was exactly what he did—and more.

It didn’t even hit him until he was standing on the top step, the national anthem blaring through the speakers as his eyes glanced over the crowd below to find you and Matteo at the front of the crowd. He couldn’t really see you but he knew you were crying, he knew he was probably crying too.

And little Matteo looked up at him from the crowd, cheering and clapping his hands once he spotted his father and Charles could’ve sworn his life had peaked. This was what he dreamed of long before he realised. To win his home race, to stand on the top step, to see his family waiting for him as he raised the trophy in the air and drowned in champagne sprays before rushing straight towards them.

“Mes amours,” Charles murmured, tears streaming down his face and a grin so wide that nothing would have wiped it off his face as he reached to hold you both.

“Our winner,” you responded, your free hand cupping his cheek to swipe away a few stray tears with your thumb.

“Dada!” Matteo cheered happily, causing both you and Charles to let out laughs of disbelief as your son uttered his first word.

“Yes,” Charles laughed, nodding his head as he reached for his babbling son. “Me! Dada!”

“Dada!” Matteo repeated, a gummy grin on his face as he squished his father’s cheeks together, and this time neither of you could stop the tears streaming down your face.

This was the day Charles had always dreamed of and he had finally achieved it.

#cece's slumblurb party #charles leclerc #formula one #f1 #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x y/n #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc one shot #formula one x reader #formula one x you #formula one x y/n #formula one fic #formula one one shot #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #f1 fic #f1 one shot

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driverlando · 7 months ago

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✧.* A REWARD FOR THE CHAMP

synopsis- you give Charles the perfect end to an unforgettable night (Charles leclerc x f!reader)

before you read- 18+ only, contains smut (oral, f receiving and m receiving and p in v) If you enjoy, pls reblog and follow! I'm a new writer and appreciate your support. :)

The sun was setting over the picturesque streets of Monaco, casting a golden hue over the harbour and the cheering crowds. Charles Leclerc had just achieved a lifelong dream and had broke the curse: winning the Monaco Grand Prix. The roar of the crowd and the national anthem still echoed in his ears as he made his way through the paddock, a broad grin never leaving his face.

In the team’s hospitality suite, his friends and fellow drivers gathered around, the celebratory mood infectious. Carlos Sainz, his teammate, was the first to embrace him, a proud grin on his face.

“You did it, mate! you’re a legend,” Carlos said, slapping Charles on the back.

Charles laughed, shaking his head. “I know, I know. I feel like I’m dreaming.”

Max Verstappen, always competitive but genuinely happy for his friend, raised his glass in a toast. “To Charles, for making us all look slow on his home turf.”

Laughter rippled through the group, and Charles clinked glasses with his friends, basking in the moment. “Merci, les gars. Tonight, we celebrate!” (Thank you, guys)

As the evening wore on, the drivers slowly began to disperse, some heading back to their hotels, others to after-parties. Charles stayed a bit longer, enjoying the camaraderie, but his thoughts were already drifting to you. He knew you were waiting for him, and the thought of seeing you made his heart race faster than the last lap of the race.

“Heading home, champ?” Arthur asked, raising an eyebrow knowingly.

Charles nodded, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. “Yeah, I have someone special waiting for me.”

Arthur chuckled. “Well, definitely don’t keep her waiting. Enjoy your night, Charles.”

With a final wave to his friends, Charles made his way out of the suite, the thrill of victory still coursing through his veins. The drive home was a blur, the familiar streets of Monaco rushing past until he finally pulled into the driveway of your shared apartment.

He opened the door quietly, stepping inside to find you waiting in the living room, a smile lighting up your face as soon as you saw him. You stood, crossing the room to wrap your arms around him, pressing a kiss to his lips.

“Félicitations, mon amour,” you whispered, your eyes sparkling with pride.

Charles held you close, his hands resting on your hips. “Merci, chérie. I couldn’t wait to get home to you.”

You smiled, taking his hand and leading him towards the couch. “I have a special celebration planned for you.”

His eyebrows rose in curiosity, but he followed without question. You gently pushed him to sit on the couch, your fingers working deftly to unbutton his shirt. He watched you, his breath hitching as you slid the fabric off his shoulders, revealing the toned muscles beneath.

“You’ve worked so hard for this,” you murmured, pressing kisses to his chest. “Tonight, let me take care of you.”

Charles’ eyes darkened with desire as he leaned back, watching you. “Je suis tout à toi,” (I’m all yours) he whispered, his voice husky. “Always so good to me”

Your cheeks flushed at his words, the heat pooling between your legs as you knelt before him, your hands trailing down his chest to the waistband of his pants. He watched you, anticipation clear in his gaze.

“Let me show you how proud I am,” you whispered, unbuttoning and unzipping his pants. You freed him from the confines of his boxers, his erection springing free. He was already hard, his desire for you evident. His tip already leaking with pre cum.

Charles groaned as you wrapped your hand around him, giving a few slow, teasing strokes. “You drive me crazy, you know that?”

You smiled, your tongue darting out to lick the tip, tasting the salty essence of him. “Good,” you murmured, before taking him into your mouth.

His hips jerked involuntarily as you sucked him in deeper, your tongue swirling around him. You set a slow, torturous pace, wanting to savour every moment, every sound he made. Charles’ hands found their way to your hair, his fingers tangling in the strands as he guided your movements. His chest was already flushed, sweat pooling around his muscles. He looked like a dream.

“Mon Dieu,” (my God) he breathed, his voice thick with pleasure. “You’re amazing.”

His praise spurred you on, and you took him deeper, your cheeks hollowing as you sucked harder. His hips bucked, and you moaned around him, the vibration making him curse softly in French.

“Do you like that, Charles? Do you like how I make you feel?” you asked, pulling back slightly to stroke him with your hand.

“Oui, je t’adore,” (yes, I love it) he murmured. “I love it, I love you.”

You took him back into your mouth, increasing the pace. Charles’ breathing grew heavier, his grip on your hair tightening as he guided your movements. You felt him start to tense, his muscles coiling in anticipation of release.

“Mon amour, I’m close,” he warned, his voice strained with need.

You didn’t slow down, wanting to bring him the same intense pleasure he’d given you. His hips began to move in time with your motions, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

“Just like that,” he groaned, his voice rough. “You’re perfect.”

With a final, deep thrust, he came undone, spilling into your mouth with a guttural moan. You swallowed every drop, savouring the taste of him as he shuddered beneath you.

When he finally caught his breath, he pulled you up into a searing kiss, tasting himself on your lips. “You’re incredible,” he murmured, his hands caressing your back.

You smiled against his lips, your heart swelling with love. “Anything for you, Charles.��

He pulled you closer, his hands roaming over your body, as if memorising every curve, every inch of you. “Let me show you how much I appreciate you,” you whispered after a few minutes of kissing, once you knew he was undoubtedly getting hard for you again.

You wasted no time stripping off your clothes, the heat between you both too intense to ignore. You pushed him down onto the couch and straddled his hips, sinking down onto him with a gasp. The sensation of him filling you completely made your head spin, a soft moan escaping your lips.

Charles’ hands found your waist, steadying you as you began to move, rocking your hips against him. His eyes were locked on yours, his gaze filled with raw desire and adoration.

“C’est ça… tu te sens bien, n’est-ce pas?” (That's it... you feel good, don't you?) he murmured, his voice low and encouraging.

“Oui, Charles,” you gasped, your movements growing more frantic as you chased your release. “You’re so deep.”

“You’re being so good for me,” he praised, his grip tightening on your hips. “Is this your gift to me, yeah?”

“Oui, it’s all for you,” you whimpered, your hands resting on his flushed chest for support.

His hand slid from your hip to your thigh, encouraging you to move faster. “That’s right… use me… get yourself off.”

The intensity of his gaze, the feel of his hands on your skin, it all combined to drive you higher and higher until you were teetering on the edge. With a final, desperate moan, you came undone, your body shuddering around him as waves of pleasure washed over you.

Charles held you through it, his own release following closely as he watched you fall apart on top of him. His groan of satisfaction was music to your ears, and you collapsed against him, your body spent and trembling.

But he wasn’t done yet. With a gleam in his eye, Charles rolled you over gently, positioning you beneath him on the couch. He brushed a strand of hair from your face, his expression tender yet filled with desire.

“I want to see you fall apart for me again,” he whispered, his voice sending shivers down your spine. “Let me make you feel even better. Let me have a taste”

Your breath hitched as he moved down your body, his lips trailing hot kisses over your skin. He paused, his eyes meeting yours as he kissed a path between your breasts, down to your stomach. Every touch, every kiss was electric, setting your nerves on fire.

“Charles, please,” you breathed, your hands tangling in his hair as he kissed his way down to the apex of your thighs.

He grinned, his fingers parting your folds as his tongue flicked out, teasing your sensitive clit. The sensation was almost too much, your back arching off the couch as he lavished attention on you, his tongue and fingers working in perfect harmony to drive you to the brink once more.

Your moans filled the room, your hands clutching at the cushions as he pushed you higher and higher. He looked up, his eyes locking with yours as he murmured against your skin, “Come for me, mon amour. I want to feel you again.”

His words, combined with the relentless pleasure he was giving you, sent you over the edge. Your orgasm crashed over you, your body trembling as he continued to lick and suck, drawing out every last wave of pleasure.

When you finally came down, he crawled back up your body, kissing you deeply. You could taste yourself on his lips, a reminder of just how intimately he knew your body.

��I love watching you fall apart,” he whispered against your lips, his voice filled with awe and desire. “You’re so beautiful.”

You pulled him closer, your body still humming with the aftershocks of your release. “I love you, Charles.”

He smiled, brushing his lips against yours. “I love you too, more than anything.”He wrapped his arms around you, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Thank you, mon amour. The night was perfect.”

You smiled against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek. “You deserve it, Charles. I’m so proud of you.”

He stroked your hair, his touch tender and loving. “I couldn’t have done it without you. You’re my good luck charm.”

You lifted your head to look at him, your fingers tracing the lines of his jaw. “And you’re my champion.”

Charles chuckled, pulling you into a deep, lingering kiss. “Here’s to many more victories, both on and off the track.”

You nodded, feeling content and loved in his arms. “To many more, Charles.”

Exhausted but blissfully content, you cuddled together on the couch, not bothering to go upstairs. The warmth of each other’s bodies, the rhythm of your breaths, and the unspoken bond of love and victory lulled you both into a peaceful sleep, a perfect end to an unforgettable day.

#f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #charles leclerc scenarios #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fanfic #formula one x reader #f1 scenario #formula one smut

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moth--mallow · 5 months ago

Text

Arthur Feeling for Merlin

Art by ( suzuen )

I'm questioning whether or not Arthur in seven deadly sins and a four nights is in love with Merlin short answer is I'm like 80% sure he is in love with her sadly and considering how nakuba does the writing for Arthur and Merlin at times I just feel so scared of what could happen in the future I don't really want to see a ship happen between these two even though they are both in their 30s, and it's kind of weird cuz Merlin raised Arthur I do think he has an unrequited love for her that maybe in seven sins he didn't realize it was love but maybe is he got older between seven sins and four nights he realized he was in love with her maybe confessed to her at one point I don't know we probably won't get up back story till the end of this manga like with the first one

Iv seen a lot of post over the years about Merlin's feelings for Arthur and a few one Arthur feelings but nobody's really going into deep explanation as to how and why certain characters feel certain things or if they have a lot of those older post I've seen are deleted so I've decided to make my own I didn't want to do this for a while I just haven't had time

🟠perralles between escanor and Arthur

❤️Royalty,power,and they're love for merlin

🟣Royalty

I know you're probably wondering why bring up escanor and Arthur well they have a lot of parallels a lot of people have talked about them before but I don't see it discussed as much as it used to be but there are a lot there was even a point I thought

Maybe they were possibly related like now that we know in the current story that Arthur isn't a pin dragon by blood it could be possible that maybe escanor was Arthur's uncle like maybe his brother survived and had a kid and that kid turned out to be Arthur but this is just me guessing or making up a theory so let's get into the parallels between them

🩷

Both Arthur and escanor are the second son of a royal family from the south though Arthur was adopted into the royal family of Camelot he ended up becoming its king I'm not sure why his older brother kay wasn't picked to be king but maybe in Camelot you have to prove yourself by doing a heroic task to be the king maybe it's not by bloodline, or people really just saw that kay was a spoiled brat and did not want him on the throne 😅

And as you can tell both escanor and Arthur's older siblings didn't seem to like them much and as we saw in escanor's flashbacks in the anime and I believe even the manga his older brother was abusive towards him and during one of his abusive attacks escanor unlocked sunshine and hurt his older brother

I'm not sure when it was revealed I would have to go back and look or see if it was maybe in a q&a but it was revealed that escanor's Kingdom that he originally came from was destroyed by Viking Invaders got caught in a war and was destroyed

And as we all know from the seven deadly sins series Arthur's home Camelot was destroyed sadly

Escanor had no interest in his home since everyone including his own parents turned on him the only person he had to look to for comfort and Hope was his caretaker/aid I believe who watched over him Rosa, but as we know Rosa passed away because

escanor went and visited her in the capital of the Dead and then at some point later on escanor meets Merlin and falls in love with her but not just because she looks like Rosa because as he said she saw him as his own person and never truly treated him like a monster

Same with Arthur kinda,king Uther was busy being King so probably didn't have much time for even his own biological son kay,let alone Arthur and not sure if Arthur had friends or not when he was younger

Cuz we've only had a side chapter to explore his backstory when he was younger we still don't even know how he met Merlin outside of cover art an few flash back panels scattered throughout 300+

chapters, I'm hoping at some point in four nights we get more on Arthur and Merlin's backstory and how they met because why was Merlin just allowed to take Arthur because he's not a biological child of the throne maybe and they were okay with her adopting him or something it's never been clarified and I'm confused about this still to this day.

My theory is that like in all king Arthur story Arthur is still king Uther son by blood but he adopted Arthur so no one would know he had a child outside his marriage to cover everything up and his affair

🟠Power

As we now escanor had sunshine a power/Grace that came from the supreme deity and with this power in the daytime! Physical appearance and a personality change but at night he was his normal self

☀️

🌌

And then there's Arthur who has chaos and as we can see in the sequel series similar to how eskenor's power Sunshine changed his personality chaos has completely changed Arthur's personality after he consumed more of it

And as much as people hate to hear this between the two of them Arthur is the more powerful he has chaos which is the power to create and control reality itself chaos the being itself created all of the races but the races that resemble chaos the most were humans and due to that the supreme deity

and demon King who were also created by chaos fear that they wouldn't be loved or favorite and sealed chaos away Merlin found out about chaos and spent 3,000 years dedicating her life to finding the next Wilder of chaos who will wield it perfectly and as we know hawk mama was chaos itself and she was even in Camelot around the same time Merlin met Arthur

(go to the wiki on mama hawk it tells you she was in Camelot 10 years ago around the time the seven deadly sins were all framed for the murder of the head night Gill thunders father, in Merlin was also in Camelot around that time cuz she met Arthur whenhe was five I believe Mama hawk was there because Arthur the new host of chaos was there but at some point she met meliodas and he ended up taking hawk and hawk mama with him as he traveled around looking for the other sins and made the bar hat, although I wish they had been better foreshadowing that hawk mama was chaos I think we got to throw a line line in the movie that she was the mother of chaos but we hadn't heard of chaos any other part of the story before the chaos are so it just feels like bad foreshadowing)

but I don't think Merlin learned where chaos was stored so maybe during her travels with Arthur I don't know this is just me guessing it was never explained how Merlin knew that hawk mama was the mother of chaos is she called her in the first seven deadly sins movie

Arthur chaos power has consumed his original personality like how escanor personality was somewhat consumed by sunshine

🔵

And merlin

Do I think escanor loves Rosa yes the same way I believe unfortunately that Arthur does love Merlin the same way I think I've said this before even this post or another but it wasn't really uncommon for the time that the story is set in for people to fall in love with older people in their lives such as tutors and mentors and even older cousins 🤢 or relatives or a family in-laws or older family friends

It's even still kind of like that today we're older people want to not really date in their own age range but date someone older because they feel that they have more answers or a bit more maturity to them and that people around their own age just don't have anything they're looking for

But an escanor and even Arthur's case Rosa and Merlin were their soul caretaker who took care of them and risked their lives for them unconditionally

Already talked about how escanor fell for merlin but he didn't just fall for her because she looked like Rosa he fell from Merlin as he got to know her over time and I believe the same happened let Arthur but

I'm going to try to look at this from both Merlin and Arthur's point of view from Merlin's point of view Arthur is someone she loves and cherished not just as a student but like a child maybe although it hasn't really been said that's just the feeling you kind of get through her body language and how much she cares for Arthur we still don't know much about Arthur and Merlin's past we've only gotten pieces that's led up to the current day with the fake Merlin and Camelot that sorry for spoilers is no longer around cuz Arthur killed her off after

plot device

🤭 (sorry ) Guinevere called Arthur out for making what she thought was an illusion of Merlin but was actually a fairy he captured that he had take on Merlin's form since she's no longer with him for some reason

There another think to merlins other love interest meliodas and both escanor

Although Merlin wasn't able to reciprocate eskenor's feelings she did kiss him goodbye and keep the burns that show that he was alive and it's proof that there was one man alive who loved her we also know due to 3,000 years ago and The holy war she met meliodas and fell in love with him but he already had Elizabeth

And I seen people ask before and even talked about it another post people have asked with Merlin still have searched for chaos if maybe she had met eskenor 3000 years ago or even if she had fallen in love and meliodas that loved her back and the answer is yes Merlin is a curious person she's the type of person that like she did with the seven deadly sins would have went by behind their back in order to search for chaos to feel her own curiosity so even if her lover had been meliodas or escanor 3000 years ago she still would have looked for chaos even if she had met eskenor 3000 years ago he's still human he would have died eventually maybe in his late 60s-80s like most humans do

So even after his death she still would have looked for chaos to get over her sadness

And then when it comes to Arthur love for merlin

Do I think Arthur's in love with Merlin 😮‍💨

The thing for me on one hand I think chaos is taking Arthur's ideas and feelings too far I don't think he had maybe ever wanted to bring people back but if he got corrupted by the fragment of chaos he absorbed and made him want to bring people back do I think he probably loves Merlin yes 😐 and now maybe there are some unrequired feelings he never realized he had that of come to the surface and it's coming off as love

On the other hand he could fully be in love with her cuz like I said earlier in this post people have been known in this time The story set in to fall for their mentors and older people and looking back at the

story we never really saw or got to see Arthur interact with people of his kingdom or if he had friends or anything or even see him interact with his brother or even meet his sister Morgana lafaye if she's in the story at all we didn't see him get to form any relationships with anyone around his age the only other person around Arthur's age was Elizabeth but her soul character was tied to meliodas and the sins and her curse I wish we could have seen a

friendship develop between Arthur Elizabeth go through and maybe some of the other younger characters like Jericho as well that would have been cool and it could have been set up Jericho working for Arthur down the line cuz I don't think they ever met or even know each other at all in the story looking back I think they talked once the same time Arthur met escanor and that's the only interaction they ever had,

it also has me wondering about eskenor's jealousy towards Arthur, like some others have said I always stop asking or jealousy towards Arthur was a bit odd I think it would only be natural for Merlin to care for Arthur because like I said she sees him as a student / child of her own I don't think she has any romantic feelings for him maybe ,

but maybe even though they met once maybe due to how Merlin seems so attached to Arthur and said how she felt like Arthur was her hope and then later on in the chapter after Arthur's got stabbed with Excalibur well being mind-controlled

escanor over here Merlin's talk about how important Arthur was to her the same way meliodas is important to Elizabeth that could be interpreted as loves from an outside point of view which I think escanor did

maybe Arthur even overheard this in his unconscious state of sleep and is mistaking Merlin's feelings for love after all

looking back Merlin has been there for so many important moments in the story with Arthur from him getting stabbed with Excalibur to him getting chaos and even them going to lions in the first arc

Even though I don't like it and I hope this doesn't come up but considering how nakuba does his writing in this story

we're going to find out that Arthur is indeed probably in Love with Merlin and this probably for me when it comes to the story and how nakuba does his characters in relationships in nanatsu no taizai and four knights,

it's a big 80% we'll see that Arthur loves her and at some point either confessed to Merlin had feelings for Merlin just never said anything because he learned that Merlin was in love with meliodas

I'm sure at some point Arthur even asked Merlin about the burns on her face and she probably told him what happened with escanor,

because again looking back at it we saw in the save by light movie Merlin had her face covered and I thought that was weird I didn't think it was Merlin but from what I was told it was her

maybe at some point Merlin noticed that Arthur seem bothered by the burns on her face so she covered it

but when it comes to the fake Merlin that was in 4knights Camelot we never got to see her full face but what if her face just looked normal like Merlin used to before she got the kiss burns on her face and even if maybe she still did have the burns on the fake version of Merlin maybe that's why the her face was covered because Arthur never liked those Burns he was jealous that escanor got to kiss Merlin and

eave a mark on her that was everlasting and he might not be ever be able to get the chance do I think Arthur is in love with Merlin sadly yes do I think it'll come up in the story also sadly yes do I think it's going to lead to anything big possibly like a said before considering who's writing the story Arthur being in love with Merlin might have been used as a way to show Guinevere and how sassy she could be and even upset Arthur to the point

where he destroyed the fake illusion that was over the ferry and killed the fairy he even mentioned how he was starting to consider her as the real thing but at the end of the day we're going to see Merlin again and she and Arthur are going to come face to face and he's either going to confess to her or Merlin's already going to know Arthur's feelings and have probably already rejected him and he's probably still not over it

I used to ship Merlin and Arthur and when I saw that they were still together in four nights I was actually happy but then going back rereading the story again after a few years cuz I hadn't read in a long time and then reading four nights up to where I think at the time I started reading it was on chapter 40 I realized I no longer shipped or life to the idea of Merlin and Arthur being together because I completely had forgotten cuz I hadn't read it in a long time that Merlin was secretly a 13-14year-old I do have a theory that maybe Merlin undead her ceiling spell and maybe if she could start to age like a normal human and that way by the time she and Arthur were a bit older they would be in their twenties at the same time and then and their actual 30s at the same time as well even though technically she is thousands of years old Merlin would be 22 or 23 when Arthur 26 and that would also add up kind of in the timeline cuz I was trying to piece the timeline together based off of what some other characters have said in the story as to when Arthur started acting weird so I'm wondering if Merlin maybe did start to age alongside Arthur and he developed feelings for her in that sense as well could something have happened between now or maybe Merlin was no longer in her kid form and actually did age and go until adulthood from the same time as Arthur maybe they had a kid together I don't know this is just a random theory that I kind of also hope doesn't come true but still thought I'd share it

Sorry this is so long

And if it's there a certain parts on repeating myself for a few parts I maybe don't make a complete sense it's because I kept getting interrupted while trying to type this out sorry ,,😮‍💨

#七つの大罪 #merlin #choas #黙示録の四騎士 #FourKnightsofTheApocalypse #merlin nanatsu no taizai #nanatsu no taizai #nnt #7ds #arthurian literature #arthur pendragon #king Arthur #blog #nnt Arthur #grand cross arthur

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ak319 · 1 month ago

Note

Haii!, I really like your Arthur Morgan series and I've also read it several times and it's not boring at all!🫶🏻

Can I make a request? If so, can you make the reader jealous because Arthur is close to Mary Beth?🫶🏻 (Arthur and the reader's relationship is not platonic!)

(AN: Tsym! Remind me why we making Y/n suffer again? PS: I'm terrible at writing jealousy shit ngl and I legit dunno why. AND THATS LIT WHAT YALL KEPT ASKING FOR-😭☠) Hope yall enjoy reading lol)

Warnings/MDNI: None, just angst and then fluff to soothe your asses-

You were by the lake, lazily washing clothes. The day had you feeling sluggish, and the pleasant weather didn’t exactly help motivate you. The water was just the right temperature, cool enough to refresh but warm enough to keep you rooted in place. You should really pick up the pace, finish up, and grab some tea--or coffee--or a well-deserved break.

The faint hum of camp activity behind you was oddly comforting, a soothing backdrop to your thoughts. That is until you heard footsteps crunching on the gravel, quick and impatient, followed by a sharp curse.

“Dammit! I’ve been lookin’ everywhere for you, girl.”

You glanced over your shoulder, grinning as Molly stormed up to you, her face a mix of exasperation and something else you couldn’t quite place.

“For God’s sake, Molly, you know my Tuesday routine by now,” you teased, tossing a wet shirt into the basket beside you. “It’s not like this camp is big enough to lose someone. Honestly, I think you’re just bad at looking.”

She didn’t laugh. Not even a crack of a smile. Instead, she stood there, arms crossed, her expression tight with barely-contained frustration. You paused mid-scrub, a curious eyebrow raised.

“What’s gotten into you? You look ready to murder someone.”

“Oh, sure,” she snapped, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Leave it to ever-so-clueless (Y/N) to not notice a damn thing going on around her.” She gestured wildly toward the camp as though you were missing some grand spectacle.

You blinked, thoroughly confused. “What the hell are you on about?”

Her eyes narrowed, and for a moment, she hesitated as if debating whether you were even worth the explanation. Then, with a dramatic huff, she took a step closer, glaring down at you like you’d personally wronged her.

“Let me spell it out for you. Do I even bother tellin’ you what’s happening? Or should I just assume it won’t make a difference because your ‘dearest cold heart’ won’t care? Or worse, you’ll just laugh it off like you always do!”

Your hands stilled in the water, the soap slipping through your fingers. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

"Y’know, what I just heard and saw?” Molly huffed, throwing her hands in the air for emphasis. “Mr. Arthur Morgan, having a chat with Mary-Beth. Mary-Beth! That same snake who’s all over Dutch, and now, apparently, your man, (Y/N)!”

Her voice rose with each word, and you blinked, caught completely off guard. She leaned in, her eyes narrowing as if trying to gauge your reaction. “I swear to God, she was asking him to buy her another one of those silly romance books for her lovesick brain. I mean, why Arthur, huh? Why doesn’t she go pester Kieran’s ass instead?”

Hearing her rant, you stood up, gripping the damp shirt in your hands as you processed her words. “Wh--sounds like a friendly chat to me, Molly,” you said, trying to brush it off with a shrug. “I mean, Arthur brings stuff for everyone. He goes out the most, doesn’t he? And, well, Kieran… he’s not exactly allowed far from camp neither he can afford anything right now. They still don’t trust him, y’know. And Arthur, he’s like a brother to Mary-Beth-"

“Don’t even start with that ‘brother’ shit, (Y/N),” Molly snapped, cutting you off. “It's just a facade.”

Your mouth fell open, heat rushing to your face at the implication. Uncertainty clawed at your chest as you tried to stammer a response, but she wasn’t done. Molly’s jealousy toward Mary Beth only seemed to fuel her fire, her words coming quicker now, sharp and biting.

“And don’t act like it couldn’t happen. You think she doesn’t see how kind he is to you? How he looks at you when he thinks no one’s watching? Oh, she sees it. And she’d snatch him up the moment she gets the chance.”

You clenched your jaw, her words making you shift uncomfortably. Sure, you trusted Arthur, but the venom in Molly’s tone, the way her words seemed to twist around your insecurities, left you feeling just the slightest bit unsteady.

"Did he even say goodbye to you before he sprang into action?” Molly pressed, her voice softer now, almost pitying. “And the other day, weren’t you telling me you needed some cream for your hands? You even told him, and look, just look at your hands.”

Her gaze dropped to your chapped and reddened fingers, and you instinctively tried to wipe them dry on your skirt, as if that would somehow make them better. Her words were digging deeper now, clawing at something vulnerable in you. Did he forget to bring it? Or worse, did he not care enough to remember? Had your wishes, his woman’s wishes, stopped mattering to him altogether?

“This is bullshit, you should have run away with that pen pal of yours, to be honest when you had the chance,” Molly muttered, crossing her arms. “You didn’t listen to me when I told you she’s after Dutch. And now she’s after both! I swear, those books she reads must be teaching her these tactics. Manipulative little-"

“I--y’know what?” you cut her off, your voice suddenly firm as your gaze drifted to the camp, your eyes narrowing.

“What?” Molly asked, surprised by your sudden shift in tone.

“Let’s just go,” you said, your voice laced with resolve.

“Go where?”

“Town.”

Without waiting for her to argue, you kicked the bucket of soapy water, sending it tumbling into the river, the suds spilling out and disappearing downstream. The laundry lay abandoned on the grass as you turned and marched toward the stables, Molly following close behind.

Damn everyone, then.

❀˖°

Arthur returned to camp, expecting to find you in his tent as usual. But when he stepped inside, the familiar space felt oddly empty. A frown tugged at his lips.

"Hey... um, Sadie?" he called out, spotting her near the campfire. "You seen (Y/N)?"

Sadie glanced up from sharpening her knife. "Oh, yeah. She and Molly went to town."

"What?!" The word escaped him before he could stop it, his voice louder than he intended. Clearing his throat, he muttered a quick, “Thanks,” and walked back to his tent, feeling heat rise to his face. He slumped down onto his cot with a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair.

You know how he felt about you going far from camp without him, even if you were with one of the girls. It wasn’t a matter of trust, it was fear.

And still you did.

There were too many dangers out there, too many things that could go wrong, and the thought of you out there without him stirred a storm in his chest.

It was 5 p.m., the time when you two usually sat together to talk about your day over supper. The time he looked forward to most whenever he was at camp. And now? He sat there, staring at the flap of his tent, the minutes ticking by painfully slow.

But what bothered him more was why you’d gone. And with Molly, of all people. It wasn’t that he didn’t like her, he didn’t have a problem with her, not really. But something about the way you two were together always set him on edge.

He’d told you how he felt about it once. About how Molly seemed to lean on you a little too much, how her sadness and drama sometimes seemed to pull you down with her. But of course, you’d defended her, saying you couldn’t just turn your back on your best friend. That Molly found her only comfort in your company.

And you were right. He knew you were. But that didn’t make it any easier to sit here, waiting, imagining where you were and what could happen.

Arthur let out a frustrated sigh, his appetite gone. Instead of heading to the campfire for supper, he threw himself onto his cot, pulling his hat over his face in an attempt to block out the growing worry gnawing at his chest.

But even with his eyes closed, he couldn’t shake the unease. Images of you and Molly wandering through town, far from the safety of camp, flickered in his mind. He trusted you, of course, but the world out there? That was another story entirely.

“Damn woman never listens to me,” he muttered under his breath, his voice tinged with equal parts frustration and concern.

Sleep didn’t come easily, and even as he tried to rest, he knew one thing for certain, when you came back, this was a conversation he wasn’t going to let slide.

❀˖°

Arthur woke with a start, roused by Bill’s loud guffaw somewhere in the camp. With a groan, he rubbed his face, taking a moment to shake off the haze of sleep and piece together his scattered thoughts. Then it hit him, the memory of you leaving with Molly, and the worry twisted sharply in his chest again.

He pushed himself up with a sigh, his body stiff from the restless nap. Moving through camp, he glanced around, hoping, praying, to catch sight of you. But there was nothing. No sign of you or Molly.

He considered asking Dutch, but dismissed the thought just as quickly. Dutch would likely know even less than he did, and Arthur wasn’t in the mood for meaningless chatter.

Back at his tent, he sat on the edge of his cot, pulling out his journal in an attempt to distract himself. The flap of the tent was open, giving him a clear view of camp, but his eyes kept flickering toward it, waiting for you to appear.

His stomach growled, but he ignored it. He wasn’t going to eat, not until you came back, served the meal, and sat down beside him. That was how it went. That was how it had to go.

He was about to get up and go to find both of you himself when-

"Um, Arthur?" Abigail’s voice broke through his brooding. She appeared by the flap of his tent, holding a coffee pot. "There’s some coffee left, and I’ve got to wash the pot, would you like a cup?"

He shook his head, barely sparing her a glance. "Why’d they go to town?"

"Molly and (Y/N)?" Abigail tilted her head, her tone casual. "Oh, they’ve been back. Got back about half an hour ago. They’re in my tent, just hanging out."

Arthur blinked, first in shock, then confusion, which quickly morphed into anger. Half an hour? You’d been back for that long and hadn’t even bothered to come see him? Not even a word after being gone all day?

He shut his journal with a snap, the sound echoing his rising temper, and stood. The muffled chatter coming from Abigail’s tent grated on his nerves as he stalked toward it, each step heavier than the last.

What the hell was going on with you?

He cleared his throat outside the tent before pushing the flap open, only to find you and Molly sitting cross-legged, enjoying supper.

"Where were you? I was waiting for you."

You swallowed your bite, not bothering to look up at him. "Needed a few important things from town, actually, so I had to go."

Arthur’s jaw tightened. "Can you come with me? I want to talk."

"I’m already talking to Molly," you replied, your tone curt, still avoiding his gaze.

Damn it. Why the hell weren’t you even looking at him? That gnawing frustration in his chest boiled over. He had enough of this.

"I said, Come. With. Me." he demanded, his voice low but firm, the tone sharper than he intended.

Your head snapped up, eyes glaring at him with such intensity that, for a moment, he regretted using that tone. Hell, he’d be lying if he said it didn’t scare him just a little.

"Oh, excuse me, Mister. Don’t you dare order me around like a maid, alright? I sit, talk, and walk when I want to. And right now? I don’t want to. Now go away, we’re busy."

Arthur ignored Molly’s taunting scoff, still fixated on you. Something about this--about you--just didn’t sit right.

"I’m sorry, okay? I’m just hungry. I was waiting for you... Can we eat now?" Arthur’s chest tightened, guilt creeping in. He rubbed the back of his neck, his anger softening. "...I was just worried as hell."

Hell, I still am.

But you didn’t let it go. "I’ve already eaten, and I didn’t ask you to wait for me. There are plenty of people around here you can share your meal with, Arthur. Plenty."

You turned your attention back to Molly, flashing her a rueful grin with your hair covering your face but he definitely caught it.

The Irishwoman gave you a knowing smile, her voice full of mischief. "Oh, girl, there’s always someone around."

This is how it's gonna be huh?

His first instinct was to walk away, but no. Arthur wasn’t the type to run from problems. With one swift movement, he grabbed your arm and dragged you out and behind the tent, just past the tree line. He stared down at you, his expression a mix of annoyance and desperation.

"What the hell is that all about?! And you know I hate it when you go out alone-"

"I don’t care! I don’t care anymore!" you snapped, your voice shaking with anger. "I hate going out for some petty stuff too, which, by the way, I clearly asked you to get, and you forgot! I guess books are more important than me, huh?."

Arthur’s chest tightened. He rarely saw this side of you ever since you both got together, the frustration, the hurt, the coldness. "See, this is the problem," you continued, your voice rising. "When men find someone vulnerable enough to control, to fix, they get bored. Then they move on, find someone else to repeat the same damn cycle. Am I right?"

His mouth went dry. The words cut deep. But what hurt him the most was the thought that maybe... maybe you believed that.

He wasn’t asking for much, was he? Three meals with you, a cup of coffee, that was it. Simple things that made him feel like you cared. That made him feel loved. But you didn’t... or did you?

The silence between you two was deafening as he tried to process what you said.

"What are you talking about?" Arthur started, his frustration mounting. "See, this is why I don’t like when you and Molly-"

"Oh, no, no, no. Shush. Don’t you dare," you interrupted, your voice sharp, but there was a deep hurt behind it. "She’s always been right, Arthur. I was the dumb one. I’ve been working my ass off for you, and you didn’t even bother to say goodbye this morning, huh?"

Arthur froze, guilt beginning to gnaw at him. He wasn’t ready for this. "You know, I had a chance to leave this life, you know exactly who I’m talking about. But I didn’t. I chose you. But if I’m just gonna be sidelined like this? Nuh-uh. My ego doesn’t allow it. Nobody gets to disrespect me like that."

You took a deep breath, eyes blazing. "If you don’t want me anymore, then say it. Don’t play these stupid-ass games with me. I’m not Molly, not when it comes to this."

Arthur’s stomach dropped as the weight of your words settled in. He could feel the hurt radiating off of you, the betrayal that had built up. And now it made sense. Molly had probably warned you, just like she always did. He could almost hear her saying it a dozen times in the morning,

'Don’t let him treat you like that, they are all shit.'

"There is NOTHING like that, woman!" Arthur snapped, his voice rising in frustration. "Is that what this is about? You’re ready to just forget, hell, even think like this over a misunderstanding?"

"Call it whatever you want," you replied coldly, not backing down. "But not gonna lie, the pattern makes sense now, Arthur."

He took a step back, trying to steady his breath, forcing himself to calm down. "Don’t say that... c’mon. You know it’s not true! She’s like a sister to me! For God’s sake, how can you even think--"

Without another word, you grabbed his satchel, the leather creaking in your grip, and flipped it upside down. A book slid out and thudded onto the ground.

Arthur froze, his eyes darting to the book, then to the scattered contents of his bag. He watched, his heart sinking, as you threw the satchel aside in disgust. "Bravo," you muttered, the bitterness in your voice sharper than a knife.

"Don't even bother explaining. I’m tired." You began to walk away, but before you could get far, Arthur grabbed your wrist.

"Don't you dare, no way you’re... sleeping away from me." His voice started strong, then faltered into a desperate plea, but you didn’t turn around. With a sharp jerk, you freed your hand from his grasp and continued walking.

Arthur stood there for a moment, his breath heavy as he watched you leave. With a defeated sigh, he bent down to gather the scattered contents of his satchel. Tilly approached, offering to help, but he shrugged her off with a tired wave and handed the book over to Mary-Beth, who was standing a few feet away, her face filled with guilt and sadness. His hand lingered in his pocket for a moment, pulling out the cream he had meant to bring you, adding it to the pile with a sharp scoff.

His posture was slumped, his movements slow and burdened. He didn’t need to say anything, his body language alone was enough to tell Tilly, Mary-Beth, and anyone else watching that this sulking would last for days, and you... you weren’t someone who accepted apologies easily.

❀˖°

And that’s exactly what happened. Arthur waited every day, hoping you would just come, sit with him, and listen. He longed for you to let him explain, to sort things out, so he could hold you in his arms again. Dammit. He missed you at night like a child misses their favorite doll.

But you weren’t just any doll.

You were his doll.

And when it came to you, he was nothing but a man-child.

Everybody knew his routine, the gang enforcer's routine. Simple, predictable. Come back, chat a little, handle his business, talk and eat with you, then the tent flaps closed, just the two of you, a world away from the chaos of the camp.

But now?

Come back, brood in one corner, pace to another, sleep with the flaps wide open.

Arthur’s mood soured every time he saw you doing something that wasn’t just being with him. Chores, errands, anything that took you away, even for a moment, made him restless, agitated. He needed you with him, in the tent, with the flaps closed, where he could hold you, even if it was just in the silence of the night.

Every night, he asked you to come with him. But you ignored him. Yet, he kept asking, unable to stop the desperate hope that you’d return, that you’d see it the way he did.

"Damnit. Damn stubborn ass woman." He grumbled for what? The millionth time? Sighing he petted his horse as it trotted at a leisurely pace, just a few meters from camp. How the hell had it all gone so bad? What was even the point anymore? Are you happy now?

His horse huffed as if sensing his despair, nudging him gently, but Arthur barely acknowledged it. The familiar sound of the camp in the distance only served to remind him that nothing was the same anymore, not the meals, not the quiet talks, and certainly not the comfort of his cot. That's it. This ends tonight.

He is going to carry you over his shoulder if that takes you to talk to him. To hell with your protests and stubbornness.

You were crouched down, sorting through vegetables with Abigail, your hands busy with the task at hand.

It wasn’t long before you saw Molly moving quietly, eyes darting back and forth, heading toward the girls' area.

You knew Molly. You had spent enough time with her to understand that when her instincts kicked in, she often acted before she thought. There was an impulsive streak in her, a tendency to let her emotions guide her steps, and that could be dangerous. Especially now, when tensions were already high.

Without much thought, you excused yourself from Abigail, your voice quick and unsteady. “I’ll be right back.”

You left her with the vegetables and slipped away from the campfire, your steps light as you tried to stay out of sight. Moving quietly, you found a small, hidden spot behind a tent, where you could just make out the faint sounds of voices, though you couldn’t yet hear clearly what was being said. Your heart pounded in your chest.

"(Y/N) and I were so close, in fact, like sisters, but you ruined that too! I don’t know what you told her-" Mary-Beth’s voice cracked, and for the first time, it wasn’t the usual calm, polite tone she carried. There was raw emotion, maybe even a hint of fear, but more than that, it sounded like heartbreak.

"You did it! Just like you're trying to ruin my relationship with Dutch."

"Are you in your senses, Ms. Molly?!" Mary-Beth gasped, trying to defend herself. "How can you even think that?!"

The past few days, you couldn’t help but notice her glances at you, brief but meaningful. It was as if she was caught between wanting to reach out and not knowing if you’d welcome her presence. Her eyes would meet yours across the camp, filled with a mixture of concern and hesitation, as if she longed to approach, to console you, but the fear of intruding, of making things worse, kept her frozen in place.

You understood her hesitation. She was a kind soul, someone who cared deeply for those she loved, and in these tense moments, you knew she wasn’t sure how to navigate the space between you both. And neither did you try to clear the air.

"You and your pretty face are going to be your downfa-"

"Molly, enough." You stepped in, your voice firm. Molly turned to you, arms crossed over her chest, her face filled with frustration.

"(Y/N), don’t tell me you’re under her spell too, for God’s sake. She needs to get a reality check-"

"Molly," you interjected, stepping forward and gently taking hold of her arms. You guided her a few steps away from Mary-Beth, the tension between them thick. "Let me handle it, alright?"

"Don’t pity her, let me make that clear. Otherwise, you’ll be the one regretting it." Molly threw one last angry glance at Mary-Beth, shaking her head before storming off, muttering under her breath.

You stood there, a heavy sigh escaping you as you rubbed your forehead, watching Molly retreat. Turning back to Mary-Beth, who sat on the ground, you softened your expression. "I apologize on her behalf..." You couldn’t help but feel the weight of the situation. You knew you’d have to work hard to get Molly to let go of her anger, but that's for later.

"It's... alright, (Y/N)." Her voice croaked, and you didn’t miss the tremble in it, nor the quiet tears she tried to hide. Your gaze shifted to the book resting on the makeshift table in the corner. The one she had requested. You swallowed hard, a knot forming in your throat.

"You’re not reading it?" you asked, your voice gentle.

She looked up at you, shaking her head slowly. You could see the weight of her emotions pressing down on her, and it hurt to see her like this.

You walked over, picked up the book, and sat beside her. "Why not?" you asked softly. It caught her off guard, and for a moment, her eyes softened. She hesitated before returning the smile, albeit faintly, her sadness still lingering behind it.

"I am sorry... (Y/N), if you... if you misunderstood my actions, but I swear it’s nothing. There’s nobody else, except Mr. Morgan that we feel comfortable enough to ask for things... but if you mind it, then we won’t--"

"No. No. You can ask without hesitation, and I am sorry. I was quick to jump to... conclusions," you interrupted, your voice soft with regret. You hugged her, and she gladly returned the embrace. The warmth of her arms around you soothed the tension in your chest.

You placed the book gently in her lap and shifted your body closer, not wanting to break the moment. "I just... y'know... when I love someone, I do it fully. And I don’t tolerate when that gets disrespected, y'know? That’s one thing I will never forgive." Your voice trembled slightly, the depth of your feelings evident. "But anyway, do read it, and then we’ll have a chat about it. You know I love hearing you yap about your books more than reading them myself."

She chuckled softly, her eyes lighting up with a glimmer of her old self, and you watched her face brighten as she held the book. You stood up, feeling a sense of relief, but also a lingering desire to stay.

"Definitely. But for now, I must go work too, don’t want Susan to bury me alive."

"You better." As you were making your way back to the kitchen wagon, a figure stepped in your way.

"Am I forgiven too?" His voice was teasing, but his expression was genuine. You deadpanned, folding your arms.

"Ummmm... let me think about it," you replied with a mock thoughtful expression, your gaze narrowing slightly.

He mirrored your posture, folding his arms with a smirk. "Not fair, woman. Not fair."

"I never said I was." You gave him a pointed look before turning to walk past him.

As you continued your walk back to the kitchen wagon, you felt a lightness in the air, a shift that felt... right. Arthur, still a few steps behind you, watched you quietly with an almost childish pout. There was something about the way his gaze lingered on you that told you he was waiting, waiting for you to acknowledge it all, to say what neither of you had dared to say yet.

You stopped for a moment, as you placed the cutting board, and turned to face him. The sunlight caught the edges of his hair, giving him a softer, not to mention the dark circles, giving him a more vulnerable look than you’d seen before. There was no teasing now, no masks, just Arthur, looking at you like he was seeing you for the first time again.

"I’m sorry, too," you said softly, your voice almost a whisper. "For the things I said."

He took a step closer, his eyes never leaving yours. "I don’t like it either. I swear, I’d rather fight a hundred men than have you angry at me. But..." His hand reached out hesitantly, as though unsure whether he had the right to touch you, to pull you close. "I don’t know what I’d do without you. And I apologize too...for making you feel that way. But I swear it wasn't in my intention."

A warmth spread through your chest at his words. It wasn’t the grand gestures or flowery promises that touched you. It was the simplicity of it, the honesty in his voice, the vulnerability he rarely let show. "Well then let me tell you that," you whispered back, a soft smile tugging at your lips. "I’m not going anywhere."

With a relieved exhale, Arthur stepped forward, his arms wrapping around you firmly, pulling you into his chest. It was as though all the tension from before melted away, and in its place, there was just the comforting rhythm of his heartbeat against yours. "I love you," he murmured into your hair, the words so familiar now, but somehow more precious each time.

You nestled into his embrace, letting your worries fade for the moment, feeling a sense of peace settle over you. "I love you, too," you replied, your voice barely above a breath, but you meant it with everything you had.

"Y'know darlin'...I was very close to shootin' myself if I had to sleep on the cold bed any longer. It took strength to control myself and not drag you out-" You rolled your eyes and pulled away.

"Right, now go away, I have work to do."

"Absolutely not. To hell with these damn chores. You are coming with me."

You shot him a skeptical glance, hands on your hips as you paused in your tracks. "Really?" you said, raising an eyebrow.

A grin tugged at the corners of his lips as he stepped closer, his broad frame encroaching on your space. "What do you think, darlin'?" he teased, his hands coming up to cradle your face, nearly squishing it with playful force. He gave your head a gentle shake, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "It’s been too damn long. You’ve had me sleeping like a corpse for days. You cruel woman."

You tried to hold back the laugh that bubbled up in your chest, but his determination was infectious "Fine," you muttered, giving in more to his presence than anything else. He grinned, his hands reaching for you, pulling you effortlessly toward the flap of his tent.

"Atta girl." His voice held a triumphant edge, but it was softened with affection.

And finally, after days, the enforcer's tent flaps were closed at night--and so was the distance between you two.

(AN: Req/asks closed for now, guys :/ do keep in mind ur ideas and send once I'll announce them open)

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petit-papillion · 7 months ago

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The moment Charles crosses the finish line..

I've watched this like 10 times now, focusing on someone else each time and it just gets better and better. Arthur, Ale, Andrea... 🥹🥰

Monaco Grand Prix | 26 May 2024

🎥 Scuderia Ferrari

#I'm guessing it's maybe antoine filming #since arthur hugs him at the end #either way #cinematic gold #ferrari mechanics celebrate monaco win #alessandro fusaro #andrea ferrari #arthur leclerc #charles leclerc #monaco gp 2024

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dearstvckyx · 18 days ago

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───────────────────────

Riley Leclerc x TwinBrother!Charles Leclerc / YoungerBrother!Arthur Leclerc / F1 Drivers (angst/fluff ending)

───────────────────────

“We Got This”

The Las Vegas Grand Prix was supposed to be another race to chalk up experience, another step forward for Riley Leclerc in her Williams car (standing in for Alex Albon). But under the flashing lights of the Strip, chaos erupted in a split second.

Esteban Ocon had mistimed a move into Turn 3, clipping Riley’s rear wheel. The impact sent her spinning, helplessly colliding with Lando Norris, whose car smashed into hers like a missile. The radio went silent. Riley’s car was a crumpled mess in the middle of the track.

“Riley, are you okay? Riley, can you hear me?” her race engineer’s voice cracked through the radio. No response.

───────────────────────

When the helicopter lifted off, carrying Riley to the University Medical Center in Vegas, Arthur Leclerc sat on the tarmac, knees drawn to his chest, hands trembling. His older sister was somewhere up there, fighting, and he couldn’t do anything to help. His heart ached with an unrelenting weight.

“Come on, Ri,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “You’re stronger than this. We got this, okay? Breathe. Just breathe.” He stared at the sky, as if his words could reach her through sheer force of will.

───────────────────────

The paddock had erupted into chaos. Max Verstappen, Charles Leclerc, George Russell, Logan Sargeant, and Lewis Hamilton stormed into the Alpine garage where Esteban sat, guilt etched across his face.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Charles roared, shoving past George to get face-to-face with Esteban. “You could’ve killed her!”

“Charles,” Lewis placed a hand on his shoulder, trying to calm him down, though his own eyes burned with anger. “This isn’t how we handle it.”

“No, he needs to hear this!” Charles snapped, voice trembling. “That’s my sister out there! My twin!”

Logan’s voice cut through the shouting. “And Lando’s hurt too! You made a reckless move that put two people in the hospital!”

Esteban sat silently, shame consuming him, as Max shook his head and muttered, “Unbelievable.”

───────────────────────

At the hospital, Lando sat in a wheelchair, his arm in a sling, his leg wrapped in a brace. Despite his injuries, his focus was entirely on Riley.

“She’s going to be okay,” Lando said, more to himself than anyone else. “She has to be.”

Arthur paced the waiting room, muttering under his breath. “You’re not allowed to leave me, Ri. You hear me? You don’t get to do this.” He pressed his hands against his forehead, as if he could push away the fear clawing at his chest.

The entire F1 grid had gathered, their camaraderie evident even in the face of tragedy. Max leaned against a wall, arms crossed, his face filled with worry as he grew up with Riley and Charles, while Checo placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. Charles sat with Alexandra, her hand gripping his as tightly as she could and trying not to cry for her “sister”. George and Lewis were deep in conversation with the doctors, while Logan and Alex Albon passed water bottles around. Even Fernando Alonso, usually distant, looked visibly shaken.

When the doctor finally emerged, the room fell silent. Everyone standing.

“She’s stable,” the doctor announced. “The surgery went well. She’ll be okay, but it’ll be a long recovery.”

The collective sigh of relief was palpable.

───────────────────────

When Riley finally opened her eyes, the harsh white light of the hospital room stung, but the sight of Arthur sitting beside her made her heart ache in a different way. His head was resting on the edge of her bed, his hand gripping hers tightly.

“You’re really annoying, you know that?” Riley croaked, her voice weak but teasing.

Arthur’s head shot up, his red-rimmed eyes widening. “You’re awake.”

“No kidding.”

Tears spilled over as Arthur let out a shaky laugh. “Don’t ever scare me like that again.”

“I’ll try petit frère,” she whispered, squeezing his hand.

As the rest of the drivers filtered in, the room became a patchwork of laughter and relief. Lando, hobbling in with the help of Oscar, grinned through his pain. “Next time, Riley, maybe let me know before you try to kill me on track.”

Riley chuckled weakly. “Noted.”

Lewis leaned over, brushing her hair away from her face. “You gave us all a heart attack, kid.”

“Just keeping things interesting,” she replied, earning a collective groan from the room.

Charles sat on her other side, his hand never leaving hers. “You’re never driving again,” he muttered, though his voice was thick with emotion.

“Not happening,” she retorted.

Arthur laughed. “She’s back.”

And in that moment, surrounded by her twin, her team, and the entire F1 family, Riley felt the weight of their love. It didn’t matter how broken she was; together, they would piece her back together again.

Translate : petit frère - little brother

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vetteltea · 1 year ago

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Lando Norris and Putting Up Decorations [no warnings]

Day 1 of the Vetteltea Advent Calendar

“Mate, you just crossed me!” Alex’s voice shouts down the headphone set, a laugh erupting from the McLaren driver’s lips as he sees his fellow pilot cut off by none other than himself.

Lando’s down-time from the grand finale of Abu-Dhabi had lasted a grand sum of four days, three hours and twelve minutes before the boy was restless once more. He’d arrived home, seen his family, unpacked and washed his clothes in a fraction of the time it would usually take him. By the third day, he had called you at least seven times, begging for the company of his best friend- no, secret crush whom just so happened to be his best friend - and for your presence in Monaco.

The evening you had arrived, the driver was bouncing on the heels over his overpriced trainers. When he’d caught a minute glance of your face, sleep ridden and your body wrapped in comfortable traveling clothes, the excitement filtering through his body couldn’t be contained, rushing over to scoop you up, the squeal which released from your lips barely audible over his own laughter, spinning you around in circles before gently reminding him she does need to go and grab her suitcase.

He has it all planned out; a week of taking you to various lunching spots;, a few movie nights, maybe a catch-up with Max and Charles if you were feeling up to it. Most importantly, it was an entire week of being with you before you would fly home - together.

What Lando had completely forgotten about, was the promise he had made to Alex, George and Arthur about a joint livestream, speaking about their experiences throughout the year. He’d sheepishly explained the situation to you over breakfast, only feeling his heart soften when you promised him it was okay, you would keep yourself occupied for a few hours, anyway. He wasn’t sure what you meant, or where you were going, for that matter when pressing a soft kiss to his cheek and slipping out through the apartment door.

Engrossed deeply in his current driving battle, he hadn’t heard you return; it was just as well, your own phone connecting to the lounge speaker, gently playing Christmas music whilst unraveling the copious amount of decorations you’d obtained during your disappearance. After all, Lando had just moved into his new apartment and you were all-too-aware he had bought next to nothing with him. The least you could do was thank him by bringing some festive spirit into his home.

One song becomes two; two become seven as you freely move to the music, climbing onto the arm of your best friend's sofa, tongue poked out at an awkward angle as your arms reach, a desperate attempt to hang the garland across the gilded mirror. You’re certain you would have entirely lost your balance, probably slammed into the floor if not for the two arms around your waist, feeling a warm chest press against your back.

“You’re going to fall if you’re not careful.” He mumbles, keeping his grip around you firm whilst your heart caught up to your head; his arms were around your waist. Lando Norris was holding you. “I don’t want you to fall if I can’t catch you.”

Did he…did he mean to say that? Did he understand how your heart fluttered so deeply, how if not for the garland left in your grip, you’re almost certain you would have turned in his grasp and pressed your lips to his, to hell with the consequences. Wordlessly, you let his touch remain whilst stretching to hook the garland across the mirror, now secure in your balance with his helping hands. (Helping was a strong word. You’re fairly sure your heart was about to explode.)

Hands fall to your side, subconsciously leaning back into Lando’s touch. Both of you are quiet, simply looking up to take in the decorations. This time, it’s Lando to act on instinct, tilting his head slightly and pressing a gentle kiss to the temple of your forehead, lips lingering for a lot longer than would be considered friendly.

He hopes everyday. He hopes that one day the metaphorical penny will drop. Of course, you’re his best friend. There’s nobody he would trust more, who he would rather come to with his insane problems. Somewhere along the way, he had just so happened to fall in love with you. There’s the tiniest, most selfish part of him that wants nothing more than to lean forward there and then, tilt your chin and press your lips together.

‘Not right now.’ he reminds himself. ‘I can do better. I can make our first kiss better.’

The moment has to end; eventually your head leans forward, unraveling yourself from his warmth and stepping off the couch. He can’t help but let the grin fall to his face whilst seeing you weave inbetween decorations, beelining towards the kitchen.

“I picked up hot chocolate!” You draw him from his internal thoughts. “If you help me with the last few pieces, I'll make you one?”

“You had me at Hot Chocolate.”

#Lando Norris #LN4 #Lando Norris x Reader #Lando Norris Imagine #Lando Norris One Shot #Lando Norris x You #Reader Insert #F1 #Formula 1 #F1 x Reader #Lando Norris Blurb #Lando Norris x Y/N

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mediocre-stoned-dragon · 6 months ago

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“It is illegal to lie to your king, Merlin!”

A flustered King Arthur stood up; huffing, he pushed his palms into the wooden table. His hair was a mess, an afterthought of a late morning. He blew on his bangs in an attempt to get them out of his face. His glare was pointed at none other than his doting husband, an equally irate sorcerer, who had also had too little sleep and too little time to get dressed.

His aforementioned doting husband, Merlin, crossed his arms, puffing up his chest. Many years ago, one may have been fooled into thinking him a twink. Now, he had developed into a fit young man- and Arthur’s eyes were twitching with the instinct to admire the swell of his chest- or his neck, which was on display. The slut decided to forego his neckerchief at a council meeting? How was he supposed to pay attention-?

Neither of them would be so angry if someone hadn’t decided to be romantic, and irresponsible, and wax poetic about the luxuries of sensuality and whatever nonsense had put his dick on a soapbox-

They’d only been married for two months.

“Arrest me then, my lord.”

The grand populace of Camelot had by now determined that whenever Merlin said ‘my lord’, he surely meant it in the most derogatory and insulting manner one could possibly imbue a title, and so had Arthur. Miraculously, it appeared even the dullest of men could learn.

Our king flushed red, shaking as if preparing to launch himself across the table. Once he got to Merlin? Well, a king doesn’t give up his battle tactics.

Sir Gwaine whistled low, seated haphazardly on a chair, leaned back so as to rest his weight on a pillar. This was his favourite part of these meetings.

“That’s kinky,” he commented, helpfully. It was, decidedly, kinky, given Arthur’s mind had immediately gone to the gutter. Some of the older council members turned to the knight, their mouths agape.

Sir Leon, in all his ancient glory, was one of them. He turned immediately back to the royal couple.

“Everyone, please,” he held out his open hands, “Can we let Lord Ermit continue with the tax accounts?”

#merthur #ao3 #fanfic #merlin #bbc merlin #crack #married merthur #gwaine supremacy #leon the long suffering #he’s keeping the round table together #because the newlyweds are functionally useless rn

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bitin-and-barkin · 6 months ago

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Loving Someone

What would the healing process be like after your so-called death?

Warnings: Arthur Morgan x Reader, Gender neutral reader, mostly just filler and going into the mind of Arthur, he's so goddamned anxious, paranoid too, tw: talks of suicide, execution, death, and other bad stuff, no smut, mostly just arthur having a mental break, probably out of character, he's starting to go yandere, tw: yandere-esque behaviour

READ MORE UNDER THE CUT + Pt 3 to another story, Pt 1 here, Pt 2 here

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Arthur had lost people before.

When Eliza and Isaac had first died, he was only able to ever see their graves. Already buried, a cross put up. One moment they were there, and the next?

They were gone.

When he lost his Pa, he was young. Small and feeble. Sitting in the crowd, silently attending his own father's execution.

His Pa hanged him in front of him.

He wasn't sure how to react when it happened. Whenever someone was hanged there was always someone crying at the stands or nobody there who knew them well enough to weep for them.

But when he looked at his dad, there wasn't much of a father there to mourn. Just bits and pieces of one.

When his Mama died, he wasn't there to see it. Only the aftermath. Her throat leaking red, and her eyes glossed over. A certain shade of purple on her neck and face. The sun shone off her blood like something holy was done.

He was much younger at that time, so he didn't really understand what happened. Death, that is. Nobody had ever bothered to explain it to him. It had always been a part of his life.

In the wolves howling at night, mauling a buck, leaving its insides on its outsides and in the sunlight to rot.

In the knobby, motionless, dogs on the side of the streets and in the quiet, grey toned graveyard in town.

So he could tell that something was wrong. He just didn't have a name for it.

He could see it though.

That there was some sort of new emptiness inside of her.

He had always carried that emptiness with him. An unspoken thing, it was the burden he bore.

People had come and gone. As time passed, it grew bigger and bigger.

And so he filled it with money, and heists, and grand plans and demands from others.

Alcohol and blood, his own and others among other things.

As he got older whenever he thought back to his mother he wondered if she really birthed a baby boy and not just a hole that would never fill.

Always wanting more and more.

Always hungry, swallowing everything down. Every complaint and request, finishing them. Handing it to them on a silver platter.

Never spitting anything out, but always coming back when others' plates are full.

Nobody ever really said anything. It was convenient. Having a yes man, a loyal one, a Johnny on the spot.

You had realized this behavior a long time ago. He's always choking on his food but saying he could handle more.

But when you walked in, for once he was full.

For once he was loved.

And although he wasn't made for intimacy, nothing was able to take that away from him.

During the day he could feel your love underneath his fingernails and in the clothes that you sewed up for him and in the bird songs you'd always stop to listen to.

You were always a constant for him. He loved you like a fire loved its hearth. With enough love to make it home.

You gave him life.

And he knew he didn't deserve his.

He knew he wasn’t a good man.

There was always a hope that some way the bad inside of him would be able to serve the good inside of you.

And that maybe one day he could make himself worthy of being in love with you.

He always cared for you in the only way he knew how.

With bruised knuckles and busted lips,

Slow dancing into the night with you and the blood in his mouth.

Acting and your sweet darling and as your perfect killer and as your rotten soldier.

Doing it all if it all meant you would still smile at him in the mornings and nights.

Doing it all if it meant you would fill that void inside of him and stop it from swallowing him whole.

You had grown used to it.

He was protective, that was it.

He was the protector. Doing the sinned slaughter that would save the people.

And you couldn't say you didn't appreciate being prized by him.

Prized more than anything else in the world.

But this? This was something entirely new.

You didn't know much about loving others, your life hadn't afforded you it, and neither did Arthur.

But you knew this wasn't what love was supposed to be like.

Acting like a wild animal in a way. Backed into a corner by life itself.

1 week in and Arthur had practically snarled at Sean when he tried to drag him away from your bedside to a job.

2 weeks in and he had bashed a couple of Bill's teeth in for making a joke about you.

Commenting about how your love seemed to be one only made so you could lick each other's wounds.

He called it unsightly. The blood on his face afterwards wasn't too pretty either.

The way he was acting proved his point, though. Like everyone was your enemy and the entire world was too, too much.

He was finding his vices in you.

Only you.

Not in the normal way, the way a woman would look for her wife at the end of the day.

It wasn't in the sex or the looks or the meaningless chatter or even the comforting familiarity.

It was the edges of your fingertips, and in the rasp in your voice.

It seemed to be just you in its entirety.

Like a breath of fresh air.

The point is, a month had passed since you came back. You were healing. Arthur wasn't.

And now you had a problem.

You wanted to get back to jobs. Sure, it was a bit early. There was a odd ache in your arms here and there and when you bent over, you swear there would still be a phantom feeling of blood and Guarma Rum dripping down your back.

It was the O'Driscolls favorite after all.

But mostly, you were healed. Dutch had even cleared you for the smaller jobs. You knew, he knew, everybody in camp knew.

Except Arthur. Except him.

Approachable wasn't the way to describe him.

At least for anybody but you.

He had killed hundreds over the years in the name of Dutch's ideals.

But you were always so soft in his arms despite it all.

You trusted him.

But you're not sure if he trusted you.

With this, in specific. With your life.

You weren't sure how he'd react when you approached.

It was nearing 11 PM when you finally came.

Wolves howling at the moon miles away, people singing and swaying at the campfire after a long day.

Arthur was among them.

You told him you wanted to meet him there, that you needed to finish something up.

In reality you just needed a moment to think of a way to do something impossible.

To convince him that you were okay.

He was sitting there waiting for you.

You quietly walked over.

He was drinking at the campfire, his leg bouncing up and down. Trying to play it cool, but you could see through it. He was getting antsy.

Best not to keep him waiting.

Sitting next to him, he softly smiled the moment he saw you.

A quiet smile, one that only you could fish out of him.

Only you.

Placing his hand on and over yours.

Carving his fingers between yours.

He didn't say anything as he did. It was second nature.

"Arthur."

His eyes flicked towards yours, turning away from the campfire.

"Hm?"

You breathed out.

The smog from the campfire still dancing in the air.

"How are you?"

"I feel fine." He hummed. He seemed satisfied with you by his side.

You smiled.

"Good." He slung his arm over your shoulder, pulling you in just a little bit closer.

You guys talked for a little bit. About your days, what you did.

It was nothing exciting, but it meant the world to him.

His head was filled with honey. You words lazily coating his brain, sinking him into the ground as everything else faded into background noise.

Just you and him.

"I just wanted to tell you that I'm going on jobs again."

Now? His thoughts ran silent.

His lips pursed, cutting off his breath. He looked around camp.

It was such a quick difference, like lightning and thunder. A crackle through the air. Nervous electricity still coursing around.

Scanning the area with his eyes for he didn't know what. A reason, maybe.

Everybody was still laughing at little nothings, but it felt like they were jeering at him.

He turned his eyes back to you. He was nervous, that was to be expected. Just tell him you would be fine, and he would be fine too.

Except it wasn't that simple.

"Why?"

You raised your eyebrows at this. He kept talking, never meeting your gaze.

"You don't need to go out, especially not so early after you got back,"

He nervously chuckled.

"I mean, is Dutch really nagging you that much?"

You weren't sure how to tell him you brought it up to Dutch.

Stuttering over his words, he kept talking.

"Do we really need money that much?"

"I heard of this stagecoach up near Flatneck Station, from what I've seen it's always something expensive they're carrying. Could make an easy pretty penny for us, real easy."

"Just yesterday you were tellin' me that your back hurts, and we're still changin' out your bandages every single day."

"You really oughta just stay here. Really."

His head was turned away. He has stopped talking after he kept stumbling over his words. His voice changing into meaningless hums.

Thoughts running through his head like an electrical current. Or maybe more like a bullet in the barrel of a frictionless gun.

You placed your hand on his shoulder, trying to comfort him.

At any other time he would've muttered something sweet but clever or placed his hand back on yours and pulled you forward into his arms.

But now his head shot back like it was an order.

Looking at you, his face was indescribable.

Wild eyed. Ashamed of something.

Afraid even.

You were scared. You were both scared.

Was something more or less scary if you were next to someone who was equally as afraid walking into it?

You couldn't imagine all the bad things that could happen. Having to walk into a town of Raiders and Outlaws.

You weren't fragile.

You were scared, but..

It was like an open wound for you at this point. Painful and gaping, but slowly healing.

You still suffered for it every day, an ache at the back of your head. But you were healing, making good, no great process.

You were talking and walking and had come so far from before.

He had pushed you to stay home while healing, tearing others a new one for trying to even just put you on guard. Looked like he was gonna have a heart attack when you were "straining your back" by just carrying hay.

Looking into his eyes now, there was something new in them. Confusion. Abandonment. Hurt.

He didn't understand why you were doing this.

You were moving past it.

You knew he loved you but,

Why did it still seem like the entire world to him?

You brushed your hands against his stock-still face as he stared far past your gaze.

Was he okay?

"Are you okay?"

He didn't say anything.

There was a certain ringing in his ears as you spoke. More like a flatline than anything.

He was silent. Didn't respond.

But what was he supposed to tell you?

He knew he was overreacting, that he was being dramatic and controlling but he couldn't shake the feeling that...

How was he supposed to tell a knife there was nothing funny about spilling blood?

He didn't see any blood but he could feel himself bleeding.

His grip on his pants tightened. He tried to drag the conversation away, simply saying you guys could talk about it in the morning. That you were both tired. That you could discuss it with a clear head later.

You seemed hesitant at best. You said there was nothing to talk about later. Almost seeming confused.

For 6 months he couldn't bear the idea of you being dead. And so many times he woke up he prayed this day would be the last. So many times he stared at the gun, the knife, the rope. Sitting by your tent waiting for you to show up like old times.

You were going to be fine. You were going to be fine on your own. Weren't you?

Were you?

It was irrational, really. Overdramatic, stupid, a million other labels. Primal, even.

He could not make you understand. He couldn't make anybody else understand what he was feeling whenever he saw you. He couldn't even understand it himself.

What was he supposed to say? That he never could've done anything he did without you? That he'd never forsake you? That he needed you to support him? That you were the only person in his entire life that loved him? That you were his only friend? That he only loved you? That he didn't know how to love you in a way that mattered? That he didn't know how to love you in a way that made sense? That he didn't love himself?

How was he supposed to say he never understood intimacy or lust until he met you? That he had never felt want like how he wanted your skin against his?

Like how he had never felt fear like he did now, now that you were pulling away from him?

What was he supposed to say to you?

It was stupid, only a fool, a real fool would feel like this.

But all his insecurities were swallowing him whole and it felt like you were proving every wrong thing about him right.

You were the dull blade that he twisted inside himself. Keeping a wound from closing but keeping it clogged at the same time.

The only thing stopping his guts from spilling onto the ground.

But his guts were already contained in that cabin where he found your finger, when you first went to that stupid parley, when he cried in Hosea's arms after you left him.

He didn't understand why he was so afraid. It was fear then anger then bared teeth at anybody who approached.

Like a body hitting the ground, like a rat running a maze.

It all had to end eventually. You were gonna leave him eventually.

All alone again, with a dying father and a killing leader and a lucky brother who he hated yet loved.

Alone again.

He knew time had to pass. That his time was long gone, that yours was going down with his soon.

Hand in hand.

So soon.

But why did it have to be so soon?

And why did it have to be you?

He sharply swallowed. He was looking at the floor now. He doesn't remember himself turning his head down.

Dipping down, almost as if to cry.

Your hand was still on his shoulder. You quietly repeated your question.

He silently nodded.

Patting him on the shoulder, you stood and walked away. Telling him to get some sleep.

As you stepped and staggered, he could see a limp in your walk.

He desperately wanted to get up. To tell you something, anything that'd get you to change your mind.

But he was frozen in place. People were still talking and laughing like the world hadn't just collapsed in on him.

Classical music wafted out of Dutch's tent. He turned his gaze to it. It was still lit up, the flaps still open.

He silently stood up and began walking towards it, almost as if in a trance.

You weren't going on any jobs.

You weren't well enough.

He knew that. And he was going to make sure Dutch knew of that too.

So the results on my last poll were pretty split down the middle, so I'm doing both of them. He'll run away with you soon, dw. Prolly kill Colm while he's at it. Sorry for taking so long, I was buzy🙏 rise and grind brothers

@photo1030

#rdr2 #rdr2 x reader #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #male yandere #rdr2 x you #gender neutral y/n #gender neutral reader #arthur morgan rdr2 #rdr2 arthur #arthur morgan x you #yandere arthur morgan #x reader #yandere x you #tw yandere #yandere x reader

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