#not really but the people (me) know what the people (me) want
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Knock You Down a Peg or Two
Pairing: Husband!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader
Summary: Someone learns the hard way that it's a bad idea to upset Bucky's wife.
Word Count: Over 1.5k
Warnings: Established relationship, violent threats (not against the reader), protective vibes, implied sexy times, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).
A/N: I'm in a mood, lovelies. We can consider this in the same universe as Mr. and Mrs. Barnes and Handsome and Beautiful. â¤ď¸ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!
Bucky was no longer the Winter Soldier. He told himself every day he wasn't a cold killer anymore. He did his best to make amends and worked hard to clear his name. From time to time though, people pushed his buttons and got under his skin. You helped him brush it off. Their opinions didn't matter at the end of the day, only yours.
You mattered to him more than anything else. So, if someone bothers him, yeah, he could let it go. Someone upsetting you? He wouldn't stand for it.
Bucky's eyes narrowed as he spotted the little weasel sitting at the table in the break room alone. A few hours ago, you called him to vent about how this guy repeatedly tried to make you look bad in front of your superior during a meeting. It wasnât the first time either. Your tears of frustration were obvious by your tone on the other end, though you tried to hide them. You worked hard, harder than anyone else he knew, and you took your job seriously.
He saw red when he heard you sniffle and it was the only color he had seen since then.
âGive me his name.â
âBucky, no,â you had argued. âThe guyâs a prick and I just needed to vent, so you donât-â
âPlease, baby,â he whispered, knowing full well you could handle yourself, but you were his wife and someone took joy out of your day. Not just that, they made you cry. He took this personally and he wanted to defend you. âJust give me his name so I can take care of it.â
You softly gave him the name, and he made it a priority to find the asshole. It didnât take him long. No one even questioned why he was asking. It mustâve been his âmurder strutâ and glare. You once said it could break even the strongest of people.
He headed toward the empty chair beside the agent, careful not to make a sound. His stealth assisted with that. Once he reached the chair though, he made it a point to scrap the chair across the floor to get the prick's attention. The annoyance in his eyes quickly shifted to fear when he realized who he was looking at.
Good. He hoped he pissed his pants.
He made a show of slipping off his leather jacket before taking a seat, making sure the agent got a good look at his metal arm. He also made a show of getting one of his knives out, one you gifted him. âI think we can skip the introductions since you know who I am and I really don't give a shit who you are,â he began, his voice low as he twirled the knife between his fingers. âBut I understand you know my wife and, well, sheâs the reason Iâm here.â
The guy blinked when Bucky made eye contact, the blade still expertly weaving in his hand. âS-Sure. Everyone knows your wife.â
Bucky smiled softly, taking a second to glance at his wedding band. âIâm usually not one to brag, but I canât help it when it comes to her. She works hard and deserves all the praise she gets, but sheâs still humble. Appreciative. Loyal,â he boasted, still smiling before he glared again. âSheâd never throw anyone under the bus, especially in front of a superior.â
The little weasel cleared his throat, sitting up a bit straighter in his chair. He seemed to notice for the first time that they were the only two people there. âLook, I donât know what your wife said, but-â
Bucky pointed the blade at him. âI would think very carefully about what comes out of your mouth next,â he snarled, his eyes as cold as ice.
There was a beat of silence as the guy squirmed in his seat and averted his gaze. Bucky wished you were there to see it. And Steve and Sam. âI may have run my mouth a bit. I just wanted to knock her down a peg or two, you know? She keeps getting promoted andâŚâ he swallowed when Buckyâs eyes narrowed to slits. If this fucker even thought about implying that you slept your way to get where you were today, he may actually cut his throat. âPlease, don't kill me.â
The silence after that statement may have been uncomfortable for some, but Bucky didnât break a sweat. No, he was just thinking of all the different ways he could put him in the hospital for even thinking he had a right to put you down. Putting the knife away, he slowly got to his feet. âGet up,â he said quietly, flexing his hands in intimidation.
âFuck.â The man nearly knocked his chair over as he stood. âListen, Iâm sorry,â he blurted out, putting his hands out in front of him. âIâll apologize to her first thing tomorrow, I swear.â
âYou think that makes up for it? And are you sorry for trying to make her look bad or are you sorry that youâre under my radar now?â Buckyâs stare remained steady as he knocked his chair out of the way, the piece of furniture nearly splintering when it hit the wall. âEveryone knows what I'm capable of, but do you know what happens to people who upset. My. Wife?â
Bucky refused to say that you cried. The asshole might take that as a sign of victory and he wouldnât give him any sort of win. He didnât deserve it. He didn't deserve to be in the same space as you.
The guyâs mouth parted as he took a few steps back on shaky legs. âI-It wonât happen again! I swear!â
âNo, it won't, but how about I cut your tongue out so you canât run your mouth again? Maybe pull out your teeth, too?â Bucky knocked the table away next as he advanced. âOr how about your eyes so you wonât look at her either. Hell, Iâll settle for taking your arm. Weâll match.â
The man let out what sounded like a whimper, his teeth nearly chattering from his fear. Scaring people had given him nightmares, haunted him, but it fueled his fire when he terrified anyone in your honor. âI wonât bother her ever again! Iâll tell my boss she deserves another promotion! I'll transfer! You have my word! Iâm sorry!â
Bucky laughed after a moment, a bitter, chilling sound before he held up a hand. âIâm just fucking with you.â
His eyes were still wide with fear. âW⌠What?â
âI was just trying to scare you a little. You should see the look on your face,â Bucky chuckled again, lightly smacking the guyâs cheek. âListen, you donât have to transfer and Iâm not going to torture you. Just apologize to my girl and weâre good, okay?â
âOkay.â He let out a breath and chuckled, too. âYou really wonât torture me?â
âNo, I wonât,â he grinned, grabbing his shoulders. âBut I will knock you down a peg or two.â
The prick didnât see the headbutt coming, but he felt it before he hit the ground. Bucky knew heâd feel it in the morning, too. He got off lucky.
âYou know, after you apologize to my wife, I hope you do stay so you can see her continue to thrive,â Bucky toed the guyâs body with his boot. âAnd speaking of, I need to go buy her some flowers, chocolate, and wine. She deserves it.â
Grabbing his jacket from the broken chair across the room and brushing it off, he whistled as he left the room. He waited until he was a good distance away to call. You picked up on the second ring.
âHey.â You sounded much better than you did earlier. âSo, whatâs the damage?â
âHey, baby,â he smiled. âI headbutted the prick. And before you ask, my head feels great.â
The former assassin may get suspended for that and damaging the table and chair, but he doubted the asshole would have the balls to speak up about what happened.
âBuckyâŚâ you sighed. You were probably pinching the bridge of your nose. âWhat am I gonna do with you?â
âYouâre gonna let me eat you for dessert when I get home,â he smirked. Not that he needed an excuse to dive between your legs, but he'd take any chance he had. âFigure I'll give you at least two orgasms before dinner.â
âIs that right, Mr. Barnes?â
âThat is right, Mrs. Barnes.â
The sound of your giggle spread warmth through his chest. Your happiness was his happiness. âBetter not keep me waiting,â you teased, pausing for a beat. âThank you.â
âNothing to thank me for,â he said. You always stuck up for him without question.
âLove you.â
His heart swelled more. âLove you, too.â
Heâd have some more explaining to do once he got home and would probably have to pay for the damage he caused. He was also sure that you were plotting the demise of the manâs career and would tell him that he didnât need to do anything, but he wanted to. He was no longer the Winter Soldier.
But he was your husband and heâd defend you with his life, no matter what.
Violence isn't the answer, but this is fanfiction and we all deserve a loving Bucky. â¤ď¸ Love and thanks for reading! â¤ď¸
Masterlist â Bucky Barnes Masterlist â Ko-Fi
#navybrat writes#bucky barnes#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x female reader#bucky barnes x f!reader#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes x y/n#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes fanfic#bucky barnes fic#bucky barnes imagine#james buchanan barnes#sebastian stan#james bucky barnes#the winter soldier#husband!bucky barnes#sebastian stan x reader#bucky x reader#bucky x female reader#bucky fanfic#bucky imagine#x reader#james bucky buchanan barnes#mr. and mrs. barnes#winter soldier#winter soldier x reader#bucky fic#bucky x you
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I think it's crazy how Trans misogyny is not exclusive to trans women, this is not a post downplaying how we are the biggest victims of this by a vast overwhelming majority, it's a post talking about how people of color are often masculanized and their features are often seen as less feminine and how that REALLY affects everybody. I'm speaking as a white trans woman, repeating what my black Trans boyfriend has told me about his experience. Back in the day when he still identified as a woman he, has been targeted and harassed by people who hate Trans women; calling him a "dumb ugly tranny", refusing to recognize him as a woman, which obviously at the time really fucking sucked. He is AFAB and my point here is this. Trans women like me, white trans women will never have to deal with having my racial features hypermasculanized, but a black Trans girl? She is the biggest victim in all of this, and it is heart breaking and something I never see talked about on this website. The level of oppression, "gender denial" Trans black women face is scary and it is something always overlooked and dismissed. Trans black women are virtually invisible in our society, art and face the worst oppression. Black lives are beautiful. And worth caring for and protecting, and talking about like any other life. I obviously can never understand or face the same kind of oppression, but you know what I can do. I can say that I love you and care about you and I want you to live and go out there and be yourself. Without you we would not be where we are today, and our queer rights in large part are brought to us by the black women who fought for us. I can support black people and listen to black people and try to understand the biases I picked up over the years of being raised in white supremacist society. Please if you are black it is so important that you exist and it is so important that you create. Put yourself out there, make things, make yourself visible, even if people pretend you don't exist. Please make it all about you.
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Hi Jade! Can I request Spencer and Nurse!reader? Maybe they meet when heâs wounded/sheâs patching him up?
(Yes Iâm a nursing student I promise we arenât all mean girls đ)
ty for requesting!! ik ur not all mean of course!!<3 âyou meet the cutest FBI agent ever and tend his wounds. fem, 1.5k
One of the small pleasures of your job is when the patients are cute. Not many people come through as handsome as this one. Youâre professional nonetheless.Â
âWhat am I seeing you for today?â you ask, holding your hands behind your back.Â
Your patient, charted as a Dr. Spencer Walter Reid, twenty nine years old, gives you a tentative smile. âSomeone hit me really hard.âÂ
You can see the bruise forming against his temple. âYes, Iâd say so. Did you know the assailant?âÂ
âNo, but itâs handled.â His smile turns to a grimace. âUh, I get these, like, debilitating migraines, and I feel like I have one coming on.â
âA head injury could trigger that,â you agree, holding your hands out in front of you, little torch in hand. âCan I have a look?â you ask softly.Â
When youâve been a nurse for some time, you start to categorise people into boxes. All kinds of boxes for different things, but Spencer Reid gets a tick for a few things straight away: shy, pretty, and sensitive to touch. He must not get touched much, or heâs had a bad experience with strangers. He did just get hit in the head, you allow, brushing a sweet, mousy curl away from his head and holding it out of the way as you shine a light into each of his eyes. He flinches hard, but his pupils react as expected.Â
Whoever hit him managed to break the skin, upon closer infection of the injury. The skin has turned purple at the edges of his cut. Itâll be a big bruise in just a few hours.Â
âSpencer, please tell me if I hurt you, honey,â you say, voice still soft. If heâs got a migraine coming, he wonât want your usual overloud distinction.Â
âItâs okay. It hurts, but not more or less when you poke it.âÂ
âYou have a laceration, yeah? Itâs about three centimetres long, but deep. I can close it with a butterfly stitch, if youâre okay with that.âÂ
âYeah, please. Um, about the migraineââ
âDo you want a tramadol, honey? I think you deserve one.âÂ
âI canât have narcotics.âÂ
You pull back and straighten the hair youâd displaced. âThatâs okay, it just means you canât have the strongest stuff. Most people try to avoid them anyhow. How about tylenol, would that be alright? Or do you avoid painkillers in general?âÂ
âTylenol is fine as long as it doesnât have the codeine with it.âÂ
You give him a gentle nod. âIâll make sure itâs the right one. You can even see the bottle, if you like. Would you want them before or after the stitch?â He probably knows, but you add, âItâs not a real stitch. But it might feel tender when Iâm poking around.âÂ
âAnything. Whatever you want to do first.âÂ
His eyes squeeze closed. You give him a frown he canât see, and rest your hand on his arm. âIs there someone here with you?â you ask him.
âMy friend is coming, I think. There was a lot going on.âÂ
âThatâs okay. Iâm not sending you home until Iâve fixed you, Dr. Reid.âÂ
He smiles, even with his eyes closed, but doesnât say anything more. You wash your hands and find your bandages. A butterfly bandage, a sterile wipe, and a square piece of gauze to cover it cleanly. His eyes are opening again when you return, ushering him gently down the bed so you can sit on his right side near the injury.Â
âWhat do you do for work?â you ask him.Â
âI work for the FBI.âÂ
âYou do?â You tear open the sterile wipe and again pull the curls from his forehead. âThis might sting. Please tell me if it hurts too much.âÂ
âItâs not the cut that hurts.âÂ
âIâm sorry,â you say sympathetically. Migraines are a tricky business. If heâs already having one, you probably canât do much to get rid of it, but that doesnât mean pain relief wonât help. âIâll do this as quickly as I can.âÂ
Heâs quiet. You wipe around the laceration with careful, concise movements. The cut looks clean enough when youâre done, and itâs so small you wonât irrigate it.Â
âAre you an agent?â you ask.Â
âYeah. Special supervisory with the BAU. The, uh, behavioural analysis unit.âÂ
âOh, I know,â you say, putting the wrapping and the dirtied wipe into your cardboard bowl. âI think Iâve seen it on TV sometimes, you guys can track the serial killers and stuff?âÂ
âMostly that, yeah. Uh, sometimes we find trafficking rings or missing kids. Sometimes we manage hostage situations. It depends on the level of the crisis.âÂ
âSo youâre the big gun.âÂ
âI guess so. Iâm not actually good with a gun.âÂ
âNo one has to be good with a gun to change the world.â You pull the butterfly stitch from the packaging and pick at a finicky end. âI hate guns.âÂ
He sighs. âI do, too.âÂ
âThey make my job hard. Itâs not nice, seeing what they can do to people. Itâs awful, really. Spencer, Iâm so sorry, honey, Iâm just gonna put this on here, it might feel uncomfortable as I pull the sides together.âÂ
âItâs okay.âÂ
You pull the plastic of the butterfly stitch on both sides, cinching his cut together promptly. It looks better now you canât see the inside.Â
âIâm gonna cover this with the dressing now. You donât have to keep it on if you donât want to, itâs a pretty small cut, it was just deep. Iâd recommend you try to keep it dry for two days, really, you should keep it covered, but itâs up to you. And if anything happens, if it gets infected, you can always come see me again.âÂ
Youâre mildly flirting, then. Just because heâs nice and shy. It might be a little cruel of you to proposition a man when heâs roughed up, though.Â
Spencer, luckily, understands that youâre not trying to harass him. âThank you.âÂ
You stand, peeling the plastic from the bandaid and exposing the sticky backing. Slowly, you stroke his hair back from the wound and line the bandaid up. He shivers under your nails.Â
âSo sorry,â you say, laughing under your breath, âitâs my nails, huh?âÂ
âItâs okay.âÂ
âYouâre a great patient, Spencer. Iâd give you a sticker if I could, Iâm not kidding.âÂ
âYouâre a great nurse.âÂ
âThank you.â You smooth the edges of the bandaid down for good measure and step away from him to assess him. âHowâs that migraine?âÂ
âGetting worse.âÂ
âYou have them often, you said? Treated or untreated?âÂ
âPsychosomatic, apparently.âÂ
âOh, honey, Iâm sorry. Has your doctor talked to you about CBT?âÂ
âSome. I donât really⌠want it,â he says awkwardly.Â
âThatâs okay. If itâs psychosomatic as they believe, it might get better with time. Howâs the stress in your life?â
âStressful.âÂ
âIt must be hard, the FBI, everything. Life is hard enough. Stopping serial killers must weigh on your heart.â You smile carefully. âWas there anything else you wanted to bring to my attention? Any other injury, anything that needs urgent care?âÂ
âI was mostly worried I had a concussion.âÂ
âIt doesnât seem like it. Youâre not nauseous, are you?âÂ
âNo, I donât think so.âÂ
He gets this awful, sad look on his face, it really isnât nice to see. People come in by themselves all the time but it never gets easier to handle.Â
âAre you alright?â you ask, taking his arm into your hand.Â
âIâm fine.âÂ
He had the look of someone whoâs always fine. Luckily for him, itâs your job to take care of people, to make sure theyâre more than fine. âOkay. Iâm gonna get you something warm to drink. Do you like donuts?âÂ
âUhââ
âIâm getting a feeling about you. Chocolate frosting, I bet.âÂ
He smiles, startled and pleased at once. âYeah.âÂ
âOkay, Iâm gonna get those for you. A drink, a donut, and some much needed Tylenol. You can lay down if you like.âÂ
He nods but doesnât move.Â
As youâre leaving the room, you cross paths with a handsome man with dark skin and a bright smile. Must be something in the air today, you think.Â
âReid, you okay?â you hear him say.Â
âFine.âÂ
âYouâre pink.âÂ
âWhat?âÂ
âYouâre blushing. Oh, you had the pretty nurse, didnât you?âÂ
âShut up,â Spencer whispers sharply.Â
âYou can ask for her number.âÂ
âNo I canât, sheâs working.âÂ
âBut you want to,â his friend surmises.Â
You bite down a smile, giving your head a shake as you go. You need to get a move on. Spencer needs a hot drink, a donut, Tylenol, and a pen. It should be okay if youâre both feeling up to it, right?
#spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x you#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x fem!reader#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid oneshot#spencer reid scenario#spencer reid drabble#spencer reid fic#spencer reid fanfiction
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TWO MOONS - L.HS
pairing. plug!heeseung x reader
genre. smut, 18+ content, one shot, drabble. MDNI!
word count. 4k+
warnings. drug & alcohol consumption, partying, swearing, sex while intoxicated, short smut [ dry humping, multiple orgasms, oral (f. receiving), fingering ]
synopsis. based off of this hard thought! plug!heeseung who likes you so much that he's convinced himself that you're kinda evil.
a/n. sorry this took so long lol hope u enjoy regardless :) no part 2 so plss dont request it but maybe some drabbles!! also not fully proofread so pls disregard any typos or grammatical errors hehe
Never in his life did Heeseung predict heâd be getting bitched around by a girl arguably much shorter, physically weaker, and far less intimidating than him. And yet here he was, shirtless in his kitchen at two in the morning on his third attempt of baking edibles all because you were too scared to smoke a little weed.Â
Fucking ridiculous.
Itâs his own fault, really, he shouldâve known that innocent, good girl persona you put on was all an act you use to control people â specifically men. Stirring the dessert batter in the mixing bowl, Heeseung shakes his head at the memory of you tilting your head and batting your eyelashes at him as you spoke, your perfectly manicured nails â that you probably got some desperate bitchboy to pay for â tracing and lightly scratching his bicep.
âSo,â you started, dragging out the âoâ, âhow much do you charge for edibles?â
Heeseung shakes his head, tracing the rim of his half-empty red solo cup as he responds, âEdibles arenât my forte. You donât smoke?â
âNot my forte,â you say in a mocking tone, making Heeseung chuckle. âItâs just too much, you know? The smell, how quick it kicks inâŚnot for me. But, uh, if you donât make them Iâll stop wasting your time, then.â You give Heeseung a friendly pat on the shoulder before turning on your heels, fully prepared to disappear back into the party and find someone who actually meets your needs.
âWait!â Heeseung stops you, tugging on your arm until youâre back to facing him. He canât fucking believe this bullshit manipulation tactic youâre using on him is actually working, heâs literally pulling on your arm like a child so you wonât leave him.
You raise a brow at him as you wait for Heeseung to continue, taking note of his sudden nervousness, âYeah?â
âUhâŚare you into, like, brownies? OrâŚâ
The smirk you gave in response said enough, youâve got him exactly where you want him.
Heâd spent the next few hours browsing the aisles of Target, checking his phone every so often and checking off each ingredient as he tossed them into the bright red shopping cart. To make matters worse, you hadnât even requested normal brownies, you wanted some shit heâd hardly ever heard of before: blondies.Â
It was bad enough that Heeseung already couldnât bake for shit, and here you were demanding heâd make something heâd never even tasted before; you really are a master manipulator.
His third and final attempt at baking the blondies were a success, his three roommates taste-testing the fresh batch as a final confirmation.
âI canât even taste it,â Jake says, his brows shooting up in delight, âyou sure youâre not forgetting the main ingredient?â
âThatâs the whole point,â Heeseung explains, cutting the remaining batch into neat squares, âYN doesnât want the taste to be too strong, she likes when itâs more subtle and takes awhile to kick in.â
âAre you her wife or her plug?â Sunghoon jokes from his spot on the couch, taking a small bite of his own blondie.
âNeither,â Jay inserts himself into the conversation, taking a seat next to Sunghoon, âIâm sure he wants to be both, though.â
âFuck off,â Heeseung snaps, momentarily narrowing his eyes at his roommates. âWe just met, Iâm just trying to get to know her.â He sets the knife down, reaching into the wooden cabinet to retrieve ziplock bags.
âYouâre already her bitch, what else is there to know?â Sunghoon half-jokes, resting his feet on the ottoman.
âI am not her bitch.â
He totally is, if the way heâs hurrying to send you a picture of the freshly made blondies is anything to go by.
Heeseung * 2:47 AM
[Attachment: 1 Image] Yooo
YN * 9:06 AM
omggggg ur the fucking best how much??
You didnât respond until the following morning, causing Heeseung to nearly jump out of his skin once he woke up to your texts. He turns on his side, elbow propped up against the mattress as he formulates a response.
Heeseung * 10:31 AM
1 for 10 or 2 for 15. venmo or cashapp But lmk if you want moreÂ
YN * 10:40 AM
no cash? :(
Heeseungâs about to go on a long winded explanation about how money transferring apps are quicker and more convenient than accepting cash when you interrupt him by sending a photo.
YN * 10:41 AMÂ
[Attachment: 1 Image] plsssss i donât trust cashapp and ive been having issues w my venmo acc :(
Itâs a photo of the bottom half of your face, lips formed into a cute pout with your camera angled low enough to show off your cleavage. You werenât even trying to be discreet, setting your forearm underneath your chest to make your boobs sit higher, the cheetah print material of your bra peeking out from under your too-small tank top.
Heeseung swallows hard, staring down at the photo with his pupils blown wide as his trembling fingers type out a response.
Heeseung * 10:50 AM
Actually you know what donât even worry about it lmao Consider it a gift When r u free for pickup Or i can bring to u Either or is fine lol
YN * 10:59 AM
omg :o are u sure? donât want u to lose out on money >.<
Heeseung * 11:11 AM
Itâs fine dw about me baby U picking up? Or want me to drop off On campus is too risky
YN * 11:12 AM
thank u hee!!!!!!! im done with classes around 4:30 iâll pick up around then if that works also u responded at 11:11âŚangel number u must be my angel :o
There you go again with your subtle manipulation tactics that Heeseung swears wonât work on him. If there really is angel out of the two of you, it definitely wouldnât be you, but Heeseungâs not too sure heâd be considered one either. After all, in the twelve minutes it took him to respond to your message, he spent ten of them fucking into his fist as he stared at the photo you sent.
His mind conjured up countless scenarios; leaving hickeys and bite marks across your chest, slipping his dick between your tits as you held them together for him, cumming all over them, fucking anything. Desperate wasnât even the word.
Heeseung * 11:13 AM
Must be :)
After a month and a half of being your personal baker slash bitchboy, Heeseung really is convinced that youâre using him, yet he doesnât seem to mind. If anything heâs grateful, fully aware that if it werenât for him being your plug, the two of you likely never wouldâve crossed paths despite attending the same universities.
There wasnât an ounce of school spirit in his body, so he had little to no urgency to attend any of the sporting events you cheered at or one of the many school-sponsored events you were required to attend. Meeting you at that party not too long ago had been his first encounter with you ever, and you clearly left him with a great first impression on him.
Since that night, heâs found himself conjuring up a new batch of edibles for you every week; brownies, cupcakes, cereal bars, whatever the fuck you wanted, and half the time heâd do it for free if it meant he got to give it to you in person.
He still hasnât convinced you to actually smoke, though, but maybe itâs for the best. The mere thought of getting high with you and how youâd stare him down with half-lidded eyes was enough to make his dick hard â in fact, it already has. Several times.
Enough time has passed to the point where itâs obvious to everyone, yourself included, that Heeseung has genuine feelings for you that go beyond a physical and sexual attraction. Sure, heâs still convinced that youâre a little bit evil and definitely manipulative, but he considers it part of the fun. Heâs also deluded himself into having the âI can fix herâ mindset that heâs been using to justify his actions of ignoring your red flags.
However, even if he canât âfixâ you, it wouldnât be a huge loss. Red is his favorite color, after all.
âYou soundâŚcrazy, and she sounds crazier,â Jake leans against the kitchen counter, raising a concerned brow at Heeseung as he takes a sip of his drink.
âIâm not crazy,â Heeseung corrects, âand YN isâŚI donât know, honestly. Leave her alone, dipshit.â
Jake throws a hand up in defense, glaring when a fellow partygoer accidentally bumps into him, nearly causing him to spill his drink. âRather be a dipshit than a bitchboy.â He mutters loud enough for Heeseung to hear before groaning, âWow, speak of the devil.â
Heeseung turns, following Jakeâs line of sight until he spots you walking through the front door. Stunning as always, your khaki mini skirt and black halter top fitting as if they were custom designed for you and only you.
Despite extending you an invitation to Sunghoonâs birthday party, Heeseung was fairly certain you wouldnât show up tonight, assuming youâd be consumed with cheer practice or one of your many extracurricular activities to attend. Yet, here you were, a wicked grin on your face as you made eye contact with Heeseung.
He gulps in return, eyes wide as he watches you walk over to him and Jake.
You stand beside Heeseung, shooting him a quick smile before directing your attention to Jake, âSunghoon! Happy birthday, king!â
Jake side-eyes you, briefly glancing at Heeseung before responding, âIâm notâŚyou know what? Nevermind, thanks.â He takes this as an opportunity to exit the conversation, giving Heeseung a light pat on the shoulder as he leaves.
âDidnât think youâd be here.â Heeseung comments, leaning against the kitchen countertop.
You shrug, âWasnât doing anything else, figured it wouldnât hurt to stop by for a little. Besides, I wanted to see you.â
âYeah?â Heeseung asks, tongue darting out to lick his lips.
âYeah,â you respond, taking a step closer and resting your hand on his bicep, âgot anything for me?â
Fuck, Heeseung knew he shouldâve made another batch of brownies or some shit. He seriously hadnât been expecting you to show up tonight, otherwise he wouldâve been prepared.
He shakes his head, âNot this time, you shouldâve told me you were coming; I wouldâve made something.â
You groan, momentarily tilting your head back, âI just wanted to surprise you.â
âConsider me surprised,â his hand lands on your waist, pulling your body until your flush against him, âwhy wonât you just smoke with me?â
You grimace, shaking your head in response.
Heeseung rolls his eyes, âJust once? I know your first time wasnât that great, but, I really think youâd like it if you tried again.â
âI donât know, HeeâŚâ
âTell you what,â Heeseung starts, clearing his throat, âsmoke with me just this once, and your next few purchases are on me.â
It isnât much of an offer considering most of the shit he gave you was either free or already extremely discounted, but your eyes light up regardless. âReally?â
Heeseung nods, âI swear.â
You think it over for a moment, the pros instantly outweigh the cons and lead you to accept Heeseungâs desperate offer.Â
A few minutes later, you find yourself in a comfortable lounge chair with Heeseung in his backyard, grateful that the remaining partygoers opted to stay indoors, giving you privacy and alone time with him.
Youâre sitting sideways on his lap, trying your best to ignore the feeling of his dick pressing right against your ass, neatly rolled blunt in one hand as he uses the other to fish a lighter from his pocket. âYouâre nervous,â he comments.
You shake your head, âIâm not.â
âYou are, I feel you shaking.â
âIâm fine, just kinda cold. Go on.â
Heeseung studies you for a moment, eye contact strong and intimidating as ever as he brings the blunt to his parted lips. You watch carefully as he brings the lighter towards the tip, focusing entirely too much on the concentrated look on his face as he lights it. Slowly, he begins to rotate it as the end continues to burn, taking a few small puffs here and there.
Satisfied with his creation, Heeseung takes a long, slow drag, inhaling the smoke into his lungs before titling his head away to exhale.
âYour turn,â he says, offering you the blunt.
You hesitantly stare down at it before accepting; it was intimidating to say the least, the scent alone strong enough to make your head hurt. Heeseung watches you patiently, eyes darting between your lips and the blunt in silence.
Deciding you need a little bit of encouragement, he brings his thumb to your lips, parting them slightly as his free-hand wraps around your wrist, âYouâll be fine, trust me.âÂ
Under the guidance of his calloused hand, you finally bring the blunt up to your lips and briefly inhale before immediately exhaling.
Heeseung chuckles, shaking his head, âHowâd that feel?â
You ponder for a moment, passing the blunt back to Heeseung, âI donât feel anything. Literally nothing.â
âI mean, yeah, you didnât even inhale it.â
You roll your eyes, âWhy are there so many steps? This is why I prefer edibles.â
âIâm just showing you that you have other options, babe.â
âYeah, well Iâm sticking to my baked goods. You can have the rest of that, I donât want anymore.â
Heeseungâs well aware that youâre a woman of your word, and the chances of you ever smoking again were a definite zero, so trying to get you to change your mind was pointless. However, there is one thing that may just work on you.
âMind if I try something?â
You perk up, âTry what?â
âI do all the work but you still get high.â
You raise a brow, âThatâs possible?â
He nods, âAll youâd have to do is take deep breaths.â
Taking a deep breath, you accept Heeseungâs offer with a sigh, resting a hand on his shoulder as you adjust yourself on his lap. âFine.â
Here goes nothing.
He guides the blunt back to his lips, taking a long drag as he holds the smoke in his mouth. He tilts his head upward towards you, taking your chin in his hand, signaling for you to part your lips. You follow his command and part your lips open, just enough for Heeseung to close the distance and allow the smoke into your mouth, his lips barely brushing against yours in the process.
You take in a deep breath, eyes closed shut and inhale the smoke, careful not to exhale too quickly and have a repeat of your previous attempt.
âHow was that?â Heeseung asks, taking note of your sudden silence.
Truthfully, it wasnât bad. The smell is still too strong for your liking and requires much more effort than biting off a piece of dessert and calling it a day, but it wasnât bad. Youâre certain that Heeseung shotgunning it into your mouth only added to the experience.
âNot bad,â you admit, âprobably because you did all the work.â
He chuckles at that, âIâll always take care of you, remember that.â
Heeseung is having the time of his life, thoroughly convinced that he finally has some power over you. Here you were sitting on his lap in his backyard letting him blow smoke into your mouth. Sure, it may have taken a lot of convincing and begging on his end to get to this point, but none of that matters; baby steps are still movement.
As if the night couldnât have gotten any better, youâre asking Heeseung to shotgun more smoke into your mouth over and over. Heâs careful to maintain a calm and nonchalant demeanor as he does so, not wanting to come off as too eager out of fear of scaring you away. Or even worse, giving you back that power you have over him.
On the fifth time, you swipe your tongue across Heeseungâs bottom lip when he passes the smoke into your mouth, a low groan escaping from him in the process. Heâs fully hard in his jeans by now, and thereâs no way you canât feel his dick pressing right into you. Despite the cold weather, your entire body feels warm all over, Heeseung only adding to the pleasure.
You shouldâve taken Heeseung a bit more seriously when he said youâd still get high from this; after a few minutes, your limbs were already starting to feel lighter and weaker. A delicate, cloud-like haze fills your head; your vision blurs slightly and it takes a few minutes for you to fully relax.
Heeseung, attentive as ever, remains silent and still has he watches you; primarily due to the fact that you squirming around on his lap is only adding to the uncomfortable tightness in his jeans. One wrong move, and heâd surely be cumming in his boxers.
You rest your forehead against Heeseung, pressing a firm hand against his chest when he moves to blow more smoke into your mouth. He hums, staring up at with a concerned look on his face.
You close your eyes, mumbling, âHeeseungâŚâ
He hums again in response, still holding the smoke in his mouth.
You open your eyes briefly before closing them again, balling up the collar of his shirt in your fist as you lean down to press your lips against his. He opens his mouth on instinct, as if it were a second nature, parting his lips slightly and exhaling the smoke into your mouth once again.
Heeseung absentmindedly sets the blunt down, his hands moving to your waist to pull you closer to him until your tits are pressed right up against his chest. He groans into your mouth at the feelings, tilting his head to allow himself further into your mouth.Â
You cup his face in your hands, hips moving forward as you slowly begin to grind yourself against him. âFuck,â he moans in a low voice, âkeep doing that.â
You grind down harsher this time, capturing his moan in your mouth in the process. With each movement of your hips, a shiver descends down your spine at the friction; Heeseung is painfully hard, and from what you could feel, he was definitely packing. Bigger than what you wouldâve expected.
It all feels too good; you grinding against him, the state of his high, your tongue in his mouth. Itâs all so overwhelmingly euphoric that Heeseung hardly realizes how close he is to literally cumming in his boxers.
His body was always overly sensitive whenever he got high, and often avoided any sort of intimacy that involved another person due to how embarrassingly quick he would finish, and tonight doesn't seem to be any different. What makes matters worse is the fact that Heeseung was already desperately attracted to you and had been dreaming of this moment since heâd first met you.
He pulls away quickly, cursing under his breath, âYN, h-hold on,â he stutters, âslow down, please.â
You donât listen; in fact, you can barely even hear him with how caught up you were in your own head. âHmm? Say that again?â
âS-slow â ah, fuck â slow down for a sec, baby.â
His grip on your waist tightens, and despite the urgency in his tone of wanting you to slow down, he makes no effort to still your hips move you off of him. Fuck it, it is what it is.
âWhy?â You question, tilting your head, but youâre a few seconds too late.
Heeseungâs entire body shivers, hips jolting upwards as he comes on himself, making a mess of his boxers. While that alone was definitely embarrassing, Heeseung is more annoyed over the fact that youâve regained your power over him. His priorities were definitely fucked, but he didnât even care; he could clean himself up later, but the damage to his ego would take longer to repair.
Your hands fly to your mouth in shock, eyes widening as you process whatâs just happened, âOh, HeeseungâŚâ you mumble into the palm of your hands.
He throws his head back, eyes squeezed shut as he runs a hand down his face, âYouâve gotta be fuckinâ kidding.â
âItâs okay! It happens! No big deal!â You try to reassure him, but it goes in one ear and out the other.
Sure it happens and maybe it isnât a big deal, but it is for Heeseung. Heâs not the type to bust a nut over someone squirming around in his lap for ten minutes, this shit was fucking insanity.
âIâm seriously not like this, Iâm just overly-sensitive when Iâm high. I swear, I-â
âItâs fine, Heeseung,â you interrupt, standing from his lap, âif anything, Iâm flattered! Why donât you, uh, get cleaned up and Iâll see you later?â
âYN, come on, donât do this.â He pleads, following you and you make your way towards the sliding door.Â
âI told you, itâs fine! Iâm not like,â you pause, opening the door with a loud grunt, âmad or weirded out or anything.â
You slip back into the living room, Heeseung hot on your tail with every step. âLet me make it up to you!â
You sigh, âHonestly, I donât think you have it in you to do that right now.â
âI do! Just let me, please.â
âHeeseung, please drop it. I said itâs fine.â
âItâs not fine, at least let me eat you out or something!â
âHeeseung!â Your eyes widen at his lewd, shameless offer, âLower your voice! Weâre in a fucking party surrounded by people!â
He smacks his teeth, âI donât care. Please, YN.â
âYou donât have to make it up to me, you do not owe me anything.â
A beat of silence passes, then he says, âThen do it for me. Please.â
Even though Heeseung was the one literally begging to go down for you, there is a possibility of him having some sort of power over you; or maybe you just have a soft spot for him. Either way, you end up lying in his bed twenty minutes later, skirt bunched up around your waist as Heeseungâs wet tongue circles your clit, desperate attempt at coaxing a second orgasm from you.
He hadnât even realized heâd grown hard again just from eating you out, and would likely end up cuuming in his boxers again just from doing this.
âFuck,â he moans into your folds, pulling away slightly to pepper kisses on your inner thighs, âbeen waiting so fucking long for this.â
âYeah?â You question, your grip on Heeseungâs hair tightening.
This earns a low groan from him as he nods against your skin, âYou have no idea.â
Deciding heâs spent enough time away from your cunt, his lips make their way back onto you; his tongue falls flat against you, dragging your wetness upwards towards your swollen clit before wrapping his lips around the sensitive bud.
Your body shivers, a beam of sweat dripping down your forehead as your second orgasm approaches. Youâve been eaten out before, countless times, but never like this. It was almost as if Heeseung was doing it for his own pleasure rather than your.
He teases your entrance with his finger before sliding two of them in with ease, curling them upwards and immediately hitting the spot you needed him the most.
âH-HeeseungâŚhold onâŚâ
He hums, but heâs not really listening, too occupied with kitten-licking your clit and pumping his fingers in and out of you. The knot in your stomach finally snaps and youâre gushing against his hands and mouth, Heeseung only takes this as a sign to continue lapping at your cunt. You have to literally grab him by the hair and drag him away from you.
He stares up at you, pupils blown wide and his chin coated in your juices, but he definitely looks happy. âWhat?â he asks.
You struggle to catch your breath, âYouâre hard again?â
He looks down at his crotch momentarily before shrugging, âI guess.â
âYouâŚdonât you wanna do something about that?â
His eyes flash down to your cunt for a split second, âIt can wait.â
You scoff, âWell, I need a minute.â
Heeseung nods in agreement, impatiently drumming his fingers on his bed as you flop against his mattress. âReady?â He asks once a minute has passed.
âNo.â
He sighs, then sighs again, and again and again until you let out a frustrated groan. âGo get me a glass of fucking water.â
âOkay!â He shouts while standing, exiting the bedroom in a hurry. Maybe you really do treat him like a bitchboy, but he doesnât seem to mind.
#enhypen imagine#enhypen smut#enhypen scenarios#lee heeseung#lee heeseung imagine#lee heeseung smut#heeseung x reader#kpop imagine#kpop smut#kpop scencario#jake sim#park sunghoon#park jongseong
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it helps me to remember when i get sad about how annoyed lydia gets in s4 is that sheâs fourteen at that point so she is ACTIVELY going through puberty. and weâre all kind of annoyed with the world at that point, even the people we love.
that's very true. she's also known him for years at that point, and he can be uhh a lot. he can't get away with displaying his huge flaws as often as he used to, lydia doesn't allow it, and when he DOES get away with it, the episode ends with lydia disappointed and even outright mad at him. Midnight Scum in particular is so hard to watch, you can see her losing respect for him as the episode progresses and...then it ends. episode over. beetlejuice is horrible, what did we expect?
but yeah season 4 is. whoof man.
sure, you can chalk up part of it to teenage hormones making her more irritable, but i really do think she's just like, at her limit sometimes. i can't blame her, i too want to strangle him a lot of the time and i'm not even the one putting up with his shit, babysitting him or having to deal with the consequences of HIS actions.
this isn't Critter Sitters anymore, she is simply not having it and she won't make a cute little excuse for him "oh he makes me laugh and eats bugs hee hee"
season 4 lydia reacting at his jokes like đđ
she's probably heard that one a thousand times by now. beetlejuice is a static character; he doesn't change, he doesn't go through character development, he doesn't learn his lesson (outright refuses to) but lydia DOES change. and she will continue to change as she grows older. and i KNOW this is a sad theory but i can't help but think that, as she grows and moves forward, she's just...gonna leave him behind.
it'll be hard for her not to. not only is she starting to make her own life and will continue to get busier and busier and not having time to hang out with her ghoulish best friend...she's also maturing. something beetlejuice has never done, and seemingly never will. and as she grows more mature, those puns and pranks and hijinks will become less funny, and his lying, clinginess and refusal to grow will become more evident. season 4 has lydia expecting better of him and being let down, constantly. if it's exasperating for us imagine how it must be for her.
at what point does it become too much? how often has lydia sat and thought about this kind of thing? considering how intelligent and sensible she is for her age, probably more than a few times. this dead guy inadvertently saved this depressed little girl by becoming friends with her and giving her the confidence to be herself and make her own friends. does she know that though? beetlejuice does, he saw it when they showed him the reality in which lydia never meets him. but lydia has no idea (and he will never tell her) so sometimes i wonder if she's missing that key aspect of why he's so important in her life. it's possible she might've come to the same conclusion herself; but even then, these things can be hard to remember when you're having to, once more, clean up after him and the messes he gets them into because his chaotic impulses are always stronger than him. you can tell she's very tired of this. and she will become even more so as time passes.
best friends forever though.
...
...right?
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Juno
Based off of the song Juno, I tried my hand at writing song inspired one shots again! this one is filthy but I hope you guys enjoy it anyways.
Check out our Patreon for early access and 200+ exclusive works (sign up on your browser and not the iOS app to save fees!)
WC- 3.5k
Warnings- heavy breeding kink, cum play, soft dom H, slight restraining, oral (m receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it up yall)
It had been a long fucking day.
Being the boss wasn't for the weak, apparently. Harry had been through the ringer today especially. People unable to communicate, an overly long and exastrubsating meeting, having to terminate an employee, all of it had made him itchy for the day to end- only for him to have to stay late to fix a problem. He had felt guilty texting his girlfriend that he was going to be home late, telling her his day had been a bit hellish.
Thankfully, he had been blessed with one of the most incredible women in the world, who assured him she was fine, not to worry about her and she would see him when he got home- but he hadnât expected just an incredible sight to greet him as he opened the bedroom door.
It was like a vision heâd see in the most incredible of dreams.
Y/N was stretched out on the bed, her head propped up on a pile of pillows. She was wearing a tiny, frilly pink babydoll nightgown that barely covered her assets and showed off her legs- god, her fucking legs. The delicate fabric shimmered in the soft lighting, catching Harry's eye and drawing his gaze downward. Dragging his eyes down the perfectly wrapped present, he counted every single one of his blessings.
âHi.â She spoke softly, clambering up to her knees and crawling to the end of the bed. âI missed you today, H.â
Harry's heart skipped a beat as he watched her crawl towards him, his eyes taking in the delicate nightgown that flowed over her curves in all the right places, riding up her thighs as she sat on her knees waiting for him. He felt a surge of love wash over him, his exhaustion melting away at the sight of her. Crossing the room in long strides, he met her at the end of the bed. "I missed you too, baby," He murmured. âWhatâs all this, hm?â
âI got a package today. This was what was in it.â She shrugged, running her hand down her waist to show it off. âI figured you had a rough day, but you like when you see the pretty things I buy. I thoughtâŚ. Maybe this would make you happy.â Her hands ran over his chest, peering up at him through her lashes. âI wanted to make you happy. I love you so much.â
His eyes softened, warmth spreading through his chest as he took in her words. She really had no idea how much she affected him, how much he absolutely adored her. Reaching out, his fingers brushing against the delicate, shimmery fabric, slowly running it up her thighs until it bunched around her waist. "It makes me very happy, my sweet girl." He murmured, his voice raspy as he took in the sight of her bare hips and thighs. "Come here." Taking a seat on the edge of the bed, he urged her to straddle his lap, which she did without complaint.
âI know itâs hard to be the boss all day.â Her voice was silky as she ran her finger through his hair, the gel keeping it back having failed hours ago. The man looked slightly disheveled, and that did something to her. âI know you need to come home and have a soft place to land. Youâre so good to me. I brag about you to my friends all the time. About everything.â Even the not so appropriate bits. She couldnât help it! âI want to be the one to help you make your fantasies come true. You pay the bills here, soâŚâ Shrugging her shoulders, she bit down on her glossy lip. âI figured Iâd give you something pretty to come home to.â
Harry's large hands palmed her ass, squeezing lightly as she straddled him, her warmth pressing against him. Her words, her kindness, her thoughtfulness, it all made him want to be a better man. She was the soft place he landed every day, his happy place. He leaned into her touch, his eyes fluttering closed as her fingers combed through his disheveled hair. âYou are⌠incredible. Fuck me. Canât believe youâre real.â
âDo you like it?â Pressing her lips to the corner of his, she hooked her finger in his shirt and tugged the half undone tie to the ground. âWhat I put on for you? I know you like to say Mâyour little angel. Figured this was a little angelic for you.â
He growled softly in approval, his hands tightening on her ass as her fingers made quick work of unbuttoning his shirt. "It's perfect, just like you." He sighed, his voice hoarse with the amount he had yelled today, and his desire for the girl on his lap. His hands roamed over her curves, his touch gentle but greedy. The man could never get enough of her. He loved how she would let him have his way with her, no matter what he desired. Nothing and no one could compare to how she made him feel, playing into every base level instinct he had. "My little angel... Dressed like that... Sâalmost unfair."
Y/N let out a giggle, loving the effect she had on him. Knowing he was such a powerful man and yet he had a weakness in her was more arousing than she could have prepared herself for. She loved being his soft spot, his little angel. âIt is fair, though. I wore it just for you. And I decidedâŚâ This was the part she had been nervous about all day. The decision she had made. She wanted him to lock her down. âI know we arenât married yet, but I donât think I can let you wait any longer to give you what you want.â Brushing her nose against his, she spoke against his lips. âI think mâgonna let you get me pregnant.â
Harry's breath hitched, his eyes widening for a moment before they filled with a heat that almost burned her. "Y/N..." He growled, his voice low and loaded. "Are you sure? We can wait if you're not ready." Even as he said the words, his hands tightened on her, pulling her closer against him. He wanted it, he wanted her, like this, forever. When she nodded to agree that she was absolutely sure, he let out a deep groan, eyes wild as they searched her own. " Say it again. Please."
âI want youâŚ.â She purred, leaning in so their chests were pressed together. âTo get me pregnant. Knock me up.â Smearing their lips together, she sucked a soft kiss to his bottom lip before murmuring again. âPut a baby in me.â
A shudder ran through him at her words, his control snapping. "Fuck, Angel..." He groaned, crashing his lips against hers in a bruising kiss. His tongue delved into her mouth, claiming her, tasting her. She tasted so fucking good, so much like his. He couldnât get enough. One hand tangled in her hair while the other slid down to grip her thigh, squeezing, owning. Pulling her down fully, he ground up against her, letting her feel how hard she made him. It had started the moment he walked in to see her splayed out on the bed, but this was something else. His weakness. "You want my baby?"
âUh-huh.â She giggled against his mouth, turning it into a whimper as she felt his cock rub up against her. Since coming to the decision she had been wet, aching for him to actually do it. She wanted to keep him, lock him down in every sense of the word. Be the only one for him. She wanted to be the mother of his children, all of them. There was no patience for waiting. The ring could come later- she had known he got one anyway. âI want to be yours so badly. I need it.â
"Shit, baby, you already are.." Standing up and with her in his arms, he turned them over and set her down on the mattress with her back against it, looking at her with intense eyes. "Mâgoing to give you my baby, my everything. You're going to be so fucking pregnant with my child, everyone's going to know it." Fumbling with his belt, he tossed it down and hurriedly stepped out of his trousers, letting his shirt fall off his shoulders as he watched her sit back up.
Her hands went for his briefs, tugging them down with shaky fingers. Y/N was just as needy for it as he was, and it showed. He let his head fall back, a low groan rumbling in his chest as she wrapped her hands around his shaft and pumped slowly, leaning down to lick the tip. He twitched in her grasp, throbbing in her palm.
"That's it, baby..." He encouraged softly, his hands tangling in her hair as he guided her head down, slowly thrusting into her warm, wet mouth. "Just like that. Get it nice nâwet for me." He pulled out, his breathing heavy.
She came back up for air, her hand pumping him slowly as she looked up at him with wide, eager eyes. "Open up for me, sweetheart. Stick out your tongue." He watched intently as she obeyed, baring her neck and tilting her head back. He wrapped a hand around the base of his erection and slowly pumped, his eyes rolling back as he grew harder. "Thatta girl..." He guided the tip to her lips, rubbing the head on her bottom lip.
He fed her his length slowly, his eyes fluttering shut as he savored the hot sensation of her mouth wrapping back around him. He pulled back and thrust into her mouth again, his hands tangling in her hair and guiding her head. "Look at me, Y/N. Keep your eyes on me."
Her eyes fluttered open, her lashes casting shadows on her flushed cheeks as she looked up at him, her mouth stretched around his thick girth. She hummed against him, eyes watering as he thrust further into her mouth. She looked so good, taking him like that, and he couldnât help but groan, his pace quickening. "That's my good girl. Such a sweet little thing fâme."
He gently thrust in and out of her mouth, his hands cradling her head. "Relax your jaw for me, Y/N... that's it... jusâ like that." He praised her softly, his voice a husky whisper. "You're doing so well, mâlove." He thrust a little deeper, pulling back quickly when she gagged slightly, his eyes flashing with concern. "Careful, careful. Breathe through your nose, baby, you can take it⌠Yâknow how to do it."
She breathed in through her nose as he instructed, her chest rising and falling. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes from the push but she didn't pull away, determined to please him. Her hands came up to grip his thighs for balance as he continued to slowly thrust. She hollowed her cheeks and sucked gently, her tongue swirling around the tip each time he pulled out.
He was absolutely stunning, his head thrown back in ecstasy, his chest heaving with each breath. The sight of his strong thighs tensing and flexing under her hands, the way his abs clenched... it was almost too much. She wanted to memorize every detail. She needed to be his, forever. His skin was flushed and damp with exertion, his hair disheveled. He was the picture of raw, masculine beauty. And he was all hers..
It was adorable, how she whimpered at the loss of his cock as he pulled it from her mouth, but he needed to have her fully. Claim her in the way she had promised to let him. âMmm, shit. Baby, youâre too good. Sâokay.â He panted, pulling her up by her arms and crushing his lips against hers. "I need inside, love. I can't...I can't wait any longer. I need tâput my baby in you."
She nodded eagerly against his lips, wrapping her arms around his neck as he adjusted her against the fluffy duvet. Never in her life had she been this fucking horny, but that was simply the way the man tended to affect her. Her legs spread wide for him, her heels digging into the bed as she watched him move to hover over her. Positioning himself between her thighs, his hands gripping her hips firmly, admiring the beauty that was his angel underneath him. "Y/N...look at me, sweetheart. Keep your eyes on me, okay?" His voice was gentle, loving, but his face was contorted with raw, unbridled desire.
"Need you tâwatch while I knock you up." He grit out, pressing forward and filling her with one long thrust. Letting out a low groan as he bottomed out, his eyes fluttered shut in rapture. "Oh, fuck." He hissed, reveling in the feel of her wrapped around him. This was what he needed, the remedy to his long day. Always her. He stilled for a moment, giving her time to adjust to his size. It was a stretch, and he knew it. "Okay?" he asked softly, his hips flexing forward slightly.
âUh-huh.â Her eyes were glued to his, wide and glassy as he filled her completely. The sensation of being so full, so stretched, was overwhelming. It never got old. When she got tipsy and slightly loose lipped, it was one of the things she alluded to with her friends- how big he was, how fulfilled he made her. She could feel every thick inch of him inside her, his heavy balls pressing against the plush of her ass. A soft whimper escaped her lips as she adjusted to his size, her walls clenching around him in a desperate attempt to keep him inside. "Sâso good.â
He began to move, slow and deep at first, savoring the exquisite drag of her silken walls. "That's it, baby... take it. Take every inch of me." He whispered, his hips rolling in a hypnotic rhythm. One hand slid down to rub tight circles over her clit as he fucked into her. "Gonna fill this sweet cunt. Pump you full of me."
His cock stretched her, a dull, delicious ache as he drove into her again and again, the wet sounds of the thrusts filling the room. He angled his hips, searching for that perfect spot inside her. He always did. He loved to make her go crazy, see her buck and cry out when he got it. They fit together so well, sometimes it was hard to believe theyâd found each other naturally. When did find it he heard it, music to his fucking ears. The borderline frantic cry as she grabbed his arms where they held her hips, her back arching off the bed. "Yes, there! Just like that." Her nails dug into his forearms as he hit her spot dead on with each thrust.
His balls slapped against her ass with each deep stroke, the sound echoing through the room. âYeah, I found my spot. Didnât I?â He crooned, smirk on his face as he kept it up. If there was anything he allowed himself to be smug about, it was how good he made his woman feel. âSâgood, I know. Hitting right where my girl needs. God, youâre fuckinâ perfect. Dressing up for meâŚâ He grit his teeth. âTellinâ me I can finally give you a baby. You love me, donât you sweetheart?â
âYeah, I do. Shit, Harry.â She cried out, her voice high-pitched as her inner walls tightened around his thick shaft. She could barely think, let alone speak, with him filling her so perfectly. âY-Yes, I love you so much- Please, please, please, please!â She chanted, her hands fisting the sheets beneath her as he continued to fuck into her sopping cunt. âPlease what, baby?â He taunted, looking down at her beautiful form. It was the prettiest picture only he got to see. âWhat dâyou want?â
âI-I want you to-â She gasped as he hit her spot again, her toes curling in ecstasy. âI want you to knock me up, H. Please knock me up, get me pregnant like yâwanted. I donât care, just wanna feel you inside me, I want my tummy to grow, I want all of it.â She pleaded, tugging him down to her as she felt her eyes water, looking up at him. âPlease, baby- please, please.â
His face contorted as he looked down at her, love and possession shining in his eyes. "You're really going tâlet me breed you like that, huh? All for me?" He grit out with clenched teeth, his hips snapping forward as his hands gathered her, wrapping around her wrists and pinning them above her head. "Yâwant to carry my baby, grow round with it inside you?"
"Yes, yes, yes." She chanted with a lovedrunk smile on her face, her back arching as he took her harder. The new angle had him hitting impossibly deep. "Please Harry, I need it. Need you to fill me up, make me yours. I want everyone to know I'm your girl, carrying your baby." Her voice broke, overwhelmed with pleasure. "Fuck, I'm getting close."
"That's it, cum on my cock like a good girl." He growled, feeling her tighten around him like a vice. "Milk me, I'm gonna pump you full. Gonna flood this fertile little cunt with my cum." His balls drew up tight as he pounded into her relentlessly, the wet squelch of her arousal obscene in the room. "Fuck, mâclose too. You want it baby?"
Y/N could barely speak as her orgasm took her faster than she had anticipated. It was his voice, his promise that took her there. The sensation was indescribable. Like being consumed, each hard thrust sending wave after wave of intense heat through her veins. She could feel every ridge and vein of his thick, pulsing length as it slid in and out of her slick hole. Her whole body was alight, every nerve ending on fire as he stretched her to the limit. The pressure built and built, her muscles tensing as the first waves of her release washed over her.
"Please, please... I want to feel you, inside me, filling me up. I want your baby, Harry. I want you to breed me." Her words were barely coherent, her mind fogged with desire as he continued to thrust into her, his powerful hips driving his thick cock home again and again. She could feel the heat of his body, the tautness of his muscles as he held back, intent on pouring into her just as she'd begged. âWanna be the only one.â
âShit.â He whined weakly, losing all resolve to hold on. Hearing her beg for it was the final straw on his composure. This was a day he had dreamed of, and she had so willingly handed it over to him. It was his turn to give it to her, just as he promised. âIâll give it to you baby. Give you everything- only tâyou. Fuck.â With a feral groan, he lost all control, slamming into her one final time as he erupted inside her. His hot, thick cum flooded her, painting her insides as he filled her to the brim. She could feel it pouring in, the warmth spreading through her belly as he continued to pump her full, his cock jerking and twitching inside her. âTake all of it.â
Her mouth parted on a silent 'O' as she felt him surge inside her, his warmth spreading through her. Her eyes fluttered closed as he released her hands, and her fingers immediately digging on his back as she found a way to cling to him, her legs wrapping around his waist to hold him closer. She didnât want him to leave, wanted him to stay buried.
"That's it, baby... take it all." He encouraged softly, nuzzling her neck as he slowly thrust in and out, relishing in the feeling as he pulsed inside of her.
She moaned softly, her head tossing on the pillow. "It feels so warm, so good... Sâso much inside of me. I love you so much." She whispered, a fucked out smile painting her lips. "I hope it takes."
Pulling out slowly, his cock glistened with them combined as he held her open, his load leaking out of her. The scene was absolutely filthy and everything he had hoped to see when they tried this. "Look at you... so full of my cum. So fucking perfect." He gently held her thigh open with one hand, his fingers on the other spreading her open to show off his work. "Look at how full you are, baby."
She whimpered, her eyes fluttering open as he displayed her to him. "Harry... It's so much. I can feel it dripping out of me. Donât waste it." She whispered, her voice tiredly giddy. "We should try for round two... just to be sure, right?"
#jarofstyles#harry styles one shot#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles fanfic#harry styles smut#harry writing#harry styles imagine#harry drabble#harry styles blurb#harry styles writing#harry smut#harry styles au#harry styles fanfictions#harry styles one shots#harry fanfic#harry styles fanfics#harry styles fic
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Girl I'm Into It
NSFW- WC- 1.4k- Request for heavy petting w/Gojo! College AU, lots of dry humping, touching, and teasing, Virgin Gojo blushing and whimpering for reasons lol <3
"Holy fuck the party's cramped." You mumble, sipping on this godawful punch in the middle of a rather insane frat party. The scent of smoke and cloyingly sweet liquor mixes with the endless amounts of men's axe body spray and cheap perfume. You look at Satoru then, shaking your head at him. "You really joining the frat, Toru?"
"Yeah, I mean why not? Suguru and Kento are."
"I know but... we play Digimon, Toru."
"Hush!" Satoru covers your mouth up quickly, looking around nervously, making you both laugh then. "You're the nerd."
"Me!?"
"You. Hey man, watch it!" Satoru shoves a dude who has bumped into you out of the way now, sighing as there are just far too many people, watching as you get nervous. "Wanna go to a room? Get away?"
"Yeah, if you don't mind?" You and Satoru had been friends forever, including now that you're in college of course, but parties weren't your thing, especially frat parties. But, you want to support Satoru in whatever he does. He leads you down the halls now, opening a room and peeking in, seeing a couple on the bed.
"Shit, sorry!" He closes the door, now opening another, grinning down at you brightly, his pretty blue eyes glittering under snowy lashes. "Got it."
"Thanks, Toru." You murmur, as he leads you in the room and shuts the door behind you both, the bed looks... questionable, so he instead sits on a big recliner, patting his long leg. You blush at the thought, hoping he can't see.
"Seat right here. The bed looks diseased." He says with a shiver of disgust, you laugh then, sitting on his thigh. You all had done this before at parties, you were good friends and it wasn't crazy but...
But Satoru's leg feels so good between your thighs.
So good you're nervous he can sense your heat, as you've both gotten older you've had more and more feelings for him. But now he's at this university, going to be in a frat, and you're over at an art school, he's right in saying you are a nerd...
"What's wrong silly?" He asks then, peeking at his phone, popping on a song, you try to relax a bit when his big hand is on your bare thigh so casually, he's leaning back to get comfortable, long legs sprawled out, pressing his thigh up even more.
"Um..." You gasp then, when your hips shift, and you feel your panties getting wet, panicking. He has on jeans thank god, maybe he doesn't notice!?
"Recharge that social battery." He teases, and you turn your head again, shifting your hips experimentally, he pauses now, lips parted, pouty pink ones you want to kiss so damn bad. "Fuck... you're..."
"Sorry, shit." You stand now, then look down in horror at the wet spot on his light blue jeans, covering your face in embarrassment. He gulps then, running a thumb over the sticky wetness, exhaling, blue eyes locked on it. "I'll leave-"
"Stop, it's normal yeah?" He laps it up on his thumb, moaning, and your pussy throbs around nothing. "Fuck it's... sweet?"
"It is?" You whisper, he nods then, looking up at you under those long snowy lashes, taking your hips carefully and spinning you towards him. "Gojo I've never..."
"Me either." You gasp at that, eyes wide, and he's blushing now, cheeks flushed pink on his perfect skin.
"How!? You're so popular, and gorgeous-"
"You think I'm gorgeous?" He asks, thin white brows drawn together, now you're between his thighs, his hands pressing into your hips, your entire body is reacting, your breaths quicker and quicker.
"Of course I do, Toru."
"Well I think you're pretty. So pretty." He says softly, and suddenly your hand is running through his silky white locks, as the other rests on a strong bicep over his long sleeved shirt.
"You do?" You manage to whisper, he nods, pulling you on his lap then, your thighs on either side, shaking as you kneel over him. "Toru what are..."
"Can we kiss? Please? Pretty please?" He bats his lashes, pouting, and you nod with a little nervous laugh. "I've done some things if you want me to show you?"
"Like kiss?" You whisper, lips pressing against his now, Satoru moans against your lips, you feel them, plush and firm against yours, his hot tongue slipping inside your mouth, you gasp then. You cling to his shoulders as your panties now brush against his lap, and you sink down, crying out at how good it feels, his hardness between your dripping folds.
"You're a good kisser." He murmurs, pulling back, pressing you down firmer now, and you're soaking your panties, ruining them completely, earning his groan. "I can feel how hot you are. She's so needy, hmm?" His tone goes husky, your lips part at it, gasping, your head falling back as you roll your hips again, grinding on his cock over his clothes.
"Satoru... need more." You whimper when he's kissing the tops of your breasts, then up your throat, licking and biting, bucking his hips up then, earning another cry of pleasure, heat pooling in your core. "Ngh!"
"Those sounds you make, fuck..." Satoru picks you up by your hips then, slipping a finger to your swollen clit over your panties. "They're soaked."
"Embarrassing... ah!" Satoru's little hum of satisfaction just makes you wetter, he's looking right at you, and you're drowning in that gaze, in the swirling blue depths of his eyes.
"Let me make you cum." He whispers, slipping past the elastic of your panties now, finding your soaking wet pussy with his fingers, you nearly fall apart at it, pausing your movements. He moans, hard cock shoving up more. "No, keep rocking on me."
"Y-you sure?" He nods eagerly, so you rock more on Satoru's cock, his finger rolling on your clit now in little circles, watching you, flushed cheeks, parted full lips. You kiss them as you cry out, grinding helplessly while he keeps rolling circles, then starts flicking back and forth. "Toru!"
"So wet, oh my god... so pretty..." He is urging you on more and more with every breath, every kiss, until you're about to fall, and he's sensing it, free hand grabbing your ass, shoving you further on his clothed cock, panties a sticky mess. You're dripping all the way down his finger as he's moaning, harder and harder between your lips. "Let go, I've got you."
"Toru I-"
"Cum." You scream out then, as if on command, shuddering as your wetness gushes all over, as you throb around nothing, making a mess of his finger, your panties, his jeans. He moans now, sucking on his finger before kissing you, grinding up more and more, gasping as you're trembling, clinging to him, wanting more and more...
suddenly the door knocks, and you both curse. "Go away." He grumbles, you giggle then, hips moving just a bit, and Satoru is now slipping down his zipper, you watch with a gulp as his cock is revealed, a sticky wet spot on his boxers as his pretty cock springs free, long and curved, making you wetter. " Can I... rub it on you?" He asks, you nod nervously, and Satoru now has slipped his pretty pink tip into your panties, rubbing on your engorged clit.
"Satoru!" You're gushing more and more, and he groans then, all flushed, clinging to your ass as he fucks your panties.
"F-fuck you're too wet, too hot I- ah- oh my god..." You feel something hot and sticky against you now, and you flush, looking down to see Satoru's cock is spurting hot white ropes of sticky cum agaisnt you. He rests his head on your chest, whimpering. "Fuck I'm sorry. Shit, shit shit..."
"Toru... it's okay." You whisper then, he is blushing as bad as you are when he tilts back, looking up, cupping your face gently. You place your hand down and lap some of it up, moaning. "You're yummy too."
"Fuck... let me..." Satoru picks you up then, taking off the panties he'd cum in, laughing a little nervously as you watch him, only for him to turn you and sit you on the seat, pushing your thighs apart. He fingers the sticky cum on your pussy lips, kneeling then.
"W-what are you doing?" You whisper, and he looks up at you with dilated eyes, kissing up your inner thigh.
"Gonna clean up my mess."
Virgin Toru is new for me aha, but he's adorableee
#satoru gojo#gojo smut#satoru x reader#jjk gojo#satoru gojo smut#satoru smut#jujutsu kaisen#gojo x y/n#satoru x y/n#jujustu kaisen#satoru x you
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FOR YOU, ALWAYS | CL16
an: this was a request! i loved wiritng it and now i love the idea of historical romance prince!charles, thank you for requesting it đ also i listened to experience by ludovico einaudi the entire time i wrote this
summary: charles has always hated his life, he thinks, he doesnât know really. but then he meets someone, she challenges him, she makes him try and all of a sudden he knows what he wants.
wc: 12k
The grand dining hall of the Château de Monte Carlo was bathed in the soft glow of the morning sun filtering through its ornate windows. Prince Charles of Monaco sat at the long mahogany table, his jaw tight as his parents, the Sovereign Prince and Princess, laid out their expectations with the weight of unshakable certainty.
"You must understand, Charles," his mother said, her voice poised yet firm, "a union with Princess Evelyn of England is not merely desirableâit is necessary. The alliance could strengthen our position in ways you cannot yet fully grasp."
His father leaned forward, his imposing figure casting a shadow over the table. "This is not a matter of choice. You are the crown prince. Your duty outweighs any personal hesitation."
Charlesâs fingers tightened around the stem of his untouched glass. âAnd what of my life? Am I to simply be a pawn in your political games?â His voice was calm, but a sharp edge lay beneath the surface.
His motherâs gaze softened slightly, though not enough to dissuade her resolve. âYou are the oldest, my son. The weight of the crown has always been yours to bear. This... is part of that burden.â
He didnât argue further, though every fibre of his being resisted. Instead, he rose, offering a clipped bow. âIf youâll excuse me.â
Moments later, Charles pushed open the heavy doors to his private chambers, stepping into the quiet sanctuary of his room. His temples throbbed with the remnants of the conversation, and he felt the weight of his parentsâ expectations settling heavier than the crown he would one day wear.
Inside, the faint rustle of fabric caught his attention. The servant girlâher name unknown to him, as it was meant to beâwas smoothing the fresh sheets over his bed. She froze upon seeing him, her hands faltering mid-motion.
âYour Highness,â she said quickly, dipping into a small, practised curtsey. âI didnât realise you were returning so soon. Shall I leave and return later?â
He waved a hand absently, stepping toward the settee by the window. âNo. Stay. Finish your work.â
She hesitated, her eyes flickering to his face, then back to the task at hand. He sank into the settee, his head tilting back against the carved wood as he let out a heavy sigh.
âDo you ever wonder,â he began, his voice soft yet tinged with frustration, âwhy some of us are given so much freedom, yet chained in ways that others cannot see?â
She paused, her hands gripping the edges of the linen she had just tucked in, unsure if the question was meant for her.
When she did not answer, he looked at herâtruly looked at herâfor the first time in a long while. Her expression was guarded, her posture poised, as though expecting reproach. âYou can speak freely,â he said, a rare hint of gentleness colouring his tone.
Her lips parted slightly, then closed again before she carefully responded, âI think, Your Highness, that even those with freedom often long for something else.â
He smiled faintly, though there was no humour in it. âSomething else,â he echoed, the words hanging between them like a challenge to a fate he could not escape.
She quickly turned her attention back to the task at hand, smoothing the sheets in swift, precise movements, as if afraid that lingering would invite trouble. Charles, however, was not done with the conversation.
âAnd what would you long for?â he asked, his voice quieter now but laced with curiosity. âIf you could have⌠anything?â
Her hands stilled, though she didnât lift her gaze. âIt doesnât matter, Your Highness. People like me donât waste time with such thoughts.â
âThatâs not what I asked.â
The firmness in his tone made her look up briefly, her eyes meeting his for the first time. They were dark, unyielding, yet not unkind. She hesitated, as though weighing the consequences of speaking too openly.
Finally, she murmured, âI suppose⌠Iâd long for choice. To decide my own path, no matter how humble.â
Charles leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he regarded her with an intensity that made her shift slightly under his gaze. âChoice,â he repeated, almost to himself. âThe one thing Iâve never had.â
She blinked at his words, her brow furrowing in confusion. He noticed the look and gave a soft, bitter laugh.
âYou think I have everything, donât you?â he asked, gesturing vaguely at the opulence surrounding them. âAll this, and yet Iâm to marry a woman Iâve never met. Smile on command. Produce heirs like some stud horse for the dynasty.â
âYour Highnessââ
âSpare me,â he interrupted, raising a hand. âIâm aware I sound insufferable. Poor me, the prince in his gilded cage.â
The corners of her mouth twitched, the faintest shadow of a smile threatening to appear, though she suppressed it quickly. âI wouldnât dare say so, Your Highness.â
âAnd yet youâre thinking it,â he said, leaning back against the settee, a faint smirk tugging at his lips now. âGo on. Youâve already said more than most would dare. Speak freely.â
She hesitated, then, emboldened by his unusual mood, offered carefully, âI think⌠itâs easier to envy a cage when itâs lined with silk.â
Charles let out a bark of laughter, surprising them both. For a moment, the tension in the room seemed to dissipate, replaced by something lighter.
âTouchĂŠ,â he said, shaking his head. âPerhaps I deserve that.â
She resumed her work in silence, and he watched her, his mind turning over her words. There was a simplicity in her presence, a quiet sense of purpose that felt like a reprieve from the endless demands of court life.
As she moved to leave, her task completed, she paused by the door. âYour Highness,â she said, her voice tentative.
He glanced up, his expression expectant.
âSometimes⌠cages are only as strong as we believe them to be.â
Before he could respond, she slipped out, leaving him alone with his thoughtsâand the echo of her words, which refused to leave him in peace.
The words haunted Charles for days. Cages are only as strong as we believe them to be. They played on a loop in his mind, following him from morning meetings with ministers to the hollow dinners with his parents, where talk of his engagement to Princess Evelyn consumed every conversation.
By the third day, he relented. Not to the sentiment behind her words, but to the reality of his life. Duty, it seemed, would always triumph over desire. He formally agreed to the arrangement in a cold meeting with his father, his voice devoid of emotion as he signed the papers that would announce his betrothal to the world.
That evening, restless and seeking solace, he ventured into the royal gardens. The roses were in full bloom, their scent heavy in the warm air, yet they brought him no comfort. The paths, so meticulously maintained, felt as constricting as the marble walls of the palace.
The crisp evening air offered a solace the grand halls could not. He strolled along the manicured paths, his mind still heavy with the decision he had made, when movement near the servantâs entrance caught his eye.
It was her.
She was dressed simply, carrying a basket as she slipped through the narrow door at the edge of the palace walls. For a moment, he simply watched her, a sudden curiosity flaring to life. Then, before reason could temper him, he followed.
She moved with purpose, her steps quick as she crossed the gravel path leading to the servantsâ gate. Charles kept his distance, careful to stay within the shadows. The sound of the gate creaking open carried through the still night, and he quickened his pace.
âWait,â he called softly as the gate began to swing shut behind her.
She spun, startled, her hand flying to her chest when she saw him. âYour Highness!â she whispered, her tone panicked. She glanced around quickly, as though expecting someone to appear from the darkness. âWhat are you doing out here?â
âI saw you,â he said simply, his voice low, âand I followed.â
Her expression shifted from shock to alarm. âYou shouldnât have. If anyone sees you out here with meââ
âThey wonât,â he said firmly, stepping closer.
âBut if they doâŚâ Her voice dropped further, almost a plea. âIâll be dismissedâworse. Do you know what theyâd do to me for leaving the palace grounds with the prince?â
He stared at her, and for the first time in days, he felt a flicker of something other than despair. âPlease,â he said, the word escaping him softly but with undeniable weight.
Her eyes widened at his uncharacteristic vulnerability. She shook her head, taking a step back. âNo. I canât. I wonât.â
âIâm not ordering you,â he said quickly. âIâm asking.â
For a moment, she stood frozen, her mind clearly racing. Then, with a frustrated sigh, she pulled the cloak from her shoulders and thrust it toward him.
âFine,â she said, her tone sharp but her movements careful as she draped it around him. âIf anyone asks, youâre my cousin visiting from the countryside. Keep your head down and your mouth shut.â
Charles nodded, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. âUnderstood.â
She turned and began walking quickly down the narrow dirt path beyond the gate. He followed, cloaked in her simple, worn garment, the scent of lavender lingering faintly in the fabric.
They walked in silence for what felt like an eternity before the lights of a small village came into view. She turned onto a side lane, leading him to a tiny house at the edge of town, its thatched roof weathered but charming.
âThis is it,â she said, her voice clipped as she gestured to the modest dwelling.
He stared at the house, a stark contrast to the palace he called home. âYou live here?â
âYes,â she said, clearly defensive. âItâs small, but itâs mine. No one tells me what to do when Iâm here.â
He didnât respond, too busy taking in the details: the flower boxes beneath the windows, the faint glow of a single candle in the window.
âNow youâve seen it,â she said, her tone impatient. âYou should go back before someone notices youâre missing.â
But Charles shook his head. âNo,â he said softly, his eyes still fixed on the little house. âNot yet.â
Her brow furrowed as she crossed her arms. âYou shouldnât have come in the first place.â
âPerhaps not,â he admitted, finally looking at her. âBut now that Iâm here⌠I canât imagine wanting to leave.â
She stared at him, her expression unreadable. The quiet stretched between them, heavy with unspoken words. Finally, she sighed again, softer this time.
âFine,â she said, stepping toward the door. âBut if anyone asks, I donât know why youâre here, and I definitely didnât bring you.â
She pushed the door open, stepping inside with a cautious glance behind her. Charles followed, ducking slightly to avoid the low wooden beam over the doorway. Before she could say a word, a voice called from inside.
âBack already? I thought youââ
The voice cut off as a man, younger than Charles but older than the servant girl, appeared from the far corner of the small room. He froze, his sharp blue eyes flicking between her and the prince. âWhat in Godâs nameâŚâ
âDamn it!â she hissed, pressing a hand to her forehead. âI thought you were working the late shift at the docks tonight!â
âI was,â her brother said, stepping forward and squaring his shoulders. His rough shirt and patched trousers bore the telltale marks of dock workâsalt stains and grime clung to the fabric. âBut the shipment was cancelled. Now you tell me why the bloody prince of Monaco is in our house. Did you kidnap him?â
âKidnap him?â she snapped, throwing her hands in the air. âDonât be ridiculous. He followed me!â
Charles, for his part, seemed utterly unconcerned by the commotion. His gaze wandered over the small room with childlike fascination, taking in the chipped table, the cracked ceramic plates stacked neatly in the corner, and the patchwork curtain separating the single sleeping area. He paused to admire a string of dried herbs hanging near the hearth, as though heâd never seen anything so fascinating.
âYour Highness,â the brother said, stepping in front of him with an awkward, hesitant bow. âI mean no disrespect, but do you⌠do you need me to call someone? Or are you in danger?â He looked over his shoulder at his sister. âAre we in danger?â
âNo one is in danger,â Charles replied, his voice calm. He turned to her brother with a polite nod. âThank you for your concern. Iâm here of my own accord.â
The girl pinched the bridge of her nose, muttering under her breath. Meanwhile, Charlesâ eyes landed on a wooden crate near the wall, and before either sibling could stop him, he lowered himself onto it. The crate creaked but held, and he leaned back with a sigh, a serene smile spreading across his face.
The girl spun on him, her exasperation bubbling over. âWhat are you smiling about?â
He looked up at her, his expression earnest, almost boyish. âItâs beautiful.â
She blinked. âWhat?â
âHere,â he said, gesturing around the room. âItâs so cosy. Everything has its place. Itâs warm, lived-in⌠peaceful.â
Her brother raised an eyebrow, clearly sceptical. âYou call this beautiful? Your palace is five hundred times the size, and you think this isââ
âI know what my palace is,â Charles interrupted, though his tone held no irritation. âCold. Grand. Silent. This⌠this feels alive.â
She crossed her arms, her brow furrowing as she stared at him. For a moment, she didnât know whether to laugh or scold him. âItâs a shack,â she said finally, her voice softer but still tinged with disbelief.
âMaybe,â he said, leaning forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees. âBut itâs your shack. And itâs more honest than anything Iâve ever known.â
Her brother exchanged a glance with her, his expression suggesting that he thought the prince might have lost his mind. She only shook her head, sighing heavily as she walked to the table and placed her basket down.
âThis is a mistake,â she muttered to herself.
âPerhaps,â Charles said, still smiling, âbut itâs the best mistake Iâve made in a long time.â
She busied herself unpacking the basket, placing a few withered carrots, a handful of potatoes, and some crusty bread onto the table. Her brother leaned against the wall, arms crossed, still watching Charles with wary eyes.
âIf youâre staying, Your Highness,â she said, her tone clipped as she focused on the food, âI hope you donât mind scraps.â She hesitated, then glanced at him. âAnd you canât tell anyone at the palace that I take the extras. Theyâdââ
âDismiss you,â Charles finished, his voice soft. âI wonât tell. You have my word.â
She gave a small nod, her shoulders relaxing slightly, and began peeling the potatoes. Her hands moved deftly, her brother stepping in to fetch water from the small barrel near the door. Charles sat quietly on his makeshift chair, watching the two of them work in a rhythm.
âDo you need help?â he asked after a moment.
Her brother let out a short laugh, but she only shook her head without looking up. âNo, Your Highness, but thank you for the offer. I imagine peeling potatoes is beneath you.â
âNot everything is beneath me,â he replied, and while his voice was carrying a hint of dry humour, there was some seriousness to it.
She didnât respond, but a faint smile tugged at her lips as she chopped the vegetables and tossed them into a battered pot over the small fire. Soon, the room filled with the simple, comforting aroma of soup.
When the meal was ready, she placed three mismatched bowls on the table and ladled out the steaming broth. She set one in front of Charles without ceremony, then handed one to her brother before sitting down herself.
Charles took a tentative sip, and his eyes widened slightly. âThis is excellent.â
Her brother snorted. âItâs boiled scraps, mate. You must really have it rough if you think this is fine dining.â
âMax,â she warned, shooting her brother a glare.
Charles chuckled, dipping a chunk of the crusty bread into the soup. âMaybe itâs not fine dining,â he admitted, âbut it tastes real. Honest.â
Her brother rolled his eyes but said nothing more, focusing on his meal. The three of them ate in relative silence, the tension in the room easing slightly as the warmth of the food spread through them.
When the bowls were empty, she cleared the table, stacking the dishes neatly on a small shelf. Charles leaned back, his contented smile returning as he watched her move about the room.
âYou should go,â she said finally, her voice breaking the quiet. She didnât turn to face him.
His smile faltered. âI donât want to.â
Her hands paused for a moment before she resumed tidying the table. âYouâve seen what you wanted to see. This is my life. And you⌠you have your own life waiting for you back there.â
Charles stood slowly, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeves. âI suppose youâre right,â he said softly.
She walked toward the door, not meeting his eyes as she grabbed her cloak and gestured for him to follow. Her brother gave Charles a long, unreadable look as he rose to leave, but he said nothing, only shaking his head as the prince ducked back out into the cool night air.
They walked in silence down the dirt path, the lights of the palace glowing faintly in the distance. When they reached the servantsâ gate, she stopped and turned to him, keeping her eyes on the ground.
âThis is where we part ways,â she said firmly.
He took a step closer, and when she looked up, she saw something in his expressionâgratitude, yes, but something deeper, too. Without a word, he reached for her hand, his touch gentle. He held it for a moment, his thumb brushing lightly over her calloused fingers.
âThank you,â he said, his voice low and filled with sincerity. âFor the soup. For everything.â
Before she could respond, he lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles. The gesture was brief, but it sent a wave of warmth up her arm, leaving her stunned.
He stepped back, releasing her hand, and gave her one last look before slipping through the gate and disappearing into the shadows.
She stood there for a long time, staring at the empty path, her heart racing for reasons she couldnâtâor wouldnâtâname.
The next few days at the palace dragged on in a monotonous blur for Charles. His mornings were filled with tiresome meetings about the engagement, his afternoons with rigid etiquette lessons to prepare for public appearances with Princess Evelyn. Every second felt like a tightening noose around his neck.
Finally, the day came for him to meet her. Princess Evelyn of England arrived with her entourage in an ornate carriage, her entrance every bit as grand as expected. She was perfectly polite, perfectly poisedâand, to Charles, perfectly insipid.
They sat across from each other in one of the palaceâs many drawing rooms, chaperoned by a small battalion of attendants and his ever-watchful parents. She spoke at length about her family lineage, her charity work, and her plans to modernise court life, but her words washed over him like a stream of lukewarm water.
When it was his turn to speak, he managed only the barest pleasantries. He was certain she noticed his lack of enthusiasm, but if it bothered her, she gave no indication.
By the end of the meeting, he felt more drained than he had in years. As she curtsied and left the room, he caught his motherâs pointed glare, but he ignored it.
Before she could say anything to him, he glanced at the ornate clock on his wall. It was nearly the same time as the day she would be fluffing the pillows on his settee. A peculiar sense of anticipation stirred in his chest.
Without a second thought, he made his way to his bedroom. As he opened the door, his eyes immediately fell on her.
She was there, as if summoned by some unspoken wish. She was standing by the settee, her back to him as she carefully fluffed the pillows. Her movements were deliberate, methodical, and entirely unlike the flurry of maids bustling about elsewhere in the palace.
A slow smile spread across his face.
âPerfect timing,â he said loudly, causing her to jump slightly.
She turned, clutching the pillow to her chest. âYour Highness!â she said, startled. âIâ I can come back later ifââ
âDonât bother,â he interrupted dramatically, throwing himself onto the bed with a theatrical sigh.
She froze, unsure whether to be amused or annoyed, as he sprawled across the silk covers, one arm flung over his face.
âLet me tell you about the most dreadful afternoon of my life,â he groaned.
Her brow furrowed as she set the pillow back in place. âThe dreadful afternoon where you met the woman youâre going to marry?â
âPrecisely,â he said, sitting up slightly to gesture at her. âYou understand my plight already.â
âI understand youâre being ridiculous,â she replied, smoothing the cushions on the settee.
âRidiculous?!â he exclaimed, placing a hand over his heart. âDo you know what she said when I asked her about her favourite pastime?â
âI donât,â she said flatly, clearly trying to stay focused on her task.
âShe said,â he continued, his voice dripping with mock enthusiasm, âOh, I do adore embroidery. Thereâs something so meditative about it.â
She stared at him. âThat⌠doesnât sound terrible.â
He sat up fully now, gesturing emphatically. âDoesnât sound terrible? Itâs horrific! What am I to do with someone who finds stitching flowers onto fabric the height of excitement?â
âYou could try embroidery yourself,â she suggested dryly, unable to resist a small smirk.
He narrowed his eyes at her. âVery funny. No, what I need is someone who⌠who challenges me. Someone with fire.â
She arched an eyebrow but said nothing, turning back to the pillows.
âInstead,â he muttered, flopping back onto the bed, âIâm shackled to a walking lesson in decorum.â
The room fell silent for a moment, save for the soft rustle of fabric as she adjusted the settee. Finally, she turned to face him fully, her expression unreadable.
âMaybe,â she said carefully, âyou should spend less time thinking about what you donât like about her and more time figuring out what youâre looking for.â
Charles opened one eye to glance at her. âAnd if what Iâm looking for isnât an option?â
Her gaze lingered on him for a moment, something unspoken passing between them. Then, she shook her head and turned back to her work.
âThen you make do,â she said simply.
He watched her for a long moment, his chest tightening inexplicably.
âIs that what you do?â he asked softly.
She paused but didnât turn around. âEvery day, Your Highness.â
Without another word, she grabbed her items and walked out, softly closing the door behind her.
Charles had barely settled back on the bed, still pondering her cryptic answer, when the door to his chambers burst open.
His younger brother, Arthur, strode in, his golden hair slightly dishevelled and a boyish grin plastered across his face. âCharles! I just saw herâthe princess of England. Sheâs⌠stunning. Gorgeous. A masterpiece, really. You lucky bastard.â
Charles groaned, throwing an arm over his eyes. âArthur, must you always barge in uninvited?â
Arthur ignored him, plopping himself unceremoniously into one of the velvet chairs near the fireplace. âI mean it. If I were you, Iâd have proposed on the spot. Did you see her eyes? Like polished emeralds.â
âSheâs⌠fine,â Charles muttered, his tone flat.
âFine?â Arthurâs voice rose in mock indignation. âBrother, Iâd trade places with you in an instant.â He leaned forward, his grin widening. âWhat is it? Not enough excitement for you? Too⌠proper?â
Charles sat up, his expression exasperated. âIf you find her so attractive, Arthur, marry her yourself.â
Arthur laughed, clearly amused by the suggestion. âOh, if only it worked that way. But alas, you are the crown prince. The heir. The one who gets the girl and the throne, while Iâm left to look charming at parties.â
Charles shook his head, his frustration bubbling beneath the surface. He couldnât help but wonder how different his life might be if the roles were reversed. Could Arthur really be happy living a life of obligation, of gilded cages and loveless arrangements?
His thoughts drifted, unbidden, back to the servant girl. Her small house, her laughter with her brother over bowls of soup, the way she moved through life with an independence heâd never known.
âWhat would it be like,â he murmured, almost to himself, âto marry someone who isnât royalty? Someone who isnât bound by these ridiculous rules?â
Arthur blinked at him, momentarily caught off guard. Then he laughed, loud and incredulous. âAre you out of your mind?â
Charles turned his head sharply, fixing his brother with a challenging look. âIâm serious. What would it be like to marry a commoner? To live a life free of all this⌠pomp and pretence?â
Arthurâs laughter faded, replaced by a look of disbelief. âYou are mad. Do you have any idea what that would mean? The scandal? The uproar? Father would have a fit. Mother would faint on the spot. And the people? Theyâd riot.â
âWould they?â Charles asked, his tone calm but insistent. âOr would they understand? Would they respect a prince who chose love over duty?â
Arthur shook his head, a faint sneer creeping into his expression. âYou donât know what youâre saying. A prince doesnât marry a milkmaid or a seamstress. Itâs not a fairytale, Charles. Weâre not⌠like them.â
The words hung in the air, heavy and sharp.
âNot like them,â Charles repeated softly, his voice carrying a hint of disdain. âAnd what exactly does that mean?â
Arthur hesitated, then shrugged, as if the answer were obvious. âIt means we have a responsibility. A legacy to uphold. Marrying into royalty isnât just traditionâitâs survival. You think Father and Mother arranged your engagement for fun?â
Charles didnât respond immediately. Instead, he leaned back against the headboard, his mind churning. Arthurâs words grated against something deep within him, something that longed to push back against the boundaries of their carefully constructed world.
âMaybe,â he said finally, his voice low, âthe legacy isnât worth the cost.â
Arthur stared at him, his disbelief giving way to concern. âCharles⌠youâve been spending too much time alone. Or worseâreading poetry again. Get your head out of the clouds, brother. This is your life. Learn to accept it.â
With that, Arthur rose, clapping Charles on the shoulder before striding toward the door. âAnd if you wonât,â he added with a grin, âIâll gladly keep the princess company. Youâre a fool not to appreciate her.â
The door closed behind him, leaving Charles alone in the echoing silence of his chambers.
But his mind wasnât silent.
It churned, restless and defiant, filled with images of a life he might never know.
The chill of the autumn night bit at Charlesâs skin as he hurried along the winding path toward the small house. A week had passed, and though he told himself repeatedly that it was improperâfoolish, evenâhe couldnât shake the gnawing thought of her.
He hadnât seen her since their last conversation in his chambers. Every day without her had stretched longer than the last. No wry comments while she smoothed the wrinkles from his sheets, no gentle jabs at his dramatics.
The house appeared before him, small and humble against the starlit sky. Light peeked through the cracks in the shutters.
He hesitated, his heart pounding. Then, before he could talk himself out of it, he knocked.
The door opened a crack, her face appearing in the dim light. The moment she recognised him, her eyes widened in alarm, and she yanked him inside, shutting the door firmly behind him.
âYour Highness!â she whispered fiercely, pressing her back against the door as though to block the outside world. âAre you out of your mind? Iâll be hung if they find you at my door!â
He tried to smile, though he knew she was right. âI havenât seen you all week.â
Her expression turned exasperated. âThatâs not a valid reason to sneak out of the palace, Prince Charles.â
âIsnât it?â he countered lightly, though the heat rising in his cheeks betrayed the truth of how much heâd missed her.
Her sigh was heavy with frustration, but something softened in her gaze. âYou shouldnât be here,â she said again, though her voice lacked its earlier sharpness. She moved away from the door, adjusting the shawl around her shoulders.
It was then that he noticed the redness around her nose, the slight rasp in her voice.
âYouâve been ill,â he said, stepping closer.
âItâs nothing,â she replied, waving him off as she moved toward the small kitchen space. âA cold. Happens every year when the weather turns. Iâll survive.â
âYou shouldnât have to,â he said quietly, glancing around the room.
âLife doesnât wait for the sniffles,â she said with a faint smirk, though her movements were slower than usual as she reached for a bowl.
âThen let me help,â he said, surprising both of them.
She turned, raising an eyebrow. âYou? Help? What do you know about cooking?â
âAbsolutely nothing,â he admitted, grinning. âBut Iâm an excellent student.â
She stared at him for a moment, as though deciding whether to humour him. Finally, she handed him a knife and motioned toward a small pile of vegetables. âFine. Peel those. Try not to cut yourself.â
He took the knife gingerly, studying the carrot as if it were a puzzle. She chuckled softly, the sound warming the small space, and stepped beside him to show him the proper angle for peeling.
The next hour passed in a flurry of quiet laughter and careful instructions. He fumbled with the knife, his first attempts earning teasing remarks from her, but he improved quickly under her guidance. Together, they chopped, stirred, and seasoned until the small pot on the stove began to bubble with a fragrant stew.
As they worked, the conversation drifted.
âYouâre better at this than I expected,â she said, handing him a spoon to stir.
He smiled. âCareful. If you keep complimenting me, I might come back for more lessons.â
She shook her head, a small smile playing on her lips. âCooking isnât glamorous work, Your Highness. Itâs just⌠survival.â
âMaybe,â he said, his tone thoughtful, âbut thereâs something⌠grounding about it. It feels real.â
She looked at him, her brow furrowing slightly. âYou really hate that palace life, donât you?â
He didnât answer right away, instead focusing on the steady motion of the spoon in the pot. âI donât hate it,â he said eventually. âItâs just⌠hollow. Every decision is made for me. Every word is calculated. I donât know who Iâm supposed to be in all of it.â
She nodded slowly, her gaze distant. âYouâre lucky, though,â she said softly. âEven if itâs hollow, you have a place. A name. People like me⌠weâre just the shadows keeping the fire alive.â
He stopped stirring, her words settling heavily in the space between them. âI donât think thatâs true,â he said after a moment.
She tilted her head, her expression sceptical. âNo?â
âNo,â he said firmly. âYouâre more than that. Youâre clever. Strong. Independent. You see things I never could.â
She blinked, taken aback by the conviction in his voice.
âThatâs what I like about you,â he added softly, almost without thinking.
The words hung in the air, and he froze, realising too late what heâd said.
Her cheeks flushed a deep pink, and she turned away quickly, pretending to adjust the pot on the stove.
His own face burned as he fumbled for something to say, but nothing came. The silence stretched on, heavy and charged, until she finally spoke, her voice quieter than before.
âYou should taste the stew,â she said, not looking at him.
He stepped forward, dipping the spoon into the pot and taking a tentative sip.
âItâs perfect,â he said, his voice softer now.
Her lips curved into the faintest smile, though she still didnât meet his gaze.
The evening deepened, the chill of the autumn air seeping through the thin walls of the small house. Charles noticed her slight shiver as she ladled the stew into two mismatched bowls, the threadbare shawl around her shoulders doing little to shield her from the cold.
He stood abruptly, unfastening the clasp of his heavy cloak. She turned to look at him, startled, as he stepped behind her and draped it gently over her shoulders.
âWhat are you doing?â she asked, pulling the thick fabric around herself instinctively.
âYouâre cold,â he said simply, sitting back down and picking up his bowl.
She hesitated, looking at him with a mix of gratitude and uncertainty. âBut youâll freeze without it.â
âIâll be fine,â he replied with a small smile. âIâve survived colder nights, army and all of that.â
The warmth of the cloak seemed to envelop her, and she relaxed slightly, sitting down across from him. For a moment, they ate in silence, the quiet clinking of their spoons the only sound.
When their bowls were empty, Charles glanced around the modest room, noticing for the first time the lack of a hearthfire.
âDo you light a fire at night?â he asked, though he already suspected the answer.
She shook her head. âCanât afford firewood,â she said matter-of-factly, collecting their bowls. âItâs not so bad. We manage.â
âOh,â was all he managed to say, though the thought of her and her brother enduring nights in such cold unsettled him deeply.
She didnât seem to notice his reaction, busying herself with tidying up.
Later, as he prepared to leave, she hesitated by the door, holding his cloak out to him.
âTake this back,â she said softly.
He pushed her hand gently back toward her. âKeep it,â he insisted. âFor tonight.â
She opened her mouth to argue but stopped, the words faltering. Finally, she nodded, her fingers tightening around the fabric.
âThank you,â she said, her voice almost a whisper.
He smiled at her one last time before stepping out into the night, the chill biting at him instantly as he made his way back to the palace.
She played with the royal clasp of his cloak as he left and wondered what her life would be like if she wasnât just a servant and he wasnât the Crown Prince of Monaco.
No less than a few days later, her brother barged into the small house, his footsteps heavy against the creaking floorboards.
âWhy,â he began, his voice loud and incredulous, âis there monthsâ worth of firewood outside the house?â
She looked up from where she was patching a worn-out scarf, distracted. âWhat are you talking about?â
âThe firewood,â he repeated, gesturing wildly toward the door. âThereâs a mountain of it, just sitting there! Did you rob a lumberyard?â
She frowned, setting down her work and walking to the door. When she stepped outside, her eyes widened at the sight of the neatly stacked pile of firewood by the side of the house.
âI⌠I donât know,â she stammered, completely bewildered.
It was then that she noticed a small slip of paper tucked into the top of the stack. Pulling it free, she unfolded it to reveal a note written in a familiar, elegant hand.
Keep warm â C
Her cheeks flushed, and a small smile tugged at her lips despite herself.
Her brother leaned over her shoulder, reading the note. âC?â he asked suspiciously. âWhoâs C?â
She folded the note quickly, tucking it into her apron pocket. âNo one,â she said, avoiding his gaze.
Her brother narrowed his eyes but didnât press further, shaking his head as he muttered something about princes and their peculiarities.
She was fluffing the pillows on the freshly made bed when the door to the princeâs chambers swung open. Charles strode in, his expression lighting up the moment he saw her. Without hesitation, he leapt onto the bed, landing with a dramatic bounce that sent a pillow tumbling to the floor.
âYouâre back!â he exclaimed, grinning. âAnd youâre better!â
âAnd you just ruined the bed I made.â she chided but then moved on to adjusting a vase on the side table. âWell I must say, a lit fire at night changes a whole lot.â
He froze for a fraction of a second, then sat up, feigning ignorance with an exaggerated shrug. âOh? A fire, you say? Thatâs⌠good to hear. Fires are quite helpful, Iâm told.â
Her smirk widened. âIâm sure someone told you that.â
âPerhaps,â he said, swinging his legs off the bed and leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. âBut weâre not here to discuss firewood logistics, are we?â
She rolled her eyes, walking around the room to dust the mantel. âThen what would you like to discuss, Your Highness?â
He sighed heavily, flopping back onto the bed and throwing an arm over his face. âThe princess of England.â
She raised an eyebrow, glancing over at him. âOh?â
âI have to meet her again,â he groaned. âAnother tea, another tedious conversation about fabrics or her needlework or some other mind-numbing topic. I swear, Iâd rather duel blindfolded than sit through it.â
She snorted, biting back a laugh. âBlindfolded? Thatâs a bit much, donât you think?â
âNo,â he said, peeking at her from under his arm. âItâs perfectly reasonable.â
âOf course it is,â she said, her tone dripping with mock sincerity. âBecause whatâs more reasonable than a prince skewering himself just to avoid small talk?â
He sat up, clutching his chest theatrically. âYou wound me, madam. Truly, your lack of sympathy is cruel.â
She gave him a sidelong glance, shaking her head as she set the duster aside. âYouâre insufferable, you know that?â
âIâve been told,â he replied, grinning.
She turned back to the mantel, but when the silence stretched, she glanced over her shoulder. He was watching her, his expression soft, his eyes warm and intent.
Her brow furrowed. âWhy are you looking at me like that?â
He blinked, snapping out of his reverie, and quickly looked away, running a hand through his hair. âI wasnât looking at you.â
âYou absolutely were,â she said, crossing her arms and giving him a suspicious look.
âNo, I was⌠thinking,â he said, his voice a touch too casual.
She arched an eyebrow, unconvinced. âThinking about what?â
âAboutâŚâ He scrambled for an answer, then pointed toward the bed. âAbout how well you made this bed. Truly impressive. Best Iâve ever seen.â
She rolled her eyes again, but a faint blush crept into her cheeks. âRight,â she said, picking up her duster. âWell, Iâll leave you to your very important thinking, then.â
He watched her go, his chest tightening as the door clicked softly shut behind her.
Over the next few days, Charles found himself increasingly distracted. Whether strolling through the palace gardens or enduring another tiresome tea with the princess, his thoughts invariably drifted to her. The way her wit kept him on his toes. The quiet determination in her movements. The occasional flicker of softness beneath her sharp remarks.
It was maddening.
When he was near her, he found excuses to linger. When she wasnât around, he searched for her without realising it. And as much as he tried to push the growing ache in his chest aside, he couldnât deny what was happening.
Heâd fallen for her.
It was late afternoon when he returned to his chambers after a gruelling diplomatic meeting. To his delight, she was there, dusting the intricate carvings on the wooden frame of his bed. She didnât notice him enter, humming softly to herself as she worked.
He leaned casually against the doorframe, watching her for a moment before clearing his throat.
She jumped, spinning around to face him, clutching her duster like a weapon. âDo you have to sneak up on me?â
âItâs my room,â he said, smirking. âI can hardly sneak into my own space.â
She scowled, turning back to her work. âYouâre insufferable.â
âSo youâve said,â he replied, stepping further into the room. âBut you keep coming back. Perhaps Iâm growing on you.â
âI come back because itâs my job,â she retorted, moving to dust a nearby shelf.
He followed her, leaning lazily against the furniture. âA job you seem to excel at. Though I wonder⌠do you enjoy tormenting me as much as I enjoy tormenting you?â
She shot him a sharp glance, but the corner of her mouth twitched. âSomeone has to keep your ego in check, Your Highness.â
He chuckled, reaching out to pluck the duster from her hand. âYou do it so well,â he murmured, his voice low.
Her breath hitched slightly as he leaned closer, her eyes darting to his before flicking away. âYou should stop doing that.â
âDoing what?â he asked, his voice soft and teasing as he leaned closer still, his face mere inches from hers.
âWhatever it is youâre doing,â she said, stepping back slightly, only to find herself against the edge of the shelf.
The tension in the air was palpable, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. His gaze was locked on hers, and for a moment, the world outside the room seemed to vanish.
A sharp knock on the door shattered the moment.
âCharles?â his brotherâs voice called from the hallway.
Panic flared in her eyes, and Charles acted on instinct, grabbing her wrist and pulling her toward the large wardrobe at the side of the room.
âWhat are youââ she began, but he pressed a finger to her lips as he opened the wardrobe door and ushered her inside.
The space was small, barely enough for the two of them. She pressed herself against the back wall as he stepped in, closing the door behind them.
The darkness was absolute, and the only sound was the quiet shuffle of their breaths.
âStay quiet,â he whispered, his breath warm against her ear.
A beat passed, and she whispered back, her voice laced with frustration, âIf we get caught, itâll be my neck, not yours.â
âNo oneâs getting caught,â he murmured, his voice low and steady.
In the confined space, his hand brushed against hers, and he froze. Slowly, almost hesitantly, his fingers moved to her face. His touch was light, tentative, as though he feared she might vanish at any moment.
His thumb traced the curve of her cheek, brushing against her skin with agonising slowness. Her breath hitched, and in the silence, it felt deafening.
âWhy are youâŚâ she began, but her voice faltered as his fingers brushed the line of her jaw, lingering there for a moment before sliding to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
âYouâre trembling,â he whispered, his voice barely audible.
âYouâre too close,â she replied, though her tone lacked conviction.
The faintest smile curved his lips, though she couldnât see it in the dark. âYouâre not stopping me,â he said softly.
Before she could respond, his brotherâs voice echoed from the other side of the room. âCharles, where are you?â
He leaned closer, his forehead nearly brushing hers. âStay still,â he murmured, his hand still cradling her cheek.
She closed her eyes, the tension in the small space suffocating and electric all at once.
Footsteps receded as his brother left the room, grumbling something about missing him.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. Then, Charles let out a slow breath, his hand dropping from her face. He opened the wardrobe door slightly, letting in the dim light of the room.
âSafe,â he said quietly, stepping back to let her out.
She stepped past him, her cheeks flushed and her breaths uneven. âYouâre reckless,â she muttered, avoiding his gaze as she hurried to gather her duster.
He smirked, leaning against the wardrobe door. âAnd youâre adorable when youâre flustered.â
She shot him a glare over her shoulder, but the pink in her cheeks betrayed her.
âGet back to work, Your Highness,â she said, her tone sharp but her voice unsteady.
He chuckled softly, watching her go.
The late afternoon sunlight streamed through the tall windows of Charlesâs chambers, painting golden streaks across the plush rug. She was there again, this time at his desk, meticulously polishing the brass handles of the drawers. She worked with the same quiet efficiency she always did, her movements steady, purposeful.
Charles, reclining lazily on the settee, had been pretending to read a book for the past ten minutes. In truth, heâd barely turned a page. His attention was drawn, as it so often was these days, to her.
He cleared his throat, drawing her attention. âHave you ever taken a moment to rest?â
She glanced at him briefly before returning to her task. âI rest when my work is done.â
âAnd when is it done?â he pressed, setting the book down and rising to his feet.
She didnât answer immediately, her focus still on the brass handle in her hand. âWhen your chambers sparkle, Your Highness.â
He chuckled, stepping closer. âIt already sparkles. Youâve polished this desk so many times I can see my reflection.â
She huffed softly, clearly unimpressed. âThereâs still dust.â
He reached out, his hand gently brushing hers as she gripped the cloth. She stilled, her breath catching as his fingers lingered over hers.
âYouâre relentless,â he murmured, his voice low.
Her eyes flicked to his, wide and uncertain. âAnd youâre in my way.â
He smiled, his expression teasing but his gaze intent. âIâm rarely in anyoneâs way. Itâs a novelty.â
She tried to step back, but he moved with her, closing the distance between them. âWhat are you doing?â she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
âObserving,â he said, his voice soft, warm, as if he were sharing a secret. âYouâre endlessly fascinating to watch, you know.â
Her cheeks flushed, and she looked away, but he reached out, gently tilting her chin so sheâd meet his eyes again.
âYou shouldnât say things like that,â she said, her voice shaky.
âWhy not?â
âBecauseâŚâ She faltered, her lips parting as she searched for words. âBecause you shouldnât.â
He leaned in slightly, his hand still holding her chin. The air between them was heavy, charged with something neither of them dared name.
âYouâre trembling again,â he said softly, the corner of his mouth lifting in the faintest of smiles.
âIâm not,â she said quickly, but her voice betrayed her.
âYou are,â he whispered, his thumb brushing her jaw in the lightest of touches.
Her breath hitched, and her hands tightened around the cloth she still held. âThis is dangerous,â she managed, though her tone was weak.
âFor you?â he asked, tilting his head slightly. âOr for me?â
She couldnât answer, her heart pounding so loudly she was certain he could hear it.
His hand moved, the backs of his fingers tracing the curve of her cheek, then down to her neck, where his thumb rested lightly against her pulse. He felt it hammering beneath his touch and smiled softly, almost as if he were marvelling at it.
âYou feel it too,â he said, his voice low and intimate, as if the world beyond this moment didnât exist.
She swallowed hard, her hands trembling as she finally pushed lightly at his chest. âYou⌠need to stop.â
For a moment, he didnât move, his gaze locked on hers. Then, slowly, he stepped back, though the tension in the air lingered like a storm about to break.
She turned away quickly, grabbing her cloth and pretending to busy herself with the desk again, though her hands shook so much she nearly dropped it.
âIâm sorry,â he said softly, the sincerity in his voice stopping her in her tracks.
She didnât turn back to him, but she nodded slightly, her voice quiet. âDonât do it again.â
But neither of them believed that.
That night the crackle of the fire in the grand drawing room filled the silence as Charles poured himself another glass of brandy. His younger brother lounged in the chair across from him, a glass already in hand.
âYouâve been distracted lately,â Arthur said, swirling his drink. âEven more so than usual.â
Charles leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking beneath him. âHave I?â
Arthur arched an eyebrow. âYou spent half of tea with the English delegation yesterday staring at the window. Iâm pretty sure they could have declared war, and you wouldnât have noticed.â
Charles chuckled, though it lacked his usual mirth. He stared into his glass, the amber liquid catching the firelight.
âArthur,â he began, his voice uncharacteristically quiet.
His brother tilted his head, curious. âWhat?â
âWhat would you think of⌠being the next heir to the throne?â
Arthur blinked, then laughed, loud and incredulous. âWhat, youâre not planning on dying anytime soon, are you?â
âNo,â Charles said, shaking his head, his lips twitching into a faint smile.
Arthur leaned forward, narrowing his eyes. âThen why would you ask that?â
Charles swirled his drink, his gaze distant. âJust⌠wondering.â
Arthur snorted, leaning back again. âAbdicating is social suicide. If youâre even entertaining the thought, Iâd advise you to stop immediately.â
Charles stayed silent, his thumb brushing idly along the rim of his glass.
The quiet stretched, and Arthur froze mid-drink, lowering his glass to the table with a sharp clink. His eyes widened, and his voice dropped. âYouâre not thinking of abdicating⌠are you?â
Charles didnât respond right away, his jaw tightening as he stared into the fire.
âCha,â Arthur pressed, his voice rising slightly. âWhat the hell is going on with you? Whoâs put this absurd idea in your head?â
Charles glanced at him, his expression inscrutable. âItâs not absurd.â
âIt is when youâre the crown prince of Monaco,â Arthur snapped, sitting up straighter. âYouâd give up everythingâpower, privilege, our familyâs legacyâfor what? A whim? A fleeting fancy?â
âItâs not a fancy,â Charles said sharply, his voice cutting through the room.
Arthur blinked, taken aback by his brotherâs rare flash of anger. âThen what is it?â
Charles leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees and staring hard at his brother. âWhat if I told you itâs something real? That Iâve found somethingâsomeoneâwho makes me feel more alive than anything this throne ever could?â
Arthurâs jaw dropped slightly, his expression caught between shock and disbelief. âYouâre serious.â
âDeadly serious,â Charles said, his tone firm.
Arthur exhaled, running a hand through his hair. âThis isnât just about a servant, is it?â
Charlesâs head shot up, his eyes narrowing. âHowââ
âPlease,â Arthur said, waving a hand. âYou think I havenât noticed? The way youâve been sneaking out, the looks you give when you think no oneâs watching? The firewood? Youâre an open book.â
Charles leaned back, a wry smile tugging at his lips. âI underestimated you.â
âAnd youâre underestimating the chaos youâd cause,â Arthur shot back. âDo you have any idea what this would mean for the family? For Monaco?â
Charlesâs expression hardened. âFor once, Iâm thinking about what it would mean for me.â
Arthur stared at him, the firelight casting shadows across his face. âYouâd walk away from all of this?â
âIf it meant being with her?â Charles said, his voice soft but resolute. âYes. I would.â
The weight of his words settled over them, and for once, Arthur didnât have a quick retort.
The next few days were torturous for Charles. Each moment stretched longer than the last, his thoughts dominated by her. Every step he took through the palace halls felt meaningless without catching sight of herâher quick smile, her quiet resolve, the way she challenged him without fear.
He thought of her words, her laughter, the way her cheeks flushed when he teased her. More than that, he thought of the way she made him feelâseen, understood, even cherished in a way that no title or crown could replicate.
His heart ached with the weight of it, with the need to tell her, to unburden himself of the truth that had taken root so deeply he couldnât ignore it anymore.
But how? How could he look her in the eye and admit what he was so sure would unravel the tenuous balance between them?
One morning, he found himself wandering aimlessly through the palace gardens. It was the time of day she often brought fresh linens from the storage to the castle, she usually crossed the gardens. He lingered, hoping for a glimpse of her, but she was nowhere to be seen.
Frustrated, he returned to his chambers, pacing the space restlessly, thinking. No, waiting to next see her. When she finally arrived, carrying a tray of fresh tea and biscuits, his breath hitched.
âYouâre pacing,â she said, placing the tray on the table. âThatâs never a good sign.â
âIâve been restless,â he admitted, stopping mid-stride. âAnd youâre late.â
She raised an eyebrow as she set the tea. âDidnât know I was on your schedule.â
He crossed the room to her, his steps deliberate. âI notice when youâre not here.â
Her hands stilled for a moment before she resumed arranging the tea things. âIâm just a servant, Your Highness. Surely you have better things to notice.â
âThatâs not true,â he said, his voice dropping.
She looked up at him, her expression guarded. âIt should be.â
He wanted to argue, to say it wasnât her place to decide what mattered to him, but the vulnerability in her gaze stopped him. Instead, he changed the subject.
âHave you eaten today?â
She frowned, clearly caught off guard. âWhy do you ask?â
âBecause Iâd wager you havenât,â he said, stepping closer. âYou work yourself to the bone.â
She shrugged, turning back to her task. âIâm used to it.â
âThatâs not an answer,â he said, his tone softer now. âCome. Sit with me for a moment.â
She hesitated, glancing at the door. âIf someone seesââ
âNo one will,â he said, moving to pull a chair out for her. âPlease.â
Her eyes darted between him and the chair before she sighed, giving in and sitting reluctantly.
He poured her a cup of tea, his movements unhurried. As he handed it to her, their fingers brushed, and he felt the now-familiar spark that always seemed to follow her touch.
âYou donât have to do this,â she said quietly, looking down at the tea.
âDo what?â
âTreat me like Iâm someone,â she said, her voice barely above a whisper. âSomeone important.â
His chest tightened. âYou are.â
She looked up at him then, her eyes wide, filled with a mix of disbelief and something elseâsomething that made his breath catch.
For a moment, he thought about saying it, about laying it all out before her. But the words caught in his throat, weighed down by the fear of what her reaction might be.
The next day, Charles found himself waiting for her in his chambers again, anticipation thrumming through him. When she arrived, her arms full of fresh linens, he immediately noticed the faint circles under her eyes.
âYouâre overworking yourself again,â he said, standing from his seat near the window.
âIâm fine,â she replied, her tone brisk as she moved to change the bedding.
âYouâre not,â he countered, moving closer.
She straightened, turning to face him. âWhy do you care?â
The question hung in the air between them, heavy with unspoken truths.
âBecauseâŚâ He hesitated, his hands flexing at his sides as he struggled to find the right words. âBecause you matter to me.â
Her lips parted, her breath catching. âCharles, donâtââ
âIâm not trying to overstep,â he said quickly. âBut you should knowâI canât ignore it anymore.â
âIgnore what?â she asked, her voice trembling slightly.
Before he could answer, the sound of footsteps echoed in the hall. She stepped back instinctively, breaking the moment.
Over the next few days, he was quieter, more pensive. He found himself watching her more often, the words he wanted to say always on the tip of his tongue. But every time he opened his mouth, the weight of the risks stopped him.
What if she didnât feel the same? What if she did, but couldnât say so?
The questions tormented him, each one drawing him closer to the inevitable conclusion: he had to tell her.
But how could he make her understand the depth of his feelings without ruining everything?
Charles really tried to wait it out, he tried so hard.
But when the rain lashed outside his chambers where he sat in the dimly lit room, the fire crackling softly in the hearth.
He worried.
It was late, far later than when she usually came, but he had waited, a knot of tension in his chest.
When the door finally opened, and she stepped inside with her usual quiet grace, drenched from the rain with his laundry in a covered basket, his heart leapt.
âYouâre soaked,â he said, standing quickly. âYou shouldnât be out in this weather.â
She shrugged, setting the basket down by the door. âWork doesnât stop for a storm, Your Highness.â
He frowned, crossing the room to her. âTake off that cloak; youâll catch your death.â
âIâm fine,â she said, brushing past him toward the hearth, but her shivering betrayed her words.
He moved closer, pulling her gently toward the warmth of the fire. âWhy do you always insist on pretending youâre fine when youâre not?â
She stiffened under his touch. âBecause I have no other choice.â
Her words hit him harder than he expected. He reached for her hands, his thumbs brushing over her cold fingers. âYou shouldnât have to live like this.â
She pulled her hands back, looking at him with a mixture of confusion and caution. âWhat do you mean?â
âI meanâŚâ He hesitated, his heart pounding. âI canât keep pretending. Not anymore.â
âPretending what?â she asked, her voice quiet but steady.
âThat I donât feel this,â he said, stepping closer. âThat I donât feel everything for you.â
Her eyes widened, her breath catching. âCharlesâŚâ
âI love you,â he said, the words tumbling out, raw and unguarded. âIâve tried to fight it, to ignore it, but I canât. I donât want to.â
Before she could even stop them, tears welled in her eyes, and she shook her head, stepping back. âYou donât mean that. You canât.â
âI do,â he said firmly, closing the distance between them again. âIâd give up everythingâthis title, this lifeâif it meant being with you.â
Her tears spilled over then, and she covered her mouth with her hand. âDonât say that. Donât even think it.â
âWhy not?â he asked, his voice breaking. âIf Iâm not happy hereâif I canât have the life I wantâwhat good is any of this?â
âBecause you donât know what youâre saying,â she said, her voice rising. âYouâve lived in a palace your entire life, with servants, banquets, comfort. You donât know what itâs like to live without it. To go to bed on an empty stomach. To wake up not knowing if youâll have work the next day. I canât do that to you.â
âYou wouldnât be doing it to me,â he said desperately. âIt would be my choice.â
She shook her head again, her tears falling faster now. âAnd what happens when you realise you canât live like that? When the reality of it sets in? Youâll resent me. And Iâll lose you.â
âYou wonât lose me,â he said, his voice pleading as he reached for her hands again. âI swear to you, you wonât.â
âI donât have a good life,â she whispered, her voice trembling. âI can barely take care of myself. How could I take care of you?â
âI donât need you to take care of me,â he said, his hands tightening around hers. âI just need you. I donât care about the rest.â
She looked at him, her eyes searching his, her tears glistening in the firelight. âYouâre asking me to believe in something that feels impossible.â
âThen let me prove it to you,â he said, his voice breaking as his own tears threatened to fall. âPlease. Give me a chance to show you how much you mean to me. Let me love you the way you deserve.â
Her resolve wavered, her breath hitching as his words sank in. She wanted to believe himâdesperatelyâbut the fear of what they would face, of what they would lose, loomed over her.
âChaâŚâ she began, her voice cracking.
âPlease,â he whispered, his forehead resting against hers. âSay yes. Just⌠say yes.â
For a long, agonising moment, the only sound was the rain pounding against the windows and the crackle of the fire.
âI donât know how to do this,â she said finally, her voice barely audible.
âThen weâll figure it out together,â he said, cupping her face gently, his thumbs brushing away her tears. âBut donât push me away. Not now. Not when I know you feel this too.â
Her lips quivered, and she closed her eyes, a fresh tear slipping down her cheek. âYouâre impossible,â she whispered.
âAnd youâre everything,â he replied, his voice trembling with emotion.
After pacing around his room for a few days, thinking of how he was going to tell his father, Charles went to his study.
The atmosphere in the kingâs study was heavy with tension, the air almost crackling as Charles stood before his father. The older man sat behind an imposing mahogany desk, his expression dark and unreadable. The storm that had raged days earlier seemed to have shifted inside these walls, centering on the room as if the universe sensed the coming conflict.
âI need to speak with you,â Charles began, his voice steady but tight.
The king set down the pen he had been holding, his gaze sharp. âThis sounds serious.â
âIt is,â Charles replied, straightening his shoulders. âIâve made a decision.â
The king leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. âI see. Go on, then.â
âIâm going to abdicate.â
For a moment, the words seemed to hang in the air, the weight of them pressing down on the room.
Then, the kingâs expression darkened further, his voice sharp and incredulous. âYouâre what?â
âIâve decided I donât want the throne,â Charles said firmly. âItâs not the life I want anymore.â
The king rose from his chair, his movements slow and deliberate as he loomed over the desk. âDo you even understand what youâre saying? What youâre throwing away?â
âYes,â Charles said, meeting his fatherâs gaze without flinching. âIâve thought about thisâmore than you know. I donât want this life. I wantâŚâ He hesitated, his voice softening. âI want to live my own life.â
The king scoffed, shaking his head. âAnd what life would that be? One of obscurity? Of poverty? Youâve never gone a day without comfort, without privilege. You know nothing of what itâs like out there, and you think you can just⌠give all of this up?â
âI do,â Charles said, his tone resolute.
The kingâs eyes narrowed. âThis is about her, isnât it? That servant girl. Your mother mentioned her but I did not believe her.â
Charlesâs chest tightened, but he didnât deny it. âYes. Itâs about her. But itâs also about me. About what I want, who I want to be. And I know I donât want this.â
âDonât be a fool,â the king snapped, his voice rising. âYou think love is enough to sustain you? That some fantasy of a simpler life will keep you warm when reality sets in? She canât give you what you need, Charles.â
âShe gives me what I want,â Charles shot back, his voice fierce. âAnd for once, isnât that enough?â
âNo, it isnât!â the king roared, slamming his hand on the desk. âYouâre a prince! You have a dutyâto your family, to your people. You canât just walk away because of some fleeting infatuation.â
âItâs not fleeting,â Charles said, his voice dropping but losing none of its intensity. âI love her. And Iâd rather live a life with herâwhatever that looks likeâthan spend one more moment pretending to be happy here.â
The king laughed bitterly, shaking his head. âYouâre naĂŻve. You donât even know how to survive out there.â
âSheâll teach me,â Charles said, surprising even himself with the certainty in his voice. âI want to learn. I want that lifeâwith her.â
The king stared at him, his face a mixture of disbelief and frustration. âYouâre throwing away everything youâve ever known for a life of struggle. For what?â
âFor love,â Charles said simply.
The room fell silent, the only sound the faint ticking of the clock on the wall. The king finally sat back down, rubbing a hand over his face. When he looked up again, his expression was weary but no less stern.
âYouâre making a mistake,â he said quietly.
âMaybe,â Charles replied. âBut itâs my mistake to make.â
The kingâs lips pressed into a thin line, his gaze searching his sonâs face as if looking for a crack in his resolve. But Charles stood firm, his decision made.
âYouâll regret this,â the king said finally, his voice heavy with warning.
âPerhaps,â Charles said. âBut Iâll never regret choosing her.â
Without another word, he turned and walked out of the study, leaving his father staring after him in silence.
The rumours spread like wildfire. Whispers followed Charles wherever he walked, his every step trailed by servants and courtiers exchanging furtive glances and hushed speculations. The air in the palace buzzed with the shock of his decision, but none of it mattered to him. Not the disapproval etched into his fatherâs face, nor the incredulous murmurs of the courtiers. His mind was focused solely on her.
He found her in the palace laundry room, folding linens with the quiet efficiency that always seemed to calm her. When he walked in, she froze, her fingers clutching the corner of a sheet.
âYou,â she began, her voice a mixture of disbelief and exasperation. âYou really went through with it?â
He stepped closer, his hands tucked behind his back, his face calm but his eyes alight with purpose. âI told you I would.â
She stared at him, shaking her head. âI thoughtâCharles, I thought it was just talk. Something youâd get over once you realised how insane it is.â
âWell, Iâm officially insane,â he said with a faint smile, stepping closer.
She dropped the sheet onto the table and turned to face him fully, her arms crossed. âDo you have any idea what youâve done? The crown, the throne, your entire futureâitâs gone. All of it. For what?â
âFor you,â he said simply.
Her mouth opened, but no words came. Finally, she shook her head, her voice trembling. âYouâre impossible. Do you know what this means? I canât work here anymore, not if you abdicate. The palace wonât keep me.â
âI know,â he said gently. âAnd I wouldnât ask you to stay here. Weâll leaveâtogether.â
âLeave?â she echoed, blinking at him.
âYes,â he said, stepping closer until he was just in front of her. âIâve been thinking about it. We can go somewhere no one knows us, where we can start fresh.â
She stared at him like heâd grown another head. âWhere would we even go?â
âItaly,â he said with a small smile.
âItaly?â she repeated, her brows furrowing.
âYes, maybe Marenello,â he said, his voice filled with conviction. âItâs beautiful, the weather is perfect, and⌠I donât know, it just feels right.â
She let out a soft, incredulous laugh. âCharles, I donât even speak Italian.â
He tilted his head, his smile widening. âThen, for once, Iâll get to teach you something.â
His words hung in the air, so tender and unexpected that she couldnât help the small smile that tugged at her lips. The corners of his eyes crinkled at her reaction, and before she could say anything else, he stepped even closer and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head.
She closed her eyes, the warmth of his touch sending a shiver through her. âYouâre serious about this,â she whispered.
âCompletely,â he murmured against her hair. âIâm not afraid of starting over, not if itâs with you.â
For a moment, she let herself believe it could be possibleâthis crazy, impossible dream of theirs.
âWhen?â she asked softly.
âTomorrow,â he said, his voice full of quiet resolve. âAfter I sign the abdication papers.â
She pulled back slightly, looking up at him with wide, searching eyes. âAnd then what?â
He smiled, his expression both calm and full of determination. âAnd then we start the life weâve always wanted.â
She didnât want to be vulgar, she really didnât but she had to be honest.
She was shitting herself at the thought of being summoned into the Kingâs office with the entire family.
The office was uncharacteristically quiet, the usual hustle and bustle of the palace muffled by the thick doors. Charles sat at the massive oak desk, the official abdication papers spread out before him. Arthur stood off to the side, his arms crossed, watching the scene with a mix of bewilderment and unease while his parents stood by the desk with a clear look of disdain etched on their faces.
She stood near the doorway, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. She looked smaller than usual, her nerves evident in the way her fingers twisted together. Her wide eyes darted between Charles and the papers, the weight of the moment pressing down on all of them.
Arthur broke the silence first. âAre you sure about what youâre doing, Cha?â
Charlesâs pen hovered over the signature line, but he didnât answer immediately. Instead, he looked up at her. She met his gaze, and in that instant, the rest of the room faded away. The worry in her eyes, the way her lips pressed together as if she was holding back wordsâit was as if he was falling in love all over again.
âYou donât have to do this for me, Cha,â she said softly, her voice barely more than a whisper.
He smiled at her, then, without hesitation, he bent his head and signed his name in bold strokes across the paper.
The moment was electric, the scratch of the pen on parchment the only sound in the room. When he finally set the pen down, it felt as if the world had shifted, as if something monumental had been set into motion.
Arthur exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. âWell, there it is,â he muttered, his voice carrying a mixture of disbelief and resignation. âYouâre officially insane.â
Charles stood, his movements deliberate as he turned to face her. âGo back to your house,â he said, his voice steady but laced with an urgency that made her breath hitch. âPack your things. Tell your brother. Weâre leaving at six.â
Her eyes widened, her lips parting as if to protest, but before she could say a word, Arthur muttered something about needing air and slipped out of the room, leaving them alone, his parents following shortly behind.
The silence that followed was thick with tension, their gazes locked as the gravity of what had just happened sank in.
âYouâŚâ she began, her voice trembling. âYou really did it.â
âI did,â he said, stepping closer to her.
She opened her mouth to speak again, but before she could, he cupped her face gently in his hands. The world seemed to pause, the space between them charged with an intensity that neither of them could deny any longer.
And then he kissed her.
It was soft at first, tentative, as if he was savouring the moment he had dreamed of for so long. But when she leaned into him, her hands clutching his jacket as if to anchor herself, the kiss deepened, becoming a silent promise of everything they were about to face together.
When they finally pulled apart, her cheeks were flushed, her breathing uneven. He rested his forehead against hers, his hands still cradling her face.
âI love you,â he whispered, his voice low and full of emotion.
She blinked, her eyes shining as she searched his face. âI love you too,â she said softly, her voice breaking slightly. Because she did, she didnât know when she exactly fell in love with him. Maybe it was when he first came to her house and looked at it with wonder rather than judgement or maybe it was when they shared that intimate moment in the wardrobe.
He smiled, brushing a thumb across her cheek. âThen go,â he said. âPack your things. This time tomorrow, weâll be miles away from here. Together.â
She nodded, her resolve strengthening as she stepped back, her gaze lingering on him for a moment longer before she turned and slipped out of the office.
Charles stood there for a moment, the weight of what heâd just done settling in his chest. But for the first time in his life, he felt truly free.
the end.
#f1#f1 imagine#f1 fanfic#formula one x reader#f1 x reader#formula 1#formula one#charles leclerc x female oc#charles leclerc x female reader#charles leclerc angst#charles leclerc x you#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc fanfic#cl16#cl16 x reader#cl16 imagine#cl16 x you#cl16 one shot#cl16 fic#cl16 x y/n#cl16 fanfic#ferrari formula one#ferrari formula 1#ferrari#ann speaks#ann talks#prince charles leclerc
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Foxes III
Jenni Hermoso x Child!Reader
Summary: You don't like touch
Spain loses to Japan.
A four nil defeat that leaves everyone a bit depressed.
Football's a boring game to you so you didn't really watch it despite sitting on the bench. Football is Mami's whole life though. You know that and you know this defeat will make her feel a bit sad.
You think that's kind of stupid because it's just a game but maybe it's different when you play a game as an adult. You don't know why it would be different but you decide that it must be because the whole team seems a little depressed about it.
"It's like when you lose a fox toy," Tia Ale says to you on the ride back to the hotel.
"I don't lose my toys," You reply, staring out the window.
"Well, if you did-"
"But I don't."
"What about when you left Roja at home?" Alexia says," Your Mami said you were sad about that. This feels like that to everyone else."
You were very sad when that happened. You missed Roja like crazy for ages after you first moved to Mexico. That must be how everyone is feeling now.
You head bobs up and down in agreement. "Okay."
You don't ask anymore questions on the ride home and Mami takes you straight up to your room for bath time. She wraps you in a nice fluffy towel before helping you into your pyjamas.
Dinner will be soon though so she throws a jumper on top of your pyjamas to keep them clean so you can go straight to bed after you've eaten.
Your hand closes around one of your foxes before leaving the room.
The girls are still a little sad, even you can tell that and you're not very good at working out what other people's feelings are.
You're the only one that's enjoying dinner which is seriously saying a lot because the food here is weird and you're very picky with what you're eating.
"Mami," You say," You still sad?"
Jenni's a little shocked at being addressed so openly. You don't like doing that in public. You're fairly silent around other people. She frowns.
"A little, osita," She says," Why? Are you feeling sad too?"
"I'm not sad," You reply. Your fork scrapes the plate wrong and you cringe, a whole body shudder going through you as you set down your cutlery.
Slowly, you shift in your chair before standing to approach Jenni.
Like your speaking, you're not big on touch either, at least in public. Jenni's used to you hanging out by her legs at home because she always wears the softest trousers and you like touching them but skin on skin had never been a big desire or need of yours.
Jenni has a hard enough time getting you to accept affection at home. She's already ruled out touching in public apart from hand holding and that was only because the alternative was a leash and you felt that was too restricting and made you breath funny.
But you curl into her lap now and give her a quick squeeze that bore some semblance of a hug. Jenni's too shocked to hug you back, jaw slack as you slip off her lap.
You go to Tia Ale next, clambering up into her seat with her and giving her a quick hug that's so fast that she doesn't realise what's happening until it's over.
Irene is next and, after seeing Jenni and Alexia go through it, she's fully prepared. But the moment her arms curl around to hug you back, you're wiggling away and already on your way.
Just because you're giving out hugs doesn't mean you need to be hugged back.
Codi's after Irene and then Mario, who both know now to allow their arms to go limp when you hug them. You go through all the Barcelona girls you know before coming straight back to Jenni.
You tug on her hand and she very gently takes yours in hers. She's slow and careful just in case you want to pull away but you let her hold your hand.
"Mami," You say.
"Yes, Osita?"
"With me...please."
Jenni stands and you lead her over to the girls in the team you've missed out, the ones that you don't know as well as the Barcelona girls. You drop Jenni's hand to hug each girl before squeezing Jenni's hand the moment you can hold it again, you other hand coming up to run your fingers over her comfortable trousers.
"That was a very nice thing you did at dinner," Jenni tells you as she tucks you into bed that night.
"Yes. Tia Ale said so," You reply, getting all snuggly and comfortable with a fox under each arm.
"Tia Ale is right," Jenni says," Your cuddles really cheered everyone up."
"Not sad anymore?" You check and Jenni nods.
"No one's sad anymore."
"Good."
Jenni presses a soft kiss to your forehead and pulls your covers all the way up. "Night, Osita. I love you."
"Love you too."
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Idk how to label this. Wifehunter John?
The idea of possessive/obsessive John manipulating a situation and stealing a wife for himself struck me, so just coughing the idea up while I sneak away for a coffee before I actually have to start work in 20 mins đ entirely unedited, abrupt ending
________
For someone married to his job, he has put quite a bit of thought into what he is looking for in a wife. Namely, that she's already married.
His reasoning is threefold. He can admit to himself, firstly, that it satisfies his need for control. Competency. He's a busy man with a demanding job. Not quite retired yet, no time to build his own from scratch. With this, he gets a wife boxed up and ready-trained. Broken in.
Secondly, the need for control bleeds into his saviour complex. She'll need a shoulder to cry on, someone strong and capable to get her back on her feet. She'll be feeling a little fragile. Needy. Perfect.
And thirdly, it does something wild to his jealous, possessive streak. The idea of taking something precious, of breaking her bond to another man and tying it to him? Delicious. The idea that she used to be someone else's, that he has to imprint himself onto her knowing that in doing so he is erasing the imprint of another man? It has his teeth aching, grinding even as heat rises in his belly. Stirs at him.
The idea swirls lazily in the back of his mind, never quite finding the right time or right partner. He bats at it a few times, lazy cat playing with the notion, seeing how far it can stretch before it snaps. Eyes up pretty things everywhere he goes, glancing down at their left hands just to check, but nothing quite tugs on that string. Until one day it does when he's outfitting the security system at your house.
It's side work. Cash in hand, word of mouth. Something to keep him busy when on mandated leave. Something to keep in mind as his retirement from active duty creeps closer. And your husband is a real piece of work, all blustering braggadocio energy. Young buck, not knowing his place in the herd. Not knowing that he'd be better scratching his antlers off on a tree than going head-to-head with a gristled thing like John.
It's like John's energy, his presence in the house, sends alarm bells ringing in your husband's mind (Be the man. Don't back down. Puff up your chest and strut). And it plays so perfectly into John's hands because your young buck doesn't realise that what he's really doing is fawning. To John. (Look at me, be impressed by me!) He makes his biggest mistake in putting you down in front of him, trying to sidle up to John and create some kind of desperate camaraderie. Ordering you to bring tea to the men at work. Rolling his eyes at your attempts to talk, to ask questions about the work being done. Waving you off so he can stand and watch the proceedings. Like he could supervise. Like he has any clue what he's doing.
Only the promise of the long game keeps John from levelling him with a hard look, from calling him outblike he'd love to.
He hears you both in the in the other room, having swatted the young buck off like a particularly virulent pest. Noisy and bothersome. Not needed - or wanted- in this home. And entirely too stupid to realise that John wasn't being jocular in his dismissal.
You've been scribbling away for the past few days, something occupying your time, keeping you happy and hidden away in the kitchen.
"You're not serious, are you?"
"Well, yes," he hears the slight quaver in your voice before you find your footing. You've got at least a bit of spine. Good. "You said that I should find an occupation. Not just 'laze around the house playing housewife'. This is what I-"
"Oh come on, I didn't mean- You don't think that this is viable, do you?"
"Well... I love gardening. And I'm good at it. And there's no reason that it can't be more accessible for people, especially with the current economic-"
He cuts you off with a scoff. "Dear, just- I don't want you to be disappointed. I think you don't quite understand the time and effort this will take. And you know nothing of marketing, publishing. Why don't you put that away and start on dinner?"
And oh, isn't that delicious. He can taste it now, that idea that has been swirling. It's thick, almost tangible on his tongue. The tension in the house, the bitter lacryma of stifled tears. The slight acidity of words you left unsaid. It has his mouth watering, pupils dilating.
And when he's packing up that evening, tools and materials tucked in to the heavy workman's case, he swings by the kitchen on his way out. Catches the way something is jutting out slightly from the bin, lid slightly askew. When he pulls it out he realises it's some kind of notebook, carefully (lovingly) bound. Pictures pasted, mindmaps and notes and plans scribbled in the margins. Your gardening tips. Kitchen scraps, window boxes, rooftop plots. Urban gardening. It's deeply thoughtful, well researched.
A labour of love, lying in the rubbish.
Sweet, clever little thing. That just won't do.
He leaves your house with a little piece of you tucked away in his toolkit and a nice plan forming. He'll be back, of course, not quite finished with his work. He'd planted a few little links into the system he'd almost installed, projecting not just to the monitor in your home but also in his. Got to keep his eyes on you, keep you safe and cared for in ways that your useless husband can't.
Finding that book was a boon. He'd say it was divinely ordained if he believed in all that. It weighs heavy in his toolbox as he whistles out the door.
Now, how to get you alone and return it to you..
________________
This idea may have been done before? I'm not sure, sorry! I've seen a lot of possessive John floating around. Tagging @stellewriites because I said I would last time, and you've been so encouraging of my nonsense.
Anyway I've got like 4 long-form WIPs that I'm working on, so I may never actually write this one but thought I'd share since that image set I just reblogged made me feral đ
#im so tired and its cold dont judge me this friday morning#yeah like i p much only focus on fics and long form but maybe i should post more drabbly things#bc i have so many ideas and so little time#like ideally everything would be at least 10k and beautifully written#but ive only managed 2 long fics and 2 2-3k word snapshots since i joined the fandom in autumn#so yeah anyway here is my man being a possessive unhinged creep#captain john price#john price/reader#john price x reader#john price#cod imagine#cod mw2#cod x reader#cod mwii#bĂĄirseach writes
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A bath together
âŹWarnings: There are mentions of nudity but this is NOT NSFW, Y/N is a killer, mentions of murdering âŚâ áâ â̤â áâ áˇ
⏠Gender Neutral!Reader, they/them pronouns and third person narration (â *â Ëâ ︜â Ëâ *â )â .â ・â *â âĄ
âŹAuthor Note: He's such a green flag, such a sweet boy, I want to give Me. Crawling a big hug. Btw finally posting something that has warnings lmao.
âŹSummary: Y/N teaching Mr. Crawling about something basic in the daily routine; a warm bath.
⏠Word Count: 1,435 Words
Masterlist
"Mr. Crawling please. I promise you it'll be fun! Fun? You like fun?"
Y/N's question was answered with a vigorous shake of the head. "No... Me no like. No like there. Not going."
"Please? Would you do it for me?" Of course they were gonna try to convince him that way, Mr. Crawling couldn't say no to that look after all.
It's been some days since they left that mysterious world. They went back to their usual activities like going to school and killing people, just the usual stuff for a human their age, right? They have been teaching Mr. Crawling about the human world and the routines that generally develop over time, a very important part of the daily routine is cleaning the body but Mr. Crawling was so hesitant to enter the tub, it was filled with warm water and soap, of course it looked comfy but then why was he acting that way?
Mr. Crawling stood firm in his decision. "Not going."
They sighed. "Would you enter if we did it together? Would you agree that way? You, me, together?"
He smiled and nodded, so he was throwing that whole tantrum so he could be with them. They weren't surprised really, he was a clingy being.
They took off their clothes with some hesitation, how would Mr. Crawling react? Would it be a good reaction? Now they were the one hesitating. And he noticed. "You okay?"
"I'm okay, it's just..." They shook their head. "Nothing."
Once the two were without clothes they shivered a little. "I already took a shower today, taking a bath is not necessary for me..." Y/N said to themselves as they stepped into the tub. "Your turn. Come here"
This time Mr. Crawling stepped into the tub without protest, a happy smile on his face. After feeling the temperature, he giggled, he looked happy. "Fun fun." He said, splashing a little of water.
"See? Told you it was fun... But you usually take a shower first, then get in the tub to relax, you know? The problem is that my shower is too small for someone so tall like you... I mean, this tub is also pretty small but I guess it works, not that bad hopefully. I hope you'll enjoy it." Indeed, it wasn't that big of a bathtub so they were pretty close, his cold back pressing against their chest.
He was happily listening to their yapping, not understanding a lot of course, but Mr. Crawling just liked the way they voice sounds when they're speaking to him, it was a sound that made him feel nice and warm inside.
"I'm gonna wash your hair, okay?" Y/N grabbed the bottle of shampoo, Mr. Crawling didn't understand what they meant with that but he was happy to let them take care of him. It made him feel special.
They started to gently massage his scalp, Mr. Crawling tried to eat the foam and bubbles that the shampoo produced but after they told him it wasn't food he felt somewhat disappointed, it smelled so good, how is it not something he cannot eat? "No food?"
"No, it's not food. It doesn't taste as good as it smells."
Mr. Crawling didn't get what Y/N said but he understood that he can't eat that and he was a well behaved boy so he didn't try to eat it again.
They spent a lot of time just washing his hair, making sure the tips and roots were clean, his hair got dirty when he crawled around and they wanted to take care of it for him. "Your hair is so pretty." They whisper softly.
He giggles. "Me pretty?"
"Your hair. Your hair pretty. But you're right Mr. Crawling, you pretty too."
He smiled and giggled, wanting to hug and headpat them but not being able cause of their position, Instead, he just rubbed his head happily against her neck. They took care of cleaning his body as much as possible while teaching him the basics of how to do it himself as well. He was very cheerful, as usual, always giggling and smiling, enjoying the experience, the attention he received and the gentle touches, the nice words and all the spoiling and pampering they gave him. They made him happy.
They started talking after starting to scrub his legs. "Next time I'll try to kill someone with money... Maybe we could put soft carpet on the floors or something... Your knees get bruised cause of your crawling and... I'm sure you don't feel it that much and you heal pretty fast... but I don't like seeing you like that." They gently kisses his temple, Mr. Crawling smiled and giggled happily.
Mr. Crawling He was having the best day of his life, the warmth of the water, Y/N's body heat, the pleasant aromas of the soaps and shampoo, listening to them humming while they took care of him... It was perfect.
But eventually the water turned cold and soon they got out of the tub, they wrapped a towel around their body to help Mr. Crawling dry himself with another towel. He liked that, it was soft and it smelled good. Everything in that room smelled good, it was different from what he was used to in his world.
"So? Did you liked it?" Y/N asked.
"Yes. Me like this." He nodded his head, smiled happily. "Me like you."
"Thank you. I like you too"
It was time for a new lesson; getting dressed. Mr. Crawling wasn't used to clothes and how humans dress, so they got him a new robe and some underwear. He protested a little at first, something so restrictive felt weird at first but once he got used to it he even liked it. His new robe looked a lot like the old one he had, that made him happy cause he really liked that robe.
"Me pretty, me pretty." He repeated over and over again when he saw himself in the mirror.
"Yes, you're pretty. Very very pretty."
He loved their praises, now that they were dressed and out of the tub he could hug them and give them the headpats he wanted. That made them happy too. He was so clingy. It was new to have someone so in awe of even the smallest detail about them, Mr. Crawling was a faithful devotee and Y/N a deity that he would worship for life.
"Let's dry your hair okay? We're done here."
They went back to the room, having Mr. Crawling sitting down on the edge of the bed, they were behind him, dryer in hand ready to take care of that beautiful and silky hair that Mr. Crawling had.
"This is a little loud but it's okay. It won't hurt." They wanted to make sure Mr. Crawling wouldn't freak out cause of the noise the air dryer made. He nodded and Y/N started doing their thing. The hot air felt nice, it took a good amount of time to dry all of his hair but they did it happily, Mr. Crawling felt excited and that was enough of a reason to do it.
"I'm done, what do you think?"
Mr. Crawling grabbed the air dryer and held it in front of his face, the air was moving his hair back, making him giggle. "Fun fun! Me like fun!"
"I know you like fun." They looked at him tenderly, Mr. Crawling was easy to impress, even the smallest detail could make him very excited, it was refreshing to have him by their side. "You know, I wanna braid your hair... Want me to show you something? You'll look pretty, I promise."
He tilted his head to the side but nodded gently, giving them the hair dryer back. They braided his hair gently, once it was done they made him look at the mirror.
They smiled, he was so excited. "You look pretty."
"Me pretty!" He looks at them with a big smile. "Me pretty... Thank you..."
They looked at the clock, it was almost midnight. "I should sleep now, it's getting late."
Mr. Crawling nodded, understanding their need of rest. They lay down together in bed after turning off the lights. He was hugging Y/N as if they were a delicate piece of art made of glass, something he had to protect. "You pretty... Thank you." He said against their neck.
"This could be a part of our routine... I like it, I wanna do it again."
"Again?" He asks happily.
"Yes. Not now! But tomorrow... Again"
He giggles. "Again! Again! Tomorrow again!"
They kiss his forehead. "It's time to sleep for now, okay? Goodnight Mr. Crawling."
"Night night... Pretty."
#homicipher#homicipher x you#homicipher x reader#homicipher x y/n#x y/n#x yn#x reader#fluff#gender neutral reader#gn!reader#gn reader#mr crawling#mr crawling fluff#mr crawling x you#mr crawling x reader#mr crawling x y/n
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i do have to say that i like elgar'nan and ghilan'nain as our primary villains. because they look like cartoon bad guys on the surface but if you look a little deeper and find all those hidden little notes and codex entries, it's obvious they actually do have complexity that they don't want us to see.
ghilan'nain is actively in mourning. not just for andruil, but also for her fucked up little experiment of an archdemon, her most perfect creation, razikale. at the end of fire and ice, she is ready to throw herself into a fight that she might not win because she's blinded by her own grief, and she only doesn't because elgar'nan holds her hand and pulls her away. protects her. we can find notes that talk about how elgar'nan is concerned that she's not taking time to mourn properly. we know she's checked in on her first creations, the halla, despite the fact that she writes about them in this sort of detached, almost patronizing way. she calls them something she made when she was "untraveled and naive" and that she could never make them again, but she visited them just to see what they might have become in her absence. like she cares more than she wants to let herself.
and elgar'nan calls her sister, despite the fact that ghilan'nain is the youngest of them. he lets her experiment on lusacan for the express purpose of cheering her up. and when she dies he seems legitimately torn apart by it. what should be an opportunity for the first of the firstborn to finally become the sole tyrant he was practically made to be is instead him becoming completely and utterly alone, the only remaining of his kind. i don't think it's coincidence that both he and solas drift to each other as they do, even if it is as enemies. they're too alike, and they're also the only remnants of the old world, their world, that either of them have.
i can't say that i'm particularly sympathetic to either of themâthey're both unrepentant monsters who have committed atrocities across millenia, but the fact that they have this hidden depth reminds me that at of the day they are not really anything that no one else is. they are very powerful mages that other people called gods. and people can be very sentimental, indeed.
#word count: 399#this also ties into thoughts i have about solas as an evanuris#but this is about elgar'nan and ghilan'nain and i dont want to derail so i WONT#elgar'nan#ghilan'nain#dav#dav spoilers#dragon age#dragon age spoilers#veilguard#veilguard spoilers#da meta#my meta#mine
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Pretty Boy | LN4 x Reader
pairing . . . lando norris x gf!artist!reader
summary . . . While you're sketching a drawing of Lando, you notice that something's off with him. Then, you remind him that he's much more than what people think of him
request . . . no!
word count . . . 759
warnings . . . none! just one use of 'damn'
faceclaim . . . N/A
alexavia yaps . . . first lando fic!!! a bit short but i hope you guys like it <33
. . . The room smelled like salted caramel and the leather of the couch you were currently sitting on. Lando sat across from you, sat on the arm of the chair, one leg bouncing restlessly. The glow from his phone lit up his face every few seconds, softening the sharpness of his jawline, but it didnât hold his attention for long. He set it down after scrolling aimlessly, leaning back with a sigh.
"You know," you started, stretching out your legs, "you really need to learn how to sit still. Youâre stressing me out."
He flashed you that damn grin, the one he knew you hated for how effortlessly it made you forgive him for everything. "You sound like my engineer," he laughed, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.
"Maybe I should be," you shot back, holding up the sketchpad in your lap. "Youâre not exactly making this easy for me."
His eyes flicked to the page, and he tilted his head, squinting slightly. "Thatâs me?"
"Who else do you think Iâve been sketching this whole time? Your mum?"
Lando grinned, leaning in closer to get a better look. His hair was slightly messy, still damp from the shower heâd taken earlier, and you could smell the faint trace of his shampoo as he hovered over your shoulder. "Not bad," he said with mock seriousness, tapping his chin. "You almost got my nose right."
You turned your head, glaring playfully. "Almost? Youâre lucky I even attempted that ski slope you call a nose."
He pretended to be offended, leaning back dramatically, a hand on his chest. "Ski slope? Thatâs rich coming from someone who-" He cut himself off, laughing at your raised eyebrow.
"Go on," you urged, smirking now.
"Nah," he said, still laughing as he settled back into the chair. "Youâre not worth the fight."
You rolled your eyes but couldnât help the small smile tugging at your lips. Lando had this way of lighting up a room without even trying, of making you feel like the only person who mattered when he turned that adorable charm your way. It was infuriating, really.
But tonight, something about him seemed quieter. The usual spark in his eyes was dimmer, and the edges of his grin didnât reach as far.
"Whatâs going on with you?" you asked, setting the sketchpad aside.
He shrugged, looking down at his hands, which were fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie. "Nothing. Just thinking."
"About....?"
He hesitated, chewing on the inside of his cheek before finally meeting your gaze. "You ever feel like⌠I donât know. Like people only see what they want to see when they look at you?"
You blinked, caught off guard by the question. "Whereâs this coming from?"
He shrugged again, more defensively this time. "Itâs just⌠I donât know. Everyoneâs always saying stuff, you know? About me. Pretty boy this, golden boy that. Like thatâs all I am."
You leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees. "You know thatâs not true, right?"
"Isnât it?" he countered, his voice softer now, more uncertain.
"My beloved Lando." You said his name like it was the answer to a question he didnât want to ask. "Youâre so much more than what people say. Youâre brilliant, and kind, and funny, annoyingly so, actuall. You care about the people around you more than you probably should."
He didnât say anything, just stared at you with this look that made your chest tighten.
"I donât see some âpretty boy,â" you continued. "I see you. The real you. And if other people donât, thatâs their loss. But just saying, you are pretty."
The corner of his mouth twitched, and he looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. "Youâre too good at this whole therapy talk thing, you know that?"
You smirked, leaning back against the couch again. "Yeah, well, someoneâs gotta keep your ego contained."
He laughed then, the sound breaking through the tension like sunlight through a cloud. And when he looked back at you, the spark in his eyes was there again, faint but unmistakable.
"Thanks," he said simply.
"For what?"
"For being here. For being⌠," He took a deep breath, arms raising and falling, like he was trying to cut the air. "You.â
Your smile softened, and you shrugged. "Someoneâs gotta put up with you."
He laughed again, shaking his head. "Lucky me, huh?"
And in the glow of the room, with the soft hum of the music in the background, you thought maybe you were the lucky one.
#alexavia writes đ#alexavia yaps đ#f1#formula 1#formula one#f1 x reader#f1 x y/n#f1 x you#x reader#lando norris#ln4#lando norris fic#oneshot#fic#fanfic#f1 oneshot#lando norris x reader#lando norris oneshot#f1 oneshots#f1 fanfic#mclaren#mclaren racing#racing driver#racing#f1 racing#lando#lando norris x y/n#lando norris x you#fluff#comfort
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Text from Tom's music video:
TommyInnit just posted a song and a video, and in the video there's a bunch of quick, flashing screens with text. I screenshotted them all and transcribed them in this post (below the cut because it's kind of long).
If you find a corner of this world wide web that has any substance at all, then please stick to it. The hundreds of millions of people that now place absolutely no value on their time, their precious time, and spend it watching soulless content designed to hold their attention is depressing. This all depressed me. There is so little substance in this mess of a world wide web. So little heart or soul or love. If you find any substance, stick to it.
A Tribute To Minecraft, The Great Potato War, TheOriginalAce's Q&A's, Ludwig's 2020 streams, SMPLive Talent Show. This was everything to me.
Status is irrational & nature is cyclical It's attention porn. Don't get addicted to it. It's nothing. It means nothing. They are more insecure than you. But what the fuck do I know?
When I was a boy, alone, this meant everything to me. I found my people. My place. Along the way I was a part of something that really meant something. That is the only good bit. Whatever I did that meant something, that is the only good bit.
I CAN'T WATCH BACK MY OLD VIDEOS BECAUSE EVERYONE IN THEM WASN'T WHO THEY SAID THEY WERE/ DO YOU KNOW SAD THIS MAKES ME FEEL. DO YOU KNOW HOW SAD I HAVE FELT ALL YEAR.
HOW COULD ANYONE POSSIBLY FIND OUT WHO THEY ARE WHEN YOU ARE ALL IMMERSED IN THIS NEEDLESS, SELF INDULGENT SPIRAL OF INSTANT GRATIFICATION AND DISTRACTION. THIS IS NOT GOOD FOR YOU.
[Text is upside down in the video] I don't think I trust anyone here. I don't think anyone trusts anyone here. the poor 12 year old watching this sad ass video when he subscribed for funny minecraft videos. poor guy lmao.
yeah i know it's too much like bo burnham. It won't be in a year though. IN a year it will be like Tom Simons. Just let me figure out what that means, OK?
I used to feel like I was just doing everything wrong. That I just wasn't smart or good like any of my friends. I realise now I was the only one doing the right thing. I just wanted to have fun. What I'd do to get that back, my god. What I'd do. To have things be simple again.
I just don't want to slip back into who I was. A year ago I needed you. A year ago most of my self esteem and worth and love came from you. A year ago I wasn't happy unless you were. I don't think I can ever do that again. That really was wrong. How did I possibly end up there?
#jesus christ tom#put on the video. thought 'haha he really is bo burnhaming it up' and very quickly sobered up#i have so much love for this kid#[tommy]#tommyinnit
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So I'm leaving work and something darts in front of me, maybe 10ft away, too fast for me to see what it is. Peek around the tree blocking my path and I see this
Just like... a whole ass hawk. Dude's gotta be about 1.5ft tall. Massive fucking bird. And it's just staring me straight in my soul like this, even as I try to move ahead. It didn't budge. And there's only this path back to my car unless I want to walk on a busy highway. So I have the option of Death By Raptor or Death By Truck.
So I walk in the poison ivy filled patch off the sidewalk. Guy still isn't moving. Still staring me directly in the eyes. And I do this thing when animals are behaving strangely where I'll talk to them, so I'm just like, "Hey, man. I don't know you. You don't know me. This feels really threatening. I'm just trying to get to my car, dude. Can I get some space please? You're a big fucking bird. I see those claws. You could kill me right now, but I'd appreciate if you didn't, ok?"
It didn't move until I was about 2ft away. Again: I'm as far from it as I can be without walking into the street. It clearly wasn't going to budge. I walk past, thing flies up (silent, btw. Scary) and lands on a brick wall a little further ahead
Anyway. Weird guy. Nearly shit my pants when I noticed a bird big enough to carry off a fully grown cat was just... there, staring me in the face, unwilling to move away from me, a human, something it should see as a threat. I watched behind me the whole rest of the way to my car, just in case this bird decided to help me shed this mortal coil. 10/10 experience. Super cool guy.
#not vc sorry#bird#birds#aves#raptor#hawk#red shouldered hawk#i think. might be wrong on that id#accipitriformes#birds of prey#honestly a really cool guy so close up#I'm happy i wasn't attacked. i would not want to fight a guy that big.#talons on this bird were huge. big scary.#I've never heard of large predatory birds just landing in front of people like that so i don't know what gives#it didn't catch any food or anything. just landed near me then stared me down.#I don't know a lot about bird behavior so i tried to not look back at it but still.#it also didn't look injured. seemed like a healthy bird#if anyone has any idea why this thing would act the way it did I'd love to know
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Iâm from India, my parents thought having a TV created âbad habitsâ in children so weâve never had a Television in my household, instead me and my sister had unlimited and unsupervised internet and PC privileges since kindergarten.
Once we were trying to watch Phineas and Ferb on YouTube (we heard about it from our friends) when I was in first grade and my sister in second, in the YouTube recommendations on the side it recommended us a Princess Tutu AMV. We watched itâ instantly fell in ⨠love ⨠and my sister soon found a website where we could watch the entire thing aside from YouTube (Animenova was the siteâs name, itâs shutdown now)
After that watching Princess Tutu we found other anime like Mermaid Melody, Mew Mew Power, Cardcaptor Sakura and by the time I was we were in 4-5th grade we had already started watching almost anime anime we could find from comment sections and recommendation lists, it was then around the time AoT released and we watched it, then my sister found an anime called Owari no Serpah (Seraph of the End) which had the same concept as AoT but with vampires and it became our fav anime for a few long years along with stuff like Magi and Railgun through Owari no Seraph and the incredibly gay sexual tension between its two male protagonists Mika and Yuu, my sister and I found ⨠Yaoi ⨠at 10-11 years of age. I initially didnât really like it but then by the time was 11 I was consuming that shit almost every day (started with Hybrid child, Sekaichi Hatsukoi, Junjou Romantica and Super Lovers) i wanted to consume more super lovers so I asked my sis where she read her Yaoi manga and general mangas too ofc, she recommended me our god and saviour ⨠mangago ⨠from where I proceeded to read Super Lovers and got heavily confused cuz everything was highly censored and I didnât know what sex was (growing up in a conservative society like india does that, especially when youâre a girl watching anime since first grade and have no interest in anything else) then I read Royal Servant and found out what đ sex đ was.
Have never looked back since.
I only watched Death Note when u was in like 7th grade, so pretty late I guess. Mainly watched it cuz I heard there was a popular shop between L and Light.
Now, Iâm turning 20 in a month and over half my life has been spent being a full time weeb, and almost my half life spent reading gay people making love and holding hands.
Never could have asked for a more perfect life.
Before anyone asks,
No, my parents still donât know what me and my sister did with that unlimited and unsupervised internet access.
Whenever my parents see me reading Ao3 and ask what it is, I just tell them Iâm reading a novel and they get so proud and like, âwe raised you two so well.â And give themselves a pat on their backs. They donât know. Itâs so freaking funny.
I also make my mum buy me Yaoi manga and BL novels with her money and she never says no cuz âreading is a good habitâ
I have two entire bookshelves filled with books, one half normal stuff like Rick Riordan and stuff and the other half pure BL.
That post about death note being "everyone's first anime" (untrue statement) made me curious and now I want to gather data for science
Can you reblog this and tell me where are you from and what was your starter anime?
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