#save my girl PLEASE she only did some of that
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What Could Have Been
Silco, the Eye of Zaun, the Industrialist, was first and foremost a son of Zaun who wanted his motherland free. After an altercation in which is adopted daughter shot him in a fit of rage, he is left dying while the world goes on without him. His life's work and ideals soon trampled to nothing as his memory fades from the world. But what if he was saved?
Chapter 1: Alive
Panting, lungs on fire as if someone had poured gas and lit a match, legs pained as if you had walked through bear straps, back hunched as your arms, screaming and groaning in intense pain, you carried the unconscious man.
You were alive, but he was very well on his way to greet Kindred at the doors to the afterlife.
He was not a heavy man by any means, he was lithe, but he was cumbersome, as if he carried more weight than what could be seen, and from what you knew of him, he did. As your exhausted body rushed through the stabbing pain, jumping from rooftop to rooftop as you made your way down to your home, you still took breaks to check his pulse. Everytime it got fainter, but everytime he was still alive despite it all. So you pushed forwards, through agonizing pain as you cut through the lively streets of Zaun, no one paying any mind to a girl holding a man in her arms while she rushed above the roofs. Perhaps it was the first and only time of your life you've been grateful for Zaun's misfortune, no one would question you and that was good enough for you to push forward.
Your home was nothing great, an appartment at the top of a building at the limit between the Entresol and the Sump in a quaint square, it was safe, calm, the people were kind and the Chem Barons' influence didn't matter to such a small community. A hole in the wall, almost as if blessed by Janna herself. But as you entered the building, kicking the door open, the calm subsided.
"Are you okay?" Asked the worried voice of the landlord's son, Jarren, his sweet brown eyes looking at you panicked. "I'm alive, run upstairs and open my door for me please kid, because he won't be for long." He nods, his small body taking on the stairs two by two, speeding to the top as you did the same, your ankle twisting as you landed badly on a step but you pushed forward, determination fuelling your body like coal and vapor fuelled Piltover's machines. At the top your apartment was open, Jarren sitting at the small dining table as his knee bounced in worry. Scared your adrenalin would run out soon you hurried up the stairs to the mezzanine where your room was, curtains acting as both walls and door while you rush into them, too panicked to properly open the fabric as you lay the dying man in your arms on the comfort of your bed. "Is that..." I hear a whisper as I take the man's pulse again, for a second you freeze believing him dead, but you felt it, a weak pump of blood beneath your finger, a soft breath on your cheek; he was still hanging on. And so would you. "No matter who he is, he's a Zaunite and he's dying, and I'll be damned if he dies in my arms. Get me my kit Jarren." You turn to him, panting voice strained from thirst and exhaustion while you reach for the desk chair, sitting near the person you've saved, or at least were actively trying to.
Silco, the Industrialist, the Eye of Zaun. A man who, in a decade gained much more power than anyone ever had in Zaun other than Vander. A man of great contradiction, flooding the streets with drugs yet protecting those under his hand from any evil done by the other Chem Barons. Ruling with an iron fist, imposing his violence and control over the entire city, yet fending for it by slowly and intelligently gaining on Piltover's enforcers. Some deemed him a traitor, a monster, some deemed him a hero. But in the world there was no dark black or pure white, there were though, millions of shades of gray, dirty and mixed, a contradiction to themselves. You didn't know him personally, and you doubt that anyone really did, but you still didn't want to judge whatever was said by whomever on the streets. He had once been a revolutionary, fighting for Zaun, and in your mind you wagered that he still was in a way. What changed him so drastically from a bright eyed boy to a bitter comandeering man, you didn't know. Nor did you want to, especially at the moment.
All you knew was that he was a Zaunite, and that he was dying. And that was enough for you to want to do anything in your power to save him.
When Jarren came back with a chest, big enough to cover the upper half of his body, he set it next to Silco on the bed shakily watching the bleeding man tainting your sheets red. Then you, your upper body stained with oxydizing blood, crusting at the edges, the ruby red becoming a burnt umber. "Go Jarren, and please don't tell your folks? I'll deal with that myself, so you can rest easy." You kiss his forehead and send him on his way, hearing the door click downstairs, you then begin working on the older man laying before me. Trying to undo his vest clasp by clasp, which were very inconvenient when trying to save him so you just cut through them preferring his wrath over ruined clothing over a dead man, and opened his shirt throwing it on the ground as it was ruined, bullets having ripped about a handful of holes through the delicate fabric. You turn the man over, checking if any bullets had come out, a couple had, but that meant you had to remove a few yourself. "Shit." You mutter roughly to yourself, picking tweezers, a needle, a spool of suture wire, alcohol and leaning over Silco, and after shakily passing the wire through the eye of the needle you cleaned and closed the wounds which held no bullets. Then came the most harrowing moment, picking up the tweezers and cleaning up the wounds you search for the bullets remaining in the man's abdomen, checking on his disappearing pulse as you go. Pulling out one, two, three, four bullets. And after wiping out your sweat with an arm, of which the strength was waning, you pushed yourself further, suturing the body, praying for it to not grow any colder as you quickly put ointment on the freshly stitched wounds and dress them. He had lost too much blood, and before you pumped air in his lungs you had to make sure he had enough. So, weakly you grab a tube, a needle on each extremity connecting you with a pinch as your blood transfused to him, your fist clenched and a newly tied elastic band around your bicep.
After what seemed an eternity of providing blood and checking his pulse, which had thankfully stabilized, you decide to help him breathe deeper, the last step to what you hoped and prayed was a successful endeavor. "Forgive me." Is muttered as you take away the tube and elastic, getting closer to his face and angling his head backwards with a careful and soft grip, placing your lips upon his and breathing out in his lungs as hard as you could to get oxygen back into his declining body. Switching to cardiac massage after a while, pumping his chest with two strong cupped hands, before going back to breathing out, and so on so forth in a morbid dance. His lungs expanding as yours deflated, your warm hands pushing against his frigid chest.
You had kissed death, and he felt cold.
But as cold and pale as as he was, a soft flush of pink came back to his skin, warmth returned as his blood pumped once more through his heart and veins, no longer the soft pulsing of an half empty body but the thrum of a survivor's. Tears of relief escape your eyes as, when you go give him oxygen one last time, his breath fans your face, an almost imperceptible breeze no more. And then came rushing all the feelings you had locked away during your mission, tears fashing your grimy face and replacing soot by salt, heart beating madly like a derailing train, your blood too hot for your body like bubbling lava right beneath the crust of Runeterra. Skin not quite feeling like your own as you try to claw it, at your arms and chest to rid yourself of his blood and so that the pain forces you to snap back to reality. Your lungs gulping air voraciously as if you had been drowning, and in a way you had been, under the weight of someone's near death. Under the weight of The Eye of Zaun's mere existance within your microcosm. And as you shuddered, choking out sobs that you were trying to quiet behind gritted teeth, you felt the rise of his chest as he took a large breath, and another. As if it was guiding you to do the same.
So you did.
In, hold and out.
In, hold and out.
The blood and sweat covering you, both your own and his, felt stickier now, your skin hotter, but your vision was clearing and your sobs stopped piercing through your chest like lances. He was alive, you had saved him and you were alive as well. No matter what else would happen, you'd deal with that in due time. Today you had saved someone, and you were proud of it. The demons of your mind taking steps back as this warm and bright flickering flame gained on them, calming their hissing and screaming for a moment as you caressed Silco's forehead, feeling the fever coming as you raked the few stands of hair that fell on his forehead back into the slick back crowning him with silver and obsidian. It was well into the night, but still only the beginning of it all, so with a deep breath you get up from the chair, immediately falling back at the pain in your left ankle. The adrenalin had completely suppressed your pain for the time you were actively trying to maintain Silco alive while he couldn't do so himself, but now that most of the pressure had gone, so had the one thing keeping you from being distracted. And so, groaning while your ankle felt like the clawed hands of the damned were dragging it to hell, you lifted your foot up bandaging it to the best of your ability while hissing, tying it hard so keep it nice and safe.
Walking back downstairs was painful, long and chronovore, especially when you came back, a basin full of cool water and a rag held tightly in your arms as you waddled back up. Now, was a twisted ankle the worse you had? Not by far, not in the fissures and especially not for someone like you. It didn't mean that you felt any better about the scalding flashes of pain burning your foot alive every time you set it to the ground though. But no matter when you have a man to take care of, man who was the most notorious person in the lanes and who almost died in your arms. And while his face had a frigid, pained frown, tight jaw and a deeply set furrow in his brows before, what you saw now as you entered back into your room through the curtains was akin to a child falling back asleep into their parents' arms after a nightmare. The storm had passed, even his body knew that, but now was going to be a different kind of conundrum. Unlike the fast paced, angry and tumultuous waters that you were sailing as you inched his body away from death little by little, now you'd have to face dead calm. No wind to push your sails, no waves to rock your boat, no cloud to paint abstract shapes in the canvas of the sky. You'd be at a standstill, fighting off his fever and protecting his body while he healed enough to gain back conciousness. And so after placing the cold wet rag on his forehead you pulled another couple of blankets, placing them on top of his frail form after wiping his body a little bit of the blood and sweat, focusing on his feet and upper body as you wished for him to keep as much of his privacy and decency. They were all he had left after all.
The world was unmoving and Zaun was cruel, not by its own fault at first, the separation from its sister Piltover by her elites having created disparity and a life of slavery at the hands and under the feet of comfortable Piltovans. The Undercity had to move fast to keep up with its sister's demands, and while many were just exhausted hard working folks, many also turned to depravity and horrible methods to get whatever they felt entitled to have. After all, if no one in Runeterra cares about you, would you be seen any more wrong if you did whatever it was you wanted? And so, through the fast paced life riddled with death, exhaustion and people fending for themselves as well as people taking it all, the trenchers had more than enough on their plates. Even if someone as infamous as Silco were to die, not much would change unless someone ambitious and powerful enough entered the game. The Eye of Zaun, as soon as his heartbeat started to fade, was already doomed to be forgotten, nothing more than old news as the new status quo was left at the hands of miscreants that had it all yet again. Just another day down in the Undercity, where everyone is but a chunk of coal getting burnt through by their neighbor or by the gilded Piltovan "Progress", while you are left in the soot and chemicals.
Hours pass while you're at his bedside, food eaten, tea drunk and eyes heavy but still holding on. Two days without sleep and this would be your third, but you couldn't falter, you had to take care of Silco and you would no matter what. No matter if you were sweaty and bloody, no matter if everytime you went to prepare a snack and tea your foot would scream at you, nothing mattered but this singular thing. Making sure that the man in your bed was safe and sound. Any shift in his expression or breathing were known and taken care of, more blankets, another wet rag, a check of his pulse, redressing his wounds and then wait. Again and again, for days, you give your all taking care of Silco. No rest, enough strong tea to kill a Noxian warrior, enough food to keep your energy levels as much as a sleep deprived metal worker can were how you spent your days; refusing to spend more than five minutes away from him. You were dirty and the stench of caked blood on you was horrible enough that you threw that shirt away and replaced it with a cleaner one from your wardrobe, using the cold water basin and a second rag to provide yourself with the smallest bit of hygene.
Deciding to stay up until he showed any sign of waking, you sighed as you slowly made your way back down, preparing a pot of strong tea and a quick meal to take upstairs on a metal tray. The cold wood of the floorboards groaning as you make your way back up and the clinking of the tray on your desk clashing with your sigh of relief when you sit down for good, drinking your tea and eating as you stared absentmindedly at the wall in exhaustion. While the physical exhaustion was something you were used to as a blacksmith, the mental exhaustion, albeit not new either, was catching up to you. The events of the night overwhelming you, filling you with dread at what would happen next, at how Silco would react towards you or towards his situation as a whole. You didn't know all that happened, but what you heard was enough, he was crumpled on a high chair when you stepped out of the shadows.
You were trying to find your way to a Chem Baron meeting to listen in, your own plans of revolution like a flame stoked by despicable Zaunites and elistist Piltovans alike as you fought off your own secret war. You made your way to a building to take cover as you waited for the meeting to take place a few hours from then, in a building right next to it. Stopping your nonchalant trek into the empty place as you hid in the shadows, having heard a girl, presumably Silco's daughter, have an episode while her sister, a young adult named "Vi" it seems, was trying to reason with her. Silco sounded desperate, fearful, and angry, and while you knew the last one as something that could be a normal feeling from him, desperation and fear were far from what you expected in the man. A woman with a high Piltovan accent named "Cait", apparently the sister's friend, tried to reason with her zaunite companion, telling her that "Powder" was gone and they needed to end "Jinx". The last name you knew at the very least. But after a lot of arguing, the younger girl entered a state of frenzy, as if she was hearing much more than any of us in her fractured mind, and a fast and heavy noise was heard. A machine gun. After that, listening was a blur up until the girls had left and all you had in mind was saving whoever got shot, which just so happened to be the most powerful man in all of Zaun.
"You have five seconds to explain what happened before I snap your neck."
After eight days without sleep, and six days of caring for Silco, you gave out, body leaning forward from its position on your chair and leaning your chest on your bed, head on the mattress as your arms cradled it, hair spilling like an inverted halo as sleep forcefully took you. Usual nightmares trapped your mind, although your exhaustion was such that you couldn't wake up from them, forced to live and re-live through them like you were a puppet, manipulated by invisible strings as you were shackled within your own head. A gasp waking you up with a start and making you fall backwards from your chair as a younger you punched a man through his chest, gripping his heart and squeezing it as cheers were heard all around. Groaning, you drag your weak body to the bed, sitting yourself on the edge of it slowly while minding the pulsating pain in your overstrained ankle. Your elbows settle against the tops of your knees as your head burrows itself in your hands, gripping at the tendrils of hair as you try to swallow your shivers. Eyes closing to forget, then reopening at the visions of horror engraved beneath your eyelids. Ears filled with remnants of noise as your room rings with ghost filled silence. And as you take one last steadying breath running your hands down your face to wipe away at the last of your nightmare your airways are blocked, a wet rag wrung tight around your windpipe.
m.list || next
#arcane#arcane x reader#arcane x female reader#silco#arcane silco#silco arcane#silco x reader#silco x you#teacher x student#league of legends#silco league of legends#disabled reader#fluff#silco fluff#smut#silco smut#whatcouldhavebeen
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My top 24 screenshots for 2024
I got tagged by @changingplumbob for this, and woo I've got my work cut out for me! Genuinely, it was tough coming up with ONLY 24 screenshots. I could have kept on going until I hit the 30 cap.
To help make things feel a bit less chaotic (at least for me), I'll put SF1, SF2, and MISC to distinguish between save file 1 and save file 2 (which function as semi-connected AUs) and screenshots from miscellaneous saves that don't see as much consistent gameplay (like ones used to test patches and mods). Don't feel bad if none of that makes sense, lol.
Stuffing all the screenshotty goodness under the cut so folks can scroll on by if they would like.
1 - OK, I know this is not quite in the spirit of things mayhaps, but every time I look at this I want to scream. It's the only one that actually has a number ranking because of the sheer audacity of it all. Mr. Darrel Fucking Charm, a man with two toddlers in the other room (from two other sims I might add), actively taking care of a newborn who is one of a set of twins, that the man himself sired from an autonomous try for baby interaction in a pre-LS save that only had the Open Love Life mod installed at the time with his partner, Johnny, who he had only known for less than a full in game day, has assessed the situation at hand and is like "I want to do it again." - SF1
2 - Werewolf toddlers are great, and Rachael Charm was the cutest toddler! - SF1
3 - Darrel Charm being absolutely fed up with Casey Goth breaking into his house and stealing his tomes. - SF1
4 - "I want to be like dad!" Stephen and Malcolm Landgraab (don't worry, this Malcolm's actually a good dad) - SF2
5 - I made a basement pool for Caleb and Don - MISC
6 - Johnny Zest not-so-subtly sending a message to his parents. - MISC
7 - "STOP CALLING MY SISTER" - Robin Charm confronts her sister's dead-beat bio mom after she did one of those guilt trippy "when are you coming to visit?" calls. - SF2
8 - Finding your ex in the trash where you left him. - SF2
9 - Azure Goth finds Max Villareal's (they/them) Duplicato clone, Valentino (they/them) wandering around Willow Creek near her home. For some reason they refused to despawn. She took them home, lol. - SF2
10 - Speaking of Max, a copy of them got sucked into SF1 whenever Casey Goth tried to Necrocall the actual SF1!Max. So technically two Maxs exist in SF1: this one (shown with Lucas Munch [they/them]) and the actual world's Max (he/him) who is a ghost. - SF1
11 - That time whenever I got jumpscared by a vampire sim I made myself and put in a Racoon costume because it was funny at the time. - SF1
12 - Eileen Spurlock, mother of Bo Cash, claiming his death was a loss of no one of any importance. - MISC
13 - "Is there someone you forgot to ask?" - MISC
14 - Hector, can you please fuck off? - MISC
15 - A revived Bo Cash reunites with his sister, Meghan Spurlock, after years of no contact. - MISC
16 - Johnny Zest wearing the shortest shorts known to sim and humankind. - MISC
17 - Dusty Charm sitting with Grandma Charm's rocket missing her. - MISC
18 - Jeb's love and regret. - SF1
19 - Max Villareal, evil horse girl. - MISC
20 - TFW you fumble your Watcher-made relationship so badly that you practically hand him to your little brother (featuring Max Villareal [they/them], Erich Villareal, and Orlando Villareal). - SF2
21 - Best girl, Allie, giving smooches to Joshua Landgraab. - SF2
22 - Two brothers, each bound by the night in their own way, meet together under the moon to reconcile and reconnect. - SF1
23 - Toe in Mouth milestone! Harry Charm is a cutie~ - SF1
24 - Noah. Fucking. Harris. Enough said. - SF2
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if my beloved krystal with a k does not return from the hardlight war for the final episode of steeplechase i WILL be throwing hands with one justin t. mcelroy
#save my girl PLEASE she only did some of that#steeplechase#taz steeplechase#the adventure zone#krystal with a k
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Skypiea time part 2
She is a woman..... this is sanji's influence... in whiskey peak his slashes were non gendered
Ace just letting himself get pushed into the river like aight my bad I will take my punishment.... he really is so well mannered (it sounds like I'm talking about a dog)
Conis showing that nami influence.... gfs....
Nami and luffy twins moment look how relieved she is... this whole fight is so theirs...
Also how funny it is that the milk girl gave ace a shirt.... also new pants??? She must think he lost the shirt in the river.... no girl he is just a slut...
Nami: okay ❤️ yay ❤️
Noland just thinking about where karugara is and if he is alright in his EXECUTION!! SICK AND TWISTED
OMG BOUNDMAN INSPO????
NO ACEEE NOOOOOOOO
THE END OF ACES STORY IS THAT THE COFFE IS NO LONGER BITTER BC THEY SERVE IT WITH MILK AND WHY AM I EMOTIONAL ABOUT IT
#luffy carrying karugaras will to make cricket hear the bell tolling.... god.... but i think i missed why he knows there is a bell#luffy is smart idk if enel mentioned it or he connected the points between the ones cricket had#and right now i get my answers... damn you oda... cricket making sure he sends luffy where he wants to go so now luffy will get him the bel#nami and her waver are literally invincible... i miss it where did it go.... she and the waver and zeus could take down big mom i am seriou#robin watching the ruins be destroyed... if she could get her hands on enel i onow it would be gruesome#i just will never get over how the people just start praying to god to save them and luffy does like that is insane it is too early#did oda had nika in mind already (by old sketches he did) or some concept of it like what the hell chapter 297... and so explicit...#on the second read it really sticks out like damn.... foreshadowing and also a lot of lore starts here its amazing....#HE LITERALLY MAKES IT SUNNY AGAIN LIKE WHAT ARE WE DOING!!! HELLO???!!!#luffy doing like noland did and making god worthless... i mean different instances but the god the shandians praised was very much like ene#omnipresent and vengeful. have to keep him pleased if you dont want to suffer his wrath etc...#and then the god the people pray to save them is luffy (even if they dont know) which does good and asks for nothing in return.... yeah....#cricket was so worried about them omg.... crying and everything knowing they are alright and also made his life worth it like damn#now everyone comes back to life yeah yeah weve all seen it... only luffy knew a good party could end a 400 year territorial feud#you know the fact that netflix could use skypiea to make a insensitive tasteless two state solution reference with this makes my blood boil#<- very tangential but alos very real solution bc i do not trust them to be critical bellemere said stealing is bad. what next#robin learns about ancestdal weapons and says tss... whatever this isnt history jadhiansksns#so roger followed its guide?? so he was looking for the weapons too?? my axis mundis theory makes sense ajdianiskanao#nvm roger took the poneglyph with the history i guess... thats more boring..... roger took the info on the poneglyphs to laugh tale??? okay#THE COOKS ARE THE GIRLS PARENTS.... I THOUGHT IT WAS THE CAPTAINS DAUGHTER!!! OOOOHHH THAT IS EVEN BETTER THEY ENJOYED ACE EATING SO MUCH 😭#aokiji is the strongest man in the marine headquarters... so that was a fucking lie....#reading one piece
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SILLY LITTLE BAT
pairings ⸺ Yandere! Platonic! Batfamily x Anti-Hero! Fem!reader.
sinopsis ⸺ In the shadowed halls of Wayne Manor, a girl lost among the darkness seeks the connection she never had. Her mother, a kleptomaniac with a broken heart, vanished, leaving only echoes of empty promises. Surrounded by a family that never sees her, her pain turns into a deafening silence. The void left by her past traps her in a limbo of solitude and sorrow.
One dark night, seeking her own way, she became what she once despised. Now, like the albino bat rejected by its own flock, she flies alone in the twilight. Her pale skin glows in the dark, but her heart still yearns for the warmth of a home she never came to know.
warnings ⸺ Dark Themes, Dead, murdering,Disturbing Content, Unhealthy Obsession, Discrimination, Violence, Blood, LGBT Content, Child Abuse, Kidnapping, Implicit Sexual Content, Mental Illness, Addiction, Suicide, Torture, Corruption, Isolation, Trauma, Phobias, Paranoia, Manipulation
Chapter Guide! Pt 2. Pt 3. Pt4
A/N — English is not my first language—Spanish is—so there might be some grammar or spelling mistakes here and there. This is the first part of a story I’m writing for a friend (Isabel, I love you, you brat), and also an experiment to see what it’s like to write on Tumblr. Please support me! :"((
Nobody is coming to save you
Get up.
Your mother was not a good woman, and that was an undeniable fact, heavy as the shadow that covers Gotham City at nightfall. She was a creature of the underworld, one among the specters that wandered under the yoke of crime, walking among dangerous names like Selina Kyle or Harleen Quinzel, yet always remaining in the background, never reaching their fame or infamy.
She was nothing more than a kleptomaniac and a mythomaniac, doomed to live by cunning and deceit. She took advantage of the men who crossed her path, from the lowest criminals, like The Penguin, to the most powerful man in the city: Bruce Wayne.
You never called him Dad. To you, he was always Bruce, and on the rare occasions you addressed him, you did so with distant formality, "Mr. Wayne." Richard, your adoptive brother, found in him a father figure, while to you, he was just another shadow in the mansion, that huge, cold house you arrived at after your mother’s death.
You remember how, time and again, you tried to warn your mother to stop stealing, to stop lying, that those dark paths would inevitably lead her to Arkham Asylum, surrounded by all the lunatics you feared so much, or even worse: to death. But she always responded with a playful smile, stroking your head with her delicate hands, adorned with stolen jewelry and crude tattoos. "Those are just fantasies of an eight-year-old girl," she would say sweetly, while her ring-laden fingers assured you that you needn’t worry, "I will always come back for you," she promised, "because you are the only thing more valuable than any diamond I’ve ever held."
But the cruel truth was that was the last time you saw her. That night she left, and she never returned. It was then that the last vestiges of innocence faded with her absence. From that moment on, you ceased to be a child.
And that was one of the few things you understood with absolute clarity. There were no more empty promises, no more caresses tinged with lies. All that remained was the silence of a life fading away, like a stolen jewel that never returns to its rightful owner.
The only thing you knew after calling the police when your mother didn’t show up after two days was that they found her corpse in a back alley far from Gotham, showing signs of having been beaten and bruised by some underground gang.
Commissioner Gordon searched the entire house for illicit substances and signs of debts to mobsters, but he only ended up finding documents, stolen jewelry, and letters from your mother that were never sent, and most importantly, DNA evidence implicating that the city’s millionaire was your biological father.
From then on, your life was stained with eternal gray, that muted shade that erased all traces of light or shadow. There was no more white or black, only a silent fog that, day by day, enveloped you and dragged you into a madness that seemed inevitable. Gotham itself seemed more alive than the place you called home, although "home" was never the right word.
You didn’t love any of the Wayne family members. Bruce, your biological father, never listened to you. To him, you were always just another shadow, a ghost in the vast mansion that he prioritized over his other children, his "true" heirs. There was always something more important, something more urgent, and your presence faded among the cold walls and the echo of his hurried footsteps. With each passing day, you became more invisible to him, as if your very existence were a mistake he preferred to ignore.
Richard, the perfect brother, was kind on some occasions. He spoke to you courteously, but when you needed him, when you asked him to attend one of your performances, there was always an excuse, something that kept him away, as if your passion and accomplishments were insignificant details in his heroic life.
Jason, on the other hand, despised you from the start. He saw you as an intruder, a child of gold—but not of that pure and valuable gold, but of a dirty and false one, which he always mocked with disdain. And although you never cared for him, when he died, silent tears rolled down your face. It wasn’t out of love, but out of respect for what he represented, for the brutal reality of his fall.
Tim, in contrast, was the most indifferent. To him, you were a nobody, so irrelevant that you weren’t even worth a glance. Spending time with his friends or being the Robin of the moment mattered more than you did. You lived on his periphery, in a limbo where neither your name nor your face seemed to exist.
Cassandra, Stephanie, Barbara… at least they treated you with politeness, but you knew they didn’t really remember who you were. They saw you, smiled at you out of obligation, but deep down you knew they had no idea of your name, your story, your struggle to be more than a shadow in that world.
The worst of all was Damian, your younger half-brother. When he arrived at the mansion, Alfred introduced him to you with that serene formality he always had, and you, driven by an almost desperate impulse, tried to reach out to him. You wanted to offer him the support and affection of an older sister, that warmth you would have longed for in his situation. But all you received in return was a cold response: a katana piercing your abdomen. I wish I could say it was just a metaphor, but no, that wound was as real as the blade that cut your skin.
You would have liked to think that the pain was symbolic, that Damian had only rejected your affection with harsh words or his usual arrogance. But no, it was much more than that. The only thing you received in exchange for your attempt at fraternal love was a stab, a scar you still carry not only on your body but also in your soul. Because in that brutal gesture, you understood that the blood that united you also separated you, sharper than any weapon. And that was how you tried to connect.
You strived to stand out, to learn, to shine in your own ambitions, wishing that your success would be enough to earn you a place, a bit of affection. But no matter how hard you tried, it was never enough. Your talent crashed against indifference, your achievements faded into the air, as if they had no weight in the lives of others.
The only light, the only beacon in that storm of gray, was Alfred. The only one who smiled at you with genuine tenderness, the only one you truly loved. To you, he was the real father, the one who was always there, expecting nothing in return, offering you a silent but firm love. You did call him father, and his presence was the only thing that kept your sanity, the only thing preventing the gray from consuming you completely.
But even that love, so genuine and deep, was not enough to fill the void that your own family left you. And in that void, you continue to float, trapped between the girl you were and the woman you are trying to be, searching for a place you can truly call home.
Y/n's small room, though modest, had always been her refuge. The walls were adorned with unfinished sketches, trophies from various activities, and some paintings she had completed with dedication, showcasing her passion for both manual and performing arts.
The dawn light filtered softly through the curtains, bathing the space in golden tones, giving it a warmth that contrasted with the coldness of the rest of Wayne Manor.
On the desk, a small cake rested on a plate, simple yet made with love. Beside it, Alfred, with his usual understated elegance, watched Y/n with a mixture of nostalgia and concern. He, the only one who seemed to remember her birthday, offered her a delicate professional drawing set, wrapped in smooth, elegant paper.
"Happy birthday, Miss," Alfred said with a gentle smile, although his eyes reflected a sadness that was hard to conceal. "I know how much you love art, so I thought this would be helpful for your new projects."
Y/n took the gift in her hands with a genuine smile. It had been so hard for her to find moments of joy lately, but Alfred's gesture filled her with a warmth in her chest that she hadn't experienced in a long time. She placed the gift into one of the many brown boxes she had prepared for her upcoming move.
"Thank you, Alfred. It's perfect," she said, examining the set carefully, as if each detail were a reminder of the affection he held for her. "It will help me a lot... although, well," she sighed, as if searching for the right words. "Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that." Alfred raised an eyebrow, attentive, as she continued, glancing at the small space that had been her home within the vast mansion.
"Today... today is not just my birthday. It's the day I leave here." Her voice was firm, yet there was a sense of liberation in it, as if this were a long-awaited step. "I am finally no longer a Wayne. I go back to being a L/n."
Silence filled the room for a moment, heavy and dense. Alfred clasped his hands, striving to maintain his composure.
"Miss, I can't help but feel a certain unease hearing this. Are you sure this is what you want? This house, though empty in many ways, has always been your home..."
"Home?" Y/n looked at him with a mix of sadness and determination. "This house has never been my home, Alfred. Not like it was for Dick, nor even for Bruce. I have always been a stranger here, the daughter of a woman who never fit into this world, the bastard child. My mother taught me to find my own path, to not cling to what doesn’t belong to me... and being here, being called Wayne, has never belonged to me." Alfred sighed softly, turning his gaze toward the window. He knew there was truth in her words, but that didn’t lessen the pain of her leaving. "I know it’s hard to understand," Y/n continued, "but for the first time in a long time, I feel happy, Alfred. I’ve graduated, college is just around the corner, and I want to start anew. I want to find what truly makes me, me... not what others expect of me."
The old butler remained silent for a few moments, nodding slowly. He knew he couldn't retain her, that it was not his place to interfere in the young woman's dreams. But still, he couldn’t help but feel a pang in his heart at the thought of the house being even emptier without her. "I just wish you find what you’re looking for, Miss. And if you ever need a place to return to... this door will always be open for you."
Y/n stepped closer to him, gently hugging him, something she had rarely done. "Thank you, Alfred," she whispered against his shoulder. "You will always be my family, but I need this. I need to discover who I am outside of this last name."
The old butler felt the lump in his throat as he tightened the embrace a little longer before letting her go. He knew that deep down, she was doing the right thing. But that didn’t make it hurt any less to see her leave.
"Alfred, can you call the movers? I’ll be leaving tonight," Y/n said as she closed the last box with trembling hands, her gaze lost in the empty corners of the room she once considered her refuge. The butler, ever serene, nodded with his unwavering calmness.
"Don't worry, Miss, I assure you they will be here on time." His voice was soft, almost an echo of the ancient walls of the mansion, as if he himself were part of that structure that had seen so many comings and goings, so many lives broken and healed in silence.
Alfred turned halfway to leave, but Y/n's voice stopped him, broken yet sweet, like a melody at sunset. "Alfred..."
The man turned slowly, his eyes filled with paternal warmth, though always contained behind a formal gesture. "Yes, Miss?" he replied, with that tranquility that had always brought Y/n peace in her worst moments.
She took a breath, feeling how the words she had kept for so long fought to come out, to break the shell she had built since childhood. "I’ve never told you, but... thank you. Thank you for being the father I never had, for being there when no one else was."
For a moment, the silence in the room was heavier than all the accumulated boxes, deeper than any word. Alfred, who had been a witness to so many confessions and secrets in that house, stood still, his eyes shining with an emotion he rarely showed. "Miss," he murmured, his voice slightly choked, "it was an honor and a privilege to take care of you. If I ever gave you anything close to what you deserved, then my life has had true purpose."
Y/n smiled sadly, nodding slowly. "You did, Alfred. You did. And for that, I will always carry you with me, even if I leave here."
The butler slightly bowed his head in respect, swallowing any emotion that might betray his composure. "Wherever you go, you will always have a home here, Miss."
"I know," she said, though in her heart, she knew she wouldn’t return.
And as Alfred left the room to make the call, Y/n let out a long sigh, as if with it, she were leaving behind a part of herself, a part she could no longer carry with her.
Life in Gotham is like constantly walking on the edge of a razor blade. The city never sleeps, always alert, always dangerous, and for someone with the Wayne surname, the risks multiply. It has been a year since you left the mansion, trying to erase any ties that bound you to that life, desperately wishing the name would fade into the echo of the dirty streets and crumbling buildings. But it's not that easy. The name Wayne remains an indelible mark that the media and the people of Gotham refuse to let fade. The forgotten child, the silent accident of billionaire Bruce Wayne. And although you try to live as if you don’t exist under that shadow, the weight of the legacy haunts you.
You left with little, barely enough money to rent a small apartment in one of the worst corners of the city. You share the space with a friend, a plant-loving girl who has filled every nook of the place with leaves and pots, as if trying to make green defy the constant darkness of Gotham. You get along well with her; her love for nature is almost an antithesis to the chaos of the city, and she has taught you that even in the hardest concrete, something can bloom. She always accompanied you on the coldest, loneliest nights, giving you a warmth that, although ethereal, was very welcome. But still, life is not easy. You barely survive, spending the little you have on cheap food and paying the rent. There are days when the cold seeps through the poorly sealed windows, and you wonder if it was really better to be in the mansion instead of this little trench. However, you prefer this rough freedom to the soulless luxury of Wayne Manor.
Freedom, however, comes at a price. It wasn't enough to distance yourself, to change your life, or even to always carry a knife for defense. Gotham does not forget. People recognize you in the shadows, whisper your name, and approach you, sometimes with curiosity and other times with disdain. You have been beaten more than once. Some just for being a Wayne, others because they think they can extort you, even though they have no idea you can barely get by. The scars on your body bear witness to those beatings, but you refuse to give up. You get up every morning, despite the pain, and continue on your way. You don’t need Batman. You don’t need Bruce. You learned long ago that he wouldn't come to save you.
That night, like so many others, you were heading to the subway for your night shift, with the hood of your coat covering your face, trying to go unnoticed. The sound of the tracks echoed in your ears, a constant reminder of the city's hustle. You had gotten used to walking fast, avoiding eye contact, as if each step was a small battle won against the city. But this time, something was different.
"So it was true, the little Wayne girl is roaming the city... how lovely." The raspy, mocking voice rang out beside you, cutting through the heavy air of the train station. The man speaking wore a suit that, at first glance, seemed elegant, but there was something about his extreme thinness, his skin clinging to his bones and his disheveled hair, that made him look more like a specter of Gotham than a distinguished figure. A ghost from the shadows that had stalked you since you set foot on the streets.
If it weren't for his gaunt appearance and unsettling aura, you might have mistaken him for one of your father's employees. "I'm not a Wayne anymore," you said disdainfully, your voice sharp like the edge of a dagger refusing to be touched. "If you want money, I don’t have any. And Mr. Wayne wouldn’t give a cent for me either."
Your gaze drifted to the station clock. 8 minutes until the train that would take you away from this corner of Gotham, far from the shadows and faces that always seemed to recognize you.
The man let out a dry, raspy laugh that sent chills down your spine. "I don’t want your money, pretty girl," he replied, moving closer, invading your space with the same familiarity that Gotham’s filth slipped into every corner. "You’re worth more than that." You felt his calloused, scarred hand rest on your hip, with a pressure that was neither violent nor friendly. The contact filled you with disgust.
7 minutes.
You clenched your fist, your jaw tight as you struggled to maintain your composure. "I don’t want sex either, idiot," you spat, your words loaded with contained fury. Your hand subtly slid toward your bag, where your knife lay, waiting to be used.
6 minutes.
The man didn’t flinch. In fact, he let out a low, mocking laugh. "And I don’t want that either, little girl," he murmured, his cold, deep blue eyes scrutinizing you as if they could read every dark corner of your soul. "I want something more from you."
5 minutes.
"What do you want then?" you asked, forcing yourself to keep your voice steady, even as the ice of fear began to creep down your spine. Your eyes scrutinized him, searching his gaze for any hint of his true intentions, but all you saw was darkness.
4 minutes.
He let out a long, chilling laugh, tightening his grip on your hip. "Do you know what I want, Y/n?"
3 minutes.
His voice dropped, as if his words were a cursed secret the wind refused to carry away. "I want you."
2 minutes.
The world seemed to stop. You knew there was no time to run. There was no time to pull out the knife or to scream. It was as if the clock itself had conspired against you, reducing those last minutes to mere seconds.
1 minute.
The blow was sharp, a flash of excruciating pain at the back of your head. The cold metal of the station, the hum of the city, everything faded abruptly. The last thought that crossed your mind, before the world vanished into darkness, was that this time, you didn’t expect Batman to save you. It wasn’t a mere thief or a street threat that was taking you.
Gotham, with all its cruelty, always had new ways to remind you that there is no escape.
That night, when the Gotham subway stopped at the station, there was no one to pick up.
The mansion felt emptier than ever, like a deserted and cold labyrinth, where each hallway seemed to stretch into an infinite tunnel, devouring the light.
The silence was overwhelming, an oppression that enveloped every corner, as if even the ancient walls had run out of words. It was so heavy that the few who remained in the mansion couldn’t help but move uncomfortably, trying to fill that void with something, anything.
Bruce Wayne walked through those same hallways with a strange feeling, as if something was missing, though he didn’t know what. An unease, a persistent discomfort that he couldn’t shake off.
He had been like this for months, with that absence haunting his mind, a gap he couldn't identify. And then, suddenly, like a gust of icy wind, the truth struck him.
You.
His daughter.
His little daughter.
How long had it been since he last saw you? When was the last time he heard your laughter, the one that always seemed too sarcastic, too filled with resentment? He stopped abruptly, frowning. Why couldn’t he remember you? He couldn’t bring to mind a clear image of your face, not even how you used to look at him... why? How could he have forgotten you like that?
Damn.
It was as if time had stopped. It had been a year, maybe more, since he had really thought about you. He felt a pang of guilt pierce his chest, a heavy, silent guilt that dragged him into the abyss of his own negligence. Not knowing what else to do, he began to check the rooms, one after another.
Each door he opened was another blow to his conscience. Where was your room? The more he searched, the more confused he felt. The mansion was enormous, but how could he have forgotten where you slept? How was it possible that he didn’t know where you lived in the house where both of you grew up? Had you been here all this time?
Each door he opened was identical to the last, as if all the rooms had fused into one.
None showed a trace of you.
None seemed to have a hint of your presence. Didn’t you decorate your room? He thought frantically, didn’t you even mark it as yours? Panic began to take hold of him. Anxiety wrapped around him like a fist tightening on his chest. Were you still living in the mansion? Or had you left without saying a word, like a shadow fading at dawn? But... no, you hadn’t mentioned anything. You hadn’t said you were leaving. Or had you? And if you had, why didn’t he remember? How could he have ignored you for so long that now he didn’t even know if you were still under the same roof?
“Ah!” he exclaimed in a whisper, unable to contain the dread he felt.
Frustration consumed him from within. He stopped in the middle of the hallway, breathing heavily, and the echo of his voice faded into the empty walls. He tried to remember something, anything about you, about the last time they spoke, about how you were... but everything was blurry, as if his mind was betraying him, hiding you behind an impenetrable fog.
How could he have forgotten so much?
He brought his hands to his head, trying to calm himself, but only felt more confusion, more desperation. The mansion, which had once been his home, now felt like a strange and foreign place.
Had you been the one who made it feel like home? The question echoed in his mind, but he had no answer. Just more questions. More uncertainties. Finally, he let his arms fall, exhausted. He had checked almost all the rooms and had found not a trace of you. Not a clue. Not a sign that you had been there. And at that moment, something dark and painful began to settle in his heart.
Had you ever really been there?
Then something caught his attention as he passed by the cleaning room. In a dusty corner, next to a forgotten bag, something was protruding. Something small, old, and faded. He bent down and pulled it from the dirty clothes. It was a stuffed animal, or what was left of one. The faded black of its suit left no doubt. It was a figure of Batman, but worn down by time, battered to the point of looking forgotten.
Bruce's eyes were fixed on the small piece of fabric hanging from the doll's neck. A tag.
Your name.
Your name, handwritten, in ink that was already fading.
Bruce felt a lump in his throat, a mix of guilt and rage. How could he have forgotten something so important?
He clutched the doll tightly, as if doing so would return a piece of you to him, but instead of comfort, he only felt more emptiness. Where were you? He ran to Alfred, who looked at him with a mix of concern and pity.
"Alfred..." Bruce said, his voice breaking. "Where is she? Where is my daughter?"
The butler, with his always serene face, seemed to age suddenly. A long silence settled between them, as if time was fading away. "Mr. Bruce, I didn’t mean to..." Alfred lowered his gaze. "I didn’t want to burden you with that truth, but... it’s time you know."
Bruce felt a chill run down his spine. Truth? What truth?
"She left almost a year ago. She didn’t say where. She just... she took all her belongings, though they weren’t many, and left. She said she didn’t want to be a burden. That you and the other family members had too many things to worry about."
Bruce took a step back, as if the words had physically struck him. Did she have enough age to leave? A burden? Never, not for a second, did he think that of you, of his little daughter who, even though she wasn’t wanted, he embraced under his wing just like Damian.
You were never a burden.
...or were you?
No, he refused to acknowledge it; he just... he hadn’t spent time with you because Gotham needed him!
But when you needed him, where was Batman?
Where was Bruce Wayne when his only biological daughter needed him?
"Alfred, do you know anything about Y/n?" the hero asked, worry clear on his face.
Alfred didn’t look at him; he only stared into nothingness. "...I haven’t heard anything about her for two months...
And honestly... I'm starting to think...
that she might be lost to us forever..."
A/N — This is definitely apart from being my first official Tumblr post, it is also my first DC post and especially the first from the Lord of the Night xD
Don't hesitate to ask me anything if you want.
Isabel, I dedicate this to you, my love. Eat more to be well, you fucking anorexic, don't suck.
take a bath!
inspiration: @acid-ixx with his Again & Again series, @gotham-daydreams' work, @i-cant-sing's work and @klemen-tine's work, be sure to check them out!
#yan blog#yandere#yandere batfam#yandere batfamily#yandere batman#yandere batboys#yandere bruce wayne#yandere dick grayson#yandere nightwing#yandere jason todd#yandere red hood#yandere tim drake#yandere red robin#yandere damian wayne#yandere robin#yandere platonic#fem reader#x reader#neglected reader#yandere dc#dc universe#dc x reader
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Love Potion
Mattheo Riddle x Reader
Summary: Mattheo always looked at you in a certain way.
His eyes always followed your every move.
You noticed it very early on just how much attention he was paying to you.
His eyes followed you everywhere.
No matter the place, time or occasion.
Let it be class or breakfast or lunch or dinner.
He always had an eye on you.
And you actually didn’t mind.
Mattheo is a very handsome guy. Even if everyone and even your instincts warned you about him, there was still something.
Something which kept you interested.
You felt a pull towards him.
A pull you never acted on.
So, it was mostly longing looks exchanged between you two, nothing more.
One evening, you were having dinner with your friends.
Hermione talked about Ron and how stupid he was. Then you grabbed a bonbon and popped it into your mouth.
“Y/N NO!” you heard someone say but it was too late.
Amortentia.
Or as they called it, love potion.
The entire room smelled like him. Amortentia tends to smell like the person you are in love with, you didn’t even realise.
You were blind.
The room smelled like smoke, honey and wood.
You wanted to see him, kiss him.
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean for you to eat it!” said one of the Hufflepuffs. “I was meant to prank my roommate!”
While everyone was talking, you were quick to run off into the backyard of the school.
You had a pretty good idea of where to find Mattheo.
And surely enough, you found him by the trees smoking.
“RIDDLE!” you yelled, making him flinch and almost drop his cigarette.
“Y/N?”
“Kiss me! RIGHT NOW!”
“Are you drunk?”
“Just in love, come on.” you ran over to him, almost making him trip as you came in contact with him.
He grabbed you to save you from falling and this is when he noticed your eyes.
“Were you given something?”
“All I feel is looooove.” you said and smiled.
Mattheo noticed Hermione from the corner of his eyes.
“What happened to her?”
“A Hufflepuff gave her Amortentia.” she explained as she grabbed your hand and began to pull you back.
“Love potion? Why?”
“Forget this happened Riddle!” Hermione yelled back at Mattheo as you waved to him.
“Byeeee Matty!” he lifted his hand and gave you a small wave back. He was utterly confused.
—
“I CAN’T BELIEVE I DID THAT!” you yelled into your pillow once the potion wore off. “Why didn’t you stop me?!”
“I tried!” said Hermione.
“I want to die. I’m so embarrassed. At LEAST he was alone! Imagine if I did that in front of the school!”
“Well… on our way back to our rooms… you kinda… just a tiny little bit yelled in front of everyone passing by that Mattheo is yours and you will fight for your true love… kinda.”
“Oh. My. Fucking. God. No.” you shook your head but she nodded. “NO. PLEASE NO.”
“And… maybe… kinda… The Slytherins were also there? Maybe?”
“I am jumping out the window,” you said as you stood up and walked towards the window, Hermione grabbed your hand and pulled you back. “I want to die, please. This is so embarrassing!”
“The thing is that almost everyone like cheered for you. Malfoy even wanted to give you a high-five for being so brave. I thought he was being sarcastic, but he was for real. Then Theodore came up and said ‘Go get him, Tiger’ They were all cheering you on.”
“So, I’m the laughingstock of the entire school. Lovely.”
You fell back into your bed, face into the pillow. How will you face everyone tomorrow?
—
“Mattheo Riddle! The lucky guy!” said Theodore as he hit Mattheo in the shoulder. “Having one of the prettiest girl scream and declare her love for you. Lucky you!” Mattheo rolled his eyes at his friend.
Although he couldn’t sleep one bit for the entire night, his mind was way too busy.
“It was only a prank.” Mattheo said. It was the only logical explanation.
“Nope. You know Angie? The Hufflepuff girl? Nevermind… Apparently, she made some chocolate for her friend as a prank, but Y/N ended up eating one and it had Amortentia in it.” Mattheo looked at Theodore, trying to see if his friend was lying but he wasn’t.
“And how do you know that?”
“Angie told her friends and I heard it. They didn’t realize I was standing there. But lucky you, having a girlfriend! Don’t fuck it up tho! Or I might steal her.”
“Piss off.” Theodore laughed as they both entered the class.
Mattheo’s eyes immediately locked with yours. You looked scared as you looked away. He could only imagine how you were feeling.
But he was just as confused and embarrassed.
After classes, you wanted nothing more than to run back to your room and hide from everyone.
No one said a thing. But the looks they gave you, said it all.
You just wanted to get out.
You made it to the hallways when someone behind you called your name.
It was Mattheo, your eyes widened as you quickly darted into the girl’s bathroom.
“Y/N, I just want to talk.”
“Look I’m sorry what happened okay?! Please just forget it.”
Then he opened the door and came into the bathroom as you back away and walked into the sinks.
“This is the girl’s bathroom what are you doing?”
“I need to know if, what you said is true. Did you mean any of it or was it the potion?”
“I-I.” you wanted to lie, you wish you were a better liar. All you could do was listen to your heart hammer in your chest.
“So it’s true. What you said is all true… you do lo-”
“OKAY now, please, I’m embarrassed enough, I do not need your rejection, Riddle. Please can you just leave me alone?” you wanted to go into a stall and lock yourself for eternity.
“I thought you hated me.” he suddenly said and you looked at him, shocked. “I was watching you and… you always avoided my looks. Okay, not always but many times.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Just agree to grab some butterbeer with me. That could be a start.”
“What?” you were so confused.
“I’m asking you on a date.”
“You are asking me on a date?”
“Why is that so hard to believe?” he asked as you turned your body back towards him.
“I thought you didn’t do… dates.” you sounded very nice, you worded it even more nicely.
“I don’t. But with you, I will.”
“So, what? You… like me too? After what I said and did yesterday?”
“It was very cute.”
“Cute? Which part exactly? When I yelled at you to kiss me or when I swore to kill whoever dares to go close to you?”
“Exactly.” he smirked. “I will wait for you, get ready for our date. An hour? Is that enough?”
“Okay. An hour.” he nodded and turned to leave.
You stood there, stunned when a voice behind you made you jump.
“How romantic!”
“Myrtle!”
“You have a date! Go get ready!” she yelled and you listened.
You got ready relatively quickly.
You debated not going, then you decided to give it a try and go.
Then, as you waited by the gates you were prepared for Mattheo not showing up.
Maybe this was his way of repaying you for embarrassing him?
But, he did show up. He did take you out to eat and drink and you did have a good time.
He did walk you back to your dorm and placed a small kiss on your cheek as a goodbye.
He did all that.
And if you only knew it would take a small amount of love potion for you to finally be with him, you would have eaten that piece of chocolate a long time ago.
Taglist: @fleursirvart @greenarrowhead @thisismysecrethappyplace @sincerelyfan @theoneanna @aestheticsandmarvel @rororo06 @castellandiangelo @destynelseclipsa @spilledinkindumpster@capsiclesdoll @puknow @alwayshave-faith @alex12948 @lxdyred @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek @praline357 @trshngyn @avengers-r-us @violet-19999 @top1bbgloak @manduse @jacalineiscomingforyou @mandoloriancookie @noname2246
~Masterlist~
ˇAO3ˇ
/YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE OR REUPLOAD ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/
#mattheo riddle#slytherin boys#mattheoxreader#mattheo riddle x reader#mattheo riddle x you#mattheo riddle imagine#mattheo riddle fluff#mattheo riddle x fem reader#mattheo riddle x female reader#mattheo riddle imagines#x reader#fanfiction#x female reader#harry potter fanfic#harry potter fanfiction#harry potter x reader#slytherin x reader
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dilf arlecchino stretching out a virgin reader on her fat cock
dom!dilf arlecchino x sub!fem reader
warnings: smut (minors/ageless blogs dni), wlw content, transfem!arlecchino, virgin!reader, age-gap (arle is in her late 30s, reader is in her early 20s), size kink, fingering, penetration, handjob
a/n: tagging my favorite silly @myfriendscallmebun who i hope enjoys this ♡ this is so long
she first hired you merely as a form of entertainment for her children. someone eager to please who wouldn't require such a large salary. someone who, at least, would never ask someone like her for more than she offered.
it's a surprising decision, on her end, to select a college girl to watch over her precious children. though, you presented yourself so nicely at the interview, and your references and resume did you well.
besides, it might be nice for the children to be around someone closer to their age for a change. they often spent time with arlecchino herself and occasionally her coworkers.
and, you had grown on her.
it's been nearly two months since you started working for her, and a few weeks since you began passing flirtatious remarks to one another.
the thing that finally melted her heart was an evening she worked late. she was already irritated her children would be asleep when she got home, but she felt guilty making you stay hours late at her home.
much to her surprise (and inner delight), when she came home, she found the children tucked into their beds, and you standing so sweetly at the door.
you had slipped her jacket off, hanging it up and tugging her into the kitchen. sure enough, you had saved her a plate of the spaghetti you made, along with a glass of her favorite red wine.
that was the day when she finally asked you to accompany her on a proper date.
and, now, here you are, standing in front of your mirror, fussing with your dress and jewelry. the dress she had bought for you special for tonight. it was black, falling just below your knees- rather classy for someone so young.
20 minutes. in 20 minutes she was picking you up.
nervous as you were, you couldn't believe you were going on a date with her. especially to somewhere so expensive and exclusive.
it was some sort of upscale bar with expensive alcohol and food. somewhere arlecchino claimed to frequent often when she needed alone time.
you almost broke out into laughter when she admitted she hired childe, her younger coworker, for the evening to watch her children.
"oh, i'm not concerned for my childrens' safety. if anything, he should be afraid for his own." was her reply, a small smirk on her lips that you nearly missed.
she lead you into the restaurant with confidence, turning heads, eliciting whispers as she kept her hand on the small of your back while the waiter brought you to your table.
"what do you think so far?" she asked, her wine glass already being filled, no need to speak her order.
"it's...definitely different than what i'm used to. but it's really nice. i like having an excuse to dress up a little." you smile at her and she raises her glass to her lips.
"i want to spoil you for the evening. for not only treating my children so well, but because you are an exceptional woman. i only hope my gestures come off as genuine as i intend." she sips her wine, setting it down to begin rambling to you about the menu.
but you're not quite listening, distracted by her hands, her lips, her eyes. how could someone be so perfect?
she's quite a bit older than you, probably much more experienced. does she truly feel the same way you do? and-
"sweetheart?" she breaks you from your thoughts and you stiffen up.
"i'm sorry- i'm listening!" you squeak, but she sees right through you.
although, she finds it rather cute. she's noticed before, obviously. your wandering eyes, the way you bite your lip when she picks up something heavy like it's nothing, or how your thighs press together when she takes a stern tone.
she simply wants to know the depths of your affection for her. after all, she has similar thoughts of you.
"which dish would you like then?" she asks pointedly, allowing you to hold the menu with shaky hands.
"ah...um..." the words blur together, not registering. "what do you recommend?"
she tilts her head, taking the menu back. "allow me to order for you then."
you like when she takes control. she knows what she wants, and she will have it. you wish it a quality you embodied more, though she fascinates you. it is almost natural to her.
dinner goes rather smoothly, and you get to taste test a few different wines, but not nearly enough to get you even remotely tipsy.
"i much prefer coherent company." her lips quirk up as she says this, and you laugh behind your hand.
she's funny, you admit. her dry humor is one of your favorite things about her.
it's a shame when dinner comes to an end, but you two mutually draw it out as long as you can. you share a dessert, and plenty of good conversation about yourselves. you learn things about her you never would've thought, and likewise for her.
the ride back to your place is just as pleasant, though you feel nervous inside. you want to make a move. you want to ask her to come inside. to stay...
but you couldn't possibly. that would be absurd... right?
regardless, she walks you in, ensuring you get into your place safely. she's a gentleman in how she holds your bags and all the doors at every stop.
the little bit of wine in your system has you feeling bold, stopping her in her tracks before she could put her shoes back on. "wait! why... don't you stay for a little? i could make us some tea. herbal! so you won't...uh... be awake all night."
she merely tilts her head, nodding either way. she listens to your rambling about the tea and the coffee mugs you have, her eyes wandering your walls when she sees familiar art.
"did the children draw these?" she interrupts, taking one off the wall.
it's a rather rudimentary stick-figure drawing, but she can tell who each one represents. this is one of lynette's drawings. she's drawn herself with pretty blue bows, along with her brothers, and, of course, their father.
and you.
there you are, standing on the other side as if you were the mother to complete their family portrait.
"oh- those? yeah, the kids drew them for me... i thought they were really cute, so i kept them." you smile and her heart flutters.
she skims her fingers over the papers, pausing when she sees one from freminet. he's drawn a flower field of green scribbles and rainbow dots, the children playing on a swingset while you and arlecchino watch.
with the words 'mom' and 'dad' written above your heads.
she can hear you nervously talking to fill the silence, and she turns to you. "they really do seem to enjoy having you around." she murmurs. "as do i."
you look up at her, feeling her lean in, gently holding your waist. "am i being too forward?" she asks, breath fanning over the side of your face as you shiver.
"not at all-" you breathe out, trembling as she lifts your chin gently. she can see your anticipation.
"you're not phased by our gap in experience?" she asks. "it's inevitable. i cannot change it, but i do not want you to feel forced."
"i actually like it. i really like it." you blurt, catching her off guard.
"oh?" her voice is low, sultry as she cups your jaw. "is this alright with you, then?"
"please-" and that's all she needs to connect your lips, kissing you so softly at first. her tongue gently prods for entrance, and she can instantly tell you truly are inexperienced.
she pulls away, gently swiping a thumb over your cheek. "is this your first time?"
"you could tell?" you groan, and she nearly melts.
"it is not shameful to wait. i only want you to be sure this is what you want." she explains, stroking your cheek as your eyes flutter shut.
"i want you. please? i want you to take it." you leave it open for interpretation, but she knows exactly what you're referring to.
"if you're certain, then i'd be honored, sweetheart." she says so gently you'd think she was someone else.
you bring her to your room, cringing at the mess. "i know it isn't what you're used to but mmph-!" you whimper when she kisses you, pulling you onto her lap on the bed.
she trails kisses down your neck, watching you tilt your head back instinctively. you pant, overwhelmed so quickly she almost feels guilty.
keyword: almost.
instead, it makes her twitch within the confines of her expensive suit slacks.
her hand tangles into the back of your hair, tugging you firmly so she can nip at your jaw. she takes it slow, easing you into things until you're practically begging her to go further.
your dress slides off slowly, a treat waiting when she sees the pretty matching lingerie set beneath. it's white and lacy, delicate, something she could easily tear right off, and it drives her mad.
"aren't you full of surprises? naughty ones at that." she tuts, squeezing your jaw as you gasp.
she unclips the bra, her gently squeezing your breasts as you moan for her.
she teases your nipples until they go pert, wrapping her tongue around them as you arch up into her.
you're being vulnerable with her; she knows this much. she holds you steady, ensuring you feel safe on her lap before pulling away with a soft 'pop.'
she unbuttons her shirt, tugging it off to match you. she watches your eyes go wide, eager yet embarrassed as she tosses her bra aside with the shirt.
"you're so...pretty." you gasp quietly, eyes wide.
"you can touch me, sweetheart." she pulls your hand to her chest, allowing you to explore. your fingers clumsily rub her nipples and she grunts, guiding them into place.
"does it feel good?" you ask her so hesitantly, and she kisses the top of your head.
"you're doing well." she watches your gaze slide down, eyeing the growing bulge in her pants. she dryly grunts, lifting your chin up. "something catch your eye?"
"i... i'm sorry- i didn't mean to stare-" your words are mumbled, your face hot as your mouth goes dry.
"you're curious. that's alright." she brushes a thumb over your lips, coaxing you to open up.
she slides her thumb over your tongue, gently easing it a little further until you gag, keeping you just like that. your eyes are so wide and pretty, glazed over with untapped lust.
she hums thoughtfully before withdrawing, using the thumb to brush over the front of your panties. you gasp, thighs snapping shut as she pushes them back apart.
she lightly smacks your thigh. "keep them open." she rubs gentle circles on your clothed clit, your body clearly unsure how to react. she can see it doesn't take much to bring you to the edge, and she lightens her touch, able to control her own desires with ease.
her hand comes back to your lips, sliding your wetness over your tongue while her free hand slides your panties to the side.
something you've missed before, but she's filed her nails down on this hand. just for you, though only she knew that.
she gently slides her fingers through your folds, hearing you whimper and squirm on her lap. she tucks your head under her chin while she eases a finger into you, feeling you squeeze so tight around just one digit.
she gives you time to adjust, feeling you clutch her wrist. you're such an angel, aren't you? holding so tightly to her, so cute, all while you fidget right above her confined cock, inevitably making her grow harder.
her second finger slides in slowly, with an intent to stretch you out enough to take her cock more comfortably. she curls them inside of you, hearing you whine loudly into her neck.
"ah- that feels-!" you squeal when she brushes against your g-spot. her finger pads rub into it, and you tremble, thighs clamping down on her hand.
"relax." she reminds you, pumping her fingers in and out, slick sounds filling the air. she stretches you out every so often, spreading her fingers slightly and hearing you whimper so sweetly.
your hand clumsily rests on her bulge and her fingers still as she inhales sharply.
"i... want to- try and make you feel good too..." you whisper, looking up at her.
and who is she to deny such a sweet girl?
she pops open the button, unzipping her pants and freeing her cock, allowing you to see her.
your eyes go comically wide, shocked by the size. "that's... i-"
she can feel your walls fluttering around her fingers and she nearly moans. "it's alright. don't be nervous." she practically reads your mind, soothing your concerns as her free hand unwraps itself from your body, collecting some of the messy slick from your thighs, sliding it over herself.
"you haven't done this before, i presume?" she's met with a shake of your head. she proceeds to guide your hand in wrapping around her cock. she hisses through her teeth. "archons-" she groans lowly, her fingers resuming their gentle in and out motions while she guides you to stroke her cock.
"tighter." she tells you, feeling your hand grip more firmly, her pre-cum oozing over your hand, spreading across her cock. "good girl-" she praises and you clench around her fingers once more.
she says nothing, but she knows exactly how her words affect you. such a sweet little thing you are, curled up on her lap, fingers stuffed inside of you while your hand wraps around her cock.
her hand covers yours still, dwarfing your hand and guiding you into her preferred rhythm. "that's it. you're doing well-" she tips her head back, hips grinding into your hand as she lets go.
she allows you to move your hand on your own, finger-fucking you faster. she knows you're losing focus, too overwhelmed by your own need to cum, though she doesn't mind too much. you're just so sweet with how your moans pick up in volume, your eyes closing as your hips chase her hand.
"go on." she tells you, her voice stern as you release around her digits like such a good girl for her.
she slides her fingers out, admiring the webbed slick coating them, cleaning them in her own mouth as you shyly hide in her chest.
she pulls you away, laying you on the bed. "wait! you didn't get to..."
she shakes her head, pushing her hair back. "hush." she simply says, spreading your thighs, pushing them up to your chest. it exposes you perfectly, allowing you to feel shy, yet unable to cover yourself as she studies your twitchy cunt.
arlecchino uses one hand to guide herself through your slick, sensitive folds, gathering the remnants of your orgasm. she is gentle when she slides into you for the first time, a thumb on your stiff, swollen clit to ease the stretch.
she watches your eyebrows furrow, nose crinkling as she stretches you out. "so big-" you whine, chest arching up against her own.
your moans are melodies to her, feeling you flutter around her was like heaven. she lifts you up to sit on her lap while she leans back, guiding you to slowly take more of her in.
"too much!" you whine, looking down.
"you haven't taken all of me yet." she hushes you, easing you down to swallow her all in your pussy until you're mewling incoherently.
"full-" your head falls back and she grabs your hips, her nails leaving sharp little indents as she guides you to shallowly fuck yourself on her cock.
"such a pretty little thing." she coos, slowly growing more harsh, grinding up into you.
and, oh, you sing for her the rougher she gets. you urge her to grow bolder, now using your body as a toy while you desperately try to match her tempo.
you're inexperienced, but oh, so eager to please, aren't you? what a good girl.
she grabs your ass, fucking you on her cock while you keep a vice grip, your tits bouncing with each thrust. "oh- archons!" you squeal.
arlecchino picks you up like you weigh nothing at all, settling you beneath her instead, fucking into you with boundless energy.
she knows the right spots to fuck, where and how to grind herself into a woman, she knows exactly when to speed up and slow down. yet it seems you don't even know your own body fully.
and the thought of helping you explore with her is enough to have her twitching inside of you.
your incessant mewling and moaning of her name is driving her mad for you. her hand wraps around your throat, earning her breathless gasps as she urges you to cum for her.
"be a good little pet and cum." she orders, slick sounds penetrating the air, the smell of sex coating you both. "cum for me."
she rubs your clit harshly, watching you shake as you do cum, tightening up around her cock, sending her eyes rolling back into her head.
the moment you loosen up, she pulls out, cumming onto your tummy, creating a filthy mess as she moans deeply for you.
"fuck..." she sighs, squeezing her cock to ease the rest of her cum onto your skin.
you pant, looking up at her. your eyes are blown wide, but you look exhausted as you lay limply beneath her.
and, well, you'll soon learn her cock may need time to recover, but her mouth and fingers certainly don't...
#꒰ঌꨄ︎໒꒱─ 𝐤𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐲'𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬#ฅᨐฅ─ 𝐤𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐲'𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐬#ʚ♡ɞ─ 𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐲#arlecchino x you#arlecchino smut#arlecchino genshin#arlecchino x reader#arlecchino#arlechinno genshin#arlechinno x reader#genshin smut#genshin x reader#genshin x y/n#genshin x you#arlecchino x y/n#genshin wlw#wlw#🐇─ 𝐛𝐮𝐧
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AMERICAN MONEY ★ LOGAN SARGEANT
PAIRING ✦ logan sargeant x fem!reader
SUMMARY ✦ after a trip to the miami grand prix, and some meddling from your sister and her boyfriend, you manage to capture the attention of a certain williams driver [ SMAU ]
WARNINGS ✦ cursing
NOTES ✦ reader is british & lives in london. reader is also a uni student. the fc i've used is brooke flecca, but feel free to picture whoever you want! this fic is based off of the song American Money by BØRNS.
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liked by yoursister, oscarpiastri, and 7,441 others
yourusername flicks 📸
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user1 STUNNER
user2 such a beauty in all three oh my days
user3 PLEASE SEND ME THE LINK TO THE CAMERA!!
yourusername check your dms x
user4 WHAT A BABE.
yoursister photography credits?? 😔😔
yourusername yeah yeah whatevs
oscarpiastri and lighting credits?
yourusername shut up pastry no one cares 🗣️
user5 Y/N LOL
user6 wait why is oscar piastri in her likes...
user7 her sister has been dating him!!
user6 ahhh i see!!
user8 are you from tennessee?
yourusername ewwww rogue man in my comments GO AWAY🤺🤺
imessages ( y/n )
yourusername
( caption one: @/yoursister our comfort movie always 💗 | caption two: yup )
oscarpiastri
( can't be bothered to type out the caption sorry )
imessages ( logan )
liked by logansargeant, yoursister, and 10,211 others
tagged yoursister
yourusername WE ❤️ ICE CREAM (& miami beach)
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user10 GORGEOUS GIRLIES!!
user11 ice cream flavors 🎤
yourusername bubblegum 4 me & sherbert 4 y/s/n 😉
user12 THEY'RE BOTH GORGEOUS OH MY DAYSSS
user13 the sea looks so perfect omg
user14 they're in miami for the gp???
user15 y/s/n probably dragged y/n along with her 🤣
yourusername that's exactly what happened 😂
yourfriend AWOOGA
yourusername KISSES FROM ME AND Y/S/N 💋💋
yoursister we love miami 💘💘
liked by yourusername
logansargeant need a tour guide? 😁😁
yourusername if you're as annoying as oscar is then no thanks ❤️
logansargeant oscar pisses me off too
yourusername okay offer accepted! 😁
oscarpiastri WHAT.
yourusername YOU LITERALLY TRIED TO SELL ME??
imessages ( y/n )
yourusername
( caption one: he answered my prayers 🗣️ @/logansargeant | caption two: ladies get yourself a man who looks at you the way logan did after i said id buy him cupcakes as a thank you for taking me around miami 🥰 | caption three: lyrics of miami by will smith )
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yourusername miami, you've been a blasttt 🎆🎆
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user16 PURPLE IS YOUR COLOURRR!!
user17 color* BUT YES!!
user18 AMERICANS BOOO IT'S COLOUR
user19 COLOR* 🦅
yourusername GUYSS it's colour.
user16 EXACTLYY
user20 the mclaren flag 🤣
yourusername she's a loyal babe @/yoursister
user21 LOGANNN??
user22 okay someone needs to find out who this girl is and why logan has been in her likes and stories.
user23 tf is this cia agent bullshit leave them be 🤣
oscarpiastri i notice you aren't dripped out in mclaren merch, y/n?
yourusername im not associated with that sorry
landonorris just say you hate me
oscarpiastri no it's me she hates
yourusername guys guys guys. no need to fight. i hate both of you EQUALLY 😊
logansargeant had the best time with you!!
yourusername can't relate actually. only stuck around for the normal fanta 🍊
logansargeant oh?
yourusername JOKES 😁
yoursister 👀👀
user24 @/yoursister YOU'RE ALL OF US RN.
imessages ( y/n )
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tagged yoursister, oscarpiastri
yourusername when's he going back to his racing boooo
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user28 @/logansargeant brooo come be her other half!
user29 @/logansargeant SAVE HER NOWWW
user30 @/logansargeant chain!
user31 @/logansargeant
user32 @/logansargeant
user33 @/logansargeant
user34 @/logansargeant
user35 @/logansargeant
user36 okay but why is no one talking about how beautiful she is hellooo?? enough about a MAN let's talk about this WOMAN.
user37 RIGHTT??
yoursister y/n i think you broke the internet
yourusername whoops???
oscarpiastri 10k likes and i'll make logan call y/n 🥰
oscarpiastri I DIDN'T THINK IT'D ACTUALLY GET 10K LIKES WHAT??
user38 so when's logan calling y/n??
oscarpiastri coming soon 👊
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yourusername how come every time you come around 🗣️
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user42 MY LONDON LONDON BRIDGE WANNA GO DOWN
user43 absolutely iconic
user44 SHE'S IN THE UK??
yourusername baby i live here haha ❤️
user45 YOU'RE SO FERGALICIOUSSS
user46 it's giving absolutely everything it needed to give
user47 no logan???
user48 im sure y/n and logan will meet up again soon, they just have very busy lives, what with y/n just finishing her final year at uni & logan being a literal f1 driver
yoursister so did my invite get lost in the post or
yourusername idk, it wasn't me who was busy in austria with her boyfriend so!
oscarpiastri why am i always brought into these conversations
yourusername because i hate you
imessages ( y/n )
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tagged logansargeant
yourusername a doggie, a logie and spaghetti 😝
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user51 SHE CALLED HIM LOGIEEE IM WEAK IN THE KNEES
user52 CUTIES FR
user53 THE DOG AWWW
user54 they match together so perfectly
user55 omg y/nlogan CONFIRMEDDD!!
user56 this post is everything to me and more
yoursister is this your definition of a soft launch
yourusername boo the internet already caught us basically making out at silverstone what's the difference
user57 Y/S/N HAHAHA
oscarpiastri i won't say i had a part in this buttt...
yourusername thanks for trying to sell me oscar.
oscarpiastri no problem!
lilymhe ANOTHER FEMALE IN THE WILLIAMS PADDOCK 🔥🔥
yourusername when you leave alex for me should i pretend to be shocked
lilymhe well, yes
logansargeant @/alex_albon oh dear
alex_albon this was always going to happen. we should've prepared in advance 😔
logansargeant ❤️❤️
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yourusername officially dating a uni graduate 🥳🥳 couldn't be prouder ❤️
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user58 felt her aura from ten scrolls away WOW
user59 RIGHT? she IS the moment
user60 slide 2 🥺
user61 petition for y/n and logan to become dog parents
yourusername @/logansargeant please please please
logansargeant i'll consider it
yourusername a win is a win 🤷♀️🤷♀️
user62 she's suchhh a babe omg
user63 they're too cute together
yoursister treat her good, sargeant.
logansargeant will do ma'am 🫡
yourusername logan she's younger than you?? and also im allowed to do this spiel with you, not the other way around?!
yoursister he's the new boyfriend now, not oscar 🤷♀️
yourusername LOGAN THAT SLIP OF ME EWWWW DELETE DELETE
logansargeant you look beautiful either way ❤️
oscarpiastri ewww ruining my feed delete these comments please
yourusername don't be fooled guys, im only dating him for that american money 🥳
logansargeant she's kidding.
yourusername being a uni student is expensive to be fair
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TAGS ✦ @theblueblub ; @littlegrapejuice ; @tribbisweetdear; @chaostudee ; @writingisbetterthandying ; @dannyleclerc
#f1#f1 x reader#f1 smau#formula one x reader#formula 1#f1 imagine#f1 x you#f1 imagines#logan sargeant x y/n#logan sargeant#logan sargeant x reader#logan sargeant x you#logan sargeant imagine#mclqren
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protect | ·˚ ༘ spencer reid ,,
summary - you get badly injured on a case, and the hospital visit ruins your surprise.
genre - fem!bau!reader x spencer, hurt/comfort, little bit of angst and arguing, fluff, happy ending!! reader can bear children (has female anatomy)
warnings - pregnancy, major injuries, mentions of gross hospital things, r uses she/her pronouns, usual criminal minds violences
w/c - 2.2k
a/n - thank u for the request! loved the idea immediately and this is the first time i’m writing abt pregnancy and stuff so pls do not quote me on anything!!! also this writing isn’t my best, sorry abt that. okay bye have fun reading
request - (@ursuu-la) hihihi idk if you're taking requests, but what if u write something where Spencer and a fem reader are dating and she's pregnant, but she's kinda scared(? or nervous to tell Spencer. And maybe she could tell it to one of the girls of the team to find a way of approaching Reid, but then she gets hurt or something happens to her in a case.
“Oh. My. God.”
You turned your attention from the open manila folder to Garcia’s multiple screens, searching each one for something important, “What?”
“Y/n M/n Reid. You’re pregnant?” Garcia spun in her chair with an angry expression while pointing a ringed finger at the main computer screen. It was your medical history - which you allowed her to search so she could experiment with a new hacking technique - but you had forgotten about your recent discovery.
Your hand was clamped over your mouth as you stared in shock and started rambling through your fingers, “Garcia. I swear, nobody knows - I wasn’t keeping this from just you,” you placed your hands on her shoulders when she stood up in disappointment, sending her office chair to collide with the desk, “Spencer doesn’t even know, please Garcia. Don’t tell anyone.”
Your eyes searched hers for a promise or compromise, but instead you got welling tears.
“Garcia?”
“Y/n, your pregnant with a little Reid! This is amazing- How come you haven’t told him? I’ll have a new little nephew or niece! Y/n!” She squealed and took your hands to spin you in a circle in her small office. You immediately felt nauseous and slowed the excited girl, her hair accessories threatening to fall off in her happiness. You held your stomach and whispered,
“No spinning, I’ll throw up.”
She glanced to her computer screens and shut them down immediately, sitting back down and taking a deep breath. “This is great! Right? Please tell me this is great, you’re already 6 weeks pregnant.”
You bit your lip and nodded, “I mean, I think it’s great but..” You lost yourself in thought.
Last year when you and Spencer got married, you had talked about starting a family many times. But every time you both agreed to wait a few more years in order to save up more money and maybe move into a bigger apartment or even a house. This was not what you planned.
Spencer liked having a plan, it was one thing you grew to love. He was organised and, due to his amazing memory, remembered everything, especially everything about you. And though you two had grown so close you were basically one person, this was the only time you had no idea how Spencer would react if he found out your secret.
“I don’t know how to tell Spencer.”
Garcia grinned, but it was quickly wiped away when she noticed a certain figure in the doorway. You spun on your heel, heart attacking your ribs. Luckily, it was not your husband, but your boss. He stood sternly and started, “We’ve got a case, wheels up in 30.”
You nodded and turned back to Garcia, all she did was wave and whisper, “I’ll text you.”
In the plane, you sat next to Spencer in the aisle seat, stomach feeling queasy and phone vibrating non-stop in your back pocket. You pinched the bone between your eyebrows and squinted at the case files that Hotch had quickly gone over. Morgan was spilling some theories, Prentiss backing him up, when Spencer lowered his head and whispered in your ear, “Are you okay? You seem tired.”
You put on a small smile and nodded, the fact that Spencer had noticed something wrong meant that the rest of the team would notice soon too. You raised yourself and squeezed Spencer’s hand that had been in your lap. You murmured a small excuse me to Hotch and excused yourself to the plane’s toilet.
Spencer began to get worried for your health. The past week and a half, you’d been eating less and then more, and then you’d say you felt sick, and then you were full of energy. You cancelled plans, you slept more, and you had started avoiding Spencer. You were getting sick, and distant, and he hated how you wouldn’t let him help you whenever he asked. He furrowed his eyebrows and shook his head slightly, attempting to focus on the profile.
Sat on the toilet, ready to double over into the bathroom sink, you pulled out your phone and scrolled through Garcias texts.
What about a baby onesie with Daddy’s favourite child on it?
What about a candle lit dinner?
What about donuts that spell out ‘I’m Pregnant!’
I’ve seen people purposefully burn bread and wait until their husbands understand, maybe that?
Maybe. But right now, that was not what you wanted to think about. On top of the case and the whole pregnancy situation, your symptoms were becoming harder to conceal.
A whole day of analysis, interrogating, leads and dead ends led you to a one story run down house with broken windows and an overgrown yard. You threw the FBI bullet vest over your shoulders as Spencer approached you with a tight smile. His hair was shorter these days, after he finally let you start cutting it, but nothing could change his attractiveness. His cologne wafted into your senses as he went behind you, tightening your vest and patting your back and waist down to make sure you were at optimal safety.
You could almost imagine he knew you were pregnant.
“Remember, if he’s in there, keep your distance. He’s a big guy but silent, and not all there.” He furrowed his eyebrows as he did a last check over of your vest, belt, and the position of your gun. You smiled and nodded,
“I know, Spence. I’ve been here too.”
He sighed and nodded, placing a small kiss on your cheek as a good luck.
You were married, but there was no guarantee you’d both make it out of any case. Every movement could be your last, and every interaction could be your last together.
Morgan slipped through the door after a man picked the front doors lock, Prentiss behind him and you behind her. After you, followed Hotch and Spencer.
“Clear!” Morgan called from the kitchen. You turned right down a hallway, Prentiss disappearing into a small room on the right and yelling,
“Clear!”
You entered the small bedroom, gun high and steps careful. It was an adults bedroom, maybe a teenager. There was posters of horror movies, a thin mattress on the floor and shelves of books and wooden cupboard holding what you believed to be clothes.
“Clea-“
The wind got knocked out of you, your shoulder colliding with the wall to your left and a sharp handle being jabbed into your side, as you plummeted against the floor and hearing a loud thump and shattering glass beside you. Miniscule, rainbow, dots clouded your vision, the adrenaline and the concussion you were sure you had numbing the pain coursing through your veins. You screamed in pain, Hotch entering almost immediately.
You lifted your right arm to point out the window, the glass shattered from where the unsub had escaped.
Spencer entered the room in a rush, eyes running over the fallen cupboard that would've been taller than the both of you, and then your small body in the corner. You held out your arm for him, and he placed his hands under your armpits, jolting back when you screeched in pain. "Y/n, your..." His eyes widened in shock and fear at the sight of your dislocated shoulder. Your right hand clutched to your left side - no doubt trying to comfort a massive bruise or worse.
He gulped, helping you up and throwing your good arm around his shoulders. The sudden movements blanked your vision for a few moments, a small lump forming on the front left side of your temple, and your legs trembled in the sudden need to hold yourself up. "Y/n, we just need to get you to the ambulance, alright?" Spencer told you reassuringly. He didn't know how much you could understand, your eyes were cloudy and your movements spaghetti-like, but he continued to reassure you anyways.
The paramedics set into action as soon as they saw your near limp body strung across Spencer's taller build. You were placed in the ambulance on a bed and before you knew it, there was a heavy clamp on your finger and two paramedics touching you and saying unexplainable things to each other. A short one with a beard came close to your vision, obvious aware it was still slightly blurred, "Agent Y/n. We need to take your shirt off in order to fix your shoulder okay? We need to pop it back in as quick as we can."
All you could do is nod, Spencer making most of the choices for you as your husband - he wouldn't put you through something he knew you would disagree with. They asked him questions, and while the voices came in and out of focus, the adrenaline was wearing off and suddenly your senses heightened. "Is she pregnant?"
The question rolled off the paramedics tongue like a rehearsed poem, and Spencer shook his head like there was no possible way you were. But as you saw needles being prepared, your heart started pounding so fast it got the attention of the professionals. "Y/n, are you still with us?"
To Spencer, you looked like you had just woken up to a bad dream, but there was something deeper - you were not unconcious, if anything you looked alert.
"I'm pregnant." The paramedics glanced at each other and Spencer's eyes widened. The one with the needle placed it down carefully on a table, and before you knew it, you were being pushed through hallways and into a awfully bright room.
You passed out, fear and exaustion catching up to you. But Spencer couldn't sleep. On top of the fact that his wife had just gotten her shoulder dislocated and then fixed, and a slight rib fracture, she was also pregnant.
Spencer doubted for the first half hour of waiting for you to wake up that you actually were. You were saying nonsense, you were injured and the adrenaline... usually causes people to tell the truth. He paced and went over everything that had been happening. The change in your behaviour, the tiredness, the sickness. It was all coming together like a puzzle, and he wondered why he didn't realise sooner.
"Spence?" A small voice called out, and he approached the hospital bed almost immediately.
"Y/n." Spencer smiled in relief, overjoyed that you were alright and breathing. He knew you'd be fine, but anything can be unpredictable. Anyone can be unpredictable. "I'm so glad you're okay."
"What happened?" You tried to sit up but Spencers soft hands encouraged you to stay laying down.
"The unsub pushed a cabinet at you. You collided with the wall and dislocated your shoulder." He explained softly, the doctors told him that the specific pain killers they gave you may cause some loopiness. "Oh." You whispered, eyes searching his face like you had never seen it before, and you smiled. You were here, and he was here, and you needed nothing more. Other than more pain killers.
Spencer bit his lip, and sighed, not sure if it was the right time to bring the blindside up at that moment.
"Y/n, darling, are you... pregnant?"
The small grin wiped off your face and you took some deep breaths, nodding and avoiding his gaze in fear of rejection. Spencer sighed, and pushed his hair away from his face, a smile rising onto his cheeks. Tears welled in his eyes from happiness. "This is great, this is... wow Y/n, I can't believe.." He gulped, "I can't believe you didn't tell me sooner."
Confusing his disbelief for anger, tears started dropping down your cheeks as you sat in silence. Spencer started to worry, "Do you... not want to have a baby with me? Or at all? Do you think I won't be a good father? I know that I've had my problems in the past but I promise I can be a good father-"
"Spencer." You called his name in shock, heart aching over his insecure questions. "I do want a baby, especially one with you. And I don't think you'll be a good father, I know you'll be a great one. I just," you wiped your cheeks and he sat down in a chair beside your bed, taking your hand in his. "I'm scared. I thought that you wouldn't want to have one right now because of our... plan. This is really early and we didn't get to save- and- I thought you'd be mad-" You had started blubbering now, the heart monitor becoming a ticking time bomb for a full on breakdown, before Spencer took your face in his hands and smashed your lips onto his.
He pulled back, smile wide, eyes full of adoration and sorrowfullness.
"Y/n, I don't care about that plan anymore. And I'm not mad." He searched your eyes with his, "I just wished you told me earlier. Maybe you wouldn't have been injured, because god knows I wouldn't have let you go out into the field."
"Spencer, I'm so sorry." You sniffled, placing your other hand on top of his.
"Oh, darling. You don't have to be sorry. I've made my injured and pregnant wife cry, I should be sorry."
You giggled, and leant forward to kiss him on the nose. "So it's really okay?"
"Of course. You just have to heal quickly, and I'll do all the rest."
taglist (open!!) - @jeffswh0re @reap3erslov3 @candyd1es @0108s22m
#criminal minds#spencer reid#cm#criminal minds imagine#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid oneshot#criminal minds fluff#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid x yn#spencer reid x fem!reader#🍵 —☆ pia’s pages
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What if I am too much?
Summary: When Sam's girlfriend calls you clingy, you decide to give Bucky some space. What you don’t know is that he doesn’t want any space. None at all.
Pairing: tfatws!Bucky Barnes x female reader
Warnings: 18+, angst, teasing, language, pet names, spanking, daddy kink, metal arm kink, no mention of y/n
Word Count: 2.2K
Bucky Barnes masterlist
A/N: I want to thank @marvelouslizzie for her help!
Please, do not repost or translate without my permission!
“Oh, you’re alone?”
You turn your head in the direction of the voice and smile politely. You don’t recognize this woman, but she looks at you like she does.
“Uh, yes. Hello!”
“You don’t remember me, do you?”
You instantly blush, ashamed, and search for Bucky’s face in the crowd. Nowhere to be found. Damn it!
“No, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she says before coming next to you. “I’m Misty.” Brunette, tall and beautiful.
“Where did we meet?”
“Sam’s birthday, but I’m not surprised you don’t remember me. You were too busy clinging to Bucky’s side all night.” She sounds serious, and you freeze, having no idea where this came from. She simply laughs, grabbing your arm with some kind of bionic cold hand for a second before letting it go.
It’s not like Bucky’s. It’s more... robotic.
“Clinging?” You ask confused.
“Yeah, you know, always sitting with him, holding his arm, following him around.”
You puff, already annoyed by this random woman. “Following him around? I’m not a dog!”
“Didn’t say you are a dog, honey. Just pointing out the obvious.”
You try to hold your tongue, pushing aside the impulse to start a fight. This is a night about Bucky. Not you or your discomfort. And she is his ex-co-worker-friend’s girlfriend. Your anger can wait.
“Alright, but how does my clinging affect you, though?”
“Oh, don’t take it so personally! I just meant to be friendly. It’s a girl’s advice. Live a little, being insecure is not gonna save your relationship.”
A piece of advice no one asked for. A take you never even considered. You’re not insecure and you’re definitely not keeping Bucky to your side all the time. You don’t… He is free to do whatever the hell he wants.
“Thank you.”
She has the audacity to laugh. “Don’t be so defensive, honey! Gonna get a cocktail, want some?”
You shake your head, feeling a hole in your stomach after she leaves you alone, and you basically run to the bathroom, trying to calm down. What if she is right, though? What if Sam heard or saw something? Maybe Bucky is extra grumpy or unhappy. Maybe he even complained…
You never thought sitting with Bucky is a sign of clinginess. You thought it’d help... he is not the most comfortable person at events. He gets stared at a lot, he hates small talk, and you really like being close to him. Gosh, you are clingy!
The rest of the night passes like a blur. When you come back, Bucky’s waiting for you, and despite your instinct to wrap your arm around his back and let him hold you, you keep a little distance, giving Sam and his nosy girlfriend a fake smile, while Bucky keeps staring at you strangely.
You even manage to avoid touching him all week somehow, except for a few kisses now and then. Your period came, and as he tried to hold you, you had to fight tears while telling him not to. You’re sick and tired and you miss him, but you want to give him some space. You’ve been suffocating him for so long... You make sure to cry only when he’s out because he might hear you even in the shower. He has super hearing after all.
You thought it would become easier every day, but quite the opposite. Every time you’re close to giving up, you remember Sam’s comment that he made a week after you met him about how Bucky always likes his space and what Misty told you, so you fight against your wish.
Until Sunday afternoon.
You’re in bed, scrolling down on Instagram as Bucky comes out of the shower. You try not to stare at him, but how can you not? He looks absolutely incredible.
What you don’t expect is him trying to get on top of you to tickle you with a huge smile on his face. He’s so adorable.
“B-Bucky, stop!” You laugh as his hands get under your T-shirt. He loves making you laugh no matter how he does it. “N-no.”
“Oh, I will,” he says playfully.
But what he failed to tell you is that stopping means sneaking his head under your T-shirt, which starts to rip a little because of the stretch, and resting it on your boobs.
“Bucky!”
He puffs, annoyed. “Why the fuck are you wearing a bra in the house, bubba?”
“Cause it’s a bra?” You ask back sarcastically, but you know this is weird. You always complain about needing to wear it outside. But inside? It’s even worse.
“Unacceptable.” He quickly rips your bra in half, not bothering to unhook it, and you feel his beard on your breast all of a sudden, making you shiver. Fuck, you really miss this.
“B-Bucky, come on, your hair is a little wet!”
“Bubba, please...”
“Bucky! Why did you do that?” He immediately takes his head out of your T-shirt, and you almost cry. He looks do lost and scared.
“Baby, do you not want me anymore?”
“What the fuck?” You groan. This is the last thing you wanted him to think. All you tried to do was to make him happy and feel less pressured.
“You don’t let me touch you. You don’t want to cuddle with me. You don’t wake me up with kisses. You don’t get on top of me You don’t hug me! What did I do?”
Your heart aches for both of you. “Wasn’t that better?”
“Better for who?” He cries. “This was the worst week of my life since Hydra.”
“Unfortunately, that cannot be true, Bucky.” You sigh, getting closer to him. “I thought you like space...”
“I do, but not with my fucking baby!”
You melt at his words, truth be told. He said it so passionately, but you’re so confused.
“I thought I was being too clingy, touching you too much, you know?”
“What? Where did this come from?”
You close your eyes. How are you supposed to answer this without sounding like a petty bitch?
“Does it matter?”
“Of course it does!” You feel his hands grabbing your face so you can look at him. “It means I did something wrong.”
You frown, upset that he thinks that. He’s been nothing but kind, understanding, and loving to you, and you hate how he feels like he failed you or something.
“Sam’s girlfriend told me I am clingy... always with you, never leaving you alone to breathe basically. And it reminded me of Sam saying how much you love your space, and I just...” You try not to cry, you really do, but you cannot hold back the tears this time, which Bucky immediately reaches to wipe with his flesh fingers.
“Jesus, baby! I don’t give a goddamn shit about what they say, you aren’t allowed to listen to anyone! Just let me touch you.”
You immediately wrap your arms around his neck, and Bucky lifts you a bit so you can sit on his lap. You can hear his heartbeat, and you find that so peaceful.
“I thought you’re gonna break up with me, honey.” He whispers in your ear. “I was terrified when you didn’t let me cuddle with you.”
“I’m so fucking sorry, baby.” You don’t know what else to say. You hurt both of you for days just because you let some woman get inside your head, but you had good intentions. “I just didn’t want to be a burden.”
“I should be the one saying that, not you, bubba.” He leaves a kiss on your shoulder. “God, I missed you so much, it feels surreal to touch you.”
“I love you, I’m sorry.”
“Promise to never do this shit ever again!”
“I’ll try,” you murmur. “I didn’t realize you want me to touch you so much.”
Bucky lifts your head. “You know I have to punish you for that, right?”
“Punish me?” You ask surprised.
“Yeah, for believing some stranger over your man. For pulling away and giving me a heart attack. And for depriving yourself of my cuddling skills.”
You giggle. “What if I let you suck my nipples for a whole week anytime you wanted?”
“I already do that!” Bucky lifts your T-shirt as he speaks, and you gasp.
“You do not!”
“Yes, I do. Remember when I came home from the last mission and I made you come by-” He lowers his head and licks your right breast, avoiding your nipple.
“Fuck you, tease!”
“I am the tease?!” He snorts, continuing to lick.
“You’re always the tease. Now kiss me and gimmie your cock.”
“I won’t give you anything until I punish you.”
“Jamie!” You scream when he turns you around, ripping off your shorts in half, along with your underwear before placing you on his thighs. “What the fuck?”
“What the fuck to you for keeping yourself away from me.” You feel him caressing your ass for a few seconds before slapping your right cheek with his flesh hand. You squirm, gripping into his hip.
“F-fuck!”
“Count.”
You groan. “Jamie...” He spanks you again but harder, and this time you moan. “T-two.”
“Nope, we start over.”
“O-one.”
“Good girl!”
The third and fourth aren’t as hard as you want and you find yourself wiggling your ass in the air.
“Harder.”
“Harder?” He snorts, amused, and before he can bring his flesh hand in the air, you grab his metal arm.
“Please, daddy, use this one!”
Daddy? It didn’t take too long for you to get back in the mood.
“Can’t use it, baby, I’m sorry.”
“No!” You cry. “I need it, pleaseee. I’ll ride your face as many times as you w-want.”
Bucky still doesn’t agree. “Baby, it would hurt.”
“Let it hurt!”
You want it to hurt because this pain is not unbearable, quite the opposite. It pushes you over the edge faster.
He sighs and listens to you, bringing his metal hand to your ass, but you barely even feel it when he slaps. You groan, upset.
“I said slap! Do you want me to hover?”
“I can fucking hurt you.”
“I told you to hurt me!” You beg. “Please, honey! Please, please, please.”
He does it again, not hard enough for you, but you count anyway. Again and again.
“Jesus, you’re making my thighs so wet. You’re such a little whore for me.”
“I’m your whore. Always, daddy, please!”
Bucky’s moan comes somehow from the back of his throat, and the last spanks are perfect. He gently caresses your ass, cooling it off with his metal hand, and you smile. “You’re so dirty sometimes, but also such a good girl taking your punishment perfectly.”
“I am sorry,” you whisper.
“For what exactly?”
You pout, grabbing his face. “For all of it. But you’re you, Bucky. You’re the greatest guy in the world, I just didn’t want to be annoying.”
“You were annoying when you didn’t let me even hug you.”
You know that, but sometimes you can’t help but do dumb things, thinking about him. “I wanted you to be happy.”
“Well, I wasn’t happy, obviously. And neither were you, bubba. Promise me you’ll talk to me first next time.”
“I was just stupid…”
“No.” You feel his thumb all over your lips. “You were worried. I love you and I really need your touch, okay?”
“I noticed,” you laugh.
“Good, now feed me my boobs, and then I wanna see you riding my face as you negotiated.”
You fake sigh and grab your boob. “Open up.”
*
You’re not sure how to react when Bucky drags you straight to Sam and his girlfriend as soon as you get inside the museum.
“Hey, Buck-”
“Who do you think you are?”
Misty gasps while Sam and you freeze.
“Wow, wow, wow, man. Hold on a sec, what is going on?”
“What is going on, Samuel?” Bucky asks rhetorically through his teeth. “Ask your little girlfriend where she got her audacity from to tell my girl she is clingy. That she basically spends too much time with me. Who the fuck gave her the permission to even speak to her? So she either apologizes and keeps her mouth shut, or we’ll have a big problem.” Bucky turns his head to look at Misty. “From one metal arm to another. Wanna try me?”
“You did what? What the hell?”
Misty frowns, staring at you. “You went to complain to him for giving you a friendly, harmless advice?”
Bucky instantly grabs her metal arm wrist before you can answer.
“You got three seconds to beg for her forgiveness before I snap your hand in half. And I am not bluffing.”
Sam doesn’t even try to get between them, simply watching, and Misty immediately gets teary.
“I’m... sorry.”
Bucky shakes his head, squeezing her wrist. Holy shit! You haven’t seen him like this in ages. “Didn’t hear you.”
“I am sorry. I should have minded my own business!”
“Yes, you should’ve,” you say without regret. “But I forgive you.”
Bucky lets go with a grunt before nodding to Sam and bringing his hand to your hips, leading you toward the exit.
As soon as you are outside, you don’t even care if someone can hear you as you speak. “Fuck, I wanna suck your cock so badly!”
Bucky laughs. “I see. In the car… is that okay for you?”
You get on your tiptoes to kiss him. “Perfect.”
#bucky barnes#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes smut#bucky barnes fanfic#bucky barnes x y/n#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes x reader smut#bucky barnes x female reader#sebastian stan#marvel fanfiction#marvel fanfic#my stories#my fanfics
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first kisses [CL16]
charles leclerc x childhood best friend!fem!reader
word count: 7.8k
summary: The one where you have to go back to your hometown for business and your past finally catches up with you.
warnings: kisses, angst, grief, homesickness (in the Noah Kahan way), friends to lovers; burning, pining, perishing! fluff at the end :)
author's note: Friends to lovers was on my mind, and this is what came out. Feedback is appreciated, so please share your thoughts/comments/questions!! Sending love! [xoxo elle]
^edit: Thank you all sooooo much for the love this has received! No one does it better than the f1 babes. Thanks again!!
*Flashback*
She sat at the end of an abandoned dock. The towering ships were the only thing around her, a pleasant, quiet company. Monaco was set ablaze with a burning orange glow from the setting sun over the hills that hemmed the city in. The water sparkled in front of her, shimmering and dancing freely. She found herself envying the ocean. When the ocean was calm, people loved it for its serenity. When the sea was charged and crashing, people adored its fierce energy. But when she was calm, she was chastised for being withdrawn. When she exposed her power, she was commanded to be quieter, gentler. So she envied the ocean for its freedom and beauty.
Footsteps padded against the sturdy dock somewhere behind her, steadily growing closer. She knew who it was before she even looked over her shoulder. Wiping away salty tears, she sniffed her nose hard. She didn’t want him to see her like this.
Charles studied her from behind, not entirely understanding why she was reduced to tears at her father’s venomous comment. He’d seen her handle far worse from him time and time again over the years. He couldn’t find a way to understand why this one got to her. It had her running from her house, away from everyone, and brought her all the way out to the docks in the bay. Something carried her out here, and he wanted to know what.
Her eyes were trained unerringly on the horizon. She was dreaming about reaching out to it and dragging her finger along it. She didn’t acknowledge her looming best friend. She didn’t know what to say to him, so she opted for saying nothing.
Charles plopped down next to her, his feet dangling over the end of the dock. She rolled her eyes. He obviously didn’t pick up on the fact that she wanted to be alone. Typical.
She huffed and turned her face away from him into her shoulder. Charles rolled his eyes this time. Girls.
For some time, the two of them just sat there, toes tracing lazy circles in the water below. The ocean spray hit their warm skin, infecting their senses. Slowly, it set her at ease. Charles waited for the ocean to do what it did best: to heal.
Once the sun had gone down and dusk settled in, calamity disappeared. She was feeling hollow now, and cold. Nights down by the water often became chilly. Wrapping her arms tightly around herself, she shivered. Charles noticed immediately.
“Can we go back now?” He asked, thinking that she might open up on the walk home. He was also eager to get back to his warm house.
“No,” She said simply. It was the first thing she’d done to actually acknowledge his presence, save an eye roll. Charles groaned.
“You go then, you big baby.” She mumbled in response, tightening her arms around her middle. Charles’ head snapped to her with an incredulous look plastered onto his features. He wanted to grab her by the shoulders and chuck her into her beloved bay. Maybe that would set her straight.
While he was seriously contemplating his plan to shove her in, she leaned into him, her head resting gently against his shoulder. Charles’ eyebrows popped up in surprise as he eyed her in his peripherals. Her mumbled ‘sorry’ was barely audible, but acceptable for now. He knew that she didn’t mean to be moody; it was just a byproduct of a bad situation.
“Your dad’s an ass,” Charles said stiffly, still a little unsure about having her head on his shoulder. The two of them had never touched like this before. It made him nervous. It made her secure.
“Yeah,” she agreed, a weak laugh shaking her frame. Charles ventured a shaky hand towards her shoulder. When she let him cup her shoulder with his hand, he pressed her closer to him with a firm tug. She suddenly felt warm, the chill of the night cut through with just a one arm hug from her best friend. Best friend. Suddenly, it seemed an improper title.
“Wanna talk about it?” Charles whispered, his quiet voice floating over the dark sea like a ghost.
“No,” was all she could manage. A new flush of emotions welled in her chest. Her eyes rose to look at Charles through her lashes. He was the one looking out at the water now. This was her Charles.
“What do you want to talk about then?” he said, desperate to get her talking because this silence was getting heavy. He didn’t like the feelings that were stirring in his stomach. He was becoming painfully aware of how he was sitting, the way he smelled, the way his fingers rested against his best friend’s shoulder. Best friend.
She pulled away from him then so she could look him in the eye. His brown hair was swept off to the side, looking messy and charming. Charming? Had he always looked like this? Or was it just tonight’s high emotions that set her hormones into overdrive? Charles’ eyes fell on her, too. Her lips were puffy and pink, her eyes shimmering in the moonlight. He swallowed hard.
“Charlie?” She whispered his name like a secret, folded up into a night they would never talk about again.
“Yeah?” He said, his voice low and reverent. He was waiting for whatever she was going to say. He found himself hanging off every word that fell from those pink lips. He would never stop.
“I have a proposition for you,” she said carefully. She didn’t want him to read between the lines and end up ruining the beautiful friendship they shared. “Don’t get…weird.”
“Alright,” he said skeptically. She already knew that he was weird enough as it is.
“I think we should be each other’s first kiss. Just get it out of the way so we don’t have to worry about it,” she said quickly, firmly. She forced herself to believe that there was no ulterior motive behind her proposition. This was purely clinical, a normal thing. She didn’t want anything from Charles other than one simple kiss. Charles reared back a little, slightly dumbfounded. He was unsure. What did this mean for them? Did this mean she liked him? He wouldn’t mind that. The thought was a new one and it made him nervous.
“Come on, Charlie. I don’t want my first kiss to happen with some random guy. Please?” Her voice was light on his ears, unreal almost. He shared her sentiment; he didn’t really want to kiss a girl that didn’t know him the way she did. But the thought of another boy kissing her finalized his decision. He hated that mental picture.
All he did was nod.
With shaking fingers, she laid her hand over his on the dock between them. Biting down on her lip harshly, she stared at him. Charles gulped while returning her gaze. Time stilled around the two teenagers as they each leaned into their best friend. The kiss was simple, just lips against lips, but something about it sent up fireworks into the dead night. She was soft; he was nervous. Colors and light rippled across closed eyes. Chills ran rampant over skin.
When they broke apart, they were both breathless. Their eyes locked for only a split second before they snapped their attention back to the inky horizon. After a few seconds of complete, nervous silence, a giggle tore from her. Charles found himself laughing with her.
Their hands stayed intertwined between them on the last board of the dock.
*Present Day*
As you stroll down the streets that you once ran through as a little girl, you can’t help the nostalgia that warms your heart and brings a flush to your cheeks. It’s been too long since you’ve returned to your hometown. Something has always held you back. First it was school, then traveling, and now work. Since you moved away to college, you’ve gotten very good at avoiding this place and the histories that it holds. Even simply walking along the sidewalks, glancing at the shops and people, you find yourself becoming lost in the overwhelming weight of familiarity. There’s a complicated relationship between you and this small nation you once called home. As dearly as you love it, you nearly choke on all of the memories and emotions that rise helplessly to the surface. Joy is always accompanied with sorrow, gain with loss. Quietly, you contemplate exactly how you’re going to walk in the precarious balance of it all.
The soothing summer air and the simple caress of a cool ocean breeze does wonders to help ease your burden. Monaco’s bay has always been a place of rest for you. So, as you approach your destination, you try to mimic the sea’s power and adopt its peace. Rounding the stone gate, your feet automatically walk you down a path that you’ve followed countless times. Trees and grass and stones are scattered on both sides of the paved walk. Slowly, your eyes track over the names, names you’ve read so many times that you can nearly count them off by memory. These names you know so well, but never the people they belonged to. No, it was too late for that.
Your footsteps automatically slow as you reach the far corner of the grave yard. Sunshine spills through a nearby tree, casting sunspots over her stone. Your mother’s name is carved gracefully into the marker. Shaky legs guide you next to her, kneeling before her. With reverent fingers, you trace the letters of her name.
“Bonjour maman,” You whisper. Tears well in your eyes as you rest your hands in your lap, cradling the lilies you brought to leave for her. A far too familiar feeling flutters in your chest, rising into your throat. It’s the sort of darkness that makes you cold even when you can feel the sun on your skin. Loss does funny things to you– things that never go away. It’s something that you live with forever, but it grows smaller and smaller until you don’t notice it as often. Or until you come home and are reminded of everything that once was and never will be again.
Wiping at your eyes, you find yourself looking at another grave just across the path. The name fills you with the same feeling as your own mother’s. Hervé Leclerc.
You remember attending his funeral. Charles clung to your hand for the entire service. He was a mess. As he was lowered into the ground, Charles turned his head into your shoulder and sobbed. Everyone left, even his mother and brothers. They had to return to the house, but Charles couldn’t bring himself to say goodbye. It was just the two of you standing there on the path between his father and your mother. You clutched onto each other and made a promise to never let go. And you never did.
Parts of you still clung onto Charles as if you were still those kids who played footie in the streets or ran around karting events like you owned the place. Even more, you lingered in the kiss you shared as teenagers. There was a bond that was formed that night that you’ve never fully understood. Your soul reached out to his and fused to it. You suppose that’s why you miss him so dearly, even after all of these years. Your friends say that you should hate him, despise him for not being the friend he said he would be. But you couldn’t. Mistakes and misjudgments and idiotic errors meant nothing compared to what you’ve both endured and shared with each other. Maybe you weren’t the best friends you used to be, or even friends at all, but those parts of you were still reserved for him. There was nothing you could do about that, even if you tried.
Sniffing and drying your eyes, you decided that you’ve wept enough. There are things to do and people to see. Pressing a kiss to your fingers and then pressing your hand to your mother’s headstone, you say a quick goodbye. You pull a single lily from the bouquet before gently leaving the rest at the grave. With sure steps, you cross the path towards the other grave.
“Monsieur Leclerc,” You say with a small smile as you reach down and leave the lily at the foot of his stone. Your fingers rest and drag across the rough stone as you stand to leave.
Walking out of the graveyard, you feel your grief sling itself across your shoulders. But, instead of weighing you down, it holds you tight. You can’t help but imagine the hands of your mother and the hands of your best friend’s father reaching out to you, spurring you on. There’s always joy where there is sorrow.
The walk back to your car is quick. The summer morning in Monaco is already bursting with life. People are racing around, elegant outfits thrown over elegant frames. Cars that are worth more than houses lazily strut about the curving streets. Towering buildings bustle with life at the beginning of a work day. The city is alive.
There’s a slow smile that creeps onto your face as you pull your sunglasses down to watch the scene unfold before you. So many lives happening all at once. You wonder what they’re all doing today, what stresses they hold or what excitements they harbor. Late summer in Monaco is a dreamscape. Sometimes, in moments like these, you wonder how you left for so long.
While staring out at the business that’s swallowed you up, you’ve forgotten to watch where you’re going. A shoulder knocks into yours harshly, sending you reeling backward. Your heel catches on a loose stone, sweeping your feet out from under you. But, before you find yourself crashing to the ground, someone’s hands wrap tightly around your waist, catching you. Your hands latch onto their arms, trying to steady yourself. The person who both nearly threw you against the pavement and saved you from doing so, returns you to an upright position.
“Sorry, I wasn’t-” he starts while pulling his sunglasses from his face.
“I’m so sorry, I-” you begin at the same time.
The two of you freeze mid-sentence. Slowly, you reach up and pull your sunglasses off your nose to really take him in. He’s grown so much since you saw him last. He was just a little boy then, still navigating the tail end of puberty. His hair used to be longer, his face pudgier. Long gone is that little boy you once knew. He’s a man now.
“Arthur?” His name slips from your lips as you stare at him. His eyes sparkle in the sun while a smile tears across his face. At least there are some things that don’t change.
Your name bubbles from his throat as he reaches out and pulls you into a crushing hug. Lifting you from the ground, he spins the two of you in a circle. Being in Monaco was already hard to adjust to, but seeing Arthur Leclerc is a whole new level of surreal.
When he finally sets you down, your hands don’t drop from his shoulders. It feels so good to see him. Your heart beams, painting your face with a smile so large it burns your cheeks.
“Look at you! You’re so…” you say, your hand reaching up to touch his face.
“Handsome?” he interjects with a wink.
“I was going to say old,” you answer, shaking your head at him. Same old Arthur. For another second, you just stare at each other. It’s been five years since you’ve seen each other last. Five years since you last saw any of them.
“Come on,” Arthur says suddenly, taking your hand in his. He’s pulling you after him firmly while he weaves through the foot traffic that’s overtaken the walkways. Your objections fall on deaf ears as he hauls you after him.
“I’m out to the shops with maman, she’ll want to see you,” Arthur says excitedly while leading you a few more doors down. He stops you in front of a small flower shop that you know well. It was always Pascale and your mother’s favorite. It doesn’t surprise you in the slightest that Pascale still shops here.
Wasting no time, Arthur pulls you through the door and across the shop floor to where Pascale is. Her head is bent over an array of bouquets, a basket tucked around her arm. She’s dressed in light pastels, her hair done expertly. The sight of her makes your chest ache with memory. Watching her this way, without her knowing you’re there, feels like a scene in a movie made from your past. How many times have you watched her shop or cook or care for everyone? This moment plays on a loop in your mind but with different settings, scenery, clothes, jobs, people.
“Maman,” Arthur says, his hand leaving yours. He approaches his mother, resting a hand on her shoulder. She wraps her arm around his middle, flashing him a smile you can’t see. Arthur leans down to whisper in her ear before glancing back at you. Pascale’s gaze follows his, confusion evident on her face.
It lasts only a fraction of a moment until her graceful eyes meet yours. Time stills and everything becomes just as it’s supposed to be. You can hear the soft in and out of your own breathing, the thrum of your heart in your chest. Her basket tumbles to the ground, discarded so she can throw her arms around you. It’s the second hug you’ve received today that you never expected. There’s something endlessly warm and comforting about Pascale’s arms being wrapped around you. The familiarity of it makes you want to sob into her shoulder.
“Oh, my girl, my sweet girl,” she hums into your hair, her hands rubbing up and down your back. The hug lasts however long she decides, her grip unerring and relentless. When she finally pulls away, she gives you two kisses on each cheek.
“Let me look at you,” she says warmly, clutching your hands in hers while staring you down. Pascale’s eyes travel from your head to your toes and then back up. Twice.
“You’ve always been beautiful, like your mother,” she says with a tsk. But you can hear the slight quiver in her voice. Your mom was her best friend. It isn’t easy to lose a best friend.
“Thank you,” you whisper back, afraid that if you speak any louder, your voice would break. Staring at your mother’s best friend and the mother of your childhood best friend, there’s a special type of love you feel blossoming in your chest. No one could replace your mother, but Pascale did a damn fine job filling in where she could.
Pascale invites you to join her and Arthur shopping for the rest of the morning. As you travel from shop to shop, feeling 12 years old again, you chat amongst yourselves. The Leclerc's grill you with questions to which you answer as best you can. In return, they answer all of your questions.
However, there’s one subject neither of you dare to bring up: Charles.
“Have you seen your father recently?” Pascale asks while inspecting a tomato, disdain clear in her voice.
“No, I haven’t heard from him since he moved,” you answer honestly, while tying off a bag of lemons to place in her basket. Your father was never that involved, always gone on business. When he was around, he was brutal and full of hate. When your mother died, he became so distant, you barely considered him your father anymore. The end of your relationship occurred when you finally left for college. You haven’t heard from him since, spare one time bothered to call to let you know he was moving to London.
Pascale lets out a string of curses under her breath. It brings a small smile to your face. Pascale will always have your back. There’s never been a time where the Leclercs haven’t been there for you. They’ve supported you through thick and thin, and always made you promise to look to them for help whenever you needed it. You feel so grateful to be loved so fully by a family, especially when you didn’t really have one of your own.
“You’ll come for lunch,” Pascale says as she finishes up her shopping. Your eyes dart over to Arthur’s. An amused look passes over his face, a classic, crooked smile lighting up his features. Sighing and shaking your head, you both know there’s no way you’re getting out of this.
“No sense in fighting it.” Arthur says while slinging an arm around your shoulders. You just nod in agreement while following Pascale to checkout. After hauling all of the shopping to the car, Arthur drives the three of you home.
The Leclerc house is just as you remember it. As you walk into the foyer and take off your shoes, peace falls over you. It’s as if you’ve stepped into a time capsule. The walls haven’t been painted since you were ten and were forced to help. The bright decorations and life that they preserve call to your childhood. As Pascale and Arthur disappear deeper into the house, you find yourself lingering behind. Eyes taking in every sight, fingers reveling in every touch, nose breathing deep the smells of the past, and between it all strings of history hang. Everything is a reminder of what once was.
A chill cascades down your back as you round into the dining room and watch from a distance as the youngest Leclerc and his mother dance about the kitchen to put away the groceries. Their soft chatter draws a lump into your throat. How long has it been since you were in a place filled with words like theirs spoken from the mouths of people you love like them? As much as your heart aches, it also swells with profound comfort.
Pascale whips some delicious sandwiches up for the three of you to snack on while you continue to jabber on about the last five years. Apparently, your frequent calls and letters were not enough to tide this woman over. She wants every last detail about where you’ve been and what you’ve been doing there.
By the time you’re long done eating, you’ve laughed so hard you’ve nearly cried, and fought tears back so desperately, a headache is coming on.
“I’ve got to go,” Arthur says after checking his watch. Your eyes fall to your phone to check the time. It’s well past four in the afternoon. Your eyes widen in surprise, not realizing how long you’ve been with the two of them. Your carefully planned out day has gone horribly askew. But, you couldn’t be happier. You weren’t sure if you were going to be able to see the Leclercs or not while you were here. Fate intervened and decided for you.
Arthur says his goodbyes, kissing both you and his mother on the cheek before clearing the plates and disappearing into the kitchen. Pascale shifts in her seat to get more comfortable, signaling that she isn’t quite done with you yet. Smiling at her, you follow suit, trying to get comfy in your chair. Just as she opens her mouth to ask you another question, the sound of the front door opening steals away your attention.
“Arthur? Did you forget something?” Pascale calls out, a frown coming over her face. It was odd that he would come through the front door. When Arthur doesn’t answer, Pascale calls out to him again. Soft footsteps coming toward you through the hallway is the only answer the two of you receive.
Silently, you watch as Pascale watches the doorway to the foyer. As the footsteps draw closer and then stop, Pascale’s face twists into a hundred different emotions. Her eyes flick over to yours once, then bounce back to the doorway. Confused, you start to turn around in your chair.
“Maman, I’m…” A familiar voice dances into your ears. Surprise turns you the rest of the way around, finding him standing there in the doorway. A rush of emotions bursts from your chest, making your fingers go numb and your head go fuzzy. The sunlight bounces around the room and splashes him in warm tones. His tousled brown hair, warmly tanned skin, and wide eyes look achingly similar to when you saw him last. Of course you’ve seen pictures of him over the years– it was unavoidable when he was the Charles Leclerc. But, nothing compares to seeing him standing right in front of you. Nothing compares to him seeing you too.
“Charles!” Pascale says, bounding out of her chair to wrap her son up in a long overdue hug. Your presence has thrown this whole encounter off its axis. Shamefully, you remember that you, in fact, are not actually part of this family. Charles wasn’t expecting you and now you’ve ruined his surprise.
You let your eyes fall from his, taking a keen interest in a specific crack found in the floorboards. Listening silently to the small chatter that passes between the mother and son, you feel suddenly out of place. It makes your heart ache that you don’t feel like you fit here with Charles now. Suddenly the house that was just full of life and memories feels cold and foreign.
Urged out of your seat by this sudden revelation, you stand quietly so as not to disturb the two people in front of you. Quickly, you go about collecting your things. All you can think about is how to get out of here as quickly as possible. There’s a part of you that wishes someone would stop you, hold you by the arm and keep you from running away. But that’s the wish of a fool, of a lovesick teenager. This is real life, and you know better than anyone that things rarely turn out the way you hoped they would. Hope is a dangerous game that you played for far too long.
“I’m so sorry to interrupt,” You say quickly, placing a hand on Pascale’s shoulder. She turns toward you with wide eyes. There’s a tenderness and worry there that makes you nearly stop in your tracks. There’s a question poised on her lips, the one that would make you stay here like you so desperately want to. But you can’t, you won’t.
“But I really have to get going. It’s been lovely to see you again. I’ll make sure to pop in and say goodbye before I leave.” The words roll easily off your tongue, but you know that you won’t be stopping by again. The looming presence beside you makes sure of that. You’ve barely looked him in the eye, let alone spoken to him, and you can hardly handle it. Coming here to say goodbye to all of them again isn’t something you could handle.
Wrapping Pascale up in a warm hug, you hold her for an extra second or two. You’re not sure when you’ll be able to do it again, so you savor every moment. Kissing her on either cheek, you whisper one last goodbye.
Finally, you turn around and are face to face with your past. His eyes are trained on you, relentless and green. There’s a small frown that paints deep lines between his eyebrows. His pink lips are down turned on a freshly shaven face. From this distance, you can smell his cologne and see the uneven rise and fall of his chest. You haven’t seen him in years– felt his presence like this in years. How can it feel like centuries ago, but nearly like it was yesterday as well? So much has changed and yet everything has stayed the same.
“Charles,” you say curtly, your lips coming to rest in a strained line. He blinks once and opens his mouth like he’s going to say something. However, he never gets the chance. You’re slipping between the two of them, all but sprinting to the front door. Quickly, you yank on your shoes, tear open the front door, and jog down towards the road. A thousand and one thoughts take over your mind as you begin your walk towards your hotel.
Seeing Charles was the last thing you thought you’d be doing on this trip. He was always traveling for his job. Formula One took him all over the globe. But, in some cruel turn of fate, he ended up here, your home, at the same time as you. All of the warmth that had been swirling around you all day, slowly accumulating and healing you, dissipated in the blink of an eye. Even in the heat of the day, you felt frostbitten.
Wandering around, you didn’t feel up to returning to your hotel room yet. Isolating yourself in that cookie-cutter, dimly lit room seemed like torture. Instead, you decided to walk the town once more. Walking always helps you sort things out. Whenever you were mad or frustrated or sad, you always went on a walk.
The bustle in the streets allowed you to slip away for a while, unnoticed by everyone around you. For now, you were simply a cog in the machine. There’s nothing more freeing than being no one for a little while. You can let all of your cares and concerns slide away as you’re swallowed up by life.
As you walk, you find yourself passing by a young boy holding the hand of his mother. You wouldn’t have cast them another glance if your eye hadn’t been caught by the bright red hat the boy donned. The yellow Ferrari crest sat atop the hat and the perfect ‘16’ etched into the brim let you know that this boy was sporting his favorite racing driver’s merch. He stumbled along with his mother’s hand in one of his and a toy formula car in the other.
While they pass you by, you can’t help but paint the features of a young Charles over that little boy’s features. He looked a lot like him. Shaggy brown hair, big eyes, and happy smirk constant on his lips.
It was a little silly how much you thought of your past. You used to spend hours going over every detail, every happy memory, and every sad one too. Sometimes, you even thought that you might live in your past to hide from your future. But it stopped a while ago. You somehow started to turn it off, to not think about him or this place.
But it’s impossible to do when you’re literally standing in the heart of your hometown. Reminders of your past are at every corner. It’s inescapable. Memories are attached to everything here. Your past is intertwined with this place, these people.
If you can’t escape it, you might as well embrace it.
You decide to head for the one place you haven’t yet dared to go. By the time you get down to the bay, the crowds have lessened. People are returning to their houses to eat supper and prepare for another work day. That means that the docks will be quieter tonight.
The sun is slipping towards the horizon as you meander about the maze of ships and yachts. Soft splashing sounds and the glittering of pearly white boats surrounds you. This was the world that you were born into, of castles on water and seas and skies that glitter like champagne. However, you couldn’t feel more detached. You belonged here once, amongst these starlets and superheroes, but not anymore. Charles’ return made that all too clear. This was his world, his domain. Treading here was dangerous, a promise to slip back into the past.
Slipping further down the dock, you make your way toward the place you’d always come to sit. Just as you’re about to turn down the row, your eyes catch on a figure already sitting at the very end. His arms are out behind him, his head leaned back while his legs dangle off the edge of the dock. He’s off to the right side. He always sat on the right side.
It’s undoubtedly Charles. You could tell from a mile away. It’s the way he holds himself, the way he slouches, the way his hair tosses in the wind. Your heart constricts in your chest as you see him sitting there in a spot that was only ever meant for the two of you.
Slowly, you make your way down the dock. He’s been waiting for you here. What that means, you have no idea. But one thing is certain, he wants to see you, otherwise he wouldn’t be here.
Without a word, you sit down next to him, letting your feet hang over the water. He doesn’t look at you, nor you at him. Instead, you both just look out over the water in silence. This is what you were both practiced at. When there was something to be said, but no one knew how to say it, this is what you did. There’s something about the sea that always helped figure things out, it always healed the hurt. Maybe it will do the same today as it did in the past.
Closing your eyes, you breathe in the smell of the bay. You’ve always loved the ocean, it’s power and beauty. When you were just a girl, you were jealous of it. You remember those feelings well. A little girl’s jealousy. But still, there was truth to it. You wish desperately for the power of the ocean now, as you sit here with the embodiment of your past. You hope endlessly for its serenity as you battle the emotions inside of you.
Cracking your eyes open again, you dare to turn your head towards your old best friend. Surprise ripples through you when you find him already looking at you. Your eyes lock and it’s finally time to face him.
For the first time in five years, you really let yourself study him. His hair is long, but styled well. It suits him. His eyes are bright, but not entirely joyful. There are new lines and spots on his face, showing that he’s growing up. There’s a pleasant amount of stubble on his jaw. His lips are still pink and lovely. His neck has grown large due to his occupation, along with all of his other muscles.
Your mind flicks back to that night on the dock where you shared your first kiss. That little teenage boy you used to know has grown into this gorgeous man that sits in front of you. He’s not just physically fuller, he’s larger than life. It feels nearly impossible that this is the Charles that you once knew, the Charles that you once loved.
“I knew you’d come out here eventually,” Charles says, his lips tilting up into a half-hearted smile. One of his dimples pops for just a second before falling away again. The sight is so familiar it makes your heart race.
Clenching your jaw, you just nod. What are you supposed to say to him? There are a million things poised on your lips, but you can’t bring yourself to voice any of them. Fear of the answers to your questions holds you back.
“Want to talk about it?” Charles says coyly, a shy smile playing across his mouth as he tilts his head to the side. This pulls a small laugh from you. He’s quoting himself from all those years ago when you sat here together. You’d stormed out of your house when your dad did something or other and ended up here. It was the night that you kissed. It was the night you fell in love with my best friend.
“No,” You answer with a small smile, now quoting yourself. Charles sighs while shaking his head. Your name rolls off his tongue and it’s like no time has passed at all. You’re both teenagers with both parents still alive and big dreams waiting out on the horizon. Enamored as ever, you look him deep in the eyes.
With one last deep breath of ocean air, you take the plunge.
“You never gave me a reason.” A simple sentence that means everything.
When his father died, he was still working on getting an F1 contract. He had lied to his father on his deathbed about signing with Ferrari. He was so torn up about it that his entrance into F1 was tainted. He became obsessed and threw himself into the sport with everything he had. For a while, there was nothing but racing for him. Charles wasn’t Charles for a long time.
When he started racing in F1 for Alfa Romeo, you were left behind. Contact fizzled out until one day he was just completely gone. He never called, never responded to any of your texts or voicemails. After a few months, you got the message and stopped trying. Nearly five years of radio silence and now here he is, sitting in front of you.
“You never even bothered to say goodbye.” Your voice is just a broken whisper. The breeze floating over the water whips at your hair and cheeks. Quiet sloshing of waves is all you hear for a while. Charles stares at you with glossy eyes. His mouth is slightly ajar, waiting for a suitable answer to come to him.
“I’m sorry,” He says, that frown coming back onto his face. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was lost and young and stupid.”
You hum in concurrence.
“By the time I realized what I did, you were long gone. I didn’t know if you’d even want to hear from me,” he admits.
You think about all the times in the last five years that you longed for his call. How many times have you yearned to hear his voice? To see him again? Countless. Even in the several short-lived relationships you’ve had over the years, you’ve shamefully compared them all to Charles. There was never a day that you didn’t want to hear from your best friend. In all the hiding and avoiding that you do, there’s no way to skew the truth.
“I missed you,” Charles goes on when you don’t answer him. You can feel him staring at you, but your eyes have strayed once more to the horizon. His admission to missing you makes you feel like you might fall over. The one thing that’s always torn you up time and time again was not knowing what he was feeling like going through all of this. There were nights in the very beginning where you stared at your ceiling thinking of him and wondering if he was doing the same. Your soul longed for him then, just as it does now.
“All of those letters you wrote to maman? She sent them to me when she was finished with them. I keep them in my journal that I take with me everywhere,” Charles says while leaning toward you. “I read them over and over when I miss you so much I can’t breathe.”
He’s read your letters? You think about all the things you’ve ever said in those letters to Pascale. You bore your soul to her in some, explaining your battle with grief or what shitty guy you’d been seeing. You explained your schooling ups and downs, as well as your careers. Your life over the last five years could be easily traced through those letters. And Charles had read every single one. He’s known you more than you’ve known him in these years spent apart. Maybe you should be mad at Pascale for giving them to Charles, or at Charles for reading them, but you’re not. You’d never hidden anything from Charles before, why would that stop?
A warm hand finds a home on the side of your jaw, guiding your face away from the horizon and toward him. His eyes lock onto yours. Silently, you wonder when he got this close. His fingers hold onto your jaw, not letting you turn away from him again.
“I miss you so much I can’t breathe,” He says again, his voice just a whisper. It catches on the breeze and floats out to sea, never to be heard again. Your heart is hammering in your chest while your mind goes blank. Your body doesn’t register this as reality. Charles is here, holding you in his hand at the end of your dock in Monaco. This scenario has played out in your dreams time and time again. The love you’d hidden away breaches the surface, pouring from you in ways you didn’t know were possible.
“I miss you, too,” you admit freely for the first time in years. Your Charles finally gives you a smile that makes him look like himself.
Now, as he looks at you, there’s clarity in his eyes. Those green eyes that you watched grow and leave and now return are calling you to him. You understand now that you’ve both suffered enough. There’s been too much loss for there to be no gain. Finally, finally, here it is. The moment you’ve waited for since the last time you sat on this dock so close together. It’s your time.
“Charlie,” you whisper into the evening air. He perks up at his name on your lips, his eyes falling there. Every inch of you yearns to press into his touch, to never let go of it. But you’re still unsure. There’s always been more than best friends for you with Charles. You have to tell him that. It’s been hidden away inside of you for too long. If nothing else comes of this, even if you two fade into oblivion, at least you’ll have said it.
“I loved you,” you say earnestly. “I love you.”
Silence greets you. His face searches yours for a minute, his eyes wide and unreadable. Terror squeezes your chest, an ache of admitting a secret kept hidden away for too long. Desperately, you wish you could look away from him, towards your beloved horizon. Maybe you could hide yourself there. But Charles’ fingers on your jaw keep you held steadfast in place.
“I have a proposition for you,” he says finally, his face inching closer. You nearly fall over at his words. It’s a tease at what you once said to him right here, all those years ago. He remembers everything. Just like you.
“But don’t get weird,” he quips, a smile coming across his face just before he closes the gap between you two, pressing his lips to yours. You return his smile and accept his kiss. His fingers are strong on your jaw as he pulls you in deeper. The caress of his lips on yours and the rub of his stubble feels heavenly. As many times as you can imagine a moment, it never compares to the real thing. Wild dreams and fantasies don’t even touch having Charles’ skin on yours.
His free hand drifts down to your waist, bringing you in closer. His touch is needy, his kiss ravenous. It conveys years of desperation from both of you. Not only does it light up this moment, but it brings new life to your intertwined past. Years upon years of spending days and nights together all come down to this moment. This is where two pasts that danced around each other merge into one new life.
The sparks that fly off of the two of you bound over the water, reaching the horizon and further. The city that you were born in, the boy you were born for, and the life you were destined to discover, all wrap their arms around you at once. Finally, for the first time in years, you feel at home.
Charles hauls you onto his lap, his hands strong against your waist. Pulling away from the second kiss you’ve ever shared, you’re sure it won’t be the last. No, there’s a lifetime of moments like these ahead of you.
Charles rests his forehead against yours. His breathing is ragged mimicking your own. His eyes are shut as he runs his hands up and down your back. Sighing, you lean into his touch.
“I love you, too,” He says after a few minutes of silence. “Always have.”
A lump rises in your throat as tears rush to your closed eyes. Even after five years of suffering, you can’t help but forgive him. These five years that you’ve spent apart have grown you both into the people you are today. Call it fate, destiny, divine intervention, whatever it may be, but something tore you apart so one day you could be together again. There was healing that needed to happen in both of you while you were separated. But now there was healing to be done together.
“We have a lot of lost time to make up for,” you can’t help but tease, your voice watery. Charles’ laugh vibrates against your hands that are pressed to his chest. He opens his eyes to look at you. His eyes are tearlined but finally filled with that joy that you’ve been desperate to see. He looks at you like you’re everything he’s ever wanted. You’re his biggest dream.
He pulls you into another searing kiss. Fireworks dance behind your eyelids as he clutches onto you. His tongue glides against your bottom lip, forcing your mouth open in a gasp. He tightens his arms around your waist, so you think he’s pulling you closer. But instead, he’s grabbing onto you as tightly as possible so you can’t fight him as he leans forward off the dock. The two of you roll off the front of the dock, splashing into the summertime sea.
When you bob up to the surface, you find Charles treading water. He’s laughing so hard that he’s barely staying afloat. For a split second, you allow yourself to enjoy the view. He’s completely doused, his light colored shirt plastered onto his skin. There’s a childlike joy radiating off of him.
“I’ve waited so long to do that,” he admits while swimming over to you. Shaking your head, you splash him in the face as he draws in close. In retaliation, he wraps you up in his arms and kisses you so hard you fear it might bruise. Nonetheless, you kiss him right back, your legs wrapping around his waist.
“Come on, let’s go back,” you say just as the pair of you are about to slip under water. Charles presses a chaste last kiss to your lips before swimming off towards the dock.
As you turn to swim after him, you cast one last look over your shoulder to the watery horizon. The sea really did what it does best: it healed.
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shy!reader has been pretty much m.i.a all week, and fratboy!chris does not care. no seriously, he doesn’t care.
he’s just kept his eyes peeled every night through crowds of sweaty bodies jammed into his living room, and even through the sluggish crowds of tired students in college hallways, yet he couldn’t find you.
it was on the 6th night when chris was seriously considering showing up at your place — for no reason just he needed your lit notes, of course —when he received a text from nick.
nick, the eldest — and no doubt more mature —triplet. chris’ eyebrows furrowed at the notification, why was nick texting him at 10:30pm on a weeknight? kid cares way too much about being on time for class in the mornings
—
Nick: *image attached* isn’t this one of your girls?
—
the somewhat blurry picture was taken from a distance in the old, dusty library on campus. you sat in a corner, a mess of notes, books and your laptop sprawled on the desk in front of you. you looked weak, your hair a mess, bags prominent under your eyes.
before chris could even react, his phone buzzed again
—
i’m not a total creeper, i’ve just noticed her here every night this week and i’m pretty sure she has not changed her sweatshirt once
or pretty much left this library.
i seriously hope this is actually her and not a complete stranger
you know what, i’m talking to her. don’t change my mind.
—
chris groaned, the realisation of finals week dawning on him. sometimes chris forgets how much college actually means to you, and how ridiculously sick it makes you.
he did not have time for this, he had customers to please, yet - he didn’t hesitate. he’s huffing and complaining pretty much the whole time, but he’s quick to make his way over to the library he’s really not too familiar with, saving you from the shackles that is a conversation with a redbull fueled nick sturniolo.
-
you can take it from here, love u pooks mwah
- 🫧
gonna take it from here in shy!readers pov cos i want nick and shy!reader to have some one on one time before fratboy!chris grumpily comes over !!
your back aches with a constant throb, your eyes feel gritty and sore, and a dull headache pulses at your temples, making it difficult for you to concentrate. hunched over in the dimly lit corner of the library, you've spent countless of hours — days — buried in textbooks, scribbles notes and laptop screens, desperately trying to absorb everything before your exams.
the week has been relentless, leaving you physically and emotionally drained, as if the weight of your studies is pressing down on you.
you haven't seen chris in almost a week. the silence has been deafening — no texts lighting up your phone, no calls breaking the quiet, and no facetime calls at late hours. truth be told, you did put your phone on do not disturb, silencing any incoming calls to shield yourself from distractions. it's not that you intended to cut off all communication completely; you simply needed space.
you needed to be alone, to gather your thoughts, and to focus on your studies, to not be distracted by his intense social life.
however, you are distracted when someone slams a stack of textbooks onto the table opposite you, the sound echoing in the quiet space. startled, you lift your tired gaze, and your heart thumps when you recognise a familiar that slumps into the seat across from you.
he runs a hand through his tousled mullet, adjusting the thin-framed glasses that rest on the bridge of his nose before flashing you a friendly grin.
you know who he is. you've seen him in countless pictures and instagram posts with chris and matt. yet, despite your familiarity with his image, you've never met him in person — you never even spoke a word to each other, and you find yourself sliding further down in your seat, a wave of awkwardness and shyness washing over you.
"hello—fuck!" nick curses as he sets his can of red bull down on the wooden table, only for it to topple over and spill a little. flustered and annoyed, he mutters under his breath, hastily dabbing at the tiny droplets on the table with the sleeve of his sweater. his eyes finally meet yours again, and he offers another grin. "hello."
"hi.." you manage to respond, your voice barely above a whisper.
"i've noticed that you're, like, constantly glued to this fucking seat, like you haven't moved the entire week—" nick pauses mid-sentence, his eyes widening as he realises how awful his wording sounds. he quickly holds up his hand, a look of urgency in his expression. "i'm not a creep. i wasn't staring at you. i know you—i think i know you—no, i do know you. you're, like, kinda with my brother. chris. that's you, right? god, tell me that's you, 'cos i'm gonna end up losing my mind—"
"yeah," you cut off his intense rambling, which is probably fuelled by the red bull he keeps fidgeting with. "that... that's me, yeah."
nick blinks at you in silence for a moment before he leans forward, resting his elbows on the table, and he bluntly says. "wow, you really are quiet," you become a little flustered at that, tearing your gaze away from him until he asks incredulously. "the fuck are you doing with chris of all people?"
a subtle smile pulls at your lips at that, especially when you glance back at his face and see the shock etched across it. honestly, you don't even know what you're doing with chris, but it wouldn't exactly be appropriate to go into the details with his brother. so, you simply shrug your shoulders in response.
nick suddenly deadpans. "blink twice if you need my help."
now that makes you laugh — a genuine, unexpected sound that splutters past your lips. you quickly cover your mouth, eyes widening as the sound echoes through the library and you glance around, paranoid that someone might shoot you the dirtiest look and demand you to shut up or leave.
but nick waves it off dismissively when he notices your worries, "they can go fuck themselves."
you remain silent for a moment, considering his words, before stating, "we... are in a library."
"then they can go fuck themselves quietly."
another genuine, but quieter, laugh escapes you. you find yourself relaxing a bit more with him, opening up and feeling more comfortable as nick takes charge of the conversation; showing genuine interest in your major, your studies, and your hobbies.
you do the same, getting to know him better, and even getting a little excited when you realise how many similarities you share. the more you chat, the more your cheeks start to hurt from smiling so much. the tiredness that had once taken over you begins to fade away, replaced by a lightness you haven't felt in days, and your books and notes sit forgotten on the table.
however, your head perks up in surprise when you spot chris walking through the double doors. he's wearing a beanie on top of his head with tuffs of curly hair peeking out, a hoodie that swallows his frame, and his hands are shoved deep in the pockets of his sweatpants.
he glances around the library, his eyes finally zeroing in on you and nick at the far end of the room. you can't quite read his expression — his face stoic as he makes his way over.
he drops down in the chair beside you, and nick immediately pulls a face, shooting you a look that makes you giggle again, and chris huffs at the sound, clearly unimpressed.
"stop botherin' her," chris mutters, his foot hooking comfortably beneath your chair as he settles in.
"m'not."
chris rolls his eyes, ignoring nick's response as he turns his attention to you. he takes you in for a moment, his eyebrows furrowing as he says, "tell him he's botherin' you, kid."
you can't help but smile gently. "he's not bothering me. he's been fun.. i like his company."
"told you," nick muses across from across the table. chris snaps his head towards nick, shooting him a glare as nick lifts the can of red bull to his mouth, a smirk spreading across his lips as he adds, "bitch."
#ᯓ꒰asks꒱#ᯓ꒰anon꒱#ᯓ꒰🫧anon꒱#☆ fratboy!chris#☆ shy!reader#☆ bsf!nick#꒰ fratboy!chris x shy!reader prompt ꒱#꒰ bsf!nick x shy!reader prompt ꒱
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The Prophecy (Lucien Vanserra x Rhys! Sister)/(Azriel x Rhys! Sister)?
Part 2,
Part 3 (Lucien's Version)
Part 3 ( Azriel's Version)
AN: I’ve had this idea for a while but after hearing “The Prophecy” on The Tortured Poets Department I was finally feeling inspired to write it. You guys have no idea how much that album is about to influence my writing. Also I have no idea how this is gonna end lol.
Summary: The only thing worse than having Azriel not know about the bond is watching him and Elain carry on like she doesn’t have a mate as well. Lucien and you have been long time friends but things change after one fateful starfall celebration. It’s not wrong if both of your mates don’t want you right?
Warnings: smut, unrequited love, situationship, fluff, Lucien is literally and angel I love him sm, did not edit (I am tired)
Word count: 3734
“Please, I've been on my knees. Change the prophecy. Don't want money just someone who wants my company…”
I had known the youngest Vanserra for a while now. I can recall the first time I met him on a lovely day in the spring court when I was visiting with my brother. The man was more than charming, his words nearly had me buckling at the knees. It was around the same time that I had found out that my brother's close friend Azriel was my mate.
I remember the bond snapping like it was yesterday. We were celebrating solstice in the Hewn City and my feet were nearly black and blue from the amount of drunk men stepping on them while dancing. I was about to ask my brother to take me home when Azriel stepped in and quite literally swept me off my feet. He let me stand on his toes and waltz around the room with him all night to ensure that he himself wouldn’t hurt my feet. At some point in the night the bond snapped and I had never been so happy.
Azriel and I had been friends for over 100 years and I had secretly harbored feelings for him for at least 75 of them. To have my brother's best friend as my mate felt like fate. I didn’t tell him that night, something I have regretted for the last 400 years.
Not long after that he rescued Mor and any sparks I thought he felt with me that night were long gone. From that day on all he did was pine for her. I couldn’t blame him, Mor was astonishingly beautiful. For a long time after he saved her I resented her, I felt like she had taken my mate from me. It wasn’t until I realized that she wanted nothing to do with the shadowsinger that my hatred for my cousin dissipated. It wasn’t her fault that Azriel was so smitten with her. It was my fault for not telling him, but now it had been so long since the bond snapped that it seemed weird to bring it up.
So I sat dutifully by his side whenever he needed someone to rant to about Mor. It practically ripped out my heart to hear him talk about how in love with her he was. I was the only person he would open up to like that. He would spend hours asking me for advice on how to woo her, and I grinned and bore it because, at the end of the day, I got to spend time with him.
I had been playing the girl best friend for hundreds of years. The moment I started to feel like he might be losing feelings for Mor in walked Elain. The beautiful sister of my brother's mate. What's worse? She seemed interested in Azriel as well.
Elain was easy to hate. Not just for her flirtations with Azriel but for the way she treated Lucien, her mate. Lucien had so much love for the Archeron, and she waved him off without another thought. I might be able to understand her reluctance to accept the bond if Lucien was a brute of a male, but he wasn’t. He was soft, kind and easy on the eyes.
I found him tossing rocks into the Sidra one day, no doubt pining over how Elain had barley even acknowledged the flowers he picked for her. That’s when I told him about Azriel and I’s bond. From that moment on we spent a great deal of time together, ranting about our unaccepted mating bonds. Even though we spent most of the time bitching, there was happiness. More than I had felt in a while.
Then starfall came…and everything changed.
“You look far too stunning not to be walking in with a date,” Lucien drawled to me from the outside of the townhouse.
I had spent all day getting ready for the annual party tonight. My dress was chosen specifically to catch Azriel’s attention, not that I felt like I would succeed.
“Well finding a date is harder than you think, especially at this hour,” I laugh as I walk through the gate he opened for me.
“Then indulge me,” he said. I turned to find him offering me an arm.
“You want to be my date?” I laugh light heartedly, admittedly smitten by the autumn court male.
“It’s a little last minute but I would be honored to walk into that room with you on my arm,” he said fondly.
I smiled and shook my head at the male before looping my arm in his and allowing him to lead me up the steps to the front door.
“You know, you clean up pretty well Lu,” I cock an eyebrow bumping into him.
“Thanks, your brother sets a pretty high standard as far as attire for this thing. Who knew he was such a fashionista?” Lucien grins before walking in the door arm and arm with me. I don’t even bother stifling the laugh I let out.
The room nearly fell silent at our entrance. Sure Lucien and I were close and everyone knew, but they had never seen us like this. Even Az and Elain stopped their oh so intriguing conversation to ogle. I swore I saw anger flit across Elain’s eyes, like she was dead set on owning both Az and Lucien.
Lucien and I spent the evening as wallflowers, doing our best to stay away from all the happy couples. We had even gotten to the point where we grabbed a bottle of wine off the table and brought it over to our couch, both of us tired of constantly getting up and down for refills.
It wasn’t until Az and Elain not so subtly got up and walked onto the balcony that we decided we had tortured ourselves enough. We promptly grabbed the bottle of wine and waltzed out of the townhouse not even bothering to say goodbye. I supposed it was that exact bottle that did us in.
I placed my hand on my apartment door, swaying slightly from the alcohol rushing to my head. Lucein’s hand found my hip, steadying me. While I assured him I would be fine to walk home alone, he insisted he came with me.
“Thanks,” I laughed unlocking the door.
“You’re welcome,” he chuckles, wobbling himself.
“I had a really good time with you tonight,” I say, placing a hand on his chest to steady myself.
“I had a good time too,” he smiled.
It wasn’t until that moment that I realized how close we were. Lucien looked down at me, the moonlight illuminating his face perfectly. The sudden tension between us was broken when he crashed his lips on mine.
One thing led to another and the next thing I knew I was lying bare beneath him as he fucked me like his life depended on it. I didn’t realize how badly I needed to get laid until he was buried inside me. Needless to say I understood why people said the Autumn Court males have fire in their blood.
That was a year ago and since then Lucien and I had decided to continue seeing each other in secret, both of us needing a way to release built up tension so to say. He often stayed the night and we would spend long hours talking about everything from the books we were reading to politics. The sex was amazing, for both of us, but it was the intimacy that came after that I think we both craved the most. An intimacy I would be seeking out shortly given the current topic of conversation between Azriel and I.
“Gods the other day she was weaning a light blue dress in the garden and I nearly fell to my knees before her,” Azriel ranted to me.
He had been going on and on about whether or not he wanted to finally make a move on Elain or not. And as his best friend I had to hear about every word of it.
“I saw it, it was a very pretty dress,” I acknowledge, turning the page of the book I was reading.
“I swear she blushed when I complimented it too, I think I’m making progress with her,” he went on to say.
“Maybe you should just put yourself out of your misery and talk to her Az,” I suggested for probably the tenth time.
“You know I can’t just barrel in there. She’s scared and I’m not going to freak her out even more. She will come to me when she’s ready. If she’s ready. Gods that’s assuming she even likes me,” he rambled.
I roll my eyes and shut my book so loudly it pulls the shadow singers attention. I give him a pointed look that has him startling back just a bit.
“I know that she likes you Az,” I deadpan.
“How can you be sure though?” he asks, throwing his head back on the arm of the couch.
“Because she would be an idiot not to,” I say with a hint of sadness.
Azriel looked to be at a loss for words, and I realized my words were much bolder than I had wanted them to be.
Clearing my throat I set my book down on the side table, knowing it will be waiting for me when I come back to my brother’s tomorrow. I stand and subtly adjust my dress.
“I have to go, but seriously Az, just tell her,” I say walking over to press a kiss to his forehead.
As I got to walk away I feel him grab my hand, placing a kiss to my open palm, “Thank you for listening y/n, really.” he says earnestly .
“Don’t worry about it Az, I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say with a fake smile before setting off towards my modest home.
When Feyre moved into the townhouse I took it as my queue to move out, knowing my brother and his new mate would want privacy. Of course Rhysand offered me mansions and villas but I was content with a townhouse of my own in the middle of town. Big enough to have my own home library, and small enough to not feel so lonely.
I make my way down the cobblestone streets, the faelights casting a warm glow on the ground before me. It was late, and many couples were turning in for the night. I could see some cuddled up on their sofa’s through their windows, others were having a nightcap together outside Rita’s. I saw a couple rocking their newborn baby to sleep on the second floor of their home, and for some reason, that was the one that hurt the most to me.
I sighed as I walked up a few steps to my townhouse door. I unlocked the door and was greeted to the smell of jasmine and vanilla and the sound of a cracking fire. I walk up my steps to find Lucien sitting shirtless on my large bed, his hair in a bun at the nape of his neck. The male was the image of relaxation.
I had given him a key months ago. With the males many jobs, emissary to the night court, ally to Jurian and Vassa, and liaison to Tamlin, he needed a place to truly call home. For the past 9 months that had been here, with me. I never once objected to his subtle moving in, it was nice to come home to someone waiting for me, sometimes even a homemade meal. For him it was nice to have a place where he didn’t always have to put on a front. It was a win for both of us.
“When did you get in?” I ask kicking off my shoes.
“Just a couple hours ago. How was Azriel duty?” he asked, setting his book down as I began to strip off my cloak and dress leaving me only in my lingerie. It wasn’t uncommon for us to be so casual with one another.
“Exhausting, did you know that Elain wore a pretty blue dress the other day?” I mocked tossing my clothes into a dirty clothes bin, I noticed his missing shirt was there too.
“Unfortunately yes I did,” he chuckled. “You know what always makes me feel better though?” he smirks.
“I crawl up the bed towards him, “What?” I smile knowing what the answer will be.
“You,” he smirks, grabbing my hips and pinning me to the mattress beneath him, his lips pressing to mine.
“How funny I was about to say the same thing,” I laugh, feeling his lips tickle my neck as he makes his way further down my body.
His mouth trails the inside of my thighs before sliding my panties down my legs, each brush of his fingers from my hips to my ankles feeling like heaven. The male had been gone for a week, and I was desperate for release. He licks a long stripe up my center, flicking his tongue over the bundle of nerves at the top. My back arches off the bed and his hands find my waist to pin me down. I feel his tongue begin to lap at my clit as his fingers slide into me, no doubt finding the pool of wetness waiting there.
This is what me and Lu had always been good at, reading each other. When he had a stressful day I always made sure to make him feel good, and when I came back to the house upset he never hesitated to get on his knees for me. There was this unsaid rule that we would always take care of eachother.
Lucien’s tongue continues lapping my clit as his fingers curl to hit that spot inside of me that had me gasping for air. As I started to feel myself getting closer and closer he removed his mouth from me, drawing his fingers out slowly. One thing about hooking up for a year? You learn to read each other's bodies, and lord did the seventh son of Autumn know how to read mine.
“Lu!” I cry out frustrated.
“Shhh my darling,” he coos crawling up my body. “I simply want to cum with you tonight.” he smirked, seething himself inside of me.
“Oh gods!” I cry feeling him fill me thoroughly.
He pulls out and thrusts back in causing me to whimper once more. Mor was right about one thing, the autumn court males have fire in their blood and they fuck like it too.
“I missed you, missed this,” Lucien groans, his face contorted in pleasure as he builds a steady pace.
“I missed you too Lu,” I say through ragged breaths as he fucks into me like his life depends on it. Apparently the time apart made him needy as well.
I could hardly speak as he thrust deeper into me, his hands on my waist holding me steady so tha he could hit me as deep as possible. When I felt myself start to clench around him he doubled over, burying his head in my neck as his hips continued to snap into me.
My hands found his back clinging to the flesh there for an anchor, my walls fluttering around him one last time before I fell apart.The sudden sensation had Lucien biting my neck as he came with a low groan.
We spent a few moments catching our breaths, he pushed up on his arms and moved a stray hair from my face, assessing to see if he had hurt me, just like he always did. When he found no traces of pain in my face he rolled over, taking me with him so that I was lying on his chest.
This was always the part I think we both craved the most. The sex was great, amazing even. But I longed for a pair of arms to fall asleep in, and he longed for someone to hold. Meaningless pillowtalk just for fun.
“I mean it, I did miss you,” I sigh circling my arms around his waist.
“I missed you too, I hate sleeping in the spring court, it’s so cold and dark there now.” Lucien said, staring at the ceiling.
“How is Tamlin?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
“Terrible,” he muttered. “I had to talk him into letting me stay.” He continues playing with the ends of my hair.
“You’re a good friend for checking in on him though,” I say matter of factly.
“I still wish I could do more,” he sighs, pulling the covers up on the two of us.
“I understand,” I mutter keeping my head on his chest, staring at the fire that roars next to us.
A long beat of comfortable silence passes, normally I would fall asleep like this. I would sometimes wake to him being gone, sometimes he would wake to me being gone. Only on weekends would both be able to wake up and go to breakfast together. This was one of those weekends, but instead of falling asleep, Lucien spoke up.
“Can I ask you something?” he asked, not taking his gaze from the ceiling.
“Sure,” I reply, waiting for a nonchalant inquiry. It wasn’t the first time he and I had played 20 questions to get to know each other more, though I thought that after a year of it we knew just about everything there was to know about the other.
“Would you agree that Azriel and Elain are never going to give us a chance?” he asked.
My heart twinges hearing his name, “Well Az doesn’t know, but even if he did I don’t think he would care. I’m not damsel in distress enough for him.” I snort recalling the unconscious type he has.
“I feel the same about Elain, and there’s something I’ve been thinking about, especially this past week,” he continues still facing the ceiling.
I prop my head up on his chest wanting to read his face and his eyes flit to me, “Cryptic Vanserra, but go on,” I laugh trying to break the tension.
“I’ve always been fond of you y/n ever since you visited the spring court all those years ago. Now that I’ve gotten to know you, that admiration has only grown, not to mention you’re a very beautiful female y/n,” he laughs at his own words, a tint of pink dusting his cheek and I can’t help but blush as well. “From the amount of time we’ve been spending together it seems you like me enough, and well…I don’t want to be alone anymore,” he says seemingly avoiding his main point.
I sit up more, intrigued by his words, “What do you mean Lu?” I inquire.
“I was wondering if you would like to be Mrs. Lucien Vanserra?” he finally says and my heart nearly stops at the shocking words. “I know I’m not Azriel, but consider me an alternative. I think we could make eachother genuinely happy, maybe help each other enjoy whatever we have left of this miserable life?” he asks, his voice laced with uncertainty.
I let his words sink in as I stare at the bit of wall behind him. As I consider all that he’s said I realize that he’s right, we do get along. I had spent years trying to find a male to fill the hole Azriel put in my life, but it always felt wrong. It was as if I was taking someone else’s mate, even when the males didn’t have mates. It didn’t feel wrong being with Lucien because I knew that his mate also didn’t want anything to do with him.
I was tired of not always having someone to come home to. Not having someone to go to events with. Not having someone to spend holidays with. Not having someone to call my own. I was tired of being alone, especially since I had been alone for about 400 years, but no longer.
I smile down at Lucien’s nervous face, “I would be honored to be your wife,” I say.
“You would?” he beams.
“I would,” I repeated back to him. “You’re right, we do get along, and I’m tired of being alone too.”
He presses his lips to mine, both of us smiling into the kiss. We would never fill the sadness of a rejected mating bond, but we would be there for one another. I lay my head down on his chest again, feeling the sleep come into my eyes.
“How should we do it?” he asked, tracing shapes on my bare back.
“Hmm,” I thought for a moment. A big wedding seemed odd considering we weren’t mates or anything close to it. Eloping seemed more proper. “I think we should keep it small.”
“Do we tell them?” He ponders the most awkward question.
“We can tell them, but we don’t need to invite them. It can be a modified elopement, they will all know but we can just invite my brother and Feyre, that way we both have family there.” I answer snuggling into his warmth more.
“By the Cauldron I have to tell your brother I’ve been sleeping with you for over a year,” Lucien said anxiously, running a hand down his face.
I can’t help but laugh at his stress, “He might be a little mad, but I’m sure Feyre will be so excited about it that he won’t care.” I giggle.
I feel his body relax under my cheek, no doubt realizing that whatever the High Lady says will be law. He slides a red and gold ring off his pinky finger and slips it onto my left hand.
“Here, it’s a family ring,” he explains looking at the gaudy ring on my hand. While it fits on my finger well the jewel on it takes up my whole hand and looks unnatural. “I know I’m not part of the Autumn Court anymore but it’s all I have.” he continues.
“It’s perfect,” I laugh, inspecting the ill-fitting thing, “it’s an outcast just like us.”
Lucien's soft chuckle escapes him as he plants a gentle kiss atop my head. Tomorrow promises its usual dose of chaos, but that's a concern for another day. Tonight, here in bed with my fiancé, though this isn't the life I envisioned, I find myself flooded with a happiness I haven't felt in ages.
Part 2,
Part 3 (Lucien's Version)
Part 3 ( Azriel's Version)
Permanent Taglist: @fides25, @dissociated-always @crystalferret202
#lucien vanserra#lucien vanserra x reader#lucien x reader#lucien acotar#lucien vandaddy#lucien vanserra x you#lucien vanserra x elain archeron#lucien x elain#azriel shadowsinger#azriel x reader#azriel x you#azriel smut#azriel acotar#azriel#azriel x reader angst#azriel x reader fluff#azriel x reader smut#feyre acotar#rhys acotar#rhysand#rhysand x reader#rhysand angst#rhysand acotar#cassian acotar#rhysand x feyre#feysand#feyre archeron
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Author's note: This is a dark story and will have multiple parts. Carlos will be in a relationship with a 18 year old girl. So be aware and please always be careful in real life.
Age is just a number
The lights of Madrid pulsed in time with the bass that reverberated through the club. It was one of those nights where everything felt alive—where the stars twinkled as brightly as the neon lights and the laughter of Yn’s friends carried on the cool breeze. Yn, dressed in a shimmering silver mini dress that clung to her lithe frame, threw her head back and laughed as her best friend Maria spun her in a dramatic circle on the dance floor.
“Eighteen looks so good on you!” Maria shouted over the music.
Yn grinned, her cheeks flushed from the combination of dancing and the cherry martini she had just finished. “It better! I only get to do this once!”
Her friend Clara nudged her playfully. “Careful, we don’t want you falling off those heels before the night’s over. Save some energy for your birthday cake later.”
Yn rolled her eyes playfully, her long, shining hair catching the club's colored lights. “Cake is overrated. Drinks and dancing? That’s where it’s at tonight.”
As the beat shifted into something slower but just as hypnotic, Yn felt a nudge at her elbow. “You need another drink,” Maria insisted. “Something that screams birthday girl.”
“On it,” Yn replied, lifting her empty martini glass as she turned toward the bar.
---
The crowd around the bar was thick, but Yn expertly weaved her way through. When she reached the counter, she leaned forward on her elbows, catching the bartender’s attention with a dazzling smile. “Another cherry martini, please!” she called out.
The bartender nodded, and as she waited, Yn let her gaze wander. That’s when she saw him.
Standing a few feet away, casually leaning against the bar, was a man who looked like he had stepped straight out of a magazine. His dark hair was perfectly tousled, his jawline sharp enough to cut glass. He was dressed simply—jeans and a fitted black shirt—but the way he carried himself, confident yet unassuming, made him stand out from the crowd. He glanced her way, his deep brown eyes locking with hers for just a moment.
Yn quickly averted her gaze, feeling a strange flutter in her chest. He’s probably way older, she thought, shaking it off.
“Cherry martini?” the bartender asked, placing the glass in front of her.
Yn reached for it, but before she could grab it, the man was suddenly beside her. “A cherry martini?” he said, his voice warm and lightly accented. “Interesting choice for someone so young.”
Yn turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “What makes you think I’m young?” she asked, feigning confidence.
The man smiled, his lips curving in a way that made her stomach flip. “You have a birthday glow. I’d guess… eighteen?”
Yn’s mouth fell open. “How did you—”
“Lucky guess,” he interrupted, his grin widening. “Happy birthday, by the way.”
“Thanks.” She picked up her drink, eyeing him curiously. “And what’s your name, mysterious guesser?”
“Carlos,” he said, extending a hand.
“Yn.” She shook his hand, noting the warmth of his touch. “So, Carlos, do you always make a habit of guessing strangers’ ages at bars?”
“Only when I’m right,” he teased, leaning casually against the bar. “What’s an eighteen-year-old doing celebrating in Madrid?”
“Why not?” she challenged, sipping her drink. “It’s my birthday, and I wanted to do something memorable. My friends thought Madrid was the perfect spot.”
“They were right. Madrid is perfect,” Carlos said, his eyes lingering on hers. “But I think it just got a little better.”
Yn blinked, caught off guard by his boldness. “Is that a line?”
“Maybe,” he admitted, his grin never faltering. “But it’s your birthday, so I thought I’d try my luck.”
She laughed, the sound light and genuine. “Well, I’ll give you points for being charming.”
Carlos raised his own drink—a whiskey, by the looks of it. “To your birthday. May it be unforgettable.”
They clinked glasses, and for the next few minutes, the conversation flowed effortlessly. Carlos asked her about her favorite things, her plans for the future, and her thoughts on the city. Yn found herself laughing more than she had all night, her nerves melting away under his easy demeanor.
Eventually, the topic of age came up again.
“So… eighteen,” Carlos said, swirling his drink. “You’re just starting your journey, huh?”
“And you?” Yn asked, tilting her head. “How old are you?”
Carlos hesitated, a playful glint in his eye. “Old enough to know I shouldn’t be talking to you.”
Yn smirked. “But here you are.”
“Here I am,” he agreed. “Does it bother you?”
She shook her head, her hair shimmering under the bar lights. “No. Age is just a number.”
Carlos’s smile softened. “I like how you think.”
As they continued talking, Yn felt an undeniable connection forming between them. There was something magnetic about him—something that made her forget the chaos of the club and focus solely on the moment. But all too soon, Carlos glanced at his watch and sighed.
“I hate to cut this short, but I have to go,” he said, his tone genuinely regretful.
Yn’s heart sank. “Already?”
“Unfortunately. But…” He pulled out his phone and handed it to her. “I’d hate for this to be the last time we talk.”
She took the phone, entering her number with a small smile. “It won’t be.”
Carlos took it back, glancing at the screen before meeting her eyes. “Happy birthday again, Yn. I’m glad I met you.”
Before she could respond, he leaned in and kissed her cheek, his lips warm against her skin. Then he was gone, disappearing into the crowd.
---
When Yn returned to her friends, her face was still flushed. Maria immediately noticed. “Okay, who was that?”
“His name is Carlos,” Yn said, trying to sound nonchalant as she sipped her drink.
“Carlos?” Clara repeated, narrowing her eyes. “He looked a little… older.”
“He’s nice,” Yn defended. “And it’s my birthday. Can’t I have a little fun?”
Maria and Clara exchanged glances, their expressions a mix of curiosity and concern.
“Just… be careful, okay?” Maria said finally. “You don’t know him.”
Yn nodded, but her thoughts were already elsewhere. She couldn’t stop replaying the night in her head—the way Carlos smiled, the way he talked, the way he made her feel like the only person in the room.
Her friends might be worried, but Yn had a feeling this was only the beginning of something unforgettable.
Part 2
#f1 x reader#formula 1 x reader#formula 1#carlos sainz x reader#carlos sainz#carlos sainz x y/n#dark!fic#dark!carlos sainz#lando norris x reader#charles leclerc x reader#max verstappen x reader#oscar piastri x reader
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Worst Timing || Leah Williamson x pregnant!reader
Request | Masterlist | Prompt list
Warning smut 18+, pregnancy sex, masterbating, cunnilingus
Summary You get caught at the worst time possible
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Being pregnant had its ups and downs.
The biggest advantage was that you and Leah were creating a family, you were having a baby.
But with the advantages, the disadvantage came too.
You had every single symptom for pregnancy.
Morning sickness, aching back, exhaustion, crying at everything.
The biggest one though, by far, was your increased libido.
You were having sex all the time.
The baby had made you sex crazy.
Having sex with Leah had always been incredible, but since you’d been pregnant, you were in paradise when you were having sex.
Leah, of course, wasn’t complaining. Seeing you pregnant did things to her head so she definitely did not mind.
The only downfall to it, is that if you are horny, you can’t wait.
So when you find yourself in a situation like now, you can only blame it on the baby.
When you’d woken up, you were met with Leah kissing you gently.
When she realised you’d woken up, she increased the pressure of the kiss, turning it passionate.
Her lips left yours, travelling down to your neck.
Leah grabbed your hips, guiding you onto her lap so you were straddling her.
You attempted to lean forward but your six month bump rejected you from the action.
Leah’s lips travelled down to the valley of your breasts, sucking gently and slowly at the sensitive skin.
She took her time getting to your nipples, knowing how sensitive they must be.
You moaned into Leah’s neck as she took your left nipple into her mouth, her tongue swirling round the bud.
Just as Leah was working her way to your right boob, her alarm blasted the calm room, making you both jump.
You looked at her phone, 9:30 written on it.
“Le! You have training in half an hour!” You exclaimed, falling off of her and back to your side of the bed.
“I’m sorry, pretty girl. I didn’t realise the time. I’m so sorry. I’ll make it up to you later, I promise.” Leah pressed a kiss to your cheek before rushing round the room to get ready.
Leah kept sending you sympathetic eyes when getting ready.
Although you’d forgiven her, you were still horny as ever.
Leah left soon after, leaving you hot and bothered.
You attempted to get up and do something but your mind kept wondering to this morning, the thoughts of Leah’s tongue on your nipple, the marks she’d left on your neck.
What didn’t help either, was that Arsenal had put up a few pictures of the girls training in their instagram and the opening picture was of Leah with her sleeves rolled up, revealing her biceps all flexed.
You squeezed your legs together as you looked at the photo.
You couldn’t sit like this anymore. You needed to sort yourself out and there was only one way to do it.
That’s how you found your self laying down, your legs spread wide as you circled your clit.
Wild moans escaped past your lips as you circled your clit harder and faster, trying to imagine they were Leah’s fingers.
Unbeknownst to you, Leah had arrived home.
She’d called out to you, but when she got no response, she made her way upstairs, hearing the commotion from your shared bedroom.
She creaked open the door, watching you desperately rub your clit.
“Need some help?” Leah questioned as you looked up at her, a panicked look on your face.
“Le, I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t wait. Please help.”
“Baby, it’s okay. I’m here now. I’ll help you, I promise.”
Leah didn’t save any time, her tongue finding your clit immediately.
Leah moaned at the taste of you. No matter how many times she’d tasted you before, the taste of you on her tongue always amazed her.
“You look So pretty with my baby, pretty girl.” Leah murmured against your clit.
You tangled a hand in Leah’s hair, pushing her further in to your soaked pussy.
Continuing to lick your clit, Leah pushed her middle finger into your core, releasing a pornographic moan from your mouth.
“Fuck, Leah, ‘m so close, baby. Please don’t stop. Please.”
Leah started to curl her fingers, hitting your g spot perfectly.
“Oh god — I’m coming! Fuck.” You screamed, your pussy tightening around Leah’s fingers as she swallowed your juices.
“Desperate were we, love?” Leah joked, lifting her head to rest of your bump.
“Please never leave me in that state again.”
“Never.”
#woso#woso community#woso x reader#woso imagine#womens football#woso fanfics#leah williamson x reader#leah williamson#woso smut#leah williamson smut#leah williamson fluff#leah williamson fanfic
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Okay, I’m so gonna get hate for this. And it will probably get about 4 notes. This is, by far, the most opinionated thing I have ever posted on here. If you can’t tolerate criticism towards Rick Riordan, the books, or the TV show, please keep scrolling. My goal is NOT to change your mind or start arguments.
I also want to preface this by saying that I love and respect Rick Riordan (even if I disagree with him on things and don’t like some of his choices) and fully acknowledge that he has the right to do whatever the hell he pleases with his own series. I also want to say that I love Annabeth Chase (both the book and tv show version) with my entire being and you will never find me being an Annabeth hater. She’s my girl.
We good? Okay cool. So here’s the thing: I’ve seen a lot of people on here saying things like “If you didn’t like the books, you just don’t know how to have fun,” and “The new book haters are just mad that they aren’t the target audience anymore,” and (my personal favorite) “Nothing in the books has changed, only the readers have.”
And while I see your points, and I respect you, allow me to show you something. Because of the 10 picture limit, I am only going to focus on one specific change: Annabeth’s view of Percy.
WOTTG: Annabeth is surprised to be comforted by Percy
Past Books: Percy is constantly comforting Annabeth
WOTTG: Annabeth is shocked when Percy is smart
Past Books: Annabeth often points out that Percy is intelligent
WOTTG: Annabeth thinks Percy can’t do anything on his own, and Rick communicates that Annabeth is always saving his ass
Past Books: Percy is ALWAYS watching her back, and saving her ass just as much (and Annabeth admits that)
I could put a hundred quotes in here. I could go on and on and on. But I can’t, and I won’t.
My problem with this new book is NOT that it is more goofy than serious. My problem is NOT that little things have changed. My problem is NOT that it’s just for fun. My problem is NOT that it’s much more childish. (And by the way, I’ve read PJO and HOO as an adult, so it’s not like I was a child when I read everything else and am now an adult reading the new ones.) I really did like and enjoy many parts of this book.
My problem is that the characters (especially Annabeth) have flat out changed—in bad ways—and we have no choice but to accept it as canon. My problem is that Rick, while trying to merge his books with his new TV show project, is changing the entire personalities and past behaviors/ tendencies of the characters.
I loved Chalice of the Gods. You know why? It was fun, goofy, and showed the characters that we know and love being happy and adorable. I strongly dislike Wrath of the Triple Godess because the characters—no matter how adorable and happy they might be—are no longer the ones we know and love.
My problem is that Rick Riordan fully admitted that he no longer considers the old book characters when he writes the new books. He is now purposefully incorporating his own personal mixture of the book characters and tv characters and writing those versions instead. Because of his desire to change and transform the series, I doubt he’s even read the original PJO or HOO books in years, which is why everything is so inconsistent. The old book characters—the ones who made the series what it was—are gone. And that is not my opinion. Rick fully admits that he doesn’t imagine them when he writes anymore. Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE the tv show actors. I adore Walker and Leah and Aryan with my whole heart, and I wouldn’t trade them for anything. But the fact is: they will never be exactly like the book characters. It’s impossible for actors to become the words on a page. They’re their own unique version! And likewise, you cannot turn actors into print. It doesn’t work! And why would you try? The books versions were perfect as they were. And the disney kids need to make the characters their own. The two versions can exist side by side, equally as wonderful, and still be gloriously different. We should celebrate the uniqueness of both. But instead, Rick is attempting to merge them into one. And in my opinion, it’s just hurting them both. And I’m gonna get real brave by saying this, but do you want my honest prediction? If he keeps doing what he’s doing now, the TV show is going to get cancelled and the books are going to turn into a joke. I so, so badly hope that this doesn’t happen! I have loved Rick and PJO for many, many years. I badly want both to thrive. But what is going on right now… it is not working, no matter how much we all want it to. And speaking as someone who knows people in the TV/Film industry, I am sadly not the only one who thinks the show is gonna flop. Which is devastating, because Rick Riordan deserves a redemption on the big screen, and the incredible actors deserve to bring this series to life in a new way.
I am not trying to force my opinions onto anybody. You are welcome to disagree with me and move on. I am not saying that I’m right and you’re wrong. If you disagree, that’s okay. If you agree but you don’t have a problem with it, that’s okay. In fact if other people have literally no issues, that makes me somewhat happy. And if you loved the book, I’m honestly so stoked for you. Feel free to just keep on scrolling, my friend.
But me? I’m sad. I’m really, really freaking sad. And I’m a little angry too, even if I don’t have a right to be. I can’t help it because I’m only human. But this is how I—and a lot of other people—feel. And you know what? That’s okay too. Because the fact of the matter is:
Annabeth isn’t the same Annabeth anymore. And Percy isn’t the same Percy anymore. And it’s not because they went through trauma, or because time has passed. It’s because Rick Riordan doesn’t have any interest in writing those versions of them anymore. And I think the comparisons between the old and the new show that fact pretty clearly.
#okay i’m deleting tumblr now#i’m too scared for the hate so i will be absent lol#I PROMISE IM NOT TRYING TO DESTROY RICK I LOVE HIM#but i think he needs to be more loyal to the old fanbase that has been so loyal to him#or not that’s fine too#i could give you guys more book quotes#i could make a whole other post on how percy has changed#but i’m not sure anyone wants that#so for now i will try and shut up#wottg#wrath of the triple goddess#and run very very quickly#pjo#heroes of olympus#percy jackson#annabeth chase#percabeth#percy jackson and the olympians#rick riordan#riordanverse
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