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messylustt · 9 months

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LITTLE RED ( nsfw ) — miguel o’hara + reader: an innocent walk in the woods to your grandmother’s, with your red hood and basket turns a little different than expected.

marks intended age gap. non con/dub con. dark!miggy. red riding hood au. kinda monster kink. primal kink. size kink wc 2.5k.

the whole town had heard the stories. a monster who lived in the woods. woods that parents used to let their kids frolic in, now turned into a desolate area everyone steered clear of. there were the occasional hunters who brought back food for their families, but they never travelled too far past the less denser trees. a horror story. that’s what it was. one kids told others to freak them out in the dark. the beast with claws, fangs, and blood red eyes. he ate anyone who dared venture too far. at least that’s the story the townspeople were going with.

“oh please, there’s no such thing as that beast.” your mother says as she tucks your hair into your hood. your hands clutch a basket, filled with breads and pastries that you insisted on baking yourself. “now, head straight to grandmothers cottage. no dawdling.” she speaks sternly, knowing how easy your attention can sway. you nod, adjusting the red hood around yourself. your grandmother was sick. ill to the point of staying bedridden. she hadn’t wanted to die in this dirty town, as she had put it. she wanted to die peacefully, alone in the woods. your mother was against it, but ever since you were young every argument had always been won by your grandmother.

you make your way out the door, as your mother calls behind you ‘to be back before the sun sets’. you raise your hand to acknowledge her words as you continue on to the edge of the woods. you could hear the distant birds chirping, the woods looking far less scary than normally portrayed. the way the sun gleamed through the gaps between the trees was actually rather beautiful. with a growing smile you skipped over a small running lake, the wood’s animals darting away from your feet.

you made it through the first section of woods with ease, your lips pressed together in a hum. but the moment you edged into the shadier parts of the bush and shrub the singing birds had fallen silent. your own soft tune slowed too, as you gazed around. most hunters stopped here, where the denser trees casted heavier shadows. grandmothers cottage shouldn’t be far. she had chosen a spot in the midst of the forest, as far in as she could make it, without being too close to the fast rushing lake.

you switched hands, holding the basket as your feet softly slipped past large twigs, the grass now a dark shade as the sun became blocked by the heavy leaves. you spared a look up, seeing less animals scurrying about in the trees, and even less on the forest floor. and that’s when you hear it. the faint snap of a branch that has you spinning on your heels. but the moment you turn you’re pleasantly surprised to see a small patch of sunlight, almost acting like a spotlight on bundles of flowers.

the gorgeous colours made your feet move, crouching down as you brushed your hand over the different petals, the worry from the snap gone entirely. “she’d love some…” you speak to yourself, thinking of your grandmother. along with the bread, some flowers would do nicely. a pretty touch. don’t dawdle. you could hear your mothers voice. “it won’t take long.” you say softly, as you fully kneel and begin to pick some of the flowers. “what brings you here, little girl?” a low voice has you pausing, hand midway from picking a tulip. you swiftly turn on your knees and gaze up.

there, standing before you is a man. no…your eyes dart down to his flexing hands. claws. you shift your gaze back up to his slightly shadowed face. and as he takes a step closer to you your breathing gets caught. fangs and red eyes. you stare at him, your body seemingly frozen. “well?” he asks, his tongue moving to run along his lower lip as he stares down at you. you rush to a stance, quickly looking around for your basket. “you make these yourself?” he speaks again, and you shift your gaze back to him to see him holding up your basket.

you’re hesitant to grab it off him, hesitant to even speak. “you’re a quiet thing, aren’t you?” his tone has shifted a fraction. his view of you originally being ‘intruder’, now instead…something else. something…small. something that smells so so sweet. “can you…can you give that back please?” your voice is so soft. almost like a caress to him. this only makes him tighten his hold on your basket. he keeps his eyes on you as he grabs out one of your pastries. he takes a bite as you hold back your protest. “mm.” he hums, still keeping those red eyes on you. “so…sweet…delicious.” he licks the small crumbs off his lower lip, giving you another view of his fangs. his eyes haven’t strayed from you. and the way he stated those words of praise. you had an uncomfortable feeling that he wasn’t praising the food. you carefully reach over, stepping closer to take the basket off him. “those aren’t for you.”

he watches as you near, letting you take the basket. he then leans down to your height, making your body stiffen. “what a shame.” his hand moves up to brush away a strand of hair, before his claw flips your hood down. he drags that same claw over you cheek, just feeling your skin. “maybe i’ll just have to try something else.” at first you don’t catch the look of hunger in his eyes, before his hand is drawing you closer by your neck. with wide eyes, you try and struggle away from him. “no, please, you don’t have to eat me. i’m…i won’t taste very good.” you try and persuade him, thinking him licking his fangs is a sign that he wants to kill you.

but he just chuckles, slipping that hand at the back of your neck, down your spine, making you straighten. his claws slip past your dress and coat, softly scratching at your back as he draws you closer to his large frame. “eat you?” he practically coos. “why would i eat you?” he’s still stroking the skin of your cheek, before he tilts your chin further up. “because…because you’re a…monster.” you tilt your head further back to get away from his grip, but he’s then picking you up, hiking your skirt along your thighs as you gasp and instinctively grab onto his shoulders.

“now that’s a little rude. you don’t even know me.” he says, claws nearly sinking into your legs, keeping you straddled around him as you do your best to try and struggle free. “i know of you. the beast in the woods. the one who eats those who trespass.” you breath out, gripping the material of his shirt tighter as you wriggle. his grip on you only harshens at your movements, as he manhandles you over his shoulder. you screech, your hits on his back doing nothing. with the fast flip, and the state that your dress was already in, your panties are now on display. cute, innocent panties that have easily captured the attention of the monster.

he tilts his head as he stares at your covered pussy, his mouth already salivating. “maybe i do eat those who venture too far into the woods.” he plays along with your fear, as his hand pushes your dress even farther over your ass. “no—“ but your words cut short when you feel two claws run right down the middle of your panties. your hips shift as you bite your lower lip harshly. “please…” your anger has dissipated, leaving you with only your fear. “begging already?” he coos, sticking his two claws right against where your entrance is. he can see the stain beginning to form. you’re soaked, and the sight makes his grip on you tighten.

he suddenly flips you back around, manhandling you onto the ground, where the shadows create a little nook. his hands are fast as he rips the cotton of your panties. “what are you—“ you try but choke on your words the minute the monster slips two of his fingers inside you. your legs shake as you push up on your elbows. the sound of his fingers going in and out of you is embarrassing. you grab at his wrist, your legs already shaking as you try not to succumb to the immediate pleasure you had begun to feel.

“n-no.” you breathe. “yes.” he breathes back, curling his fingers inside you. any further words are choked, as your lips part in a pathetic whimper. “aw.” he coos, now holding you down with his other hand on your stomach. “stop…no—god.” your pleas fall on deaf ears. “yeah…you’ll do nicely.” he hums, continuing to fuck you with his long fingers. too long, in your opinion. his claws scrap against your already sensitive insides, as you squirm on the ground.

your cheeks and nose are flushed, your mismatched breath almost egging him on. “stop squirming or maybe i will have to eat you.” those words have you pausing, fists clenching around the grass. “please…” you gulp out, stomach contracting. but all the beast does is finger you harder, pushing at your thighs so he can get a good look at what a mess he’s already made of you. and just as you’re about to cum, your legs shaking, he pulls away. this fact seems to make you squirm again, as he pushes you completely onto the ground, before fully hiking your dress up and over your breasts.

“i’m only inspecting you, sweetheart. not to give you pleasure. so, stay. still.” he speaks as his hands grab at your breasts, beginning to squeeze and fondle them as he pleases. he bounces them, while pinching your nipples, as you try to gulp down any arousal you still feel. “you’re a very pretty girl, aren’t you little red?” he hums, glancing at the red hood surrounding you on the ground. “tell me, why aren’t you some hunter looking to kill tiny animals?” he hums out as he keeps playing with your breasts, pushing them together, before circling your nipples.

through hard breathes you manage “i’m going to see my…my grandmother.” the monster grins. “with these breads? how sweet of you.” he coos, as he nudged your legs apart again, flicking at your clit experimentally, as he keeps playing with your tits. “i don’t usually get little things wandering into my forest. and certainly not this far in.” he then catches your gaze as he leans towards you. “now be a good girl f’me, and flip over.” he whispers, so close to your lips. after your pause he continues. “eating you is still an option. i haven’t had something delicious in a whi—“

but he’s cut off as you quickly turn around on the ground, his grip on your hips keeping them raised, as he grins. “that’s it…” you’re now pressed up against the grass, your ass stuck out for him as he taps at your pussy, making you jolt a fraction. “you’re rather tiny…” his tone gives away that he likes this fact, his fingers spreading your pussy lips as you then feel something hard pressed against your clit. you can’t see him, but can instantly tell what he’s about to do. you grip the grass again, looking for stability in this unstable situation.

from the taps of his cock against your pussy you can feel how weighted it is. the hint at his size making your fear accelerate. he then begins to push the head of his cock into your entrance making a small cry leave you. and once he begins to rut into you relentlessly, your body moving along the ground at his harsh thrusts, your mind turns dizzy. your lips parting as you claw at the grass, ripping out strands. “are you drooling, sweetheart?” he hums. “open your mouth wider, let me see.” he gazes at your face, pushed up against the ground, as he fucks you from behind.

you slowly open your mouth, as his fingers slip down and drag at the flesh of your inside bottom lip. “just as soaked as your cunt is, huh?” he then begins to play with your tongue, coating your spit over his claws and fingers. “making such a mess.” he coos, as his balls slap against your clit making a small whimper fall past his fingers. his free hand grips your hair, pulling your head slightly back as his cock goes deeper, making you cry out, drooling even more over his fingers. “how bout this…” he says, a little breathless from how well your hole is taking him. “your grandma can have your breads and pastries.” he glances at the basket, haphazardly thrown to the side. “and i can have you.”

he sticks his fingers further into your mouth until you’re practically gagging, your tits bouncing as he thrusts his hips into you. “that sounds fair doesn’t it?” he’s nodding, licking at his lower lip as he murmurs “dios…” you can hear his breathing change, showing he’s getting close. as his cock twitches inside you, he pulls out, bringing you around to kneeling by the grip of his fingers in your mouth. he holds your mouth wide open as he rests his cock on your tongue. “give it a lick, little red.” he’s so close. with drool coating your lower lip in a shimmer, and his fingers hooked inside, you drag your tongue over the tip of his cock, as his hips shudder, finally spilling down your throat.

he makes a mess of your mouth, your only solution being to swallow. you gulp down as much as you can, though some spill out due to the unwavering grip of his fingers in your mouth. he stares down at you, a new emotion behind his eyes, that says more than a passing hunger. he grabs your chin and leans down to lick the remaining mix of cum and drool off your lips. your mind is reeling, this whole situation feeling like a fever dream.

“i’m sure your grandmother is worried about you.” he hums, running his thumb over your chin and swollen lips. “you should get going. and don’t forget the pretty flowers.” his words are far too sinister to make you stand with a skip in your step. as he soothes your dirty dress down and fixes your hood, his cock away as if nothing had happened. he hands you back your basket, your shaky hands gripping it. “now run along, little girl. and please do remember to visit your poor, sick grandmother more often.”

it was a demand. not a suggestion.

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mrsdarkandyandere7 · 5 months

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❤ Yandere Police Officer ❤

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

Female reader

WARNINGS: Manipulation/Power Abuse.

◾ Yandere!Officer who has his eyes on you the moment you step foot in his town.

You’re different from all the girls he’s known all his life, maybe because you’re a city girl. But that doesn’t mean you’re bad, no.

On the contrary, he likes you very much.

You’re not arrogant, arms crossed with a disgusted expression at the small variety of entertainment that the town offers, like many other city people have done before while visiting his town.

You came with a wide smile, the smell of hope and new beginnings incrusted in your figure. He likes that.

◾ Yandere!Officer who immediately strikes a friendship with you. He’s nice and friendly, offering you all the help you need as you settle in the town and his heart beats faster when you inform him that you plan on staying there permanently.

He immediately starts daydreaming about you, about the cute perfect couple you two would make. You could take care of the house - and whatever small bundles of joys that came along the way - while he’d work and provide for the family.

Coming home to the happy shrieks of children, a sweet wife and a hot meal sounded like a dream.

◾ Yandere!Officer that will be there for you as you slowly start to organize your life, helping you find a job at a local coffee shop.

He’d stop by multiple times a day, a charming smile on his face as he’d place his order, asking you about how everything was going.

His white and blue friends would laugh and throw indiscreet clues about someone having a crush on the waitress, but he’d ignore them, his eyes following you as you work, a smile on your face as you served customers.

He’d start spending more time in your workplace, even during his off-duty days. His easy going personality making it easy to form a connection with you.

You seem to appreciate his concern and interest in your wellbeing and repay him by bringing him a few pastries for free.

◾ Yandere!Officer who’ll ask you out when he gives you a ride back to your home, and despite feeling so flattered, you refuse him.

You’re not looking for relationships, still trying to achieve some normalcy in your life before jumping into the dating scenario.

Besides, he’s not exactly your type. He’s tall and slender, firm muscles stretching out the clothes he wears. Not ripped and bulky, as you like.

But he’s not bad though, having really handsome features and you’ve heard your female coworkers whisper about him, their comments horny enough to make you blush.

He smiles and assures you it’s fine and that he's okay being friends for now, but you have a bad feeling at the way his expression drops into a sinister frown when he thinks you’re not seeing.

◾ Yandere!Officer who’ll keep his friendly demeanor, despite the new awkwardness between you two. He still likes you, even if you rejected him like he was an annoying bug.

Maybe you just need a bit of time before accepting him. He’ll wait as long as he can, but can’t stop himself from quickly getting irked when he sees some local guys flirting with you while you’re serving them food.

Fingers tightly gripping his gun as jealousy burns in his chest. He should teach those guys a lesson for attempting to swoon you, don’t they know you’re his?

Fucking idiots.

◾ Yandere!Officer who’ll ask you out a second time soon after that.

Your rejection leaves a sour taste in his mouth and this time he doesn’t bother pretending that he’s fine as he angrily storms out of your coffee shop, slamming the door behind him.

◾ Yandere!Officer who’ll realize that he needs to move fast, otherwise you’ll end up choosing someone else. But knowing how stubborn you were, he’ll have to play dirty to get you in his arms.

He apologizes for his previous behavior, genuine regret all over his face and of course you end up accepting it, alongside the flowers he offers you.

But shortly after, you realize that it was all a big mistake.

He playfully suggests you go out with him in return for him forgetting about the speeding tickets you didn’t even know you had accumulated. His goofy behavior almost makes it look like a harmless proposition.

But when he playfully implies that if you don’t, he may be forced to arrest and book you because of safety issues - that’s when you realize that maybe he’s not as innocent as you think him to be.

◾ Yandere!Officer who points out that there’s nowhere for you to hide or run from him.

He’s a cop and that means access to a lot of information. Where you came from, your parents, their workplaces, their addresses, everything.

So how about you play good girl for him? He’d hate anything bad happening to his future in-laws.

#@mrsdarkandyandere7 #yandere x you #yandere x reader #tw: yandere #yandere concept #female reader #yandere headcanons #yandere oc x reader #yandere x darling #yandere imagines

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deestorytime · 10 days

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Levi would always give most of his earnings to support the Survey Corps, and what little he kept for himself was typically spent on his teas. However, things began to change the day he noticed how your eyes sparkled with joy at the sight of a simple daffodil. This small moment inspired Levi to shift his spending habits, starting with a single, white lily he placed beside your door.

From then on, Levi's days off included visits to a small florist on the corner of the market street. The types of flowers he bought varied: some weeks it was roses, others wildflowers, and occasionally something as exotic as orchids. But Levi's new spending didn't stop at flowers. He also began visiting a local bakery where he picked up a variety of desserts—pastries filled with cream or topped with fresh fruit, leaving them at your door every week.

As the weeks progressed, these tokens of affection became like a quiet conversation between you two. A bundle of lavender would appear here, a slice of apple tart there, each gift left without a name but always warmly accepted. You started responding in your own subtle way, placing notes in library books you knew Levi often read. You also noticed a change in Levi's tea habits—he wasn't drinking as much as usual. So, you began leaving various new teas for him to find in his office. Soon enough, everyone was quietly gossiping about you two. Hange and Erwin always observed from a distance.

“Do you think they realize how obvious they are?” Hange whispered with a chuckle, watching as Levi discreetly placed a fresh note in your book.

“Not at all,” Erwin laughed, shaking his head.

#levi fluff #attack on titan #levi aot #levi x reader #captain levi #fanfic #levi ackerman #aot levi #levi attack on titan #levi x y/n

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onyourowndaisymae · 1 year

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presenting the obey me dateables (+ luke) with a friendship bracelet

you all asked so nicely for the dateables that i couldn't help but get inspired! i intend to reverse this prompt and write the characters making you a friendship bracelet sometime soon (will be split by demon brothers/dateables bc that's so many words)

[the demon brothers version]

[the dateables (+ luke) presenting you with a friendship bracelet]

content warnings: none

prompt: you grin down at your work. in your hands is a small friendship bracelet, lovingly crafted from hard work and the embroidery thread you found in your closet. you weren't quite sure why you'd made it, but the thought of giving a certain someone the bracelet and watching their reaction made you smile. now, to hand it off...

Diavolo

this is a mistake.

at least, that's what barbatos and lucifer think. because from the moment you present diavolo with a friendship bracelet, it is all he talks about.

when you approach him with the little gift--a red and black bundle of knots and strings-- and offer it up, he laughs jovially and asked what it was. you explain it's a friendship bracelet. from where you're from, you make them for people you care about, so they can have a piece of you with them every day. it's usually a tradition for children and teens, but you thought it would be fun to give him the bracelet regardless. you were just thinking about him (and his lonely childhood-- but you don't say that part aloud) and how he didn't really do stuff like this when he was young... so maybe he'd appreciate it now? you start to feel a little silly by the end of your explanation, so you look up at him to try to gauge his reaction.

you would have thought you proposed with how touched this man looked.

his expression softens and his eyes go wide. he puts out his hands to take the gift and you hand it over. his face quickly splits into a grin as he inspects each individual knot and string. did you really make this? he's impressed. look at how lovely it is! he raves about the quality for longer than necessary (it's not that good, mind you) as you flush from all the praise.

you offer to tie it for him and his eyes sparkle. truly, you never thought he'd enjoy a gift like this that much-- nonetheless, you're incredibly flattered.

how did you make this bracelet? what material is this? will you teach him how to make one, too? how often is he supposed to wear this?

the last question makes you chuckle. honestly, that's up to him. you tell him about that time you wore a friendship bracelet all summer one year, until it was a frayed biohazard that stank up the whole room. you recommend taking it off for showers and activities that might get it that dirty-- please, diavolo, learn from your childhood mistakes-- but other than that, he can wear it whenever he feels like. you assure him that your feelings won't get hurt if he doesn't, but he quickly reassures you that he definitely plans on wearing it.

... and he is not bluffing when he pledges this commitment to you. diavolo will wear his friendship bracelet all day every day, only taking it off when absolutely necessary. that does not include formal meetings or events. he is wearing that damn bracelet. what are they going to do, call him out? he's the fucking demon king (well, close enough).

Barbatos

you present barbatos with the bracelet one day when you've joined him for an afternoon in the kitchen.

he's carefully explaining how he gets the texture to this pastry just right-- there's a clear balance between airiness and moisture, you see-- while you try to listen. you can't help but let your mind wander as he talks. doesn't he know this friendship bracelet is practically burning a hole in your pocket?!

"mc, are you listening?"

he's looking up at you with expectant eyes, and you feel yourself flush in embarrassment. you barely get alone time with him as-is, and here you are, wasting it! you apologize and explain you've been a bit distracted. he welcomes you to share (if you are so inclined), pausing his work to give you his full attention.

it's now or never. you can either be brave, or you can walk back to the house of lamentation with your tail between your legs!

you present the butler with your creation-- a green and black friendship bracelet-- with a small explanation of what it is. you feel juvenile presenting an ancient demon such a childish gift, but he accepts your gift with a nod and a small smile. barbatos sets aside the gift for the rest of the day, careful that it won't get soiled by the mess of ingredients as he continues his baking lesson.

you assume barbatos has stored in somewhere out of sight-- you'd like to think he cares enough about your feelings to keep it, but you have also never seen him wear it. you're starting to feel like an idiot for even gifting him such a silly thing in the first place. he's arguably the second most powerful demon in the realm. he doesn't have time for a chintzy little bundle of strings from some insignificant human!

you're at the castle one day on another retreat with the rest of the house of lamentation residents. in a chaotic scuffle with one of his brothers, mammon manages to knock an open bottle of demonus directly into barbatos' chest. the butler sighs and begins to take off his coat while lucifer is moments away from tearing mammon into thirds.

as he opens his jacket, you spot it.

pinned inside the front of his jacket is, undoubtably, your bracelet. you recognize that striped pattern from a mile away. you can't forget the embarrassing amount of time you spent toiling away over cheap embroidery floss (not to mention the several mess-ups you had to throw out). you almost can't believe that's where he's been keeping it all this time.

barbatos catches you staring at the bracelet and gives you a small, secret smile. he leaves the jacket open for a moment longer-- it's like he knows, like he's letting you commit the image to memory-- before folding it neatly in his arms. he turns on his heel and walks back to his room before you can react further.

you're a little bummed to see him go. after all, that bracelet was probably ruined in all the liquid-y chaos from a few minutes ago. yet when he returns, adjusting his jacket one last time, you swear you see a flash of green and black string.

maybe it was just your imagination. and maybe that knowing look on his face was, too.

Simeon

you've found the clump of tangled embroidery floss in your closet among things you've brought from the human world. you aren't really sure how it got there, but you've got some free time to kill-- why not try to make one of those friendship bracelets you had growing up?

it starts out in your head as a stupid little joke. who among the people you know here would be the most accepting of a dumb little gift like this?

... simeon, probably. i mean, the guy's an angel. isn't being gracious and kind part of their whole schtick?

as you weave the threads together, you feel yourself get excited. simeon means a lot to you. he's been there any time you've needed him throughout the entire exchange program, always there to lend a hand or a listening ear whenever you so desire. you don't get to see him as much as you'd like, seeing as he lives all the way over at purgatory hall, but you feel you're close enough to give him such a gift.

you catch him after class at RAD one day. you don't have time run by purgatory hall after school, and you're worried if you wait much longer to give him the bracelet, you'll somehow lose or destroy it. when you approach, he's all smiles.

"mc? to what do i owe the honor?"

you ask if you can speak to him alone-- nobody misses the suggestively suspicious look solomon tosses the two of you-- and he leads you to a quite corner of the hallway.

suddenly, this whole thing feels very silly. but, at this point, you've already dragged him away from everyone, so you might as well go through with it.

you pull the blue and white friendship bracelet from the pocket of your uniform and offer it out to him. you explain that it's a friendship bracelet, something that human kids usually exchange as a show of friendship and devotion. you were in the mood to make one the other night and thought he might appreciate it. there. that didn't sound too cringe, right?

your gaze slowly lifts from your hands to find simeon in as disheveled of a state as you. his cheeks are flushed and his face is frozen as he processes your explanation. then a slow, delighted smile spreads over his cheeks.

out of everything to happen today, he definitely did not anticipate this happening. yet he couldn't be more pleased. he gives you his thanks as you tie the bracelet around his wrist-- over his gloves, so he can show it off to everyone, he tells you.

what did you say these were for? an expression of friendship? he's touched that you'd include him in an intimate human ritual like this (it's not that deep, but his smile makes you bite your tongue). would you be willing to stop by purgatory hall sometime soon so he can learn more about it? he loves any story you tell, after all.

you part ways with identical grins and a promise to meet again sometime soon. simeon assures you that he'll take care of the bracelet-- it's very special, you know, since you're the one that gave it to him.

and take care of it he does. every time you see him, he's wearing that bracelet. it looks nicer than the day you gave it to him! you're surprised, until satan reminds you simeon's always wearing white. clearly, he's good at keeping things clean.

he wears a big ass white cloak all day, every day. you think a little bracelet is going to trip him up? nah. simeon values your gift-- the gesture, the time you put into making him the bracelet, the skill it took to make such a pretty little thing-- too much to let an ounce of dirt sully his favorite present.

Solomon

hey, solomon. you want a friendship bracelet?

he looks up from his school work to eye you curiously. you two are on opposite sides of a table in one of RAD's many libraries. you're supposed to be studying, but you got bored fifteen minutes ago and haven't been productive since.

you pull a bundle of embroidery floss out of your pocket and spread it out on the table. a rainbow of colors sits mostly untangled-- you've been trying all day, but some knots are simply too stubborn-- across the smooth wood, and across the materials you should really be studying right now.

got a color preference, sorcerer boy, or am i going to have to give you the ugliest combination i can think of?

he laughs and tells you to do your worst. are you actually going to make one, though? how do you even remember how to do that? he admits he's never actually had one before. you tease him for being a lonely old man. he teases you right back for being a dweeb who wastes brain space on how to make gifts for third graders.

just for that comment, his bracelet's going to be ugly. and you won't even try to make it not lumpy, too. in your face, peepaw.

you get to work weaving the strings into a particular pattern of knots. you've chosen snot green and tree bark brown, paired nicely with a subtle hot pink for a more elegant look. slowly but surely, you start forming the stripes of the bracelet. you can feel his eyes on you, but for once, you decide not to tease him. you're feeling generous today, after all.

when you finish, you tie off the lose end and untape the other from the front of your textbook-- that's certainly the most useful its been to you all day-- with a victorious little smirk. he's still watching you work. you've succeeded in distracting him as well, congrats! it's what he deserves for dragging you into a half an hour argument between levi and asmo last week for no other reason than to see you struggle to keep the peace. karma's a bitch, and seeing this ugly ass bracelet across his wrist will be the cherry on top.

you instruct him to hold out his wrist and he complies. you start tying the ends together, careful not to permanently knot it around his wrist, when--

"wow, you actually made it for me. does that mean we're best friends now? i guess i'll have to brag to those brothers about it, won't i?"

you feel your life flash before your eyes. suddenly, you can hear it in your mind-- seven overlapping voices arguing, louder and louder, for you to make them a friendship bracelet as well. nothing will satiate their jealousy with each other. it's like entertaining a horde of toddlers: a gift to one is an insult to the rest.

oh. oh shit.

you're on your feet before you can speak. suddenly, maybe you don't want solomon to have that bracelet anymore. but he's always five steps ahead of you. literally, in this case, seeing as he's already taken off towards the other end of the library. oh hell no.

you manage to catch up to him eventually, and the afternoon devolves into you (playfully and consensually) bullying each other over the gift.

for all his big talk, he does actually wear the bracelet every day. you think that it's mostly to make you worry that one of the brothers might ask about it-- and that's definitely a big part of why he does it, seeing as he smirks every time he catches you looking at it-- but you think there must be a part of him that actually likes it, ugly color scheme and all.

it's solomon, remember? horrible chef, spellcaster to varying degrees of success, general menace to society. that bracelet is filthy in a matter of days. what's worse, though, is that he also has a terrible habit of breaking or losing it. this would be fine under normal circumstances. no harm, no foul, right? but every three to four business days, whenever he breaks it or covers it in mud or loses it somewhere in the hallway, he's up your ass for you to make him a new one.

what can he say? you're besties, aren't you? that's why you made the bracelet in the first place. now chop chop, mc, his wrist feels naked.

Luke

you visit purgatory hall after school one day, a pep in your step and a bright smile on your face. a few of the brothers question your giddiness as you head out (mammon especially didn't like that you wouldn't elaborate where you were going or who you were seeing), but you make it to your destination unscathed and unfollowed.

when you walk in-- you've had an open invite to visit whenever since the early days of the exchange program-- you spot luke baking in the kitchen. he calls out to you from his spot near the oven and invites you to try this cake he's been working on. barbatos taught him the recipe last week, and ever since, he's been working hard to perfect his version of the dish.

you spend a few minutes playing taste tester for the little angel before you get his attention. you've got a gift for him. the anticipation is starting to kill you, so you'd like to get it out of your hands.

you open your palms and reveal your present: a white and gold friendship bracelet. you explain that it's usually a gift kids in the human realm give each other.

... probably the wrong wording, considering who you're giving the gift to.

"is this because you think i'm a child? now you sound like lucifer! listen here, i'll have you know i report directly to archangel michael, who--"

you let him continue his little rant until he gets it all out of his system. when he's done, looking at you expectantly for some sort of rebuttal, you grin and explain the real reason for your gift. you think of luke as a close friend, and you wanted to give him a gift familiar to your culture that communicates that with the world.

an embarrassed flush spreads over his cheeks as the cherub realizes he might have jumped to conclusions. he sheepishly smiles at you and asks you to tell him more.

you tie the bracelet onto his wrist and explain all your favorite childhood memories with gifts like these. every friendship bracelet, each matching necklace you got with a childhood friend, all of those little mementos of friendships past still sit in a box in your closet. you might outgrow wearing a yarn bracelet (or it might have grown filthy over the years with all your sticky-fingered adventures), but you'll never outgrow the memories behind them.

luke asks if he can see them some day. will you tell him more stories if he visits you at the house of lamentation? you smile and agree-- so long as he doesn't get gobbled up on the way there. now he's protesting again. he's not a child! (whatever you say, luke).

by the end of the evening, you've explained the knotting patterns you used to make the bracelet. luke tells you to watch out-- he's gonna make you such an amazing bracelet, just you wait! you grin, already excited to show off his little creation.

#solomon is SUCH a shithead #peepaw is so fun to bully #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me swd #obey me x reader #obey me diavolo #obey me diavolo x reader #obey me barbatos #obey me barbatos x reader #obey me simeon #obey me simeon x reader #obey me luke #obey me headcanons #otome

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pucksandpower · 9 months

Text

Ties That Bind

Charles Leclerc x royal!Reader + Max Verstappen x sister!Reader

Summary: life as Princess of the Netherlands is pretty perfect but when health issues become a (literal) royal pain, you discover a familial connection that will change your life forever

Warnings: struggles with infertility, child abandonment, serious health issues, medical procedures and treatments

This is what happens when I’m insane enough to try juggling writing an 8k+ word fic with studying in medical school

The night was a cascade of ethereal snowflakes, each one glistening under the pale moonlight, landing gracefully upon the earth. The silver car glided along the road, its headlights illuminating the path through the thick curtain of snow, like two piercing eyes navigating through sorrow.

Inside, Prince Frederik of the Netherlands drove in silent contemplation, the weight of the day’s news pressing heavily on his heart. Beside him, Princess Marianne stared out of the frosted window, her reflection capturing swollen eyes that glistened with fresh tears. Her fingers trembled slightly, crumpling yet another now irrelevant medical report indicating one more failed IVF attempt.

“I thought this time would be different,” Marianne whispered, her voice quivering. “I truly believed it.”

Frederik’s grip on the wheel tightened. He turned to his wife, pain evident in his eyes. “I know, my love. I know.”

As they drove, Frederik’s eyes caught a glimpse of something unusual by the side of the road. “What’s that?” He murmured, slowing the car.

Marianne followed his gaze. “It looks like a bundle ... stop the car!”

Frederik brought the vehicle to a halt. They both jumped out and hurried over to the mysterious object. As they approached, Marianne gasped. “Oh my God, Frederik ... it’s a baby!”

She quickly bent down to scoop the tiny, shivering form into her arms. The baby’s skin was cold, blue lips barely parting for shallow breaths as the thin pink blanket wrapped around it did little to fight the chill. “Who could do such a thing?” Marianne cried, holding the child close for warmth.

Frederik’s face hardened. “We need to get her to a hospital. Now.”

Back in the car, Marianne cradled the baby, trying to transfer her warmth. “Stay with us,” she murmured, tears spilling. “Please, stay with us.”

As they sped towards the hospital, Frederik reached over and held Marianne’s free hand. “It'’s a sign,” he whispered. “After everything we’ve been through today ... finding her like this ... it’s fate.”

Marianne looked down at the baby, her fingers gently brushing the soft wisps of hair on the child’s head. “Our little miracle in the snow,” she whispered back.

Frederik smiled faintly, squeezing Marianne's hand. “Yes, our snow angel. We’ll take care of her and she’ll take care of us.”

***

“You know, every time it snows, it feels like the world is celebrating the day we found you,” your father, now King Frederik, remarks, gazing out of the vast palace windows at the flurries descending from the sky.

You smile, reaching for a delicate pastry from the breakfast spread laid out before you. “And every snowflake reminds me of the warmth of this family that saved me from the cold.”

Your mother, Queen Marianne, hair now threaded with silver, gives you a loving glance. “Our snow angel, right when we needed you most.”

“Speaking of snow,” you muse, “I’m thinking of wearing the ice-blue gown for tonight’s gala. Thoughts?”

Your father raises an eyebrow, “For the Children’s Foundation event? Perfect choice. It complements the theme and matches the tiara your mother has picked for you to wear.”

You grin, “Who knew you had such a fashion sense?”

Your mother chuckles, “It’s a king thing. But he’s right. And with your sapphire necklace, you will be the talk of the gala.”

You take a sip of your tea, thinking of the evening ahead. “I want to ensure my speech captures the essence of our foundation’s work. It’s more than just another royal event, this is about making a real difference.”

Your father nods, “It always is for you. That genuine desire to impact lives, it’s how I know you will be a great Queen one day.”

You blush slightly, “I learned from the best.”

Your mother, with a hint of mischief, remarks, “And speaking of learning, have you decided on a dance partner for the first waltz? There’s quite a line-up available.”

You laugh, “Oh, Mom! Let’s not start matchmaking before breakfast is over.”

Your father joins in the mirth, “Give her a break, Marianne. Our snow angel must not melt.”

***

The regal hallways echo with the gentle patter of your heeled footsteps. Lately, the palace, your lifelong sanctuary, feels more like a maze. A sudden wave of dizziness makes you pause, leaning against a gilded wall for support.

“You okay there?” a soft voice calls. It’s your mother, her face etched with worry.

“Just a bit dizzy,” you mumble, attempting a reassuring smile.

She hurries over, her gown flowing. “You’ve been looking pale these past few days.”

Before you can reply, a sharp sensation pricks your nose. Touching it, you’re shocked to see blood on your fingertips. “Oh no,” you whisper, panic creeping into your voice.

Your mother’s eyes widen. “We need to see a doctor.”

“But the gala—”

“Forget the gala!” She interrupts. “Your health comes first.”

***

Inside the royal clinic, the room is a tense silence. Your father paces while your mother sits beside you, holding your hand tightly.

The family physician finally arrives, his expression somber. “Your Highness, Your Majesties,” he begins, “we’ve run several tests.”

“And?” Your father demands, halting his restless walk.

You take a deep, shaky breath, bracing yourself.

The doctor hesitates for a split second. “You have aplastic anemia.”

The room seems to close in. The words hang heavily, turning the opulent clinic cold.

Your mother’s voice trembles, “What does that mean?”

“It’s a condition where the bone marrow doesn’t produce enough new blood cells. This leads to fatigue, higher risk of infections, and uncontrolled bleeding,” the doctor explains.

Your mind races. The symptoms make sense now — the fatigue, dizziness, the nosebleed.

Your father’s face hardens, searching for hope. “What’s the treatment?”

The doctor looks grim, “The most effective treatment at this severity is a bone marrow transplant. We will need to find a matching donor.”

Your mother’s grip tightens on your hand, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “We’ll find one. We have to.”

Your father nods. “We will move mountains if we have to.”

You muster a small smile, drawing strength from your parents. “One snowstorm at a time.”

***

“How long does it usually take to find a match?” Youu inquire, voice trembling ever so slightly.

Dr. Van der Meer, the lead hematologist on your case, sighs, “It varies, Your Highness. Some find a match within their family, others from the global database. It can take days or even months.”

Your mother breaks in desperately, “But surely, with our resources, we can expedite the process?”

Your father adds, “Every avenue, every connection we have at our disposal is yours to use, Doctor.”

Dr. Van der Meer nods, “I understand the urgency, Your Majesties. We’ve already started to search within the national database. Meanwhile, we advise immediate family to get tested first.”

You interject, a sense of realization dawning, “But I’m adopted. Our genetic makeup differs.”

Your father and mother exchange a heavy look, the weight of your situation pressing down on them.

“We still have a vast network, a whole nation even,” your father muses. “Surely someone out there is a match.”

Dr. Van der Meer hesitates then says, “Actually, there has already been a hit from the database. A potential match.”

Your heart skips a beat. “Who?”

“We maintain confidentiality, Your Highness,” he replies. “But once we confirm the match and receive their consent, you will be informed.”

Your mother’s voice is tinged with hope. “So there’s a chance? A real chance?”

You lean forward eagerly. “When will we know more?”

Dr. Van der Meer offers a comforting smile. “Soon, Your Highness. For now, patience is our ally.”

***

“It’s been weeks, Doctor. Why haven’t we heard from the potential donor?” The frustration is clear in your mother’s voice.

Dr. Van der Meer looks up, choosing his words carefully. “The potential donor ... has some reservations.”

Your father’s brow furrows. “Reservations? Isn’t saving a life more important?”

The doctor clears his throat, “It’s a bit more complicated than that, Your Majesty. The potential donor is someone you’re familiar with.”

You lean forward, your curiosity piqued. “Who is it?”

There’s a momentary pause, the silence thickening. “Max Verstappen.”

Shock ripples through the room. The name isn’t just any name. It’s a name known to every Dutch citizen, celebrated in every corner of the nation.

Your mother blinks in disbelief. “The Formula 1 racer? We’ve met him multiple times at the Grand Prix. But why would he have reservations?”

Dr. Van der Meer hesitates, “There’s more to it. We ran some further genetic tests, customary for close matches. The results were ... unexpected.”

Your father leans forward in anticipation. “Go on.”

The doctor takes a deep breath, “Max Verstappen is not just a match. He’s ... he’s your half-brother.”

The room goes still. The revelation hangs in the air, too staggering to fully comprehend.

You feel your world tilt. “That’s impossible.”

Your mother’s voice is a whisper, “How can that be?”

Dr. Van der Meer clears his throat. “The genetic markers were unmistakable. Given the rare degree of compatibility and the markers we found, there is no doubt.”

Your father runs a hand through his hair, trying to process the news. “So all these years, at every Grand Prix, we’ve been cheering for ... family?”

You chime in, a flurry of emotions whirling inside, “And he doesn’t know, does he?”

The doctor shakes his head, “No, not yet. That’s the reservation. Revealing this ... it changes everything for him too.”

Your mother is contemplative. “We’ve celebrated his victories, felt the pride of having him represent our country. And now, knowing he’s family ...”

You interject, “And now, we need him more than ever. Not as a driver, not as a national icon, but as family.”

Your father’s resolve strengthens. “We need to tell him. He deserves to know.”

***

“How do you even begin a conversation like this?” You wonder aloud, staring at the blank screen of your laptop.

Your father, deep in thought, answers, “Honestly, directly, and with sensitivity. It’s uncharted territory for all of us.”

Your mothers adds, “Perhaps start by expressing your genuine feelings, without the weight of our titles or his fame."

You nod slowly, fingers hovering over the keyboard. “Dear Max,” you repeat out loud as you begin typing, then pause. “Too formal?”

Your father shrugs, “It’s sincere. And that’s what matters.”

Taking a deep breath, you continue:

Dear Max,

This isn’t a typical letter and I struggle to find the right words. By now, you might have been informed by the medical team about our unexpected connection. I wanted to reach out personally, not as the Princess of Orange, but simply as ... family.

Your mother reads over your shoulder, “That’s a good start.”

I cannot imagine how jarring this news must be. It was for me too. All these years, our paths crossed, shared smiles exchanged, never knowing the deeper bond we shared.

“Maybe mention the Grand Prix, how it has been a tradition for us,” your father suggests.

Every year at the Dutch Grand Prix, my parents and I cheered for you, felt immense pride in your victories. The realization that those cheers were for family adds a layer of emotion I can’t quite put into words.

I understand if you need time to process this. But I want you to know that this revelation changes nothing about the respect and admiration I hold for you. However, it does add a depth of connection, a newfound kinship.

Your mother, her voice choked with emotion, suggests, “Maybe let him know why it’s important now, about your condition.”

The reason I am reaching out now is not just about our newfound connection but also because of a pressing health concern I am facing. I need a bone marrow transplant, and as it turns out, you are my best match.

“Reassure him,” your father adds. “It’s a big ask.”

I understand the weight of this request. There is no obligation, only hope. No matter your decision, I want you to know that discovering this bond, this link between us, is a gift in itself.

Please take all the time you need. Whatever you decide, I respect and cherish the connection we have discovered. Wishing you all the best on and off the track.

Sincerely,

Y/N

Your father, visibly moved, murmurs, “It’s perfect.”

Your mother nods in agreement, tears shimmering. “It’s from the heart. Now, we wait.”

***

The roaring engines on the racetrack outside fade as the door to the private lounge close behind you. Max Verstappen stands there, his usual confident demeanor replaced with apprehension. The weight of the recent revelations is thick in the air.

“You look different without the crown,” Max remarks, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

You chuckle softly, “And you without the helmet.”

The initial ice broken, the two of you sit. A beat of silence passes. Then Max, eyes searching yours, asks, “Why now?”

You take a deep breath. “I’ve always known I was adopted. Every snowy day, my parents would recount the tale of how they found their snow angel. I grew up surrounded by love and privilege, never lacking anything.” Your voice trembles slightly, “But there were nights ... nights I’d wonder about the person who left me there, in the snow. Why didn’t they want me? Why did they abandon me to the whims of a storm?”

Max’s expression softens, his own memories surfacing. “I grew up with my father’s strict guidance. Racing wasn’t just a passion, it was life. There was little room for anything else. I always thought I understood my family but this ...” He sighs, looking away. “It makes me question everything.”

You nod, shared uncertainty bringing you closer. “But through all this confusion, one thing is clear: we’re family. Blood, it seems, has a way of revealing itself.”

Max smiles ruefully, “You know, I have a sister, a full sister. Growing up, we were close but our paths divided. Racing consumed me. Now, discovering I have another sister, you, it’s ... overwhelming.”

You chuckle, “Two sisters. Lucky you.”

He grins, “Twice the protective instincts.”

The humor fades, replaced by raw emotion. “You know,” you whisper, tears brimming, “Despite everything, I’m grateful for our paths crossing like this. Even if it took a lifetime.”

Max reaches out, taking your hand. “Me too.”

The weight of the moment presses on both of you. You look at each other, eyes brimming with tears, souls bared.

In a sudden rush of emotion, you step forward, collapsing into Max’s embrace. He holds you tightly, as if trying to shield you from all the past hurts, regrets, and questions. The warmth of the hug contrasts sharply with the cold memory of that snowy night. In his embrace, the years of wondering, the pain of abandonment, seem to melt away.

Pulling back slightly, you look up into Max’s eyes. With a tearful smile, you whisper, “Brother.”

He grins back, “Sister. How would you feel about attending the next race, not as royalty but as my guest?”

You hesitate, the memories of previous races filled with formalities and protocols. “It will be different.”

Max wraps an arm around you shoulders, “Very. But I promise, you will see the world of racing like never before.”

***

The roar of the engines, the excitement of the crowd — it was all distantly familiar. Yet, standing beside Max, everything feels different.

As you walk through the paddock, Max’s pride is evident. “Guys,” he calls out to his mechanics, “Meet my sister.”

They look up, surprised, then smiles break out across their faces. “It’s an honor, Your Highness,” one of them greets.

Max nudges him, “Just call her by her name.”

You laugh in agreement, “It’s nice to meet you all without the formalities.”

Max continues his introductions, his enthusiasm infectious. When you reach Christian Horner, he looks pleasantly surprised. “It’s been a while,” he remarks, “Though our meetings were always, well, more formal.”

You nod, “It’s a different world from this side of the track.”

Max beams, “And she’s getting the full experience today.”

When the race starts, every moment feels magnified, more personal.

And then, the checkered flag waves for Max.

The Red Bull garage erupts in jubilation. During the celebration, Max, still in his car, locks eyes with you from across parc fermé. You can see the moisture, the emotion in his eyes. The moment he is out of his car, he races over, pulling you into a tight embrace.

“This win,” he whispers hoarsely, “it’s not just for me this time. It’s for us. For family.”

As the Dutch anthem plays during the podium ceremony, tears fill your eyes. The anthem, a proud symbol of your country and kingdom, now also symbolizes the new, ever-growing bond with your brother.

Max, standing tall on the podium, catches your eye and winks. And as the ceremony concludes, he suddenly turns, aiming his bottle of champagne right at you. The spray catches you off guard, laughter bubbling up as the cold liquid soaks you.

“You had to, didn’t you?” You laugh, wiping away the liquid before it can sting your eyes.

Max ruffles your hair, “It’s my new duty as your older brother!”

***

“Hey, there’s someone I’d like you to meet,” Max says, pulling you towards the thrumming heart of the afterparty.

The vibrant lights and chatter fill the room but everything seems to slow as you’re introduced to a lean figure with tousled hair and hypnotizing eyes. “This is Charles Leclerc,” Max grins, “One of the toughest guys I’ve raced against.”

Charles offers a charming smile, “Pleasure to meet you. Max speaks highly of you.”

You raise your glass in a mock toast to your brother. “Glad to hear that my bribe has been paying off.”

Charles laughs, “Well, considering today’s win, you might just be his favorite person.”

The two of you share a laugh, an effortless ease settling between you as you barely notice Max walking off with a wink shot your way.

“You’ve been to several races, haven’t you?” Charles asks, sipping his drink.

“In a more official capacity, yes. But today was ... different.”

He nods, his gaze intense, “Being family changes the perspective.”

Charles leans in, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Now that you’ve seen me on the track maybe I should show you some of my other talents?”

You raise an eyebrow, the thrill of the night’s excitement mixing with his words. “Oh? What other hidden skills do you possess?”

His voice drops to a sultry murmur. “Well, I make a mean pasta carbonara. Maybe I’ll whip it up for you someday.”

You laugh, the warmth of the moment spreading through you. “I’ll definitely hold you to that.”

Max, watching from a distance, nudges Carlos, “Look at them. Told you they’d hit it off.”

“You know, I’ve always been curious about the life of a princess,” Charles muses, a playful glint in his eye. “Is it all tiaras and tea parties?”

You smirk. “It’s more boring than you would think. But for a driver like you, every day’s a thrill, right? Speeding cars, roaring crowds, adoring fans?”

He grins, leaning closer, the proximity making your heart race. “Most days. But some nights, the thrill is ... elsewhere,” his gaze deepening, locked onto yours.

The two of you are drawn into a world of your own, the party’s noise fading into the background.

He brushes a stray hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering just a moment longer. “Have you ever considered doing a hot lap? It’s quite the rush.”

You laugh, feeling the warmth of his touch. “I don’t know about getting in a race car but I can think of something else I’d love to ride right now.”

As the club’s pulsating music envelops you, Charles leans in, his voice husky over the beat, “Care for a dance?”

You accept, and as you both move to the rhythm, the world around seems to disappear. The close proximity, the electric energy on the dance floor, and the feeling of his body moving against yours is intoxicating.

“Right now,” Charles murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear to be heard above the music, “I feel like the winner tonight.”

You smile, your gaze locked onto his, “The night is still young. Let’s see where it takes us.”

***

“I’ve noticed you’re attending more races lately,” Max comments, a teasing glint in his eyes as you both walk through the paddock.

You shrug, feigning innocence. “Well, I’ve developed quite an appreciation for the sport.”

Max chuckles, “Or for a certain Ferrari driver?”

Blushing, you retort, “Can’t it be both?”

Before Max can respond, Charles approaches, his smile brightening as he spots you. “Good to see you again,” he greets, though his eyes convey a warmth that words can’t.

“You too,” you reply in a voice softer than intended.

The three of you share some casual banter before Max excuses himself, leaving you alone with Charles.

“You know,” Charles starts, “it’s become the highlight of my race weekends, seeing you here.”

You smile, “I’ve come to realize that there’s more to F1 than just the thrill of the race. There are ... other attractions.”

Charles grins, “Is that so? Any attraction in particular?”

You playfully nudge him, “Don’t get too confident, Leclerc.”

Weekends spent at circuits become a regular fixture in your life. While you’re initially there for Max, the increasing time spent with Charles deepens your bond. The stolen glances during press conferences, the private moments away from the limelight, and the late-night conversations make the connection undeniable.

One evening, after a particularly intense race, Charles pulls you aside, his face flushed from the adrenaline. “Every time I cross the finish line and look towards the other garages, I hope to catch a glimpse of you.”

Your heart skips a beat. “And if you do?”

He smiles, “It either makes victory all the more sweet or the sting of defeat not quite as painful.”

***

“You’ve made the front page again,” Max remarks dryly, handing you a tabloid during breakfast.

You glance at the headline, The Princess and the Racer: F1’s Fairytale Romance accompanied by a candid shot of you and Charles out to dinner.

Charles groans, “They make it sound like a soap opera.”

You sigh, “It’s the price we pay, I guess.”

As weeks go by, the media scrutiny intensifies. Every public appearance and every minuscule gesture, is analyzed, often blown out of proportion. The weight of the world’s eyes strains the joy of your newfound relationship.

One evening, after a particularly invasive article speculating about a rushed engagement, Charles pulls you aside, his face drawn with concern. “I noticed you’ve been pale lately, more tired. Is it the stress from all this media attention?”

You hesitate, biting your lip. The truth is, it’s more than just the media. Your health has been deteriorating and you’ve been trying to hide it.

“It’s not just the media,” you admit.

His eyes are filled with worry. “What is it?”

Max, overhearing the conversation, interjects, “It’s her health. She didn't want to worry you.”

Charles looks at you in disbelief. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You take a deep breath, “I didn’t want to add to the pressures of the season, to be another burden.”

He reaches out, holding you close, “You’re never a burden. We’re in this together.”

You take a shaky breath, drawing strength from his words. “I’ve been diagnosed with aplastic anemia. It’s a condition where my bone marrow doesn’t produce enough new blood cells.”

Charles pales, “That’s ... serious.”

You nod, “After this race, I’m starting chemotherapy to destroy the dysfunctional bone marrow in preparation for a transplant.”

Silence envelops the room. Charles processes the weight of the revelation, the enormity of the situation sinking in. “Why now?” He finally asks.

“Timing is crucial,” Max chimes in, “She’s been putting it off, not wanting to disrupt the season. But we can’t wait much longer.”

Charles runs a hand through his hair in frustration. “I just wish you had told me sooner.”

You reach out, touching his arm, “I didn’t know how. Everything was happening so fast — our relationship, the media attention. I didn’t want to add more stress.”

Charles pulls you into a tight embrace, his voice choked with emotion. “Promise me, no more secrets.”

You nod, tears streaming down your face, “I promise.”

***

“Are you sure you want to be here for this?” You ask Charles as you both sit in the sterile hospital room, awaiting the doctor who would be overseeing your chemotherapy treatments.

Charles takes your hand, squeezing it reassuringly. “Every step of the way.”

The door opens and the doctor walks in, a gentle but serious look on her face. “Before we begin, there’s something important we need to discuss. The chemotherapy might affect your fertility. It’s not certain but there is a significant risk.”

You freeze. You had expected side effects, the potential hair loss, the fatigue. But this? This was unanticipated. This ripped your heart out of your chest.

Charles tightens his grip on your hand, his face pale. “Is there ... any way to mitigate that risk?”

The doctor nods, “We can retrieve and store your eggs. It’s a procedure done before chemotherapy in some cases. You will need hormone injections for about 10 to 12 days to stimulate the ovaries.”

You look at Charles, your eyes filled with tears, “It’s another delay.”

Charles brushes a tear from your cheek, “We face this together. I am here for you no matter what you decide.”

The days that follow are a whirlwind. Charles is by your side every step of the way, providing both emotional support and administering the daily injections.

Each evening, he carefully prepares the hormone shot. “Ready?” He asks, looking into your eyes.

You nod, trying to put on a brave face. But the physical discomfort is nothing compared to the emotional toll. Still, with Charles by your side, each day becomes bearable.

One evening, as he administers the injection, he whispers, “I’m so proud of you. Your strength amazes me every day.”

Tears spring to your eyes. “I couldn’t do this without you.”

Charles pulls you into a tight embrace, his warmth enveloping you. “You’ll never have to.”

***

“Are you sure about this?” Charles asks, his fingers brushing yours as you lay on the hospital bed.

You take a deep breath, meeting his gaze. “I am. It’s a step towards preserving a potential future, one I hope to share with you.”

His eyes soften. “Every step, I’m here.”

The medical staff move around in the background, preparing for the procedure. The hum of machines and the sterile environment contrast starkly with the intimate bubble you and Charles share.

As the procedure begins, Charles holds your hand, his thumb drawing comforting circles on your skin. “Remember our trip to Monaco?” He murmurs, attempting to distract you. “The sea, the laughter, the little café by the pier?”

A smile tugs at your lips, even as you nod for the OBGYN to proceed. “The one with the overly sweet pastries?”

Charles chuckles, “That’s the one. Imagine us there, a decade from now, two kids in tow, arguing over whether chocolate or vanilla is better.”

The image he paints eases your tension, providing a temporary escape from the clinical room. The retrieval is swift but the emotional weight lingers.

“You did great,” Charles murmurs, brushing a stray hair away from your face.

You smile weakly, “One hurdle crossed.”

The next phase comes swiftly the following day: chemotherapy. The treatment center is full of artificial warmth — the walls painted a deep yellow and the heater working overtime to keep patients as comfortable as possible — but it does nothing to counteract the chill of fear that has taken over your body.

When the nurse enters with the IV bag for your chemotherapy, Charles stands up, his stance protective. “How does this work?”

She explains the process, her voice soft, “The medication will enter her bloodstream and target the rapidly growing cells. There might be some side effects but we will monitor her closely.”

You feel a pinch as the needle is inserted and soon the clear liquid starts making its way into your veins. You blink rapidly, willing the tears away before Charles can see them.

Attempting to lighten the mood, he starts recounting some of his funniest moments from racing. You chuckle at his anecdotes, grateful for the distraction.

Hours pass. The room is filled with a mix of medical beeps and Charles’ voice, offering a counterbalance of cold reality and warm comfort.

As the IV bag nears empty, you feel a wave of fatigue. Charles notices. “Rest,” he urges softly, his thumb caressing your hand.

You nod, closing your eyes, “Thank you for being my anchor.”

He leans in, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. “Always, for every challenge, every step. Always.”

***

“I still can’t believe you made him go,” your mother murmurs from the chair next to you. The hum of machines and the sterile scent of the hospital room are in stark contrast to the roaring engines and burning rubber of the track that you can almost sense through the television screen.

You manage a weak smile. “He belongs on the track, Mom. This race is crucial for the championship.”

“He wanted to stay,” your father adds. “He’s racing with a heavy heart.”

“I know,” you whisper, a tear trickling down. “But he’s strong. And I want him to win, for both of us.”

The room falls silent, save for the rhythmic beeping of the machines. You can feel the potent cocktail of drugs coursing through your veins, sapping your strength but a necessary step to fight the disease within.

The TV in the corner broadcasts the race. You hear the commentator’s voice, “... Charles Leclerc, giving it his all today. You have to wonder where he’s drawing this intensity from.”

You know the answer.

The laps go by. With each turn, each overtake Charles makes, you can sense his determination, his desire to win not just for the title but for something else … someone else.

“You should rest,” your father advises, noticing your drooping eyelids.

But you resist, wanting to witness Charles cross the finish line.

The final laps are intense. Charles battles fiercely, and as he takes the checkered flag, the room bursts into subdued cheers.

“He did it!” Your mother exclaims.

You feel a swell of pride. “For us,” you whisper, before fatigue takes over and you drift into a deep sleep.

As consciousness slowly returns not too long after, the first thing you notice is the gentle vibration of your phone on the bedside table. Groggily reaching for it, you see a new message notification from a group chat with Charles and Max.

It’s a photo of Charles and Max, still in their race suits, grinning ear to ear. Charles holds up his first-place trophy while Max proudly displays his second. They’re both covered in champagne, evidence of the post-race celebrations.

These are for you. For our champion.

With shaky fingers, you type back:

My heroes. Thank you for being my strength. So proud of you both. Can’t wait to see you again.

Your mother, noticing your reaction, peers over your shoulder. “Those boys,” she says with a fond smile, “they really adore you.”

You nod, wiping away a tear. “I’m so lucky.”

***

“Hey, sis,” Max’s voice is soft, tinged with a mix of worry and hope as he sits beside you in the pre-op room, “Ready to share a bit more than just DNA?”

You manage a small smile, despite the anxiety. “As long as you don’t start claiming we share driving skills.”

He chuckles, squeezing your hand. “Promise.”

The doctor enters, clipboard in hand. “Both of you understand the procedure, correct? Max, we will be extracting bone marrow from your pelvic bone. It’s a relatively straightforward process but you might feel some discomfort.”

Max nods resolutely. “Anything for her.”

You swallow hard, emotions swirling. “Thank you, Max. This ... it means everything.”

He looks at you, eyes filled with a brotherly love that’s grown exponentially over the past few months. “We’re family. We look out for each other.”

As Max is wheeled away for his extraction, he offers a brave smile. “See you on the other side.”

Hours later, as you sit by his bedside, watching him slowly come around post-procedure, you squeeze his hand. “You okay?”

He groans, “Feels like I’ve done a doubleheader race without any breaks. But it’s worth it.”

Then comes your turn. Max, despite his exhaustion, insists on being present. The stem cells he donated are infused into you through a central line. It’s a simple procedure but one filled with so much hope and emotion.

Max watches closely, gripping your hand. “You got this,” he murmurs as the life-saving cells flow into your body.

You try to show a convincing smile before closing your eyes and praying to whoever’s listening that this works.

***

The pale blue walls of the hospital room have become all too familiar, the rhythmic beep of machines a constant in the background. You’re reclined on the bed, an IV line dripping nutrients and much-needed blood transfusions into your system. As your body adjusts to the new bone marrow, these are crucial.

Max is seated beside you, a crossword puzzle in hand. The chairs aren’t particularly comfortable but he’s still rarely left your side.

Max taps his pen against the paper thoughtfully. “Alright, here’s one for you. Seven letters: someone who is always there, no matter what.”

You raise an eyebrow, pondering. “Is it brother?”

He grins, “You’re getting good at this.”

You chuckle, “Well, I can’t help it when the answer is so obvious …”

He leans in closer, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I snuck in some of those chocolates you like from that little shop in town.”

Your eyes widen in mock horror. “You rebel. We’ll be banished from the kingdom.”

He winks, producing a small box from his bag. “Worth it.”

As you both indulge in the illicit treat, you realize just how much these little moments, these shared smiles and inside jokes, make the ordeal bearable.

Max notices your contemplative expression. “Hey, what’s on your mind?”

“Just thinking about how lucky I am to have a brother who sneaks chocolates into a hospital for me.”

He extends his pinky towards you, “Always. Until the end of the race.”

You intertwine your own pinky with his to immortalize the promise, “And beyond.”

Just as the two of you are finishing the last of the chocolates, the door swings open quietly. Charles steps in, his eyes immediately seeking you out. There’s a bouquet of fresh flowers in his hand, their vibrant colors standing out against the sterile environment.

“You two conspiring without me?” Charles teases, setting the flowers on the bedside table.

Max smirks, “Just ensuring she gets her daily dose of chocolate, doctor’s orders.”

Charles moves to your side and presses a soft kiss on your forehead. “How are you feeling today?”

“Better now that my two favorite racers are here,” you reply with a smile.

Charles laughs, “I see. Well, the doctor outside told me your blood counts are improving. Seems the new bone marrow is getting to work.”

You nod hopefully. “One day at a time.”

Charles moves closer, taking your free hand. “Every day is a step closer to getting you out of here.”

Max, sensing the intimate moment, stands up, stretching. “I’ll leave you lovebirds to it. Need to grab a coffee and give that crossword another go.”

Charles smiles gratefully at him, and as Max exits the room, you’re left in a bubble of comfort and warmth with your boyfriend.

***

“Grant our daughter strength and good news,” your mother’s prayer weaves through the tense atmosphere of the room.

Charles’ grip on your hand tightens and he whispers, “Whatever the news, we face it together.”

“Guide the hands of the doctors, let their knowledge lead to healing.”

Max, on your other side, offers a comforting squeeze, his face betraying his own anxiety. “You’ve come so far already.”

“And bless our family with your grace and protection.”

The prayer lingers in the air just as the door opens.

“Grant her the strength, the health, the life she deserves ...”

The doctor steps in, a manila envelope in hand. Everyone’s gaze immediately fixes on him, the room heavy with bated breath.

He looks around the room, making eye contact with each one of you, then finally says, “The results are in.”

You feel Charles’ hand tremble slightly … Max’s grip tighten … your father barely breathing behind you … a silent prayer still on your mother’s lips.

“The bone marrow has taken exceptionally well. All indicators and markers are positive.” The doctor smiles. “You’re officially in remission. You’re cured.”

A tidal wave of emotion crashes over the room. Tears immediately spring to your eyes, happiness and relief mingling in each drop.

Your mother’s whispered prayer crescendos into a heartfelt “thank you,” choked with emotion.

Your father, the ever-composed king, has moisture in his eyes as he holds you close, “Our snow angel, our miracle.”

Charles pulls you into a tight embrace next, his voice a shaky whisper, “You did it.”

Max is grinning from ear to ear. “Told you, sis. Until the end of the race and beyond.”

***

“Look at them,” Max says, nudging you as the camera pans over the pit crews, each member prominently sporting a bright red ribbon. “All in solidarity.”

Charles beams, joining the conversation. “It was Max’s idea. The ribbons. Both teams were eager to join in.”

You’re touched, tears threatening to spill. “It’s incredible. Both of you, your teams ... I’m speechless.”

The commentator on the screen picks up on the theme. “For those just tuning in, both the Ferrari and Red Bull teams are wearing red ribbons today in support of aplastic anemia awareness, a personal cause for them given the recent battle of the Princess of Orange with the condition.”

Mid-race, Max’s voice crackles over the team radio, “This one’s for you, sis.”

Charles, not to be outdone, pushes his car to the limit, the red ribbon painted on his helmet clearly visible every time the camera focuses on him.

Later, as you walk back out through the paddock, fans approach, many sporting red ribbons of their own. One young girl looks at you with stars in her eyes, “I wear this for my mom. She’s fighting too, just like you did.”

You pull her into a gentle hug. “She’s got this. I know she does.”

***

As soon as the statement goes live on the official website of the Netherlands Royal Family, the internet erupts.

The Royal House of the Netherlands is pleased to announce that Her Royal Highness, Y/N the Princess of Orange, and Mr. Charles Leclerc are officially courting.

Your phone buzzes incessantly with notifications. Charles, seated beside you, chuckles, “Well, there’s no going back now.”

Your father enters the room, a smile playing on his lips. “The people seem to be taking the news ... enthusiastically.”

Your mother, scrolling through her own device, adds, “And overwhelmingly positively. Listen to this: We’ve seen them together. Their chemistry is undeniable. Wishing them all the best!”

You exhale, a weight lifting off your shoulders. “I was so nervous about the reaction.”

Charles brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, “We’re in this together, remember?”

Max bursts into the room with his usual energy, “You two are trending. The fans are loving it!”

Screens across the nation flash images of you and Charles — at the racetrack, during hospital visits, candid moments captured by keen-eyed photographers. Talk shows and news channels dive deep into analyzing your relationship, piecing together any crumbs of insight they might have.

A popular racing pundit remarks on a live broadcast, “Their bond is evident, both on and off the track. Charles’ performance has been exceptional since they've been together. It’s clear that they draw strength from each other.”

The public’s fascination is insatiable. Magazines are splashed with titles like Love in the Fast Lane. But despite the media frenzy, what touches you most are the personal messages. Fans share artwork, write songs, and pen heartfelt letters, celebrating love and the winding path that brought you both to this moment.

One evening, as you and Charles sit on the palace balcony overlooking the city, he turns to you, “They’re acting like we’re some sort of fairytale.”

You lean into him, “Maybe we are. It’s our story and I wouldn’t change a single thing.”

***

“You know,” your father begins, a playful glint in his eye as he slices into his steak, “I had an amusing conversation with Prince Albert the other day.”

Charles, taking a sip of his wine, raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Your father chuckles, “He said Monaco might need to extend an invitation for our next state visit given that we seem to have shared interests now.”

The table erupts in laughter. Your mother adds, teasingly, “And here I thought we were simply bonding over diplomatic ties.”

“So,” Max leans forward eagerly. “Any embarrassing stories about Y/N? I have to make up for all of the childhood adventures I’ve missed.”

“Oh, there are plenty! Remember the time she tried to drive a lawnmower and ended up in the rose bushes?” Your father says, trying to look serious.

Marianne chuckles, “Don’t remind me! Those were my favorite roses.”

You groan, hiding your face in your hands. “I was eight! And I thought it was a car!”

Charles grins, squeezing your hand under the table. “I can only imagine a mini version of you so determined behind the wheel.”

“And at her sixth birthday party,” your father recounts with a smirk, “she declared that she’d be ruling the kingdom by sundown and tried to hold a mock council meeting with her stuffed toys.”

Charles nudges you playfully, “Planning coups at six? Should I be worried?”

You swat him lightly, “It was a phase.”

As dessert is served, your mother turns contemplative. “You know, I’ve always believed in destiny. And seeing all of you here, witnessing the bonds and the love, it reaffirms that belief.”

Charles nods his agreement, “Life has a way of bringing the right people together.”

Your father raises his glass, “To family, in all its forms. To the journeys we embark on and the memories we create.”

The clinking of glasses has never sounded sweeter.

***

Charles, his face flushed with the victory of the 2025 World Championship, stands on the podium, trophy in hand. The cheering of the crowd is deafening but as he signals for a microphone, a hush descends.

“I’ve never done this before,” he starts emotionally, “naming my car, I mean. I watched Seb do it year after year and I always wondered what that felt like, to have such a connection.” He takes a deep breath, his gaze scanning the audience until it lands on you. “This season, I finally understood. My car, the one that just secured this championship, I named it after the most important person in my life.”

The crowd waits with bated breath.

“I named it,” he continues, his voice breaking slightly as he keeps his eyes locked on yours, “after you. After the woman who has been my anchor, my strength.”

You feel tears prickling your eyes as the sheer intensity of his words hits you.

Charles signals and you’re gently nudged forward, guided up to the podium. The world seems to blur, the noise, the people, everything fading until it’s just you and him.

“Every race, every lap, I had two goals: to win for the team and to make you proud,” he confesses, his eyes never leaving yours. “You are my world. And today, in front of everyone here, in front of the world, I want to ask you one thing.”

He gets down on one knee and your hands move of their own volition to cover your mouth. Producing a gorgeous ring, Charles looks up at you, his eyes shimmering. “Will you marry me?”

The world stops.

The deafening cheers of the crowd seem quiet compared to the beating of your heart.

Tears stream down your face as you nod. “Yes. A thousand times yes.”

No sooner have the words left your mouth than Max and Lando, the other two podium finishers, gleefully seize the moment. With mischievous grins, they uncork their champagne bottles, dousing both you and Charles in a bubbly shower. The liquid gold sparkles in the sunlight, adding to the magic of the moment.

Charles pulls you close, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss as you both get soaked.

***

The grand cathedral, bathed in the soft glow of a thousand candles, echoes with the hushed whispers of eagerly waiting guests. Roses, lilies, and orchids cascade down the pillars, their fragrance mingling with the scent of incense.

Behind the doors of the bridal suite, Max stands beside you, dressed impeccably in a classic tux. There’s a brotherly tenderness in his eyes as he reaches out, smoothing the delicate lace of your dress to ensure that every detail is perfect.

“You look breathtaking,” he murmurs, the emotion of the day making his voice waver.

“You clean up pretty well yourself, Man of Honor,” you reply, squeezing his hand.

As the first strains of the bridal march begin, the doors open, revealing the grand aisle, lined with well-wishers from all corners of the globe. Your father steps up and offers you his arm, his eyes glassy with pride and a hint of melancholy. “Ready, my snow angel?”

You nod, tears of happiness already blurring your vision. The world narrows down to the altar, where Charles stands, back straight in his crisp full dress uniform. As you make your way down the aisle, your eyes lock with his and the universe contracts to that singular point of connection.

Charles’ normally composed features give way as he takes in the sight of you. His eyes, also glistening with tears, convey a depth of feeling that words could never capture. Love, gratitude, wonder — all interwoven in that magnetic gaze.

His voice breaks as he whispers just for you, “You are my dream, my reality, my forever.”

Your own voice is thick with emotion, “And you are my heart, my soul, my love.”

As vows are exchanged and promises made, the world bears witness to a love that defied odds, overcame challenges, and brought together not just two souls but two worlds.

And as you both seal your commitment with a kiss, there is not a single dry eye in the cathedral. Because love, true love, is a force to be reckoned with, and today, it reigns supreme.

***

The soft whimpers of a newborn fill the air of the private birthing suite. Nestled in your arms, wrapped in a royal blue blanket, the baby prince stirs, his tiny fingers curling around one of yours.

Charles, sitting beside you, gazes down at your son with sheer wonder. “He’s perfect,” he says in a teary whisper.

You nod, tears streaming down your face. “Our little miracle.” The journey, the IVF treatments with your frozen eggs , the hope, the fear — everything culminated in this singular, beautiful moment.

The door opens gently, revealing Max, his eyes wide as they take in the sight before him, and your parents, their faces a canvas of joy and pride.

Max approaches tentatively, his usual confidence replaced by an awe-inspired reverence. “May I?” He asks softly.

You nod, handing over the precious bundle. As Max holds the baby, a bond forms instantly. “Hey there, little one,” he coos, “Your godfather is here.”

Your mother, tears in her eyes, leans in, planting a gentle kiss on your son’s forehead. “Welcome to the world, our precious grandchild.”

Your father, hoarse with emotion, simply murmurs, “An angel for our snow angel.”

And you know what? You decide that the fans were right. Your life really is a fairytale.

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i23kazu · 7 months

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GENSHIN MEN & SHOWING YOU THEIR LOVE !

characters. xiao zhongli kaeya diluc childe neuvillette wriothesley x reader genre. romantic fluff!! an. i made a part 1 a looong time ago but it's time for another round of how deep is your love how deep is yooour loooove | please reblog!! im getting back into writing and reblogs with tags and comments will make me want to write more :D

xiao

xiao, who shows his love to you by silently leaving items that you mentioned that you like on your bedside stand, so that you have something to be happy about once you wake up. some days it's a bundle of qingxins or silk flowers, and other days, a bag of salty snacks from chef mao's kitchen. thank him by wrapping your arms around him, and whisper in joyful gratitude.

zhongli

zhongli, who shows his love to you by subtly acknowledging your presence in his life whenever he's talking to someone. a quiet nod in your direction whenever someone asks about any of his achievements is a common reoccurence, with a soft smile on his face as well. it's a sweet thing, almost like a shared little secret between the both of you.

diluc

diluc, who shows his love to you by making sure that he's on time when picking you up from work. he always gets there five to ten minutes earlier, so that he can pick up your favourite pastry from the cafe next door. it's a sweet thing, diluc's love – hold it close and treasure it, because he will never give this love that he gives you to anyone else.

kaeya

kaeya, who shows his love to you by continuously texting you throughout the day. the sweet reminder that you're always on his mind makes you smile with each notification lighting up your phone screen. a groan escapes your lips as he sends you a sweet message that reads, "reminded me of you, xoxo! miss you!". sweet, isn't it? attached to it is a picture of his work bathroom.

childe

childe, who shows his love to you by listening to your shared playlist with him throughout the day. laufey, beadadoobee, adam melchor, joji, and more are beats constantly pumping him through the day. he sends you screenshotted and annotated lyrics of your favourite songs, highlighting the word "love" over and over again.

neuvillette

neuvillette, who shows his love to you by remembering the little things that you like. it might be that small bakery in the north of fontaine, or that spot with the bunch of pretty flowers that you took him to once. if you love something, he remembers – it's an unforgettable kind of love, and it's the kind of love that makes you fall in love with neuvillette over and over again.

wriothesley

wriothesley, who shows his love to you by choosing to come home every single day after a long day of work at the fortress. he's weary and he shuffles his feet back to the door of your – but he doesn't care, because he's home. seeing your face light up once you see him reminds him of why he chooses to commute an hour just to get to the fortress and home, instead of staying at the fortress.

taglist: @tiredsleep @loptido @raincxtter @chichikoi @ladyadii @soulsanta @sheiiths @genshinparty @eowinthetraveler @moonbyunniee @legitnoi @lemontum @manager-of-the-pudding-bank @starz222 @ilyuu @cherry-colored-petals @mondaymelon @tartaglia-apologist @soleillunne @m1shapanda @aimynx @smokipoki @adeptuscharm @diorlumx @vennnnn-diagram @ryuryuryuyurboat @yuminako @st0pthatsgay @aqualesha @sixtynintharchon @supernova25 @kunikuda-simp @starglitterz @rin-nyrasti-writes @mxyarylla (send ask/comment to be added to taglist)

reblogs w/ tags & comments help me lots !!! if you liked this, consider dropping me a follow as well :-)

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infoactionratio7 · 10 months

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call it fate, call it carmen - c. berzatto

summary: after carmy runs into a pretty stranger in a coffee shop that morning, he never thinks he will see her again... until she walks into his restaurant.

pairing: carmen berzatto x fem! teacher! reader

word count: 2,506

note: kinda set during season one when the bear is still the beef. no warnings really, some cursing, that's it! :)

read part two here! and part 3 here!

sunday morning -

The bells of the little cafe on West Erie St chimed as you glanced up from your book, you were waiting for your name to be called by the friendly barista who had just taken your order. You were new in town, and wanted to explore all the different things Chicago had to offer. A man walked into the shop, inhaling the sweet scent of freshly brewed coffee as he went up to the counter and read an order from his phone,

"Can I get a small iced dirty chai latte and a triple shot iced espresso to go? Please, thank you " His voice was soft, as he ran his hand through his messy curls.

He glanced over to where you were standing, bundled up in a winter coat, scarf, and hat (Chicago winters got cold fast). He gave you a once over, taking note of your book, 'Chicago: A Food Biography'. You seemed to be completely enthralled in the page you were reading, captivated by every word. He was not one to ever go up to a stranger, but he felt that he had to take a chance. The barista gave him his receipt and a small smile, telling him to wait over near the pickup counter.

"You ever been to Chicago before?" You look up, wide eyed, not expecting the man to be speaking to you.

"Oh," you exclaim, flustered. "Once or twice with my family when I was a kid, but not that I can really remember."

He smiles and glances at your book, you realize this was the reason he is asking you. It was a very touristy book to be reading. Especially because the cafe you were currently standing in, was highlighted in the book. You had made a list of all the places you wanted to visit that day before you had to arrive at the elementary school down the street to start your new job. "I love trying all the foods that are in the cities I visit, it's like an obligatory tradition when I move in to find places near my new apartment." You spit put your words, not even thinking that you are telling a random stranger in Chicago that you live near this cafe and just moved in. Blushing and looking down at your feet, you hear your name called from behind the counter, rushing to grab your drink and chocolate croissant before the conversation could get uncomfortable. You put the pastry in your bag and quickly wave at him.

"Have a good day, hope you find some nice restaurants" He waves back as you open the door and walk into the blistering wind that had taken over the streets that cold winter morning.

You arrived at your apartment building, it was not the nicest apartment you had ever stayed in but it was not the worst either. You walked up the stairs to your door and unlocked it with the hand that was not holding the coffee you just purchased. Rushing into the apartment, you put all of your things on the kitchen table and just took a breath of the cozy air of the room. As you stood there and took off your winter layers, you could not help but think of the man who had approached you in the cafe, realizing how attractive he was, his tattooed hands running through his hair, and biceps anyone could see just from glancing at his bundled up figure. You took a sip from your coffee, thinking how could he get two iced drinks in the middle of winter was beyond you.

You went into your room to grab some of your papers from the desk you had just built from Ikea the night before. You had to do some lesson plans before you did anything else, you had not even started any for that week. It was sunday and all you could think of was when you were in high school, and using your sundays to finish all the work you had neglected to do the week before.

Deciding to just get your work done you opened the package with the croissant, and took a bite. Tasting the buttery and chocolatey pastry seemed to bring a jolt to your brain and body, motivating you to get started.

Carmen could not stop thinking about you, he had wished he had formally introduced himself and told her that he was in fact, the owner of a restaurant that was a block away and it would be great if she wanted to visit and try something to commemorate her moving into the city. But no he just waved and let her go, watching her leave into the bitter cold.

"Jeff, you need to focus, you almost cut your finger off," Tina pulled him out of his thoughts with her concerned tone. "What's going on Carmen, you gotta be more careful than that, take a break if you need one."

"Fuck, sorry Chef, sorry" He put the knife down and put the carrots he had finished cutting into the giardiniera container for service later that night.

"You seem more distracted than usual, I can finish the cutting, just go to the office to cool off." Tina glanced over at him as he nodded, cleaning off his knife and putting it away. Right as he walked away, Richie walked into the kitchen.

"Cousi- Where is he going Tina?" He looked from Carmy to his empty station next to Tina, still chopping vegetables.

"He's distracted or something, just let him be Richie, don't bother the poor kid," She turned around to go into the walk-in, grabbing more fresh veggies to prepare for service later. Richie, as he does, ignores Tina completely, beelining to the office, where Carmy is running his hand down his face and pacing around like a madman.

"Cousin, what's your deal? You look like you're goin' fuckin crazy" He grilled, leaning on the door. Carmy shot him a glare, sitting down in the swivel chair that squeaked every time he actually tried to swivel in it.

" There isn't a fucking problem Richie, leave me alone." Carmy pushed himself into the desk so he could look at some paperwork he had been putting off for the past week. "I gotta finish this paperwork."

Richie raised his eyebrows, looking down at the younger man, he wasn't going to push Carmy any further, because the whole kitchen knew what would happen if the chef got mad before a service.

"Fine cousin, just don't take that shit out on the rest of the kitchen." He walked out of the office dorway as the rest of the kitchen crew started to file in to prepare for dinner service.

Carmy blankly stared at his paperwork, thinking about the interaction at the cafe this morning he just couldn't stop thinking about.

sunday night -

You walked down the stairs to your apartment complex, having finished your lesson plans just in time for dinner. Before you left, you had read of a few classic dinner joints in the neighborhood, one of them was called 'The Beef', known for their italian beef sandwiches and spaghetti with meatballs. After looking at some reviews online, you decided that it was necessary to visit this local staple. The reviews talking about how some days it was as calm as anything in the restaurant, but others the employees were screaming at eachother while getting the orders out.

You approached the building, right next to a big parking lot where many people were just standing around with sandwiches. Someone pushed the door open, smells and noise leaked out of the warm dining room. You could hear the screams from in the kitchen,

"We are down five italian beef, sweet and hot dipped, two ravioli, and one spaghetti meatball, Lets go Chefs" A tall man yelled into the kitchen.

The swinging door to the kitchen opened and a woman with a blue apron and white chef's coat replied "We are only down all those things because YOU never fired them Richie, why the fuck are you not firing the orders?"

"Calm down Chefs, just fire the orders, we can catch up if you both shut up and work, okay?" A voice you had heard before cut between the two arguing, they both got quite and looked at the man who had just exited the kitchen with five sandwiches in his hands. They nodded and went back to their respective tasks, "Okay, thank you chefs. I have 5 italian beef, sweet and hot dipped for Chelsea."

You were looking at all options on the menu and had not noticed the man calling out the order was someone you had met before. Carmy scanned the room, trying to find the woman who had ordered the five sandwiches he was about to drop. His eyes stopped on a familiar figure, the same he had been distracted thinking about all day. He didn't even notice when a woman came up asking for her order, scrambling to put the sandwiches in a to go bag and giving it to the woman.

"Excuse me, you're next sweetheart, What'll you have?" A rough voice pulled you out of your focus on the menu as you stepped up to the register. You looked up at the tall man who was smiling down at you like he had never seen a woman before, when he was pushed aside and a familiar face entered your field if vision.

"Cousin what the fuc-"

A woman's threatening voice came out of the kitchen "Richie I swear to god if you don't shut up, I'm going to stab you again."

He stalked into the kitchen, mumbling something about how unappreciated he was in this restaurant. You brought your focus back to the man standing in front of you, beet red as he watched the taller man walk into the kitchen. He turned back to face you and awkwardly smiled,

"Nice to see you again, what'll you be having today?"

You scanned the menu one more time and decided to have a little fun with the man, "Can you surprise me?, I heard that this restaurant is pretty big with the locals."

He looked at you with a pointed look, "Okay," he softly said your name, "What do you want?" After a long pause he wrote down the order, then looked back up at you with his foggy blue eyes. You were flattered he had remembered your name, did he really care that much about a stranger he had spoken to for less than two minutes earlier that morning? You didn't even know his name, but his warm gaze softened you like butter.

"It's on the house okay, I promise it'll be the best meal you've had in the city since you moved here. Be ready in 10 minutes" You were quick to reply,

"No, I can't let you do that, how muc-" He cut you off,

"This one time, I'll cover it, and if you like it, next time I'll let you pay, deal?" He held out his tattooed hand for you to shake,

"Fine..." You smiled, slipping your hand into his rough palm, he shook your hand firmly, then letting it go, gestured for you to wait at one of the tables near the door. You smiled and walked over to the table sitting down. He walked into the kitchen and you could hear his faint yells through the wall, telling the kitchen your order.

"God damn Cousin, you just took my job for no reason what's your problem?" The tall man, who you remembered was named Richie stalked back out of the kitchen to get to the line that had formed. You realized you hadn't even asked the name of the man who had just offered you a free dinner. Richie stopped in his tracks when he saw you, realizing that this might have been the reason his boss had been distracted all day. Thinking about the pretty girl that he had met, and clearly liked her enough to give her a free dinner. He laughed to himself, taking a mental note to make fun of Carmy after service for getting distracted because of a girl.

The blue eyed chef burst out of the kitchen door with a to go bag, and made his way to the table you were sitting, waiting for the food. He placed the bag in front of you as you looked up to meet his eyes,

"So what are you serving me chef?" You tease, "Well that it a surprise you will just have to wait to find out" He grins as you stand up to meet his height.

"Well thank you..."

"Carmen, Carmen Berzatto"

"Thank you Carmen, I'm sure I will enjoy this, and if I don't, I'm afraid I'll have to come back and try something new." Placing your hand on his shoulder and squeezing lightly as you started walking toward the door. "I'll see you Carmen"

You turn around and start walking out of the door when you hear a yell from Richie, "Cousin has got a little sweetheart don't you"

"RICHIE I swear to God-" The door closed behind you before you could hear what the woman who just barged out of the kitchen had to say to the pompous cashier.

You silently laughed as you walked through the street, it was around the time for sunset and the sky had turned a beautiful blend of orange and purple. You reached your apartment in around ten minutes, getting out of the cold and eager to see what Carmen had packed you for dinner.

Putting the bag of food onto your coffee table, you grabbed a plate from the kitchen and started to unpack the meal. The first thing you pulled out was an italian beef, 'sweet + dipped' written on the side, then you pulled out a small side of fries, and lastly there was a plastic container of spaghetti and meatballs, with a piece of chocolate cake. You unpacked everything in front of you and the scent of the food engulfed you. It was a heavenly smell, so you dug in.

When you finished all you could possibly eat you noticed something at the bottom of the bag. A small piece of lined paper, that looked like it was ripped out of a notebook, it said your name on one side in messy handwriting and on the other it had a phone number and more of the messy chicken scratch,

hope you like dinner, would love to show you around the city sometime. call me x

carmy

You immediately opened your phone, putting his number into your contacts, then opening your message app to send him a text.

to: carmen

loved dinner, too bad i won't have to come back and get something else. i guess you'll have to show me around to see if any spots can top this one. let me know when you're free ♡

#the bear #carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x you #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you #the bear fx #x reader #female reader #x you #the bear hulu #jeremy allen white #jeremy allen white x reader #the bear season 1 #the bear season 2

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dilatorywriting · 2 years

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Heroes vs. Villains : The Staff [Part 2]

Platonic GN!Reader x NRC Staff vs. RSA Staff Word Count: 3.1k

Summary: Woe to the Ramshackle Prefect, being caught up in the drama between the Disney Villains and their respective heroes. NRC Staff Version (Part 2: Crewel and Crowley)

ie. Mr. Rogerson has awesome dalmatians and his wife makes even better cookies. Meanwhile, Crewel continues to be an emotionally constipated mess, and Crowley is... himself.

[PART 1] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4]

You were met at the door by a pair of over enthusiastic dalmatians—the chaotically cute duo sending you ass-first to the office floor in a merry greeting that was more of a graceless tackle than anything else.

“You brought Poe and Perdy!” you exclaimed, laughing past the face kisses.

“Well, they’d never forgive me if I didn’t,” Mister Rogerson huffed good naturedly. “Do you know how much this little nutter cried when I came home the other day and he realized you’d been by? Ages, I’m telling you. Thought he was going to pout me into an early grave.”

You squished both of them affectionately and showered the lovely, spotted, beasts with every compliment under the sun.

“Oh! Before I forget…” the professor rustled around in his leather messenger bag and retrieved a neatly packaged pastry box all bundled up in a colorful, twine, bow. You accepted the treats happily and removed yourself from the dog-pile to take your usual place on the well-worn piano bench. “Annie made you some more cookies, seeing as you liked the last ones so much.”

“Did you help?” you asked.

“Hmm? What makes you say that?”

You held up the first treat from the pile—half-singed on one side and squishy with raw dough on the other.

“You caught me!” he laughed, and retrieved a second box. “These are from Annie. Those are my failures.”

“Such horrible lies,” you tutted, dramatic. “Trying to trick an innocent victim into ingesting poison just so that you can keep all the good ones for yourself.”

“Hey, they’re not that bad!” he defended, taking a large chomp out of one of the less charred looking of his creations. Immediately his cheeks went nearly green. “Or… maybe they are.”

You pushed a water bottle in his direction which he accepted gratefully. There was always a stash of them just to the left of his composer’s stand, and another hoard in a conspicuous looking storage cube closer to the piano at which you’d perched yourself. There were more sweets hidden in his desk drawers too, for when something stronger than water was needed to wash away whatever awful thing he’d tried to ingest. You knew where a lot of ‘secret’ things were in this room. It felt nice, to be so privy to all its little treasures.

“You know,” he smiled, finishing the last of his water with a final gulp. “Annie keeps pestering me to have you come by for dinner.”

“I wouldn’t want to impose,” you hesitated, looking around the room where so many of your little odds and ends had already started to accumulate. Empty mugs, the patch that had fallen off your jacket, the thread which you’d intended to use to fix said patch. Just… little footprints showing you’d been by. “Well, any more at least.”

“Nonsense,” Mister Rogerson laughed. “You’re more than welcome! But we don’t mean to pressure you, of course! Especially if you’re busy! Just something to think about if you’d like. Anyways, how has your day been?”

And thus began your afternoon ritual. You would sit and split Annie’s delicious cookies as you rambled about your various grievances. Mister Rogerson would inevitably come and take a seat beside you on the piano bench and start playing some gentle strains of this or that—‘just little things he was working on,’ he’d said. Occasionally you’d accidentally lean on the keys, throwing the whole thing into a cacophonous mess. But he would just chuckle and replay whatever the piano had just screeched, calling it a ‘fascinating addition’ and merrily jotting bits of it into his notes. It was nice. Better than nice. And you didn’t realize just how comfortable you’d become in your daily chitchats until you’d become perhaps a bit too comfortable.

“It’s just been so exhausting. And on top of all the other ridiculous things, I’m so sick of that fact that it’s like my job to be their personal punching bags or whatever when they’re Overblotting all over the place, and—”

The piano cut off abruptly.

Mister Rogerson’s hazel eyes had gone wide, as if he was spooked. Immediately you realized that you’d said something that you should not have.

“There are students at Night Raven College who have Overblotted?” he asked, slow, like he couldn’t even believe the words were coming out of his mouth.

“What? No. Of course not!” you lied, like a liar.

“Kiddo,” he frowned, stern. “You just said—"

“—I mean, no one’s actually Overblotted, Overblotted,” you spluttered hastily, rifling frantically through your brain for every plausible excuse you could cough up. “It’s more that I’ve heard a lot about Blot, and how it becomes a—you know—Overblot. Which sounds really scary, and like something that I never, ever, want to actually see! And it’s just that everyone there is a mess, so I guess I should I have said that I’m more just worried about Overblotting.”

A pause.

“Which, again, I’ve never, ever, actually seen.”

More silence.

“…Ever.”

Mister Rogerson sighed, apparently relieved by your bullshitting, and slumped forward over the piano keys.

“That’s… That’s good. You really scared me there for a moment, kiddo. Overblots are no small matter. They have to be reported to the proper authorities and dealt with accordingly. It’s a whole fiasco, and paperwork and legal proceedings aside, it’s dangerous.” He laid a gentle hand across your shoulder. “I’m just glad you haven’t been anywhere near something like that.”

You swallowed a chunk of wayward cookie, hoping you didn’t look horrifically guilty. But then some other part of what he’d just rattled off stuck in your head and that shame was wiped away by panic.

“They’d be taken away?” you whispered, something unpleasant and nervous curling in your gut.

Mister Rogerson looked down at you with a sympathetic wrinkle to his brow. He squeezed your shoulder reassuringly.

“I know it sounds scary, kiddo. But that’s what we have to do to keep everyone as safe as we can. Does that make sense?”

You thought of Riddle, crying into his hands after years of emotional neglect—and then of the pair of you sitting in the Heartslabyul gardens after all was said and done, eating strawberry tarts with your fingers like little children. You thought of Leona, miserable and bitter as he was, finally breaking after an entire lifetime of feeling like nothing but a failure who slunk about in his brother’s shadow—and then how just last week the beastman had been lounging in the sun with his head in your lap, grouchily demanding your leftovers. You thought of Azul, and his bullies, and his stupid desire to take on the world just to prove he could. You thought of all the friends you’d made, and of just how many of them really needed a goddamn therapist. You thought about them being taken away to who-even-knew-where. Where you’d probably never see any of them again. And where you wouldn’t even know what was happening to them.

General grumpiness with the lot of them aside, your friends were the one, genuine, beacon of warmth in this miserable, cold, new world. Sure, they were all assholes. Mega assholes. But you knew that they’d stand by you through anything—do anything, if you needed the help.

And the idea of giving up on them? Just like that? Because it was protocol?

Your stomach roiled and you set the cookies off to the side.

“I’m sorry if I’ve upset you,” Mister Rogerson frowned, taking in whatever unpleasant expression was no doubt twisting your face into knots. “We shouldn’t talk about it anymore. It’s not a fun topic.” He slid a new page of sheet music across the piano’s sleek, black, shelf. “Here. I started writing this the other day. What do you think?”

Strains of upbeat jazz threaded through the room and Perdy and Poe came over to mouth playfully at your ankles—no doubt begging for crumbs. Soon enough you were laughing along, clapping off beat and making jokes at the expense of his nonsense lyrics. You still liked Mister Rogerson. You liked him a lot. And you didn’t doubt that he was a genuinely kind person.

You’d just… maybe have to be a bit more careful about what you let slip.

“It’s kinda like being in therapy,” you explained to a very frustrated looking Deuce. “Like, how you want to say just enough to get help but not enough for them to throw you into an asylum. You feel?”

“What in the fuck are you on,” Ace gaped.

“See, if any of you actually even knew what therapy was, you’d get it.”

“I still can’t believe that’s where you’ve been every afternoon,” Deuce frowned, poking at his lunch with a consternated sort of look on his face. “Don’t you—I don’t know…”

“What?” you asked.

“Feel horrifically guilty and maybe like you should be burnt at the stake?” Ace complained, reaching over to swipe a fry from your plate. Grim hissed and swatted at his fingers—his little mouth stuffed too full of your half-eaten burger to yell much of anything else. “You’re a traitor, that’s what you are. Prancing around with those goody-two-shoes in their stupid, shiny, building every damn day like a—like a—”

“A frog?” Deuce suggested.

“What, no. Dude—”

“Frogs prance!”

“Frogs fucking jump, you ingrate—”

A heavy box landed on the table with a THUD, sending the quarrelling duo into silence. A mountain of homemade chocolate chip cookies stared back at them, nearly sparkling in their brilliance.

“Yes,” you intoned, stern. “It’s worth it.”

“It’s worth it,” Grim and Ace agreed heartily, already busy swapping their lunches for sweets.

Deuce sighed and reached for his own cookie. “If you’re sure...”

Being called into the Headmaster’s Office was not something with which you were unfamiliar. In fact, Crowley not having summoned you into his gloomy chamber over the past few weeks was more of an anomaly than not. Normally he was hurling new jobs at you left and right—organize this event, Prefect. Pick up my groceries, Prefect. The main hall is looking a little dirty, Prefect. Go stop my students from committing mass murder, Prefect. Maybe your wave of insults had rattled him enough to leave you alone for that little while. Or maybe he’d just been biding his time until he could think of something equally as nasty to say back.

Of all the things you were expecting upon trudging back into that office, a scowling Professor Crewel was not one of them.

You blinked owlishly, taken aback.

“Good afternoon, Professor.”

His lip curled, sour, and you fought the intense and suicidal urge to ask him just who’d pissed in his cornflakes that morning because damn. You hadn’t even done anything. That you could remember. Maybe. And besides, if either of you had any right to be acting all bitter and pissy it was you. Not Mister ‘I Have No Intention of Playing Parent to Anyone.’ The memory had your eyes stinging and your blood boiling all over again. When neither of the men deigned to greet you, you cleared you throat irritably and crossed your arms.

“Can I help you with something, Professor? Headmaster?”

“It has come to our attention that you’ve been sneaking off campus in the evenings,” Professor Crewel declared, with all the civility of an off-grid hermit. “Which I’m certain that you are fully aware is against school policy.”

Crowley just nodded, stiff lipped and robotic, and his silence immediately had you suspicious.

“Well?” Crewel snipped. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

You took a deep breath in through your nose and out through your mouth. Then another.

You smiled, icy. “Then I’m sure this is just another infraction to add to my file. Which I’m very sure totally exists. Right, Headmaster?”

Crewel’s dark glower swiveled in Crowley’s direction, and you watched the Old Crow audibly gulp.

“Because of course, you keep proper records on all your students here,” you continued, happy to push your luck. “Especially the ones in special circumstances, and whose documentation is therefore not automatically forwarded to you by their previous schools. Right, Headmaster?”

You’d never seen a more apt demonstration of the expression ‘sweating bullets.’ It was intensely satisfying. Professor Crewel looked like he was heavily debating turning Crowley into a feather boa. After a too-long moment where you were pretty sure you were about to witness a murder, the two-toned professor sighed and turned back to you with a stiff sneer.

“It’s not safe,” he said, and you gaped at him.

“What?”

“It’s not safe,” he repeated, practically grinding his teeth. “What were you even thinking? Leaving Night Raven when you know full that you have no other connections in this entire world! Running off with a complete stranger on top of that.”

“Mister Rogerson isn’t a stranger!” you defended, resentment bubbling beneath your skin. How dare he? Now he cared? Now you weren’t just a leech, or a brat, or—or—No. It wasn’t fair. “And it’s not like I ran off into the woods or something! I’m at another school!”

Crowley slammed his clawed hands down onto his desk with a metallic BANG!

“AH-HAH! YOU ADMIT IT!” he howled. “YOU’VE BEEN GOING TO THE ROYAL SWORD ACADEMY BEHIND OUR BACKS!”

“I left you a note telling you that was exactly where I was!”

“YOU’VE BEEN CONSORTING WITH OUR ENEMY! AND AFTER I’VE WORKED SO HARD TO RAISE YOU AS MY OWN!” He wailed, inconsolable. “ARE YOU TRADING OFF MY GRIMOIRE TO AMBROSE, TOO? WOULD YOU STOP AT NOTHING TO SHATTER MY POOR HEART?!”

“I don’t even know what that means, but I wish I was!”

“Enough!” Crewel snarled, cracking his pointer across the desktop. “Both of you!”

“But he—!” you defended.

“Detention!” he barked.

“What?! That’s no fair!—”

“Detention!” he snapped again. “Three weeks!”

“Are you joking?! I didn’t even do anything!—”

“Four weeks,” he growled.

You pressed your lips shut, feeling your mouth wobble and your eyes warm with frustrated tears.

“Yes, sir,” you finally managed to grit out, and then turned without another word and stormed from the room, slamming the door behind you.

‘That may have been too much,’ Crowley had the gall to say to him, after Crewel had just watched the man have an entire meltdown in his desk chair and accuse you of outright subterfuge.

‘That may have been too much.’

The alchemist had watched, carefully stone faced, as your eyes had welled and you’d glared him down with a look that was a step or two past betrayed. Something tightened uncomfortably in his chest, and he refused to put a name to it. Naming things gave them power, allowed them to grow and spread. Like a tumor. This was all your own doing, and the subsequent punishment was clearly for your own good. So, what? He steps a bit too far and says something that’s perhaps just a bit too cold, and you go running off to—to Cliff Rogerson of all people? Pettiness is not an excuse for making poor, stupid, unsafe, decisions. And he would have certainly responded to any other student in exactly the same fashion.

‘That may have been too much.’

Crewel grit his teeth and fought the urge to run his hands through his hair in frustration. Normally he could use Badun as a stress ball, but he’d stopped bringing the dogs to campus when you’d continued to refuse to show up to his office. It had stressed them terribly, and it was unfair to force them to sit through the same, dull, solitude that he had to endure just on the off chance that you may change your mind and come wandering in. Jasper hardly acknowledged him at all anymore—only grumbled at him miserably when he returned in the evenings before curling up by the fireplace for the rest of the night.

‘That may have been too much.’

It… It really, probably, was. And he really should… apologize, shouldn’t he?

Divus Crewel could deny it all he liked, but he knew well and good that he wouldn’t have treated your classmates in such a manner. That unnamed twinge behind his ribs may have influenced his reaction a bit more than it should have, especially when he himself had so clearly relegated your place in his life to ‘by professional association only.’

So he forced himself to straighten his fur coat and start the trek to Ramshackle. It was a grueling walk, with broken pathways and rivers of mud. No wonder you were always running late to things. Perhaps he should bring this up to Crowley, and—

A familiar face stopped him in his tracks, and a wave of red-hot irritation worked its way through his veins as efficiently and viciously as one of the poisons he was so keen to brew.

“Oh,” Cliff Rogerson blinked back at him, “Divus! Good to see you.” It was not. It didn’t sound like Cliff thought it was either.“No need to call campus security or anything. I’m just here to pick up the Prefect for dinner.”

“Dinner?” Crewel repeated. It sounded bitter in his mouth.

“Annie’s making lasagna,” Cliff stage-whispered, like a secret.

“Can we get going?” you called and Crewel startled, noticing you off to the side for the first time. You looked so… small, for some reason. Hunched, maybe. Just, not your usual larger-than-life self—the Otherworldly Hero who showed up swinging to every fight, always armed to the teeth and ready to duel any monster, every horror. It made something in his gut twist unpleasantly. “I’m starving.”

“Of course, kiddo,” Cliff laughed and tossed an arm across your shoulders.

“How lovely,” Crewel interrupted, trying and failing to force the steel from his voice, “But I think that maybe you should reexamine your professional priorities. That hardly seems appropriate.”

“Oh, come now,” Cliff smiled. It wasn’t friendly. “It’s only dinner. And besides,” he chuckled, and gave your arm a fond squeeze, “Annie and I have always wanted kids.”

‘I have no intention of playing parent to anyone.’

A deep, cold, sort of dread rattled through Divus Crewel’s bones and settled all the way in the pit of his stomach. It was similar to the sensation that had been slowly clawing its way through him these past few weeks—the very same unpleasantness that he had refused to name.

‘You know,’ Crowley’s grating voice swam through his head once more. ‘That really may have been too much.’

#twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #My Writing #NRC Staff #NRC Staff x Reader #Divus Crewel x Reader #Dire Crowley x Reader #The NRC Staff's Horrible Parenting #Heroes vs. Villains #Crewel x Reader #twisted wonderland OCs #twst ocs #Divus Crewel #Dire Crowley #Heroes vs Villains The NRC Staff Part 2

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fallenangelkitten · 11 months

Text

His Birdy

Synopsis: Sherlock takes you on a picnic, but he surprises you in more ways than one.

Warnings: bondage, soft!dom, romantic!dom, public sex, smut

Notes: I used to be fallenangelbb here on the Henry Cavill side of tumblr but deleted my account and have regretted it ever since. So here I am reposting my work :)

The tree was mighty and tall; it’s trunk thick and branches strong. He took the blanket he had draped over his shoulder and laid it against the grass. You couldn’t help but admire the elegant shape of his shoulders and back as he faced away from you, his long fingers laying out the pastries.

You joined him on the soft fabric, sitting across from him and nibbling on a piece of fluffy biscuit. Your gown formed a pool of layers around you, the ruffles along your shoulders fluttered with the wind.

“Come, my bird.” He motioned for you to join him as he rested against the tree, but he’d already pulled you down before you had the chance to take a step.

A giggle flowed from your lips as he kissed your temple. One of his arms draped around your waist as he continued his kisses across your cheek and down your neck. He nipped at your collar bone, making you squirm in his grasp. His hand pulled at the laces of your corset; the pressure against your ribs and breasts eased.

Though the gasp didn’t leave you, your mouth hung agape as you turned to meet his eyes.

“I think it’s time we have some fun, darling,” he mumbled against your ear as he pulled the cloth and boning from your body.

You were utterly exposed from the waist up; the breeze sent a chill down your spine and perked your nipples. His thumb lazily grazed one as he moved his arm from you to his jacket.

He retrieved a bundle of rope from the inside pocket.

Sherlock wrapped his large arms back around you with ease, causing your breasts to press together. “Hold your hands out, birdy.”

Your heart fluttered as he wrapped the rough fibers around your wrists and into an elegant knot that left your hands only slightly spaced apart. His digits trailed up your arms and down your back. As he stood from behind you, he gripped your waist to bring you up with him.

He guided you until your back was to the tree, the bark only slightly digging into your soft skin. He took your joined wrists into his grasp and brought your hands to his lips. He kissed each of them before placing them above your head.

“Keep them there.”

He tossed the other end of the rope over a branch and secured it. He left just enough slack for you to bend your elbows. You could feel his gaze rake down your body as you stood there- helpless. You felt his hand reach to the buttons on the back of your skirts. With a few swift movements, they fell to a pile at your feet.

“Step. One at a time,” he ordered. You lifted your right and then your left. He tossed the layers to the grass and turned back to you.

You were utterly naked before him. His eyes bore into your body, your soul. As he took a few strides to close the distance between you, you tilted your head to look up at him. His hand gripped the back of your head as he dipped down to kiss you.

But he was gone before you had the chance to even kiss him back.

You opened your eyes that had fluttered closed to see him sitting back on the blanket, a sandwich of some sort in hand. He wasn’t even paying attention to you.

Your arms involuntarily yanked on the rope, eyes darting to make sure a servant or gardener wasn’t on this part of the grounds.

You caught the smirk playing on his lips as he silently chewed his food.

“S-Sherlock?” Though you only said his name, he knew it was a plea. He only gave you a quick glance and continued to eat.

The wind's harsh assault on your body began to make the peaks of your breasts ache. The bite of the rope around your wrists as you tugged against them caused you to squeeze your legs together with need. You whimpered as you felt your arousal begin to seep down your thighs; your cold skin such a contrast to the warmth of you.

You weren’t sure when your eyes had closed, or when he had resumed his place in front of you. His finger pushed a piece of hair back from your face and behind your ear. His blue eyes bore into yours, before he swiftly turned you around.

You gasped as the bark scraped against your cheek, your breasts. He nipped at your shoulder and clawed at your hips. “Seeing you like this drives me wild.” The pressure against your rear was proof enough. “I’m going to fuck you like this. With you dangling for all to witness.”

You heard the echo of his belt unclasping before he plunged into you from behind. He pressed you harder against the tree, harder against him. As you cried out, his hand wrapped around your hair to pull your head back to his shoulder. You couldn’t help but quiver around his cock as he gently kissed your cheek.

He growled against your neck as he finally began to move against you. His thrusts were achingly slow, but strong and forceful- each one shattering you. He wrapped an arm around your waist to ground your shaking body against him.

It was almost embarrassing how quickly Sherlock could bring you to your breaking point. And though the feeling of him so deep inside of you made you claw against the ropes- the feeling of his fingers raking against your stomach and ribs to toy with your nipples made you writher against him. It was his words, whispered against the shell of your ear, that sent you over the edge.

“Cum for me, little bird.”

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emeritusemeritus · 5 months

Text

No Good Deeds [George Weasley x Reader]

Part 4

Part 1 2 3 4

Pairing: {George Weasley x Reader} mentions of previous Fred Weasley x Reader.

Timeline: Set a few years after DH, loosely following Canon.

Summary: A few years after Fred’s death, the investors of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes demand changes to the name. All it would take is two years of a fake marriage to fix the issues, but no good deed goes unpunished.

Warnings: Fake marriage trope because we love the cliché. Mentions of death (Fred). Friends to lovers. Slow burn but mentions of kissing and eventual smut. Swearing. George calls us Angel. Drinking. Angst, sadness, grief. Smut. Tags will be updated with each chapter.

This one got a little spicy 🌹

You took a deep breath as you looked up at the clock on the wall, seeing that it was nearly 6pm, already feeling a little drained by your busy and productive day.

You'd woken early and had noticed that George had already left for work by the time you'd gotten up and so you got ready and walked to the cafe on the corner, grabbed a quick coffee and a pastry to go before walking towards the Friday market in the centre of town, shopping bag and grocery list in hand. You walked around the little market and picked up some fresh vegetables and a handmade apple pie that looked delicious, deciding to buy that rather than make your own from scratch. You'd decided on cooking a Sunday roast lamb dinner, though it was Friday, and had chosen to present it using a giant Yorkshire pudding, something you'd seen creeping up in popularity within the muggle world that you were certain Arthur would greatly enjoy.

You bought fresh carrots, parsnips and a fresh mint plant that you needed to make your own mint sauce and some flowers for the table before walking to the supermarket and purchasing a lamb joint from the butcher section and a few more essentials, including wine, before walking home with your purchases. You'd listened to muggle radio stations as you washed and prepped the veg, bouncing around as you sang along to the songs that you knew, intermittently stopping to grab a sip of your tea in between tasks. Around 12 you stopped what you were doing, happy with the progress you'd made and fixed your hair and clothes briefly before apparating to the shop to take George some lunch. The shop was busy but not unmanageable and you could see that Ron had stepped in to help him, working the till. George noticed you immediately and gave you a wide smile, finishing up with the customer he was helping before walking over to you, gesturing for you both to go to the office.

"I didn't know if you had any lunch," you said, handing him a little bag of stuff you'd picked up from the shop, "thought I could take some of your stuff back with me, give you a bit more time tonight."

"You're too good to me," George says with a wink, enthusiastically pulling out the food from the bag, looking as if he was almost salivating at the sight.

You'd spent his lunch break together, preparing yourselves for tonight as he ate and then you'd apparated back with a bundle of his things that he had pulled earlier that morning, stuff that he knew would make it seem that he was living with you completely.

You checked the lamb and made the mint sauce quickly, peeled some more potatoes just in case and then set to cleaning. Once everywhere was clean, you went into George's room and brought out all of his things and moved them into your bedroom. His books went on the side of your bed, a pair of pyjamas were laid out on the dresser and you'd moved some of your girlier accessories into the spare bedroom so make it seem like you'd decorated up a guest bedroom. You stripped George's bed, throwing the bedding in the wash and replaced the sheet with a set of your own spare sets, so it again looked like a guest bedroom. You set up a little decorative area in your bedroom with some of George's things, adding them into the shelves and then had placed more of his things into the bathroom, along with placing his aftershave next to your perfume on the dresser.

Once you were happy with the flat, you took a minute to sit with a drink before finishing up the meal prep. You then took a shower, did your hair and makeup and got dressed, ready for the actual cooking, seeing that it was late afternoon already.

At 6:17pm, George apparated into the living room and his eyebrows immediately shot up, looking around.

"Wow Angel, looks like I've moved in," he says, reaching out for your hand as he pulls you close.

"I'd say so," you laughed, allowing him to pull you in. When his thumb caught on the stones of your engagement ring, he smiled and focused his gaze on the ring, seeing it on your finger.

"Looks great," he says, gesturing around you, "as do you."

"Oh Mr Weasley, you charm me," you joked, pulling away from him with a laugh as you smoothed out your skirt.

"Well future Mrs Weasley, that is my job," he smirks, twirling your around in his arms, making a quiet squeal fall from your lips at the unexpected motion.

"I thought you owned a joke shop?" You retorted, causing him to snort.

"I do, yet it appears you are the one with all the jokes tonight."

"Then perhaps you should make me a business partner," you jest, seeing George's smile growing.

"I intend to my love," he says smoothly, with a wiggle of his eyebrows as he stops spinning you, both of you looking at each other with a smile.

"You should get ready, they'll be here soon," you saw quietly, unable to look away from George's smiling face.

Fifteen minutes later and George is showered, dried and dressed, both of you waiting in the kitchen for his parents to arrive. Molly preferred not to apparate, having mentioned before that it left her feeling horribly nauseous no matter how many times she'd tried and so Arthur had offered to drive them in the car, muggle style.

"I'll go," George says, placing a hand onto your shoulder to calm you as he walks past you to open the door, having heard the telltale knock moments earlier.

"Oh y/n dear, how wonderful to see you!" She says, bounding over to you with a wide smile on her face, pulling you in for a hug as soon as she could reach you.

"Hello Mrs Weasley," you say warmly, holding on to her tightly. She looked very pretty with a flower beret in her hair, clearly having made an effort tonight in her beautifully crafted green crochet shawl and dress.

"Oh please, I've told you to call me Molly for years!" She laughs, stepping aside and looking around, "what a lovely place you have!"

"We have," George corrects her, stepping through into the lounge with you, Arthur following behind. You embrace and greet each other warmly as George explains to Molly that you two are living together.

"Oh well that is wonderful news!" She says, clapping her hands together, "you didn't tell me you were an item!" She says, smacking George on the arm as she looks between your both. He doesn't even flinch and simply laughs, shrugging his shoulders.

"Oh well done son!" Arthur says, clapping George on the shoulder warmly before sending you a special smile.

"Would anyone like a drink?" You offer, listing off a few things you have on hand. You go and fetch them both a drink and quickly check on the food before diving into conversation, listening to Molly's explanation of what her oldest children were up to.

"Well I have to say, that was absolutely delicious," Arthur says, placing down his cutlery and sitting back in his chair, rubbing his hand over his full stomach, "amazing what these muggles come up with isn't it, a giant Yorkshire pudding!"

You can't help but smile at his reaction, pleased that the novelty had gone down a treat. You catch George's eye as Molly compliments your cooking and he looks proud, a gentle, honest smile tugging at his lips.

"So how long have you been together, very sneaky of you both!" Molly says with a warm smile, pointing a playful accusatory finger between you and George.

"About six months," George says effortlessly, sticking to the little story you'd both created. He clears his throat and looks at you with a determined glance before turning back to his parents.

"We were going to wait until after dinner but now seems as good'a time as any," George says smoothly before reaching for your left hand, which you place in his, ring side up.

The sparkle immediately catches Molly's eye and she gasps loudly, causing Arthur to jump up in his seat.

"I've asked her to marry me," he says, looking into your eyes with a smile that you reciprocate.

"And I said yes," you replied, smiling warmly at him.

Molly let's out an animated squeal and rushes from her chair to envelope you both into a hug, her body bouncing in elation as Arthur beams with pride, his hands raising into the air in celebration.

"Oh how wonderful!"

"We must celebrate, now, everyone raise your glasses!" Arthur says proudly, raising his own glass of daisyroot. Molly scrambles to reach for her glass and you and George take hold of your own, raising and clinking them together in a round of cheers. The moment feels real and you don't even question it, allowing yourself to enjoy the moment with your smile beaming across your face.

Molly immediately bursts out into wedding planning, mentioning that her own dress was put aside for Ginny but she had a beautiful hair beret that you could use as your something borrowed and she could always try and convince Muriel to let you borrow her tiara even though she'd been rude about it with Fleur. You laughed and nodded the whole way through the conversation as George and Arthur had broken off into their own as Arthur proudly tapped George on the back, telling him outright how proud he was of him.

You cleared away with plates with a flick of your wand and then brought out the warm apple pie with a selection of custard and icecream, depending on everyone's preference. More drinks were had and by the end of the pudding you were beginning to feel a little tipsy, especially when George pulled out a bottle of fire whiskey to celebrate with.

You all congregated back into the lounge after the meal had finishes, laughing and drinking as Molly told stories of the kids when they were younger. Fred was mentioned a few times and initially it had felt like a kick to your gut but you pushed through and as the drinks flowed, so did the conversation.

"Goodness gracious look at the time! Arthur, we'd better get home," Molly says, tapping Arthur on the chest. He nods dutifully, sinking the last of his fire whiskey and begins to stand, immediately wobbling until he falls back onto the sofa. George turns to cast a look at you and you immediately understand what he's trying to communicate; there's no possibility he'd be able to drive home having drank so much and apparating would be incredibly dangerous for him due to his intoxication, which meant they would have to stay with you for the foreseeable.

George had managed to convince his parents to stay after their lengthy protests and you'd gladly offered them the 'guest bedroom' to sleep in.

George apparated back to the Burrow to collect a few things they might need after a lengthy list that Molly had reeled off with clear instructions on where everything way and exactly what he'd be looking for.

Whilst George was gone you made a cup of tea for everyone and began prepping their room for the night, ensuring that everything was neat and clean, with no hint of George's things being crammed into the room. George arrived back not too long after with their things and helped to get his parents settled into their room, mainly helping Molly get Arthur into something comfier and then into bed.

You'd had a fabulous night and it had gone so much better than you'd hoped, feeling firmly included and welcomed into the family even more than you already had been, even if it wasn't technically real. George came out of their room a few minutes later and you both couldn't help but giggle at the turn of events, never having seen Arthur so inebriated before. He was a joyful drunk, telling stories and little quips that we're actually rather interesting and the new side you'd seen of him only greatened your fondness for him. George came and sat next to you on the sofa now that it was just you and him and he immediately placed his arm around your back, pulling you into him.

"Well, complete success I'd say," he says quietly, keeping hold of you as you melt into his side, keeping his voice low just incase his parents were still awake. He reached for the television remote and flicked it on to a random channel, not really paying attention though it was nice to have a little background noise.

"Such a good night," you said fondly with a small smile, trying to suppress a yawn as you cuddled into him, watching the screen.

"That meal was delicious," he says, beginning to stroke your shoulder where his hand rests, "I'd marry you tomorrow now I know what your roast dinners taste like."

"Well lucky you," you say with a cheeky smile, "maybe not tomorrow though, I'm rather busy."

"Oh really?" He says with a playful tone, playing along.

"Yes, you see I'm head potioneer for this little joke shop in Diagon Alley, you've probably never heard of it," you say, "well their stores of potion products are low and it's my wonderful job to brew more, all day tomorrow. So I'm very sorry but I can't marry you tomorrow, much too busy."

"Well isn't that a shame," he says quickly, "perhaps I should have a word with this boss of yours, he sounds tyrannical, working you as he is."

"Oh absolutely, he's a menace, Mussolini in brown tweed."

George immediately lunges for you with your last comment and you can't help but laugh, trying your hardest to keep quiet as he grabs you and rolls you about on the sofa. Only when you pull apart does he pause and smile at you widely, his face lighting up with his smile.

"Want to go to bed?"

The very words make your stomach roll a little in nervous excitement, though you try desperately not to show it on your face. You simply nod and offer a warm but mildly fake smile before you stand and ensure everything is locked and switched off.

Though you and George had shared a bed only a few nights ago, this was entirely different and a nervous anticipation consumed you, knowing you'd both be heading to bed at the same time, both of you aware that this was happening.

"Need the toilet? I'm going to get undressed," he says, gesturing with a nod towards the en-suite in your bedroom.

"No, you go on," you said with a smile, walking over to the dresser to grab some pyjamas. You heard the door close and as you pulled open the drawer, an immediate dilemma faced you. What would you wear to bed?

You looked down at the various pyjamas in your drawer and felt frozen with choice, not knowing how to proceed as the different materials stared back at you, each of them seeming to convey something. There were a few pairs of oversized, frumpy sets that you mainly wore in winter or when you were needing comfort but they weren't exactly 'nice' nor would they look very attractive on, most of them having some sort of embarrassing pattern or cheesy slogan printed on the front. You didn't want George to see you in something so frumpy and shapeless, looking like you'd made absolutely no effort on yourself but the alternative seemed much too drastic too. There were a few nicer sets of lace and silk in sensual colours that you used to wear for Fred but wearing one of those would send a clear message to George that you didn't feel was appropriate, or it would look like you were trying too hard. You dig through the drawer, thankfully still hearing the water running in the bathroom and tried to find a compromise. Should you wear a bra? Everything felt so confusing.

You realised that you could no longer hear the water running and reached for a cotton set at the bottom, trying to make it seem like you hadn't spent his entire shower agonising over this simple choice. It was a simple camisole top with long bottoms, dark red and black check with just a little lace on the neckline, comfy but attractive.

You passed him on his way out of the shower, seeing the tips of his hair still damp and his pyjamas clinging to his slightly moist skin, hugging the wider parts of his chest and shoulders deliciously.

You washed off your makeup, splashing cold water on your face for good measure as you tried to calm your racing thoughts, knowing that you were being ridiculous. He probably wouldn't even see you if it was dark. You put on your pyjamas, throwing your dress in the hamper and took one look at yourself before turning off the light and stepping out into the bedroom. The lamp was on, dimly illuminating the room and you could see George reading in bed, covers pushed up to his hips as he concentrates on the page he's reading. He looks up at you though you don't look back at him as you take off your jewellery, leaving your engagement ring on, feeling his gaze burning into your side.

It feels more than awkward, peeling back the covers and slipping into your own bed now that George was already settled on one side.

"Is this okay?" George asks and it takes you a moment to realise he means the lamp.

"Yeah of course," you reply absently but politely as you sink down in bed, pulling the covers up to your waist. There's a few moments of silence that feels in between awkward and comfortable, knowing that your awkwardness stemmed from your own anxiety whereas George probably found the silence comforting as he read his book.

"Okay sorry," George says with a bit of a huff, marking his page with whatever he was using as a bookmark, a chocolate frog card by the looks of it, and placed the book into his lap, turning to you. You gazed up at him, leaning forward a little in concern at his sudden outburst. "How do you look so good in pyjamas?"

Your mind is completely empty, astounded by his words. His face had softened significantly as he looked upon your shocked face, a gentle chuckle passing his lips. "Sorry, it's just, no ones going to believe you're married to me when you're so hot."

You were hallucinating, you were almost certain of it. Those words had never come from George Weasley before and your mind started to spiral whilst your face remained blank, heart racing in excitement. You knew that the only way to reply was to fight it with humour, not able to believe that he was being serious.

"Shove off, I'm comfy," you replied, though your words felt hollow, almost like they weren't actually coming out of your own mouth.

"I'm being serious," he says chuckling with a shake of his head. "Only you could make pyjamas look yule ball worthy."

"How much have you had to drink?" You laugh, playfully nudging him, still trying to deflect his words.

He simply smiles at you in return, "very little actually, dad drank most of it." You both giggle a little at the thought of Arthur snoring away in the spare room, George's room.

"Well you're not so bad yourself Weasley," you tease, your gaze flicking to his bulging arms for just a second, seeing that the T-shirt was just slightly too tight around his biceps.

There's a brief moment when everything seems to pause and as if in slow motion, George leans over and presses his lips to yours, only hesitating for a moment as he looks as your face, searching for any hesitation, in which he finds none. Your lips meet his and its like an electric current is passing between you both, igniting something inside you that has you pressing into him and fuelling the kiss. The clattering of the book is a distant noise to you as the kiss deepens, George's hand wrapping around your jaw line as he pulls you in, his tongue slipping out and caressing your own. You feel weightless, breathless, like you're floating, hardly even aware of your hands as they reach out for him, feeling the soft material of his T-shirt under your fingertips as you seek purchase on his shoulders, a fire burning between you.

Clothes are shed with desperation, either of you able to fight the blistering urge to feel the other completely. His lips are all over you, his touch only fuelling the desire that consumes you, leaving you unable to think clearly as you seek out his touch. It's raw and primal, no time for thinking or hesitation as you melt into each other, passion and arousal overwhelming everyone of your senses. He's hot to the touch and in the back of your mind you can feel your own heat coursing through your body, feeling more out of control than you ever hand but at the same time, feeling completely safe and right. When he slips inside you for the first time, it's all you can do not to cry out, the pleasant stretch and overwhelming relief of the sensation is the only thing you can think of. Your glad that he'd been quick to cast a silencing charm around the room as you mom out, unable to hold back any longer as your hips meet his, desperate to keep him inside of you. He groans out again, moaning with abandon as his hips only increase in pace, seeing your own body contorting in pleasure, working with his movements to create the most sensual scene and feeling he could fathom. When his hand slips to your exposed breasts, fingers plucking as your hardened nipples, you cry out his name ecstasy and are blessed with an almost whimpering moan from him as his thrusts get harder, watching as your breasts bounce in time with his thrusts, your body working to double your efforts chasing after the fullness he provides. Your walls begin to clench as the pleasure rises, white hot heat of bliss overtaking you, feeling his long and skilful fingers toying with your breasts, your pussy stretched around his perfect cock that hits every pleasure filled spot inside you and your throbbing clit rubbing sinfully against his happy trail with every deep thrust. It's too much and not enough all at the same time and you cry out his name over and over as your orgasm washes over you, hardly noticing his own climax until you slowly come down from your high, no longer feeling the force of his thrusts as he lazily slips in and out of you slowly in the come down. There's a warmth from deep inside you that is both intoxicating and comforting, knowing that the evidence of his pleasure had coated your insides, as if he'd claimed you as his own.

You're both breathless, panting against each other as your sweat covered bodies meld together, George's arms barely holding him up anymore as he slowly sinks down, putting more of his weight on to you that you welcome. You're still connected in every sense, your arms clutched around his shoulders, legs linked over hip hips and his now softened cock still inside of you. You reach up just enough to kiss his forehead where it is nestled into your neck, trying to prevent any awkwardness from slipping in to the blissful moment. His head turns downwards and he presses fluttering kisses over your chest, kissing each breast and trailing upwards until he kisses you on the lips with a sweetness that is a stark contrast to the burning passion of before. When he looks up at you, you feel breathless all over again. His eyes are so filled with emotion that it truly makes your heart flutter, seeing yourself reflected in his eyes, a look that you'd never seen crossing his gorgeous features.

With one last kiss, he slowly pulls away as your limbs disconnect from him and though you feel truly satisfied, you can't help but feel a little empty as his soft cock slowly slips out of you, no longer bringing you warmth or fullness. There's nothing said, no words needed as he pulls you into his still sweaty chest, unfazed at his nudity as his arms wrap around you, a kiss pressed to your hair as you lie there in utter contentment.

You realise George had fallen asleep a little while later and you attempt to slip out of his arms undetected as you make your way to the en-suite, careful not to wake him. You pee for good measure and consider showering but don't quite feel up to it right now. When you look in the mirror, you see a beaming smile greeting you in your reflection, not having noticed that you were doing so. You realised then how utterly happy you were, feeling more content than you had in so long.

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#emeritusemeritus #emeritusemerituswrites #harry potter #george weasley x you #george weasley masterlist #George Weasley x reader #George Weasley smut #George Weasley fluff #No good deeds

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kieran-granola · 6 months

Text

Sweet Sorries

(This is a little JayTim Chanukah gift for @silver-snow-77! Thank you for being a lot of fun 💕)

“We missed you at the Manor.”

Jason doesn't flinch but he tenses, his shoulders drawing up as he sets his helmet down on the table. Slowly, he turns around to find Tim sitting at his kitchen table all bundled up in a cozy sweater and scarf. The plate of sufganiyot that Jason cooked and abandoned earlier that day is waiting in front of him, the shape of it somehow accusing in the semi-darkness.

“Who’s we exactly?” Jason asks as he unholsters his guns.

In the kitchen, Tim shrugs. “Alfred. Bruce. Damian. Me. Take your pick.”

Following his well-practiced routine, Jason unloads his weapons and puts them away in his safe. He'll need to clean them later — to make sure everything will be in working order tomorrow when he heads out into the streets again — but he's got more pressing concerns for now.

“You see me practically everyday, birdie.”

“We don't celebrate Hanukkah everyday, though.”

Jason shrugs off his leather jacket and sprawls on his couch to work on removing his boots. “Technically, for a week, we do.”

Tim's tongue clicks. “Jason.”

“Timothy,” Jason deadpans.

They stare at each other in silence for a minute, then Tim sighs. His shoulders droop, hurt clear on his face. When he speaks, his voice is thin. “Why didn't you show up? I wanted to spend the night with you. I thought—I was hoping that you wanted to celebrate with me too.”

Shame and guilt bloom in Jason's stomach. Fuck. He's an asshole. He was so caught up in his insecurities, so worried about Bruce's judgment and Alfred's disapproval, that he didn't stop to consider whether Tim would be hurt by his absence. Stomach turning into a mess of knots, he kicks his boots off and stands up.

“I'm sorry. I was planning to go. I mean—” he gestures to the plate of pastries, “—I even baked. But then I just… I don't know. I couldn't do it.”

Tim bites his lip. “You got scared.”

“I guess.”

“You could have told me. I would have spent the evening with you, we could have—”

“No!” Jason blurts out. “No. It's—You shouldn't have to skip family celebrations just because you decided to fuck the local pariah.”

Tim goes stock-still, his expression smoothing out into an impenetrable mask. “Is that what we're doing? Fucking?”

Dozens of memories flit through Jason’s mind — Tim's smile over shared fries, his strong fingers digging bruises into Jason's hips, heated debates in front of the TV, and days spent curled up together in bed — and his heart stutters. Dammit. He didn’t mean to imply that what they have isn’t serious.

“No, it's not,” he says slowly. “You know it's not. You're as much of a detective as I am. You’ve got to know how I feel about you.”

“By that logic, you have to know how I feel about you too. But you still left me hanging at the Manor tonight.”

Jason looks away. Maybe he does know. Maybe he remembers the way Tim took care of him when he was sick despite his own weakened immune system. Maybe he can picture the smile that blooms on his face whenever he wakes up next to Jason. Maybe he knows the shape of Tim's feelings intimately. Maybe he's let him write them across his bones with every kiss and touch.

Maybe it's not enough to compensate for his fear of Bruce anyway.

“I'm sorry,” he repeats. “I should have warned you. I was too caught up in my issues with B to think about you and that was unfair of me. I'll do better next time.”

Tim gives him a long, inscrutable look. Then he sighs. “Alright.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’ve got my own hang-ups when it comes to Bruce, so… Apology accepted. On one condition.”

“Anything you want. Just say the word.”

“I want a sufganiyah,” Tim replies lightly. “And a kiss.”

Gratitude fills Jason’s chest with sunshine. He doesn’t know what he was expecting, but it definitely wasn’t Tim’s playful answer. To be forgiven so easily and reminded that Tim cares for him all in one fell swoop… It’s a gift he never thought he’d be given.

Eyes stinging, he moves closer and pushes the plate towards Tim. “Take as many as you want. Hell, eat them all. I can always make more.”

Tim grabs a beignet. He takes a bite, and powdered sugar sticks to his mouth, bright and enticing.

Jason leans in reflexively at the sight. Every inch of him longs for a taste of Tim’s sweetness. As clumsy with his words as he can be, he knows exactly how to touch Tim by now. How to handle him with the care and reverence he doesn’t know how to express when he’s not borrowing a poet’s words.

(Art commissioned from the lovely @coffeexrage)

Tim notices him staring. He lifts his chin and gives Jason an expectant look, his blue eyes impossibly bright. “Well? That’s only half of what I asked for. Where’s my kiss?”

Laughing quietly, Jason crosses the distance between them and kisses the tip of Tim’s freckled nose. “There.”

Tim scrunches up his nose. “I meant a proper kiss.”

“Finish eating, you gremlin. I’ll kiss you as many times as you want after.”

“You sure about that?” Tim grins slyly. “Because I might need a kiss every day until I die.”

Jason rolls his eyes even as his heart misses a beat. “You drive a hard bargain.”

“Oh, I can drive it harder.” Tim gives him an exaggerated wink.

Flushing, Jason takes a sufganiyah and pushes it against Tim’s lips to shut him up. “Eat or you won’t get any kisses at all.”

“Yessir.” Half-laughing, Tim takes a bite and the two of them share a smile.

Jason doesn’t know what tomorrow will be like — whether Tim will insist on going to the Manor to light the candles again, and whether he’ll have the strength to accompany him if he does. What he does know, though, is that Tim’s gentle warmth is enough to make him want to keep making an effort. He might never be able to mend things with Bruce, he still damn well intends to nurture his relationship with Tim.

One kiss at a time.

#jason todd #tim drake #jaytim #happy chanukah #kieran writes

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stylesispunk · 6 months

Text

"A broken ankle, karma rules"

no outbreak! Joel Miller x f! reader

Summary: you slipped on ice in front of your neighbor Joel and he ran to help you. warning: none besides a broken ankle, "peach" is reader's nickname, and probably grammar mistakes because I wrote this too fast. Word count: 2,6k a/n: This is the last piece of writing for the Christmas season! It's a short one but a lovely one. I'm actually dying because it's too hot here in my country (perhaps because Pedro is here) I hope you have a lovely Christmas Eve, take care of yourself and I hope there is so much love for you on your way!

dividers by @/plum98

It has been five months since your neighbor, Joel had moved to the house next to yours, in a neighborhood mostly habited by lovely elderly people, you were the youngest woman in this street, and the sweetheart, loved by everyone around. Well, you, your kind heart, warm personality, and the delicious pastries you baked since you were a professional baker.

And of course, the arrival of Joel changed the course of events at the neighborhood, at that sunny morning when he parked his car in front of his house, full of his belongings, clearly indicating he was taking the house.

At first, you didn’t understand the commotion outside when you spotted 3 of the ladies chatting and laughing with an unknown guy on the cobblestones in front of your yard, just when you were leaving for work.

As a shy person, you sometimes hated the new introductions and tried your best to avoid them, but this morning it seemed like the odds weren’t in your favor. Once you stepped outside your door, the three heads, well now four, turned to you, smiling, and the chatting stop abruptly. You could swear the eyes of the stranger wide at your presence. You felt the rush creeping up your cheeks and swallow, making your war downstairs your porch.

“It’s our lovely baker here, come on sweats pea, let us introduce you both” one of the ladies said, her name was Betty and he was a lovely woman in her 80s.

You walked towards them, avoiding the lump in your throat and the stammer on your heart at the presence of the men next to Betty.

“Look, Joel. She is our lovely peach. Well, that’s not her name but we all call her that because she bakes the best peach tarts in this town” she beamed.

“Hi, nice to meet you, peach” he smirked, “I’m Joel” he took your hand to shake, and you swore there was an electric touch once your hands made contact.

"Joel, you have tried her peach tarts" Betty asked with a sly smile.

Joel, catching on to the playful matchmaking, replied, "I would love to."

As you blushed at that, Betty seized the moment. "Well, you're in for a treat! Peach, why don't you tell Joel about your baking journey? It's such a fascinating story."

“Well, I’m actually have to go to work but I-you. I’m, we can’t talk later” you replied, shyly, making your

“And again, nice to meet you, Joel. I” you smiled, trying to avoid looking into his eyes.

It has been five months since that morning and you could say you and Joel got along well since then, you wouldn’t say you were both friends but you clearly could say you were on good terms and he was a great neighbor.

Since then, you had found out he was single, no wife, not girlfriend and not daughter, but he did have a dog that always switched his time between your house and his, trying somehow to pull you and Joel together.

And now, as the winter sky painted hues of lavender color in the horizon, you found yourself bundled up in a cozy blanket, sitting on the bench outside your doors with a steaming cup of tea cradled between your hands. The air was crisp, and the soft glow of holiday lights adorned the houses, casting a warm and festive ambiance.

Joel, with his dog by his side, approached quietly, the soft crunch of leaves beneath his boots announcing his presence. The winter silence was interrupted only by the distant sound of carolers and the occasional jingle of bells from some houses, and his presence.

"It's enchanting, isn't it?" Joel remarked, his breath forming a mist in the cold air as he settled beside you.

You smiled, the warmth of the tea contrasting with the chilly breeze, "Yes, there's something nice about winter evenings. Especially on the eve of Christmas."

Joel nodded, his gaze capturing the twinkle of Christmas lights around the neighborhood. "Absolutely. It's my first winter here, but there's a special charm to this season."

He turned to you, taking a look of your side profile looking at the sky. He hadn’t really paid attention of the beautiful features adorning your face. For him, you were clearly a gorgeous woman, but right now in the quietness of a winter afternoon and gorgeous colors around, he thought you looked breathtaking, and his heart stopped beating for a second.

He cleared his throat, “So, any plans for tomorrow night?”

You contemplated your answer for a while before answering the question, “Well, I’m just driving to my parents’ house. We aren’t really a big family so I’m spending the night with them” you smiled, turning to your side to face Joel “What about you?”

“With my parents. I mean they’re coming and my lil’ brother and kids. They all want to know the place I’m living now” he chuckled.

“If is not a bother, I would love to ask you if you could bake a peach tart for me?” his big brown eyes shone under the soft light left of the day “you promised once you would bring me one but you didn’t so…”

Your heart fluttered at the genuine warmth in Joel's request, and the winter chill seemed to retreat in the face of the newfound connection between you two.

"Of course, Joel. I'd be happy to bake a peach tart for you. It's the least I can do for my neighbor and his family," you replied, a grin spreading across your face.

Joel's eyes lit up with gratitude, and he flashed a grateful smile. "Thanks, peach. I can't wait to taste one." He stepped up from beside you and flashed you another smile “So, see you tomorrow.”

“I’ll knock at your door with a peach tart.” you beamed.

As you got ready to drive to your parent's house, your mind was filled with the joy of giving and the anticipation of the holiday night.

Before hitting the road, you took extra care in preparing the peach tart for Joel. The sweet aroma of baking filled your kitchen, creating an atmosphere of warmth and festivity. Once the tart was baked to perfection, you carefully wrapped it in a festive box, adding a touch of holiday magic with a ribbon.

The night before, the snow had painted the neighborhood in a blanket of white, transforming the cobblestones and rooftops into a winter wonderland. As you stepped outside, the chill of the morning air nipped at your nose, and you couldn't help but marvel at the serene beauty of the snowy landscape.

With the box in hand, you made your way carefully towards Joel's house, navigating the slippery cobblestones with caution. The snow had turned the quaint neighborhood into a picturesque scene, and the holiday lights twinkled against the snowy backdrop.

But just before you reached the stairs of the porch, your misstep, slipping on the icy pavement. A gasp escaped your lips, and time seemed to slow for a moment. The festive box containing the carefully prepared peach tart tumbled from your hands, landing with a soft thud on the snowy ground. Your heart raced as you tried to regain your balance, but the slippery surface had other plans.

“Damn it!” you yelled, at the impact, and you winced as you felt the cold seeping through your winter attire.

Just as the echoes of your frustration lingered in the air, a door creaked open. Joel, having heard your exclamation, rushed out of his house with concern etched on his face. His eyes widened as he took in the scene, the fallen box, the snowy ground, and you, trying to gather yourself.

"Peach, are you okay?" he called out, his voice filled with genuine concern.

You managed a sheepish smile as you felt the flush on your cheeks, "I'm fine, just a little clumsy in the snow."

Joel hurried over; his steps cautious on the slippery pavement. "Here, let me help you up," he offered, extending a hand.

But you yelped in pain as you tried to stand up, a sharp twinge radiating from your ankle.

Joel's expression shifted from concern to alarm as he saw the discomfort etched across your face. "Hold on, Peach. Don't force yourself up. Are you hurt?"

You winced, clutching your ankle. "I think I might have twisted it. It hurts."

Without hesitation, Joel carefully crouched down beside you, his eyes scanning for any signs of serious injury. "Let me take a look," he said, his voice calm and reassuring.

As he examined your ankle, you couldn't help but feel a mix of embarrassment and gratitude. The peach tart, now forgotten in the snowy commotion, lay beside you. The chilly air seemed to intensify as Joel's worried gaze focused on your ankle.

"I'm no expert, but it might be best if we get you inside and have a closer look," Joel suggested, his concern evident on his voice.

You nodded, appreciating his attentiveness. With Joel's support, you managed to stand, albeit with difficulty. Together, you limped towards his front door, the snow underfoot now a hindrance rather than a picturesque setting.

Once inside, Joel helped you settle into a chair. "I think it might be a good idea to have a doctor take a look at your ankle. I can drive you to the hospital."

But instead of uttering a word, you started crying. Embarrassment and sadness clouded your mind, with a possible broken ankle you wouldn’t be able to drive to your parent’s house and you just had ruined Joel’s tart.

Joel, seeing your distress, knelt down beside you, his expression a blend of concern and empathy. "Hey, it's okay. Accidents happen, and your health is what matters most right now. We'll figure things out."

“But I ruined your tart” you sobbed, into your palms.

“I don’t care about the tart now, but you, okay? Let me drive you to the hospital” he said, looking out his car keys.

“No, Joel, I can drive myself” you insisted, attempting to push away the feeling of being a burden.

"Don't be a dummy, peach," he said, using the endearing nickname. Joel gently took your hands away from your face, looking into your eyes with sincerity. "Your health is more important. We'll figure out the rest later. Let me help you."

Feeling embarrassed, you nodded, realizing the truth in his words. With Joel's support, you allowed him to guide you to his car, the winter chill contrasting with the warmth of his concern.

As Joel drove carefully through the snowy streets to the hospital, a quiet and comfortable silence settled between you two. The twinkling Christmas lights outside seemed to blur in the background as your thoughts focused on the unexpected turn of events.

"I appreciate your help, Joel," you finally said, breaking the silence.

He glanced at you, a reassuring smile on his face. "That's what neighbors do, right? Look out for each other. Plus, I wouldn't want you driving with a potentially broken ankle."

Your previous accident hit you again, and you sighed. "This wasn't how I imagined spending Christmas Eve."

Joel nodded, understanding in his eyes. "Life has a way of surprising us. Perhaps, something good may happen after this” he said, looking to the front of the road.

Arriving at the hospital, Joel helped you out of the car and into the emergency room. As you waited for the doctor, the events of the day played in your mind. Despite the unexpected twists, you found solace in the genuine care Joel had shown towards you right now, as he took care of you by holding your hand tightly as you both wait for the doctor to attend your ankle.

After what felt like an eternity, the doctor finally arrived, breaking the quiet tension in the emergency room. Joel stood by your side, holding your hand tightly, offering a reassuring anchor as the doctor began to assess your ankle.

The doctor examined the X-rays and then turned to you with a composed expression. "Well, it seems you have a broken ankle. Nothing too severe, but you'll need to be cautious and follow the recommended care for a proper recovery."

You nodded, absorbing the news with a mix of resignation, and the doctor continued to explain the care instructions, detailing the use of crutches, the importance of keeping weight off the injured foot, and the expected timeline for healing.

Joel listened attentively; his concern evident in his eyes. However, to your surprise, the doctor, with a knowing smile, glanced between you and Joel.

"You're fortunate to have such a supportive boyfriend," the doctor said, assuming Joel was your boyfriend.

“Oh, he is-“

“Of course, everything for taking care of my girl” Joel interrupted, playing along with the assumption. He smiled warmly at you, as the grip on your hand gently tightened.

You exchanged a surprised glance with Joel, realizing that he was choosing to support the charade. The doctor continued, providing further guidance and answering any questions you both had.

As the appointment concluded, the doctor left the room, leaving you and Joel alone once again. You couldn't help but feel confusion at Joel’s behavior.

“Why did you do that?” you asked, curious.

Joel looked at you with a sheepish grin, his eyes reflecting a mix of playfulness and sincerity. "Well, it just seemed easier at the moment. Plus, I didn't want to complicate things. It's not like it's hurting anyone, right?"

“oh” you said, your tone disappointed.

“And because I think you are beautiful” he said, once he felt the disappointed in your voice “And I don’t care about peach tarts when I would rather taste the lips of the person who bakes them” he confessed.

Joel's confession hung in the air, and you found yourself caught between surprise and a growing warmth in your cheeks.

"I didn't mean to disappoint you," Joel said, a hint of concern in his eyes.

Your disappointment had quickly shifted to a mixture of surprise and something else—a fluttering sensation in your stomach. "No, Joel, it's not that. I just didn't expect—"

He gently interrupted, "Expect the unexpected, right? Life has a way of surprising us, I told you earlier” he said, smirking.

"Beautiful, huh?" you teased, attempting to lighten the moment.

Joel grinned, "Oh, absolutely.” He continued, "And as for the peach tart, I'd gladly trade it for a taste of something sweeter."

With a subtle shift, Joel leaned in, closing the distance between you. The moment felt like a suspended breath, a pause in time where the unexpected had become a canvas for something beautiful.

Your heart raced as Joel's lips met yours, the taste of your lips was just as sweet as he imagined, and the world outside, covered in a blanket of white, seemed to fade away as the warmth of your new found connection met in both of your lips moving against each other.

As the kiss deepened, you started to feel breathless, a rush of emotions swirling within you, and you even felt grateful for breaking your ankle because it led you to Joel.

the taste of the shared kiss created a sense of completeness, as if the universe had conspired to bring you together on this snowy Christmas Eve. The initial disappointment and frustration had given way to a profound appreciation for the serendipitous journey that had unfolded throughout the day.

When the kiss finally broke, you found yourself looking into Joel's eyes, a silent language being spoken between looks.

“Yes, definitely sweeter than a tart” Joel remarked, a playful glint in his eyes.

Joel remarked, the playful glint in his eyes creating a shared laughter that echoed in the quiet space.

You chuckled, the joy of the moment enveloping you both. "I guess breaking my ankle wasn't the worst thing that could've happened today."

Joel grinned, "Who would've thought a slip on the icy pavement could lead to all this?" His eyes held amusement

“Merry Christmas, peach,” he said, kissing you again.

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