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quietwingsinthesky · 9 months

Text

this gentle life of ours

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Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: N/A Fandom: Supernatural Ship: Midafer Additional Tags: Mpreg, Pregnant Lucifer (Supernatural), Pregnant Michael (Supernatural), Domestic Fluff, Light Angst, Alternate Universe Wordcount: 3039 Summary:

Getting Michael pregnant is an accident. Lucifer? Not as much. Or, Adam and his two pregnant archangel house spouses <3

Notes:

Now this is for @nugget-of-joy, who gave me a prompt, yes, but made it a submission aksljdalskjd. but i forgive her and give her 3000-ish words. the original prompt was "Midafer with both angels being knocked up 👀 thoughts?" and my thoughts were Yes :)

Lucifer has been staying with them a few weeks by the time Michael starts to show.

Michael was the one who dragged him home. Adam doesn’t have the full story, only that one day it’s just him and Michael in the house and the next, their guest room is the devil’s new home. Of course he’s curious, but so far, he’s pretty sure he and Michael have carved out a life for themselves by virtue of no one noticing they got out of the Cage. Bringing Lucifer in jeopardizes that, sure, but trying to figure out where he was before Michael found him is asking for trouble that Adam, frankly, doesn’t need to deal with.

For the first few days, he didn’t even see Lucifer. Michael spent most of his time with him. The ability to be jealous was burnt out of Adam a few hundred years ago in Hell. It would require him to believe Michael would ever leave, and that’s not just unlikely, it’s laughable. Lucifer started leaving his room after that beginning lull. He was quiet. Adam might call him jumpy, even paranoid. It was something in his eyes. A hunted look. Pity came first and easiest, but compassion? That was harder to summon up for him.

Not until Michael was gone one day, and Lucifer was freaking out about something he refused to explain to Adam, and Adam had to tug him over to the couch to lay on top of him like his own personal weighted blanket. Lucifer melted where he was pinned under Adam. They stayed like that until Michael came back, far better equipped to help Lucifer than Adam was.

After that, he began to fit into their lives in places Adam hadn’t known were empty. Lucifer cuddled between them in bed and eating dinner at their table and sleeping in their bed. Michael takes brotherly love to a whole other level, and Lucifer soaks it up like he’s starved for it. Adam can't help falling in love with him, too. Especially as Lucifer begins to relax a little more, trust that he and Michael aren't about to throw him out. He learns to cook, he builds himself a garden, and he pouts for attention when he feels he hasn't gotten enough for the day.

And then, Michael is pregnant.

There really is no other outcome for him and Adam never using protection. Adam had assumed that Michael, being an archangel and powerful enough that he dragged them both out of the deepest part of Hell by pure stubbornness, was able to keep himself from being knocked up. Adam was wrong. He’s not that upset about it. Having a kid is terrifying, having one with Michael even more so, but at the same time, he thinks about their little terror running underfoot one day and finds himself smiling without meaning to. (He even thinks about their kid growing up with Lucifer still around, and… he likes it. This is their home, this is their life, and Lucifer is going to be a part of all of it.)

Michael's belly grows, the curve of it undeniably pushing on every shirt he wears. Adam’s a little obsessed. Michael will let him put his hands over the bump while he tells him what’s going on underneath. It’s too early to feel any kicking, but Adam can’t seem to pull himself away. That’s Michael’s baby. That’s his baby.

As his computer tabs fill up with searches about baby food and cribs, he begins to notice Lucifer watching them. He hovers in the doorway while Michael and Adam are debating which color to paint the new nursery. (Michael says it should be dark since the point of the room is to put the baby to sleep; Adam says it should be something brighter because they've had seen dark places in their lives.) He doesn't say a word when he sees Adam babyproofing the house (something Michael has told him again and again isn't necessary, as though an unprotected electric socket or a stray bottle of detergent could actually harm their child, but it's about the principle of the thing) but he does follow him from room to room. He pretends to be doing something else whenever Adam glances over at him, but he's not being particularly subtle. It's the first time Adam starts to have doubts about him being around their kid. They'll be half Michael's, half angel, but that other half of them will still be human. Adam's pretty sure that Lucifer's opinions on humanity haven't shifted much since the Apocalypse. (If anything, they've soured more since he's seen what humans have done to the world he loves. It's a touchy subject, and therefore, banned from the dinner table.)

It hurts more than Adam expected it would to think that Lucifer won't love their child as much as he and Michael will.

The morning after those thoughts begin to stew in his head is a pretty one. Almost clear skies with wisps of cloud that let the sun stream down through their windows. By the time Adam is awake, his bed has long been abandoned by his archangels. (The night before, Lucifer had still come to sleep with them, but for the first time, he'd slept with his back to both of them. Michael had noticed, but he hadn't said anything, only fallen asleep with his frown pulled tight.) Adam drags himself reluctantly from his bed to the kitchen. He can't hear coffee brewing, but Michael hasn't been able to stand the smell for the past week and Adam will do anything to make him more comfortable, even if his caffeine-addicted brain hates his guts for it. At least Michael's there for him to wrap himself around, face buried in the crook of his neck where he's warm and soft. Adam's hands sneak around his middle to caress his belly.

"Good morning," Michael says. Adam grunts an interim response while he wakes up enough to make words. Being near Michael is helping. He smells nice.

"Morning," Adam finally manages, and he lets Michael turn around in his arms so that he can kneel down and press a kiss to his baby bump. "Good morning to you, too."

"You know that they can't hear you yet, right?" Michael asks, spoiling Adam's fun. Adam ignores him.

"You be good to your dad today, huh? He's grumpy enough already." Michael huffs, and Adam smiles up at him. He rises to kiss Michael, wiping away any hint of annoyance. Adam rests his forehead against Michael's when the kiss breaks. He misses having Michael possess him, but Michael needs to keep their baby safe and the idea of being pregnant himself makes Adam extremely dysphoric. It's different when it's Michael, even in a body that mirrors his own. Michael is so happy with parts of Adam that used to make him feel sick that he sees them in a new light, and even his own memories of living in a body closer to how Michael keeps it are no longer as painful. Besides, and Adam can admit this without any shame, Michael looks hot carrying his kid.

It's Michael who tilts his head away from Adam to look behind him. Adam follows his gaze, glancing back over his shoulder as Michael asks, "Lucifer?"

Lucifer winces when Michael says his name. He looks immediately like he wants to be anywhere but there, watching the two of them talk about their child. He turns his gaze down to the floor and refuses to look up again.

"This isn't going to work," Adam says. "You can't stalk us around the house like this. What's so wrong about Michael having a kid that you can't even look at him?" Michael makes a noise, quiet and hurt, and Adam realizes he hadn't even put the pieces together about why Lucifer was acting weird. He hates that he had to be the one to bring it to light, but if they don't take care of it now, he can see it snowballing into a serious disaster. They've built something together, and Adam isn't about to give it up.

"I never said anything about that," Lucifer answers. He speaks very softly. Adam's never heard him raise his voice in the entire time he's been living with them. (He'd been expecting it. Arguments between him and Michael, day in and day out, only slightly better than the Cage because the insults wouldn't echo for a hundred years afterwards and cut just as deep. Instead, even as he feels more safe around them, Lucifer is still quiet. It's like something out there had fun breaking him, and no one had bothered to pick up the pieces before Michael brought him home.)

"Then stop acting"—Adam gestures at him, frustrated—"like that. Like the whole world is going to end because of a baby." Lucifer still won't look at them.

"Is that what this is about?" Michael asks. "Lucifer, our child-"

"Your child," Lucifer corrects. "Adam didn't give them to me. He gave them to you." Adam blinks. Finally, Lucifer glances up at them.

What's on Lucifer's face isn't disgust. It's longing.

"Are you jealous?" Adam asks in disbelief.

"Is that so hard to believe?" Lucifer's voice hardens for the first time Adam's heard in a long time. He turns his accusations onto Michael, ignoring Adam's surprise. "You knew we could create life? That I could-" There's a choke that cuts off his words, and silence, and quietly again, "You knew it would come out wrong if I did it, didn't you? That's why you weren't going to tell me." Lucifer was terrifying, once. Adam's sure he could be again, if he wanted to. He stands at the threshold of the kitchen, shoulders slumped, and looks as though he's been kicked until he won't get up again. "It would be like me." The resignation in his voice is so heavy, even Adam feels weighed down by it.

"Wait," he says, buying himself time to process all of that, "wait, you- You're mad at Michael because he's having a baby and you aren't?"

Adam's life was supposed to have reached the point at which it couldn't get more surreal a few years ago.

Lucifer doesn’t answer him.

They have a big nursery. Room enough to fit two cribs, side to side.

Adam takes a step away from Michael. He feels Michael’s fingers trail down his arm as he moves, but he’s not going anywhere. Only far enough to hold Lucifer’s hand and draw him further into the room. He shouldn’t be standing on the sidelines anymore. He belongs here.

“If you want a baby that bad, you could just ask,” he says.

”Michael already-“

”We can have more than one baby,” Adam explains, purposefully slow so that Lucifer will get annoyed with him and pull his energy away from being upset. It works.

”I didn’t tell you because I had no idea you wanted it,” Michael cuts in. “Brother, any child of yours would be a blessing, not a curse.” Michael lifts a hand to cup Lucifer’s cheek as Adam squeezes his hand. He can hear the words unspoken, and neither are you, and hopes Lucifer can, too. Though, if he still can’t, if he doesn’t believe Michael, then they have plenty of time to prove it to him. Starting with this.

“Then, you’ll let me have a baby?” Hope is such a rare thing to hear in Lucifer’s voice. Adam grins.

”Only if you’re okay with changing diapers.” Lucifer does make a face at that, but it melts away as he realizes he can get exactly what he wants. He squeezes Adam’s hand back.

He waits a moment, and then says, “Has it happened yet?”

Adam and Michael stare at him. Lucifer stares back, unbothered.

“We haven’t…” Adam trails off. It occurs to him that he’s never had sex with Lucifer, and Michael has never mentioned having sex with Lucifer, and between the Cage and the Apocalypse, Adam doubts he had time to get down and dirty with the demons or humans he equally despised. Which means that Adam has to ask a very important question. “You do know how babies are made, right?”

“Human ones. I’m not human.” Adam looks at Michael.

“We’re in human vessels,” Michael says.

It takes Lucifer a minute of frowning to figure out what they mean. When he’s done, Adam swears he can see his cheeks flush.

“I haven’t done that before,” he admits.

The devil is a virgin. He’s asking Adam to deflower and knock him up all at once. It’s a lot for Adam to handle. His dick happily disagrees. This is exactly what it wants to handle.

There’s only one way to take care of him. Adam grips Lucifer’s hand in one of his and takes Michael’s with the other, and he leads both of them to their bedroom to finally make better use of their king-sized mattress.

----

By the time Lucifer’s baby bump is showing, Michael’s has grown huge, and Adam is in (exhausting) Heaven.

Their bedroom has become a nest where he swears more pillows are added every day. Being pregnant drains a lot of Lucifer and Michael’s energy, which they aren’t used to at all, leading to situations where they tire themselves out using more grace than they should and Adam has to haul them to bed or the couch to lay down for a minute. Michael gets cravings for foods that have gone extinct, and because of that, Lucifer’s garden is now crowded with several impossible plants bearing fruits that haven’t grown on Earth in hundreds of years. Adam keeps seeing toys at the store and buying them, even though it’ll still be a few months before the babies are born and longer before they’ll be able to appreciate stuffed animals.

Here, in their secret corner of the world, the future is starting to look a lot brighter.

(Adam’s not fooling himself, though. He knows this won’t be easy. He’s heard Michael and Lucifer whispering to each other about how much harder it’ll get to hide their children once they’re older. Adam hasn’t even met either of them yet, but he’ll fight off the whole world, Heaven and Hell included, if he has to to protect them. Though, maybe he’d be better suited to holding the babies while Michael and Lucifer take care of all that that.)

He’s rubbing lotion into Lucifer’s skin, the kind that brags it can ease stretchmarks, which Lucifer doesn’t really understand (He loves the few that he has. Adam’s seen him admiring them, pleased by the changes in his vessel.) but lets Adam do anyway because he loves being pampered. He’s almost purring under Adam’s touch, leaning back against his Michael’s side with his eyes shut.

Michael looks tired. He’s more prone to overextending himself than Lucifer is. Months of a baby nephil draining his grace haven’t taught him to take better care of himself, but that’s why Adam’s here. He can give Michael a massage once he’s done with Lucifer.

”We’ll raise them as brothers, right?” Lucifer asks. Adam drops a kiss to his navel. Michael’s belly button popped out a week ago, yet another difference between Adam’s body and the one Michael inhabits that was based off of his. Michael doesn’t answer long enough for Lucifer to open his eyes and glance up at him. Michael smiles.

“Brother and sister, actually,” he corrects. Adam looks up from kissing Lucifer’s belly. Lucifer blinks, and then he looks even more excited than he did before.

”You’re having a girl?” Adam asks. Michael nods. Adam feels his chest pull tight. They haven’t even discussed names yet, but he’s been thinking, of course he’s been thinking, and Kate would be a lovely name for a baby girl, and- He takes a deep breath to calm his racing thoughts. “That’s amazing,” he says. They have all the time in the world to sort that out.

“I love her,” Lucifer says. “I love both of them. They’re ours, Michael, we made them.” Lucifer’s voice gets soft, almost giddy, whenever he brings that up. It means the world to him that he can create this new life, that it will be beautiful and all theirs to take care of.

”What, not mine too?” Adam teases, though he knows Lucifer doesn’t mean it like that. Humans make babies all the time. Angels? Not so much. Still, Lucifer turns to look at him, still grinning.

“And yours,” he agrees. "These ones and the next few-“

“Next few?” That’s the first Adam’s hearing of that.

“We can’t just have two. They’ll get lonely. We need at least four.” That tugs on Adam’s heartstrings a little, but not enough for him to agree to that just yet.

“Let’s see how well we handle having these two first. Then we’ll see about having more.” Lucifer huffs, but he doesn’t argue. His hand splays over his belly. Adam covers it.

“How hard could it be to raise two children?” Michael asks, with the doubt of someone who was left in charge of hundreds of little angels and thinks that any of those skills he acquired leading Heaven are going to translate neatly over to snacktime and putting them down for naps.

“We’ll see how you still feel once she’s able to cry,” Adam says. Michael does not seem convinced this is going to be a challenge. He’s going to eat those words, Adam’s sure, but they’ll get through it together. “Hey, how do your ankles feel?” Michael tips his head down, realizes he can’t see them past his belly, and props them up on the coffee table. Adam clicks his tongue. “I told you to stay off you’re feet or they’ll swell up worse.”

“I’m not going to sit here and make you take care of everything,” Michael says as Adam slides off the couch and onto his knees, bringing Michael’s foot into his lap. He gently massages the swollen area.

”Why not? I would,” Lucifer says, sleepily. Michael sighs, but it rolls into one of relief as Adam rubs his foot.

Adam smiles to himself. They’re going to handle this just fine together.

#fic: midafer #fic: spn #fanfiction #prompt fic #fic: michael spn #fic: adam milligan #fic: lucifer spn #this fic. this fic. it had like five false starts do you know that?#one was an outside pov of tfw walking in on adam with his pregnant angel house spouses and the chaos that would come from that #and then two of them started with lucifer being pregnant first #and even this version i ended up cutting the smut scene from because uh. well a) i am still sick and writing this much was surprisingly har #(hate that hate that hate that i want my normal writing energy back)#and b) i felt it worked better like this. the focus more on them being pregnant than on the making the baby part.#i mean unless there's a ton of interest in seeing them make that baby if u know what i mean askjdalksjd #anyway! i hope this came out good and you like it!#(im gonna upload this to ao3 too as soon as i come up with a title. and tags.)#also i sprinkled in trans!adam. <3 pros of giving me promtps is sometimes i will just make the characters trans.#fic: pregnant!michael #fic: pregnant!lucifer #fic: angelcest

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ravenromanova · 6 months

Text

Punishments

Parings: Wandanat x female avenger

Warnings: SMUT SMUT SMUT!!! DO NOT READ IF YOURE UNDERAGE!!!!!! Mommy kink, Daddy kink, Sub space, Edging, Denial, Bondage, Oral, Fingering, Squirting, Overstimulation. DO NOT READ IF YOURE UNDER 18!!!!!

Masterlist - Send me requests!!!

This fic came from this request! I hope i did it justice :)

You tried to stifle your laughter as you ran down the hall to your room. Once you finally reached your room you didn’t even bother locking the door knowing nothing could stop them. The pranks you pulled on your girlfriends may have backfired a little but it was funny as hell.

It started with you hiding Natasha’s widow bites right before a mission, then you and switched the sugar and salt on Wanda the same say. And as the days went on you kept being a menace to your girlfriends. It didn’t bother them at first since the pranks were mainly harmless. That was until today when you decided to prank them by saying you got really hurt during training and made them come home early from their mission. Let’s just say the look they both gave you when they saw you were fine sent fear down your spine.

They told you they were giving you a few minute head start and to run so that’s what you did. You ran to your room even though you knew it wasn’t going to do anything. And in all reality Wanda and Nat had already been on the way home from their mission when they got your text but you didn’t need to know that. For them they wanted to punish you for causing fear to run through their veins and being a brat as of late.

So they let you get a five minute head start before they slowly made their way to your room. And when they got to your room you were already on the bed sitting on your knees with your palms up.

“Looks like someone knows they fucked up” Wanda says laughing a little bit at your attempt to be a good girl.

“Don’t think this one good act will get you out of being punished Detka” Natasha croons as she sits behind you on the bed. Her fingers slowly brush over your shoulder blades and you shiver at her touch.

“You’ve been so bad these last couple of weeks and we’ve let it slide but this..you need to be punished for” She adds giving you a gentle kiss at the base of your neck.

Wanda moves so she’s in front of you and she takes you chin in between her fingers and your eyes meet hers. She gives you a soft kiss that you knew is luring you into a false sense of security.

The two women share a knowing look before Wanda flicks her wrist and your clothes suddenly disappear. You shiver when you feel the cool air hit your skin and you felt your skin become littered with goosebumps. Both of Wanda’s hands find your shoulders and gently pushes you back against the bed as Natasha moves to your side.

“So pretty” Natasha coos running her nimble fingers down your exposed skin. She sits next to you and attaches her lips around your nipple making you gasp in pleasure.

Wanda moves in between your thighs and uses her magic to restrain your hands. You tug on the restraints but the red tendrils of magic squeeze your wrists tighter. Wanda kisses down your stomach and then moves to your thighs before stopping at your core. The sokovian slowly licks your waiting pussy and you moan in pleasure and surprise. Between Natasha sucking and licking your nipples with fever and Wanda kiss your clit you mewl.

What you didnt know was that both women were going to bring you to the brink and then rip it away from you. They were like lions hunting their prey. Wanda started to suck your clit and ate you like a woman starved. You squirmed underneath her and the russian making them smile in unison.

”You’re so pretty bunny” Natasha cooed in your ear kissing below it. You shiver as her cool breath hits your skin.

Wanda was quick to bring your attention back to her and she shoved two fingers into you unexpectedly. Your back arched off the bed as you try to catch your breathe but inevitably fail. She sets a hard and relentless pace hitting your g-spot every time.

“So fucking wet” Her accent slipped out when she spoke making you and Natasha share a look of lust. The two women were so enthralled with you that they almost forgot about your punishment. But unfortunately for you they didn’t and just as you were about to cum Wanda and Natasha ceased their movements.

“W-What?” You whined pouting at the both of them.

“Did you really think we were gonna let you off the look that easily?” Wanda snarked gripping your chin.

“You made us think you were hurt… You scared us” Natasha said and you heard a hint of fear in her voice. “You need to be taught a lesson” She finished speaking and switched places with Wanda.

“I-Im sorry! Mommy please” You beg Wanda as she comes closer to your face. She laughs before she gives you a light slap against your cheek.

“Shut up” She said in her stern tone that she knew made you fall into your sub space. You looked up at her with doe eyes that nearly made her melt. The way you looked at her she knew you were fully submitting to her her and Natasha.

“I-I’m sorry mommy i didn’t mean it” You said trying to free your hands but it was still no use.

“Say you’re sorry to daddy” Wanda pointed towards Natasha who was laying on your thigh with a devilish smirk.

“I’m sorry daddy” You apologized with sincerity to Natasha making her smile.

“It’s okay bunny but you still need to be punished okay?” She ran her hand up your thigh and started to play with your clit.

You gasped in pleasure feeling Natasha’s warm mouth on your clit. She licked you as if she was on a mission and to her she was. That’s when Wanda undid the restraints on your hands and they immediately flew to her hair bringing her into a kiss. Wanda gratefully accepted your kiss and held you close to her as she did. The two of you got lost in the kiss so lost that it wasn’t until Natasha stuck two fingers in you that you broke the kiss.

You looked back at Natasha who had a smirk on her face as she hit your most sensitive spots. Your hands went from Wanda’s hair to the sheets gripping them in pleasure. The band in your stomach was about to break it was so close until.

“Stop” Wanda commanded and Natasha ceased her assault on your pussy.

“Fuck!” You screamed out in agony as your orgasm was ripped away from you again. Wanda smacked your mouth again making you moan out.

“Watch your mouth” She said and you sunk back into the mattress nodding your head mumbling an ‘i’m sorry.’ Wanda then brought you in for a sweet kiss signaling for Natasha to start fucking you again.

Three fingers where then found their way back inside you and you cried out in pleasure. Natasha pumped her fingers in and out slowly at first making sure you felt all of her. You nearly finished when you felt her press up against your g-spot.

“i-Im gonna cum. Please can i cum?” You begged both of them gripping onto Wanda’s shoulders as she kissed your collarbone.

“Cum” Natasha commanded watching the way your pussy sucked in her fingers with delight.

Your back arched off the bed and you came with a guttural moan making the women groan in satisfaction.

Natasha slowly pulled her fingers out of you and licked them with a smile on her face. Her and Wanda shared another look and they both ended up getting the same idea. They switched places again and Wanda ended up between your thighs again then started to play with you again.

“One more bunny” Wanda cooed slowly circling your clit.

“No” You shook your head. “Please mommy i can’t too sensitive” Your words fell on deaf ears and your words cut off by Natasha’s mouth in yours.

You moaned into Natasha’s mouth as you felt Wanda’s lips circle around your clit. She sucked on your clit with intent and slowly added two fingers into you. The coil that had just went away was very quickly building back up once Natasha started playing with your nipples. Her fingers started to tug and pinch your nipples making you mewl in her touch.

Your head was spinning at the pleasure you were feeling. “OH SHIT!” You moaned back arching off the bed as you finished and ended up squirting on Wanda’s face.

“Oh what a good girl” She praised licking up everything that dripped out of you. Natasha quickly got jealous that Wanda was the one to make you squirt and she straddled your waist. She then dipped her head down and licked up what was left of your mess. Her and Wanda shared a heated kiss both moaning when they tasted you on their tongues.

“You taste so good detka” Natasha praised bringing you in for a kiss and Wanda comes back up to your head. You smile at the both of them in a fucked out haze.

“We need to clean you up” Wanda said softly as she tried to bring you back to earth. You opened your eyes and looked at her before shaking your head no.

“Come on babygirl let’s take a bath” Natasha tried to coax you but you just grumbled at her. Both women chuckled at your antics before Wanda used her magic to start running a bath and Natasha swiftly picked you up.

They slowly put you into the warm water and you felt your muscles slowly relax. Both of them cleaned you up being careful not to overstimulate you more. And after the bath was over they got you dressed before the three of you all climbed into bed together.

Soon you fell into a peaceful sleep next to the two women you loved. Who knew that that prank would actually turn out in your favor?

~The end~

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xiaoseminence · 1 year

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I’m not sure if you do these but

An imposter!sagau with a creator (gn??)who just keeps resurrecting when they die, like their body disintegrates and reforms in the same spot like a minute later

Anyway Zhongli’s reaction to killing the creator, then watching their golden blood spill everywhere and realise with horror what he did

Only for creator to resurrect not even five minutes later, but with massive obvious trust issues (and Zhongli’s subsequent extreme guilt)

It’s a guilt fic im asking you to write a guilt fic

𓆩♡𓆪 Divine Retribution 𓆩♡𓆪 (Genshin SAGAU Scenario) (Imposter AU!)

Summary ➵✬ Mislead by a false idol, Rex Lapis commits the ultimate act of heresy. It’s only when the blood of the real creator stains his hands a golden color that he realizes what he just did.

Warnings ➵✬ Heavy Yandere, Mild depictions of blood/violence, Worship/Religious practices, Dark Topics, Depictions of emotional distress, Reader dies but not really

Despite how much your legs ached and your lungs seemed about ready to combust, you were slowly but surely starting to realize that you’d never be able to outrun him. If anything, it was as if he was toying with you, his disembodied voice whispering fury filled words into your ears as tears streamed down your face.

“Sinner, Miscreant! You vile creature will meet your justice at my hands today”

You never asked for any of this. The initial excitement of discovering you’d awoken in the world of your favorite game, surrounded by the many characters you’d grown to know and love, soon turned into icy fear once you saw the look in their eyes. From the very first moment any of them met you, they looked at you with such disdain and malice, they’d curse at you, call you “Imposter” or “Monster”, and chase you away. So far you managed to outrun them all, hiding in the rural regions of Liyue without showing your face to a single soul. But as soon as he was informed about your existence, your life was running on limited time.

“Their eminence will be delighted to see your head on a stake, hung above the walls of their palace. Demons like you should know that only death awaits you in the land of the creator”

A loud cry erupted from your throat as you felt a piercing pain in one of your legs. One look back revealed a golden spear embedded deeply in your flesh. Although you tried to keep running, it resulted only in a pathetic limp before you collapsed to the ground shortly after. The black cloak you had grown accustomed to wearing hid your form from the archon that was drawing closer and closer to your shivering body. The countless scrapes and bruises that covered you from head to toe after running for such a long time felt more painful than ever before. The golden blood flowing through your veins ever since you first came to this world was absorbed by the dark cloth, remaining as nothing but a barely visible stain.

His steps were slow and silent as he lazily stalked up to you. To him, you were wounded prey - and he was the predator about to devour you whole. Finally stepping in front of you, his gloved hands reached out to harshly grab your chin, forcing you to look straight into his amber colored eyes that were burning with resentment.

“It seems as though the little pest has finally been caught in the trap. Speak, Rat. Dare you defend your actions of besmirching the divine creator’s name with your hideous attempt to copy their form?”

He always seemed like such a grounded and wise character, yet as you were met with his perfect features pulled into a dangerous snarl, it was difficult to believe that this was the same person. An involuntary whine spilled past your lips as his grip on your jaw grew stronger to the point that you thought your skull would break apart.

“I don’t know what crime you keep accusing me of. I never hurt anyone!”, it came out as a desperate plea for mercy, yet something inside you told you that it didn’t matter whether you were to beg on your knees or spit in his face - the archon of geo remained as unmoving in his resolve to kill you as mountain, ever unfazed by its surroundings.

“Pathetic.” - He all but growled this word as his eyes seemed to grow as hard as gold. Before you could even realize what was happening, a harsh push had your back painfully colliding with the muddy ground below. The tip of his golden spear dematerialized from its place embedded in your thigh, instead appearing only inches from your (e/c) eyes. You were scared to blink, even scared to breathe - in fear that the spear would come crashing down on you before you knew it. Your face - the face that everyone seemed to resent you for - was staring right at the archon who would be your killer.

For only a fraction of a moment, his amber eyes seemed to soften, their color appearing gentle and warm like molten pools of caramel. Yet this moment was soon over, as an even harsher scowl appeared on his features.

“How dare you? You really thought you’d be able to fool their grace’s most devoted worshiper?”, he hissed, as if it was somehow your fault that you looked similar to the deity they revered.

“You don’t deserve to utter any last words”

Before your mouth could open to let out one last defiant scream, before your muscles could contract and roll you to the side, away from danger, a sharp pain shot through your forehead - all but seeming to split your head in half as the spear found its place in your skull. The last thing your tired eyes noticed was a single splatter of shimmering, golden blood - before finally… your vision faded to black.

In all his years of seeing war, bloodshed, famine and death, the archon of Liyue never once faltered in his conviction toward his creator. Even after losing those who held close to his heart, his faith gave him the strength to carry onward - his body seemingly fueled only by sheer devotion. Yet in this very moment, as a single splatter of golden blood hit his face, he never felt more pathetic. Not a single muscle in his form dared to even so much as twitch, as the only feeling aside from his own heartbeat thundering painfully in his chest was the warm liquid sliding down his cheek. It seared him, felt so hot against his skin that he was sure it was a warning of what hellfire would await him after what he had done.

“I- Your grace?”, his words were barely above a whimper, hand outstretched as if to touch them, assure himself that he hadn’t done what he feared he had. Although he tried to convince himself that he must be mistaken, the endlessly empty feeling in his chest confirmed what he deep down already knew to be true. He had killed them.

ɢᴏᴅꜱʟᴀʏᴇʀ - ʜᴇʀᴇᴛɪᴄ - ᴅɪꜱꜱᴇɴᴛᴇʀ

The words kept repeating themselves endlessly in his mind. With a broken sob his knees gave out under him, allowing his body to fall onto the cold ground. He felt like he was burning from the inside, hellfire coursing through his veins, yet his shaking hands still reached out for his creator’s limp body. His gloves had long since been discarded, thrown aside and forgotten in the damp grass. “What a fool I am, your grace. What hubris led me to believe that I could be your most devoted servant, the one to lay the world at your feet when in the end… it was I who fell for a false idol?”

He wanted to cradle his deity in his arms, let the tears that spilled from his eyes wash away his sins and their blood. His face felt tainted, dirty - sullied with the blood of his one and only god. Blood that he had spilled. When his hands should have touched the body lying motionless on the ground, he was met with nothing but shimmering dust. The creator had disappeared.

It mattered little to Rex Lapis what would become of this world, of the inhabitants of Liyue and all those he swore to protect. Nothing in this world would ever matter again without the gentle guidance of the creator.

“Please, I beg you! Please punish me! I deserve a punishment worse than death”- He bowed down so deeply that he could feel the cool ground against his face. He was ready to beg and atone for as long as it took for you to punish him. He would accept anything, anything at all - but he couldn’t live knowing he’d been abandoned by you. A life without your presence was a greater torture to him than his mind could even fathom - if you stayed gone… he would break apart.

“Please… come back”, he had yelled and cried to the point his lungs started to hurt, and by now his voice was nothing above a raspy whisper. What a pathetic shadow of himself the archon had become.

You often wondered what the afterlife would be like. Would you end up waking up in yet another game world? Or… would dying perhaps give you a chance to go back home? Home, where you belonged and many friendly souls were waiting for you, people who wouldn’t curse and spit at you, forcing you to go into hiding for so long. Yet death did not come to you as easily as you expected, as when you opened your eyes again…

A cloud of shimmering golden dust was surrounding you like a cocoon. When it all at once burst open, you were met with a rather startling sight. Before you knelt Rex Lapis - or Zhongli as you’d first come to know him in the game. Yet to your surprise, nothing seemed to remain of the unshakable mountain he appeared as before. He was shivering, near silent sobs racking his body uncontrollably.

The slight golden shimmer in his peripheral vision made him freeze. His teary eyes raised themselves at a snail’s pace - too scared was he that it was a mere illusion of his desperate mind. Yet when he met your mortified gaze, he couldn’t help but cry out in relief.

“Your grace! I will repent! Whatever you want, for however long you see fit-”, the male practically flung himself at your feet, hands grasping all too eagerly at your stiff legs. His touch was gentle, but you knew it would be impossible to get him to let you go if he saw it fit to hold you in place. He was looking up at you with such… passion? It felt as though you could see right through his eyes, into a burning fire of devotion. This was far different to how anyone ever looked at you before in this world. They tended to gaze at you with either disdain or a twisted kind of pity that made you feel sick to your stomach. It scared you far more than if he had been angry, swinging at you with that spear of his.

“L-let me go! Don’t touch me!”, you frantically cried out, moving backwards so quickly that you fell over.

His expression immediately fell, an almost empty look replacing his formerly so fiery expression.

“I understand, your grace”, his breath shuddered as he instantly let you go, hands retracting so fast, it seemed as though your skin had burned him.

“I will prove my worth to you. Command me as you wish. No matter what you order me to do, who you want me to kill. If you want me to mutilate and torture myself I will be happy to do so, I’d burn all of Liyue down in a heartbeat if you so desired - if only to cleanse myself of the sin I have committed”

His fervent, desperate devotion was far more terrifying than his wrath could ever be. Word count ➵✬ 1850 Note ➵✬ Thank you for my very first request

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pupcuck · 5 months

Text

STOCKING FILLER !

ft. leon s. kennedy x fem!reader

tags. p in v, filming, throat fucking, ddlg dynamics, creampie, daddy kink

note. the first part to my xmas fics! hooray! starting off very short so i apologise! ignore any typos! this is a part 2 to my fic lovey-dovey if you would like to read that first! if you see typos just know i will detonate :3 not entirely proud of this as it’s slightly repetitive but I promise the next fics will be more interesting! reblogs n feedback is much appreciated!

lovey-dovey

Huh. So that’s what you want for Christmas. Cock. What a surprise. Leon didn’t peg you as an icky little perv, his sweet girl can get down and dirty when she wants, but a sex tape? That’s new. Guess he could whip out the old camcorder, make you into a movie star, you’re certainly pretty enough. And with those false lashes on? Yeah, that’ll be a mega-hit, could make a fortune off of it, no more getting skullfucked by monsters in the field, just sticking his dick in all of your tight holes to pay the bills.

“Daddy?” He feels small cold hands on his shoulder. Yelps in a way that makes you giggle.

“Scared me, baby.” Leon huffs out a breath, tucks the letter behind his back, but you’ve got a sharp eye. His little girl knows too much. Daddy tries to keep it out of your reach, it’s for your own good, but you’re so nosy. Curious little thing.

“Why you readin’ my letter?” You wipe your nose on your sleeve, caught the flu over the weekend, doesn’t stop you from peeking over his shoulder 24/7. “That’s between me and Santa.”

“‘Cause Santa said I could,” Leon says simply.

“Nuh-uh, he didn’t.” You shake your head in disbelief as if Leon’s breach of privacy is the greatest betrayal since the whole Judas debacle. He didn’t know you and Santa had terms and conditions like that.

“Well, he did, ‘cause how else is daddy supposed to know what you want?” Leon pats the seat beside him, you go to climb over the back of the couch but he gives you a look. The daddy look of disapproval. You grunt in annoyance and make the short trip over to him. Walking around the sofa is a total pain when you’re sick - perfectly happy to terrorise him though. “Why’re you up anyway?” He goes to check his watch, “it’s midnight.”

“I got cold, daddy.” You tell him, blink up at him with big eyes that tell Leon something’s up. “And, um, I lied to daddy.”

“You lied?” Leon repeats, raising his brow. His girl doesn’t lie. Only naughty babies lie.

“I lied.” You confirm with a solemn nod. “I don’t believe in Santa, daddy.”

Shock horror. Leon clutches his chest. “Why’d you lie to me like that, babydoll?”

“Shy.” Is your plain answer.

“What, like, about Santa?”

“No, daddy,” you shake your head and let out a frustrated puff of breath through your nose, kicking your feet to distract yourself, “‘bout what I wanted from you.”

“Oh, baby,” Leon chuckles, he wraps his arm around your shoulder, draws you to his warm chest and kisses the crown of your head. “What’re you shy about, hm? I’ve had my tongue in your ass.”

Your little fists smack against his chest, muffling your embarrassed whines of daddy into his chest. It makes Leon laugh harder. “All I’m sayin’ is, sweetheart, you could ask daddy anything and I’d do it for you.” Leon is rough and calloused, but for you, he aches to be kind and soft. He’d do whatever you say in a heartbeat. If you want porn, so be it, he’ll fuck you till his dick pops off from overuse. And even then he’d let you keep his disembodied cock as a toy.

You make your recovery by Christmas Eve. Thank heavens. You’re a nightmare when sick, more so in this headspace. Grown-up you is responsible. Knock back two painkillers, cough medicine and settle into bed. Little you? God, she’s wreaking havoc. He had to change the quilt about five times, you said it was too lumpy, too thin, too ugly. Fucking Princess and the Pea. Insulted the duvet his mom made way back when, yeah, it’s patchwork, yeah, it’s ugly as fuck. You don’t gotta say it outloud though. Then you insist on using anything but a napkin to wipe your nose and— God. He’s just glad it’s over. Also means Leon can touch you again. In the way he wants, in the way you want.

Dressed in the pinkest of pinks, you sit on your knees in the middle of Leon’s California king. He insisted on finding that old camcorder, but you looked at him like he was crazy, told him his phone would do the job. The frilled hem of your babydoll rests pretty on your knees, it’s dangerously low cut to show more than just your décolletage, and the cups don’t fit right, a little too tight. You had complained, said it gave you four boobs or whatever that means. Leon patted you on the butt and told you he liked it. What kinda man says no to a big pair of tits? You might be his little girl but there’s nothing little about those, or that fat pussy, Jesus Christ. Had to swap out the matching thong ‘cause it got swallowed up between your fat lips, instead you’ve gone for comfort. Cotton panties printed with these vintage-looking lambs. There’s a blue ribbon dotting the hem that sits snug below your belly button. Through the sheer pink, he can see ‘em. Drives Leon crazy.

The camera counts down. 3, 2, 1. He steps into frame, shaky like he’s got an audience. A rogue hand brushes the front of his pants, you’re making eyes at him, licking the gloss off your lips. “C’mon, baby, get to work.” Leon pinches your cheek when you go to unzip his jeans with your naughty fingers, “Babies don’t use their hands, do they?”

You shake your head, ribbons bobbing along with you. Then you lower your head, take his zipper between your teeth and tug it down in jagged intervals. He’d taken his belt off earlier, knows that would be a little too mean. You can’t even tie a cherry knot with that tongue. Not that Leon can either. You’re pleased to find out he’s not wearing much at all underneath, letting out a hum of delight when his cock springs free, almost hitting you in the nose. What a video that could be Cock So Fat I Give My Girl A Nosebleed!

Very diligently, you run your tongue along his shaft, suck on each ball for ten seconds, then you work the tip. Your cheeks hollow as you take him into your mouth, you gag and pull back with a cough ‘cause he tickled the back of your throat.

“Thought you were a big girl.” Leon snickers at the slightly dazed expression on your face, the stringy spit that’s trickling down your chin, falling in fat globs between your tits.

“I am, daddy.” You insist in that whiny voice.

“Suck cock like a big girl then.” He slaps your right tit hard enough to make them knock together like Newton’s cradle. “C’mere, sweetheart.” Leon tucks his hands beneath your armpits and drags you to the edge of the bed, your head dangles at an angle that’s entirely uncomfortable. The only thing that’s in frame is his bare ass, and that’s not pleasant, but come on. He’s gotta do this.

Leon wipes the fat head of his cock across your pout, you open up like a good girl, he stuffs his dick down your tight throat, balls pressed to the point of your nose. Thinks he hears you inhale, then your little hands come to fondle his fat balls and the no-hands rule flies out the window. “Jesus Christ, you fuckin’ nympho, baby.” He pats your cheek, bucks his hips into your mouth to hear those delicious gag, gag, gaggin’ sounds. Once you’ve lathered him in enough spit, Leon pulls out with a wet pop, drags his balls over your face like you want him to. Nasty little thing.

Panting for breath, you sit up, pressing the back of your hand to your head daintily. “That’s good for you.” Leon comments, “makes your hair grow ‘cause all the blood is rushing to your head, Claire told me.”

“Not true, daddy,” you giggle, rubbing your temple to soothe the bursting pressure. You smile pretty when he lays you back, your head dipping between the pillows. He kisses your cheek, and you take his hand in yours, kissing his knuckles tenderly. A soft creature with even softer tendencies.

Leon’s quick to get you out of your panties, hooks his fingers in the waistband and peels the soaked seat from your slick cunt. Much to your embarrassment - he lifts them to his nose and takes a whiff, his tongue pokes out to collect the arousal that’s gathered in the centre. Then he digs into the source itself, presses his nose into your chubby pussy, sucks on your clit like it’s hard candy. The muffled moans he lets out into your cushiony cunt don’t go unheard, so brazen about it, you grow fidgety and pull at his hair. Leon lifts his head, stubble shiny with your slick, licks his lips to catch every last drop. What was he doing down there? Motorboating it?

“Daddy…” You whine, press your foot against his face to stop him. Leon captures your ankle, then kisses the sole of your socked foot, he uses it as leverage, spreads you even further. Till your thighs ache, and your pussy parts ever so slightly, he’s quick to press his cock to your twitching clit. A steady hand drags Leon’s cock up and down your folds, cock catching on your bud each time.

“Look at her, baby, missed me, didn’t she?” Leon coos, his eyes zeroed in on your spread cunt, watching how your hole flutters around nothing. Poor baby. You need his fat cock so bad. Need to be plugged up before you spring a leak. Gosh, he wouldn’t want that. “She’s beggin’ for daddy, hm? Listen to her, she’s speakin’ to me.” He smiles when your drippy cunt squelches, the slick, gushy sounds going straight to his cock as it jumps. Way to give him away. Leon don’t have a tail that wags but he sure does have a cock, and it’s hard enough to break open a walnut.

Up and down, up and down. Leon guides his cock over your clit, and past your fleshy folds, teases your needy hole by stretching you out with just the tip. Then he pulls out. When he finally fucking pushes into your warmth, you squeeze him tight, he sinks in till all of him is wrapped up in your cunt. And you squirt for him. Eyes rolled back into your head, acrylics taking down his chest, back bowing off the bed ‘cause it was just too much for his baby and her precious princess parts.

“Mmmmmphhh!” You let out a squeaky sound into the palm of your hand.

“Yeah? That so, baby?” Leon clicks his tongue, tosses your flimsy legs over his shoulders, tugs down the cups of your babydoll so he can suck your tits.

Another stream of pitchy moans. “Uh huh?” Leon responds, nodding down at you like he knows just what his dumb little girl means.

“Daddyyyyyy!” His balls plap, plap, plap against your perky ass, gonna fuck you till his heart gives out. That’s what you deserve.

“Yeah, darling? You’re talkative today, huh?” Leon cranes his neck and bites down on your nipple, leaves it all puffy. His pace slows, focuses on giving it to you slow and deep, circles his hips so you feel every inch of him. The slow, sticky grind makes a wet noise, a ring of white glistening around the wide base of his cock. You’ve gone and creamed around him.

“Mmmm… Daddy…”

“Aw, is that right my girl?”

Then you bristle, go rigid in his grip, chest heaving and your mouth falls open in a silent moan. “Ohhh, is it right there, sweetpea? Yeah? Mhm? Right there? Gonna make a big mess for daddy?” Leon presses down on your abdomen, his dick hits that special spot just right, and his tongue swirls over your nipple.

“Daddy, daddy, daddy— oh, daddy,” you whimper, spurting your release each time his cock slams against your cervix, wetting his stomach with each burst. Getting him all messy in the way he likes.

“Alright, alright, keep it down, little lady.” Leon soothes you, his warm hand rubbing your side as you tremble in his arms, breath shuddering until he dumps his load in you.

You go slack beneath him, little hand coming to rub your tummy after his warmth floods into you. He spreads you open to see how your cunt gapes, empty without his fat cock, his seed dribbles out as your pussy contracts, spills down your ass crack. Leon gives your clit one last kiss, ‘cause it’s pretty and you’re pretty, and pretty girls deserve handsome daddies who kiss their swollen little clits.

“Daddy,” you point over his shoulder, brows drawn together as your bottom lip wobbles. Never a good sign. He turns to see his phone has fallen flat on its face. See, this is why he should’ve got the camcorder out.

“Oh, baby, it’s alright,” Leon coos, you preen as he peppers your sweaty face in kisses, “we can just start again, huh? We got all night.”

“But, but, but, daddy, I gotta be sleepin’ when Santa comes.” You blubber.

“Thought you didn’t believe in him, babe.” He flicks your forehead.

“I don’t, daddy, but, will you still fill my stocking? When I go to sleep, daddy?” You’re giving him those big eyes again, batting your lashes. Santa is a ploy to get more presents. He’d figured that out.

“Yes, baby.” Leon agrees to calm you down, “but first I gotta grant your Christmas wish, don’t I?”

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x you #leon s kennedy smut #leon s kennedy x reader #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut

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miryum · 1 year

Text

Sleepless in Monaco (Charles Leclerc x Reader) royal!AU

Hi! This is my first F1 fic so I hope you guys enjoy. I worked really hard on this and am pretty proud of it!

Warnings: Swearing, implications of sex, insomnia, nightmares, death, parents in the military, and any others I missed

Word Count: 10.4k

Disclaimer: I know nothing of how the monarchy works. Take my words about the inner monarchy with a grain of salt. I took the British monarchy and twisted it to fit my needs for this work of fiction, so all of this is highly unrealistic. For example, an heir cannot abdicate before the monarch’s death, but for the sake of this fic, in Monaco, they can. No other country has as strict coronations for their monarchs as Britain does, and even there it’s usually months after a monarch is dead, but I wanted to speed things up!

Also, all of these people are exactly that- their own person and I am simply using their names and faces for a story.

Enjoy!

Countless studies showed that sleep was necessary and the more you got, the better off you were. Still, you didn’t like going to sleep. It felt needlessly unproductive. The nights were bouts of insomnia, and if you were allowed to sleep, it was always riddled with nightmares.

The most frequent nightmare started off in a meadow of dead flowers. It lulled you into a false sense of security, although being surrounded by death left worried butterflies in your gut. It was then followed by falling. You weren’t sure what you fell into, but all you knew is that it must be bottomless. As the helplessness and impending doom reached a climax, you woke up.

As a child you could always run to your parents, but now, as an adult, you had no one to run to. You were alone.

Tonight was like every other. You had trouble going to sleep, and when you finally did, you fell. You fell into the bottomless pit surrounded by dead flowers. And then you woke. The clock read only 1:44. As if on cue, the phone rang. It was your burner phone and the number was easily recognizable.

“Hey Arthur,” you ran a hand over your tired eyes.

He asked immediately, “did I wake you?”

“You know me; I’m never asleep.”

“Ah yes,” the youngest Leclerc brother clicked his tongue. “We share the same crazy sleep schedule.”

“The one thing that brought us together.” It was true, of course. Your nights in the castle had been just as sleepless as ever, and it was one night when you were roaming the halls that you bumped into the small prince. You had dropped into a messy curtsy (you were still learning how- you were only five at the time) but Arthur had laughed and said whoever was up at that time of night didn’t need to bow to him. It had then become a tradition. Whenever one of you couldn’t sleep, they would find the other and the night would usually end passed out in front of a blaring TV screen with dripping bodies from a rendezvous at the indoor castle pool. Alas, as the two of you got older and you moved out of the castle for school, your late-night meetings turned to late-night phone calls.

“Did you ever go to sleep?” You ask. “You sound wide awake.”

“No, I did not,” Arthur drew out his words, awaiting your reprimanding. You were too tired to do so, however, and just rolled your eyes. “Hey, you’re on summer break, right?” He switched the subject, “I have a proposition for you.”

You groaned. “What is it? Do you have another girl I need to chase away?”

“Carla and I are going strong, thank you very much,” Arthur said. You could feel his drama through the phone.

“Then what is it?” Arthur stalled and a sinking feeling pulled over you. “Arthur,” you demanded. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong!” He said quickly before pausing and letting the next words coat over you. “Lorenzo just abdicated the throne.”

“What?!” You worried you had woken your neighbours up, but the shock was too strong that you couldn’t refrain from yelling. “Why?!”

“He was fed up,” Arthur simply said. “He didn’t want to be a part of this life.”

“But Charles…” You couldn’t imagine what he was going through. His life had just been upended. He was always content with being second. Content with being a prince without having the responsibility of the throne on his shoulders. Now he had to toughen up and prepare to rule after his father. Unless he wanted to leave the throne to Arthur, and you knew he could never do that to his younger brother, Charles was stuck. “Why are you telling me this?”

“I want you to come back to Monaco,” he said.

“Why?”

“I think it would be really helpful for Charles and I to have you around again,” Arthur explained. “You were always such a good friend and were able to handle and control our craziness. Charles could really use an anchor such as you. I could get a position on my staff so you would have income, but-”

“You don’t need to convince me,” you smiled softly. “I’ll always come back.”

“To Monaco or to the Leclerc’s?” Arthur teased you.

“Whichever needs me first,” you laughed.

“Fantastic.” Arthur was giddy at the prospect of seeing his best friend again. “The plane is already at your airport.”

“What?” You jumped out of bed and searched for your suitcase. “What if I had said no?”

“Come on, Y/n. It’s impossible for you to say no.”

As it turns out, the poor pilot had been waiting for over two hours, just at the prospect that a random girl might say yes to the prince’s pleas. You had apologised profusely to him before cracking open a book as you were flown to Monaco.

After you landed, you were shuttled to the castle in a black van that bore the flag of Monaco. The few pedestrians that were out in the early morning gawked at it, wondering what a member of the royal family was doing out this early, but you simply shielded away from the tinted windows. They would hear the news soon enough.

You had just opened your car door and were stepping onto the gravel driveway when Arthur burst out of the castle doors and greeted you with a tight hug.

“Geez, lemme get out of the car first!” But nonetheless, you squeezed him back. “It’s good to see you again.”

“It’s been too long,” he agreed. “You won’t believe all the shit that’s been happening.”

“I haven’t read any tabloids just so I could hear all the gossip from you,” you said, laughing.

“Good, because they’ve all fucked the story up.” Arthur didn’t laugh along. You frowned slightly and took your luggage from the valet. It must be serious.

Arthur walked you inside, taking your bags like the gentleman he was. He explained, “I’ll get you all caught up later, but I need to go talk to Lorenzo quickly. Charles is out exercising in the gardens. He’ll want to see you.”

“Do I have to act differently around him?” You ask, “is there any strict protocol when talking to the next-in-line?”

Arthur looked at you, face scrunched in bemusement. “It’s not like he’s grown a tail, Y/n. It’s just Charles. And you never acted differently around Lorenzo than you did I or Charles.”

“True,” you conceded.

You and Arthur parted ways and you marvelled at how quickly the layout of the castle came back to you. It had been so long since you were last here, but you remembered it like yesterday.

Your feet took you to the gardens, and like always, you were blown away at the serenity of it all. Rows of bushes and hedges of all different types of flowers and plants spun out around you, twisting and weaving like a dancer as far as the eye could see. You knew that at the centre of it all was a magnificent fountain and on the outskirts were rows of apple trees. Your favourite spot was a weeping willow next to a small pond that was fed by a brook. You remembered countless hours spent on a tire swing your dad had hooked up, playing and laughing with the princes.

A wistful melancholy grew over you, but instead of wallowing in the sadness of the past, you decided to rejoice in its happiness.

But you couldn’t deny that you had missed Monaco. And it’s people.

Speaking of which, a figure was making their way through the garden. You recognised the silhouette instantly. “Charles!” you yelled.

The running figure stopped for a moment, staring at you, before starting up again, spriting your way. “Y/n!” It was clear he had been on a run, wearing black shorts and an athletic white t-shirt. Working out was a way Charles relieved stress, and you had no doubt that he was under a lot of stress right now. Charles swept you up in a monstrous hug, clinging to you like a lifeboat on stormy water. Your feet dangled in the air for a moment before he gently set you down. But the hug didn’t stop. His head was buried into the crook of your neck. “I missed you so much,” he whispered and his breath sent goosebumps along your skin.

“I missed you too, Charlie.” Charles’ heart jumped at the childhood nickname. “Arthur called me and told me what happened.”

“Please don’t talk about it,” Charles muttered.

“Okay,” you hummed, just letting the poor boy embrace you. After a moment, you realised that the hug had exceeded the socially acceptable time for friends and cleared your throat. “Okay, sweaty-pants, you’re gross. Get off of me.” You pulled away and patted his chest.

“Why’d you come back? I thought you were off at school.” Charles looked at you with puppy-dog eyes. It made you melt.

“It’s summer break,” you shrugged.

“So you didn’t come back for me?” Charles pouted, even though both of you knew the real answer.

“Nah, I don’t care about you at all.” You shook your head. “I just came back for your brother.”

“Which one?!” Charles asked you as you stepped away. You laughed loudly and started walking back to the palace. “Which one?!” Charles shrieked, running after you.

“Your Majesties,” you cursitied lowly in front of Hervé and Pascale Leclerc.

Pascale rolled her eyes from her throne and smiled softly. “Y/n, please stop with the formalities. It’s a pleasure to have you back with us in Monaco.” Per tradition, you were thanking the King and Queen of Monaco for welcoming you back into the country. Charles and Arthur stood off to the side, Lorenzo nowhere to be found.

“And how are your Majesties faring?” you asked politely.

“Everything will turn out wonderfully,” Pascale said, although you knew you and her would be talking long into the night about the events that had transpired. “Are you staying with your brother, my dear?”

“Oh, no.” You shook your head. “He recently bought a new home with his family and I don’t want to intrude.”

“Well then, you must stay with us!” Pascale beamed. “Did neither of my sons extend the invitation?”

“No, your Highness, they did not.” You grinned, knowing full well what was to come.

“Boys!” Pascale glared at her two youngest who cowered away from their mother’s sharp gaze.

“Mama!” Arthur whined in protest.

“Y/n is always welcome to stay with us. I expect you two to be on your best behaviour.” Arthur mumbled something to Charles that you couldn’t hear. The crown prince blushed and pushed Arthur away. “Isn’t that right, dear?” Pascale turned to her husband.

The king smiled kindly at you and whispered hoarsely, “always a pleasure to see you, sweetheart.”

“The pleasure is all mine, my King.” You bowed your head in acknowledgment and reverence. It was well known that King Hervé’s health had been diminishing the past few years. As his age increased, his intellect and memory decreased. Though whatever his conditions, you still treasured childhood memories of him laughing at your father’s jokes, picking you up to dance at royal balls, or, if time allowed it, coming to play with you and the princes.

“And I don’t want you working at all while you’re here,” Queen Pascale wagged her finger at you playfully. “You are on vacation. Don’t let Arthur rope you into being an aide.”

“I won’t, your Highness,” you snuck a glance at Arthur but instead locked eyes with Charles. He winked at you and you knew that someway or another he would rope you into some dirty work.

“How long are you staying?” King Hervé asked and you snapped back to him.

“I’m not entirely sure,” you admitted. “School starts in September, but I could always postpone it for a semester.”

Charles cleared his throat and stepped forward. “Chérie, did you know that the castle could easily employ anyone of any talent and prestige? You must remember our tutor?”

“Charles, what are you suggesting?” Pascale lifted an eyebrow.

“All I’m saying,” Charles tried to look as innocent as possible. “Is that we haven’t seen Y/n for a while. If she wanted to, we could simply bring her schooling here. I’m sure her university would love it if they had an international student studying under the royal family.”

You rolled your eyes, knowing exactly what the boy was doing. “We’ll talk about it later,” Pascale assured him. “Y/n, come with me,” she smiled softly. “I’ll walk you to your room. As much as I love my boys, I can’t wait for a little girl time.”

She stood and glided down the steps. She held her arm out to you and you looped yours through it. “And may I just say,” you added, “I love your outfit.” She was wearing a light purple pantsuit with a skirt flaring out from the waist.

“Thank you so much, dear! I saw this dress the other day and it reminded me of you; you must try it.”

“Of course.” You and the Queen stayed in frequent contract, her sending you photos of cute outfits (she had sent you a picture of an adorable blouse last weekend) and updates of the boys (you were surprised she wasn’t the one to call you with the news of Lorenzo’s abdication) and you sent her memes and cute videos of pets you found on the Internet.

You were sure that if the princes or the Queen’s private secretary found out that you were constantly communicating, the former would be freaked out and shocked and the latter would be aghast. It was very un-queen-like to be texting pictures of baby ducks to a girl that was half her age. And what son wants their mother to be chatting with their friend?

Once you and the Queen left the throne room, you immediately asked, “how are things going? No one’s told me the whole story.”

Pascal sighed heavily, clearly burdened with things beyond her control. “I’ve seen it coming for a long time. Lorenzo has waged this battle for years within his mind, weighing the pros and cons of the situation.”

“I never knew him to be unhappy,” you said.

“That’s because no one ever saw him,” Pascale shrugged. “He was always hidden away, studying to be king. He never had a true childhood. Everything he did was scrutinised as people picked apart their future leader. He was only a child. He never wanted to let people down, but I believe the breaking point was last year when Hervé got terribly sick.”

You had heard about that. Arthur had called you in a frenzy, worrying himself into a spiral that you calmed him down from while you were miles away. Charles had called you much later that night and you two had engaged in quiet conversation about the affair.

“Lorenzo realised the full magnitude of the situation,” Pascale continued. “And he didn’t want it.” She simply stated the facts, knowing that Lorenzo was the only one who could explain the reasons behind his actions. “He called the whole family into the sitting room last night and informed us of his decision. It was released to the public this morning. Poor Fernando and Nico stayed up all night composing the perfect speech,” she said, referring to the palace communication advisors.

“And Charles?” you asked.

Pascale huffed and shook her head. “The boy is stupid,” she said bluntly. “He won’t take anyone’s advice and is pushing people away so he can cope on his own. That’s why Arthur brought you in.” She glanced at you, smirking slightly.

“I have no idea what you mean,” you said matter-of-factly.

“Oh, come off it, dearie.” Pascale rolled her eyes. “We both know my son has a sweet spot for you. Do you remember when you were eight and Charles was having a tantrum over the tiniest of thing? He wouldn’t come down for dinner, but when you went up to his room and talked to him, he came right down after you, trailing at your heels like a lost puppy?”

You shook your head and ignored the blush coming to your cheeks. The Queen didn’t miss it. “All I’m saying,” she declared as you reached your temporary room (which happened to be right next to Charles and Arthur’s), “is that although your Arthur’s best friend, my middle son has taken quite a liking to you over the years.” She turned on her heel, leaving you to your thoughts. Over her shoulder, Queen Pascale called to you, “food for thought,” before disappearing around a corner.

“Charles! Come on!” Arthur was swimming laps in the lake on a blazing summer day. You waded next to him, trying to get used to the colder water. Lorenzo was taking a break from his studies and lounging on an inflatable tube.

“I’m coming! Give me a second!” A thirteen year old Charles was still tugging off his socks. “Oh, I forgot my swimsuit!”

“Dude, how?” Lorenzo laughed. His sunglasses sat comfortably on his face as he relaxed. “We’re swimming. You need a swim-suit.”

“I don’t know, this was an impulse decision!” Charles was right; during breakfast you’d off-handedly proposed the idea and it was readily accepted.

“Just use your underwear.” Arthur shrugged.

“Oh my gosh look at this little crab!” You gasped and held up your hands. A small crab danced its way over your cupped hands.

Charles shook his head wildly. “No! I’m not going to strip down to my underwear!”

“Charlie,” you glanced at him before turning your attention back to the crab. “You would be showing the same amount of skin as if you had your swimsuit. It’s fine!”

“But,” he hesitated. “I don’t know, it just seems so much more intimate.”

“We’ve all seen each other naked,” Arthur pointed out.

“We were six years old!” Charles blushed furiously.

“Then leave your shirt on,” you said. “But come in the water. It wouldn’t be any fun with you staying on the shore.” After a second thought, you added, “Please, Charles?” You gave him a look you knew he couldn’t resist. You had the boys wrapped around your finger.

“Fine,” Charles smiled as your grin grew at his response. He could never stand to see you sad, especially if it was his doing. “But when we get out, I am stealing an extra towel.”

When the four of you were finished swimming, Charles stole Arthur’s towel and the latter dripped water all over the castle carpets. The cleaning crew was not happy.

“Hey, Charles?” You knocked on his door softly. “Can I come in?”

“Of course,” he replied. You opened the door to see him slouched in a chair before his desk. It was littered with papers and textbooks. Charles looked more tired than ever and you were worried that he hadn’t slept last night. Granted, you couldn’t chastise him for it. You were up worrying as well.

“What’re you doing?” You came to stand behind him and placed a hand on his shoulder, peering at the documents splayed before him.

Charles leaned into your touch, his heart fluttering. He had missed you so much. He wasn’t about to derive himself of your comfort. “I’ve been trying to catch up on the years of studying Lorenzo had. Turns out there’s books on foreign policy and economics he had decades to read. I only have a couple months.”

“What about your father?” you asked, “He’s doing well, no?”

Charles tilted his head back to look at you and lifted a brow. “Come on, Y/n. You’re not naive. Maman knows she’ll have to plan his funeral soon. I only thought I would be watching my brother pledge himself to Monaco- not me.”

“I’m so sorry.” You hugged him the best you could in your position. “I know that I can’t help you much, but I want you to know I’m here for you.”

“That’s all I ever need.” Charles was worried you hadn’t heard him when you sat down next to him and pulled the books towards you, intent on helping him in any way you could. He knew that with his eventual coronation (god, that was a terrifying thing to think about. How did Lorenzo ever keep his cool?) the kingdom would pressure him to find a wife and carry on the Leclerc bloodline. He wasn’t forced to marry someone with status, just so long as the person could handle the public eye and the inevitable scrutiny. He wanted to form a connection with the woman and have the most normal relationship he possibly could.

“Why do you have to learn how to start a revolution?” You flipped through one of the textbook pages. “Wouldn’t you need to know how to quell one? This is so confusing.” You slam the book shut, bored after only three seconds. How could Charles have stayed up all night doing this? “Okay, what is something productive, yet fun?”

“Do you want to listen to a meeting about military strategies?” Charles suggested. “Dad wants me to start sitting in on meetings of state to make up for the lost years.”

“No,” was your immediate reply. “As much as I love you, Charles, that sounds like the most boring thing in the world.”

“It’s what I’ll be doing the rest of my life,” Charles grumbled.

“And Arthur and I will be with you every step of the way.” You baulked at the lifelong oath you had just promised. But you couldn’t take your words back now. Charles needed you to be his rock, and what good were you if you yourself were slipping under the tide? While Charles was drowning in the sea of uncertainty and pressure, you were drowning in the sea of hopelessness and love. “Do you feel bitter about it?” you asked quietly, wanting to change the subject but also know the truth. “Do you resent Lorenzo for what he did?”

“I want to,” Charles admitted. “I want to force him to take the crown back. I want him to get his ass back here and sit on the throne. I want to hate him. But I can’t. Because I get it. I understand what he’s feeling. He was already under the dissection of the press and public. Now it’s ten-fold. He didn’t do it to get away from the public eye, because let’s be honest, none of us will ever be able to truly escape. He’s doing it to be his own person. Lorenzo is taking the chance I wish I had.” He chuckled sourly, “Lucky bastard.”

“And I know you giving the throne to Arthur is out of the question,” you said.

“Of course,” Charles nodded along solemnly. “I would never do that.”

“Lorenzo did,” you whispered, giving him the tiniest of shrugs and smiles.

He shook his head. “No, it’s out of the question, Y/n.”

“I know.” You never wanted any of this for any of the Leclerc boys. They were too innocent and sweet to be criticised at any turn. “What are you going to do?”

For as long as you had known him, Charles had never looked so scared. “My best.”

The dining room was filled with the quiet scraps of silverware on china. It was almost quiet enough that you could hear reporters shouting from outside. Luckily the castle walls were strong enough to block them out. It had been an awkwardly stressful dinner, each second passing adding to the seconds it was already too late to say something. King Hervé and Queen Pascale sat at the head with Lorenzo and Charles to their right. You and Arthur sat across from the older boys. Rows of empty seats followed after you. You remembered when you and your family were invited for dinner along with other military personalities. The long table was filled with chatter and buzz, the King and Queen looking lovingly down at their employees and subjects. You always sat by Lorenzo, Charles, and Arthur, laughing away at whatever stupid joke was being said.

It was a stark contrast to what you were experiencing now.

You had expected some hostility radiating from either Charles or Lorenzo, but both were filled only with sadness. Arthur, always needing to be on the move, was tapping his foot up and down and up and down and up and down until you shot him a look. Queen Pascale was looking lonely and King Hervé sat blissfully unaware of the matters around him.

You were just about to excuse yourself when the King set his knife and fork down and stood. “Y/n, sweetheart, can you come help me?”

Your eyes dashed towards Pascale to make sure you weren’t the only one who heard him. Pascale was confused, but ushered you to his side. You obeyed, standing quickly and going to support him.

“Come along,” he led you out of the room and to a short hallway. “May I ask you something?”

“Anything,” you said.

“Can you look after Charles?”

The King’s question shocked you. “Of course, your Majesty.”

“No, Y/n.” The King stopped and faced you, looking you in the eye. You immediately looked to the ground, then to the wall behind him and finally back to him, all while mustering up the courage to meet his headstrong gaze. You felt exposed as the monarch of your country stared you down. “Take care of him, just as he takes care of you. You and Arthur are brilliant friends, but we both know your relationship with Charles is deeper than friendship.”

“Your Majesty,” you cut him off. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. My relationship with Charles is the same as my relationship with Arthur.”

“If you believe that, dear, then you may need to do some soul searching.” The King had an odd twinkle in his eye, one that could only be held by a person who had learned the lessons of the world. “I’m asking you for this favour. I don’t have a long time left on this Earth. I need to know my son’s in good hands. With this power and expectations unexpectedly thrust upon him, he’ll need someone he can come to with his worries and troubles. Someone he can be himself around. You were always that person.”

“King Hervé, I’ll try my best, but eventually we’ll need to go our separate ways,” you said, trying to gently show the king the inevitable truth. “I want to continue school and Charles will have to get married. His wife will take on the responsibilities of his confidant.” You didn’t add that you would be leaving Monaco the moment Charles showed romantic interest in someone.

The King hummed and started walking once again. You led him to a wooden door that entered his chambers. “The Queen of Monaco would get excellent schooling,” King Hervé offhandedly commented before opening his door and leaving you alone in the hallway.

You stood there, stunned. In two days, both monarchs of Monaco had pushed you into the arms of their middle child.

King Hervé couldn’t be suggesting what you thought he was. Could he?

“What did dad talk to you about, Y/n?” Arthur found you in the gardens. You were wandering aimlessly and ended up at the weeping willow that was cemented in so many of your memories.

“He asked me to look after Charles.” You sat down, legs folding under you like a stack of cards. Arthur plopped down next to you.

“Well, that’s easy, right? Just stick around a while more and he’ll be fine. Your job is literally to give him hugs.” Arthur laughed.

“Arthur, does Charles like me?” You asked suddenly, twisting your body to look at the boy. He sat back on his hands, getting comfortable under the cool summer air.

“What do you mean? You're his best friend. Other than me, of course,” he grinned at his last words. “And Lorenzo. So you’re maybe third or fourth on the list. After the dog. You’re definitely after the dog.”

You slugged him in the arm, matching his smirk, saying, “but seriously though, both your mum and dad hinted that Charles liked me. In a… more than friendship way.” You felt as if you were back in primary school by using that phrase.

Arthur sighed heavily, “oh god, Y/n.” He scratched his neck. “This isn’t my confession to make.”

“So he does like me?!” you cried out.

“But you like him back, right?” Arthur shrugged. “It was so obvious. Our entire childhood, you and him were always stuck together. You and I hung out too, but he was always the one you ran to when you were hurt or sad. I was the third-wheel and Lorenzo, when he had time, was the fourth. Wait-” he paused, realising his analogy didn’t work out. “You and I hung out at night, but I’m confident that if Charles was up at the same time, you would’ve roped him into our adventures. There was this… connection that neither Lorenzo or I could achieve with you. A small part of you was only for him and vise-versa. You should’ve heard the things he said about you when you were gone. It was always, ‘when’s Y/n coming back?’ and ‘I miss Y/n’. Honestly, it was annoying.” He shot you an exaggerated side-eye. You chuckled quietly, shaking your head. “Don’t get me wrong,” he continued. “I’m not jealous. You and I had many special memories without my ugly older brother. Remember that one time where in the middle of night we went bowling and practically woke up the entire castle?!”

You joined him in laughing hysterically. You remembered, “my parents were so mad!”

“But my dad insisted we finish the round,” Arthur added on. “And then everyone else started playing as well.”

“That was a good night,” you agreed.

“My point,” Arthur brought you back to the topic at hand. “Is that you and Charles like each other and if I’m the one to make you realise your feelings, then that’s a problem. My parents clearly picked up on it and are now making sure that you and Charles get together before they’re gone.”

You sat in thought for a moment before saying, “I never asked how you and Carla are doing.”

The boy smiled lazily. “It’s going really well. She’s really sweet and cares about others. You’ll love her.”

“I’m sure I will.” You nudged your arm with his. “Any girl that can put up with you is worth keeping.”

“Piss off! I have half a mind to throw you in the lake!”

“Don’t you dare, Leclerc. I swear to god I will murder you.”

“That’s an act of treason.”

“Charles can pardon me.”

“I’m sure he will.” Arthur rolled his eyes, “I’m sure he will.”

Three teenage princes barged into your room without so much as a knock. “Oh my god!” you cried, “What are you guys doing?!” You were laying on your bed with your computer which continued playing Rise of the Guardians. Jack Frost had just been kidnapped by the Easter Bunny.

“Where have you been?” Arthur jumped on the bed with you and yanked the covers over him. You growled and yanked them back. “Geez,” he muttered, squirming around to get comfortable. “What’s got your panties in a twist?”

“The blood currently exiting my body,” you retorted.

“Ew!” Arthur jumped back and off the bed, a shiver going up his spine. “You could’ve told me that before!”

“It’s not fucking contagious,” you said. “Unless you suddenly grew a uterus I didn’t know about.” Lorenzo laughed at your response. “What are you pricks doing here?”

“We were going to go horseback riding,” Charles explained. “We wanted to ask you to join us, but now that’s out of the question.”

“Oh. Well, you guys go without me,” you said. “Give Loki a sugarcube for me, will you?” When you were kids, the four of you had all named your horses together. Lorenzo's horse was Stark, Arthur called his Wanda, and you and Charles decided on the names Thor and Loki.

“But you’re not feeling well!” Charles protested, his brows furrowing. You shifted in your bed as a wave of cramps came over you.

“I’ve done this a lot. I’ll be fine.”

“Move over,” Charles sighed and climbed into your bed. He threw off his shoes and sweater, leaving him in an undershirt and sweatpants before pulling the covers towards him. He leaned back on your pillows and slung an arm over your shoulders.

“What’re you watching?” Lorenzo asked, sitting on your other side with his legs crossed.

“Rise of the Guardians,” you replied.

“With Sandy?” Arthur shoved Lorenzo over and cuddled into the spot next to you. You pushed the computer away so they could see easier.

Pressing play, you said, “Yeah, with Sandy. What other Rise of the Guardians do you know of?”

The movie continued and both you and Arthur cried during Sandy’s death. Whenever your cramps were acting up or your back hurt, you would fist Charles’ shirt in your hand and try to snuggle closer to him. Charles frequently drew circles on your arm or pressed a kiss to your hair.

Lorenzo and Arthur exchanged a look. How could you two be so dumb?

The field looked an awful lot like the one in the castle gardens. Some flowers wilted under the harsh sun and you made a mental note to tell Lando about it. He would be devastated to lose a plant.

It was a serene day, but you were forgetting something. You couldn’t remember what. It gnawed at you like it was at the tip of your tongue and wanted to burst out, but something was blocking it.

Suddenly, the ground caved out from under you and you started falling. You cried out for someone- anyone to come and save you.

You braced for the end. For the inevitable crushing end that would end in writhing pain or the quickness of death. Which would be better?

Just as suddenly as you fell, you woke up. It was just a dream, you kept reminding yourself as you hurried out of the now scarred room.

You didn’t want to see if Arthur was awake. If he was, you would prompt him to go to sleep. He needed it.

You weaved through the castle before stopping at a familiar painting. It used to be your favourite as a kid. A Huguenot, as it was titled. The full name was A Huguenot, on St. Bartholomew's Day, Refusing to Shield Himself from Danger by Wearing the Roman Catholic Badge painted by John Everett Millais.

You had learned about it from your art history tutor. The Leclerc boys didn’t care for the class, but you found it oddly fascinating. When you had learned about the Huguenot it instantly captured your attention.

You remembered your tutor saying, “The painting depicts an incident occurring on St. Bartholomew’s Day, when a massacre of Protestants by Catholics took place in Paris during the Wars of Religion. The white band the woman is attempting to tie around her lover's arm was an act to shield him from harm during the coming massacre and an identifier of Roman Catholicism. A small number of Protestants escaped from the city by wearing the white armbands.

“The young man gently pulls the armband off with the same hand with which he embraces the girl. Having to choose between religion and love, the man’s refusal of this badge would result in certain death,” the tutor concluded.

You had always loved the painting, feeling a sense of desperate longing from it.

“Y/n?” A hushed voice called to you. Charles walked up to you, still in his sleepwear. He paused and looked up at the painting. “Your favourite, huh?”

“Yeah. What’re you doing up?”

“Haven’t been sleeping well,” the boy brushed it off. “Are you still having those nightmares?”

“How do you know about that?” You were pretty sure you’d only told Arthur about those.

“I found you and Arthur one morning sleeping under a pool table. When I asked him about it he said you kept having nightmares and he was trying to help.”

“Ah,” you cracked a smile. “Yeah, they haven’t gone away.”

“Truth be told,” Charles was still admiring the painting. “I always envied you and Arthur. In the morning, Lorenzo and I would wake to some new inside joke that had transpired the previous night. I wanted to feel that close to you as well. I would try to stay awake all night so I could be part of the adventures, but I always fell asleep.” He chuckled at the memory.

“Charlie,” You gushed at his confession, leaning against him. “You and I will always be close. You don’t have to be sleep deprived for that. Arthur and I’s relationship was a purely platonic thing built on laughter and escapade. Ours was built on trust and caring. Not to mention all the mischief we got ourselves into.”

Charles laughed loudly at your words. “We once rigged the intercom to play polka music all day and night!”

“The nannies were so mad!” You snickered at the memory.

Charles hummed and fixed his sight on the painting once more. “The man is going to fight for his religion, right?”

“You remember?” You were surprised he was able to recollect the knowledge.

“Of course!” Charles smiled widely and his voice raised a couple notes. “You blabbered about it whenever we passed it in the hall. You always had to stop and stare. Why wouldn’t I remember something so important to you?”

A warm feeling rose up in your chest. “Come on, Charlie,” You looped your arm through his and directed him away. “Let’s go watch Megamind.”

“Okay, chérie,” Charles squeezed you in a side-hug. “But I want popcorn.”

“Stove-made?”

“Is there another kind?”

King Hervé and Queen Pascale walked into the family room the next morning to find you splayed over Charles on the couch. Charles was drowsily awake and waved to his parents in a morning greeting. His other hand was lazily stroking your arm.

“I’m going to give him my wedding ring tomorrow,” Pascale whispered to her husband.

King Hervé died a week later.

You woke to a sharp knocking. A housekeeper entered and said, “Miss. Y/n, I regret to inform you that King Hervé passed away last night in his sleep.”

Your mouth dropped open. “Excuse me?”

“King Hervé has died. Queen Pascale is requesting your presence in the sitting room.”

Your first instinct was to ask, “how are the princes?”

“I’m not sure,” the housekeeper admitted. “Do you need assistance getting dressed?”

“No, but thank you.” You jumped out of bed and hurried to the sitting room. You couldn’t wrap your head around it. Hervé was dead. He died. You were never going to see him again. What happened now?

You picked up the pace and soon you were running down the castle halls, still in your pyjamas. Servants in black clothing stopped as you dashed by, some even bowing at the waist. You burst into the sitting room to see the Leclercs there. Arthur was slumped on the couch, eyes glistening with unshed tears. He looked up when you came in and the tears started to fall. Lorenzo was standing by the window watching the people below already beginning to lay flowers for his father. A withered Pascale sat in a plush armchair, fingers to her lips as she hummed a sad tune. Her face was devoid of any emotion and her eyes were dry. And Charles sat hunched over, elbows to his knees as he stared a burning hole into the wall opposite him. His hands were clasped together and you could see the large ring with the royal insignia emblazoned on it.

You slowly knelt in front of Pascale. “My Queen,” you murmured. “My deepest condolences. I know words may never be enough and they can never bring back what’s missing, but he was a wonderful man and a wonderful king. All of Monaco will miss him.”

The Queen began to cry. “Thank you, Y/n, but I’ll be alright. He’s in the hands of God and I know he’s safe and happy. I just miss him is all.”

“It would be wrong if you didn’t,” you tried to alleviate the pain in any way you knew how, but you knew it wouldn’t help. When your own parents had passed, you had stayed in your room for days, a blank-eyed zombie of the person you used to be. It was only when your brother came in to see you that you broke down crying. Charles and Lorenzo had held your hands during the funeral.

You then hugged Lorenzo tightly. He let out a shuddering sigh at your embrace. You always knew the pressure on him was high, but it was as if he was finally releasing it. You knew that he would be okay eventually.

And finally, you sat in between Arthur and Charles. “Come here,” you whispered to the former who fell onto your shoulder, crying quietly.

“Is this how it feels?” The youngest Leclerc brother asked you in a voice so unlike his own. “Is this how it feels to lose someone you love? Why does anyone love when it hurts so much?”

“I don’t know, Artie.” The childhood nickname slipped past your lips. “I don’t know.”

Charles let out a shuddering breath and Arthur pulled away from you, nodding his head at you to comfort Charles. “Mon bonheur,” you wrapped an arm around his broad shoulders. “You don’t have to hide from me.”

That’s when Charles let out a broken sob and curled himself into your lap. He buried himself into you, tears soaking through your nightwear. He sounded like a crushed man, his cries turning to a need for love. “Papa,” his voice broke. “Why does everyone have to leave?”

“No one is leaving you, mon bonheur,” you reassured him.

“Yes, they are!” he protested, “Papa left all of us and now you’ll leave too and I… I can’t let that happen.”

“I’m not leaving you.” You couldn’t help but smile sadly. “Artie’s been helping me think it through and I’m going to move back to Monaco. I’ve missed you guys too much to leave again.”

“Really?” Charles sounded like a lonely child.

“Really,” you confirmed it with a nod of your head. “I’ll be with you every step of the way, as will your family because we love you.” You rested your cheek on his hair. “It’ll all be alright. This is the hardest part of it all.” All the Leclerc’s were listening in, hoping for some way to cope with the loss of their husband and father. “But it’ll get easier. One day you’ll wake up and not think about him at all. Then you’ll go to bed and realise it and feel bad, because you think you need to remember him everyday to honour him and all the happy times together. But then someone makes you laugh and you feel back to your old self for a second. Then you’ll realise it’s what he would want. He would want you to laugh and love and live. Just because someone is gone doesn’t mean you can stop living. Every once in a while you’ll see something that will remind you of him and you’ll think of a good time together. Everything will turn a shade of melancholy for a while, but you’ll see your family and they’ll lift you up again. No one leaves you. And the reason why it hurts so much, Artie,” you direct your words to him, “is because you loved him. To be human is to love and to lose. And it’s terrible. And we hate it. Losing someone is an awful thing to go through and there’s nothing that anyone can do or say that will make the pain go away. But you still have each other,” you shrug. “That seems like a pretty sweet deal.”

“You were always the best at pep talks,” Lorenzo huffs a small laugh. “Could always make me feel better after a hard day.”

“We should employ you as our personal pep-talker,” Arthur added, wiping his nose on his sleeve.

“How much would I get paid?” you retorted, trying to bring humour to the situation.

“As much as you need to keep you here.” Charles immersed himself in you. He loved the way you smelled, the way your skin sent shivers up his, the way your heart beated, and everything else about you.

“Come along, boys,” Pascale stood up suddenly. “There’s a lot that needs to be done.”

The next days were a blur. You hardly remembered any of it. Pascale was in charge of planning Hervé’s funeral, and when it got too overwhelming, Arthur took over. Your hours were filled with planning the coronation. Luckily, most of it was protocol and out of your control, but swabs of fabric and long guest lists were still shoved your way. Mercifully, Lorenzo assisted you with the intricate monarchy procedures. Charles was off doing who knows what and who knows where. Some nights you would peek into his room and find him sprawled out on the bed, snoring softly. You would ease his shoes off his feet and carefully loosen his tie before sneaking out of the room.

Overnight, it was as if the castle had transformed. The flags were all drawn at half-mast, yards of black fabric covered the windows, and everyday at noon, the bells would toll endlessly.

You weren’t allowed to walk with the royal family at the procession, but instead with the long lines of servants that came after the guards and knights. Crowds gathered in the streets to watch their beloved king parade pass in a suffocating, but ethereal and eternal coffin. You wanted to cover your ears as bells rang and rang and rang as the procession went on.

During the funeral, Arthur brought you up to the front so you could take your rightful place among the family. Charles instantly gripped your hand.

This wasn’t like your parents funeral, both of whom had died in combat when a stray bomb had blown their lives away. They were buried in a small military cemetery on the outskirts of Monaco where you were handed two Monégasque flags as the next-of-kin. That’s what had broken you on that day, being reminded of how your parents died. Of course, the press didn’t care, hounding after their next story of Monaco Royal Family Seen at Random Funeral or We Invade Someone’s Mourning Time to Get Pictures of our Monarchs or New Girlfriend to a Monégasque Prince Because They Were Seen Holding Hands at a Sad Event? Lorenzo and Charles had given the press a good talking-to.

King Hervé’s funeral was in a grand church where he would be buried in a stone mausoleum after the traditional prayers. Queen Pascale laid a red carnation on his coffin before it was lowered into the hauntingly beautiful mausoleum.

Charles let out a low sigh and when you glanced over you saw him crying silently. You knew no words could help him at that moment. It was as if you could feel the sadness radiating off of him. You would take it all away if you could. Anything to help him.

Charles had the same thought during your parents’ funeral.

His coronation was three days later. Arthur had found a loophole in the ceremony and instead of sending you an invitation, wrote you down as his plus-one, therefore earning you a seat in the front row. You had puzzled over what to wear that day, finally settling on a red gown for the colours of Monaco. Arthur and you entered behind Lorenzo and Pascale as the Monégasque anthem played.

“Oh my gosh,” Arthur muttered to you. “So many stuffy people in stuffy clothes.”

You shushed him, “quiet!” Arthur gave you his signature side-eye and you wanted to burst out laughing. You tried to hold it in but a snicker got past you. Arthur let out a giggle at that. Pascale held a finger to her lips, hiding a smile of her own.

The priest marched down the aisle and as he reached the altar, the organ stopped playing. A choir started singing, everybody stood, and Charles entered the church.

You almost stopped breathing.

You had never seen him look so regal. Charles was adorned by the coronation robes and crown jewels. His hair was styled to perfection and his shoes shined so brightly you could see your reflection in them. He was celestial.

“Close your mouth,” Arthur bent over and whispered to you. “You’ll catch flies.”

“Shut the fuck up,” you hissed.

“Swearing in a house of God?” Arthur hissed. “Heinous.”

As Charles passed, people bowed. When Charles glided by the first row, Lorenzo and Arthur bent at the waist while you curtsied deeply. Pascale stayed upright but placed a hand over her heart. Charles climbed the steps and knelt before the priest.

The priest gave a long speech and you could practically feel Charles’ irritation rolling off of him in waves. His knees must be hurting by now. Finally, he was to recite his vows.

“Is your Majesty willing to take Oath?” the priest asked.

“I am willing,” Charles’ voice reverberated through the hall. Something stirred in your chest. You knew he was telling the truth.

The priest outstretched the royal sceptre towards Charles. “Will you accept the responsibilities as king for as long as you shall live?”

“I do,” Charles gripped the sceptre and held the cool metal in his palm.

“Will you solemnly swear to govern the people of Monaco and promise to execute Law, Justice, and Mercy in all your judgements?”

“I swear,” Charles repeated.

“Will you to the utmost of your power,” the priest declared, “maintain the Laws of God and its true profession? Will you maintain and preserve inviolably the settlement of the doctrine, worship, discipline, and government thereof, as by law established in Monaco? Will you preserve all such rights and privileges of the people of Monaco, as by law do or shall appertain to them?”

“I do swear by all.”

“Will you to the utmost of your power hold true peace under your rule?”

“I will,”

“And you,” the priest raised his arms and addressed the church. “The people and subjects of Monaco, all who so desire, say together: ‘I swear that I will pay true allegiance to Your Majesty, and to your heirs and successors, according to law, so help us in the name of our country.’”

People all over Monaco joined together to say, “I swear that I will pay true allegiance to Your Majesty, and to your heirs,” Arthur nudged your arm at that and you pinched him. “And successors, according to law, so help us in the name of our country.” Charles bowed his head as he listened to his people.

“Do the people of Monaco accept Charles Marc Hervé Perceval Leclerc to be crowned as their king?”

“We do,”

“Will the princes and heirs of Monaco please join us at the altar?” Lorenzo and Arthur stepped out into the church aisle and Charles stood and turned around. His robe curled around his feet and the spectre gleamed in the stained glass light. He caught your eye right away and you sent him a wink, lips curling into a smile. The new King of Monaco blushed and glanced at his feet. Pascale beamed at the exchange.

“Please kneel at the feet of your King,” the priest asked of the Leclerc boys. They did as they were told. Charles outstretched his hand which wore the royal ring. “Do you swear to aid your King in any way possible? Do you swear, in case of harm, to assume the position of monarch of Monaco until your King is married in law and love?” Charles’ swallowed and his stare remained firmly on the ground.

“We swear.” They both took turns grasping Charles’ hand and gently placing a kiss on the ring.

“You may return to your seats,” the priest allowed.

Arthur stood back next to you and said, “My mouth tastes like metal.”

“Sucks to be you.”

The priest concluded, “Let us rejoice in our new sovereign king of Monaco as he pledges to serve and protect us all.” The priest turned and lifted the Crown of Monaco from an altarboy. “Let Charles Marc Hervé Perceval Leclerc be crowned as the King of Monaco.” And he placed the Monégasque royal crown on Charles’ head.

Charles embraced the thunderous applause of his people. A swelling pride erupted in your chest. You had never been so elated.

“Then let this joyous day be celebrated across the land in the eyes of God,” the priest called out loudly and Charles stepped down the altar stairs and into the role of King.

“Where’s Lorenzo?”

“I don’t wanna know.”

“You don’t think…”

“Oh, I know! I saw him going off with a daughter of a duke a couple minutes ago.”

“Ew!” You groaned, shaking your head furiously, knowing the next time you saw Lorenzo, you wouldn’t be able to look him in the eye.

“What do you expect?” Charles whispered in your ear, body pressed up against yours. “This is Arthur’s seventeenth birthday. We’re all legal now.”

“And are you going to exploit your legality?” You smirked, tilting up to look at him.

Charles hummed lowly and you could feel the vibration in his chest. “Maybe. Are you?”

You thought about your next words. You were sure he could feel your heart; it was banging like a drum, erupting with butterflies, and fluttering with worries. If you responded with a nod, where could it take you? If you shook your head, would you spend the rest of your life wondering what could have been?

And did you want this?

Did you want Charles?

… Did you even like Charles?

Charles picked up on your hesitancy and said quietly, “there’s absolutely no pressure, but I want you to know that my room is always open to you.” You glanced at him, noting the double entendre, before letting your eyes rest comfortably back on his chest. It was emblazoned with medals and sashes, akin to his brothers.

You gave him a single nod- one that only he could see. A secret between the two of you. In response, Charles pressed a kiss to your forehead.

That night, you paced outside his room for quite some time. Fear eventually overcame you and you hurried back to your room. You couldn’t go in. Charles sat awake, waiting all night with the hope that you would come to him.

The next weekend you left for college. You didn’t see him again until Lorenzo’s abdication, but it was as you never left.

“May I have this dance?” You turned to see Charles standing behind you, smiling cockily. He had changed out of his robe for a much more modern black tuxedo, paired with a red pocket square.

“Of course, my King.” Charles’ eyes darkened at your response and he raised a brow. “But are you sure you want your first dance to be with me?”

“Who else would I dance with?” Charles wondered. “I’ve already danced with my mother. I want the next to be with you.”

You let the king sweep you out onto the dance floor, letting the years of training take hold of you. Effortlessly, the two of you were able to float along and keep up conversation.

You asked, “how do you feel?”

Charles shrugged. “No different from when I woke up. Must I say, you are looking radiant today.”

You dipped your head to hide your smile. “Thank you. I can’t remember the last time I got dressed up.”

Charles hummed, but didn’t say anything. After a moment, he said, “it was just procedure, you know that, right?”

“What do you mean?” Charles spun you around in a small circle before bringing you back to him.

“They still have that stupid line in the coronation vows. ‘Pay true allegiance to Your Majesty, and to your heirs and successors.’” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter if I have heirs or not. They still have Arthur as next in line.”

You frowned. “I thought you wanted a family?”

“I do,” Charles stopped dancing. Your hand rested on his shoulder and his gripped your waist. Your other hands were entwined intimately. If he could, Charles would stay like this forever. No one else; just you and him. That’s all he ever needed. “I think I’ve made that clear.”

“Then what’s stopping you?” You wanted to step away from him. You needed to put some distance between the two of you, but you couldn’t. You could never leave him. It was like a magnetic force connected the two of you. No matter how long you were apart, you would always end up back in each other's arms.

“Fear,” Charles admitted. “I couldn’t handle rejection. It would break me. All my life I’ve known it’s her. Somewhere deep inside of me could tell. I can’t be away from her. I need to see her and make sure she’s safe. I need to hold her and love her. Whenever we’re apart it tears me up inside. If she were ever to refuse me I don’t know how I would go on. She’s my other half. My lasting pair. Ma chérie.”

People were stopping and staring at the King and you. Lorenzo poked at his mother who stifled a gasp.

Arthur asked, “why aren’t they dancing?”

“I don’t know,” Lorenzo sounded panicked. “The press are going to have a field day.”

“Don’t you boys see?” Pascale was grinning. “They’re in love and finally realising it. Who cares about the press? This is about them.”

“You were always one for romance, mama,” Arthur said.

“Charlie,” you said. “Shut up and kiss me.”

Charles beamed and did as he was told. You pulled him close, wrapping your arms around his neck. One of his hands cupped your cheek while the other settled on the small of your back, wanting you closer still. It was a tender kiss, and long overdue. It was like kissing was created just for the two of you; just so you could experience each other. If deities were real, you were sure Aphrodite had smiled down from the heavens and chosen you and Charles.

When you broke apart and the cameras continued flashing, Charles said, “ma chérie, I cannot tell you how long I’ve waited for that.”

“I hope you weren’t disappointed?”

“With you? Never.”

It was a quiet morning. You had woken up a few minutes ago but decided to stay in your husband’s warm embrace. Charles’ arm was wrapped tightly around your torso and you could feel his breath on your bare shoulder.

Charles shifted softly and groaned, “good morning.” You would never get used to his morning voice.

“I’ll never get used to your morning voice.” You rolled over to greet him. Charles smiled lazily and stroked your cheek lovingly.

“Hello my beautiful Queen.”

“Hello my handsome King. Did you sleep well?”

“With what little sleep I got, I slept wonderfully.” He winked, referring to last night’s activities.

“What do you have planned for today?” you asked while reaching for his hand. Charles gladly gave it to you and interlaced your fingers.

“Just a couple of meetings with the Board. Then I’ll have the rest of the day to spend with you and Liza.”

“That’s nice. She’s been wanting to show you her new tricks on Danvers.” You referred to your daughter’s horse.

“She’s going to surpass me someday.” Charles jokingly shook his head.

“Hate to break it to you, but she already has, old man,” you teased.

Charles gaped at your words. “Old man?! If that’s true, then you’re calling yourself an old woman.”

“I’m not an old woman,” you explained. “I just married an old man. I’m in it for the money.”

Charles laughed loudly. “Well, I hope you’re happy with your old man, ma chérie, because he’s not ever letting you go.”

“I’m very happy with him.” You grinned and kissed him on the corner of his mouth.

Before Charles could chase after you with the complaint of wanting a real kiss, the door to your bedroom banged open.

“Maman! Papa!” A little voice called out.

“Is everyone decent?” Arthur yelled out from around the corner. He stuck his head in the room, eyes firmly closed. “‘Cause I still have the last image burned into my retinas.”

“You only saw my butt!” Charles scoffed.

“It was plenty,” Arthur drew out the last word. He shuddered from the memory.

Eliza jumped on the bed and into Charles’ arms. “Uncle Artie and Grammy are gonna take me to London!”

“What?” You sat up and quickly grabbed Charles’ discared shirt that still lay on the floor from last night. Buttoning it up, you demanded, “Arthur, come here.”

Arthur’s face morphed into one of fear. “Mama was the one that suggested it!” he defended, “and Liza promised not to tell.”

“That’s worse,” you pointed out.

“Do you have to work today, Papa?” Liza asked Charles.

“Only a little in the morning,” Charles said, settling her on his lap. “Then I’m all yours in the afternoon.”

“Can we go swimming?” Eliza asked.

“Yes,”

“And horseback riding?”

“Of course,”

“And can we have a tea party with Grammy and Daniel?” Liza gasped, thinking only of her grandma and favourite castle guard. Their connection had begun early on when you found Daniel playing with Eliza one evening. You had apologised profusely, but he simply scooped her up and promised it was no big deal. They had become quick friends.

“Only if there’s donuts,” Charles bargained.

“Only if we can have it in your room under the painting.” She pointed to A Huguenot which had presided over your room ever since you moved in with Charles.

Charles thought for a moment before sticking his hand out. “Deal.” He and his daughter shook hands.

“Liza?” You kissed her forehead and asked her, “why don’t you go play with Uncle Artie for a while until your Daddy and I can join you for breakfast?”

“Okay!” The girl happily jumped off the bed and ran out of the room.

Arthur scampered after and yelled out in warning, “I better not hear any other cries for ‘Daddy!’”

You rolled your eyes while Charles restrained from cursing at his brother for fear of his daughter hearing him. You leaned back into Charles’ chest and he laid his head on yours. After a moment, he whispered, “you’ve been sleeping through the night.”

“I have been.” You nodded. “I think I’ve had the perfect person to help me fall asleep.”

“Or maybe you’re just too tired after each night.” Charles started kissing your neck, slowly starting to suck a hickey.

You let out a soft moan and clutched his hand. “Charlie,” you murmured through gritted teeth. “Liza’s expecting us.”

“She can wait.” Charles laid you down softly on the sheets. “I love you, ma chérie.” He pressed a kiss to your collarbone.

“I love you too, mon bonheur.”

People in the F1 world I wanna be friends with but am too scared to message: @leclsrc @hey-kae @vinvantae @schuvries

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babygirlbenji · 9 months

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Last Train To London - Mason Mount

A/N: This is just pure sadness. It was fun to write, I'll give you that, but you may need a tissue. Mason, buddy, in this fic, ya done fucked up.

Listen to this while reading:

Warnings: Angst

It had happened slowly, then before you knew it, you and Mason were like passing ships in the ocean.

Your relationship had always been steadfast. You were the couple everyone wanted to be, everyone wanted what you had. His family adored you, especially Summer, who loved going shopping with her Auntie Y/N. His mum swore up and down right from the moment she had met you six months into your relationship that you were it for him, that you would be the one he would marry. He’d shared the same sentiments. In your nearly four years together, the fans had grown to know and adore you on a level no football wife or girlfriend had experienced before. You were so popular among the Chelsea team, it was no wonder you were almost as popular as Mason was, and you didn’t even play for the team.

In the weeks leading up to his move to Manchester, however, you had noticed a distinct change in Mason, and in your relationship. Date nights had gone from three or four times a week, to maybe once every fortnight. He spent much of the evenings on the phone or on Zoom calls with his agent, with the medical teams, with Manchester United representatives. The morning cuddles in bed had been replaced by a swift kiss on your forehead before he hurried off to training or the gym. You had initially put his distance down to the fact that he was busy upping his whole life to the north, and his occasional snappiness to the fact that he was incredibly stressed about the rumours. He was getting hate from everywhere, the fans, media outlets, even people on the street. Calling him a traitor, disloyal, every name under the sun.

Once the transfer was completed and you and Mason had relocated to Manchester, you had hoped that your relationship would improve. You put in every effort you could; making sure you put extra effort into making sure the house was spick and span for when he came home, ensuring the fridge had all sorts of food for every occasion, making sure you looked good even when you were going to bed.

And yet, you could tell none of it was good enough. His heart had drifted, you could see that. You were holding on to false hope, and it was exhausting you. You spent hours awake at night, noticing that some nights he wouldn’t come home until three or four in the morning. He would shuffle about downstairs, and the next morning, you would find him crashed out on the sofa, eyes red and his hair messy.

You’d asked him if he was okay, if your relationship was okay, and all he had offered you was a shrug, saying he’d talk when he was ready. You’d sigh, knowing you were losing him, and there was nothing you could do about it. Once, he’d got angry that you had sighed, saying there was still a lot going on. You’d ended up having a shouting match that lasted well into the night, and you cried yourself to sleep on more than one occasions.

The loneliness you were starting to feel crept in even more. You missed your friends in London, you missed Chelsea, you were never particularly keen on moving up north, having been a born and bred Londoner. Although Kai and Sophia were now in North London, you would rather be closer to them. You didn’t want to admit to them that you and Mason were having issues, but you didn’t know where else to go.

Sophia had been so helpful, offering her and Kai’s new home to you anytime you needed it. You’d asked her not to tell anyone, but you figured one way or another people would find out. Sure enough, one day, when Mason was out somewhere, Ben sent you a message.

Benjamin: Hey Y/N, just checking in. How are you holding up? I know how difficult it is moving to a new place. We miss you down here. Lots of love x

You had stared at his message for about five minutes, before you rang him. He picked up on the second ring.

‘Benji, I’m not okay,’ you croaked through the lump in your throat.

‘What’s happened, darling? Talk to me, I’m right here.’ And so, you told him everything. About the arguments, the loneliness, the distance…

‘I just don’t know what to do, Benj. I feel like we’re miles away from each other when we live in the same house. What did I do wrong? What happened to us? I thought we were endgame. What do I do?’ He sighed, making the line go crackly.

‘You’ve done nothing wrong. I think everything’s gone to his head, and without wanting to be blunt, he’s realised what he wants and what he doesn’t want.’ His words sent a stake through your heart, but you knew he was right. Mason was falling out of love with you.

‘I just never thought this would happen.’

‘Me neither. All of us thought you guys would last. So, what are you going to do?’ You looked down. You knew what you had to do, as much as it shattered your heart.

‘I’m going to pack my things, as much as I can into whatever bags I have, and get on the last train home to London. It’s late, I think the last train to London from Manchester leaves just before midnight. I just can’t hold on any longer, you know? I’ve been miserable for weeks, and he’s barely noticed. I can’t remember the last time we hugged, kissed. I need to do this for me.’

‘I’ll pick you up, text me where your train gets in and I’ll be there. You’re not going through this alone, Y/N, I promise you. He’s the idiot for losing a wonderful girl like you.’ As devastated as you were, his words made you feel slightly better knowing that you weren’t going through it alone. You’d been through a break up before and had been completely on your own, and you were glad you had your people around you.

You and Ben talked a little while longer, before you hung up, promising to tell him when your train would be getting in. You sat up from the sofa, knowing you had to pack a bag or two.

It was nearly 11:30 at night when you’d finished packing. Placing your bags by the door, you made sure you had all your important things, like your passport, driving licence and your phone. You would iron out everything once you had things sorted out in London.

As you zipped up a little shoulder bag with all your necessities, the front door opened. You heard Mason drop his bags down, and you knew by the pause of movement that he had seen your bags. He walked slowly into the dimly lit kitchen, where you were standing with your phone in your hand, pretending to look at something just to avoid looking at him. You knew if you did look at him, you’d reverse your decision.

‘What’s going on?’ Mason asked, voice full of confusion. You braved it, and looked him dead in the eye, hands on your hips.

‘I’m leaving. I’ll be on the last train back to London.’ He opened and closed his mouth a few times, reminding you of a goldfish.

‘What? What are you talking about?’ You let out a soft scoffing laugh.

‘I’m going back home. I’m breaking up with you, Mason, I can’t do this anymore. You have barely looked at me the last few weeks. I get it’s been stressful, I get you’ve been busy, but you don’t think you could have told me what was going on? You’re barely here anymore, I barely see you. And when I do, it’s like I’m seeing a stranger. When was the last time you hugged me? The last time you kissed me? This just doesn't feel like home.’ Your voice broke on the last sentence, and you looked down. You couldn’t cry. Not now, not in front of him. You had to wait until you were on the train home to let it all out. You could listen to sad music and let it all out. ‘The last four years have been amazing. We have grown up together, basically. And we’ve made the most amazing memories, hell, the Champions’ League, the Super Cup, World Cup, Euros, it’s all been a dream come true. But we have to face it, we are not happy together anymore. And I need to do what’s best for me, because I feel like a stranger in my own home.’

His face was a mix of anger, disappointment and downright heartache. He knew he’d lost you. He knew you well enough that you had made your mind up, and there was nothing he could do to turn back time and make it better.

‘I have tried so hard…’ Your voice broke again. ‘I have tried so hard to make us work. I kept the house tidy, I put food on the table, I was there to listen but you never talked. You never made any effort after we moved up here. I dare to think this started even before we moved up here.’ He stepped closer, and it was then that you could see the tears pooling in his eyes. ‘I really hope you find the girl of your dreams, Mase. You deserve that. And I hope this move was worth it all.’ You looked down at the promise ring he’d given to you on your second anniversary. Sliding it off and gently placing it onto the counter, you took a deep breath. ‘Goodbye, Mason.’

And with that, you walked past him and collected your bags. Your Uber was waiting outside to take you to Manchester Central. As the car sped away, you saw Mason running out of the house, yelling your name.

‘Y/N! Y/N, please wait! I’m sorry…’ His pleas faded as the car drove away. The driver looked at you through the rearview mirror, but you stared stubbornly out of the window. You couldn’t turn back now, he had to feel the pain you had been feeling the last few weeks. You had so many things to sort out when you were back in London; a job, a flat, your car, everything just seemed so overwhelming.

As you climbed onto the high-speed sleeper train bound for King’s Cross, you texted Ben to tell him that your train would get in about 3 in the morning. He messaged you back:

Benjamin: No worries, will bring food. Keep strong, I'm so proud of you x

The train pulled away, and you rested your head against the window. Your breath fogged the glass as the lights of Manchester gradually faded away, giving way to dark fields and the occasional small village. Your phone pinged with another message:

Mason: I’m so sorry.

Then another.

Mason: Please forgive me.

And another.

Mason: What can I do to make things better?

You looked at his last message. What could he do to make things better? Rewind the last few weeks? You sighed as your finger acted without thought and blocked his number. You then went onto Instagram and blocked his main verified account, then his private account. Before you blocked his private account, however, you had a final glance at the photos of your relationship that littered it. His main account was football focused, but anyone who followed his private account could see he’d worshipped the ground you walked on. Tears were falling thick and fast down your cheeks. What had happened to you? You locked your phone, resting your head on your arms.

The future was uncertain and your heart was aching, but you were going to be back in London, surrounded by your people. You knew that somehow, some day, you were going to be okay.

#mason mount #mason mount fic #mason mount blurb #mason mount x reader #mason mount imagine #mason mount fluff #mason mount smut #mason mount angst #mason mount x you #mason mount oneshots #mason mount imagines #mason mount fanfic #mason mount x y/n #chelsea fc #manchester united #football imagines #footballer imagines #Spotify

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sturniozo · 3 months

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In The Shadows V

Hey yall! It’s been so long hehe. And I’m very sorry about that. I’ve had a very stressful last two weeks but I prevail and here is the promised part five! I hope you enjoy it! I’m getting my groove back for writing and I’m working on some requests, my two fics, and a valentines day special fic!!! Anyways, go, read. You’ve all waited so patiently for this!

masterlist

Black four inch heels, black boots. A tight red dress, a tight red dress shirt. A black purse, black dress pants and belt. Matt kept his promise and matched outfits with me on our day out.

His arm is wrapped around my shoulder as he leans back in the booth we’re sitting in. He sips on his drink as we’ve just finished our breakfast. He sets his drink down and smiles at me.

“Did you enjoy breakfast?” Matt asks me.

I nod and sit up from leaning back on the booth. Matt’s hand moves to my thigh, caressing it lightly. “Can I get a little kiss?” He whispers in my ear.

I contain my disgust and lean forward, kissing my false husband on the lips. He leans back in the booth, moving his arm back to around my shoulders.

“What should we do now?” He asks. “We have eight hours before the party starts.”

“I can think of a few things we can do in eight hours.” I say.

Matt smirks and lowers his arm. “We should get going.” He murmurs to me.

I nod and he gets up from the booth, with me following behind. He takes my hand and presses a kiss to my knuckles. I smile and lean close to him. “You’re over doing it.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He whispers back to me. I clench my jaw tightly shut as Matt sets his card down for the bill. “I’m just gonna go to the bathroom, I’ll be right back.” Matt says to me before kissing my knuckles and leaving for the restroom.

I stand at the side of the booth, holding my handbag in front of me. I wait patiently for Matt and the waiter walks to the table to pick up the check. Matt comes back from the bathroom the same time as the waiter does as he returns the card.

“Thank you.” Matt says as he takes his card back. He places his hand on the small of my back and leads me out of the restaurant.

He opens the car door for me and I get inside. I set my handbag down on the dash and lean back in my seat and Matt closes the car door and goes to the other side of the car to get into his own seat. He starts the car and begins backing out of the parking lot.

“Little bit extra in there.” I say to him.

Matt smirks. “Don’t act like you don’t love when I kiss you.”

“I don’t.” I scoff.

“Really? Because from what I can tell you’re always pretending to hate me.” Matt says.

I roll my eyes. “You’re so full of yourself.”

“I bet you’d love to be filled with me.”

I groan and roll my eyes again. “Jesus.” I mumble.

“Oh wow, I didn’t know you can recognize me without my sandals.” Matt says coolly and he turns the wheel with just one hand.

“You’re so-“

“So what, darling?” Matt says. He glances over at me and smirks. I stay silent, rolling my eyes and crossing my arms. “Seriously though,” Matt says, breaking the silence. “What did I do to get you to hate me so much?”

“We didn’t exactly end on good terms, if you remember.” I tell him.

“I don’t remember it ending at all.” He says. I look at him and he glances at me, moving his eyes back to the road.

“You knew what you did.” I say to him, turning back to look out the window of the car.

“But I didn’t know it then. That’s got to count for something.”

“You stayed!” I snap. “Even after you found out you stayed.”

“What choice did I have?” Matt asks as he pulls the car into the driveway.

“You had a choice.” I mumble before getting out of the car, harshly grabbing my handbag and slamming the car door shut behind me.

Hampton. That name rang through my head for days after I heard it from Matt’s mouth. Hampton. Where have I heard that name before?

I tapped my pencil and bounced my leg in the same fast pace, bitting my lip as I try to figure out the answer to something that’s been bugging me.

Hampton. Matt’s going to work for Hampton’s company. They’re second to us in our field. Why would he go work for second best? That’s not like Matt.

I racked my brain for everything I can remember about them. It’s not like I could look this stuff up, they cover their tracks just as well as we do. Hampton. Hampton.

My eyes widened.

Seth Hampton?

“Come on, we’re going to be late for the party.” Matt groans from outside my bedroom door.

I ignore him as I curl the last strand of my straight hair. I cup it lightly and twirl my finger around the strand, letting the curl bounce loosely. I smile and unplug the curler, now satisfied with my hair.

I stand up and flatten down my dress, the go to open the door. “I’m all done.” I say and walk past Matt.

“We were supposed to leave five minutes ago.” Matt groans and follows me.

“Five minutes is nothing.” I roll my eyes.

Matt smiles at me as we walk down the stairs. “You look… pretty.” He says.

I laugh. “I wasn’t really going for pretty, but thanks.”

“If you weren’t going for pretty then what were you going for?” Matt asks as we walk out of the house.

I shrug. “Hot?”

Matt rolls his eyes and opens the car door for me. “They’re the same thing.”

“No they are not!” I laugh. “They’re two different ways to describe someone.”

“But they both convey attractiveness.” Matt gets into the drivers side.

I shake my head. “But they still mean different things.”

Matt just sighs and starts the car. “Let’s just get to this party and mean this Finn guy, huh?” He says.

“Yeah, yeah.” I nod.

“And make sure you wear your ring, I don’t need any Swiss men hitting on my wife.”

I laugh. “I’m not even your real wife.”

“I still don’t like the thought of someone else hitting on you.” Matt says as he shakes his head.

I laugh again. “Like you’d ever make a love yourself.”

Matt stays silent, his jaw closed tightly. I close my lips and look down at my lap, staring at my hands as I play with the ring. “I’m wearing the ring anyways, so it’s not a big deal.” I say.

Matt stays silent.

“Matt, come on. What made you so mad?” I ask.

“Nothing. We’re here.” He says as he pulls into the lavish driveway.

The driveway makes a full circle, with a fountain in the middle. The fountain is made of beautiful stone and is surrounded by well cut shrubs.

“Wow, Matt, this place is beautiful.”

Matt grunts. “Act like you’re used to this, you’ll blow our cover.” He gets out of the car and opens my door for me.

“Smile, you’ll blow our cover.” I say to him. He stares me in the eyes as he forces the worst fake smile I’ve ever seen.

“We’re doomed.” I sigh.

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fortheloveofwonderland · 8 months

Text

Darkness Declares Glory | Chapter 15 | S.R

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A/N - this fic deals with some very dark themes such as drug use, self-harm and suicidal ideation. Please proceed with caution and Minors DNI. There is a reader insert but it is very Spencer-centric

Chapter Summary - Spencer finally comes to understand the truth about you and his fractured memories before facing off with Cat Adams for the final time.

Pairing - Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - dark angst | smut | eventual happy ending.

Warnings - false memories, past drug use, swearing, Cat Adams, brief mention of Tobias Hankel.

WC - 5.4K

Chapter 15 - How to Save a Life

The Mandela Effect.

Coined online by a woman who detailed her recollection of Nelson Mandela dying in prison in the nineteen eighties. She remembered distinctive news coverage on his death and found others who had shared memories of the event.

However, Nelson Mandela did not die in prison. He spent twenty seven years inside before being released, went on to become the President of South Africa for five years and passed away in twenty thirteen.

The Mandela Effect is described as a clear memory of an event that never happened in this reality. It occurs when people believe that their distorted memories are accurate recollections.

Other examples of it include The Berenstein Bears versus The Berenstain Bears and whether Curious George had a tail or not.

There is evidence that our memories aren’t entirely accurate and can alter over time. People tend to over-believe their memories as a form of ego protection or cognitive dissonance. Some people would rather choose to believe their false memory is evidence of a parallel universe than admit they are wrong.

It isn’t based on a lie or deception. Instead it occurs when a person or group of people have clear but false memories. The creation of such dissociative realities can be a crutch for people who have suffered extreme trauma.

Like being imprisoned for a crime they didn’t commit.

Spencer stared straight ahead at the wall in the interrogation room, straight over her raven head. He couldn’t even bear to make eye contact with her for fear of what he might see.

He hadn’t spoken a word after he told Luke he wanted the truth about you. After that he’d shut down completely.

Emily came at Luke’s insistence and found Spencer practically catatonic, staring at the same wall he stared at now, refusing to speak.

“What’s going on Luke? Did Cat do something?” Emily glared at her colleague, keeping her voice low. “He shouldn’t be here. I didn’t want him to know.”

“I don’t think this is about Cat.” Luke whispered back.

“What’s this about then?” She folded her arms, giving Luke a stern look.

He pulled a face before leaning in close to her ear.

“He said wanted the truth about Y/N.”

Spencer had heard everything they were saying but couldn’t bring himself to speak. Instead he twirled the theory of the Mandela Effect around and around in his fractured brain, trying to make sense of this.

False memories. The belief in being able to recollect events that never happened.

Or in his case, an entire series of events.

It wasn’t until he'd stood thinking of the last time he’d seen Cat that it all became clear. He’d shattered the perfectly crafted illusion in his head. He hadn’t been thinking of you when he said those things to Cat over two years ago. He hadn’t been thinking about you because you didn’t exist to him then.

Two years ago was when Spencer thought you’d broken up with him, walked away from your relationship. And it wasn’t a coincidence that two years was almost the exact amount of time he’d started using again.

His drug-addled brain had created false memories, manufactured an entire relationship that had never existed. And he’d broken the disassociation when he’d thought back to a time when you hadn’t existed in his life and tried to place you there.

Obviously he’d met you somewhere during his drug binge. He hadn’t completely made you up, clearly you did actually exist. But you’d never been together. Not the way he thought you had.

He’d dreamt of you countless times before he saw your face at PIW. He knew how dreams worked. He knew the brain didn’t have the capacity to create new faces. The fact that he dreamt of you meant he’d seen you before. The neocortex works to interpret images, sounds and sensations experienced during the waking day and build a coherent narrative with them.

So he’d definitely seen you before. But it seemed as though his brain had just constructed its own story. One where you were an FBI Agent. One where you’d been his girlfriend and the two of you had fallen in love.

But that’s all it was, a carefully conceived tale.

He most likely met you the night Tara saw him making out with a woman wearing your bracelet. He’d spent a night with you nearly two years ago and your face and your name had stuck in his crazed mind. And he’d concocted a life for the two of you.

Maybe it had been his brain's way of combating loneliness. Or maybe he was just completely fucking insane. In a way it all made perfect sense.

The team's reluctance to talk about you. The lack of pictures of you in his room.

He’d even tried to tell himself, through you, in his dreams.

“You know deep down that if this was real, I wouldn’t be here.”

“Emily must have called you.”

“We both know that she didn’t Spencer. Think about it. Really think about it.”

“Think about what?”

“You still don’t get it do you?”

“Get what? I don’t understand. Y/N please tell me what’s going on.”

“You have to figure it out for yourself. I’m only a figment of your drug-addled brain.”

“Please Y/N, tell me what’s going on. I’m so confused.”

“You’ll figure it out. You’re a genius after all.”

“Please Y/N, don’t go! I miss you! Please don’t leave me again!”

“Close your eyes and rest. It will make more sense in the morning.”

How did he not realise sooner?

He felt Emily’s hand on top of his and it felt like it was burning him. His flesh felt as though it was seering off beneath her touch and he wanted her to stop.

“Spence? Can you say something? Or at the very least, can you look at me?” She spoke softly.

Spencer wanted to scream at her. He wanted to scream at her and Luke and the rest of his old team. He wanted to scream at Maggie and Nick and Cedric and Doctor Sanderson. He wanted to scream at Cat for having him arrested and causing him to relapse which had led him here in the first place.

You were the only good memory he’d had and now it was destroyed. None of it was real. Everything he’d been clinging to was a lie.

“Spence?” She squeezed his hand and he suddenly snatched it out from under hers.

He tore his eyes off the wall and when he looked at her, his tears overflowed and started falling silently down his cheeks.

“It wasn’t real.” He croaked out. “It was all in my head. It was never real.”

“I’m so sorry, Spencer. I didn’t know how to tell you. When you mentioned her when you woke up…I didn’t know how to tell you she doesn’t exist.” Emily chewed on her lip.

“She does it exist. Technically.” He tried to ignore the tears streaming down his face. “I must have met her when I was high and…I guess I created a whole life around it. And now she’s at the institute too and I can’t stop thinking about her as the girl in my false memories.”

“She’s…she’s real?” Emily stuttered.

“Yeah. She’s a drug addict. Not an FBI Agent. Not my ex-girlfriend. Just a drug addict I probably screwed when I was high out of my mind.” He hung his head and like in the car, his hand shimmied up his sleeve and his fingers pressed against the vein at the crook of his arm.

“You were on a lot of drugs for a long time, Spence. It was bound to cause some kind of psychological effects.” She went to put her hand on his again but Spencer suddenly pushed his chair back.

The metal chair screeched across the floor and he jumped to his feet, ignoring the pain that it caused his leg to do so.

“I created an entire relationship in my head, Emily! I have vivid memories of being with her, of the two of us hanging out with you guys at Rossi’s. I imagined a whole relationship with her, one that still feels so real even though I know it isn’t! My brain was the one thing I could always count on. And now that has failed me too. How the fuck can I remember things so well that never happened?” He raised his voice, startling Emily a little.

“Spencer, I wish I knew what to say.” She sighed sadly.

“Why don’t you just say what everyone is thinking, Emily?” He glared at her wildly but she frowned.

“What do you mean?”

He slammed his hands on the metal table, the noise echoed around the small room.

“It’s my fault. It’s all my fucking fault. If I hadn’t started using again, if I hadn’t put myself into this position…” he trailed off, grinding his teeth.

“No one thinks this is your fault, Spencer.” She shook her head. “Everything that happened to you…you reached your breaking point. That is not your fault. You were pushed to it.”

His eyes turned black with anger and for a moment she thought that rage was directed at her.

“You’re right.” He growled, throwing his hands up in the air. “This is her fault. That fucking bitch! It’s all her fault!”

“H-her?” Emily swallowed.

“Cat fucking Adam’s! She did this to me! She had me arrested which led to me relapsing. And relapsing led me to create these false memories with Y/N. She’s taken everything from me! Piece by piece she has slowly destroyed my life!” He was really yelling, spital flying from his mouth like a wild animal while the vein in his forehead pulsed aggressively.

“Spencer,” Emily pushed her chair back and came closer to him, tentatively. “You need to calm down. I don’t think seeing Cat right now is a good idea for anyone. She’ll be dead soon and you won’t have to worry about her anymore.”

“No, I have to see her.” He spat. “She is not going to her grave before she answers to what she’s done.”

“I really don’t think-“

“Screw what you think!” He screamed at her. “Screw you and screw the team. I don’t work for you Emily, you can’t tell me what to do anymore.”

Emily took a breath, calming herself before she said something she’d inevitably regret.

“Your memories might not be real but you said yourself that Y/N is. You should focus on that. She’s real and you have a chance to make real memories with her.” Emily tried to calm him to no avail.

“The memories of her were the only thing I had left to cling to Emily! They were the only thing keeping me even remotely sane!”

“Spencer, listen to me.” She grabbed him by the shoulders and he tried to break free of the hold but she held tight, forcing him to look at her. “You were going to find out eventually. And now you know and you have to deal with it. Being angry at Cat isn’t going to change anything. Being mad at her won’t make things different. What’s done is done and now you need to decide how you’re going to get through it. But marching in there and screaming at Cat is not going to change what’s already happened.”

He stood still for a moment, staring at Emily and she had no idea what he was thinking. She hoped he would see sense, walk away and forget all about Cat Adam’s and the things she’d put him through. She hoped he was smart enough to know that whatever he hoped to achieve in that room would not come to fruition. She hoped he knew better, once he would have, but she wasn’t sure anymore. Spencer hadn’t been the man she’d known for a long time.

He stepped back from her hold and shook his head, turning away from her and heading to the door.

“I’m doing this. I have to see her.” He reached for the door handle as Emily reached for his arm but he shook her off.

He threw the door open and practically crashed straight into Luke who was on the other side. Spencer briefly snarled at the other man before pushing past him.

“And don’t you dare follow me. This is between me and her. Don’t get involved.” He spat harshly over his shoulder as he stormed down the hall towards the interrogation room that held his nemesis.

He ignored the pain spreading through his leg at the effort of walking at this speed. It didn’t matter. He had bigger fish to fry.

Emily and Luke exchanged a defeated glance, there were no words they could say that would change Spencer’s mind and they’d probably only find themselves on the receiving end of his anger if they tried. They watched him go, and they both just hoped he wouldn’t kill Cat Adam’s.

***

Without preparing himself or even taking a second to calm himself, Spencer threw open the door of the interrogation room, storming towards the table in the centre of the room.

Cat gave him that wicked smile that haunted his dreams as he pulled back the chair heavily and sat down in it.

“Spencie,” she grinned at him. “I missed you.”

“Cut the shit.” He shook his head. “I’m not here for your games.”

“But you love my games.” She leant her elbows on the table, threaded her fingers together creating a little bridge and leant on her chin on them.

“Your games got me arrested. Your games forced me back on drugs.” He snarled.

“Oh yes I heard about that.” She giggled and if he didn’t know any better he wouldn’t think her to be a threat.

“Still keeping tabs on me?”

“Of course. I have to make sure your life sucks as much as mine does.” She smiled so sweetly at him as though her words weren’t laced with poison. “How does a psychiatric facility compare to prison?”

“You destroyed my fucking life.” He slammed his hands on the table and he saw her flinch. “You destroyed my life for what? Some sick fucking game? Because I arrested you first? You deserved to be in prison. I didn’t.”

“Well now, that’s just a matter of opinion.” She sat back in her chair. “You said yourself you enjoyed hurting those men. And given half the chance, you would have killed me the last time you saw me. I think you know what kind of monster you are. You just hate that I bring it out of you.”

“I’m nothing like you.” He shook his head.

“You’re everything like me, Spencie. You told me, remember? You told me we were the same and that we were perfect for each other.” She leant forward and reached to cup his jaw. “Let me show you how perfect we really are for each other.”

For a moment he let her hold his face in such an eerily delicate way it momentarily made him forget how much he despised her. But he soon snapped himself out of it, grabbing her roughly by the wrist and pulling her hand off his jaw.

“Don’t touch me.” He spat, dropping her arm to the table.

“Don’t pretend you haven’t thought of my hands all over you.” She smirked.

He knew he had to change tact. He was losing his grip on the situation. He took a breath and focused himself.

“What happened to your baby?” His words caused a frown to appear on her features at the sudden change of subject.

“What?”

“Last time I saw you, you were pregnant with another man’s baby you claimed to be mine. What happened to it?” He folded his arms over his chest.

“I don’t want to talk about that.” She averted her gaze from his.

“Did you miscarry? Or was the baby put into the system?”

“I said I don’t want to talk about that.” She growled. “If it was your baby I’d talk about it. It should have been your baby. I wish it was your baby.”

“You disgust me.” He rolled his eyes rather than confessing that he’d wished the same.

He hoped she wouldn’t see right through him the way she usually did. She raised an eyebrow at him, crossing one leg over the other as she inspected him.

“If I disgust you so much,” she tilted her head to the side. “Why are you here?”

That was a good question, one he still didn’t have an answer to.

“To show you that you didn’t completely destroy me. I’m still breathing. I’m still alive. I’m going to beat my addiction and I’ve got the rest of my life ahead of me. You don’t get to win this one, Cat.” He felt sweat gathering at his temples.

The urge to use again was extremely high.

“Oh Spencie!” She cackled dramatically. “I’ve already won.”

“How so?” He desperately fought to keep his expression neutral.

“Look at you.” She scoffed. “You’re a mess. I took everything from you. Your job. Your sobriety. Your sanity.”

The look in her eyes told him she knew the full extent of it, but how could she? How could she know about you? There was no feasible way for her to know and Spencer knew that.

“You did take everything from me.” He suddenly confessed, standing up and starting pacing the small room. Cat watched his limp curiously. “You even took the one good thing I thought I had left. The one good thing I had left in my life and you took that too. You took everything from me.”

“You flatter me, Spencie.” She smirked at his admittance.

He moved closer to the table again and without sitting down, leant on it with his palms.

“You took everything.” He repeated, staring her right in the eyes. “But I’m still alive. And that’s more than will be able to be said for you soon. You lose, Cat. The game is over.”

Cat’s smile faltered and he saw something flicker on her eyes. Then she leant closer to him, fixing her smile and reaching her hand closer to him.

“I’ll be dead but I’ll still live on forever up here.” She tapped the side of Spencer’s head.

He snarled at her and stood up straight so she couldn’t reach him.

“My only regret is that it wasn’t me who got to end your life.” He spat. “I should have been the one to kill you. Not the state.”

“There’s still time.” She smiled smugly.

He clenched and unclenched his fists at his sides. He would love nothing more than her life to end at his hands. But he couldn’t. He’d already lost so much because of her. He wasn’t letting her have this too.

“I wouldn’t give you the satisfaction.” He spat. “I’m done here. We’re done.”

He turned on his heels and limped towards the door. Cat watched him go as she fished for something in the pocket of her jumpsuit. As he reached the door, he was haltered by her voice.

“But I have something you want, Spencie.” She spoke in that sickly sweet tone that sent a shiver down his spine.

He grinded his teeth and took a deep breath.

“You have nothing that I want, Cat.” He stayed facing the door, afraid if he looked at her he’d be sucked back in again.

“Oh really?” She rolled the item around in her palm. “Not even this?”

Spencer tried his hardest not to turn around, he really did. But against his better judgement, he slowly turned back to her. She had a proud look on her features as she held her hand open showcasing the item in her palm.

Spencer’s blood froze in his veins as he stared it, a flashing beacon in her hand waiting for him. She was waving a red flag at a bull.

“Well? Don’t pretend you don’t want it.” She chuckled, proffering her hand across the table.

He felt his heart start to race and he swore his vein on his left arm pulsated as he stared at the small glass bottle. The small, seemingly innocuous item that was the one thing Cat could tempt him with.

His mouth went dry and his right hand subconsciously moved to grip at the crook of his left arm while he continued to stare at the small vial of dilaudid in Cat Adam’s hand.

“W-where did you g-get that?” He swallowed, his voice hoarse.

“I still have friends in high places.” She shrugged.

“I d-don’t want it.” He refused to move, couldn’t come any closer for fear he would take it from her.

“You might not want it. But you need it.” She held it up, shaking it between her fingers.

“W-why?” He croaked. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I never lose, Spencie.” She grinned at him, reaching her free hand into her pocket. “Can’t forget this!”

She pulled out a needle still in its packaging and placed both items on the metal table. Spencer felt his neck start to sweat and his hands were shaking. Five weeks he’d been sober. And for most of those five weeks he’d dreamed of someone handing him a vial of his old vice.

He squeezed his arm, pressing against his vein as if it would help stem the cravings that snuck back up on him.

“Please,” he shook his head. “P-please put it away.”

“Why would I do that? It’s a gift, silly. My parting gift to you before I exit this plane of existence.” She looked between him and the drugs. “Don’t pretend you’re going to walk out of here without taking it. You and I both know you aren’t strong enough.”

He felt tears gather behind his eyes and he frantically blinked them away. He felt like he was back in that graveyard kneeling over Tobias’ dead body while he contemplated taking the drugs from his tormentor.

That decision had been an easy one. Pocketing those vials of dilaudid had been one of the simplest decisions of his life. And ultimately, this was much the same. Because Cat was right, he wasn’t strong enough to walk away without the drugs. He hadn’t been sober long enough to feel like he didn’t need them anymore. One more hit would solve so many of his problems.

He knew Emily and Luke weren’t out there watching because if they were, one of them would have burst in here by now and dragged him away from temptation. He could take the drugs and they’d be none the wiser. He could take them back to PIW and as soon as he was alone he could shoot up. And the promise of the euphoria that came with the dilaudid forced him closer to the table without really meaning to.

“Are you really so sick you have to resort to this just to win a fucked up game?” His voice cracked as he spoke, not able to muster his earlier bravado.

“You started this game when you lied to me about finding my father. This is on you. You started it, Spencer, I’m just ending it.” She pushed the dilaudid and the needle further over the table towards him.

“You’ll be dead. You won’t even know if I take it or not.”

At that, Cat started to cackle again, holding her stomach as she did so.

“Oh Spencie, you will take it. You’re a drug addict, of course you’ll take it.”

“Recovering drug addict.” He corrected her.

“Oh so that makes me a recovering murderer? Grow up, Spencer. Once an addict, always an addict. Who we are never really changes, you proved that by relapsing after all those years.” She folded her arms, signifying she had no intention of taking the drugs back.

Spencer moved closer to the table and stared at the vial and the needle. He wanted her to be wrong. He needed her to be wrong. But he knew it was true, he knew no matter how many years he was sober he’d always be a drug addict the same way she’d always be a murderer.

He knew he could stare at that vial all day but the outcome would always be the same. He’d known the minute he saw it in her hand that he wasn’t leaving this room without those drugs. No matter how hard he tried to pretend otherwise. His fate was already sealed. He was a drug addict and his drug of choice was within arms reach. It was as simple as that.

Wishing he were stronger, he reached for the vial and the needle and snatched them up in his hand before quickly stuffing them in his pants pocket. A devilish smile appeared on Cat’s face as she sat back in her chair and folded her arms in triumph.

“It’s been really nice playing with you, Spencie.” She chuckled.

“Enjoy hell you bitch.” He spat, turning as fast as his leg would allow and limping to the door.

He threw it open and exited the small room, slamming the door behind him. He could still hear Cat laughing from the other side. He pushed his back against the closed door and put his head in his hands.

The dilaudid felt like a led weight in his pocket, weighing him down as though his pants were full of rocks. He’d let her win. He’d taken the drugs like she knew he would. She knew he couldn’t resist them. And they both knew he was going to take them. He didn’t have the strength not to. She might be about to be put to death but she had still won. She’s beaten him once and for all.

He tried to compose himself, anger and anticipation filling his body as he thought about the drugs burning a hole in his pocket. He just had to get back to the institute and he could finally have that sweet release he’d been craving for five long weeks.

He eventually pulled himself together and found Luke and Emily waiting outside the prison. He didn’t even so much as look at Emily, let alone speak to her as motioned Luke to follow him.

“Let’s go.” He spoke to Luke, heading down the path to the barb wire gate at the end.

Luke shot Emily a small smile and a shrug before following the other man. They got in Luke’s car in silence and neither of them spoke for quite some time. Luke periodically glanced at Spencer who had his eyes trained out the passenger side window. After close to a half hour of driving in silence, Luke tried to engage him.

“So, uh…how did it go?” He asked softly.

“As well as could be expected.” Spencer replied without looking at him.

“Right.” Luke nodded. “Do you uh…do you wanna talk about Y/N?”

Spencer’s neck practically snapped with the speed in which he turned to face Luke. His eyes were nearly black as he stared at him.

“What’s to talk about? I fucked up my brain so much with drugs that I genuinely believed I’d had a whole relationship with a woman. A woman who I thought was an FBI Agent but turned out to be an addict I’d met one time. I fell in love with memories created in my own head. What’s to talk about?” He huffed, turning his attention back out the window.

“There’s still a chance. It’s not like she didn’t exist entirely. You can make those memories Spencer. But not if you let this thing with Cat destroy you.”

Spencer caught the look Luke gave him out of the corner of his eye. If he wasn’t mistaken, he could have sworn Luke knew about the stash in his pocket.

“Don’t let her have the final say.” Luke muttered, focusing back on the road.

Somehow, Luke knew, Spencer was sure of it. He wasn’t sure why he was being so cryptic about it and not just coming out and saying it. But he was sure knew Luke about the drugs.

Spencer decided not to say anything and continued to stare at the passing landscape. Neither of them said another word until Luke pulled up in the parking lot of PIW.

He got out of the car and held his arms open for Spencer. Spencer hugged him briefly before stepping back and scuffing his toe on the concrete.

“Thanks for today.” He croaked, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He ran his fingers over the cool vial, feeling the anticipation flooding his whole body.

“Any time man. Just remember what I said.” Luke gave him a small smile.

“I’ll see you later.” Spencer shrugged, turning away.

Luke watched him limp towards the building entrance. He was sure something had happened with Cat that Spencer would never tell him. He just hoped after the events of today, Spencer would be able to keep his head above water. He prayed this wasn’t his friend's undoing.

***

It was late by the time Luke dropped him back off and he made his way to his room. The first thing he did was get out of his suit and slip into his pyjama pants and an oversized sweater. He sat on the edge of his bed with the vial and needle and his hand.

It would be so easy to take it. It would be so easy to shoot up and let his high consume, maybe even kill him. He even got as far as to fill the needle with the drug before twirling it around in his fingers.

He rolled up his sleeve and used his tie from earlier as a tourniquet. But every time he went to pierce his skin with the needle, Luke’s words permeated his brain.

“There’s still a chance. It’s not like she didn’t exist entirely. You can make those memories Spencer. But not if you let this thing with Cat destroy you.”

He wished Luke wasn’t right. He hated that he was. He did still have a chance. You were real even if his memories weren’t. He had a chance to make real memories with you.

But not if he did this. If he took the drugs he was back at square one. You were already several months into your rehabilitation and would surely have no time for him if he gave into his demons so easily.

It was killing him to be so close to getting his fix and not actually getting it. It would be the easiest goddamn thing in the world to inject the dilaudid into his veins and deal with the consequences later. But what if those consequences meant losing you for good?

“There’s still a chance. It’s not like she didn’t exist entirely. You can make those memories Spencer. But not if you let this thing with Cat destroy you.”

Tears rolled down Spencer's cheeks silently as he fought an internal battle with himself. He was almost proud of how much deliberation this was taking. A few weeks, maybe even a few days ago, he would have taken it without hesitation.

He paced the small length of the room, needle in hand until his leg screamed for him to stop. But even then he kept pacing a little longer.

He went end to end playing through the events of the day on a loop. Then he started recollecting the last five weeks he’d spent at the institute, everything from waking up with Emily by his bedside, to finding you, meeting Taylor and George and everything in between.

And once he’d exhausted that he started reliving the small snippets of the past two years he could remember, mostly through the memories his friends had shared. Once his leg was throbbing he sat back down on the bed and stared at the needle once more.

He spent so long looking at it his eyes started to grow heavy. Maybe things would make more sense after he got some sleep. Maybe he’d wake up in the morning with no reluctance and inject the drugs straight into his vein without a second thought.

Leaving the tie around his arm, too drained to remove it, he fell back to the bed, tucking the needle and vial and under his pillow.

And despite all the things playing on his mind, Spencer fell almost immediately into a deep sleep.

@andiebeaword @muffin-cup @measure-in-pain @dreatine @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @justreadingficsdontmindme @spencer-reid-wonderland @thebloomingeagle @tiredmilky @thatsonezesty13 @1mechanicalalligator @elle-28 @academiareid

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x fem! reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

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fairyyeo · 1 year

Text

snowman ❅ hwang hyunjin

pairing — bestfriend!hyunjin x reader

genre — fluff

tw — none

wc — 0.9k

a/n — xmas fic day four !! just a cute little one for today, please enjoy and dont forget to reblog if you liked it <33

————

christmas is a time of love. to confess love, to show love, to embrace love.

you were no exception to the influence of christmas on the overwhelming amount of love in the air.

the holiday season and its abundance of romantic seasonal films, music, and general notions were definitely taking their toll on you.

hiding feelings for a best friend was never easy. plenty of these sappy christmas rom-coms had taught you that. not to mention, every christmas song had you daydreaming about him, imagining it was him.

maybe it was crazy, maybe christmas was giving you a false sense of confidence and belief that it would end happily, like in the movies. but it wasn't about to stop you.

"hi, hyunjin!" you greeted him over the phone, the nerves in your body multiplying rapidly.

"hey, what's going on?" he asked, sketching onto his notepad intently.

"are you busy tomorrow? i'd like to give you your christmas present." a confession, is what that was.

"i'm not busy," he smiled a little, "what time should we meet? and where?"

"eleven o'clock, the art gallery, you know, the usual outing." you frequented the art gallery with hyunjin often. at first, it was a little dull—not your ideal way to spend time. but very quickly you learned to adore it.

originally, you didn't find it interesting, actually, you found it boring. hyunjin only needed to drag you to the gallery a few more times for you to start being moved by artwork. in fact, you'd once cried at a display.

now, you were certainly not the next picasso or monet (or van gogh or da vinci), and your art skills didn't compare to hyunjin's at all, but you dabbled a bit.

its the thought that counts, right?

"okay," hyunjin put his pencil down, "i'll see you tomorrow then." he was smiling to himself as he looked down at his finished sketch.

"bye, hyunjin!" you said before hanging up the phone.

————

tomorrow came too soon.

it was too late to cancel now, so you had no choice but to go through with it. because even if you didn't go ahead with it now, he'd go to the gallery sooner or later and everything would be spoiled.

hyunjin arrived neatly five minutes late, as always, and as always, he made up for it by bringing you a beverage. he mentally noted your favourite thing to drink each time it changed, and brought the updated favourite to you accordingly.

"hyunjin, hey!" you accepted the hot chocolate from him happily before hugging him.

"hey, ready to head in?" he asked, holding his own coffee.

not really.

“of course.” you smiled, latching onto his arm and walking side by side into the gallery.

you made your usual route, stopping by all of hyunjin’s favourite pieces. the two of you also checked out a few new displays, which you always enjoyed.

“so when do i get my christmas present?” hyunjin joked, raising a brow at you.

“yeah, yeah.” you laughed. “there’s one more new display i want to check out first.” you pulled him by the hand towards the back of the gallery.

you were immensely nervous. how could he not feel your hands trembling?

“it’s this one, over here.” as you approached the small painting, you pointed to it.

“wow.” hyunjin breathed. he leaned in closer to read the description on the plaque beneath.

this was it.

“wh—what is this?” he whispered, looking at you. his eyes were wide with genuine surprise, and his mouth slightly ajar.

you’d painted two snowmen next to each other, each having their own details. one wearing a top hat and the other a scarf. one was melting slightly from the rays of sunshine, it was shedding tears too. tears that rolled down and joined the slowly increasing puddle of water at its base. it had a somewhat melancholic feel.

the plaque read:

my snowman and me. i’m certainly no artist compared to you, but, this is how i’d feel without you in my life.

“it’s uh,” you shrugged, “meant to show how much i love you…”

there it was. the words ‘i love you’ had been uttered and you couldn’t take them back now.

“y/n.” hyunjin was teary eyed and he sniffled after saying your name.

“hey, don’t cry please.” you reached out to comfort him, placing a hand on his back.

“i didn’t know someone could love me this much.” he mumbled quietly as he wiped a tear away.

“i do, hyunjin. i do.” you smiled at him, leaning your face in closer insistingly.

“you wanna know something?” he chuckled, wiping another tear. he pulled out a folded piece of paper and handed it to you, “merry christmas.”

you unfolded it to see a coloured sketch of you, hyperrealistic. in fact, it looked more like you than you yourself. hyunjin had drawn it from memory—your face always prominent in his mind, allowing him to draw you with ease. he’d also written a short message in the bottom right corner.

merry christmas y/n.

i love you.

he’d finished it on the phone with you just yesterday, and spent hours and hours working on it before.

“you love me too?” you gasped, eyes scanning the beautiful sketch.

“i pretty much always have.” hyunjin smiled at you fondly. “christmas is a time of love, so i figured it was a good time to finally confess it. merry christmas y/n.” he wrapped his arms around you tightly.

“merry christmas, hyunjin.” you leaned up to gently kiss him.

hyunjin pointed to the painting as snaked an arm around your waist, pulling you close, “so, do i get to keep this?”

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jaxthejester · 4 months

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i’d love some ianthony hurt/comfort fics where one of them gets hurt or injured by someone on set and the other gets all caring and protective!! bonus points for including the other smosh cast members too hehe thanks so much!!

im not a huge ianthony fan, but i tried! sorry its short 😭

Ianthony- A Big, Big Mess on Our Hands Tonight

"So, Eat It or Yeet It, Ianthony Edition, ey? Sounds great!" Anthony proclaimed.

"Yeah! I'm so ready to fuck ALL this shit up!" Ian chuckled. Garrett looked at the two men with a glint of nervousness in his eye.

"I, uh, hope you know not all of these dishes are going to be bad, right?" he asked. Both Ian and Anthony's faces fell.

"Well damn."

The cooking went off without a hitch, even with Ian and Anthony fucking around, still overjoyed to have the other back. Garrett took most of the actual cooking, while the other two did the prep.

Soon, it was time to shoot the episode. A chorus of "Eat It or Yeet It!" rang out.

"Hello and welcome to a very special Eat It or Yeet It-" Courtney began, pausing momentarily. "I say that every time, don't I?" they asked aloud.

"Anyway! I have reason to say it on this fine evening- it's the Ianthony episode!" Cheers came from the table as Ian and Anthony both smiled to the Garrett cam. "Here are the rules!" Courtney said for the edit.

"Garrett wouldn't let us torment you guys... that much." Ian commented. Spencer, on of the contestants, rolled his eyes.

"Don't make me threaten to kill myself again." Spencer sighed. Ian chuckled.

"No promises!"

The first few rounds went as well as any Eat It or Yeet It does- Damien got some weird pasta dish that everyone else refused to taste, Tommy got a plain ass tortilla, Angela got a vegemite donut, and Spencer got an overcooked pizza in a "My Favorite Pizza Place" box.

Issues arose when the big bite came out. Anthony had pitched a dish to be served on fire for the big bite, and Garrett helped him prepare a cherries jubilee flambé.

Anthony had worked a deal with Courtney prior, ensuring Anthony could light the dish himself.

"When this dish is presented, make sure nobody is near it! We wouldn't want an accident..." Garrett had warned. Anthony had mumbled an acknowledgement.

The five people sitting around the table made small talk as the last round was being prepped.

"I can't believe I got the big bite AGAIN." Shayne groaned, head resting on his forearm to ensure no cheating.

"My brother in christ, you didn't even try to hit the bell." Spencer retorted.

"I do think hitting the bell is a vital part of the game..." Tommy added.

"I know! I was the one who pitched this show, dammit!" Shayne snapped in false anger.

"Ohhh, I'm Shayne!! I pitched this show because I like the pain I go through!" Angela mocked.

"Holy shit, are there two Shaynes here?!" Damien joked.

"Okay losers, it's time! Open your eyes!" Courtney called out. Everyone did as they asked, but instead of Courtney, Anthony stood in the center, revealing the dish.

"Five...?" The count started. Anthony pulled out a pocket lighter to flambé the dish.

"Four..." With two clicks, the lighter lit, and Anthony put the flame to the dish.

"Three..." It caught instantly, blue flames climbing the dish.

"Two...!" The flames climbed higher than Anthony inticipated, though, and it made contact with his hand.

"FUCK-" Anthony yelled, quickly yanking his hand back.

"Oh my god, cut, someone get a medic!" the director called.

Anthony would blame the adrenaline, but events after that were a blur. The medic showed up and walked him through the proceedures. It was nothing more than a small first degree burn, but it still hurt like a bitch.

As the medic finished up bandaging Anthony's hand, Ian walked into the room. "Anthony, are... are you okay?" he asked.

Anthony looked to the medic. "Yeah, he'll be fine. Just be careful around the area." she smiled. "Take care now." And she left, leaving Anthony and Ian alone.

"That's... good." Ian said, running a hand through his hair.

"Yep. I've had worse, anyway. I was a teenager once, you know." Anthony joked. Ian didn't laugh, and shifted his weight.

"I was worried. About you."

Oh. Anthony felt a pang in his heart. He walked over to Ian, bringing the other into a hug.

"I'm sorry. I'm okay, I promise."

Ian smiled. "I'm glad."

#smosh #ianthony #fluff #cross posted on ao3 #if you like my fics pls leave kudos there!

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princeresnikov · 8 months

Text

it's in my nature {Tangerine} // 10

ten. tangerine: indistinct by design.

Summary: Tangerine has no idea how to feel about Clementine's possibly attempts at manipulation, he doesn't have the time. None of them do, a fact which is only made more frustrating when Clementine tries to insist on leaving The Twins to do her actual job.

{ Masterlist }

A/N: 2669 words. hello it's been five months its good to see you! yes i'm still writing this, but i'm also working internationally at my day job so that's been taking up a lot of my life lol. but i get so happy every time i think of this fic, even though I was SO stuck on this for MONTHS. anyways, i love you, i hope you enjoy, let me know what you think?

Warnings: Don’t be surprised when the OC is a terrible person and is implied to have done terrible things along with the rest of them.

Chapter Warnings: light discussions of murder

Taglist: @venusthepirate @malar-region @tangerinesgf @esmaada @sarcastic-sourwolf @chuyouchu @justshutupmars @somikesoc @chachadelight @andydre4m @evangelineflowers @darkchai @basementsoup @bellatrix124 @kunikidaswhore @thewinterschildren178 @deadtildeath @folkloreandfall @aniglio18 @geeiz @mimidior @justice-333 @ltlthetrifecta @salsasadd @xkawax @hellsgatelove22 @brownficgirl @tangerineswife @cigarettesandfigureskates @ceciliahargrove @welcometothescreaming20s @moonlight-matcha @thyeb @emilia527 @tangerinefics @charlemagnethesecond @little-miss-bi @megplant @kalli0pes @aaronperryjohnson @nachtcirce @literatureisair @nina-isabelle @queenofspades403 @ayaahaddadd @sweetbutpsychobutsweet

---

Clementine's already dubiously murky motivations were growing even harder to guess at as the day went on. Perhaps she was trying to get him on side, lull him into a false sense of security, sway his perception of her despite everything he'd learned that day. The part that Tangerine found rather infuriating, however, was that it was kind of working. Little things were adding up, things she'd mentioned today, memories of moments back in New York that kept resurfacing, and now, something about the way she'd admitted that making him happy was never part of her job description, he couldn't help but begin to think she was being genuine, at least about that.

He wasn't sure how to feel about it all, let alone her, not that he had time to feel things; later? Perhaps. Now? Not so much.

Slipping into the seat across the aisle from his brother, he can see Lemon's working hard to retain his composure, and despite how tense he's feeling, Tangerine does at least allow himself to breathe. He doesn't relax, persay; none of them are, and he's rather sure none of them really can, even if Clementine may look like she's never experienced a damn hardship in her life. While she's wearing that little smile that almost looks pleased as she sits daintily across from him, gaze roaming, searching the cabin in a way that anyone else could misconstrue as simply curious, Tangerine knows it all too well as her planning her possible escape routes. Lemon takes his focus for the moment, however, glancing furtively between them both.

"Well that couldn't 've gone better," he offers, more hopeful than anything else.

"Yeah, let's hope they buy it," Tangerine grimaces, before looking between them both, "we need to find that glasses twat like right - the fuck - now -"

Except Clementine's phone buzzes.

All three of them turn their attention to her bag.

"What. Now." Tangerine says through his teeth, practically oozing frustration. Clementine, having frantically fished the phone from the bag's depths, looks at the screen, seemingly ignoring him as she stands abruptly.

"Royal pain," she mutters, mostly to herself, and makes a start towards the back end of the train. Before she can abscond, Tangerine's grabbing her wrist, stopping her in her tracks. The moment she looks at his hard expression, it's as if she suddenly remembered he was there at all.

"Something more important to get to?"

"Actually yes," Clementine says with surprising ire, "my job." Again Tangerine's mind lights up at the thought of the girl in first class, and the dishevelled man in the seat adjacent who she'd called her Uncle. Right. Weird. Not his problem right now.

"She's got her Uncle, she'll be fine for a few minutes -"

"What?" Clementine says so sharply he could swear he could feel the sting. A strange look flashes across her face but she can't seem to regain her composure entirely - "no, I really have to go. If I see our man I'll be sure to send him your way -"

"Just one more question, Clem, I promise," it's Lemon's voice that cuts her off, altogether far lighter, far more amicable and earnest, "just before you go; I'm curious." Tangerine notes how he'd used her nickname with such ease, sounding almost jarring, at least to him, since Lemon had exclusively been referring to her as The Scorpion since that revelation - faint surprise reads on Clementine's face, but still she grants him a hesitant smile.

"Not sure if there's time for that," she tells him, still standing, though her tone is almost apologetic. Almost. Lemon's smile is bereft of humour in a way that rather unnerved his brother.

"Humour me would you?"

After a moment of hesitation, Clementine obligingly sits once more. All three of them hear her phone vibrate where she's got it clutched to her chest. Both brothers look to it, but Clementine just holds it a little tighter.

"What do you really sound like?" Lemon asks her, "you're not really from the states; the Late, unfortunate Son of our boss implied as much; whaddya sound like when you're not talking to us?"

"What a dangerous question," her tone and smile indicate that she's impressed with his audacity, but she doesn't answer the question, "making a scrapbook? Is this how you choose to waste time?" It evidentially comes out a little harsher than she'd probably meant it, a sure but surprising sign that he'd touched a nerve.

"Careful with your tone there," Tangerine warns, "just call it part of the explanation you owe us." Tangerine backs up his brother's line of questioning without hesitation.

"I don't think it is," there's a new, faint reservation in her words; despite her promises, she still can't fully commit to being honest with them, "it's not the same; you two don't put the same kind of effort into obfuscating your identities."

"Big word for a girl like you, isn't it? Obfuscating," Tangerine's condescending tone allows a crack in Clementine's armour; she rolls her eyes, expression dropping and lips pursing. Still, he continues to needle her for the information, "you're doing more than your fair share of that now, aren't you?"

"It's my speciality," she gives a flat smile but can't look him in the eyes. She crosses her arms, seemingly letting go of the bright demeanour for a moment, falling back into being quiet and sullen; there's something about the question that appears to bring her more genuine discomfort than Tangerine had expected, "why are you asking me this, Lemon?" Her gaze keeps flicking around, both the cabin behind them, and the Twins themselves, though never looking them in the eyes.

"We want to trust you," it escapes Lemon before his brother can speak, appearing to catch both Clementine and Tangerine off guard.

"I don't believe that," she huffs a quiet laugh, gaze now focused down the aisle ahead of her. After a very long moment of deliberation, however, she takes a deep breath, "what was the question again?"

"What do you really sound like?" Lemon repeats flatly.

"In which language?"

"English, Clem," he sighs, but the irate edge has softened from his voice. Clementine glances over her shoulder for a moment, but then meets his gaze with a vaguely confused frown. Then, seemingly having processed whatever it was that had confused her, she makes a strange expression.

"I heard English in so many accents growing up, lots of tapes from all over the world, I think so I wouldn't have one that would be my default, I think they were afraid that when I was young, if I got into a situation where my accent would drop, it would be telling."

Her phone buzzes again, but this time she just places it face down on the table.

"You don't know," Tangerine says flatly.

"I don't know," Clementine agrees, once more looking distinctly uncomfortable, wearing an expression that seemed to say 'I don't know what you expected'.

"So when you, say, default back -"

"I don't default to English," she pointed out.

"Wouldn't your honest accent be based on your first language then?" Lemon points out, but Clementine shifts, again with an unfamiliar discomfort.

"Steps were taken to erase defining parts of my identity."

"That sounds downright fucking terrifying; what do you mean?"

"It's far more helpful than you might think, though some of the methods could stand to perhaps be more gentle," she gives an awkward, almost self deprecating laugh, before looking straight at Lemon with a vacant smile, "I'm fully ambidextrous, no preference for left or right, always have been."

"Is that why he took fingers instead of a whole hand?" Tangerine hears himself asking. Clementine, however, looks genuinely shocked that he'd made that connection.

"Among several other reasons," she said slowly, "yes." Then, with another furtive glance and a buzz from her phone, "Lemon, you know I'd love to chat and explain myself to you until I'm blue in the face, but we really don't have the time." Lemon's quick to thank her for her willingness to humour him, gesturing as if to say that she's no longer bound by social contract. Again, her phone buzzes as she picks it up and both brothers see her grimace as she goes to answer, voice growing faint as she trots hurriedly away. They both hear how she answers in a completely new accent, however, and Tangerine knows, clear as day, that it's a mirror of the young woman he'd met up in first class -

"What have you done now -"

"Spooky that is," Lemon muses after a moment, before he looks sharply to Tangerine, "Russian, right?"

Tangerine frowns obvious confusion.

"Her accent," though he amends without even a beat, "or, no, her original accent; do you think she's Russian too?"

"As far as probability goes," Tangerine says after a bit of thought, "chances aren't zero, I'll give you that."

"Well what's your leading theory?"

"I have bigger things to worry about than Clementine's country of origin, like that fuck with our case, and a fuckin' murder mystery," Tangerine scowls, "what's it even matter now?"

"I've been thinking- well, I've been panicking, wracking my brains," Lemon's half-rambling, leaning across the table to whisper to Tangerine the moment Clementine's out of earshot; his gaze doesn't stray from the door she'd disappeared through, "tryna figure out how she's connected to what happened with you in Russia all those years ago, and for the life of me I can't figure it out otherwise."

"So you think she is Russian?" Tangerine, despite his scepticism, matches his brother's low tone, meeting his conspiratorial energy.

"It matters because I can't rightly remember the details of the case, and I was hung up on them for years because I thought you'd end up dead, but she -"

"- somehow still remembers well enough to maybe want to kill about it," Tangerine sighed, finally realising where his brother was coming from, "despite not being personally tied to them."

"Allegedly."

"Or she could have been competition."

"What?"

"Like competition for you; The Scorpion kills her competition, right? Maybe that's why? Took her a good few years after that to make a name for herself, right?"

A long silence followed, Tangerine scrubbing his hand over his face as he ruminates upon this.

"She wasn't the first."

"The fuck else have you done that I need to worry about -?!"

"Not the Russia thing, do you really think I wouldn't tell you if I did something like that without you again?" Scowling at his brother, Lemon at least has the grace to give him that. After a long moment, Tangerine exhales his frustration through his nose, sitting back in his seat, "wasn't the first like her, who kills her competition, was she? If she's been doing this for as long as I think, then she's kept a low profile until the past few years; she wasn't the first, and I doubt she'd be cut about that a decade after the fact, even if she was one to hold a grudge that long."

Lemon took a deep breath.

"Maybe that's why she killed The Cockroach."

"What are you talking about?"

"The Scorpion killed The Cockroach," Lemon insists, "'s what I heard, 's why she is the only one who does what she does anymore." It's ringing a very faint bell bell; Tangerine hasn't consciously thought about The Cockroach in a very long time. All Tangerine tries recalling everything he'd heard about the operative in the few years they had been operating, but he can't call to mind much that's positive.

They'd been scum, with friends in high places that kept them from being a target the way they sought to target other operatives in their path. Rumours said they were like an alien to encounter, cold and strange to anyone outside of their targets, bug-like with they way they watched, and their skittish nature; he thinks he recalls the derisive way someone once compared them to a preying mantis, or an alien. The Cockroach, despite their reputation, and everything they were rumoured to have done, everything they'd supposedly endured. Even when they weren't targeted by fellow operatives, their jobs were often said to be dangerous and required close contact. The Cockroach was said to be unkillable, in more ways than one.

But then, one day, though Tangerine supposed it would be a different day for everyone, he realised he hadn't heard anything about The Cockroach in months. Everyone stopped hearing about The Cockroach, but no-one really acknowledged it, or knew why. Rumours circulated of course -

"You know I'm right," Lemon says, sounding just a touch smug in the way he only ever did when he was menacing his brother.

"I think you're distracting yourself -"

"You're thinking about it, and you know I'm right."

"Well right now she's not trying to kill us, so I don't give half a shit about who she has killed, or if she's Russian, or English, or American -"

"Well once we untangle ourselves from this bloody mess, ten-to-one odds she's gonna decide to start being a problem, so it matters -"

"Not right now it doesn't," Tangerine snapped finally, and took a moment to attempt to compose himself with very little success, "we're looking for that glasses-fuck; I'm gonna go up, you go down, double back when you're done. If you see him, fuckin' deal with him, yeah?"

His brother is covered in blood that Tangerine hopes to God isn't his; he can't look at him right now, even as he's finally focusing back on their situation at hand. So Tangerine casts his gaze to the door Clementine had just passed through, trying to keep the description - glasses, blonde, American - in his mind, trying to recall anything else he can about the bastard who'd startled him earlier without Tangerine realising that he'd been the thief.

Except that it occurs to him that he's not even sure what counts as up and what counts as down on a train. Of course Lemon would know -

"- towards Tokyo," Lemon clarifies, pointing in the other direction, "departing trains are always moving down." In all honesty, Tangerine doesn't know enough about trains to confirm as much, and Lemon already seems to be wary of Tangerine's dubious relationship with Clementine; for all he knows Lemon's concerned about his focus too, and trying to keep him from getting distracted. It doesn't sit well with him, however neither does acknowledging that Clementine has a knack for being able to distract him when she wants to. Either way, he trusts his brother on this - "and look, be careful," Lemon, as if hearing Tangerine's thoughts, turns to him, gaze intense, "something else is going on here," his voice is still low, still conspiratorial, as if he can't bring himself to trust any of the unsuspecting civilians around them, "I feel like there's still another Diesel lurking about."

Fucking Thomas the Tank Engine.

"I swear to God, what did I say?" Tangerine hissed, fed up with this bit his brother insisted upon doing, "what did I say?" Any other day, hell, any other time he'd humour his brother in this, but right now was not the time - "I said I'd -"

"Shoot me in the face," Lemon finishes with exasperation, but clearly it's more than a bit, "Thomas still taught me how to see people, how to read them for real," he points out firmly, which Tangerine does agree to, "and I'm never wrong, am I?"

"No," Tangerine concedes.

"Glasses," Lemon insists, "he is not our guy. We still have another fuckin' bug to look out for."

Right, The Hornet.

Tangerine lets himself breathe for just a moment. He trusts his brother, he always has; Lemon's instincts have never been wrong before.

As he pulls out his gun, Tangerine deliberates for a bit, gives himself a million reasons before he hands it over - Lemon's a better shot at close range, if one of them were to spot The Hornet first his money was on Lemon, Lemon's less likely to shoot the wrong person - but knows deep down that if he let his brother leave unarmed, and something happened to him, Tangerine would never forgive himself.

"Shoot first, come up with the answers later."

#tangerine bullet train imagine #tangerine bullet train x oc #tangerine bullet train x reader #bullet train tangerine #bullet train fanfic #bullet train movie #bullet train #tangerine bullet train #lemon bullet train imagine #lemon bullet train #tangerine imagine #tangerine x oc #tangerine x reader #bullet train 2022 #tangerine x clementine #its in my nature #bullet train oc

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