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#hello grand (son)
jupiterianvampire · 2 years
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ma mère a voté à droite parce que “l’autre mec sa tête me revient pas”
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distantdarlings · 3 months
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HESITATING // t. nott
RATING: R / 3.9K WORDS
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Theodore Nott x Fem Reader Insert
+ SUMMARY - *Requested, based on this* After a trip to Hogsmeade, you realize that Theo seems to get an awful lot of attention from girls. To avoid getting hurt, you start to distance yourself from him to rid yourself of your crush. But Theo is not having it. (Smut)
+ WARNINGS - SMUT! No protection - piv, praise kink, slight body worship, biting (one time), fem reader, language, one time skip, dom!Theo (lmk if I missed any)
+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -
more than friends - Isabel LaRosa
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Your eyes found the clock on your bedside table. You were supposed to meet Theo in the Great Hall in ten minutes, yet you stood completely still in your dorm, switching back and forth between two outfits. It was a Saturday, and you didn’t have the usual crutch of your school uniform, hence the inability to decide. 
As the year progressed, the temperature dropped outside as well as within the castle. When chills were scattered across your arms in class, your teeth were almost clacking together. At the thought, a small shiver went through you.
You decided on a heavier sweater and jeans, noting that if you were cold in the warmth of your dorm, you’d likely be cold in the stone Great Hall. 
You slipped the outfit on, selecting a thick pair of socks and a ratty pair of shoes you’d had since fourth year. It wasn’t the most stunning style, but it was efficient and comfortable. Five minutes to go.
You slipped your wand into your back pocket and headed toward the hallway, slipping the dorm door closed behind you. Theo was likely already there with his group of friends, ones you liked to call friends, as well. The sons of big names around Hogwarts and the wizarding world, in general, though they were just boys to you. 
As you arrived at the grand doors of the Great Hall, the boys in question caught your eye and shot excited waves at you. While some of them had a bit more pride than others, they always seemed happy to see you. A smile broke across your face as you walked over to the Slytherin table, claiming the space between Theo and Mattheo. 
“Hello there, darling,” Theo purred in your ear when the group went back to their conversation. A twinge of heat flared in your chest. You hid a smile.
“Miss me?” You asked, voice low. He smiled. 
“Of course I did.” He threw a playful arm over your shoulder. Though it seemed to be a friendly gesture, it felt like a claim to you. A claim by him placed onto you, alerting all who you belonged to. It made you embarrassingly happy. 
“Any plans today, boys?” You asked. The group turned to you. 
“Actually, we were thinking of heading down to Hogsmeade for the day,” Mattheo said. “We were going to ask if you wanted to go with us?”
“I’d love to, as long as I’m not forcing myself on the group,” you said, only half-joking.
“Of course not,” said Enzo, a sweet smile on his face. “We love hanging out with you.”
“Yeah?” You teased. Mattheo rolled his eyes.
“You know we like you,” he joked, running a mean hand over your head, tousling your hair. You exclaimed and pushed his hand away, laughing along with the dark boy.
“We definitely do,” Theo laughed, pulling you tighter against him for a moment. 
“Well, alright,” You laughed. “Heading there now?”
“Yes!” Enzo clapped his hands together and stood, already headed toward the door. The rest of you laughed and made to follow him. 
“What about jackets? It’s cold out there!” You exclaimed, rubbing your hands over your arms.
“Ah, I’ve prepared for that,” Theo said, picking up two jackets that had been placed beside where he’d once sat. You hadn’t noticed them originally. 
He selected the smaller brown one and slipped it over your shoulder while he pushed his arms through the black one.
“Theo!” You exclaimed, running your hands over the nice corduroy material. “Where on earth did you get this? Whose is this?” 
“Yours, of course,” he laughed as the four of you exited the castle and headed down the cobblestone path to Hogsmeade.
“What do you mean?” You asked.
“Call it an early Christmas gift,” he said, smiling smugly. 
“You can’t be serious!”
“Of course I am,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I saw it in one of the shops last weekend and thought of you.” 
If you weren’t the wiser, you’d have thought your heart had melted and poured down through your rib cage. A blush filled your cheeks and your stomach at the thought of Theo thinking of you and then buying something. 
“Thank you, Theo,” you sighed. He laughed and shrugged it off as if he hadn’t just made your whole week, if not your whole decade. 
The whole way down to Hogsmeade, your heart refused to let go of your brain. The pink filter that had been placed before your eyes glowed brightly. This little crush of yours seemed to have elevated a bit, but you’d never admit that, of course.
The group stopped before the Three Broomsticks, eager to slip into the cozy building’s warmth and order several rounds of Butterbeer. 
The four of you pushed through the door and selected a round booth near one of the back windows. Enzo and Mattheo headed to the front counter to order for the group. 
“Have you got any plans for the rest of the day?” Theo asked, naturally sliding his arm around the back of the booth behind you. 
“Well, if you’ll have me, I’d love to stick with the three of you,” you suggested.
“I was hoping you’d say that,” he smiled, playfully tugging on a piece of your hair. He was hoping you’d say that? 
“Here we are!” Enzo cheered, placing two pints of Butterbeer on the table before the two of you. Mattheo was close behind him, carrying two for the both of them. They slid into the booth beside Theo, with you and Mattheo on the ends and Theo and Enzo between you. It felt comfortable.
Between each of your smiles, all with different personalities, you’d found a very safe space to stay. Every moment with these people made up a memory you knew you’d remember until you could no longer. Nothing could have ruined this evening.
“Oh, my God!” A loud voice said, drawing the syllables out. The four of you turned to look at the unfamiliar face standing before your table. “Teddy? Is that you?”
“Teddy?” You asked, wrinkling your nose at the nickname. 
“Holy shit, Laverna!” Theo laughed. “How long has it been?” 
“A while! I’ve just been visiting recently and thought I’d stop by Hogsmeade after not having seen it for so long.” 
The girl standing before your table was incredibly gorgeous, with flowing platinum hair that reached the bottom of her spine and shocking blue eyes. Her skin appeared flawless and luminescent beneath the comforting lights within the restaurant. A fire of jealousy broiled in your chest. 
“Guys, this is Laverna,” Theo introduced her. “We were pretty close before her family moved to France, and she transferred to Beauxbatons.” 
“That’s me!” She giggled. It sounded like she even had a hint of a French accent. You struggled not to roll your eyes. 
“I was just going to get a drink. Do you want to catch up a bit?” She asked.
Theo ushered Mattheo and Enzo out of the booth. A bit confused, they got to their feet and allowed the boy next to them to slide out and give a hug to the beautiful woman. You sipped your Butterbeer. 
The other two boys sat back down and glanced up at you in scattered patterns. You ignored their eyes. You were pretty sure they knew about your little crush. Scratch that. They definitely knew. 
Over your shoulder, you could hear the two of them laughing and carrying on. You attempted to ignore the burning in your cheeks. Mattheo and Enzo nursed their drinks, fidgeting randomly. 
A few moments of randomized chatting passed before Theo finally came back, a poignant smile still painted over his lips. You looked away from him. 
“Sorry about that,” he laughed, scooting in next to Mattheo. You tried not to think about the fact that he didn’t sit next to you. You were being dramatic. 
“Alright, where to next?” He asked. The four of you discussed what to do with the rest of your day with random store names circling about. The final agreement was to head over to Honeydukes to enjoy some of their Christmas sales, and so Enzo could stock the small jar that sat beneath his bed. He tended to snack throughout the night as he was tending to assignments, refusing sleep. 
You gathered together and made your way through the small town, window-shopping here and there. Every time you pouted over Theo’s seemingly obvious interest in the gorgeous girl, you remembered the jacket currently around you. Theo cared about you. Was it the way you wanted him to? You weren’t sure. 
Once inside the colorful store, the four of you split and wandered your separate ways, each looking for different sweets. You always headed right toward the chocolate frogs, eager to extend your vast collection of cards. Perhaps it was a bit childish, but who cared? It was a fun hobby. 
You stopped before the rack piled high with the blue boxes and stared. You tried to guess which one would have a card you’d never gotten before, conjuring up every ounce of intuition you had.
With another second of thought, you chose the one sitting on the shelf directly in front of your face. You were excited to open it with Theo; he always loved to see you add to your collection. 
You turned the box over in your hands, examining the packaging. Out of the corner of your eye, a flash of red catches your attention. You turn to the left and notice Theo laughing aloud, talking with that same girl, Laverna, and another girl. A dark-haired goddess with blushed cheeks and a perfect figure. Fuck’s sake. 
The urge to crush the chocolate box in your hand flashed through your mind. You rolled your eyes and headed further into the store, trying to put distance between the two of you.
Mattheo was standing against a wall, browsing a rack of magazines, occasionally picking one to flip through. You stopped before him, leaning up against the same wall. 
“Pouting, are you?” He asks, not looking up from the magazine in his hands. You scoff.
“No, I’m not…I’m just…,” you sigh and close your eyes.
“Just in love?” He asked, glancing up at you with a smirk. 
“Fuck off,” you groaned. Was it that obvious? Maybe it was. You didn’t know. An exhausted sigh left your lips.
Uproarious laughter sounded from the corner. You recognized one of the laughs as Theo’s. The others belonged to women. That was it.
“Okay, I’m heading back to the castle,” you said, throwing your hands up. “Tell Theo I wasn’t feeling well or something.”
“What? Are you sure?” Mattheo asked, finally dropping the magazine. “We still want you here with us.” 
“It’s okay, I’m just tired,” you said. “I think I’ll just head back for a nap until dinner.” And with that, you paid for your candy and headed back to the castle. 
xxx 
Over the next week, you made an unintentional decision to skip meals with the group. You weren’t trying to avoid them—or maybe you were—but you found yourself wanting to be alone more and more the past few days. 
The thought of having to see Theo after Saturday, when he had the attention of half the girls in Hogsmeade, made you want to vomit. Perhaps it was jealousy pushing you away, but it was your anxiety keeping you there. Every time you thought of heading back to eat with the group, you reminded yourself that Theo hadn’t tried to reach out since you’d stopped seeing them. If he wanted to, he would, right?
With your decision to keep away from the boys for a while, you’d taken to eating in your dorm over your lunch break. Nobody else was ever in there, and it was kind of comfortable, to be honest. You would nibble on your meal and read, or draw, or whatever came to mind, and it was nice and quiet. 
You set your book on your bed and gathered the little meal you’d prepared for yourself. Pulling the covers back, you settled in and grabbed your novel. This was absolutely lovely after a busy morning.
Just as you’d begun to settle yourself into the routine you’d started the previous week, two shouts of your name shot through the air. Before the disappointment and onset of anxiety came shock. Was that Theo?
Rapid steps grew closer and closer until the dormitory door echoed a gentle knock as if the person behind it had slowed down just as they’d arrived. 
“Um…who is it?” You asked awkwardly.
“Baby, it’s Theo,” a breathless voice came from behind the door. “Please open the door. Please. I need to talk to you.”
Baby? What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck? The constant mantra rushed through your head as you shakily ripped your comforter away, ignoring your food and book. 
You slowly pulled the door open, seeing a nervous Theo. His eyes were shot with blushed red, and his lips were swollen. Had he been crying?
“Theo, what—?”
“Please, can I come in?” he asked. His breath exited his body in short, rough pants. You nodded wide-eyed and moved out of the way. He pushed into the room, walking to the center of the room. His hands pushed through his hair repeatedly.
You pushed the door closed and pushed the lock. When you turned, he did the same, eyes on yours. His eyebrows were furrowed together, desperation painted on his face. His lips were parted, his eyes wanting. 
“What is it—?”
“You have to tell me what I’ve done,” he begged. “I feel like I’m going crazy.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean! Where have you been? You’ve been gone for days; the boys say you’re mad at me, that you might not come back—what the fuck are they talking about?” he demands, his eyes wide. 
Your lips parted stupidly. No words came, no matter how hard you searched for them. The only thought that could process within your brain was how you were gonna kill Enzo and Mattheo for saying such stupid things to him. If anything, they were likely trying to get him to come and talk to you—which, it seems, has worked.
“Theo,” you cave, “it’s not that I wasn’t returning or mad at you…I was…” You could barely get the words out. He watched you with intent and pressure. It felt as though you were about to suffocate.
“What? Please tell me. What’s wrong?” He begged, his voice cracking. He moved toward you, his hands raising to touch you, then hesitating and dropping. A line of shimmering tears pool within his eyes, and the pure shock of seeing Theo about to cry had your lips parting again. 
“I was…,” you groan, “…jealous.” You practically whispered the last part.
“Wait, what?” He gasped, his eyes widening even further.
“Theo, please don’t make me repeat it,” you sighed, pressing your hands to your face. “I’m embarrassed as is, I was jealous of those girls from last Saturday. I feel like every time I saw you, you were making another girl laugh, and they were all fucking perfect, of course, and I-I like you so much, Theo—”
His hands pressed to either side of your face, his fingers tight and warm. His eyes were widened, his breaths heavy. 
“No more,” he breathed, “please, tell me to stop, and I will, but I have to…” 
His lips pressed roughly to yours, his breath more like pants. He kissed you like you were air, his lips desperate and biting. The sound he pressed against your mouth was like one of relief. You gasped against him, finally realizing where you truly were and what was happening. Your fingers tightened in his hair, begging him closer to you. 
“I n-need you,” he shivered against your lips, breath shuddering. You nodded fervently, barely having time to wrap your arms around his neck as his hands placed themselves around your thighs. He yanked you into the air and placed himself on your bed, settling you over his lap. The way he’d forced you to straddle him pressed his firming core against yours, sending a shock of excitement through your body. 
His fingers began to quickly work the buttons of your shirt apart. When the fabric was finally split down the middle, he pressed his mouth to the top of your breasts, mouthing hot kisses against the soft flesh there. You sighed softly, letting your head fall back to allow him all the necessary room. 
“Wanted you for so long,” he mumbles against you. Your fingers brush through his curled hair, gently scraping against his scalp every so often. The feeling of his lips against you made your heart race to the point of beating against his tongue. 
Much to your dismay, he pulled away and shoved you back. You fell against the foot of the bed, completely helpless as he climbed over you. The domineering air he carried with him spread over your body, rendering it pliant beneath his searing touch. 
His fingers gently cradled your hips as he worked his mouth over your stomach, dipping his tongue across every curve and dip, savoring the taste of sweat that slid down your skin. As his lips heated your skin, the shaking breaths he blew through his nose cooled it down and had you reeling. The ceiling above you was all but spinning. 
He followed the curve of your body all the way up to your mouth, allowing his tongue to learn every inch of your abdomen. When his lips found yours again, the both of you were panting. The only thing standing between the two of you was your uniforms.
With a burst of confidence thanks to his session of worship, you gently cradled him in your hands, applying slight pressure against his most sensitive area. At the touch, he choked against you, sucking in a rough breath.
“Please,” he moaned. “Let me fuck you. I'll do anything.” He whispered your name. Over and over and over. Begging and begging. 
“Anything?” You smirked, watching as his eyes seemed to well up with the same liquid. He nodded quickly.
“I want you to do whatever you want to me,” you whispered. And if it wasn’t like giving someone a million bucks. 
“Thank you,” he whispered, a wave of relief washing across his face. The obvious desire written across his face and actions had you feeling wanted and gorgeous. The confidence built by the second.
His fingers quickly found the hem of your skirt and pushed it up over your thighs. At the sight of the thin bottoms you had on, a slow moan pushed itself between his lips. “Fuck,” he whispered.
His thumb came down to slowly swipe down the center of your core through your bottoms. You jolted at the soft action, not prepared for it. A smile spread over his face.
He gently pushed the fabric to the side, reveling in the feeling of the white lace against his fingertips. Once he’d revealed you, an even louder moan escaped from him. Only a moment passed before he pressed two fingers to his lips, coating them with a thick layer of saliva. He pulled them from his lips and began to lather you in himself. 
Your lips parted in a breathy whine at the feeling. His fingers were gentle but direct, only brushing the most sensitive spots before slowly filling you up to the hilt of his fingers. 
“Fuck, you just opened right up for me,” he groaned. His words sent shocks of lightning through your stomach. His skilled fingers stretched you out perfectly, preparing you for what was to come. The want in his eyes was growing darker and darker, imagining the next few minutes. It was all too much; you couldn’t wait any longer.
“Please, Theo, just fuck me,” you whined, “no more.”
“Yeah, baby? I’m gonna fuck you, don’t worry about that,” he whispered. “‘ve been dreaming about this cunt for months.” He makes quick work of his trousers, roughly ripping the clinking belt from its loops. He separates the button and pushes them down, revealing the dark briefs that framed every muscular curve. 
He separated your legs and placed himself neatly between them. His hands reached down to agonizingly trace himself up and down your core. You moaned at the feeling, bucking your hips against his warmth. You attempted to salvage any of his warmth, begging for the feeling of him within you. 
When he finally pushed himself into you, there was no resistance. The sounds that left your mouth chorused each other, echoing across the dorm room. He gave only a few seconds for you to adjust before building his pace rapidly. The pure length of him hit everything within you with ease. This time, there were tears welling up in your eyes as he abused every inch of you. 
Sweet nothings left his mouth as he pushed roughly into you. His strong hips showed no weakness, and the hands that gripped you branded bruises against your flesh. Every second of this moment would visit you for years to come, promising you’d never find someone like Theo. He was the body made to fit perfectly against yours, with the intent to love and please and hold. And, fuck, if he wasn’t doing exactly that. 
As he worked you closer and closer to the end, he reached down and pulled you quickly against his chest. Out of habit, your arms wrapped around his neck. Despite the change in position, he never let up on his speed or brutality. The only thing you could feel was his strong hands bouncing you up and down him. His teeth pressed into your neck, piercing the soft flesh there. And that was what did it for you. 
You finished around him hard and heavy, your limbs becoming pathetically weak. As you came down from your high, you could barely keep your hold around him. His arms tightened around you, holding you up as he fucked himself into you, harder and harder, until he was coming, too. The feeling of his release pouring within you and every thrust he performed to push it back within you pulled you out for the final moment. 
Stars danced around your head as he finally set you back down against the bed, his touch so gentle in comparison to what he had done prior. The contrast of his touch against you as he pushed the wet hair clinging to your forehead was blinding. You sighed contently as he lay next to you, eyes watching you closely.
“I’m sorry I was so emotional,” he whispered. “I thought I was going to lose you forever…before I’d even had the chance to tell you what kind of feelings I was harboring.”
“What kind of feelings?” you whispered back, turning over to face him.
“That I’m completely in love with you and have been for a long time.” Your heart swelled at the confession. Quiet giggles spilled from your mouths at the realization of what he was saying.
“I’m in love with you too, Theo,” you laughed. “That’s why I was so jealous.”
“Because I’m so sexy?” he teased. You rolled your eyes and placed a playful smack on his arm.
The moments that followed were filled with quiet laughs and sweet kisses. And before either of you had noticed, you’d both drifted off against each other. Afternoon classes were a lost cause, as was the hope of meeting back up with Mattheo and Enzo for dinner, but neither of you minded. 
*Tag List: @lilymurphy03 (if you want to be added to the tag list for any future works, please send me a dm or message in my inbox, thanks!)*
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ilyhaitanii · 4 months
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men of the harem ft. sumeru men
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synopsis: as you’ve been declared empress of the nation of sumeru, you decide to home a harem to spite your ex from a neighboring nation. many men have done it before you, so why can’t you? needless to say, behind the nasty whispers in the nation, many families enthusiastically sent in their sons to be a part of your harem. an important banquet is held for you to meet each of these men. after factoring out the men and adding a few of your own, you decide to spend some one on one time with them. you get to spend time with each one. with some you enjoy pleasurable nights, solve a mystery, confess your love, even reunite with an old friend. what’s the worst that could happen? (spoiler: it’s amazing)
the harem members:
the general mahamatra, cyno
the light of kshahrewar, kaveh
the acting grand sage, alhaitham
the verdant strider, tighnari
the calvery captain, kaeya alberich
the top vahumana student, kunikuzushi
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a/n: hello!! this is my first ever series i’ve made. this is loosely based on the webtoon “men of the harem” i hope you all enjoy this series as im very excited to release it! warnings for each chapter will be put on their own post, so please read them before anything. with all of that aside, i will post them as often as possible, so please be patient with me! and ofc please enjoy and have fun <3
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© ilyhaitanii - please do not repost, translate, or plagarize any of my content, and do not repost it to any other platforms
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ixiot-ghostrebel · 5 months
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Hello there sagau brain rot like in many sagau versions reader/creator are often to soft to kind to my taste and then Idea comes to my head what if creator reader shows his cruler uncaring side to the pepole he truly hates or thinks deserve thier wrath like I can image that in place of raiden shogun the creator kills Singniora after begin defeated by traveler, azar the grand sage after whole begin in that day loop, and scaramouche when he had audacity to think that by begin inside giant mech he is now a God becose even if the creator is the kindest begin in tevyat.....his wrath has no bounds
@zardas75 welcome back to my very dead mailbox LOL—Let me see what I can come up with with your brainrot.
I don't fully get the Raiden Shogun vs Signora part, so I'm going to (unfortunately) not include that in this post.
The Creator Being Moody Fr (Jkjk—Unless? 👀)
(Disclaimer: Might Be OOC & Spoilers to the Genshin Impact Archon Quest Lore!)
Boy oh boy...where to begin...
To put it simply: It's Azar's Fault. Blame and point your fingers to the rusty old man, bois, we ain't forgiving him any time soon. It all started with him.
The moment you saw him in the Archon Quest, you knew, without even needing the slightest hint of evidence, that you did not like him and he was sus.
And when things escalated throughout the Archon Quest, you swore so loudly it shook the entire nation of Sumeru, if not all of Teyvat.
Here were Some of the Sumeru People's Reactions:
Cyno
He finished his confrontation with Azar and was waiting outside when you swore like your life depended on it. During his entire time being under your presence, Cyno was aware of how much you hated the guy—every moment you had gotten, you were seething and spouting insults from your mouth about Azar.
Even the General Mahamatra was stunned and shocked to the very core. He didn't you could and would do this.
And when you made it clear that your tantrum was yet to end, Cyno just braced himself for the fate of Sumeru to be in your hands.
"At least Azar is truly facing the wrathful judgement of the gods..." he mutters to himself, trying to convince himself of the situation at hand.
(Meanwhile You in the background: "YOU MF HOW DARE YOU. HOW DARE YOUUUU I WILL F—KING KILL YOU IF YOU CONTINUE THIS YOU SON OF A B—")
Scaramouche & Nahida
(Decided to add them both here since It's the False God Fight. This is kinda for the sake of convenience—)
Nahida never knew such intense emotion could ever erupt from Their High, Almighty Grace, and here you are, cursing and insulting Scaramouche. It wasn't as bad as Azar's, since you weren't throwing in any "I will have your head by morning" or anything similar threats, but it was still pretty intense.
Scaramouche, on the other hand, has heard you yelling at the old man Azar, and he already been yelled at for—quote on quote—"killing Teppei" (REST IN PEACE, TEPPEI 😭), so he knows what your wrath was like.
He did not like it then, and he still doesn't like it now. That much was a solid fact. Nevertheless, he has an image to uphold, especially in front of that Buer.
"Their Almighty Grace is really mad..." Nahida thought as they were confronting Scaramouche. (Cue you in the background still insulting Azar) "And it seems they won't be forgiving Azar anytime soon..."
"So, Their Grace still hasn't let go of their grudge against me..." Scaramouche mutters to himself once he was out of the view of Their Almighty Grace in his mecha. "Tch. Whatever...I'll make them see my true potential one I've squashed these insects."
Dehya
She knew you were explosive. She's seen it happen by the way you were cheering to beat Rahman's ass and "save the kid's grandpa!"
She knew you were pretty emotional on behalf of them. She's pretty happy and honored about that—that means Teyvat meant a lot to you.
What she was not expecting was to hear you curse and scream at Azar at the top of your lungs, as if that was the only enjoyment you were able to indulge yourself in.
You sounded murderous, and yet here you were, just yelling. Dehya would've shrugged it off, since she understood getting things out of your system was good, but she was not expecting the world to shake with your voice.
She looks over at Rahman. "You think Their Grace is handling this well?" "Probably not...Hard to say, Dehya." "Well, we'll just have to wait it out, then. They'll get it out of their system...eventually..."
Dehya was not expecting to wait until after beating the False God for it to be truly over. Gosh, that was scary...
Tighnari
He sensed that you didn't like Azar the moment you saw him, and frankly, he's pretty glad you don't trust him too. What he wasn't expecting was your explosive personality.
For all the stories about the Almighty Creator's kind and gentle nature, you were ANYTHING but. And you were proving it HARD.
Tighnari thought he heard it all when he got struck by lightning. Boy, was he wrong, because you just one-upped his expectations with the amount of cussing, cursing, threats, and insults you were hurtling in one go, streaming out of your mouth like you were running a marathon with your words.
So here he was, waiting in some form of dread in Pardis Dhyai, waiting if you were going to strike down the Akademiya with your godly might.
"I hope they don't accidentally blow up all of Sumeru..." he mutters to himself as he prays to all the archons that the nation wouldn't be turned into water or something.
Alhaitham
He should have taken account of your behaviour to the plan. You did play a crucial part. That was the sole mistake he overlooked.
Then again...it didn't seem like you were doing anything other than yelling at Azar...So perhaps the plan wouldn't change all that much.
He should keep in mind of how reactive you are, though. You...remind of his roommate sometimes...
"Hm. It seems Their Grace has yet to let Azar go of their scandal." He says it so calmly as he waits in Aaru Village. Candace stands a few feet away, looking unsure of what was going on—and probably praying that Their Almighty Grace won't strike down Sumeru in their anger against the rogue Grand Sage.
And let's not talk about the Traveler or Paimon. Those two are both used to it and still terrified. But they're okay with you dw 👍
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Ghost Rebel Side Notes: IM COMING BACK WOOO! I'm so excited! There's been quite a few more requests than I usually got back in the past, so I'm a little stoked. They'll be out real soon, but I hope you enjoy this one! Hopefully I'll have time to do them all! :D
✦ Check out The Ghost Rebel’s Blog Description & Info Page to See if Their Mailbox is Open! ✦
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russellsppttemplates · 6 months
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One step at a time (Charles Leclerc)
A scare pushes your family even closer and, fortunately, it all turns well
Note: english is not my first language. I've had these requests in my inbox for a really long time, and I've debated on if and how I should write them, because it is a sensitive topic that I feel huge respect about and I hope I have written it in a respectful way. In a way, this is based in stories I've heard, so I hope it is a good depiction as I'm not a doctor nor someone who has experienced this.
Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm taking requests so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to do so as I'll try to get to them the best I can!
my masterlist
Tw: depicts a potential pregnancy loss for the reader (mentions pain, cramping, anxiety, blood, hospitals)
"Do you have his bag, Charles?", you asked your husband, looking around Hervé's room for his cardigan, "yes, I have it here!", he said back to you from the kitchen. Charles had a full afternoon with meetings and you happened to be needed presently at your office just the day that Hervé's pre-school had an unexpected problem with the electricity and that they wouldn't be able to keep the kids for today. Luckily, Pascale had the day off from her salon, so it was only a couple of minutes of you and Charles running around like headless chickens before you realised the small issue had a solution.
"Ready to go to grand-mère, my love?", you called for your son, helping him put the soft piece on before he grabbed his backpack, "have a good day, buddy! Give grand-mère a big kiss for me, okay?", Charles noted, kissing the top of his son's head and getting up to face you, "and you too, amour, have a good day", he kisser your lips.
Grabbing your bag and Hervé's hand, you saw Charles bend down to face your bump, "and you, little one, I hope you have a good day too, no messing around, okay?", he gently caressed your small baby bump. To anyone else, you probably looked bloated, but Charles couldn't help himself anytime he was near you. After all, you were once again making one of his dreams come true and he wanted to love on you as much as he could, especially when this time around, morning sickness was more of an all day thing.
"Have a good day too, handsome. I'll see you later!", you headed out of the door first, helping your son into his car seat before safely strapping him in and getting on the driver's seat.
Arriving at Pascale's, you knocked on her door and she quickly answered it, "hello, mon petit! Are we going to have a big adventure today?", she laughed at her grandson's excitement upon seeing her, "again, thank you so much, Pascale, you're our saviour", you thanked, kissing her cheek as you bid them goodbye, "be good for grand-mère, okay my love?", you ruffled Hervé's hair, kissing his forehead and helping him inside, "Can we bake a cake?", he asked his grandmother, "That's a lovely idea! To the kitchen we go! Have a good day, chérie!", she yelled, closing the door quickly with one hand as her other hand was being pulled to the kitchen.
The workload for the day wasn't a lot compared to most days, and the morning meetings had been quite okay, and for what felt like after a really long time, you had been able to keep your food down despite the cramps you felt. After all, food barely got that far on your system, so much so that your body was unsure of what to do.
The afternoon meeting was going at a slower pace because the matters in discussion required it, "but I think this would be better for all the patients that work until five. I won't the the one for all of those appointments, and maybe I can't assure the ones until eight or nine o'clock at night, but I know Emilia prefers the later hours", you turned to her, "yes, for me personally it's easier if I get here later and leave later, my daughter's school is flexible, and my wife can pick her up", she reasoned, "so, like this, we can get to more people", one of your other colleagues smiled, writing down the ideas so you could close another topic.
You adjusted your position on the chair, hoping to find one more comfortable when you felt something on your underwear, "did you just pee yourself, Y/N?", you mumbled to yourself, excusing yourself from the meeting so you could go to the bathroom.
Reaching the stall, you untucked your shirt from your pants and pulled them down, underwear included to see a red stain. That was not good, you thought, seeing that it wasn't some small skin knick from the elasticated fabric.
Trying to stay as calm as you could, you called for Emilia, "what's up? Do you need me to unfasten your bra again? I told you your boobs grew at least two cup size- oh", she stopped as soon as she saw your trembling lip, "what's wrong?", she wondered, "I'm bleeding, it's not a lot, but I don't think this is the spotting they say. Can you take me to the hospital, please?", you murmured, accepting her hand as she helped you out of the bathroom.
"You guys carry on with the meeting, okay? I need to take Y/N to the hospital to get checked out", Emilia announced to the room, receiving a million and one questions, "let us know if you need enything, okay?", Nora, one of your older colleagues said. Unlike the most of the team, Nora was already a grandmother and almost like a mother to everyone who worked with you, and she had been the one to tell you to take a pregnancy test, and now, to catch on what was happening, "Y/N", she called for you, seeing your scared face, "everything is going to be alright, yes? You're one of the strongest women I've ever met. I know its difficult, but try not to think the worst, okay. We love you and we are here for you", she smiled reassuringly, kissing your forehead.
Seeing Emilia leave the meeting room with your phone and wallet, "I have your documentation and your phone here, let's go", she calmly said, not wanting to add to the turmoil of emotions you were already feeling.
"I'll ruin your seats", you thought out loud once you got to her car, "here! Let me put this down", Emilia thought fast, grabbing what looked like her daughter's towell, "Laura said that she doesn't like it anyway", she tried to get your mind off and distract you as you sat down and she started driving, "claims it's not sparkly enough and it doesn't match her personality. Can you believe that? A towell doesn't match the personality of a five year old!", she smiled apologetically, "are you in pain?", she questioned, "just cramps, but very small ones, they're barely there if I don't pay attention honestly", you breathed out, "it's two minutes to the hospital", she checked.
Arriving at the hospital, the emergency room was packed and you looked around in a fret, knowing that it would be a while for someone to get to you. Emilia saw someone in scrubs and that was enough for her, "sorry, excuse us, doctor! My friend here is bleeding", she yelled through the room, hoping to catch his attention, "I feel it down my pants", you gulped as the effort you had been putting on not crying long gone as tears fell on your cheeks, "I'm a nurse, let me", he encouraged you as he bent down to carry you, placing one arm under your knees and one around your back as he walked as quickly as he could into the corridor, "pregnant woman, early thirties, bleeding in what could be a potential miscarriage!", he yelled, grabbing the attention of some of his colleagues as they took a good look at your situation, one of them grabbing a wheel chair and approaching you, "Hi, we are going to take care of you two, okay? I just need your ID", she soflty said as Emilia handed it to her, "now let's go and see what is happening here", the male nurse wheeled you to the room where they kept the emergency ultrasound, "there's a lot of blood", you mentioned, not enjoying the silence despite the rush around you, "Hi, Y/N, let's see, okay? Yu know this could be a-", the doctor who had just arrived began, "A miscarriage, I know, I- I can feel that I'm bleeding a lot", you whispered, "I'm going to examine you now", she informed, working up the machine and looking at the screen, "Oh, here they are", she pointed to the screen, urging one of the nurses to use the cardiac monitor so you could hear the baby's heartbeat, "this is your baby's heartbeat, Y/N. Your baby is here", she showed you. And it triggered you to cry a little bit more, looking at Emilia as she squeezed your hand.
"Still,", the doctor noted, cleaning up the device before she made room so the nurses would help with the rest, "this could mean two things: you could've had a placental abruption, and they tend to solve on their own with bed rest, but it could also be the start of a miscarriage. Medically, we can't tell them apart until it happens, there's no medication we can give you that can help, so I'd like to keep you for observation", she stated, earning your nod as you felt the nurses help you into a clean wheelchair, ready to take you up to a room.
After cleaning and freshening up as you could, you looked at the clock and gathered that it was time to call Charles, "I've texted the team to let them know how you were doing already", Emilia said as she handed you your phone, "thanks", you mumbled, taking a deep breath before hitting the call icon so you could speak to your husband, knowing his meeting was finished by now, "Hello, amour. I was just about to call you and ask if you wanted me to pick up Hervé", your husband said on the other end of the line, "Hi, actually, you might want to put that off. When I was at work, I noticed I was bleeding in my underwear, so Emilia took me to the hospital and they're keeping me for observation. But I heard the baby's heartbeat", you said all in one go, "are you feeling good?", you heard the strained tone of Charles' voice, "yes, but, I want you here", you gulped, "I'm on my way, mon amour. I love you, okay? I'll be there in a bit", Charles said before he dialed off the call.
"I'll be here until Charles gets here", Emilia pointed as she felt you were about to brush off the whole situation and tell her to go home, "besides, Laura would probably tell me that her backpack doesn't match her personality and, quite frankly, the day is not calling for it", she attempted to make you smile, smiling too when the corners of your lips lifted a little.
You must've have fallen asleep because you woke up with Charles' lips kissing your forehead, "hey", he called gently, "I'm already going, Y/N. I hope everything works out well", Emilia smiled as she blew you kiss, closing the door behind her.
Charles pulled the chair as close to your bed as possible, sitting down and holding your hand in his, "hi", you murmured, unsure of how to begin the conversation, "I'm glad you're here".
Your husband was quick however, "of course, my love. I texted my mum and she said she doesn't mind having Hervé spend a few days with her", he began, "and how are you feeling? What happened?", he asked gently.
You were explaining what happened, from the moment you left the meeting until the doctor examined when you heard a knock on the door, the nurse and doctor that had checked you in asking if they could check on you.
"This is Charles, my husband", you introduced, seeing him shake their hands, "thank you so much for what you've done while I wasn't here", he thanked them, waiting for them to continue and explain what had happened to you so he too could hear it.
"So now we just wait?", he questioned, "yes, unfortunately we don't have any other way to deal with this situation other than bed rest", she explained, "from the scans we did earlier, it seems like it's not a big situation, but I understand your worries and doubts. This is a worrisome situation, but we are doing everything we can to make sure your baby stays safe in your uterus", she smiled, looking at the CTG machine, "your baby looks comfortable, and their heartbeat is good, very strong", she allowed you to hear the sound, knowing it usually calms the parents a little bit to hear the noise, "the bleeding seems to have stopped to", the nurse conforted, too.
Your doctor was paged for an emergency, leaving you with the nurse that had initially helped you, "I wanted to thank you for what you did to my wife, I really appreciate it", Charles said, "my wife and I also had a scare like this, so I know how it is to be on the other side. Now we have a three year old boy that resembles a storm everywhere he goes. Just take this one step at a time. By the looks of it, you should be going home tomorrow", he said, "I'm sure it will be a little better to be at home rather than here", he excused himself.
.
After one last check-up, your doctor didn't see the need to keep you at the hospital since things were looking up, prescribing you bed rest for the foreseeable weeks.
"Here, amour, are you comfortable like this?", he asked, arranging the pillows on the sofa, "I am, thank you", you whispered, kissing his cheek when he sat next to you, "one step at a time, okay?", you reassured, "is your mother still bringing Hervé? Or do you need to go and pick him up?", you wondered.
"Mum texted me saying she would leave in a few minutes, so any minute now", he smiled, "I've sent an email to the team, and now that there's a break, they need me a little less so hopefully I'm home more often than I am not", Charles explained, hearing a knock on the door, "must be them".
Hervé was quick to run to greet you on the sofa, "Grand-mère said you were not feeling good, mama. Can I give you a kiss?", he asked, bring weary of approaching you, "it's okay, mon ange, I'm okay. You can sit here next to me", you smiled, opening your arms so he could cuddle your side, "I told him he needed to be careful now and that he should be even more well behaved now so he could help mama get better and help papa, too", Pascale added, approaching you and kissing your forehead lovingly, "all will be well, chérie", she whispered, leaving you three.
"Mama, I made you a drawing", Hervé announced, grabbing the sheet of paper from his backpack and showing it, "it's a sun, some clouds and a rainbow. Because even when it rains, sometimes you see a rainbow", he announced happily, "That's right, my love", you cheered, feeling Charles sit next to you on the sofa, "I have you boys with me, there is no rain that is going to bring any harm", you expressed your gratitude, feeling Charles embrace you both while Hervé picked out a movie for you to watch.
.
Hervé walked hand in hand with his gradmother after she picked him up from pre-school, "I'm going to see my mama and my sister," he announced to anyone that they crossed on the hospital corridor, his big brother badge earning many smiles and compliments on the labour ward, "mama and papa are in that room there, but do you remember what I told you, mon petit?", Pascalr asked softly, earning a nod, "mama needs to rest, and I have to be careful with her tummy because that is where Amélie came from", he said, "And your voice?", she smiled, "quiet voice", he nodded before she knocked on the door, Charles coming to open it and greet his eldest and his mother.
Hervé curiously looked around, taking everything in and seeing you on the bed with your daughter sleeping on your chest, "Mama", he whispered, approaching you.
Charles helped him up to sit on the bed next to you without hurting you before greeting his mother, thanking her for looking after the little boy, "Hey mon petit, how are you?", you brushed his soft hair with your fingers, not receiving an answer as he was mesmerised with the little baby on your chest, "can I touch her cheek?", he asked, his little hand stretching, "of course, mon ange", you urged, seeing Charles and Pascale sit on the sofa by the window.
"Her skin is so soft", he noted, earning chuckles from everyone, "it is, very soft", Charles agreed as he watched Hervé completely mesmerised with his sister, "is she going to join us when me and papa go see the karts?", "when she's older, yes. For now we'll stick to laying on us, letting her sleep and some tummy time later".
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starkwlkr · 11 months
Note
Could you do one where Ruby is dating someone and she really likes him and Charles approves of him but Ruby finds out that he was only with her to get to her dad and she blames her dad for the fame and hates that he’s famous but they make up :)) Sorry it’s long i love your writing❤️
don’t fall in love | charles leclerc
ruby defender until i dieeeee‼️‼️
Ruby adored her boyfriend, Mason, with her whole heart. At just sixteen years old, Ruby had declared Mason the love of her life. Y/n thought that was a bit too early for her to even think that, but Ruby was convinced that she and Mason were going to end up married. She was blinded by love. She couldn’t tell that their relationship was always a one sided love, that Mason saw her as just Charles Leclerc’s daughter. Even her twelve year old brother, Mathéo, could see that Mason only cared about one thing and that was fame.
Growing up, Ruby’s every move was captured by the paparazzi. It was the downside of having a famous father. She learned to ignore it, but sometime it was just too much. Mason saw it as an opportunity to ‘make a name for himself’. He was counting down the days for when he went from ‘Ruby Leclerc’s boyfriend’ to ‘Mason, Charles Leclerc’s son in law’ or something like that. For him, it would be a dream to be part of the Leclerc family, so when he was finally invited to his first F1 race, he posted it all over social media.
It was during the British Grand Prix that Ruby finally found out the horrible truth.
She had picked out a cute outfit wanting to impress Mason. The boy didn’t bother giving her one compliment all day. She brushed it off thinking he was tired from the flight. Mason’s ‘tiredness’ was long gone once they entered the paddock. Photographers recognized Ruby and called her name out. Mason took the opportunity to put his arm around her shoulder and fake a smile.
“Where’s your dad?” Mason asked as they walked towards the Ferrari hospitality.
“I’m not sure. I think he’s in the garage.” Ruby replied.
“Let’s go say hi. I want to wish him good luck before the race.” Mason practically dragged Ruby towards the Ferrari garage.
Ruby said hello to the Ferrari engineers while Mason dragged her by her hand to where Charles was. He was talking with Y/n, who held Mathéo’s hand since he was shy when it came to race days.
“Papa!” Ruby greeted her father with a kiss on both cheeks.
“Hey, man. Good luck. I’m sure you’ll get your points today.” Mason said to Charles.
Charles liked Mason. He was responsible, nice and most of all, he was respectful to his little girl. Good qualities for Ruby’s first boyfriend.
Y/n had noticed that Ruby tried to talk with Charles, but Mason kept cutting her off. She was 50/50 on Mason. He seemed like a nice guy, but as Y/n got to know him better, his true colors started showing.
“Maman, can we got to the roof? I like it better there.” Mathéo asked.
“Of course, my beautiful boy. Ruby, want to join your brother and i on the roof?” Y/n asked her daughter.
“Uh, let me ask Mason if he wants to go.” Ruby replied, but she could barely get Mason’s attention. He was too busy talking about tyres with Charles. Ruby felt embarrassed. She couldn’t even get her own boyfriend’s attention.
“We’ll be on the roof,” Y/n said to Ruby. She turned to Charles, who definitely payed attention to his wife. “Good luck, love. I love you.” Y/n kissed Charles’ lips then kissed his cheek.
“Thank you, Mon amour. And where are you going, mon petit garçon?” (My little boy) Charles looked at his son. “Take care of your maman, okay?” He kissed Mathéo’s forehead. Mathéo nodded and hugged his father. Soon, the mom and son were on the way to the paddock roof.
“My mom and brother are going up to the roof. Would you like to go? It’s a great view. You get to see the pitstop-” Mason cut off Ruby.
“Can’t we stay in the garage?” Mason asked.
“We can, but-”
“Great. Hey, so what’s your next helmet design?” Mason went back to talking with Charles.
Ruby nodded. She looked around the garage she had been in a million times. Same team, same car, same tyres, same everything. At least she had Mason. (For now)
When the race started, she and Mason were handed their headsets. They watched as Charles had started on pole with Max right behind him.
Ruby had enough of racing. She had seen it on tv and in real life many times so she was a bit bored. Mason, on the other hand, was enjoying every second of it. When Charles almost made contact with Max, he shouted as if he was the team principal. Some Ferrari team members were even looking at him funny.
“It’s his first race.” Ruby whispered to them. She then looked at Mason. “Calm down. You’re getting weird looks.”
“Babe, it’s f1. You can’t calm down when f1 is involved.” Mason replied.
Ruby sighed. She took her headset off and walked to her father’s drivers room. She sat on the small bed and took out her phone. As she scrolled through instagram, she got a message from a school friend.
‘Isn’t this your boyfriend?’ They had sent a screenshots of Mason’s close friends list.
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Team redbull? Secured paddock passes for life? Ruby had enough.
‘Ex-boyfriend. We broke up.’ She texted back.
‘Ok queen. Drag him’
And that’s exactly what Ruby did.
She knew Mason wouldn’t leave the garage mid race so she thought of the perfect way to get him out.
‘Hey, babe! Lewis Hamilton is outside! He says he wants to meet you.’
Lewis had retired from racing so using him was perfect. It didn’t take long for Mason to be right outside the garage wondering where Lewis Hamilton was.
“Hey, where’s Lewis? I want him to sign my phone case.” Mason said when he saw Ruby.
“He’s not here and he’s sure as hell not signing any of your shit.” Ruby glared.
“Okay we’ll I’m going back to watch the race.” Mason tried walking back into the garage, but Ruby stepped infront of him. “Babe, move. Your dad is still p1. We’ve got to support him.”
“You’re not going in. This is for the Ferrari family only, which you’re not apart of. Go see if that redbull girl will let you into their garage.”
Mason started laughing. “That’s what you’re mad about? Baby, I was joking! I’m a Ferrari fan all the way. Now, come on, let’s go watch your dad win.”
“No. You’re not welcome here or at any race ever again.” Ruby said. “Give me the pass and get out.”
“You don’t mean that, babe. You’re just tired from the flight. Take a nap and we’ll talk later.” Mason was about to put a hand on her shoulder, but she quickly punched his face. “What the fuck! Shit!” He held his bloody nose.
“I said get out!” Ruby yelled then ripped the paddock pass from his neck.
“You’re a fucking bitch anyways!” Mason yelled back as he walked away to the exit.
Ruby kept an eye on him until he actually left the paddock. She then noticed a few photographers and team members from Aston Martin and Alpine looking at her. “What?” She asked them harshly. They continued walking, afraid that Ruby might punch them next.
“Stupid boys.” She muttered as she walked to the paddock roof where she finally joined her mother and brother. She spent the rest of the race wishing she never let Mason make her fall in love. She hated herself for that.
“Papa! He won!” Mathéo jumped from his mother’s lap. “We need to see the ceremony! Let’s go!” The boy whined.
“You saw the ceremony last week, Mathéo! Nothing changed.” Ruby coldly said.
“Ruby Jules, apologize to your brother. Don’t be mad at him for being excited.” Y/n scolded the teen girl.
“What? It’s the truth. Dad is on the podium every race with uncle Max and uncle Carlos. It’s a stupid ceremony anyways with stupid trophies and stupid Ferrari.” Ruby mumbled. When she had enough, she got up and walked back down.
“She said stupid three times, maman.” Mathéo said.
“I know and don’t say that. You know grand-mère doesn’t like those kind of words.”
After the ceremony, Y/n had told Charles what had happened with Ruby so he told his wife he would talk to Ruby.
“It has to do with Mason so please don’t say anything . . . stupid.” Y/n whispered the last part since Mathéo was around and if she said it she would look like the world biggest hypocrite.
“Okay, I won’t. I’ll meet you at the teams hospitality.” Charles said and kissed his wife once more before leaving to find his daughter.
He was told by Fred that he saw Ruby enter his driver’s room so he headed towards the said room. He knocked three times before he opened the door. Charles saw Ruby sitting on a chair scrolling on her phone. She remained silent, clearly angry at everything.
“I saw you weren’t at the ceremony.” Charles said. “I didn’t see Mason either.”
“Mason can go to hell.”
“Okay, what did he do to my little girl?”
Ruby groaned. “He wouldn’t have done anything if it weren’t for you! Why did you have to be a f1 driver! You could’ve been an architect or a stay at home dad. Mason was only with me to get to you, dad. And not just Mason, so many people at school want to be ‘friends’ because of my last name. I should’ve taken mom’s last name.”
Charles watched as Ruby stormed out of the room, leaving the door open. He knew how being in the spotlight was for her. He tried to keep her away from the media, but it was impossible now that she was grown.
“Hey, Y/n is asking for you.” He heard an engineer tell him.
“Thank you.” He mumbled as he exited his driver’s room. He could feel a couple of stares from the team, but he ignored them. He spotted Y/n and Mathéo by his car since Charles had promised the boy he could sit in it. “She hates me. Again.” Charles told Y/n. “She said she’d rather have your last name than mine.”
“I’ll talk to her. Théo wants you.” Y/n sighed. She left Charles and Théo as she went to look for Ruby. An Alpine engineer had told her Ruby’s location, which was their teams hospitality. She entered and saw Ruby sitting by herself eating ice cream.
“Your father told me that you don’t like being a Leclerc.” Y/n sat beside Ruby.
“I didn’t mean it. I just . . . I just want something normal. Mason was only with me because of my famous dad.”
“Sweetheart, I’m sorry. Boys are jerks, believe me.” Y/n comforted the girl.
“Even dad?”
“Sometimes.” Y/n lightly chuckled.
“Isn’t this the part where you’re supposed to tell me not to tell him?”
“No, he knows.”
Ruby cracked a smile. “I feel like a jerk. I love being a Leclerc. I love my family, maman. What if dad hates me forever and then I can’t go back home and I have to live on the street?”
“You’re so dramatic, Ruby Jules, I can’t tell if you get that from me or your father.” Y/n said.
“Definitely both of you, but Charles is extremely dramatic.” She heard Pierre say as he placed a kiss on Ruby’s temple. “At least you don’t need a dna test for this one.”
“Why are you here?”
“You’re in the Alpine hospitality and you’re asking why I’m here?”
“Bye, Pierre!” Y/n practically pushed him away so she could continue her talk with Ruby. “Your father knows how much you love him and he would never put you on the street.”
“He might.”
“He won’t.”
“But he could.”
“He’s not.”
“But-”
“You kids are going to be the death of me,” Y/n rolled her eyes.
“Sorry, force of habit, you know how uncle Arthur and I are.” Ruby apologized. “I have to find dad.”
Eventually Ruby did apologize to Charles for saying she wished she wasn’t a Leclerc. In the end, the family agreed that Mason was an asshole and Charles even managed to ban him from any race from both f1 and f2. Nobody was mean to his kids and Mason had crossed the line.
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sunny44 · 1 day
Text
Meeting Hazel
Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Wife&mom!reader
Warnings: hospital, mentions of birth
Summary: Y/n and Charles welcome their second born.
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Finally, the hustle and bustle of the hospital had subsided. After hours of labor, I finally held our little Hazel in my arms. Her angelic face, wrapped in a soft pink blanket, seemed too perfect to be real. I looked at Charles, my husband, who smiled radiantly beside me, his eyes shining with pure admiration and love.
“You did an amazing job, amour.” he murmured, kissing my forehead tenderly. “She’s perfect.”
I smiled, tears of happiness streaming down my face.
“Thank you, Charles. I couldn’t have done it without you.” He smiled. “Literally couldn’t.”
“Very funny.” He gently brushed my forehead. “She’s perfect.”
“She is.” I smiled, looking at her. “But it’s the second time I get pregnant and the second time they look just like you.”
“What can I say, I’m very good at what I do.” He held my hand delicately, his fingers intertwining with mine.
“I’ll always be by your side, Y/n. And now we have our little family complete.”
As we got lost in the emotion of being parents again, a kind nurse gently reminded us that it was time for Charles to go home, take a shower, and rest a bit. He nodded, reluctant to leave our side, but knowing he needed a moment to recharge. But before leaving, he promised to bring Harvé, our three-year-old son, to meet his baby sister.
It was already night, and Charles waited for me to take a shower because I didn’t want to leave her with anyone else, so the nurses helped me in the shower, and after I got out, he said goodbye and left, promising that he and Harvé would be here first thing in the morning.
I went to breastfeed her and held Hazel in my arms, admiring every detail of her little face. She was so small and fragile, and she looked just like Charles.
I was almost certain that she would at least resemble me a little bit, but no, she was his spitting image, just like Harvé is.
Even their eye color was the same.
When Charles returned the next morning with Harvé, my heart filled with joy at seeing them walk through the door. Harve ran up to me, his eyes shining with excitement.
“Mommy! I came to meet Hazel!” he said, trying to climb onto the bed, and Charles lifted him and put him there.
“Be careful buddy. Don’t hug mommy too hard.” He agrees and lies down next to me and hugs me.
I hugged him affectionately, feeling tears welling up in my eyes again.
“She’s here, Harvé. Do you want to meet her?”
He nodded eagerly, his curious eyes fixed on little Hazel in my arms. Charles approached, smiling proudly.
“Harvé, this is your little sister, Hazel.”
he said, holding Harve in his lap so he could see better. “And Hazel, this is your big brother Harvé.”
Harvé looked at Hazel with admiration, his expression softening as he looked at her little face.
“She’s so tiny, daddy.” he observed, gently touching Hazel’s hand. “Does she knows k have Grand-père?”
“You can tell her later when se wakes up.” He nodded.
I smiled, watching the instant bond forming between them.
“Do you want to hold her, Harvé?” I asked, carefully offering Hazel to him.
He nodded enthusiastically, his eyes shining with excitement. Carefully, he held Hazel in his arms, his expression one of pure happiness. I obviously supported her weight, she was just lying in his arms.
“Hello, Hazel.” he said softly, stroking her face with his finger. “I’m your big brother, Harvé. I’ll always protect you.”
My heart melted at Harvé’s kind words. He was so sweet and gentle, so ready to love his little sister from the moment we told him I was pregnant. I knew they would have a special bond that would last forever.
As he held Hazel carefully, he suddenly remembered something and asked to get off the bed and ran out of the room. He returned shortly after, holding a small stuffed animal in his hands.
“I brought this for you, Hazel.” he said, handing the stuffed animal that Carlos gave him when he was born and he’s giving to his little sister. “It’s my favorite bear, uncle Carlos gave it to me. I hope you like it as much as I do.”
I smiled, touched by the look of pure happiness in Harvé’s eyes as he gifted Hazel.
“Oh sweetheart, thank you so much and I’m sure she’ll love it.” I said, holding his hand gratefully. “And I also gonna help her sleep like it did to you.”
Harvé smiled widely, his eyes shining with joy.
“I love you, mommy. I love you, daddy. I love you, Hazel.” he said, looking at each of us with love and tenderness.
We hugged him affectionately, feeling the love and gratitude flooding our hearts. I knew that from that moment on, our family would be united forever, facing life’s challenges together and celebrating its joys.
As I watched Charles hold Hazel in his arms, Harvé beside him with his stuffed bear, I felt complete. The journey to this point had been long and challenging, but now, with our little family by my side, I knew it had all been worth it. And as I held Charles’s hand and watched our children together, I knew I couldn’t ask for anything more in life.
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Bonus scene!
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Y/nleclerc These past few months have been an emotional rollercoaster, Charles and I welcomed our daughter into the world and we couldn't be happier. Thank you to all our friends, family, and even fans who have given us so much support during this time.
Charles, myself, Harvé and little Hazel are incredibly grateful for everything.
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lxclerc · 2 years
Text
𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐟𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐞 | 𝐜𝐬𝟓𝟓
SUMMARY: if charles can't value what's in front of him then carlos is more than willing to take on the role. REQUESTED: yes but it's for a personal friend. WARNING: kinda toxic carlos, unrequited love, asshole carlos (not towards the reader), a little bit of angst, SMUT, 18+, oral (f receiving), mean carlos, slight corruption kink (blink and you'll miss it), overstimulation, spitting, lost of virginity, p in v, unprotected sex, fluff PAIRING: reader x carlos sainz, reader x charles leclerc WORD COUNT: 6.6k
NOTE: this was meant to be much much longer but i decided to cut it into 2 parts. part 2 will lead to eventual threesome with carlos and charles. let me know if you want to be added to the tag list.
part 2: call out my name
masterlist
The first time Carlos met you, he knew you were off limits. Always following Charles around with that same lovestruck look in your eyes, your body coming alive whenever the monegasque touches you. Your affection for him is written all over your face. 
“We’re just friends,” Charles is always quick to correct whenever anyone assumes otherwise. “Best friends,” he’d add as if that made it better and Carlos would watch the way your face would fall, lips slightly quivering as if you’re about to cry on the spot. 
Frankly, Carlos thought it’s a waste. Why are you, whose incomparable beauty and wit, is settling for a man who very obviously doesn’t return your affections? Do you enjoy making a fool of yourself? Do you enjoy the pain?
Carlos has very few bad things to say about his teammate, getting along with him so well he’d even consider him a good friend but one thing is for sure, Charles is an idiot for not claiming you given the first chance to do so. Can’t Charles see the longing looks and lustful gazes frequently thrown in your direction, Carlos’ along them? 
Though he supposes he should thank Charles for handing you to him with a pretty little bow, for letting you slip through his fingers so Carlos can snatch you right up. 
But Carlos bided his time. Charles is Ferrari’s golden boy, their walking god. The prodigal son he’s called. Il Predestinato. The Chosen One. Carlos is the newest member of the team, one with much more to prove. Charles may very quickly deny speculations between the two of you but his claim all over you is still evident. In the way he touches you, the way he keeps you firmly by his side. Carlos had far too much to lose by immediately creating tension within the group. 
He’s a patient man. He can wait, plan and plot. And so apart from the usual hellos when you meet each other and the mandatory polite smiles, he stayed away from you, choosing instead to always keep a watchful gaze on your figure whenever the two of you are in the same room. 
He’ll play the game and he’ll play it well. He’ll wait. He’ll wait patiently knowing that by the end of it, it’ll be you puny on his palm. And it’s not like you notice, far too busy over your unrequited feelings for the monegasque to even look in his direction.  
In his time watching you, Carlos learned so many things about you, things not many people notice. He learned your mannerisms, what makes you tick and what makes you smile, what makes you frown and what makes you pout. He knows your coffee order as well as his own and the foods you don’t eat. He learned the things you like and disliked, learning you till he’s got you memorized like the back of his hand, all his knowledge about you being kept safe for when he finally deems it’s time.
It isn’t like his attraction for you is pure though. Carlos wants you in such a primal way, wants to take you, to claim you. He can barely remember the amount of times he’d touched himself to the thought of you.
It seems the universe is on his side though. He hadn’t even needed to do anything to have you falling straight into his arms. 
It was after the Bahrain grand prix, the first race of the season with Ferrari taking home a 1-2. Everyone is in their best mood, drinking the night away as celebration for the best opening start of the season. Carlos found you in the nearly empty hallway leading to the bathroom away from the crowd of people. You’re leaning against the wall with your arms wrapped around yourself, cheeks red and wide eyes a little less bright than usual. 
You look like a wounded angel in your little white dress, legs and back bare with your hair falling beautifully over your shoulder, shorter strands littering your face. You look breathtaking and Carlos couldn’t not approach you. 
And so armored with his usual friendly smile, he situated himself next to you. “Hey.”
You look up at him from under your eyelashes, offering him a smile of your own. You look sad though and he can’t help but hate Charles a little bit for it. “Hey, Carlos. Congratulations on P2.” 
Carlos smiles at you again in thanks. “What are you doing here?” He asks even though he already knows the answer. In his drunken stupor, Charles had found a woman to entertain him for the night, all wrapped up in her on the table you shared. 
But you only shrug your shoulders and the action made his eyes travel to your collarbone to the V neck of your dress leading to the valley of your breast. Your skin is covered in goosebumps and he noticed your visible shiver. 
“I needed a breather,” you say, which isn’t exactly a lie. You need a breather from Charles and his suffocating presence. “How about you?”
The truth was that he followed you after he saw the way you removed yourself from the group, eyes downcast and bare skin so tempting he couldn’t not follow. He ignored your question and instead shook off the jacket he wore, placing it around your shoulder. You smile at him, a little less sad than the one you gave him earlier, as you slip your hand through the sleeves, the jacket being much too big and practically swallowing your body. 
For a moment, the two of you stood in silence, both leaning against the wall. You look a little lost in your head, still hung up over the sight of Charles kissing some girl he just met. For the longest time, you’ve managed to convince yourself that you’re fine with your place beside him even if he never returns your feelings. Loving Charles has always hurt but you’ve been doing it for so long that you’ve become familiar with the pain, even allowing it to bring you comfort. 
Carlos sighs, practically hearing your thoughts as his hand reaches towards you, placing them on your shoulder to force you to face him. For months, he’s watched you torture yourself over Charles from afar but he’s only now realizing that he can’t do it from up close with your sad, defeated eyes staring back at him.
“He doesn’t deserve you,” he says and Carlos had to control his breathing as you looked at him like that, eyes so wide and naive, looking so pure and lost. He wants to protect you and ruin you at the same time. “You deserve better, cariño, not a boy who doesn’t know how to treat you right.”
“He’s all I’ve ever known,” your voice breaks a little and he wanted nothing more than to punch his teammate at that moment. 
“That doesn’t mean he deserves you,” he says through gritted teeth.
You’re unable to say anything else as you melt into his touch, your arms wrapping around his torso and he pulls you to his chest. His arms around you are tight, seemingly trying to keep you together as you break apart. 
The two of you stay like that for a few seconds. You don’t cry, which is a good thing because Carlos doesn’t think he can handle that without marching back inside the club and punching the living daylights out of Charles, but you do stay in his arms, your hands clutching at his shirt. 
“I’ll take you back to your room,” he says, deciding that the best thing for you right now is sleep. You only nod, lightly pulling yourself away from him. 
The bar you guys had went to was just in the hotel lobby, a small place with barely any people and so he leads you out, hand firmly clasped against yours as the two of you ride the elevator to your floor. 
“Charles…” you start, voice quiet. “Charles has my key card.”
Carlos nods. “You can stay with me.”
He half expected you to argue but you only nod your head as he leads you to his own hotel room, swiftly swiping the card to open the door, opening it bigger for you. The rest follows swiftly. Carlos lends you clothes to change into after having decided to share a bed. The two of you made quick movements to prepare for bed, the long day had you exhausted and determined to get under the covers. 
And yet, as soon as Carlos turns off the light, it’s like all of your exhaustion melted away, finding yourself wide eyed as you stared at the ceiling, his presence next to you pressing against your skin. You’ve shared a bed with a man before, of course. Ever since you were kids till adulthood, you and Charles never had a problem sharing one. But Carlos’ presence is much different from Charles’ familiar weight next to yours. Carlos’ feels demanding, firm. His skin feels a little too hot, causing you to lightly pull down the covers to reveal more of yourself to the chilly, air conditioned air. 
It’s a little terrifying. He feels much stronger than you. But it’s also a little exhilarating, your mind daring you to reach forward and touch his skin. He’s not wearing a shirt and you’re tempted to run your fingers through his chest, his jaw, his hair. 
“Carlos,” you speak softly, still staring at the ceiling.
“Hmm?” 
“Can I touch you?” 
He doesn’t think you know how your question sounds. He doesn’t think you know how the innocence in your voice makes him want to wrap his hand around your throat. But nevertheless, he nods despite the fact that you can’t see him. “Yes.” 
You don’t need to be told twice, shifting so you’re facing him, the darkness bathing the two of you hiding the blush in your cheek as your hand reaches forward, soft pads of your fingers hesitantly placing themselves on his jaw. 
Your fingers are cold as it slides from his jaw to his neck, palm pressing against the skin where his neck meets his shoulder. His own hand places itself on your waist, drawing circles on the fabric of his shirt as your hand finally reaches his chest, tracing every bump and hollow curve till you reach his abdomen. 
Carlos sucks in a breath, his hand flying to wrap around your wrist, stopping your movement. With the minimal light, he can see the way you looked at him, so so innocent as though you don’t understand why he stopped you. 
“Don’t start what you can’t finish, amor,” he warned you, voice quiet as he stared into your eyes. 
But a pool had started in your panties and for the first time that night, you actually feel alive. You wanted more of him. You want him to make you forget. “Make me forget tonight.”
Carlos groans at your words, cursing in Spanish that you barely had the time to decode before his lips are on yours, climbing on top of you as he holds your wrist over your shoulder. You moan into the kiss, trying to pull your hand away to be able to touch him again but his body is firmly pressing you against the mattress, knees keeping your legs open. 
“Carlos,” you whine, desperate for some sort of friction as you rut against him. 
“Don’t whine.” His voice is low and demanding, full of authority as his lips sucked on your neck, finding a sweet spot that had you rolling your eyes to the back of your head. He’s sucking and biting, flawlessly marking up your neck as you all but fall apart under him. 
“Please,” you mutter breathlessly, still pulling at your wrists. You’re desperate to be touched, trying to create as much friction as you wiggled under him. 
“Please what, angel?” Carlos mocks. He’s waited for this for far too long to be nice now. 
“Please touch me,” you don’t even hesitate, Charles being the farthest thing from your mind with Carlos all over you. 
“Where can I touch you, niña bonita?” his words rushed through your veins, close enough to feel the thump thump thump as he pressed his lips against your jaw, planting open mouthed kisses
“Everywhere,” you breathe out and Carlos grins, finally letting go of your wrist, giving you free reign to run your fingers through his hair as he makes a quick effort to rid you of your – his – shirt. 
“Are you sure?” He asks again, wanting to be absolutely positive that this is what you want to, that you aren’t just letting your emotions get the best of you. 
“Yes, Carlos, please.”
And who was he to deny such pretty pleas?
His lips left a path of destruction everywhere he touched, the burning sensation of his breath against your skin going straight to your core. Eventually, he reaches your nipples, tongue swirling and fingers pinching the other. His teeth marking all over your breasts as he continued his trail down.
“Stop me,” he tells you as his fingers pull the garter of your panties. “Stop me or I won’t be able to stop, baby.” 
“Don’t stop,” you quickly say, writhing under him. “God please, don’t you dare stop.” 
“You don’t have to call me god. My name is just fine,” he mutters against your skin as he pulls your underwear down. If this is the only night he gets with you then he’s going to make sure to ruin any other man for you. “Thought you were a good girl, baby. Always looking so innocent.”
His lips pressed against your clit, tasting the honey that seeped out of you, causing you to shudder as he situated himself between your legs, elbows pushing your legs apart. His tongue flats on your clit, swiping a lick as you moan out, fingers clutching desperately at his hair, a chorus of pleases and Carlos tumbling out of your lips. He doesn’t think there could be a much better sound as he pokes his tongue into your entrance, your tight walls pushing him out. 
Your body is arching up as he sucked at your clit, making Carlos place his arm around your stomach, pushing you back down as his other hand gathered your wetness, spreading it all over your folds before slowly pushing in, a cocky grin on his lips as your moan grows louder. 
His tongue and fingers worked together, one slowly pumping in and out of you as he let you adjust and his lips sucking into your clit. He swears he’s meeting his creator as you come into his mouth, voice becoming strangled and your back once again arching as you scream his name, loud enough that Carlos hopes everyone in the floor can hear it. You sound angelic and sinful all at once. 
“One more, pretty girl,” he tells you. “Tan bonito como este,” he tells you, watching as you shudder with each swipe of his tongue. You’re far too gone to even care about what he’s saying. “Y todo mío.”
Your fingers running through his tousled, demanding him to keep going and to stop at the same time, the faint taste of iron on your tongue as you bite your bottom lip, soft angelic melodies of his name escaping your lips. He sucked harder, wrist working faster as he added another finger in, pumping in and out of you at a much faster rate than he had a while ago, working to bring you to your second orgasm of the night, one he knew you needed but in reality, he needed more. 
"That feels good doesn't it love? You like it when I touch you like this?" Carlos groans and rubs your clit faster. You buck your hips and nod quietly. "Use your words angel," he taunts.
"Yes, yes, oh my god, yes please. yes," you moan loudly.
“Good,” he says, a smug smirk playing on his face. It’s incredible how easy it is for you to submit to him, to beg to his name as if he’s your newfound religion.
It’s an ego thing as his tongue carved Sainz on your clit with the promise of making you his. His kisses stamped your inner thigh, teeth gently nibbling on your skin as he marked what’s his. You don’t know it yet but you’re his. Once he’s done with you, you’ll never want another man again. His tongue slipped inside you, his finger now tracing his name. 
“Can I… can I come please?” Your voice is shaky and broken as you ask him, full of obedience that he didn’t even have to teach you as you so easily surrendered yourself to him and his control. In that moment, your body belonged to him and you both knew it.
“Look at me. Look at who’s making you feel this good,” he demands, your cum dripping from his lips. It takes effort for you to even comprehend his words and much more to force your eyes open as you meet his hazel ones. His efforts doubled in speed and strength, your screams becoming louder as he pushed you to the edge. 
You gasp loudly as you feel your whole body trembling even more and then you feel your body tense as you come against his mouth. Your whole mind feels like exploding and all you can see is stars. You feel so overwhelmed by the amount of pleasure you’reexperiencing, your body is still trembling as you feel yourself come down from your high.
“You’re such a good girl for me,” he tells you softly as he crawls over to your side, brushing the hair from your face and placing his lips on you. Your body is motionless against his as you climb down from your back to back orgasm. 
“Open your mouth, cariño,” he says, gently tapping at your jaw. You comply as he spits into your mouth, the taste of you now present on your taste buds. You’re quick to swallow, making Carlos grin at you. Your undeniable submission to him gives him a kind of satisfaction. 
“Are you ready for me, pretty girl?” He asks softly, hand on your cheek a deep contrast to what his fingers had been doing to you a few moments ago. “Do you want to stop?” 
You shyly shake your head. Carlos thought you looked most beautiful like this, so incredibly ruined for him. “I’m not- I haven’t–” you start, stuttering over your own words.
“Speak up, cariño,” he tells you and your cheeks heat up even more. 
“I haven’t…done it,” say finally, voice increasingly getting shyer with each syllable. 
For a minute, Carlos was frozen, not having expected your admission. You’re twenty four years old after all, he had expected you to at least have some experience, but he knows you’re telling the truth from the light blush on your cheeks as you all but hide your face to his shoulder, touching him so surely as if you’ve done it a thousand times before. 
He could feel himself melting a little, your shy smile and red cheeks so adorable that he couldn’t help but smile back at you as he wraps his arm around your naked figure, pulling you closer towards him.
“We don’t have to,” he assures you. “We can just go to sleep now.”
“I want to,” you’re quick to say, placing your chin on his shoulder. “I was saving it for…”
For Charles. You don’t bother finishing your sentence, you both already know. The sting in his chest is instant, a reminder that you’re not his, at least not fully. 
And then the pride rolls in. You’ve saved this for Charles for years, probably rejecting a multitude of men along the way and yet you’re so willingly offering it to him now, with no hesitation and no question with the monegasque the farthest thing from your mind as you stared up at him with those big eyes of yours. 
Before you can say anything else, his mouth is on yours again, whatever little softness his kiss carried a while ago is gone now. He’d never let you go, not when he’s already got a taste. There’s no way he’s ever letting you go now, not when you’re holding on to him like that, nails digging on the skin of his back, naked body pressed against his. 
And if he does lose you, if another man gets to touch you after him, he’ll make sure to ruin you for them. He’ll make sure it’s him on your mind every time, his name you’re begging to scream out. 
You’re warm. Tingling with anticipation threaded into your nerves and heat. And you feel your body throbbing all at once as Carlos claims your mouth. Your hands are eager, pulling at the shorts he’s still wearing, a whine at the back of your throat.
“Carlos,” you breath out, needy all over as he takes his time marking your skin. 
“What did I say about whining?” He asks, immediately getting you to shut your mouth and instead settling for biting your lower lip. 
Still though, Carlos does as you ask, pulling away from you in order to remove his clothes. You gulp as you watch his unbearably hard cock reach his stomach. He was carved by god himself you’re sure. No mere mortal can possibly look as beautiful as he does now in all of his naked glory, chest perfectly refined, hair tousled and back and arms littered with scratches. 
Heat travels to your cheeks once you realize you’re staring. You try to avert your eyes but Carlos is crawling back at you, hands cupping your cheeks as he all but forces you to meet his eyes. “You can stare, Amor. I’m yours to look at.” 
His declaration ignites a blazing warmth in your chest, giving you the courage to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him towards you in order to once again connect your lips. He’s yours. He’s yours. And you’re his. You’ve never felt this alive before, never quite felt like this before. Not with any man and not with Charles. You’re his. You know that now. 
“You’re beautiful,” you mutter to no one but the world as his lips travel from your lips to your jaw. 
Carlos only hums as his lips travel all over your face and neck. You whimper as his mouth presses kisses all over your sensitive skin, your hands traveling to his hair and tugging lightly.
“I have been thinking about this moment for so long.” He rasps, kissing your throat softly. Your body trembles against his as he continues to cover your face and neck with kisses.
Your brain is all over the place, eyes heavy and clouded as you try to tell him how much you’ve been wanting him. All your thoughts overwhelm you, disabling any rational understanding of what is going on. You just want him. You need him. 
All you can taste, all you can feel, all you can see, all you can think about is him.
The whine that comes out of you only drives Carlos to seek out more of those sounds, they are potentially the most amazing sounds he’s ever heard. Your arms wrap around his neck, in an attempt to bring him closer to you, your hips accidentally move against him making him groan. 
“Didn’t take you for the needy type, angel,” Carlos teases and you want to tell him to stop, to just fuck you already. You needed him so badly but you know doing so will result in nothing. He’s going to kill you with anticipation, have you begging for his touch. 
“Carlos,” you beg, wanting to cry with unmet arousal. “Please. Need you so bad.”
“Shh,” he mumbles against your lips. “I’ll take care of you, baby.” 
His lips travel to your breast, greedily claiming your nipple with his mouth. His tongue circles your most sensitive nerve, making you let out another moan. You whine as your cunt starts clenching around nothing, begging for attention. Instinctively you start moving your hips against his making him groan against your skin. His lips leave your breast with a wet pop and he looks at you intensely as you try to catch your breath. You’re panting, barely able to think straight. 
He groans as you continue to grind up against him, grasping your hips to halt your movements, causing a whine out of you as he pushes your hips against the mattress, so desperate to feel him again. Finally, he slowly moves towards the bed and gently spreads your thighs apart as he fits himself between them. He positions his body against yours, hand coming up to your face to caress your cheek again as you feel his other wander all over your body making you breathless already.
You feel his cock momentarily against your wetness which makes you thrust against him.
“I need you,” you pant against his lips, but Carlos pulls his hips away slightly with a small smirk on his face. “Please…”
You need him so bad and you’re getting impatient as you feel him press kisses all over your neck, being much gentler than you know he’s used to. He’ll have his way with you eventually but for tonight, your pleasure and comfort is all that matters. Panting, you feel him slowly go down your body. He momentarily wraps his mouth around one of your nipples and sucks lightly making you arch your body against his. 
You feel yourself dripping down the sheets, whining helplessly as you become desperate with need.
You can’t help but roll your hips against his to feel his cock in order to relieve yourself some tension. It turns slick as you keep grinding yourself against him, and he has no trouble gliding his hips against you and rutting it into your clit.
“Oh fuck,” Carlos rasps, reaching down and grasping himself to line up between your lips. He keeps rubbing the head of his cock to your entrance, up to your clit, circling until you squirm underneath him and back down. He loves the sounds you make as he spreads himself around your slit, where you’re still dripping for him.
You gasp openly into his mouth, desire growing quickly. You’re still so so wet. Carlos swallows your whines with his lips against yours, hips rolling against you. He kisses you full of fervor, his grip on you intensifying heatedly.
You’re trembling against him, full of anticipation. His body covers your whole body with his as you writhe against him, wishing he was just in you already.
“Are you ready, cariño? Let me know if I start to hurt you or if you want to stop.” He whispers as he looks deep into your eyes.
You bite your lip and nod, too shy and excited to talk.
“I’ll try to go slow at first, okay, angel?” He says before leaning back down to kiss your lips again, he reaches down and grasps himself. He is rubbing the tip firmly over your swollen clit and your mind is all over the place.
“Please, Carlos,” you stutter, your body trembling even more. 
He rubs himself up and down your slit for a while longer before one of his hands lean down to spread your outer fold sliding his cock teasingly around your core. You arch your back slightly and whine out of frustration.
You want to beg him to do something again as he leans down to line up his cock with your entrance, your legs trembling under him with a mix of nerves and excitement. Carlos slides in so slowly it’s agonizing. He’s careful, like he’s afraid you might break. 
You let out a long broken whine as he gradually pushes more of him inside you. He’s so big, stretching your walls. It feels as though your organs are moving around to give him space with how full you feel. He leans down to kiss your lips gently as he moves more inside, hoping the sweetness of the embrace will soften the sting.
Once he’s fully inside you, you sigh against his lips. You feel so full, as if he’s made for you and only you. The feeling of him filling you up so completely has you seeing stars and digging your fingernails into his shoulders.You feel one of his hands finding your hand, lacing them with yours as the other one reaches up to your face.
“You okay?” He asks worriedly.
“Yeah, I just need a moment,” you mutter, breathless.
He smiles as your eyes are drifting close, both so full and exhausted at the same time.
You feel yourself gradually adjust to his size, your lower lip between your teeth as you open your eyes again to look up at Carlos’ beautiful sight above you.
“Please move,” you beg.
He nods quietly and starts by thrusting into you slowly, one hand reaching down to play with your clit, while the other holds your hand tightly. The sting hurts you for a while, but it easily changes to pleasure as he moves against you. You’re so overstimulated from all your previous orgasms that the sensation he’s giving you is mixed between pain and pleasure. 
He grunts as he drops his head to your ear to kiss and lick at the sensitive skin there and to whisper sweet nothings as he sets a pace.
“So tight,” he groans.
The angle is so good, but when his pace picks up he finally leans down to wrap his arms around you, making you gasp as he thrust into you faster and harder, pinning you against the mattress and taking full control of your body. 
“You’re taking me so well, sweetheart. Doing so so good for me. Eres tan perfecta.”
You whimper as his lips move back up against your own as he kisses you passionately.
At a certain point you feel the end of his strokes slide into a pressure point inside you that has you clenching like a vise around his cock. Your eyes are rolling to the back of your head, back arching as he keeps thrusting into you, the feeling of him repeatedly hitting your most sensitive spot causing a loud noise you’ve never made before escaping your lips, a strange cry of his name. 
“Fuck,” Carlos muttered against your ears, feeling your walls clenching around him, letting him know that you’re close. “You’re so loud for me, angel.” 
“God.” You’re lost in pleasure, tears streaming down your face as you desperately claw at his skin. Whatever pain you were feeling before is lost now as you all but float in a cloud of lust. 
“Hold it in, baby,” he demands, tongue licking your tears away as his hand pushes your hair out of your face, wanting to see you fully as you reach your high. 
“Please, Carlos,” you sobbed, squirming under him. “Need to…need to come please.”
His thrust doesn’t stop or falter, getting harder and harder as his hand grips your waist. There would surely be a bruise of his handprint there tomorrow but you’re far too gone to care. “Look at you so desperate to cum on my dick. Who’s making you feel this good, angel?”
“You!” You cry out, more than willing to pledge your life away to him at this point, the only thing that matters is your release. “Only you! Please, Carlos.” 
“That’s right. Only me. Sólo yo.” Carlos smirks at the sight of you under him, so completely defenseless. “Go on, baby.”
You didn’t need to be told twice as you spasm under him, losing control of your body. Your vision is hazy as you ride out your high, your body out of your control as your nails dug to his skin, teeth buried on his shoulder. You don’t think you’ve ever felt pleasure quite like this.
You feel his cum shoot inside your walls as his body slightly relaxes on yours. He’s barely broken a sweat, his stamina completely phenomenal, but he knows you’re spent and after tonight, you deserve a break, especially considering it’s your first time. And so with that, he gently pulled out of you, making sure not to put anymore pressure on your tired body as he dropped to the place next to you.
Despite your clear exhaustion though, there’s no hesitation in your movements as you turn to him, breathing shallow. Placing your seemingly heavy head on his chest, you throw your arms over his stomach. Carlos’ breath hitched. He had just fucked you, made you come three times and yet somehow the action of you so naturally cuddling to him had his heart racing. 
“You did so good,” he told you gently, arms more than welcoming, immediately wrapping around you. “Are you okay, niña bonita?”
“Yes,” you mumble, voice hoarse from all the screaming as you bury your face deeper into the crook of his neck. “Tired.”
“Sleep,” he told you softly, lips planting a kiss on the top of your sweaty hair as he pulled you closer towards him. 
You let out a hum, already drifting off to dreamland with your naked bodies pressed against each other, not an inch between the two of you as you tightly held on to each other. 
The next time you saw Carlos was the next day as you climbed into Ferrari’s private plane. Nearly the entire team is hungover, half asleep as they lugged their baggage, you along them but for an entirely different reason. 
As soon as you stepped into the plane, the Spaniard's eyes were on you and yours on him. You wore the jacket he lent you last night over a simple shirt and jeans, opting to wear something comfortable for the flight rather than something stylish. He, on the other hand, still looked breathtaking in a simple buttoned up shirt and jeans, hair tousled as he watched the way your cheeks turned red. 
Charles, far too tired and sleepy, barely noticed as you disappeared from his side as you all but made a beeline towards Carlos. 
“Good morning, angel,” he greets you, heart soaring at the obvious way you seeked him out, not even hesitating to leave the monegasque’s side in favor of his. “How are you feeling?”
“Tired,” you admit, still with a nervous tone to your voice as you take the seat in front of him. “But worth it.”
As Carlos reached forward to lightly push your hair back, his touch now so familiar, you missed the way Charles searched for you upon noticing you’re no longer next to him. You also missed the look of pure jealousy in his eyes, one you’ve longed to see for as long as you can remember. But Carlos hadn’t and for the first time, Charles saw a version of his teammate he’s never seen or expected, one that’s very obviously staking his claim on you, eyes challenging Charles to fight back as you lean into Carlos’ touch. 
Carlos didn’t have to say it but Charles understood anyway.
Carlos is a patient man and he played the game so well, biding his time properly and it had all paid off so well, everything falling perfectly into place as the sight of you next to him became a common occurrence. You often wear his shirts after nights in his hotel room, meeting up with Charles for breakfast only to practically reek of Carlos’ cologne. He’s all over you even when he’s not around, his imprints on your skin, his scent all over you, reminding Charles that he’s lost a game he hadn’t realized he was playing. 
And when he is around, it’s not like Carlos is trying to hide it, an arm always around your waist or sometimes hands on your hips. This time though, it’s Charles that’s watching. He watches as the Spaniard touches you so easily as though he’s done it a thousand times before. He watches as you’re quick to relax against his chest, your soft easy smile painting your face and a certain glint in your eyes that Charles knows so well. 
Carlos, as Charles is beginning to realize, is a pretty fucking great liar. When they’re together with the team, talking cars and strategies or with the marketing team, doing challenges and interviews, it’s like nothing’s ever changed, both of them still so close. The only noticeable difference now is that you’re rarely on Charles’ side. Instead, you choose to always be by Carlos’, barely sparing your childhood best friend a glance as you stare at the Spaniard as though he hangs the stars and the moon. 
Eventually though, the unsaid stare off they often shared comes to a close. It had been during the spanish grand prix with Charles naively thinking he’s doing his teammate a good deed by knocking on his door before the marketing team comes and nags him about a video that needs shooting. Charles didn’t want them to be late and he didn’t want Carlos to have to stand for a lecture. 
But when he opens the door, not having bothered to knock, thinking it’s just another boring weekend before a race with Carlos on his phone like the thousand other weekends before that. 
Charles couldn’t be more wrong though because instead of the sight of Carlos engrossed in his phone, you're laying on his lap, the dress you wore bunched up around your waist and your eyes shut close as soft moans escaped your lips. Carlos has a hand holding you in place while another is busy assaulting your cunt, three fingers deep inside you, pumping in and out at such a brutal pace that has you biting your lower lip till you can taste blood, tears dripping down to your cheeks.
Charles is frozen in place, the sight of you so open, so perfectly spread for Carlos, caused him to swallow deeply. He can hear the filthy sound of Carlos’ fingers leaving your cunt only to unrelentingly push back in.You’re far too gone to even notice his presence, your fourth orgasm on Carlos’ fingers having completely drained your body as you keep taking more, but Carlos looks up at Charles, the pace of his fingers disappearing within the lips of your cunt never stopping as he raises an eyebrow.
The smirk pulling at his lips brings Charles back down to earth, forcing himself to look away from your naked body as he spun on his heel, shutting the door behind him. 
Charles can feel his heart racing, his pants suddenly much tighter than it had been minutes ago. The sound of your moans keeps repeating in his head, completely distracting him from the tasks at hand. 
After fixing his erection, Charles finds his way back to the hospitality, reuniting with his media aid as he tries to shake the sight of you whispering and messy on Carlos’ knees. 
“Where’s Carlos?” One of the Ferrari people asks him, but Charles only shrugs, not quite sure if he’s able to use his voice. 
A few minutes pass as the team waits for Carlos till the Spaniard finally emerges from his drivers room, hair messy and lips swollen. No one but Charles seems to notice though and the memory of you on his lap haunts Charles as he meets his teammate’s gaze, smug and proud as he runs his hand through his hair. 
Carlos claps Charles on the shoulder, mischief clear in his hazel eyes. “Finders keepers, right?”
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slytherintrikru · 6 months
Text
— || Revenge is Sweet || —
Pairing: Lucius Malfoy x gryffindor!muggleborn!reader (SHE’S OF AGE) 
Word count: 6224
Warnings: SMUT, NSFW, 16+, fingering, clit rubbing, cock in Vigina, male and female, adult content, adult language, cuss words, clit licking, degrading, fluff if you squint, pet names, anguish, cheating, heartbreak, revenge, crying, Lucius comforting Y/N?, aftercare, praise, daddy kink, cum swallowing, fluff, out of character Lucius, 2 almost 3 years after the 2nd wizarding war, younger woman with older man, first time together, heated make out session, kissing, hickeys, love bites, SFW if you squint. (SHE IS OF AGE) 
Summary: Y/N wanted to surprise Draco by visiting him at the Malfoy Manor but ended up catching him cheating instead. While leaving she bumps into Lucius Malfoy and things get kinda heated. (SHE’S OF AGE)
Requested: by no one this is my idea 
A/N: Hello, my fellow Dreamers, hope you like this. Please give me your feedback. BTW I also already posted this on my AO3 account @ slytherintrikru.
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Y/N navigated her way up the meandering, earthy path that led to the formidable gates of the Malfoy Manor. These gates, a grand testament to the opulence within, were adorned with wrought-iron craftsmanship that gleamed even in the muted light of dusk. Beyond the gates, a long, majestic driveway, flanked by a procession of ancient trees, guided her toward the mansion's imposing facade. Standing before her, the Malfoy Manor exuded an aura of architectural splendor. Its stately stone walls rose gracefully, adorned with intricate details that whispered of centuries past. Tall, narrow windows punctuated the facade, their panes seeming to conceal secrets within, bestowing upon the house an air of sinister allure.
The estate on which the manor resided was vast and mysterious. A dark forest encroached upon the edges of the property, casting eerie shadows that played hide-and-seek with the waning daylight. In stark contrast to this enigmatic woodland, a lush and meticulously cultivated garden graced the manor's rear, a testament to the Malfoy family's penchant for grandeur and elegance.
With each deliberate step, Y/N's heartbeat quickened. Her trembling hand reached out to rap upon the massive, wooden double doors that guarded the entrance. She couldn't have fathomed that she would ever find herself returning to this nightmarish place, where the echoes of her torment at the hands of Voldemort and his fanatical followers still reverberated in the depths of her memory. It had been two agonizing years since that fateful day when Fenrir Greyback had dragged her through those very doors, her hair pulled viciously as she struggled to match the monstrous pace set by her captor. The same mansion had borne witness to her harrowing encounter with the Dark Lord himself, the malevolent figure who had imprinted the dreaded Death Eater mark upon her left arm—a mark she had desperately sought to eradicate for almost three long years.
The reason for her presence here, despite the haunting memories, was her enduring love for Draco. Three years had passed since the inception of their clandestine relationship, but their bond remained unshaken. Draco's parents, however, were a formidable obstacle in their path. They looked down upon her as a 'filthy Mudblood,' a fact that had never deterred her resolve, so long as Draco stood by her side. Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy had resorted to devious tactics, attempting to buy her loyalty, attempting to pry her away from their son. Their efforts had met with stubborn resistance, leaving them fuming with frustration. On countless occasions, they subjected her to scathing tirades, especially Narcissa, whose cruelty knew no bounds. After a week, Lucius resigned to a sullen silence, but Narcissa's venomous words and occasionally physical aggression persisted as a daily ordeal that Y/N endured with steely determination.
Y/N flinched as the manor door creaked open, her reaction akin to that of someone stumbling into a jinx. Her startled gaze dropped to the floor, where a familiar figure stood. It was Rue, the endearing house elf, a cherished presence in Y/N's life.
"What can Rue do for Draco's lovely girlfriend?" Rue inquired, her lips curving into a warm, welcoming smile.
Y/N couldn't help but smile in return; Rue had always held a special place in her heart. With her bright blue eyes and those endearing pointy ears, Rue exuded an unmistakable charm. Not only did she anticipate Y/N's every need, but she also prepared food and drinks precisely to Y/N's liking. Since the law against elf brutality had been enacted, Y/N had taken it upon herself to ensure Rue's comfort, providing her with clothing. Over the months, Rue had transformed, shedding the weight of servitude to become a happier, more carefree presence.
"I'd like to see Draco, please, Rue," Y/N replied, her voice gentle and careful not to startle the petite house elf.
Rue's smile widened, and with a tiny, reassuring grip on Y/N's hand, she led her inside. As the door closed softly behind them, Rue spoke again, her voice filled with an eagerness to assist. "Master Draco is in his room. Rue will take you."
Y/N hesitated for a moment, a playful idea forming in her mind. "No, no, it's fine. I can go myself. I want to surprise him."
The adorable house elf nodded, her eyes filled with understanding. With a snap of her fingers, she vanished from sight, leaving Y/N to navigate the winding corridors of the Malfoy Manor alone.
Y/N couldn't help but grin at the thought of Rue experiencing a moment of personal indulgence, wondering if the house elf was trying to savor the pleasures she had missed in her life of servitude. With that pleasant thought, Y/N embarked on her ascent up the many flights of wooden stairs that led to the upper reaches of the manor. Her footsteps echoed softly through the hallway as she made her way toward Draco's room.
As she arrived at her destination, Y/N came to an abrupt halt, her senses keenly attuned to an unexpected sound emanating from behind Draco's door. She strained her ears, desperately hoping it wasn't a case of accidentally stumbling upon an intimate moment between Lucius and Narcissa. A glance at the door's label confirmed it was indeed Draco's room, and then she heard it again.
Moans.
Specifically, the unmistakable sounds of male and female moans. Y/N's heart pounded in her chest as she leaned closer to the door, attempting to confirm what she dreaded most. She heard his name, Draco's name, whimpered from a female voice within, a voice that sent shockwaves through her.
Her blood ran cold, her heart rate spiked, and tears welled up in her eyes. Y/N prayed it wasn't true, that Draco wasn't betraying her. She cautiously pushed the door open, her movements silent as she observed the heart-wrenching scene before her. Draco, lost in passion, buried his face in Astoria Greengrass's neck, his vigorous thrusts filling the room.
Their eyes met, Y/N's and Astoria's, in a moment of cruel recognition. Astoria's smirk seemed to taunt Y/N, as if declaring, 'He's mine now, you filthy Mudblood.' With a heavy heart, Y/N gently closed the door, tears streaming down her face. She turned and fled down the hallway, down the stairs, without a care for her surroundings or the possibility of colliding with someone.
Tears flowed freely as Y/N reached the bottom of the stairs, her heart shattering into a million pieces. Her cries escaped in a heartbreaking crescendo, echoing through the manor's grandeur. In her distraught state, she collided with an unexpected presence, teetering dangerously on the brink of falling backward. However, strong arms enveloped her, steadying her in her moment of despair.
"What in Merlin's name are you doing, girl?" The voice, dripping with disdain, hissed through the tense air. Y/N's heart lurched at the sound, her gut telling her it was all too familiar. As her tear-blurred gaze lifted, she was met with the sight of a thoroughly baffled and irate Lucius Malfoy, his aristocratic features etched with a mix of anger and confusion. Her own expressive eyes, a mesmerizing shade of E/C, locked onto his cold, steely gray ones.
Blinking away the tears that blurred her vision, she stared at the formidable pureblood wizard who stood before her. Their eye contact held an unspoken tension, a connection fraught with history and complex emotions. It was in that moment that Y/N noticed something she hadn't expected in Lucius – concern. The realization was like a jolt, sending a shiver down her spine.
Concern?
It couldn't be right, could it? Why on earth would Lucius Malfoy, of all people, be concerned about her well-being? Y/N hesitated, her hand instinctively rising to wipe her eyes once more, as if questioning her own senses, wondering if her eyes were playing tricks on her. But the look in Lucius's eyes remained, a glimmer of unexpected humanity in the formidable man who had long been an enigma to her.
"Are you going to speak, or just stand there like a dumb-witted Mudblood?" Lucius's words, laced with venom, cut through the heavy silence. Y/N turned away from him, hurt etched in her eyes, his cruel words piercing her heart. In that moment, the gap between them seemed insurmountable.
Lucius, however, couldn't ignore the pain he had inadvertently caused, and for a fleeting second, remorse tugged at his conscience. Yet, his pride prevailed, and instead of apologizing, he pressed further, his tone demanding answers. "What's wrong with you, girl?"
Y/N pulled herself away from him, a mixture of emotions welling up inside her. She hesitated for a moment, then her voice trembled as she questioned him, "W-Why do y-you care?"
The unexpected vulnerability in her voice caught Lucius off guard, and a flicker of something uncharacteristic passed through his stormy gray eyes. He blocked her path as she attempted to move past him, their proximity intensifying the tension between them. "Just because we got off to the wrong foot when we first met doesn't mean I'm the same person I was before," he hissed, a rare hint of vulnerability seeping into his words. "Now tell me what's wrong, or I'll use Legilimency on you."
Her defenses crumbling, Y/N couldn't hold back the flood of emotion any longer. The words tumbled out of her, her voice wavering as she confessed, "Your son cheated on me with Astoria, that's what happened." She glanced away, bracing herself for the judgment she anticipated. "You're probably happy that he's not with a filthy Mudblood like me anymore. I'll just—"
"He did what?!" Lucius's voice reverberated through the manor, his anger palpable as it resounded against the walls. Y/N glanced at him, a puzzled expression on her face. She couldn't comprehend why he would be so furious that his son, Draco, had cheated on her—a Mudblood—with a pureblood. Lucius Malfoy had never harbored any warmth toward Y/N, so this sudden outburst was baffling. She had always assumed that Draco's parents would be delighted if something like this were to happen.
Lucius's voice, filled with indignation, interrupted her thoughts once more. "How dare that boy break someone's heart instead of just telling you that he wants to end the relationship. I raised him to treat women with respect. Even if the girl is a filthy Mudblood!"
Y/N frowned, her gaze drifting downward to her feet, unable to meet Lucius's eyes. His words were laden with a complex mixture of anger, disappointment, and something she couldn't quite fathom.
"Why would you care anyway? You should be happy that he cheated on me. Now he can go marry a pureblood who's more beautiful than me," she muttered bitterly, her self-esteem shattered.
In an unexpected turn of events, the cold metal of the snake handle of Lucius's cane lifted her chin. She blinked in surprise as he swiftly pulled his cane away and grasped her chin roughly with his hand, forcing her to hold eye contact with him.
"Don't ever say those words again. Am. I. Understand, Y/N?" Lucius's voice, though stern, held a strange mixture of concern. She nodded in response, but it seemed that wasn't sufficient for him. He demanded more. "I expect you to answer when I ask you something!"
"Y-Yes, Sir!" she squeaked, her gaze locked onto his features. She couldn't help but notice the commanding presence he exuded, the sharp lines of his jaw, the strength evident in his angular face. His long, platinum blonde hair cascaded gracefully past his shoulders, framing his striking countenance. The blueish-gray eyes that held an air of authority seemed to peer directly into her soul. Y/N's cheeks flushed inexplicably as she found herself momentarily entranced by his striking appearance. ‘He's handsome’, she thought, a realization that seemed to take her by surprise.
Y/N's unspoken admiration for Lucius had been a well-guarded secret, a silent confession her heart made each time she crossed the threshold of the Malfoy Manor. Her heart would do a subtle dance of anticipation whenever she knew she'd encounter him, and a flush would steal across her cheeks, like a clandestine tribute to his striking presence. It was an irrational reaction, one she couldn't quite understand, given that Lucius had never hidden his disdain for her—well, at least, he hadn't before.
Lucius's trademark smirk played on his lips, but there was a curious shift in his demeanor. Gone was the initial cockiness, replaced by genuine amusement as he surveyed Y/N's puzzled expression. Her blush intensified, a shade that rivaled the crimson and gold of the Gryffindor house colors.
"You really think I'm handsome?" he probed, his tone now laced with curiosity. He leaned in closer, the proximity between them causing a subtle flutter in Y/N's heart. Lucius's eyes sparkled with a newfound charm as he awaited her response.
"I—what? I didn't—" she stammered, but her words were abruptly silenced.
"Legilimens, my darling girl," Lucius smoothly interrupted. His smirk remained, but it was tinged with a magnetic confidence that left her feeling exposed. He leaned even closer, his lips brushing against her ear, and he whispered softly, his voice a provocative caress, "Ah, yes. It appears you've conveniently forgotten that I possess the ability to delve into your mind. You see, I heard every thought you've had about me. Like your secret desire for me to pin you down on my bed, to make you forget how to walk."
Y/N's eyes widened, her cheeks aflame with embarrassment. Her heart raced, and she felt a shiver of vulnerability wash over her. Lucius's audacious revelation had unraveled a new layer of intrigue and desire, transforming their dynamic into something far more intricate and captivating.
She gasped, disbelief coursing through her. Could he truly have been privy to her every innermost thought? It felt surreal, like a dream she was unable to awaken from. In an attempt to regain her composure, she instinctively retreated a step, allowing her gaze to lock with his. His eyes held the same intense emotion she had noticed earlier – a smoldering, undeniable lust that sent a tingle down her spine. He leaned closer, his body almost brushing against hers, and she could feel the heat radiating from him.
"That's the very reason I've maintained my distance from you all these months," he admitted, his voice betraying a hint of vulnerability beneath its low, seductive tone. "After my ex-wife and I discovered the truth about you and my son's relationship, I tried to keep my demeanor cold. Yet every night, unable to control my desires, I found myself lost in fantasies of you," he confessed, his words a hushed, intimate secret shared between them.
A blush painted her cheeks once more as his voice whispered sensually into her ear, sending shivers coursing down her spine. His hands found their way to her sides, exerting a gentle, yet possessive squeeze. She couldn't help but shudder at his touch.
"My son is a fool for betraying such a beautiful, enchanting nymph like you," he purred, his lips grazing the tender skin just below her earlobe. His kisses left a fiery trail down her neck, only to ascend slowly back towards her lips. When their mouths met, it was as though a swarm of butterflies took flight in her stomach, fluttering wildly. She didn't respond immediately, her brain struggling to catch up with the whirlwind of sensations. Gradually, she inhaled his intoxicating scent, responding to his kisses with a growing hunger of her own.
Y/N's moans of desire seemed to echo within the cavernous expanse of Lucius's opulent mansion. Every step she took away from the memory of Draco's betrayal and closer to Lucius felt like a transgressive leap into the unknown. The kiss, fueled by a volatile mix of guilt and longing, deepened with each passing second. It was a magnetic force pulling them closer together, their lips becoming the epicenter of their shared need.
Her fingers wove themselves deeper into Lucius's long, platinum blonde hair, the strands silky and cool to the touch. He couldn't help but groan in response, the sound a testament to the intensity of their connection. His powerful hands, previously residing at her sides, ventured boldly downward, reaching her shapely derrière. With a delicate yet firm touch, he squeezed, sending exhilarating waves of sensation through her body.
With a sudden surge of passion, Lucius lifted Y/N off her feet, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist to maintain their electrifying kiss. The sensation of being carried by him, the firmness of his grip, and the heat of his body against hers were intoxicating. They ascended the grand staircase, their rhythmic ascent echoing through the mansion's ornate halls.
As they turned down the dimly lit hallway, the portraits of stern-faced ancestors bore witness to their clandestine rendezvous. The anticipation was palpable, each step a deliberate stride toward the unknown. The soft glow of moonlight spilled through heavy, brocade curtains, casting intricate patterns on the Persian rugs that lined the floor.
With an audacious display of strength and desire, Lucius kicked open the door to his lavishly appointed bedroom. The door swung wide with a creak, revealing a chamber bathed in shadows. The grandeur of the room was nothing short of breathtaking, with its sumptuous canopy bed, antique furnishings, and gilded accents. The room exuded an air of timeless elegance, a stark contrast to the illicit passion that had led them there. Yet, with another commanding kick, he shut the door behind them, sealing their secret within the confines of the room's opulent embrace.
In the opulent chamber, bathed in the soft glow of moonlight filtered through heavy curtains, he guided her towards his bed with a gentleness that belied the intense desire simmering between them. The sumptuous sheets, adorned with intricate patterns, awaited their embrace, a testament to the luxury that surrounded them. With a feather-light touch, he laid her down, the mattress conforming to the curves of her body like a lover's caress.
Desire surged between them, an irresistible force pulling them closer together. She eagerly wound her legs around him, her longing palpable. A deep, resonant chuckle rumbled from his chest, a seductive reverberation that filled the room. It was a sound that resonated with promise, the promise of what was to come.
His lips embarked on a slow descent down the delicate curve of her neck, leaving a trail of searing kisses in their wake. His teeth grazed her skin, eliciting sharp gasps and urgent moans from her trembling lips. Y/N's moans danced in harmony with the hushed symphony of their passion, their clandestine desires woven into every sound.
With a masterful touch, his hands began their sensual exploration, fingers tracing the contours of her body. He reached for the fabric of her shirt, the anticipation of their impending intimacy electrifying the air. But as he made to unveil her, he paused, gazing into her eyes with a mixture of tenderness and raw desire. His voice, a sultry whisper, hung in the air like an unspoken invitation, "Do you want to continue this?"
Her heart swelled with a heady blend of love and desire at his considerate question. It wasn't just about the act itself; it was about the connection they shared, the intimacy that extended beyond the physical. Her eyes met his, and she nodded in fervent agreement, but his gaze turned insistent, demanding more than a mere gesture.
She acquiesced, her voice a soft, breathless confession. "Yes, I want to continue."
With the patience of a man intoxicated by her presence, he lifted her shirt, revealing her in all her vulnerability and desire. Each moment was a deliberate act of unveiling, an exploration of the secrets they had kept hidden for too long. Her whimpers of longing grew more pronounced, a sweet symphony of passion that ignited the room.
Their discarded shirts lay scattered, forgotten remnants of the world they had left behind. Their lips collided once more, a fervent clash of desires. His hands, strong and gentle, cradled her face, deepening the kiss into a consuming blaze of longing. In this stolen moment, their connection transcended the physical, binding them together in a fiery embrace that defied the boundaries of reason and restraint.
In the cocoon of their desires, time seemed to slow, allowing them to savor every tantalizing moment. The room, adorned with rich, heavy curtains that filtered the moon's soft glow, bathed them in an otherworldly ambiance. They paused briefly to remove the remaining garments that clung to their heated bodies, leaving a trail of discarded clothing scattered haphazardly across the floor.
With a profound longing etched upon their faces, they surrendered to the pull of their desires. He took the initiative, his lips blazing a path of fiery kisses down her form. Every inch of her skin he touched seemed to ignite with desire, his teeth delicately grazing, and his mouth fervently claiming her.
One of his hands, large and commanding, found its place on her breast, the fingers expertly working her sensitive flesh. The other sought solace on her hip, the grip possessive yet tender. Y/N's response was immediate, her back arching sensually as she pressed herself closer to him. The room bore witness to her unrestrained passion, shadows playing tricks on their entangled figures.
The dimly lit room provided an intimate backdrop to their stolen moment, amplifying the intensity of their connection. She gasped, unable to stifle the whirlwind of sensations coursing through her body. Her longing and need reached a fevered pitch as his lips moved relentlessly over her skin.
This sensation was unlike anything she had ever encountered, not even with Draco. It was a heady concoction of raw desire and an emotional connection that left her feeling utterly exposed and vulnerable, yet simultaneously empowered and alive.
His lips reluctantly abandoned her chest, tracing a searing path downward, inching closer to the epicenter of her desire. Her hips reacted instinctively, a silent plea for more, a plea for him to satiate the burgeoning hunger that consumed her. In response, he chuckled darkly, a knowing grin playing upon his lips.
"So, so greedy for me, aren't you?" he purred, his voice a sultry whisper that sent shivers down her spine. "I've barely even started, my little nymph, and you're already squirming."
Her moans grew in volume, punctuating the charged atmosphere. Her hips continued their rhythmic dance, a wordless invitation for him to delve deeper into her desires. Just as hope began to wane, he boldly ventured between her legs. His thumb found her eager clit, tracing slow, electrifying circles that sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through her body. She couldn't help but gasp loudly, her moans intensifying as her body surrendered to his skillful touch.
“L-Lucius!” Y/N's fervent whimper hung in the air, a plea for more that only fueled Lucius's desire to push her further into the depths of pleasure. He reveled in the sound, a wicked grin playing upon his lips as he continued to work his magic. His fingers, slick with her arousal, glided effortlessly inside her, seeking out her g-spot with uncanny precision. The sensation of his touch sent electric jolts of pleasure coursing through her, her moans becoming a chorus of surrender.
The room seemed to close in around them, the ambiance heavy with the heady scent of their desire. Shadows danced seductively across the walls, an intimate audience to their clandestine tryst. Every subtle movement, every trembling breath, was magnified in the dim light, intensifying the eroticism of the moment.
Lucius's voice, a velvet caress of dominance, lured her deeper into submission. "That's right, my little slut," he whispered huskily, his words both an affirmation and a command. "Feel how good I'm making you. Did he ever make you feel like this? Did he know all the right spots to please you?"
She struggled to form coherent words, the pleasure he evoked rendering her speechless. Her response was a breathless admission of truth, punctuated by her moans of ecstasy. "N-No... aahh-"
Lucius's eyes bore into her with an intensity that left her feeling exposed and vulnerable, yet utterly consumed by desire. His fingers continued their relentless assault on her g-spot, her body quivering in response. Her pussy clenched around him, a physical manifestation of her escalating pleasure, and he couldn't help but grunt with satisfaction.
"My little slut," he growled, his voice dripping with unrestrained lust, "you've never felt this kind of pleasure before, have you? Well, let's make sure you're fully satisfied, my dear."
With each word, he propelled her further into the abyss of desire, his fingers dancing with a masterful touch that promised to fulfill her every longing. In the dimly lit room, their forbidden encounter continued, a symphony of passion and submission that echoed through the night.
Lucius's descent towards her quivering core was an agonizingly slow and tantalizing journey. His head moved lower, inch by tantalizing inch, until his mouth hovered just above her dripping wet pussy. The room, bathed in the soft, dim light of concealed passion, seemed to hold its breath in anticipation of the forbidden act about to unfold.
Y/N's body was a live wire, tingling with desire as his warm breath caressed her sensitive flesh. Her back arched in a primal response, a silent plea for him to continue, to grant her the pleasure she craved. The air was thick with tension, the electrifying atmosphere heightened by the palpable anticipation of what was to come.
With a deliberate, torturous slowness, his tongue made its first sensuous contact with her throbbing clit. Y/N's response was immediate and intense; she arched her back, a breathless gasp escaping her lips. Waves of desire surged through her, her hips rising to meet his mouth in a fervent demand for more. His tongue traced lazy circles around her clit, each pass a teasing caress that left her trembling with need.
Her hips moved in rhythmic desperation, bucking into his mouth as she sought to intensify the pleasure. Lucius, the master of seduction, had her in a hypnotic trance, his tongue shifting tactics to move from side to side, skillfully exploring every sensitive inch of her. He returned to her clit, sucking with a purposeful hunger that sent shivers coursing through her body. Her moans grew in intensity, a symphony of ecstasy that filled the room.
As if orchestrating a symphony of pleasure, his fingers joined the sensual dance, slick with her arousal. They thrust in and out with a relentless rhythm, each penetration hitting her g-spot with pinpoint accuracy. Y/N's body was a trembling instrument of desire, her moans and whimpers filling the room like a seductive melody.
A familiar sensation began to coil within her abdomen, growing in intensity with each tantalizing moment. Her pussy clenched around his fingers as the waves of pleasure overtook her. With a gasp that shattered the air, she climaxed, her body trembling in the throes of ecstasy.
Lucius's voice, thick with desire and dominance, broke through her post-orgasmic haze. "Good girl, my good girl," he murmured, his words both a praise and a command. Her cheeks flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and satisfaction. He withdrew his hand from her quivering pussy, his fingers glistening with her essence. With forceful insistence, he grasped her jaw, parting her lips and presenting his cum-covered fingers to her mouth. "Taste yourself, whore!" he demanded, his voice a potent blend of authority and lust, igniting a primal hunger within her.
The room, cloaked in shadows, seemed to hold its breath as Y/N's lips encircled Lucius's fingers, moving with an almost hypnotic rhythm as she licked and sucked them clean. Her tongue, eager and tantalizing, left no trace of her essence behind, and Lucius watched her with a predatory hunger that mirrored her own desire. With an excruciating slowness, he withdrew his fingers from her mouth, his grip shifting to encircle her delicate throat, a possessive hold that sent a jolt of excitement through her.
A deep, throaty chuckle resonated from Lucius, a dark sound that underscored his mastery over her. It was a symphony of submission, her whimper in response to his control weaving through the charged air. His other hand, which had been on her jaw, descended with purposeful intent to his throbbing cock. With tantalizing deliberation, he began to stroke himself, each languid movement of his hand a seductive overture to the impending climax of their desires.
Y/N grappled with a myriad of emotions. She knew she should be overwhelmed with guilt, entangled in an illicit affair with her ex-boyfriend's father. Yet, beneath the layers of her moral reservations, a burning desire and a thirst for revenge surged within her. She yearned to make her ex-boyfriend pay for his betrayal, to mend her shattered heart by indulging in the very act that had caused her so much pain.
Her internal turmoil was momentarily eclipsed as she felt the firm tip of his cock teasing her wet, throbbing pussy. The exquisite friction sent a shiver of anticipation coursing through her, and her moans and whimpers filled the room like a seductive aria. Her body was a symphony of need, the sultry dance of his cock against her clit driving her to the brink of ecstasy.
Lucius's voice, dripping with dominance and desire, anchored her in the present moment. "My little mudblood," he taunted, his words laden with a derogatory term that should have stung. Instead, the sultry timbre of his voice rendered her helpless, a willing captive to his seduction. "Is this what you've desired all this time? For a real man to fuck you, to slide his cock deep inside you and make you feel good?"
Despite the term, her moans and whimpers betrayed her true desires, her voice trembling with need. "Y-Yes, Daddy," she whimpered, her plea echoing through the room, a fervent entreaty for the fulfillment of her deepest, most forbidden fantasies. “ Please, fuck me!”
"Daddy? Hmm?" Lucius questioned, his voice dripping with irresistible seduction that hung in the air like a sultry promise. A low, dark chuckle followed, resonating with a wicked allure as his eyes sparkled with mischief and a hint of malevolence. It was a look that promised a thrilling journey into forbidden desires, an intoxicating blend of pleasure and danger.
The room, cloaked in shadows and secrecy, bore witness to their clandestine rendezvous—a sensual dance of dominance and submission that unfolded in hushed gasps and fervent touches. Lucius reveled in her surrender, delighting in the way the derogatory term slipped off his tongue, and, to his surprise, she seemed to share in that twisted pleasure. "My little mudblood is filthy, isn't she?" he continued, his words dripping with desire and a touch of cruelty. In their intimate connection, the term had evolved into an oddly cherished secret, symbolizing her eager willingness to plunge into the irresistible depths of their forbidden passions. "I like that."
With deliberate intent, Lucius poised himself at the edge of her ecstasy, the air thick with anticipation. He surged into her abruptly, a powerful thrust that drew an electrified whimper from Y/N. Her body responded instinctively, arching in response to the sudden intrusion, a wordless plea for more. Lucius groaned in satisfaction, luxuriating in the exquisite sensation of her tight, wet heat enveloping him.
"Daddy!" Y/N's moan, fervent and desperate, reverberated through the room, echoing the intensity of her longing and submission.
Lucius wasted no time in unleashing the primal depths of his desire, setting a relentless pace that sent tremors through the bed beneath them. Pleasure and pain intertwined as Y/N's body stretched to accommodate him, her moans and gasps forming a seductive symphony that filled the room. Each powerful thrust propelled her closer to the precipice of ecstasy, the headboard bearing witness to the fervor of their illicit union.
"F-Fuck," Lucius hissed, his voice a symphony of unquenchable desire as he intensified his rhythm. His hips surged against her with unrestrained lust, each collision sending waves of pleasure coursing through her. The room resounded with their shared passion, an intoxicating rhythm that reverberated through the air and ignited an inferno of sensations. “You’re so tight and wet, aaah- I’m going to have so much fun destroying this tight little hole of yours.”
The hand that encircled her throat tightened incrementally, a gesture of dominance that sent a thrill of arousal coursing through Y/N. Her fingers tangled in Lucius's long, platinum blonde hair, tugging gently as she sought to draw him closer. His primal groans and moans in response only served to deepen her desire, each intoxicating sound forging an unbreakable connection between them in the hidden world they had created.
Their moans, like an intricate duet, melded into an intoxicating symphony of desire, echoing through the dimly lit room. With each primal thrust, he plunged deeper and faster into her, igniting a passionate crescendo that left them both gasping for breath. Her heart raced in response to the electrifying pleasure coursing through her veins.
"Lucius—Lucius! Aaaahhh—fuck! Daddy!" Her words, a fervent chant of need and submission, spilled from her lips in breathless abandon. Her hips responded in kind, moving in a seductive rhythm that matched his powerful thrusts, a dance of desire that transcended the bounds of their forbidden liaison.
"So damn good! Aahh—yes! Oh fuck, my little mudblood knows how to please me," he growled with unapologetic desire, his voice a seductive purr that sent shivers cascading down her spine. His hips quickened their relentless pace, pounding into her with an unyielding urgency that caused the bed to groan and creak beneath them, a testament to the fierce intensity of their union. “Tell me how good I’m making you feel, slut!
Her moans swelled, a wild symphony of ecstasy and surrender that reverberated through the room like a siren's call. She clawed at the sheets beneath her, her fingers desperately seeking purchase in the soft fabric as waves of pleasure crashed over her. It was an exquisite torment, a tantalizing whirlwind of sensations that threatened to consume her entirely.
"Daddy, you—ahh—feel so good," she gasped, her voice trembling with a potent mix of longing and desperation. Her nails traced feverish patterns over his heated skin, leaving trails of tingling sensation in their wake. Her silent entreaty was clear: she yearned for him to take her harder, to claim her completely in the tempest of their shared passion. “You make me feel so good! You’re fucking me so much better than him.”
Amid the dimly lit room, their passionate entwining continued, each feverish moment adding a new layer to their shared desire. Lucius, a commanding figure, maintained his relentless thrusts, his dominance evident in every movement. Her fervent responses wove a tapestry of longing and ecstasy, their chemistry igniting the air around them.
"I know, my little nymph," he purred, his voice an intoxicating blend of pleasure and command. His grip on her tightened possessively, fingers leaving tantalizing imprints on her heated skin. "Cum for me, slut. Show me how good I make you feel." His words hung in the air like a seductive spell, sending electrifying shivers throughout her body.
With each powerful thrust, the tip of his cock skillfully teased her cervix, intensifying the delicious ache in the pit of her stomach. Their bodies moved in perfect unison, a dance that seemed to transcend the boundaries of time and reason, an intricate symphony of passion that left them breathless.
Lucius, releasing his hold on her throat, replaced it with his mouth, his lips and teeth marking her skin as he continued to slam into her with primal urgency. Love bites and passionate kisses adorned her flesh, evidence of their unrestrained fervor. They moved together, bodies melding into one, a force of nature that defied control. In a rapturous climax, they reached the pinnacle of their desire, their voices rising in unison, filling the room with their unrestrained passion.
As Lucius withdrew from her, a plaintive whimper escaped her lips, a testament to the aching desire that still clung to her. His triumphant smirk hinted at the pleasure he derived from her desperate longing. As he made his way to the bathroom to cleanse himself, her eyes remained fixed on the vacant space he had occupied, her body still tingling with the fading echoes of their intense union.
Upon his return, a damp cloth in hand, he approached her with eyes that held both tenderness and desire. Every stroke of the cloth was a gentle caress, an unspoken declaration of their strange intimacy. The discarded rag landed carelessly beside them, a forgotten relic of their fervent encounter.
"Go to sleep, my little nymph," he whispered, his arms enveloping her in a protective embrace. "I'll be here when you wake." His words were a soothing promise, lulling her into a cocoon of security and contentment that belied the complexity of their relationship.
She nestled against him, her heart aflutter with emotions that defied easy categorization. Despite the impending repercussions of their actions, she couldn't deny the profound satisfaction she felt. As her eyes fluttered closed, the only thought that remained was that revenge, in its twisted and tumultuous way, could be intoxicatingly sweet.
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berriwritertingz · 1 month
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the summer i wrote | one
content: future smut, fluff, angst, basically all of it
pairing: milo manheim x afab!reader & ross lynch x afab!reader
summary: every summer, you travel to dahlia's beach to reunite with your mother's closest friend and her son. but this year he unexpectedly brings a friend along. caught in the gentle waves of affection and longing, you find yourself navigating uncharted waters where the boundaries of friendship blur.
notes: this is loosely based on the summer i turned pretty. i just watched the second season and lawwwd i wanted to make a ff soo bad. plus milo and ross have absolutely none anywhere.
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You loved Dahlia's beach. It always smelled salty with a hint of expensive barbeque if you were in the city. But near the countryside there was the sweet smell of honeysuckle. That's where you would rather be, where the tall grass met the sandy dunes. The sounds of hooves on pavement and bustle around the farmers market on a hot weekend afternoon.
This summer was no different. Your stomach churned, rumbling in excitement as you neared the beach house. It was huge. Five bedrooms with enough bathrooms. Too many patios surrounding it. Turquoise colored pool with a small waterfall. The house was a blueish gray color with white accents. Calm and minimalistic, much unlike the other grand colorful houses on the street. It sat like a diamond around other stones in a non normal way. The most priceless of them all. Placed directly in front of the beach but not close enough to tourist spots so it was always quiet. It was always such an amazing way to spend the three months in between school. You looked forward to it every year.
But that wasn't all you looked forward to.
Your mom honked as you guys entered the driveway. A wide smile plastered on her face. Your mom seemed to love this place more than she loved you, even if she denied it when you asked. You knew the truth. Summers at the beach house were the only time she got to see her best friend, Camryn.
"Hey!" A voice squealed from the porch. You shuffled out of the car, legs aching after a long 5 hours. As you stretched you were met with Cam, arms spread jumping for joy. Practically knocking you over. They were best friends from high school. Going to college together and even sharing a dorm room. With how they acted every time they met, you were convinced they had separation anxiety. They didn't get to see each other throughout the year. Other than here of course. For they lived states apart, Dahlia's being a quiet beach town that was located in the middle.
Camryn engulfed you in a bear hug first, gushing about how pretty you are. Making you do a spin in your dress. Once she pulled away she did the same to your mom whose high pitched voice could be heard from the beach. As they talked about how ‘different’ each other looked. You watched as they walked inside hand in hand when your eyes met his.
Milo.
He radiantly smiled as he trotted over to you. The classic hands in pockets, ruffled hair, and expensive glasses. It was like he had a glow up every year whether it was him dressing better or maybe getting a bit taller.
"Hi" He cooed embracing you in a tight hug. The smell of his overpriced cologne filled your nose. It reminded you of sugary trees and cool waves. Much like the beach house. He was another reason you loved the beach house so much. Without him you were stuck with two middle aged ladies whose celebrity crush was Liam Neeson and only watched tv shows made by Shonda Rhimes. He was fun. He never made you feel left out or alone. He was everything any girl could wish for. Tall, smart, rich, and incredibly good eye candy.
"Hello, Milo." You smiled as he let you go.
He ran a hand threw his hair looking down at you. Eyes trailing down your body strangely. His expression was unrecognizable. Your face heated up turning your head to avoid his gaze. He touched the bottom of your dress. Yanking the fabric gently.
"This is a little short isn't it?" He questioned eyes meeting yours. Lips curled up in a sly smile. Rolling your eyes you scoffed slapping his hand away. He acted like a big brother sometimes. Especially with your clothes. Every summer complaining about how short your shorts were or how revealing your bathing suit was.
"Oh shut up you do this every-" The sight of someone else on the porch caught your eye. "Who's that?" You questioned raising an eyebrow.
Milo turned around and nodded in acknowledgement as the boy made his way down the stairs. Bleached blond hair slightly overgrown and wide smile on display as he made his way towards you two.
"Y/N this is Ross, Ross Y/N. He's staying the summer with us this year." Ross reached his hand out to you. Clad in silver rings that looked a bit out of your price range. Does Milo have any Middle Class friends? It was unusual. No one ever came to the beach house from back home. It was like a unsaid rule between everyone. Written in big red letters 'No Strangers'. The dads didn't even bother coming even though Milo's paid for it.
"Nice to meet you." He looked you up and down a tongue swiping over his lips. "Milo didn't tell me how pretty you are."
"Dude!" Milo exclaimed punching his shoulder rolling his eyes.
"Thank you." You beamed softening your voice. Milo scoffed walking towards the trunk slightly bumping into Ross. But he didn't seem to mind, hazel eyes still trained on you.
"So where are you fr-" Ross was cut off by a slightly pissed off Milo. "Are you guys serious? C'mon Ross help me with these bags." Ross walked away backwards eyes still focused on you with that addicting smile of his.
"See you inside?" He whispered loud enough for you to hear him.
You didn't respond. Only nodding as you strolled inside.
a/n: soooo what do you guys think? im still trying to figure out this tumblr writing stuff im so used to just reading ive never written and posted anything on here lololol. pls be patient with me! a few tips and tricks would be greatly appreciated!!
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darilaros (princess) │ Chapter 8: Birthright
terms of endearment ‘verse: see my Masterlist for the correct series order!
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Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 │Chapter 4 │Chapter 5 │Chapter 6 │Chapter 7 │Chapter 8 (COMPLETE!)
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Synopsis: As the second daughter of King Viserys, you experience firsthand what it means to belong to the House of the Dragon. Your wish comes true.
Hello! Welcome to the FINAL CHAPTER of this instalment, another 8000+ word chapter! Everyone's long-anticipated 'claiming scene' is here, so please give a round of applause to our angryboi, the Cannibal! Keep in mind that I've officially retconned Luke and Daeron's ages (they're 8 and 9 in gevivys now, not 5 and 6 like they were originally - please let me know if I've missed any instances so far!), Thank you to my boobear @ewanmitchellcrumbs for beta-ing this thingo!
TRIGGERS: more abandonment issues, reference to pervy suitors.
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Scarcely any time passes between that eve and the arrival of Rhaenyra’s firstborn son, Jacaerys.
’Nyra’s world changes when her baby comes. She is as perfect a mother as you think any woman could be, spending nearly all the hours of the day looking at him or holding him or caring for him. Having a babe has changed her, softened her hard edges and given her a calmness she had once lacked. All she wants to talk about is him. When she is not talking about him or being with him, she is in Council meetings, or she is with Papa performing whatever tasks the heir to the Throne is expected to do. She tries to find moments to spare for you, though it is far less often than it used to be, and she always brings her boy with her.
Jace is a pretty babe, dark-haired and dark-eyed, so unlike either of his parents, and he always seems quite serious in expression—but there is something that holds you back with him. Even though you love him—and he is one half of ’Nyra, so of course you love him—it is like a wall exists between you and him. His mother is your sister, and his father is your cousin, and you… you have no place there. You are on the outside looking in at a life you cannot have.
A part of you wants to stare down at the babe and tell him that you were here first. That you will always have known his mama for longer than he ever shall, that nothing can take away the fact that she belonged to you before she belonged to him. But you don’t. ’Nyra is a new mother, and her child should be all that matters. If you were her babe, that is what you would want. She does not need the petty jealousy of her little sister to ruin things. It is better for you, for her, for him that you find other ways to fill your days.
Daeron’s birth makes it easier.
It is almost like Alicent barely even notices the arrival of her third son, though you do not blame her. She had screamed so loud that even you had heard her in your own chambers. It was not like that with Aegon or Helaena or Aemond. The commotion had been enough to rouse you from your bed to creep toward the Queen’s apartments, to hear Grand Maester Mellos tell Papa that her belly might need to be laid open like—
No. No. The throb of nausea is so vile just thinking of it. You put it out of your mind, doing your best to ignore the prickle of an old hurt and the word ‘Mama’ on the tip of your tongue, hushed and afraid.
Alicent is weak after the birth, and so you take it upon yourself to visit your new little brother, to keep him company where everyone else would have left him to attendants. He is so, so quiet, as though he is ashamed of the way he had entered the world, the way he had hurt his mother coming out. It is like he is an apology for the pain she was made to go through. He is sweet, barely crying though he goes for times without the attention he deserves, and he never fusses when you reach into the cradle to lift him up. You are not quite strong enough to carry him around places, but it is relatively easy to take him to the chair to prop him on your lap in the nursery while Helaena plays.
When Alicent heals, she makes no attempt to disturb your routine, and it is like you have your very own baby to match ’Nyra’s. Sometimes, you imagine that Daeron is yours like Jace is hers and that you are ’El’s mama too, and that you have the important task of being their whole world. Even though the idea of having babies is beginning to scare you a great deal, being a mama is nice. Playing pretend is nice.
But then, the wet nurses come or Alicent comes, and your brother and sister are taken away. It reminds you that you really are alone, after all. ’Nyra giving birth to her next son, Lucerys—Luke—only worsens that feeling. Her family is growingand growing while yours seems to only exist on borrowed moments. Still, you take what love you can and bury the rest of it—the despair, the resentment, the soft tender parts of you that cry out for someone, anyone at all to really, truly see you—far, far below the surface, so deep that no one can touch it, not even you.
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You seek solace in knowledge.
Books become your very best friends. The older you get, the easier reading becomes—you leave behind folktales and children’s myths to begin browsing through tomes with smaller letters and larger, more difficult words. Stories turn into histories and treatises on all manner of topics, with dragons, direwolves, men, and the fall of Old Valyria being but some of your preferred subjects of study. You learn the names of the Lannister kings before the Conquest; you gather as many legends on the Age of Heroes as you can; you peruse chronicles detailing the first coming of the Andals to Westerosi shores. Through books, the very land you live upon seems to unfold like a map through time itself, all the secrets of the continent opening themselves up to you through tooled leather and yellowed pages.
It makes Papa immensely proud. “If a woman is to sit the Iron Throne after I am gone,” he says, “then perhaps a woman ought to be her right hand!”
You can tell this makes his other Councilmen nervous by the way they share glances. For all that Rhaenyra has been heir for years now, there are still many among the court who believe your brother ought to succeed him. But Papa does not seem to want to change his mind, for he is as determined to see your sister continue to attend Small Council as he always has been.
Still, you take it to heart. Being Hand of the Queen someday means that you will get to stay with your sister even if you are made to be married. It means you will be important in a way that you haven’t really been so far. But a good Hand has to know so so much about all the lands and people a King or Queen might encounter during the years of their reign. You outgrew Septa’s lessons moons ago, and the more you read, the more it becomes apparent that books aren’t enough to teach you all you need to know. There is no one and nothing that can help you become the cleverest possible version of yourself in King’s Landing—at least, not one willing to do such a task. The maesters would not abide by schooling a girl in the higher arts.
Thus, you firmly decide upon the gift you would like for your name day. Standing in the King’s solar two moons before the occasion is to take place, you impart your desire to your audience of one.
“I wish for a tutor, please,” you tell Papa. “Someone who can teach me anything I wish to know.”
Papa laughs. “And what is it you wish to know, my girl?” he asks. You are unsure if he is amused or delighted by your request.
His question makes you think. What do I want to know? There is no single answer you can produce. How do you describe the feeling of wanting to know something you don’t know enough about to be sure you want to learn it?
“Anything,” is what you reply with. “Everything.”
“Anything and everything.” Papa takes a drink from his cup, his nose scrunching when the liquid inside hits his tongue. You do not think it is wine. He returns the cup to the table beside him, reaching his hand out to you. You move forward to take it. “A lofty request. But you are soon to be ten summers!” He grins. A scab at his temple cracks with the motion. “That, I think, is a milestone worthy of celebration. Very well, daughter,” he says with a grunt. “If a tutor is what you want, then a tutor we shall find.”
He stays true to his word. Not long after you make your appeal to him, all manner of strangers the Realm over make their way to King’s Landing to seek an audience with you and Papa. It is the first time you are allowed to remain by his side in the Great Hall, though it means you must balance atop a twist of melted-together swords to rest your rear against the edge of the armrest, one of the few places upon the Throne that cannot cut you should you make contact with it. Papa insists, however, for these people have gathered to seek employment with you, and so you must be the one to approve them.
There is frightfully little to approve. Several of those who come to answer Papa’s ravens ignore you wholly, their eyes sliding over you as though you are not even there. One of them, a man named Robert, outright refuses to answer your query as to what would make cyvasse lessons so appealing to a girl of your station. It is enough to put you off the game entirely. But his conduct is by no means the worst. There are younger lads who possess no more skill than the average knight’s squire, clearly hastened to the Red Keep by the promise of a lucrative wage and companionship with the King’s daughter. More than one Septon shuffles in to lecture you and Papa on the merits of providing a holy education to the female mind, sinful as it is. Even noblemen like Lord Rosby come to offer to take wardship of you, suggesting that growing up with another girl your age is more than enough learning for a Princess. You suspect his proposal has more to do with the large sum he owes over East.
You and Papa reject them all, sending them away with nary a further glance. Those who grow angered by the refusal are easily frightened off by Ser Criston’s hand coming to rest on his pommel at the foot of the steps. Since Alicent had appointed him your sworn shield some moons after Rhaenyra’s wedding, he has taken to his task with a dedication that would worry you if not for the fact that he is made to take breaks. You think that if he were allowed, he would set up a pallet beside the door to your rooms to keep constant guard over you.
Four days after your tenth name day, someone different arrives. Someone new.
“Presenting Ser Lysan Marios of… er… the Free Cities!” the guard announces.
You crane your neck in curiosity as this Ser Lysan makes his way into the hall. He is dark-skinned, light-haired, and his robes are an odd assortment of various fabrics stitched together. It appears well-made, if unusual, and the colours are bright. Reds, blues, yellows, greens, oranges—it seems as though every shade is represented in the patches making up his attire, though you note that purple is missing. Not a noble, then. The man ambles slowly inside, helped by the use of a cane.
“I am from Volantis, Your Grace,” he says when he is finally within earshot, bowing lowly. His voice is deep and rich; if a hug were to have a sound, you think this would be the closest you might come to finding it. “But I do suppose ‘of the Free Cities’ works just as well as any other epithet.”
“You have come a long way, Ser,” Papa says. He is smiling like he always does when these visits begin. You wonder how long it will take for it to fade this time. “You are welcome here in King’s Landing.”
Ser Lysan laughs. “I certainly feel welcome! Such pleasant people you have here, Your Grace. Not a single one has attempted to steal my books thus far—and I confess I have brought plenty!”
This is what spurs you to finally speak up. “Books?” you ask. “What kind?”
When his eyes meet yours, it is like they twinkle, like stars. His mouth widens, exposing pearl-white teeth. “And this must be the young Princess to whom I would be most glad to embark upon the journey of erudition with! Salutations to you, Your Highness!”
He bows again, attempting to cast his arm wide in a flourish—but it appears he had forgotten he was carrying one of his aforementioned books in hand, for it promptly clatters to the floor when he flings his hand out. You giggle, charmed. You cannot help it. He seems so kindly.
“Oh! Oh dear,” he mutters, crouching to the ground to collect his quarry. “My apologies, Your Grace, Your Highness. Oh dear…”
Ser Criston darts forward as if to help, but the man has already taken hold of his prized tome by the time he is close enough.
“Ah—might I ask what areas you are learned in, Ser Lysan?” Papa asks, clearing his throat. His brow has furrowed ever-so-slightly, which means he finds the man before him a little confusing. It is more than a little funny. “My daughter has yet to decide upon an avenue of study.”
The embarrassment slides straight off Ser Lysan’s face. It is as though a bolt of lightning courses through him, such is the sudden shift of his expression into one of sparking joy. “Oh! What am I not a scholar of? I have studied in the physicians’ arts with the Healer’s Guild of Lorath; I have attended the great histories of Westeros and Essos with the esteemed intellectuals of Braavos; I have amassed a more-than-considerable lexicon of tongues across the known world—”
For a reason unknown to you, this piques your interest. “Languages? You know different languages?”
He nods. “Oh, yes! I am quite proficient in your ancestral tongue, Princess. Valyrio Eglio udrir jaehenka issa.” High Valyrian is the language of the godly. He winks. “I am also well-versed in the Eastern dialects of Valyrian, though admittedly they have not the lyricism of their originator. But I must confess, it is my particular interest to devote my academic prowess to the Lekh Dothraki, the tongue of those who ride.”
Papa’s knee twitches beside you. “The Dothraki? How have you come to make dealings with them?”
Ser Lysan waves him off. “Oh, I would not profess to be so grand as to make dealings with the horse-riders of the East! Ah, but mine wife was a Dothraki woman, who gave herself to me in payment for preventing a Volantene herbalist from poisoning her brother. A strange and alarming custom, I once thought. She was the most marvellous of creatures.” He sighs. For a moment, he is silent—then he jerks nearly full-bodied, as though he is awakening from some reverie. “The Dothraki are a misunderstood civilisation, Your Grace,” he says to Papa. “It is my hope that, in time, I am able to repay my wife’s goodness and bring knowledge to those who are ignorant of their ways.”
“I see,” Papa says. He coughs awkwardly. I don’t think he has ever met someone so inclined to talking, you muse. “And… what of your wife now? I had thought the Dothraki were opposed to crossing the sea.”
“They are.” Ser Lysan’s expression becomes shadowed, drawn. “It is my great sorrow that she has passed on to the nightlands, to roam the skies among the starry khalasar of her people.”
“My condolences.” This sounds more genuine; you know that Papa too still mourns your mother, even though he has Alicent now.
“My gratitude, Your Grace. But”—at this, he lightens, forcing a smile to his face once more—“that is not what I have come to discuss, is it?” He turns to you. “My apologies, Princess! If I am so fortunate as to be deemed worthy by you, you may well find such tangents a price to pay for the lessons I have to impart. I am not well known for brevity, I am afraid.”
He’s the one. He’s my tutor. You know it. The way he speaks so happily about all the things he has learned; the way he cares so much about showing that some people are not always what everyone else thinks of them; the way he talks to you as though you are a person rather than just a means of earning coin or living in a palace. You want to know what it is like to be surrounded by that happiness, to spend your days learning from a person such as he rather than continue to quail under the yoke of Septa Marlow.
You readjust to curl into Papa, to lean forward and whisper into the shell of his ear. “I like Ser Lysan, Papa.”
“You do?” He exhales, a long-suffering sigh of resignation. His stare narrows at you as though irritated, though it slowly morphs into a grudging sort of smile. “Naturally.” If he were ’Nyra, he would be rolling his eyes by now. To Ser Lysan, he projects his voice far louder and says, “It appears my daughter has no taste for brevity, Ser. If you wish to take up this post, we would be… honoured… to accommodate you.”
Ser Lysan’s brows raise in surprise. “Oh! No, Your Grace! The honour is mine!” He bows a third time, and it really ought to be excessive, but you cannot help how amiable you find him. “I pray I will not disappoint you, Princess.”
“I am very glad to meet you, Ser Lysan,” you say, fighting the urge to leave Papa’s side and go forth to follow the man before you wherever he might go, to let yourself be enthralled by his tales and his rambling, half-formed thoughts. “I hope we shall have a very good time together.”
You are not to know it at this precise moment—but you will.
“We have made our introductions, Princess, and I have learned the lay of the land as best I can, so to speak.”
Ser Lysan is settled in the chair opposite you, having just completed his surveyance of the room around him. You have been granted a solar for the very first time, a whole new chamber to fill with the tools necessary to begin your education. It is empty for now, though the bare necessities are present—namely, the considerable size of the bookshelves just waiting for their occupants to rest safely upon their surfaces. These will, in time, be filled by both your own and your tutor’s collections, or so he has assured you.
The crinkle of a page rouses you from your thoughts. Ser Lysan has unrolled a scroll of parchment, the nib of his quill already inked and prepared for some unknown purpose. He stares assessingly at you.
“What is it you wish to know?” he asks, hand poised to write.
It blurts out of you before you can think to stop it. “You can only be called ‘Ser’ if you are a knight, but you have said you are a scholar. How is it that you have come to be called ‘Ser’, then?”
You wince. Your question is far ruder than you had intended it to be. Thankfully, Septa is not here—she has begun spending more time with Helaena as of late. She would surely have reprimanded you. The query only serves to make the man smile indulgently at you, though. He lays the quill to the side upon his blotting paper. The ink pools dark across the fibres.
“If you must know, Princess… I was a soldier in the Battle of the Borderland. The triarchs sent us in to attempt to wrest control of the Disputed Lands from Lys, Tyrosh and Myr. They were once under Volantene rule, did you know?”
Ser Lysan gazes at a spot on the wall just past you, and it is like he is seeing something altogether different. Something from another time and place.
“At first, we were sure of victory. Volantis has long held dominion in the East for a reason, after all. Our armies were larger; our armour finer; our steel sharper. But then…” He sighs. “Those cities joined forces. Formed the Triarchy. No one saw it coming. We ought to have. Such is hindsight, is it not? We understand now the things we missed then.”
Ser Criston shifts by the door, clearly uncomfortable. You wonder when he will interrupt, when he will instruct Ser Lysan not to tell you such dark-natured stories. You can only hope it will not turn violent.
“One morn—the sun had barely risen—our garrison was set upon by the Triarchy’s forces,” the man continues. “It was… carnage. So few of us survived. Of those of us that did, even fewer still were able to stand. The alliance’s warriors enjoyed leaving a rather particular token behind on the battlefield, as we were to learn. Severed legs are quite effective deterrents, it turns out.”
“That’s enough,” Ser Criston barks, face set in a glare. Secretly, you are glad for the interruption. The tale had grown far too frightening for you.
“My apologies!” Ser Lysan says, coughing lightly. “I forget myself sometimes. To answer your question, Princess—I was able to make my way back to the main encampment, to warn the commanders just in time for our troops to pull back from the region. Many a life was lost; but thousands more were saved that day. I was knighted in the field.” A wan smile curves his lips. “That is where my title of ‘Ser’ comes from.”
“Thank you for telling me,” you say. “I… I am sure it is not a pleasant memory. I am sorry.”
“It is quite alright. I became stronger for it. I learned that if I wish to survive, I must fight for it with everything I have in me. The fires of adversity strengthen the spirit.” He pauses, eyes locked onto your own. They are dark, almost black, like all the light in the world has been quenched. “Let this be my first lesson unto you—if you want something, you must do whatever is in your power to achieve it.”
Silence lingers for one moment; two; three. All of a sudden, he is cheerful again, shuffling his papers like nothing of import has occurred. You share an uncertain look with Ser Criston, who looks positively bewildered by the shift. Ser Lysan is an eccentric man, you decide. This is no bad thing.
“Back to my previous question, Princess.” Ser Lysan picks up his quill once more, dipping it in the inkwell and tapping it against the rim to return the excess to the bottle. “I am knowledgeable in a great deal about the world in which we live. What is it that you would have me instruct you in? Histories, statecraft, linguistics?”
Before you is a man who has lived. He has come from a strange land bearing a strange name, learned in all manner of strange subjects. He fought for Volantis. His wife was a Dothraki woman. He bears the title ‘Ser’ and yet wears a patchwork robe. What you know of him is bleak and terrifying, and yet here he sits before you, as jovial as a young man in his cups. There is a steady peace to him despite all he has seen, all he has likely experienced.
How has he come to be so merry? You think about the manner in which he’d brightened at the talk of his learning. Could one achieve such simple tranquillity through knowledge alone? Can books, can foreign tongues and foreign disciplines empower you with that sense of fulfilment you crave, that sense of belonging you have felt absent all your life?
You want dearly to discover the answer. It is this that permits you to finally settle upon your response to him.
“Anything,” you breathe. “Everything.”
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You are not as brave as your sister. She is able to stand face to face against even the staunchest of her detractors—as of late, this being your very own lady stepmother, determined to discover what she believes to be ‘the truth’ of Jacaerys’s parentage, for a boy so dark of hair cannot possibly be Laenor’s, by her reckoning—without so much as a quiver in her lip. She can endure shouting, the strike of a switch, the endless train of whispers that seep through every crack in the walls of the Keep with barely a pause in her breath to mark the ignominy of it. She can laugh in the face of humiliation and continue on her way with her head held high and some cutting remark poised on the tip of her tongue like a steel barb waiting to meet its target. These are not things you are capable of. But then, you are only a girl; younger than Rhaenyra was when she was made heir.
Yet old enough to finally—finally—claim your own dragon.
It had taken you years to wear down Papa, the scar on your arm serving as a perpetual reminder of the dangers that lie ahead in seeking out your birthright. Whenever you had made the request—“oh, please, Papa! I swear that I am ready!”—he had only to look upon the mark bisecting your flesh before his eyes hardened, the musculature of his neck clenched and poised to shake in refusal.
Once, his rejection had been sufficient to prevent your asking for several moons’ turns at the least; but Ser Lysan has been of great influence in his two years serving as your teacher, your companion, and your dear friend. If you want something, you must do whatever is in your power to achieve it. These words have remained as carvings in stone within your mind since that very first meeting. It is not within your power to unleash fire and fury the way your sister might—but you have come to learn that such a thing was never in your power. Your strength lay in other qualities. Your courtesy. Your placidity. Your modesty. These are strengths in their own way.
You had continued to ask. Over time, the nature of your appeals changed from churlish, infantile insistence to restrained, unaffected enquiry. Upon rebuff, you had smiled and said, “Very well, Papa. Thank you for listening.” You had repeated this same tactic over and over, sennight after sennight, until, at last, Papa had been worn down to his bones from weariness.
“You’ll not let up, will you, my girl?” he had asked, utterly fed up.
Instead of responding, you had simply maintained your carefully blank gaze, prepared to don your quiet acceptance like armour when his denial should strike. He had sighed; rubbed his eyes. The pull of his skin had cracked open another fissure in the lines of his face, red slowly beading up to the surface.
“Fine!” he had finally exclaimed, his hand thumping down upon the table so hard that you had wondered at his not feeling it. This was before the maesters agreed to remove it from his person, and so the flesh was mottled grey and black from rot. “Do as you will, daughter. Far be it from me to dissuade you.”
Thus, the ravens had been sent to the Dragonkeepers residing on the ancestral isle of House Targaryen; the ship had been made ready; your retinue arranged; and you had been sent off on your first great journey.
The moment you step foot upon the shore in the low light of early evening, you hear it. You feel it. Like a rattling in the core of your bones, or an unearthly siren song catching faintly on the wind. It is not a sound, though, nor a sensation that you can describe in any language you know. All that you are sure of is that there is something here, something… expecting you.
Come, it says. I am waiting.
The Keepers linger past the shoreline, scarcely a stone’s throw away. “Urnēbās, darilaros!” one says, eyes darting nervously about. Be watchful, Princess! ���Va īlō Zōbrios issa.” The Dark One is near.
“The Dark One?” you ask, frowning. “Who is that?”
Septa Marlow’s face pales so starkly that she looks like she has applied paints to her skin. She seems entirely distasteful of the island itself, a curl to her lip that she only gets when seeing or hearing something she does not like. Meanwhile, Ser Criston’s fist tightens on the grip of his sheathed sword. He too glances around, tracking the skies like a shadowy shape will make its appearance at any moment. He seems familiar with the name.
It must be a dragon, you think. Very few living creatures reside upon the island, save for those that had been introduced by your blood long ago. Dragons are the only wild things that can weather such inhospitable climes.
The Keeper leans in. “The Cannibal.” He shivers. “He is most wroth as of late. Beware of the beaches—too many of our Order have been lost to his appetites.”
The Cannibal. It is a story you have heard only when one had sought to frighten you—that of a winged beast so monstrous that not even his own kind would endure him. A creature so malevolent that he found his joy through death and destruction, ripping apart the younger members of his species so thoroughly that, at times, it was as though blood rained down from the heavens. The Cannibal, a being so malignant that any man who attempted to ride him had vanished cleanly from the face of the earth, consumed whole or left to rot away in some deep, dank pit below the mountainous terrain.
And yet—for all his supposed cruelties—no cities, no villages, no lands have been brought to waste beneath his flames. It is the one part of those tales that had never made sense to you. If he were as awful as that, surely there would be no one and nothing safe from him?
“Let us not waste our time, then,” Ser Criston says firmly, hand pressed between your shoulders to spur you onward. The weight of it grounds you in the present. He turns to bark orders at the attendants making their way ashore. “To the Keep!”
You are taken past the Great Hall, catching a glimpse of the Painted Table on your way to a smaller chamber. You know the name of Aegon I’s table is not quite correct; that it is made mostly of wood and rock, and that the rock itself is what Ser Lysan has told you is thermoluminescent, ‘thermo’ meaning heat and ‘luminescent’ meaning light. The table glows like lava when you ignite the candles below it, casting the great map of Westeros into fire. You should very much like to see it. But this visit is not to take in the sights of your family’s seat.
Much to the Keepers’ confusion and consternation, you reject the offer to examine the eggs they have concealed within the hatchery. Or rather, you feel that the eggs would reject you if you should try to seek your companion in one. It is difficult to explain even in your own mind, so you make no attempt at voicing these thoughts—these almost-whispers at the back of your mind, like a soft brush of fingers at the base of your skull.
Septa Marlow huffs her displeasure. “This is most unbecoming of you, Princess. You ought to know better than to refuse a gift such as this.”
‘They are not for me,’ you want to say. ‘The thought of them does not rouse me.’
You know not why you feel certain of this—that the mere prospect should stir you beyond simple anticipation. But it is as though you have always known this, for you do not find yourself disappointed by the missed opportunity nor by the censure.
A faint recollection sparks from your earliest youth, an old fear of what should occur if an egg comes into your possession and refuses to hatch, turning to stone over years and years. You do not wish for such a future. No; it is for the best that the eggs are left for another. Another time, another day, another person. Perhaps when it comes time to have your own children, you will revisit the notion.
To make matters even more complicated, however, there are no hatchlings upon the isle. It is what you had counted on all this time, but it seems that this is not to be, either.
“Zōbrios pōnte iprattas,” Acolyte Zūgis tells you, wringing his hands for good measure. The Dark One ate them all.
What a nervous man, you think. Since meeting him on the beach, he has been continuously anxious, ready to jump clear out of his skin at the slightest disturbance. You wonder if his path is best suited to Dragonkeeping if he is so afraid of it.
“Pōntālosa sikagon kostis, yn jēdraro toliot dorolviktys se dorolviktys sittaksi.” His mouth twists. Sometimes they hatch by themselves… but that has become rarer and rarer over the years. Your stomach twists at this. There was once a time where dragons hatched aplenty upon the isle. No more, it seems. “Vermithor dārligon kostā, darilaros. Yn uēpys issa se zaldrīzāeksio bōso jēdo syt mijetas. Qopsa kessa, se avy hinikilāks.”
You can try to claim Vermithor, Princess, he concludes. But he is old and has long since been without a rider. It will be difficult, and dangerous.
Neither Septa Marlow nor Ser Criston understand High Valyrian—but the name Vermithor agitates them nonetheless.
“A dragon of such size and stature is not appropriate for a well-bred lady,” Septa exclaims, fingers like claws clasped together before her. “What of Silverwing? Good Queen Alysanne’s mount? Does it not reside here? ‘Tis far more suitable beast.”
The Keeper shakes his head. “We believe Silverwing is gravid. She has shown much aggression as of late. The last of us to attempt approach…” The silence that hangs at the end of the sentence leaves no mistaking his meaning. He clears his throat. “Well. It is far too perilous at present. Vermithor is the Princess’s best option.”
“The Princess is a child,” Ser Criston says, expression flat and eyes flinty. “Vermithor is a dragon of war. I am sorry, Princess”—he kneels before you, angling his head up so he can look directly at you, and one hand folds around your elbow—“but I cannot let you risk yourself so.”
You know what you are being told, albeit in a roundabout way. The despair renders you mute. What am I to do? What am I to do? You nod, an agreement to your sworn shield’s words, though your heart is scarcely in it.
“Perhaps on the morrow,” the Keeper says, “we may… reattempt with the eggs, then. We have several, though they have been kept for some years now.”
Ser Criston makes his agreements to Acolyte Zūgis, entering into discussion with him and Septa Marlow as to the following day’s schedule. None of them so much as turn their faces to include you, despite the fact that you are central to their plans.
While they talk, another thought comes to mind. You wonder why none have so much as dared to broach another possibility—that there are three wild dragons upon the isle. Silverwing and Vermithor are not your only options.
Sleep is hard to come by, that same, pulsing sensation tingling through your limbs and keeping you awake.
Come, it seems to say. I am waiting.
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You rise before the sun comes up. Septa Marlow is likely to be awake at this time, but she will not venture your way until the skies are bathed in light. Ser Criston does not begin his shift until an hour after you rise; his replacement is usually whomever can be spared.
It is even easier than usual to make your escape.
Dragonstone is an old fortress, and so there are a great many secret passages winding between rooms. You need only to check behind the tapestry along the inner wall to determine that an opening has been concealed. Brandishing the candle from your bedside, you slip into the looming maw that awaits.
Inside, it smells of damp and salt, and you can hear a faint, steady drip. It continues no matter which direction your feet take you, and you feel your breath stream from your mouth and nose in a cloud of warmth that gives the skin of your face and neck momentary respite from the wintry chill. The walls are rough-hewn, made for function rather than appeal, so you are careful where you place your hands.
Because you are so unfamiliar with the layout, you wander for what seems an age before you finally surface upon the outdoors, a dim glow emanating from between metal grates at the end of a dark tunnel. The hinges squeak shrilly as you push them open, shutting behind you with a clang. Your slippered feet sink into the sand upon the beach.
You do not know where you are headed—to find Vermithor or Silverwing, to find one of the wild ones, or simply to wander. All you know is that one of them is calling to you through the magic of old, the magic that ’Nyra and Papa have always said lives in the blood of the Targaryen line. It is how Papa knew that he was destined to be Balerion’s last rider. It is how ’Nyra found the courage to mount Syrax when she was so young. You feel it now, singing in your blood as it has since you crossed into the shallows surrounding the island.
Come and find me, it says. I am waiting.
You trudge along the beach, allowing the sand to sink into the opening of your shoes, to fill the small spaces between shoe and skin with stinging grit that collects between your toes and rubs to rawness. The wind whips at your hair and your robe—you did not bother to change from your evening wear—and the sound of the waves crash like thunder.
You walk. And, as you walk, you wait for the purpose to reveal itself, a part of you hoping that whomever you are meant to claim will find you.
You ought to be more careful of what you wish.
A dark shape swoops across the sky above you, casting you even further into shadow, and you hear the rumble of something powerful. The beat of its wings is great enough to be heard from a distance, you think, and stirs up the sand before you into a cloud of dirt and dust. The beast growls, deep and terrifying, raising the hairs on the back of your neck.
It lands ahead.
Oh, no. Oh, no.
The Cannibal.
He is enormous, far greater in size than Syrax, than Caraxes, than any dragon you have ever seen or read about. His scales are black—no—blacker than black, the complete absence of colour or brightness, and each muscle honed from years upon years of eking out his existence ripple below the skin. His lips peel back, exposing at least two rows of sharp, jagged teeth. Perfect for tearing me to bits, your mind supplies in your panic. His stocky frame hunches low, claws sunk into the sand, as though poised to attack, and he hisses, a rattling threat that fills you with the urge to run.
His eyes glow green. You feel it again.
Come. I am waiting.
What is it Ser Lysan said, again? If you want something, you must do whatever is in your power to achieve it.
Come. I am waiting.
It may be courage, it may be madness, but you are moving onward before you realise it. The dragon hisses again as you approach, and any moment you expect to be bathed in dragonfire or snapped up in his almighty jaws, but your footsteps remain as rapid as your heartbeat.
The attack does not come. The fire does not come.
Something more is at play here. You may only be twelve summers, but this you know. A dragon as fierce as the Cannibal would never let a person so close as this under ordinary circumstances. Old magic thrums through the air, a tether forming between you and the form ahead. A bond. A claim.
You reach out a hand. Skin to scale. Heat that ought to burn courses through you, but you are safe. You feel his pulse, your pulse, pounding through dermis, reforming your own to match.
Your eyes well. “Gierior glaeson ñuhon avy rhaenagon jumptan,” you whisper. I have waited my whole life to meet you. In the rumble he releases, you think he must believe the same of you.
Dressed only in your nightgown, you make the climb up his wing. He lets you, chuffing irritably as you seek out the correct handholds and footholds to make your way up. It is entirely different from mounting Caraxes; this dragon is much, much larger, and so you are forced to actively coordinate your movements to ascend the perilous terrain. Still, there is enough of memory remaining to you of that day, years ago, that you can draw some reference from. You rely on those recollections to hoist yourself up. Finally, you are able to settle somewhat awkwardly between the blunted spikes below his neck.
From far off, you can hear faint voices. Atop the crest of the Cannibal’s shoulder, you look to the horizon. The sun has risen. The world is awake, which means that Ser Criston and Septa Marlow will be leading the search for their wayward princess.
It startles the dragon. Before you are ready—before you would even have dared to tell him to fly—he shifts, growling so deep that the vibrations buzz through your legs, your toes. You jostle where you have perched, gripping frantically to the spike in front of you as he sets off on a crawl that morphs to a run, building momentum to flap his wings up and up and up—
“Princess!” echoes through the breeze as you rise. Below, you see the forms of the guards, of Ser Criston, of Septa, growing smaller and smaller as the dragon—your dragon—takes to the air.
You keep hold of the Cannibal’s spike as he soars through the skies, letting the wind billow your hair about. It is both the same and so, so very different from your first flight. It is freezing up here, for one thing, and you can discern no sound but that of the air whistling so stridently in your ears that it is like a shriek, and the dragon below you is warm enough to keep the worst of the chill at bay. Your belly swoops and twists with each wingbeat, the momentum rocking you forward every time, but none of the discomfort is enough to tamp down the sheer exhilaration.
The Cannibal turns, revolving away from the distant line where sky and sea meet toward the island again. The change in direction gives you a momentary reprieve from the rush of air hindering all noise, and you hear something else.
Beneath your legs, beneath your skin, you feel it as the Cannibal bellows to the world, a roar that pierces the still of morning and announces to all that his wait is over. That he has claimed his rider, that you have claimed your mount—that you have done what no one else has been able to and emerged victorious.
That feeling—the one that has plagued you—has changed, you realise. You have found me, it seems to say.
Yes, you think, turning your head to admire the expanse of this creature, this being who is and was always meant to be yours. I have.
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When you land, Ser Criston and Septa Marlow nearly shake you from your body with the force of their panic, their vexation, their “You do not ever run off like that, do you hear me, Princess?” and their “Just wait until your father hears of this!” They try to dissuade you from your course, but the Keepers wring their hands and mutter that the deed has been done; there is no unbinding what has been bound by the magic of old.
Still, their refrain is just as shocked, just as bewildered. “The Cannibal, Princess,” they say, shaking their heads. “The Cannibal…”
“No,” you reply. “His name is Athfiezar.”
Dothraki is fairly new to you, ‘tis true, for Ser Lysan did not agree to teach you until well into your acquaintance. And there is a certain irony in the choice; many a person will surely raise their brows in question of your use of such a savage tongue, which is rather best suited for a dragon of his reputation. But the word—the name, for he has long gone without one, and it seems only right that he should have something of his own, free of the censure of old—seems apt enough. Love. That pure, uncorrupted kind, the kind you think you have been searching for your whole life, the kind you find in small moments that are never, ever enough for the gaping maw that is your heart awaiting someone to fill it. You just know the Cannibal—Athfiezar—is a creature with a soul like yours. How long has he gone without love?
Never again, you think. Not with me.
You hold onto that thought as Papa rails at you upon seeing the hulking behemoth touch upon the top of the Dragonpit, heralding your return to King’s Landing.
“You could have died! What in the blazes were you thinking, girl?” he yells.
He has never yelled at you before, and perhaps you might have cried once, but you keep firm to the memory of Athfiezar’s eyes upon yours, the life palpitating through his immense form into yours like some sort of cycle, elemental, mysterious. No matter what Papa says, no matter how he says it, it is as the Keepers said. The deed is done.
The news spreads like wildfire, bringing with it a most unwelcome attention. For much of your life, you had been largely ignored by court and commons—now, with having claimed such a dragon for your own, many a considering eye falls upon you. Their thoughts are louder than if they spoke them: perhaps we have gotten the wrong measure of this one. Perhaps she is worth more notice than we had given her. Invitations to tea come to your door with a regularity that is almost predictable; and, maybe worse, many an enquiring lord approaches Papa with the pivotal question upon their lips: “When is she to be wed, Your Grace?”
Your mother was wed at eleven—it is not impossible that you should be given to some man to settle a treaty or forge an alliance in due course. It is your duty as Princess, after all. One day, yes; but not now. Besides, all they truly desire is the power you have suddenly amassed. They do not want you.
You retreat into yourself, using all the courtesies Septa had imbued into you like plate steel to shield yourself from the worst of it. Save for your two freedoms—your Ser Lysan and your boy, Athfiezar—you commit to being the most polite, the most recalcitrant, the most dull creature you can be. You help ’Nyra with her boys where you can, for a useful girl is best kept than discarded, and your sister is the heir which means her rule will someday be law. You take on two ladies, noblewomen from Houses in the Reach, in accordance with your stepmother’s wishes. You try your very best to devote time to each, spreading yourself between what is rapidly developing into entirely separate factions in the Keep—the Princess and the Queen, the Blacks and the Greens, or so they are called. Such silly names, you think. And, over time, it all becomes less performative and more intrinsic. Your propriety is your defence, and you use it well.
But it will not last forever. One day—one day soon—you will be called in by Papa. You will be told that your life is no longer to be your own, but passed on into the care of a man you will call husband. You will be asked to choose he who will be your master, he who will use your womb to give his House sons and daughters of royal blood, and you will be expected to be glad for the opportunity to make the decision, that it was not taken out of your hands entirely.
You wait for the day, spending what evening hours you can in the Sept entreating the gods for their intercession. Please, you think, on your knees before an effigy of the Maiden. Please. Deliver to me a husband who will love me as I am.
You wait, you hold your breath, and you pray.
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“The claiming of the Cannibal came as a great shock to the Realm, not least because of she who had claimed him. King Viserys’s younger daughter by his late Queen Aemma Arryn was by all accounts a diffident, well-mannered girl most unlike her elder sister… Several parties were of the view that the Princess ought to be wed quickly to keep her mighty mount out of the hands of those considered less than desirable. However, it was not until the year of 126 A.C. that the King finally consented to the courtship of the girl, with many a man seeking her hand. Of those suitors, only three were truly deemed worthy—Lord Jason of House Lannister, Lord Denys of House Tyrell, and the Princess’s own half-brother, the Prince Aegon.”
- 'Fire & Blood, Being a History of the Targaryen Kings of Westeros' by Archmaester Gyldayn
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theemporium · 8 months
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Hello! Could I request Daniel and Sunshine meeting the parents/family? And this could be pre-relationship or what you feel like doing. But I would love to see how Daniels parents “react” I guess. I feel like Daniel has to be gushing over sunshine even before the the relationship and I can totally see his parents giving him side eyes like when you going to do something about this bud??
thank you for requesting!🖤
.
It shouldn’t have surprised you that Daniel’s parents would be in the paddock, it was the Australian Grand Prix after all.
What surprised you was that they seemed to know who you were before you even had a chance to introduce yourself, before you even clocked who they were. 
The Friday had been chaotic and you had been racing back and forth from the motorhome and the garage, always carrying a massive stack of papers with you wherever you were going. It was only the third race of the season and every piece of data you could collect for the car was valuable. 
You were barely paying attention when you made your way into the motorhome, desperate to grab a quick bite to eat before you joined your colleagues in the garage to look over the statistics from the second free practice session. You had your head down, frowning at some email you were reading over when you heard a voice speak up. 
“You must be Sunshine!” 
You blinked, caught by surprise. It was an Australian accent but not the one you were used to saying the nickname. You lifted your head, turning to find a woman smiling at you, looking at you as though this wasn’t the first time you had ever seen her in your life. 
“I’m sorry, do I know you?” you asked, trying not to bristle at the use of the nickname. You weren’t defensive about it or anything, but it almost felt wrong to hear it coming from anybody but Daniel’s mouth.
Speak of the devil, and he will appear. 
“Sunshine!” Your head instantly snapped around to find Daniel entering the motorhome, his race suit tied around his waist and his curls a mess, undoubtedly because of his balaclava and helmet. But it didn’t stop him from grinning as he approached you, throwing his arm over your shoulder. “I see you’ve met my parents.”
“Your—” you paused, your cheeks burning in embarrassment as you turned to the couple, a sheepish expression on your face. “I am so sorry, Mr and Mrs Ricciardo, I didn’t—” 
But his mother, Grace, only smiled and waved you off. It hit you then just how similar she looked to her son. “Don’t apologise, sweetheart, we aren’t foolish enough to imagine Danny talks about us to you half as much as he talks about you to us.”
Your brows raised in surprise as you turned to look at Daniel, but he was sending his mother a pointed look and trying to ignore the blush growing on his cheeks. “You talk about me?”
“Maybe,” Daniel answered vaguely.
But his father, Joe, just snorted in response. “He doesn’t shut up about you.”
“Dad,” Daniel grumbled, his arm tightening around you. “Shouldn’t you two be in the garage?” 
“Shouldn’t you be in the car?” Grace retorted.
“Touche,” he murmured before clearing his throat. “Anyways, I need my Sunshine for something so if you don’t mind—” 
And before his parents could even say anything, Daniel was dragging you away from his parents who were only snickering in response. You looked up at Daniel, his arm still wrapped around your shoulders and his blush still evident on his face. 
“You boast about me, Ricciardo?” you teased, poking his side.
Daniel grinned. “Of course I do, sunshine, what’s there not to boast about?”
You flushed. “But to your parents?”
“I would boast to the whole world how brilliant you are if I was able to,” he replied simply and you found yourself far too flustered to even come up with a response as you let him guide you through the paddock.
.
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alexa-fika · 3 months
Note
Hi again I loved the dad mihawk fics 🐼💕
But is it possible to write a dad law story in which he becomes afraid when his son becomes ill because it is the same illness he had as a child?
( Am still not good at English 🏃‍♀️)
A/N: Hello 🐼 (is that your anon name?) Hopefully this is somewhat what you were looking for, not as wholesome and lighthearted as my other pieces, but hopefully it still hits the feels!
Dividers by @/saradika
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Breaking the cycle (Law xchild! reader)
He sighs at the sound of knocking on his room.
“Come in.”
He lifts an eyebrow when he hears what sounds like slamming against the door, the sound becoming clear when the door opens his child hanging from the door’s handle.
He sighs 
“What are you doing?”
“I couldn’t reach the handle,” they said, dropping down.
He sighs again, gesturing for the child to come close.
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t feel very good, Dad.”
“What do you mean?” he asks, concerned at the sudden statement.
 “Are you sick?”
They shrug, walking closer to their dad.
“My Body hurts.”
The concern on his face grows as he takes his child seriously.
“Your entire body? All of it?”
They nod, 
“Just a little bit, though,” they said, going around the desk to face him.
He picks up his child, cradling them in his arms as he looks them over, feeling around for any sign of sickness. 
“How long has this been happening? All day? Or only just now?”
“Since the last island we stopped in.”
“For that long, and you’re only just telling me now?”
“Room”
“It barely hurt before,” they say, watching their dad grab their sword to scan them.
“I see…”
“Scan”
He stands up, holding his child, scanning their body for any signs of illness using his sword, being thorough in his movements.
His eyes widen in horror once he spots what’s wrong.
“Reader-ya, listen to me, this is really important. On the last island, did you go through any white pashes? Snow White flower?”
“Yeah… there was this pretty field of white flowers near a mine; even the dirt was white! I got this flower from there,” they say, pointing to a flower tucked in their ear.
He looks at his child again, feeling that same rush of horror as before
He quickly grabs the flower and shambles it out of the submarine into the deep sea.
“Reader-ya, do not ever touch those again!” he growls.
They flinch at their father’s sudden anger.
“I -Im sorry!”
“No, it’s not your fault,” he corrects himself, his voice softening in response.
“Listen, that flower had Amber Lead, it can and has caused Amber Lead disease when exposed to your skin.”
“Amber Lead Disease?”
“Yes, it’s a very dangerous disease that is found on some of the most isolated islands in the Grand Line.”
“And it seems you have contracted it.”
He says standing up and gently placing them on the examining table.
He sighs at the look on Reader’s Face.
“I’m sorry for screaming at you; this condition just brings bad memories,” he says gently working to remove what had been infected by the amber lead.
“I’m sorry”
He looks up from his work, meeting his child’s gaze; he sighs deeply as he sees tears on Reader’s face.
“Don’t be, you didn’t know,” he says again, his voice a bit calmer as he holds Reader close.
“Is this why grandma, grandpa, and auntie are gone?”
His eyes harden when he hears the question, his hand clenching the table as he closes his eyes in response.
“Yes….”
The words escape his lips in a soft mumble, something clearly weighing upon his heart.
He opens his eyes again, feeling the pain of his heart again.
“But you will be okay,” he said, picking them up.
“Are you okay?” Reader questions
“I will be. I won’t let anyone else die, not anymore,” he said, cradling his child close.
Reader smiles, nuzzling into him.
“I’m okay because Dad is the best doctor!”
His face growing a red hue, feeling a sudden lump in his throat at the sudden praise.
“Thank you.”
He chuckles, rubbing Reader’s hair with his free hand.
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Idk, more grim than im used to, but I tried to end it wholesome, cause my heart can't take angst especially angst with no comfort
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addsalwayssick · 3 months
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Sirius walked into work that morning with a smile on his face. He was an intern for a company a man named Lyall Lupin owned for wolf rehabilitation. “Ah, Hello Sirius!” He said, jolly.
“Hi Mr. Lupin!” He smiled.
Lyall spun around from his chair, turning to face him. “So I was thinking you would be absolutely grand for my daughter!”
Sirius laughed awkwardly. “Sorry, I’m gay.”
Lyall’s face brightened even more. “Come to think of it, you wouldn’t just be grand for my son, you’d be perfect for him!”
Sirius smiled politely. “Yeah sure.”
The next morning, he came in with another smile. “Hello, Sirius!” Lyall’s voice rang out.
“Hey Mr. Lupin.” He said.
Lyall took of his reading glasses to look at Sirius. “You know, my son has a pair of these.”
Sirius still smiled, but he was groaning internally. “That’s nice.”
Lyall hummed. “Yes, quite. He’s always reading.”
Sirius just thought, that maybe he’d have to go on one date and say that they weren’t right for each other and Lyall would be happy.
Lyall looked him up and down. “He has quite a different style than you. He wears sweaters a lot. Like his grandfather wore them before.” Lyall laughed at his own joke.
Sirius politely laughed along, already dreading the date Lyall was bound to set them on.
A few days pass, and Sirius comes in with a smile on every one of them. He walks in around a week later from his last interaction with a smile. It drops when he hears a second voice in the closed office door. It was deep, and he wasn’t going to lie, madly attractive.
“Nope.” The voice said.
“You havent even met him!” Lyall argued.
“I don’t need to, I-“
Sirius knocked on the door, just to hear Lyall say “Come in, Sirius!”
Sirius walked in with his bag, looking immediately to the man that must have the other voice.
He was tall. Like tall. He had chestnut colored hair, hazel eyes, and was wearing a grandpa sweaters. He had scars running along his face.
But Sirius could not deny, he was extremely handsome.
Lyall cleared his throat. “Remus, this is Sirius, Sirius, this is Remus.
Remus stepped forwards and held out his hand for Sirius to shake.
It enveloped Sirius’s hand by quite a bit.
“I’ve got a dinner reservation for you guys at 6 tonight.” Lyall told them.
They both turned to look at him. “What?” Remus asked.
“Just one!”
__________
Sirius walked into work with a smile. He walked out of work with a smile. He walked inside his house with a smile. He jumped on Remus with a smile.
“Hey love, how was work?” Remus asked in all of his reading glasses, grandpa sweater, book in hand glory.
“Good. I missed you.” Sirius said, nuzzling his way into cuddling Remus’s chest.
“I missed you too.” Remus said, kissing his forehead.
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angsthology · 3 months
Text
Pay Attention to Things That Most People Ignore ☆ LS2
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logan sargeant is most definitely not most people. it was time he started learning how
characters/pairings; daughter of poseidon!reader, chiron, mr. d, son of apollo!logan, theo (oc), son of athena!oscar.
warnings; monsters, typical pjo-type violence, logan is hopeless but that’s okay! some chb innacurracy sorry i havent read the books in a while, err very rushed writing im sorry, LAWD this is a mess i tell u 😭 perhaps i hate it — 3k words.
a/n; is the title... an all-american bitch lyric? yes. why? im not good and titles and i went to that song in instinct... for no reason. also this was based on a request — though i do admit its a little bit different as i would (hopefully) be making a part 2 hehe. by now im realizing how this title prob has nothin to do with the story
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Over the years, she’s come to accept her life. Did it hurt when it felt like her entire life ended? Of course. Does it still hurt when she turns on the television to see them basically rubbing it on her face? —Whatever.
In theory, she probably could’ve gotten away with it had she not been a daughter of one of the big three—thanks a lot, dad. —but it was proven one too many times that it was not safe for her or any of the other kids. If it didn’t put anyone else’s life at risk, she would’ve disobeyed her mother, she really would (she was a child, she really hasn’t grasped the full concept of what other people would feel).
But, you know, oh well.
It’s sixteen years later and she still has that lingering grudge in the back of her head as the screen plays another Grand Prix — another Grand Prix she could’ve probably been a part of.
She tried, she really tried so hard to forget about it, to let go of it, but again, it was proven to be way too hard to let go of something she had an actual chance of, an actual good chance.
Though it might be hard to let go, she couldn’t really complain much about the life she actually had now.
Sure, it gets pretty lonely sometimes being a forbidden child, there weren’t exactly much of them (that are known and living at camp). But she had everyone else, despite practically being an only child at camp, to her everyone else there were her little siblings—of course, that probably has something to do with the fact that she was the oldest camper and the one who has been there longest.
When she heard a set of the all-too-familiar clops her heart dropped from its current fast-paced beating.
She quickly closed your laptop shut, cringing when you heard how loud of a sound it had made. That was it. She didn’t even try hiding her disappointment in herself. She slowly emerged from under the blanket with her lips tightly-wound shut, bracing herself with whatever the Centaur will have to say, her mind playing a quick telepathic farewell to her laptop.
“Hello, Y/N.”
She sighed, “Chiron.”
“Where and how?”
She swallowed the pre-existing nerves in her throat, “Mr. D.”
He hummed in response, so she continued.
“A pack of Heineken and two bottles of Jack Daniels.”
“Hm, good picks.” She responded lowly under her breath with a small ‘yeah’ as Chiron walked closer to the head of her bed near the bed-side table—his hooves making clopping noises each step.
The silence was taking too long to her liking so she just went to get it over with, “So, you’re gonna take it away from me?” she paused, then mumbling under her breath for herself, “—it’s probably another Red Bull win, anyway.”
Apparently, it was loud enough for the Centaur to hear, making him chuckle.
Surprisingly, he didn’t mention anything else about the laptop, “Who do you support?”
Hearing the question quickly made her look up from her fidgeting hands to see the smile on his face, she screwed her brows in confusion as she continues to look at Chiron for—something. Then, realizing that he was still waiting for an answer, she shook her head.
“Uhm—well, uh—”
“You think that Lando will ever get a win?”
That seemed to loosen her up, “Ugh, Gods, I hope. I’m getting exhausted over here—you know, sometimes I really wish I could ask the Oracle about it.”
He chuckled then which made her crack a smile.
When it died down, Chiron looked at her smiling face. He couldn’t help but frown a little, he knew how she felt about racing, he knew how she still feels about it.
“Y/N.”
She looks up at him, “Yeah?”
“So, I am aware that your birthday is nearing…”
“I mean… why wouldn’t you be? I’m here all-year-round.”
Chiron cleared his throat at her interruption, giving her a look.
“Sorry.”
He acknowledged and continued, “I am also aware that it lines up with a certain event…”
She raised an eyebrow it that, almost guessing what that said ‘event’ was.
“So,” he stopped, initially had her thinking he was just pausing but when he left out the door of her cabin she raised her hands as if saying ‘what gives?’
Seconds passed and it seemed like Chiron wasn’t going to come back any time soon so instead she stumbled off of her bed to quickly catch up to the Centaur that was headed to a building—the girl almost caught up to him, almost following him into the building but he was already back out in a good few seconds, stopping her right in front of the set of stairs, raising both her hands in question once more, “You just left. ‘So’, what?”
“I have it arranged that you will be attending the Miami Grand Prix.” He smiled as he handed her a lanyard.
She swore her eyes looked like it could’ve popped out of their sockets in a matter of seconds. She couldn’t believe what she was holding; a paddock pass. She couldn’t believe Chiron had done this for her considering how careful of a man (well, half-man) he is especially with her being a forbidden child. This was about to turn into the best birthday yet.
When she looked up to the smiling Chiron, her mouth still hung open in shock but her arms immediately wrapped around the man’s body in a bone-crushing hug.
She didn’t know how many ‘thank you’s that spilled out of her mouth but next thing she knew he was hugging her back with a chuckle escaping his lips.
After a few more ‘thank you’s from her, she pulled away smiling at him, “I thought you’d rather keep me here forever, why now?”
He cleared his throat, “Well, you are turning twenty-one, not many of you reach that kind of age—don’t tell them I said that—so I’d like to make it a bit more special.”
Still smiling, she looked at the paddock pass in her hand again, “You don’t know how much I appreciate this, Chi. Thank you, again.”
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Being there felt… odd… unnatural.
She always thought if she were ever walking through the paddocks she would be walking as a driver.
What was even more odd was she felt her senses tingling, like she was being watched.
It was a bustling crowded place with many more interesting people compared to her, so it was weird to her that she felt like she was being watched of all people.
But alas, she brushed it off. It didn’t feel like anything bad—if it were, she would know—so she’s just going to have to save that thought for later.
She had to remind herself why she’s here; daydream in real-time of what could’ve been.
Yeah, she weren’t really keen on letting that go.
That is, until she was into her head she failed to notice the person—and group of people that came with said person—she was running into.
Before she knew it, a strong arm was holding her back with too much force for her liking, the action itself almost kicking in her self defense instinct until the person she did bump into pushed the hand away.
He was now talking to her, she assumed, but she was too focused on the person who had pushed her away.
Something about him felt… off. He was what she would count as freakishly huge for a normal human being, her eyes couldn’t help but recalculate the large man over and over until eventually the person that has been trying to get her attention snaps her out of it.
“Sorry, that’s Theo, he’s like that. I swear he doesn’t mean any harm.”
The scowl she hadn’t realized that made it’s way to her face slowly dropped as she slowly move her gaze to the person that was talking to her.
When their eyes met, she swore she saw a flash of something pass by his expression.
“Yeah,” she finally let go of this ‘Theo’ person and found her words, “Sorry I bumped into you.”
“That’s fine.” There was a brief silence across them until he cleared his throat, “I’m Logan, by the way.”
“Yeah, I know. You drive for Williams.” She replied flatly.
He cleared his throat again, scanning her for the shortest moment, “Do I know you?”
She looked to his eyes again with a small squint. “Most likely not. Good luck, bye.”
Before he could say anything else she was already speed-walking away. And for some odd reason, Logan found himself watching her walk away before getting pulled away himself just in the same time as the girl turned around to give a watchful eye.
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It was getting annoying. This was supposed to be a weekend to enjoy but she could not help but feel that uneasiness creeping up on her. Over the years she had somewhat mastered the ability—well more the ability mastering her—of sensing bad things, whether that was events or creatures alike.
So, to simply put that together, that’s how she found herself sneaking around the Williams garage. Not hospitality, garage.
From years of quests here and there, many hours of weapons training, and not to mention capture the flag schemings with other campers, she had mastered the skill of being sneaky. It really did work well in her favor.
What she didn’t expect was to be completely entranced the moment she got into the busy garage; it was the first time she was seeing a real life-size F1 car in real-time.
Everything was so enchanting to her, it felt like she was reliving her childhood dreams all over again. When she had gone through with her plan, she didn’t really register the fact that she was going to go face to face with an actual working Formula One garage.
She really tried to stay focused on the task at hand but it really was in her blood to be unfocused.
“Hey!”
Somehow, just somehow, she had heard his voice over the loud noises around her and just somehow, she knew he was addressing her.
Immediately, she tried to hide or duck behind something—anything just so she didn’t have to face him.
Before she knew it a hand was gripping her upper arm and pulling her somewhere quieter and she was met with green eyes that looked at her with suspicion.
“Are you like a fan or something?”
She was taken aback by his words.
“…what?”
“Are you following me?”
“What—no. I mean not you specifically—why did I say that.” she whispered the last part to herself. If she was being honest, she hasn’t really been brushing up her skills in socializing with anyone else that weren’t the campers.
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing! I—”
Their conversation—if you could’ve called it that anyway—was interrupted by the same man she had been suspecting from earlier.
“There you are.” It was the first time she was hearing his voice and just by that she already knew that they were going to be in big trouble. His voice was low and unnerving, saying the words as if he’s been searching for them not for worried purposes rather unfortunate ones.
Logan didn’t seem to have the same feeling as her as he looked more relieved among other things to see the man. “Theo!” he greeted while throwing his hands in the air, “What’s up, man?”
Fortunately for Logan, Theo wasn’t exactly paying attention to him instead looking at the girl in front of him instead.
When he noticed he tried to interfere, “Oh, no, don’t worry about her, she’s not harmful.” He then realized he didn’t exactly know this girl so he looked at her with questioning eyes, “You aren’t, right?”
Except her focus didn’t waver from the big man that looked at her with a stare that tried to kill.
Logan, still clueless, looked between the two back and forth in confusion until Theo said something that really caught his attention.
“Daughter of Poseidon.” Theo growled.
Logan’s head couldn’t snap towards her faster.
“Shit.” She mumbled under her breath.
Before they knew it, she had grabbed a hold of his hand and running away with it, Logan still very much in shock at this new information he attained.
Through empty places and crowded ones, the girl forgot that the man she had ahold of weren’t just anyone but a very real and hard-to-miss Formula One driver. Sure, he was a rookie but a driver nonetheless.
But she couldn’t care less about the attention she was gaining; she was far too busy running for her life than think about cameras and the public.
“What the hell was he talking about? Poseidon?!” she didn’t answer his panicked question so he continued instead, “Are you a half-blood too?”
The ‘too’ in his question was what finally caught her attention but still, she didn’t answer him, only cursing herself for not noticing one when she saw one.
Just when she thought they had lost them, the monster once disguised as Theo was standing there at the end of the opening, she and Logan had slipped in.
Next thing she knew she was fumbling around trying to fight off the apparent Giant that was Theo.
“What the hell are you doing there, mind a little help over here?” she yelled over at Logan who was pretty much… useless in the corner.
He continued to panic, looking for anything he could use to get the Giant off of her.
Suddenly, while she was struggling to get the Giant’s grip off of her, the force stopped as a cloud of mist poofed where the monster was once before. She quickly scrambled herself up and was met with a figure in McLaren clothing holding a gold-dust colored weapon pointing at her.
“Oscar Piastri?!”
He didn’t answer her, dagger still pointing at her direction, “Who are you?”
Putting her hands out in defense she explained herself, “I respect that.” she commented, “I’m Y/N L/N, I am the daughter of Poseidon,” then she cautiously pointed at the Australian, “I’m assuming you’re a half-blood too.” she nodded at him, “Who do you belong to?”
Oscar then slowly lowered his weapon, his trust building by the minute, “Athena.”
Then both of them turn to Logan simultaneously.
“No!” he got defensive immediately, “I want to know what just happened!” he pointed accusingly.
All of a sudden, it just finally hit Oscar, “Poseidon?!”
The sea god’s daughter made a face and ignored the Australian, “What do you mean what just happened? Typical demigod stuff!”
The look on his face made her double-take, “You… do have occasional encounters with monsters here and there… right?”
When Logan’s expression doesn’t change, she turns to Oscar.
“I have this for a reason.” He said slowly, showing her the dagger. “—and, well, if I’m being honest, that has never happened before.”
“Shit.” she shakes her head in disappointment then pulling out her phone, “I need to make a phone call.”
She left the two men by themselves and went ahead as the line rings a couple of times before getting an answer.
After a brief conversation—that will continue later for details—the girl locked her phone and walked towards the two drivers.
“You’re coming with me this summer. It will not be up for debate and don’t worry about your… duties, I have it covered.”
Logan was quick to stop her explanations, “Wait—what—no! At least explain what the hell that phone call was about. You can’t just drop all that on us and expect us to be okay with it.
She rolls her eyes, “I’ll explain later, right now, you two have a job to do.” They didn’t object to that, the three of them walking out the pretty-hidden space the Giant had decided to corner them before.
Oscar stopped just outside, “I can take care of myself if anything else decide to come out and attack me, you should probably go with him. And uh, I actually need to talk to you,” he pointed at her, “—later. Not exactly letting you off the hook that easily.”
She didn’t complain.
The two walked in silence, every once in a while getting stopped for a picture and such, until Logan speaks up.
“Apollo.”
She turned to him, eyebrow raised.
“My dad.”
“Oh.” She paused then comments, “Fitting.”
He didn’t know what it was in her voice, it didn’t sound exactly like a compliment but he wasn’t sure if it was an insult.
Whatever, he shrugged it off.
After that, they both went into their own train of thoughts.
Without noticing, they both sucked in a breath in unison.
“I’m sorry for—”
“I think you should—”
The two quickly stepped back from whatever it was they were going to say, heat rushing up their necks. They kept walking on the awkward silence that fell upon them until Logan re-focused his attention and remembering what she had said—well, what she almost said earlier.
“Wait—‘sorry’? What were you apologizing for?” he turned to her who was now ducking away from his eyes, her own focus stayed on her fidgeting hands.
She made a noise before finally finding her words, “It’s just—this always happens, you know. I’m a forbidden kid, I attract the worst kind of trouble there is for half-bloods. And earlier; I had brought it to you and Oscar.” he was going to say something to ease her guilt but she beat him to it, “I’m just glad that monster didn’t hurt any of you.” She threw her hands in the air, “I mean, it’s qualifying day for Gods sake! —maybe I shouldn’t go to the race tomorrow.” She mumbled the last part to herself, though not quietly enough that the driver didn’t hear.
Logan was taken aback by her statement, giving him an opening on his almost-offer.
“What—no! Why not?” he asked.
“Look, it’s bad enough that there’s two demigods in one place; adding a forbidden kid in the mix won’t really make it any better. I still want everyone to have a safe race. Who knows what kind of other monsters I could attract.”
From every point of view Logan could gather, it was simply a fact that this girl knows about their world far more than he did, far more than Oscar did, so he couldn’t really be the voice of judgement in whatever she had to say. But… he wanted her to stay.
It calmed him down for some reason, knowing someone shares the same—if not, worse—fate as you.
So, he tried to find a reason, a good reason to make her stay. Of course, he wasn’t a pro at this half-blood thing so he offered something that he was familiar with. He gave her a more… human reason.
“I think you should stay.” He blurted.
“Logan—”
“Dude—is it alright if I called you that?”
“Uh, go nuts.”
“You deserve to have some fun, watch a race! I’ll even have you as an official Williams guest!”
She hummed with a smile creeping up.
“And if you’re worried about trouble, that’s fine. We can always handle trouble! We are all trouble-bound any way, better face them now than later! Plus, I think it’d be good if you could teach us the basics early.”
She felt the warmth spread through her chest. It’s been a while since she felt someone so welcoming that wasn’t anyone within Camp Half-blood. It was nice. He was nice. Almost made her forget that she was in the place she was meant to be in.
Her heart felt wholesome, but didn’t make it show, her mouth couldn’t stop the comment from escaping her mouth instead.
“You really want me to stay, huh?”
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norrisleclercf1 · 3 months
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Continuing off of my earlier request about Mark and Fernando becoming dads, what about Mark and you being at the Spanish grand prix to support your other love, Nando, and it’s your baby’s first time being there and Fernando wanting to show them off to anyone who will let him 😭
A/N: Ugh ahhhhhh, you know how much I love this request already
Covering your mouth you try hard and fail not to snort out laughter. Mark pays you no mind as he straps little baby Diego to his chest. It was the only way your little boy wouldn't be screaming his head off crying the entire time.
Carrying for 9 months and he pops out being the world's biggest Daddy and Papa boy ever. "You look really hot right now," Mark jumps as Fernando walks past, slapping his ass, as he's dressed for Quali. Mark chuckles and fixes his hair as he slightly blushes and looks up at you.
"Does this finally make me a DILF?" He jokes, knowing about the fans running gag, calling the older drivers the DILFs of F1. "Absolutely panty dropping." You tease, fixing Diego's little hat to protect him from the Spanish sun.
"Come on, we have to be early." Fernando smiles, fixing his Aston Martin hat. You move, now fixing his hat and putting those curls behind his ears. "Never cut your hair." Fernando chuckles and kisses the end of your nose.
"I promise." Mark snorts, gathering the rest of the baby stuff and packing the diaper bag. "Let's go,"
----------------------------
Walking into the Paddock, Diego was long gone from the carrier and now lied peacefully on Fernando's chest. At a year old, Diego was rather calm and loved watching the world. Rarely was he crying, unless he wasn't being held by one of his fathers.
You and Mark kept back as Fernando walked around, showing off the boy and explaining everything to him. Diego eyes wandered over everything, and Mark couldn't help but take pictures of the two of them.
Lance walks past you with a soft nod as he wanders past Fernando. "Oi," You gasp seeing Lance being yanked back but you soon laugh as you see Fernando's hand on the back of his collar. "Not, going to say hello." Fernando grumbles patting little Diego's back.
Lance blinks as he takes in the sight before him and tries to cover up his smile. Fernando keeps nagging Lance, but the Canadian just takes in the little boy that clearly has his Papa's hair and Daddy's eyes.
"Nando, I'm not able to take you seriously with you holding the baby." Lance cracks, sticking his finger out as Deigo gently grabs it before letting it go. Lance makes some funny faces as little Diego giggles and then snuggles closer to his Papa.
"Eh, get lost." Fernando jokes, gently kicking the back of his teammates knee. Lance laughs and runs back over kissing your cheek and waves off Mark as he heads off to his garage.
Fernando walks around, showing Diego off to anyone who'd pay attention. Talking to Toto, Diego's head raises and he soon let's out a piercing scream that has everyone on high alert. Lewis walks into view and you settle down, seeing why your son was so excited.
"Hi, baby." Lewis giggles and runs over happily taking Diego from Fernando who just glares at the Mercedes driver. "He gets so damn happy when he sees Lewis." Mark laughs, as Toto shakes his head and Mark checks his watch. "Shit, I've got to go. Love you," He kisses both you and Fernando before moving to kiss Diego's cheeks.
Normally he'd start to get fussy noticing that Mark was leaving but your son was so in love with Lewis you and Fernando both could leave, and he wouldn't notice it. Fernando moves away and pulls you into his arms.
"I'm glad you are here." Fernando whispers, kissing your cheek as you watch Lewis gently place Diego in his seat and laugh while Fernando makes an unpleasant noise. "Oi, get my boy out of there!" Fernando runs off and you giggle, glad to have been here today.
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