#pawn x reader

[hrefna-the-raven]

Soul love

Masterlist - DD2 masterlist

Summary: a few drabbles that will be loosely connected to each other about the pawn falling in love with his Arisen

Notes: gender neutral version right after the original chapter :)

Part 1

Part 2

On his way back from the tavern counter, balancing two large mugs of ale in his hands, he abruptly halted as his gaze landed on Brant's hand resting on your shoulder. A tender smile adorned the face of the guard captain as he whispered something in your ear. In that moment, a sudden pang shot through his stomach, followed by a crushing weight on his chest, his breaths growing heavy and uncomfortable. Panic surged within him as this unfamiliar sensation kept his body in a tight hold. His surroundings faded from his mind, not paying attention to anything but the pain and the dark fog that encroached upon his thoughts. Was this the unknown illness that plagued the pawns? Would he turn against you? Hurt you? The mere thought filled him with dread, as he was devoted to you, bound by an oath to protect you, he couldn't bear the idea of becoming the very cause of your pain or distress. The chaos in his mind grew louder and untamed, threatening to consume everything within him until your voice cut through the chaos, bringing him back to the reality of the tavern he was standing in, still clutching the mugs of ale and with Brant nowhere in sight anymore.

"Are you alright?", you asked in a gentle tone, your concern evident.

He simply blinked at you, lips parting but words failed him.

"Let’s go to our room and finish the drinks there", you suggested, a gentle smile on your face as you led him up the stairs.

You closed the door behind you and silently observed him as he sat down on the bed. As his eyes found yours and he recognised the sorrow in them, his voice finally found its way back to him.

"I am terribly sorry master, I should not have given you reason to worry", his breath hitched, "certainly not about me."

His words pained you. You were aware of the distinction between being a pawn and being the Arisen and yet, it never prevented you from seeing him in a different light, from believing that there had to be more to him, that there was something unique about him, something that set him apart from the other pawns you encountered on your journey to Vernworth. The way he spoke and the secret glances he stole when he thought you weren't looking, it clearly set him apart from other pawns. And then this weird moment just downstairs in the tavern, all of it convinced you that there had to be more to a pawn's personality than what people gave them credit for. You took the mugs from his grasp and carefully placed them on the table next to the bed. As you settled down beside him, a subtle grin formed on your face as you noticed his eyes following you.

"How many times do I need to tell that you shouldn't call me master", you sighed, "you're not my slave."

"But I'm merely a pawn...your pawn, Arisen", his usually confident voice now tinged with uncertainty.

"No you're more than my pawn", feeling a pang in your chest as you noticed the sadness filling his eyes, "you're my friend and I like you, even when you're acting like an idiot sometimes."

You playfully slapped him on the shoulder, rolling your eyes feinting annoyance which finally provoked a genuine smile with him.

"Well if I recall correctly that would make me your idiot."

There it was, that slightly mischievous personality you had grown fond of over time, never shying away from a friendly banter and always eager to make you laugh.

"Mine indeed and if I recall correctly that will grant me the right to punish you for saying such stupid things."

Without giving him a moment to contemplate the meaning behind your words, you pounced on him, forcefully knocking him onto his back. Straddling him, you began mercilessly tickling him, causing laughter to fill the room. He desperately kicked his feet and flailed his arms, attempting to signal for you to stop. Only when tears streamed down his face and he struggled to catch his breath amid fits of laughter did you finally cease the tickling.

"Mercy Arisen! Have mercy I beg of you!", he pleaded, still chuckling.

"Only if you tell me what happened in the tavern."

He sighed, taking a moment to consider whether it was worth hiding anything from you before ultimately deciding it was futile and proceeded to explain what he experienced in detail. He expected you to jump up, create some distance between you, or even scream at him in preparation for a fight, assuming he had been afflicted by whatever cursed illness had befallen him but to his surprise you started laughing, loud carefree amused giggles erupting from your beautiful lips.

"Arisen pardon my question but why are you so amused? I fear I'm sick, befallen by some cursed illness."

"You really don't understand it?", you asked chuckling as he shook his head, "oh silly, you're just jealous."

"Jealous? Like a human? But it cannot be! You must be mistaken!"

Confusion mingled with his thoughts, questions emerging from the back of his mind as how he, a mere pawn, was able to experience such a profoundly human emotion. As he kept replaying all those nights at camp in his mind, you're explanation made sense all over sudden. Although it rose one final question he didn't dare to ask out loud. If he felt jealous when he saw you with someone else, did that mean you meant more to him? You laid down beside him and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek, keeping your lips pressed against him for a tiny moment while you felt the heat rushed to your face.

"You needn't be jealous about anyone", you murmured, "let's get some sleep."

GN version

On his way back from the tavern counter, balancing two large mugs of ale in their hands, they abruptly halted as their gaze landed on Brant's hand resting on your shoulder. A tender smile adorned the face of the guard captain as he whispered something in your ear. In that moment, a sudden pang shot through their stomach, followed by a crushing weight on their chest, their breaths growing heavy and uncomfortable. Panic surged within them as this unfamiliar sensation kept their body in a tight hold. Their surroundings faded from their mind, not paying attention to anything but the pain and the dark fog that encroached upon their thoughts. Was this the unknown illness that plagued the pawns? Would they turn against you? Hurt you? The mere thought filled them with dread, as they were devoted to you, bound by an oath to protect you, they couldn't bear the idea of becoming the very cause of your pain or distress. The chaos in their mind grew louder and untamed, threatening to consume everything within them until your voice cut through the chaos, bringing them back to the reality of the tavern they were standing in, still clutching the mugs of ale and with Brant nowhere in sight anymore.

"Are you alright?", you asked in a gentle tone, your concern evident.

They simply blinked at you, lips parting but words failed them.

"Let’s go to our room and finish the drinks there", you suggested, a gentle smile on your face as you led them up the stairs.

You closed the door behind you and silently observed them as they sat down on the bed. As their eyes found yours and they recognised the sorrow in them, their voice finally found its way back to them.

"I am terribly sorry master, I should not have given you reason to worry", their breath hitched, "certainly not about me."

Their words pained you. You were aware of the distinction between being a pawn and being the Arisen and yet, it never prevented you from seeing them in a different light, from believing that there had to be more to them, that there was something unique about them, something that set them apart from the other pawns you encountered on your journey to Vernworth. The way they spoke and the secret glances they stole when they thought you weren't looking, it clearly set them apart from other pawns. And then this weird moment just downstairs in the tavern, all of it convinced you that there had to be more to a pawn's personality than what people gave them credit for. You took the mugs from their grasp and carefully placed them on the table next to the bed. As you settled down beside them, a subtle grin formed on your face as you noticed their eyes following you.

"How many times do I need to tell that you shouldn't call me master", you sighed, "you're not my slave."

"But I'm merely a pawn...your pawn, Arisen", their usually confident voice now tinged with uncertainty.

"No you're more than my pawn", feeling a pang in your chest as you noticed the sadness filling his eyes, "you're my friend and I like you, even when you're acting like an idiot sometimes."

You playfully slapped them on the shoulder, rolling your eyes feinting annoyance which finally provoked a genuine smile with them.

"Well if I recall correctly that would make me your idiot."

There it was, that slightly mischievous personality you had grown fond of over time, never shying away from a friendly banter and always eager to make you laugh.

"Mine indeed and if I recall correctly that will grant me the right to punish you for saying such stupid things."

Without giving them a moment to contemplate the meaning behind your words, you pounced on them, forcefully knocking him onto their back. Straddling them, you began mercilessly tickling them, causing laughter to fill the room. They desperately kicked their feet and flailed their arms, attempting to signal for you to stop. Only when tears streamed down their face and they struggled to catch their breath amid fits of laughter did you finally cease the tickling.

"Mercy Arisen! Have mercy I beg of you!", they pleaded, still chuckling.

"Only if you tell me what happened in the tavern."

They sighed, taking a moment to consider whether it was worth hiding anything from you before ultimately deciding it was futile and proceeded to explain what they experienced in detail. They expected you to jump up, create some distance between you, or even scream at them in preparation for a fight, assuming they had been afflicted by whatever cursed illness had befallen them but to their surprise you started laughing, loud carefree amused giggles erupting from your beautiful lips.

"Arisen pardon my question but why are you so amused? I fear I'm sick, befallen by some cursed illness."

"You really don't understand it?", you asked chuckling as he shook his head, "oh silly, you're just jealous."

"Jealous? Like a human? But it cannot be! You must be mistaken!"

Confusion mingled with their thoughts, questions emerging from the back of their mind as how they, a mere pawn, were able to experience such a profoundly human emotion. As they kept replaying all those nights at camp in their mind, your explanation made sense all over sudden. Although it rose one final question they didn't dare to ask out loud. If they felt jealous when they saw you with someone else, did that mean you meant more to them? You laid down beside them and placed a gentle kiss on their cheek, keeping your lips pressed against them for a tiny moment while you felt the heat rushed to your face.

"You needn't be jealous about anyone", you murmured, "let's get some sleep."

Part 3

[mrsrookhunt]

TO ADD TO THIS POST!!

Rook has two older siblings, and three younger, right? That conveniently goes along with the point system in Chess.

So we can actually guess which sibling is which.

Either King or Queen is the oldest (assuming King)

Rook

Knight

Bishop

Pawn

So anyways enjoy that knowledge.

@neige-leblanche you inspired part two to this. I knew about it earlier but I was keeping it short and sweet lol.

[bones-of-a-rabbit]

heeheehoohoo doodl dump time

starting with,, betrothed au wedding attire, perhaps?? idk im not good at outfits lol

pawn au and flower symbolism r like,, symbiotic in that way where one cant live without th other or smthn idk i just like vague and flowery metaphors in my stories skjdfhsdjfhsd

following up with,, a bunch of ECLIPSE bc i love the mans no im not sorry

and,, lastly,,,,,,,,,

me when i think abt canon-eclipse for 0.2 seconds ;; his voice is too precious im dying squirtle

[romypearl]

hi, for anyone waiting for the third part of "the queen's pawn", i was going to update this week, but on thursday i felt sick during my internship, on friday ended up in the hospital with a very high fever and today i'm still super medicated

yay low immunity, is the third time i've been in the hospital this semester, for different reasons

anyway, if i recover during the week, i'll bring the sequel as soon as possible, before final exams

really really really sorry

[scribbleseas]

an indignant pawn story: the door

Description: Taking place hours after the events of The Indignant Pawn, Ciel Phantomhive anxiously awaits an update from the room in front of him.

Warnings: extreme grief, violence, mentions of blood, crying, regrets, laughing at really inappropriate times, just really really sad, angst & no comfort.

Author’s Note: Hi, Everyone!

For those of you who might be seeing my work for the first time, this is a spinoff short from my first complete fan fiction: The Indignant Pawn! I suggest checking it out if you are interested in a hitwoman/runaway royalty!reader x Ciel Phantomhive, a lot of deception, fierce enemies to lovers, and a couple that will fight the world for each other. If that sounds cool to you, I highly suggest heading over to the masterlist linked below before you read this.

Anyway, I hope you like this! Even though it’s a little depressing, lol. In all fairness, an explanation was asked of me. I work for ya’ll.

Happy Reading!

Stay Alive,

Dan

THE INDIGNANT PAWN MASTERLIST

MAY 13TH, 1895

SCHLESWIG-HOLSTEIN, GERMANY

For the first time in eight years, tears ran down Ciel Phantomhive’s cheeks. His throat was raw. His nose was running. A tumultuous combination of rage and grief tore at his heart as it beat in his chest. It worked overtime. His lungs worked overtime as his breaths came in ragged inhales, forcing air in, forcing air out. A forming headache throbbed in his temples.

Crying changes nothing, he reminded himself. Crying wouldn’t repair the damage in Y/n’s chest. Crying wouldn’t have stopped the bullet that was meant for him— it was meant for him. There was no denying it.

And that’s what made his guilt gnaw at him. He should have been bleeding. Dying. It was his adversary, his bullet, and his inaction that allowed Y/n to get shot.

“My Lord,” Sebastian started, only for Ciel to silence him with a glance before fixating his stare on the door. Don’t you dare speak to me, you traitor.

“At the very least, you should change, sir,” Sebastian was the only one to speak in the waiting room. Everyone else sat in silence, save for Lizzie’s sniffling. The room smelled of antiseptic and it was cold, but nobody complained. Nobody moved.

Ciel ignored the suggestion. He stared ahead at the door separating him from the operating room. From Y/n. If he could trade his place for hers, he would. It should have been him. It should have been. What was Y/n thinking?

She wasn’t thinking. She was selfless, protecting him on instinct.

She was selfless….And the world was cruel.

She didn’t deserve this.

He did. He should have protected her on instinct— but his weren’t nearly as swift as hers. It hurt to admit, but there was no other explanation.

“Ciel, he’s right,” Lizzie tried. “Your clothes are…” she said weekly, unsure of how to remind Ciel that he was covered in Y/n’s blood; and that his wedding suit was soiled with the bride’s blood. There was even a red tint on his hands, the sick smell of iron on them, no matter how Lizzie tried to clean them off for him. He didn’t care about his hands or his clothing.

Y/n was likely dying. How could he think to change when he could lose her?

After she lost consciousness, the medic arrived and did all he could to stabilize her before there was no choice but to transfer her to the nearest hospital for emergency surgery. As the medical field expanded (especially in Germany), surgeons liked to make teaching lectures out of every surgery. However given the high-profile victim and near-impossible condition Marie was in, the hospital ensured her procedure was private.

To them, it would be Princess Marie of Schleswig-Holstein dying. Only the real Marie had already been dead for months before then!

The irony made the corner of his mouth twitch, and a heartbroken cackle threatened to rip out of his sore throat before Lizzie said his name again, sobering him

“…Ciel?”

“Elizabeth. Honestly,” Ciel warned flatly. The oak door separating the waiting room from the sterile operating room was beginning to antagonize him. By now, Ciel committed most of its knots, age lines, indents— even the tarnish on the brass knob. He detested that door. He wanted to kick it off its hinges…almost as much as he wanted to kick his demon’s head off his shoulders. Stomp on the severed head. That. Deceitful. Bastard.

He needed to punish that wretch for utterly disobeying his order. They had a bloody contract for a bloody reason, did they not?

“I’m sorry, Ciel,” Lizzie took a sharp inhale, chastened. She pursed her lips and released them. Her wary eyes lingered on him for a beat longer, concerned for him. She watched him strike Sebastian so hard that his knuckles started bleeding. And then, Ciel spent half the carriage ride laughing hysterically at her side. He’d laughed until his sides hurt and his cheeks pinched. He was laughing at the situational irony while his tears grieved its fallout. After all, Y/n only came into his life because she was tasked with killing him! And she was on a surgery table because she wanted to save his life!

Not to mention, she was sure Mariana would sabotage them. She was convinced. Ciel had reassured her in vain.

Herr intuition was perfect. Diego even warned them. They should have called off the wedding. The princess should never have to save the Earl— it was an affront to those childish tales she loved so much. It was a torture to be saved. It hurt less to be the martyr because they aren’t responsible for toiling in the changed world without them.

Ciel looked back to the door. Nothing lasts forever.

Someone you love is someone you can lose, Ciel recalled.“Someone I love could be someone I lost…” he mumbled in extension of the thought, tensing when he realized he spoke the latter aloud.

“I know, Ciel, but you should have something to eat, at least. Or have some water, or tea. You’ve been standing there for hours. Sit,” Ciel’s cousin reminded him, but he didn’t dignify it with a response. He couldn’t sit and eat. He wouldn’t.

“My Lord, I have an update…” the lead surgeon shouldered through the operating room’s door and into the waiting room. His face was marred with exhaustion, having performed a surgery so late into the night and without a break.

Ciel held his breath.

Please be alive, Y/n. I need you.

[toxicanonymity]

Out of curiosity, did you imagine reader's sundress in Pawn Shop a certain style or print? Love your stories and mind 🖤

Thank you! 🖤 For Pawn Shop, something on the modest side and certainly not anything worth buying off of someone lol that should have been an instant hail of red flags. Including Free Use since I had more of a vision for those. 🌻

Pawn Shop

Pawn Shop He squints and looks you up and down, then scratches one side of his silver beard.  "How 'bout that pretty dress?"

Free Use

Very approximate, but here are examples for each cut at least:

Making Dinner (Free use) You’re wearing Joel’s favorite sundress, the form-fitting one that drives him wild, with no bra.

Picnic table You’re having Tommy & his wife over for a Barbecue and wearing a long flowy sun dress. . . “Fix your dress for me like a good girl,” he says.  You make it so you aren’t sitting on your dress, it falls in front of his knees and on top of his lap and covers both of you where it counts. 

Tommy's hard day You’re doing dishes in the kitchen wearing a thin, cotton sundress he bought you with sunflowers on it.  

Bonus gif for Free Use #1: not the position, but the vibe & kitchen location

[desiredcaramellatte]

Can um have dark cacao cookie pure vanilla cookie and latte cookie x reader who is overprotective over sorbet shark cookie and choco chess cookie and ask them if they can adopt them please sorbet they have being alone in the ocean for years and choco chess are homeless I’m want them to be happy headcanons please

Hello, anon! I’m more than happy to write for my favorite little cookies! Choco Chess and Sorbet Shark really do deserve better.

Also, when it comes to cookies, I tend to stick to their in-game pronouns. If they aren’t said to have an in-game pronoun (like Choco Chess) then I’ll use they/them for them! Just wanted to clarify that in case some people were curious 💕!

Dark Cacao x Overprotective reader ft SS and CC

~| Dark Cacao is generally a good cookie, but there’s a lot of stuff he absolutely does not understand. Children is one of them. As seen with Dark Choco, Dark Cacao does not know how to give children proper affection, and though he may try after what happened to his previous son, he will still be horrible at it, mostly because of his lack in experience at being a ‘good’ father.

~| When you first introduced the three, Dark Cacao is quite confused, especially when you claim them to be your children. Did you just randomly find them? Probably. “Just don’t let them go touching and breaking things.” Dark Cacao would grumble as he accepted the fact that he would now have three tiny cookies running around.

~| And, guess what? The first thing Sorbet Shark does is break something. They tried to look through a window and forgot that glass existed, so they ended up shattering it.

~| “Told you this was a bad idea.” “Dark Cacao, shUT.”

~| Dark Cacao often gets annoyed by the children, with Sorbet Shark’s knack for getting in trouble and the Chess Choco Twins constantly asking for him to play chess with them (which he’s quite surprised when they beat him- he’s actually pretty good at chess). But, when Dark Cacao is off duty as a king, he does enjoy his time with the small children, even if you have to force him to spend bonding time with them.

~| If one of them called Dark Cacao their father or something similar, Dark Cacao would be done. Dead. Right there, right then, he wouldn’t be able to process it. It would most likely have to be the Chess Choco Twins since Sorbet Shark can’t really talk oop-. Dark Cacao is a tyrant. He doesn’t understand why you’re so protective of them and often tells you that you need to calm down, but when he gets attached to them, he is worse than you. He assigns the kiddos personal bodyguards when both he and you are busy, which they don’t mind (it gives Choco Chess someone to play chess with, and it gives Sorbet Shark someone to just play with if you’re not there to do so).

~| Dark Cacao got a journal and, in his free time, writes about what he saw the kiddos doing that day. ‘Today Sorbet Shark climbed up to the banister and got stuck. S/O was freaking out, but I was calm.’ Flashback to the event, where both S/O and Dark Cacao were panicking, trying to get a very happy Sorbet Shark down.

~| Dark Cacao could spend hours playing chess with Choco Chess Cookie, and finds their small shenanigans entertaining- especially how they are so connected each other. Sometimes, it makes him wish he had a twin to share his every thought and pain with, even without speaking. After he plays chess with the two, and 80% of the time looses, he always comes to you to tell you about their game. The first time Dark Cacao beat the twins they were both very salty about it, and he occasionally throws the game by making himself loose, if it seems like he’s on a streak.

~| It may take a while for him to get attached to the kiddos, but when he does, it’s complete game over. They have the cold king in the palm of their tiny little hands.

~| Bonus~ if Dark Choco were to ever come back and live with ya’ll, he would be like an older brother to all of them as soon as he saw, and this would improve Dark Cacao and Dark Choco’s relationship, as they have something to bond over- the children! As for you, you get to adopt another child. I bet you’re happy about that, aren’t you 🍿?

Pure Vanilla x Overprotective reader ft SS and CC

~| “Wonderful!”

~| When you approach Pure Vanilla and introduce the two as your new children, he’s just like ‘lol, alright.’

~| Very laid back when it comes to discipline, cannot do it to save his life. He’ll do anything to cheer them up if they get sad, or do something wrong. Chess Choco knows this and sometimes uses it to get their way. “What’s wrong, my darlings? Why do you look so down? Do you need anything?” “We’re hungry! We are hungry.” “Alright, only the finest for my little cookies!” Sorbet Shark also does this, but less consciously than Chess Choco. Pure Vanilla is more than happy to do all three of their biddings.

~| You cannot get Pure Vanilla off of them. He always seems to be either playing with them or doing something for them. Even when he’s on the throne, his mind often circles back to your children.

~| When they first called him their dad, he was over the moon with joy. He took all of you to a fancy restaurant and announced to the waiter that “Yes, my children, my love, and I are ready to order!”

~| One time the three were trying to reach some jellies on a high shelf. The Choco Chess Twins were on the bottom, holding Sorbet Shark up. Pure Vanilla found them doing so and was quite amused. He lifted Sorbet Shark up higher for them to grab the jellies, which they happily did, before putting them back down and whispering “Don’t tell [mom/dad/parent/S/O]!” That’s a common phrase for him.

~| Surprisingly protective. Not nearly as much as you, but he has to constantly have them in his sight when they’re around him, and he makes sure they’re never alone. Like Dark Cacao, bodyguards when neither of you can be around, but he calls them play mates!

~| He remembers everything they do, and I mean everything. Often he’ll just bring up little stories (sometimes exposing himself by telling you one of those ‘don’t tell [mom/dad/parent/S/O]’ moments oop-) to you when you’re alone.

~| When he can’t sleep, often he will go and check on the kids. Just a little peep into their room to make sure they’re alright, and he’s relaxed by their sleeping figures. Speaking of which, he always tells them a story every night, sometimes two or three if they asking him for it!

~| He gives the kids (and you!) a lot of gifts. A lot of flowers, oddities, trinkets, etc. Pure Vanilla always seems to know what to get them- once Chess Choco’s chess set broke, and he got them two chess sets! One made out of pure glass and the other made out of wood. You couldn’t pull them away from those chess boards for days. When Pure Vanilla has time, he loves to bury little trinkets and give Sorbet Shark a map to the buried treasure. He loves walking alongside the small cookie as they figure out where to go next.

~| If he receives a gift from them, he will literally m e l t, especially if it’s hand made (he loves that they put so much time and effort into something made especially for him!). His room is decorated with all the little gifts meant for him, he keeps every single one of them, and often smiles when he looks at them, as they remind him of you and the kids.

~| Takes you and the kiddos out on picnics to the gardens, when he has the chance! Loves to watch them chase butterflies or observe the flowers. He makes all of the food for these picnics by hand, and sometimes he lets you help out as well. Pure Vanilla makes bomb peanut butter jelly sandwiches, and you can’t convince me otherwise.

~| The most doting father you’ll ever know. He believes they can do no wrong. He comforts them when they’re sad, lifts them higher when they’re happy, and is just the type of cookie that the smaller ones will cling to.

~| These kids could probably get away with murder when Pure Vanilla is around, tbh.

Latte x Overprotective reader ft SS and CC

~| Best mom you’ll ever find.

~| At first, she’s a bit worried at where these three came from- do they have parents!? Is someone looking for them? After hearing Chess Choco’s story (and reading some very wobbly notes from Sorbet Shark), she instantly got attached. Three orphans, with no where to go!? Now, that can’t happen, not on her watch!

~| Latte has worked with kids her entire life, from when she was one to her job as a teacher! She knows how to be strict yet kind, and she uses her experience to her full advantage.

~| You’ll often find her teaching them little things- like how to tie knots, how to bake, etc- but sometimes she tries to teach them some magic. Pawn White and Pawn Black can now move chess pieces through telekinesis :).

~| Loves to take them for rides on her staff. When it’s just her and Sorbet Shark, she’ll often do little spins in the air, which Sorbet Shark absolutely adores.

~| She invites Creampuff and Madeleine over all the time for playdates! She loves watching all 5 cookies play games like hide and seek and truth or dare (she swears Madeleine is a bigger child than all 5 of them). Often times she has to be the referee, but, occasionally, Latte will join in on the games. If you’re ever around during these playdates as well, you’ll be literally dragged into their game.

~| When both of you are busy, she’ll often ask Eclair or to babysit (she doesn’t ask Espresso because she knows he’s always busy), which Eclair will 90% of the time accept. Usually they’ll go to the library, and Choco Chess will use the public chess board they have there, while Sorbet Shark flips through all the picture books and runs around the library like it’s a maze.

~| Checks up on them a lot. You know how mothers always seem to know where everything is? She’s a very good example of this. “Sorbet, where’s your telescope?” “Ooo…” “I think I saw it on top of the book shelf.” “OoOoO00!?!?”

~| Cue Sorbet Shark rushing off and returning with their telescope, indeed looking very happy. “OoOOooO00oO!!!”

~| Latte makes sure all of them are tucked into bed nice and properly, and will sing them lullabies to lull them to sleep. Occasionally, she’ll sing you a lullaby as well!

~| All-around a perfect mother for these kiddos- she has enough free time to just bond with them, and is the perfect mix of sweet and stern.

Hope these were to your liking <3! I, personally, enjoying writing them, I just couldn’t stop adding stuff to Pure Vanilla’s!! I mainly concentrated on their bonds with the children, but there’s still some x reader in there too.

Also, 2 posts in 1 day!?!? Yay!

[lambkiin]

Late Nights at the Diner

Roach (Trailer Park of Terror) x AFAB!Reader

Tags; Roach 😳, quickie, two uses of degrading name calling, mutual masturbation, p in v sex, in the back of a car, a few minor timeskips because I’m insane

I will fix the “read more” formatting when I have access to a PC.

AN: First attempt at writing a fic for Roach, I think it turned out fairly well. If some sentences look weird I powered through writing this with a awful crick in my neck, have mercy. Enjoy and have fun!

I’ll also mention that the character and I are both from the deep south, so the dialogue won’t always make a whole lotta sense sound wise unless you’re aware of all the different ways we pronounce “you” down here.

Dawn was drawing close, it was nearly 3:30am. You parked your Mustang near the front door of the joint, climbing out and shutting the door with a metallic click. Sighing softly, you checked the pockets of your stained work apron. You looked around at your surroundings after locating your cash, checking out all the vehicles in the lot.

One car in particular caught your eye, it…was certainly something along the lines of junker. There was a skull and crossbones spray-painted to the side, as well as some words you couldn’t exactly make out in the dark. “Promisin’ crowd…” You muttered, sluggishly making your way to the entrance.

You were somewhat of a regular here, being thrown an excited wave by the waitress, Fiona. Knowing by now you could sit where you pleased, you returned her wave and went to sit at your usual spot- well, this isn’t going as planned. Speechless, you were completely frozen, your shocked eyes locked onto the man before you.

He sat with an arm thrown over the booth, and a cig hanging from his lips. He was also aware of his surroundings, you wanted to pass out as he turned his head towards you.

“Need somethin’ darlin’?” He quirked a brow, subtle smirk pulling onto his face. Geez, for a man who looks like he’d just changed the oil in a car…he was- very attractive. You opened your mouth, but he beat you to it. “M’ I in yer spot? Sorry ‘bout that. Why don’cha join me? I don’t bite.” He gave you a toothy grin, gesturing to the booth across from himself.

It was something about the way he spoke to you that just went straight down- oh shut up. You don’t even know his name! Fuck it, you’ve got nothing to lose. You gave him a small smile, sliding into the booth he’d offered.

“Thank you, er…?” You tilted your head up to the man, taking in his features proper.

“Names Roach, no it’s not a nickname either.” He put out his cigarette in the tables ashtray, having noticed your nostril twitching.

“Roach, I like it…rolls off the tongue.” You grinned, genuinely finding charm in the mans off the wall name.

“Ya gonna tell me yer name? Or am I jus’ gonna have’ta call ya beautiful all night?” He was far too good at these lines, it was doing its job in making you blush. You let out an embarrassed cough, composing yourself.

“Y/n, do ya do this with everyone at the diner?” You snorted, leaning towards him with your chin resting against your palm.

“Don’ think any of them truckers are as pretty as you, hm? I’ll blame it on luck I ran into ya tonight.” His eyes drifted to the side, then back to you. “Ready to order?”

~

Somehow it hadn’t been long between your arrival and his, you ordered together. You were now finishing up your coke, picking up one of the remaining fries to eat.

Fiona walked over once again. “One ticket or two?” She asked, unsure if you had been meeting him here or if it was chance. Roach spoke up right before you could, that award-winnin’ grin spread across his face.

“Just one, thank ya.” Fiona nodded in response, walking away to get the ticket squared away. Roach pulled out his wallet, ready to pay for the meal.

“You don’t have to do that, let me pay my part.” Your brows turned upwards, reaching for your folded stack of tips.

“My mama taught me better’n that, darlin’. Hell, ya could get any man to pay yer way with looks like that.” He sent you a wink. Lord almighty, you weren’t usually one for a quick fuck- but maybe you’ll indulge. Fiona brought your one ticket, accepting the cash from Roach. She turned to you, offering another wave of goodbye.

~

You and Roach stepped out into the cool nights air together, stopping for a moment while he lit up another cigarette. “Which one is yours? Vehicles- I mean.” You asked, watching as he took a deep drag off the cig.

“Mine? Oh- that one there…towards the side.” Of course the one from earlier was his, it matched him far too well.

“I suppose everything about ya is eye-catching, huh? Doin’ anything after this?” You boldly asked, one and obvious intention in mind, it was 4am. Roach nearly choked on smoke, eyes darting towards you and as wide as dinner plates. He regained his cool just as fast as he’d lost it, ready to throw down more of his smooth-talker lines.

“What for? Wanna see the interior?” He smirked, letting his cigarette hang from his mouth like it had been a half hour ago.

“Somethin’ like that. God, you look so good like that.” You muttered without even thinking, drawing closer to him for warmth in the wind.

“Well come on over then, darlin’.” He wrapped his arm around your shoulders and walked you towards his car. You’d just realized how tall he was, at least a foot taller than yourself, you fit so wonderfully into his side. It didn’t take too long to reach the edge of the parking lot, taking in the somewhat endearing sight of his beater. “The grand tour…” His arm left your shoulders, pulling the back door open. He gestured for you to get in, taking the cigarette from his lips and stomping it out on the gravel.

You slid into the back seat, kicking a few bottles as you did so. The interior was in shockingly good condition for what the outside looked like. Roach followed in after you, shutting the door behind himself. “This what ya wanted, baby? Takin’ ol’ Roach in the back of ‘is Buick like a whore?” The car was perfect for you, but he looked just a bit too tall for it.

“Doesn’t sound too bad.” You turned towards him, crawling forward. Grabbing a fistful of his shirt, you pushed him against the same door he’d just closed. “Bet you’ll be the whore beggin’ fer more when I’m done with ya.” You muttered, pressing your lips to his very much exposed neck.

“Bold claim, darlin’, but I like yer enthusiasm.” He complied as you pulled his unbuttoned shirt down his shoulders, grabbing and prodding at his arms along the way.

“Oh you’ll see, sweetheart.” You whispered quietly to him, taking his jaw into your hand. You tilted his head back, your glossed lips pressing into his rougher ones. Roach hummed into the kiss feeling your other hand tugging at his tank top. He removed his arms from the holes, breaking the kiss so you could pull it completely off of him.

“Angels above…” You muttered to yourself, taking in just how beautiful his body was. You moved your head down, leaving faint kisses from his jaw to his chest. “You are just…somethin’ else.” The compliments came so easily when it came down to it, you were absolutely letting yourself fall in love with this smooth-talking stranger. Your hands brushed over his ribs, sides, his softer torso…committing every bit of it to memory.

Roach was becoming putty in your hands, he’d expected you to get straight to business. He didn’t know what to say to all this seemingly genuine affection he was receiving. “You’re jus’ sayin’ that ta butter me up.” He chuckled, pushing a stray hair from your eyes. He was bricked into oblivion with the gentleness, and the situation all together.

You brought your head back up to eye level with him, cupping his cheeks and staring for but a moment. “I’m not ‘jus’ sayin’’ it, I mean it. Ya may as well be the mos’ gorgeous man I ever did lay eyes on.” You raked your hands through his sandy brown mullet, going in to steal another one of his gentle kisses. “Do you still want this?”

“More than ever, darlin’. How could I deny ya anythin’ with how sweet yer bein’ to me.” He showed off that toothy grin again, making your heart flutter.

You reached down, undoing the silver buckle at his hips. Surprised at this point he hadn’t asked you to remove your own clothing, he seemed to be entirely distracted by your face. The expression on his face was damn near lovesick, suppose he was letting himself get invested just like you were.

After successfully getting his jeans unbuttoned and unzipped, you tugged them down a bit bringing his undergarments with. Your face reddened upon catching a glimpse of his hardened cock, not having expected it look that…fulfilling.

“Damn, pretty boy. Like I said before, everythin’ about ya is eyecatchin’ as can be.” You untied your apron, grabbing it and the hem of your dress to pull it all off. Thankfully it was a day you’d chosen not to wear one of those horrifically uncomfortable things called a bra. You watched with a small giggle as Roach’s eyes dropped to your now exposed chest.

“Ain’t tha’ somethin’….shiyt.” That was probably the most emphasis you’d ever heard anyone use on the word shit, he was awestruck- thats for sure. You lifted up one leg at a time, figuring out the least awkward way to remove your own undergarments. “You are right beautiful yerself, darlin’. I ain’t seen nothin’ like ya before, and I’m hopin’ ta see ya again…” He admitted, reaching out to touch on your hips and thighs.

“See me again? Of course, sweetheart.” You settled between his legs, your own draped over his thighs. “Give me….jus’ a second.” The angle would be somewhat awkward if you didn’t do this part yourself, may as well give the man a show out of this. As much as he’s already getting.

He watched your lowers with wide eyes as your own hand trailed to it. “Oh, mama.” He whined, his cock twitching with anticipation.

You ran a few quick strokes over your clit, reaching back further to push two of your own fingers into your entrance. Your face contorted with desperation as you stretched yourself open, fingers slipping in and out.

Roach huffed a breath, reaching for his strained hardness and grabbing at the tip. “Ya just know exactly what yer doin’, don’cha?” He chuckled, that noise turning into a soft moan as he dragged his hand down his length.

You continued for a moment longer, removing your hand and looking up. Roach met your gaze, he’d stroked himself at the same pace you’d been working. “You…ready?” You asked breathlessly, receiving a quick and violent nod in response. “Alright…”

One hand met his shoulder for stability, the other was grabbed by him. “Not gonna let this go ta waste, right?” He brought your fingers towards his face, the same ones you’d just used on yourself. Your face darkened by shades as he took those two fingers into his mouth, pressing his tongue against the underside of them. You could feel the furnace inside yourself well up again, the hand on his shoulder moving to line him up with your entrance.

The moan Roach let out was guttural, the depth vibrating the fingers he still had in his mouth. You removed them, planting the hand over his chest. You sank down onto him slowly, really just making sure the preparation was good enough. Low and behold, that- along with the ocean down there was plenty enough. “You have been far too good to me tonight, darlin’.” He whined, resting his grip comfortably on your hips.

“It’s the sweet talk, and those devilish- good looks.” You stumbled over your words, his cock finally bottoming out inside you. “Oh, Roach. Fuck-“ You moaned out, raising yourself up again and sliding back down.

“Shit, baby- you feel s’good.” His large hands clung to your hips, not quite bruising but not gentle either. “D’ya need help?” He asked, feeling your legs shake against him.

“Maybe, christ.” You tried to continue the pace yourself, the sensation of Roach joining in the efforts reaching your core. “Oh god.” You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him into a messy kiss.

Your bodies moved in succession, all you could hear was his loud moans, your own, and the cars suspension squeaking away. “Y- Yer fuckin’ me so good, doll- ain’t never felt nothin’ like this.” He held you comfortingly close as the pace got sloppier and sloppier.

You buried your hand into his hair, tugging at it ever-so-slightly. “Roach…sweetheart- m’gonna…oh fuck.” A curse cut off your words, you ground down on him as well as you could. “M’gonna cum…” You muttered into the crook of his neck.

“M’too doll, feels so fuckin’ good.” His head leaned back into the window, heavy breaths and whimpers escaping his throat. “Jus’ a little longer-“ He near pleaded, still thrusting his hips in tandem with yours.

Your moans got more frantic as he reached deeper and deeper within you, that feeling in your stomach coiling up.

“Faster! Faster-“ You breathed out, feeling him speed up beneath you. “Fuck!” He could feel the building coil himself.

“S’it okay if I- cum-“ He was having trouble with his words, you knew what he was talking about.

“Yes, yes- cum inside me, sweetheart.” You were on the pill, you wanted that intimacy with him. As soon as you’d said it, his pace picked up furiously. “OH baby-“

You both moaned out loudly as he thrusted one last time, your orgasm hit you like a bag of rocks. You could feel the warmth of his own orgasm seeping inside of you. There was a moment of silence as you both rode out your endings, heavy breaths being the only noise.

You rested your forehead against his, making eye contact as your bodies shuddered in ecstasy.

“Think’m in love with ya, doll.” He muttered, squeezing your hips. His face was flushed, and he looked as beautiful as always.

“Me too, sweetheart. Y’got a landline number? An address?” You asked, leaning your body fully against his.

”I got an address, got somethin’ to write it down?”

“Oh I’ll remember.”

“Good memory, huh. I like that in’a person.”

[hrefna-the-raven]

Soul love

Masterlist - DD2 masterlist

Summary: a few drabbles that will be loosely connected to each other about the pawn falling in love with his Arisen

Warnings: SMUT (18+)

Notes: gender neutral version right after the original chapter :) I apologise, it being my first time writing a GN version of a story I lack the experience to write GN smut, I shortened certain passages a bit and the pawn still has a penis in the GN version (but they/them pronouns are used for pawn)

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

Part 4

You awoke from a strange dream as someone gently roused you, the instant your eyes opened the last fragment of its memory lost forever. Brant took a step away, his face brightening when he saw that you were in good health.

"Your Majesty, I came to see whe'er you were alright", he whispered.

You wondered for a brief moment why the guard captain spoke in hushed tones until you turned your head to the side. Your pawn was still asleep, one arm wrapped around your waist. He looked peaceful, with one side of his face nestled into the pillow and a faint smile playing on his lips. Whatever dream held him, it seemed to be a pleasant one. A wave of relief washed over you as you realised that he was unharmed. He had yet to wake up, but he appeared serene and free from physical harm. There was nothing more you could have asked for.

"I'm well, thank you", you turned towards Brant who nodded in response.

He informed you about the alarming news that Sven had shared with him after the coronation and explained in great detail what he believed needed to be done. He advised you to travel to Batthal soon. You nodded, attempting to ignore the gripping sensation in your stomach. Those were concerning news and the travel to Batthal would be a long and arduous one, especially after the events of last night.

"Will you require my aid with anything else, Your Majesty?", Brant asked.

"We will manage but we shall take today to rest before resuming our travels to Batthal."

"As you wish", the guard captain bowed respectfully before leaving through the front door.

"Arisen?", his voice still groggy and muffled through pillow.

You felt your pawn stir beside you, his grip on your waist tightening, pulling you closer as he locked you in a snug embrace.

"How are you feeling?", you asked softly, as if afraid of the answer.

The corners of his mouth curled into the most content and loving smile you've ever seen on him before he pecked your lips.

"Much better. I was afraid t'is would be my demise but something shattered the grip of the voice."

He spoke with uncertainty, yet his eyes betrayed the truth he dared not voice, fearing it would fracture the bond between you. You decided it was best to let the matter rest, you both were aware of your situation whether spoken aloud or not, you both felt the love that was growing with each passing moment.

"I decided that we shall take a day of respite. We have earned it before embarking on our journey to Batthal.", you informed him, recounting the information shared by Brant.

"The entire day?", his brow furrowing slightly in confusion.

You simply nodded and slid out of the bed, sauntering to the chest at the opposite side of the room.

"Ha!", you exclaimed triumphantly after a brief search, holding up a generously-sized bottle filled to the brim with an amber liquid.

"Newt liquor?", he asked, still slightly confused about what you were trying to get at.

"Yes, this and a visit to the bathhouse."

"But-"

"No!", you interjected firmly, "yesterday had been draining and we must allow ourselves this respite from our duties to continue with new found strength."

"As you wish", he answered, calling you by your name for the first time.

You were already soaking in the steaming water within of the secluded space you had claimed for the afternoon. Nervously you took a deep gulp from the liquor. As your pawn, he held a unique bond with you, one that had been forming for some time now and still, this held an unfamiliar edge to it. You'd planned this to be a calm day to replenish your energy but it felt different all over sudden, a hidden desire for more slowly breaking through the collected surface. Your trail of thoughts got interrupted when the door opened and he stepped inside, all bare save for a scant towel loosely draped around his waist. You swallowed, unable to divert your gaze from the sight of his alluring, near flawless physique. Without his braids, his long white hair fell freely down on his shoulders, a large tattoo of two black dragons silhouettes spitting fire at a dark blue tower adorned his chest along with a darker line of hair trailing from his navel down to the edge of the towel.

"Arisen", he cleared his throat, unsure on how to proceed.

You felt a blush spreading on your cheeks as you turned your gaze away, almost shivering in anticipation as you heard the towel drop on the floor and the gentle waves of the water rippled against your soft skin while he sank down into the pool, sitting next to you. To ease your jittery nerves, you swiftly took another swig from the liquor before offering the bottle to him. He gladly accepted and drank half of it, earning a chuckle from you.

"What?", he asked, an impish grin playing on his lips.

"You'll come to regret that later."

"But this I won't regret", came his resolute reply as he leaned in and kissed you.

The taste of the liquor on his lips was as intoxicating as it was thrilling and your lips parted in a half moan, his tongue slipping past them to deepen the kiss. The need for air forced both of you apart, panting slightly as his eyes found yours. There was a fire in them, burning ever so brightly since the incident at the palace. Whatever happened there had strengthened his resolve to be with you, not only to serve but also to love you. It had become his wish, his dream and his own will and you were more than willing to indulge him as you felt the same way. Neither the lack of a heart nor the world falling apart would prevent this love from flourishing.

He could feel the slow haze of the alcohol clouding his mind, dismantling the so carefully guarded walls hiding his true self as his fingers trailed along your thighs. He dug his fingers into the side of your hips and lifted you up on the edge of the pool. You gasped in surprise, spreading your legs instinctively for him to settle in between.

"Arisen, I desire you", he breathed, edging closer, his hard length pressing against your folds.

You moaned his name as your head fell back. You longed to feel him, for him to consume you, make you his as he was yours. You bucked your hips and he glided into you effortlessly, drawing out a long sinful moan from the both of you. As if made solely for you, his cock filled you up perfectly. His name spilled from your lips like a sacred chant, each thrust hitting that sweet spot time and again.

"Arisen", he groaned, followed by your name in a dangerously low groan.

Desire. It burnt like a wildfire through his veins, a searing heat coursing through every fibre of his body, urging him to thrust harder and faster, chasing the elusive and yet rapidly approaching feeling of his high. The way your walls clenched around his length drove him to the brink of madness, it controlled him, commanded him to continue, until the pleasure overtook his mind. The sound of skin slapping on skin, mingling with the ripples of water at every movement, were equally enticing and maddening to you. It epitomised the culminating love and desire you craved from each other. Suddenly everything became too much for you as the pleasure he bestowed upon you overwhelmed your entire body and you came undone, moaning his name while your hands dug into the soft skin of his butt cheeks, squeezing them tight, holding him in place. He succumbed to his own pleasure shortly after, a deep growl erupted from his chest, his cock twitching inside you, filling you with his seed. With heavy breaths he lifted you up and sank down in the warm water of the pool, leaving only your heads above the surface. He pecked your lips before tenderly resting his forehead against yours, all the while holding you in a tight embrace.

"You are my heart's desire, my Arisen", he murmured.

The ache in his heart was unbearable and yet it was so exquisitely beautiful - an untamed love coursing through every fibre of his body until it reached the very core of his soul. A soul...something he was presumed not to possess, but of its existence, he was resolutely sure, he did possess one and it loved you as vast and profound as the universe.

GN version

You awoke from a strange dream as someone gently roused you, the instant your eyes opened the last fragment of its memory lost forever. Brant took a step away, his face brightening when he saw that you were in good health.

"Your Majesty, I came to see whe'er you were alright", they whispered.

You wondered for a brief moment why the guard captain spoke in hushed tones until you turned your head to the side. Your pawn was still asleep, one arm wrapped around your waist. They looked peaceful, with one side of their face nestled into the pillow and a faint smile playing on their lips. Whatever dream held them, it seemed to be a pleasant one. A wave of relief washed over you as you realised that they were unharmed. They had yet to wake up, but they appeared serene and free from physical harm. There was nothing more you could have asked for.

"I'm well, thank you", you turned towards Brant who nodded in response.

He informed you about the alarming news that Sven had shared with him after the coronation and explained in great detail what he believed needed to be done. He advised you to travel to Batthal soon. You nodded, attempting to ignore the gripping sensation in your stomach. Those were concerning news and the travel to Batthal would be a long and arduous one, especially after the events of last night.

"Will you require my aid with anything else, Your Majesty?", Brant asked.

"We will manage but we shall take today to rest before resuming our travels to Batthal."

"As you wish", the guard captain bowed respectfully before leaving through the front door.

"Arisen?", their voice still groggy and muffled through pillow.

You felt your pawn stir beside you, their grip on your waist tightening, pulling you closer as they locked you in a snug embrace.

"How are you feeling?", you asked softly, as if afraid of the answer.

The corners of their mouth curled into the most content and loving smile you've ever seen on them before they pecked your lips.

"Much better. I was afraid t'is would be my demise but something shattered the grip of the voice."

They spoke with uncertainty, yet their eyes betrayed the truth he dared not voice, fearing it would fracture the bond between you. You decided it was best to let the matter rest, you both were aware of your situation whether spoken aloud or not, you both felt the love that was growing with each passing moment.

"I decided that we shall take a day of respite. We have earned it before embarking on our journey to Batthal.", you informed them, recounting the information shared by Brant.

"The entire day?", their brow furrowing slightly in confusion.

You simply nodded and slid out of the bed, sauntering to the chest at the opposite side of the room.

"Ha!", you exclaimed triumphantly after a brief search, holding up a generously-sized bottle filled to the brim with an amber liquid.

"Newt liquor?", they asked, still slightly confused about what you were trying to get at.

"Yes, this and a visit to the bathhouse."

"But-"

"No!", you interjected firmly, "yesterday had been draining and we must allow ourselves this respite from our duties to continue with new found strength."

"As you wish", they answered, calling you by your name for the first time.

You were already soaking in the steaming water within of the secluded space you had claimed for the afternoon. Nervously you took a deep gulp from the liquor. As your pawn, they held a unique bond with you, one that had been forming for some time now and still, this held an unfamiliar edge to it. You'd planned this to be a calm day to replenish your energy but it felt different all over sudden, a hidden desire for more slowly breaking through the collected surface. Your trail of thoughts got interrupted when the door opened and they stepped inside, all bare save for a scant towel loosely draped around their waist. You swallowed, unable to divert your gaze from the sight of his alluring, near flawless physique. Without the braids, their long hair fell freely down on their shoulders, a large tattoo adorned their chest.

"Arisen", they cleared their throat, unsure on how to proceed.

You felt a blush spreading on your cheeks as you turned your gaze away, almost shivering in anticipation as you heard the towel drop on the floor and the gentle waves of the water rippled against your soft skin while they sank down into the pool, sitting next to you. To ease your jittery nerves, you swiftly took another swig from the liquor before offering the bottle to them. They gladly accepted and drank half of it, earning a chuckle from you.

"What?", they asked, an impish grin playing on their lips.

"You'll come to regret that later."

"But this I won't regret", came their resolute reply as they leaned in and kissed you.

The taste of the liquor on their lips was as intoxicating as it was thrilling and your lips parted in a half moan, their tongue slipping past them to deepen the kiss. The need for air forced both of you apart, panting slightly as their eyes found yours. There was a fire in them, burning ever so brightly since the incident at the palace. Whatever happened there had strengthened their resolve to be with you, not only to serve but also to love you. It had become their wish, their dream and their own will and you were more than willing to indulge them as you felt the same way. Neither the lack of a heart nor the world falling apart would prevent this love from flourishing.

They could feel the slow haze of the alcohol clouding their mind, dismantling the so carefully guarded walls hiding their true self as his fingers trailed along your thighs. They dug his fingers into the side of your hips and lifted you up on the edge of the pool. You gasped in surprise, spreading your legs instinctively for them to settle in between.

"Arisen, I desire you", they breathed, edging closer, their hard length pressing against your folds.

You moaned his name as your head fell back. You longed to feel him, for them to consume you, make you his as he was yours. You bucked your hips and he glided into you effortlessly, drawing out a long sinful moan from the both of you. As if made solely for you, their cock filled you up perfectly. Their name spilled from your lips like a sacred chant, each thrust hitting that sweet spot time and again.

"Arisen", they groaned, followed by your name in a dangerously low groan.

Desire. It burnt like a wildfire through their veins, a searing heat coursing through every fibre of their body, urging them to thrust harder and faster, chasing the elusive and yet rapidly approaching feeling of their high. The way your walls clenched around their length drove them to the brink of madness, it controlled them, commanded them to continue, until the pleasure overtook their mind. The sound of skin slapping on skin, mingling with the ripples of water at every movement, were equally enticing and maddening to you. It epitomised the culminating love and desire you craved from each other. Suddenly everything became too much for you as the pleasure he bestowed upon you overwhelmed your entire body and you came undone, moaning their name while your hands dug into the soft skin of their butt cheeks, squeezing them tight, holding him in place. They succumbed to their own pleasure shortly after, a deep growl erupted from his chest, their cock twitching inside you. With heavy breaths they lifted you up and sank down in the warm water of the pool, leaving only your heads above the surface. They pecked your lips before tenderly resting their forehead against yours, all the while holding you in a tight embrace.

"You are my heart's desire, my Arisen", they murmured.

The ache in their heart was unbearable and yet it was so exquisitely beautiful - an untamed love coursing through every fibre of their body until it reached the very core of their soul. A soul...something they were presumed not to possess, but of its existence, they was resolutely sure, they did possess one and it loved you as vast and profound as the universe.

This was the last part of the story for now :) thanks a lot for reading these few loosely connected chapters <3

[strang3lov3]

Chevelle

Summary- (joel miller x virgin!reader) Joel figures out that you’re the one who hit his baby, his precious 1964 Chevrolet Chevelle. He needs you to make it right, but he doesn’t want your money ❤️‍🔥🍆 (5k words)

Tags- MDNI hot girls can’t drive, implied age gap, virgin!reader, we're calling him tender dark!joel, soft!dom joel, tender dubcon (power imbalance, joel solicits sex from reader, no explicit consent but reader is into it) reader has a luscious bush, Joel walks you through handjobs, blowjobs, fingering, oral, unprotected piv, creampie, come eating, loss of virginity. Joel is clothed and reader is not.

A/N- Writing this is how I spent my spring break. Hope you love it 🩵 Thank you @noxturnalpascal for all of your help editing and your encouragement.

Based on mine and @beefrobeefcal shared prompt where we asked, "What would happen if reader damaged Joel’s vehicle?” Her fic is here and it’s one of my favorite things I’ve read!! Kiki has such a beautiful voice in her writing and I love all the details she adds to her fics.

Pawn shop by @toxicanonymity came to mind when I wrote this story and was a source of inspiration. Also worth a read, I have nothing but love for Tox’s writing 🩷

It’s late when you get off your shift at Tony’s, the shitty Italian restaurant you’ve been working at for far too long. It doesn’t pay much and you’ve considered working a new job to save up and move out of your brother’s house, but you’ve been putting that idea off for a variety of reasons. One of them being Joel. 

Joel’s your neighbor, a sexy, older man you’ve got a certain fondness for. His hair used to be more brown but it’s grayer now, same with the scruff on his face. He’s got sparkling, chocolatey eyes and a sharp nose set above a thick, downturned mustache. He always looks a little dirty when you see him, with dirt caked into his forehead wrinkles and grease smeared along his temple or his jaw. He’s always either fresh off a contracting job or working on his car. He’s got this cute little Chevy he spends his nights and weekends with, a 1964 Chevrolet Chevelle, baby blue.

Joel was one of the first people to welcome you to the neighborhood and even helped you move your stuff into your brother’s house, though helping you implies he let you do any work. Joel offered you a pop from his fridge and then took over entirely, putting both himself and your brother to work moving all of your stuff in. You didn’t lift a finger that day. 

-

You can’t seem to pull your eyes from the little green glowing letters on your dash, watching letters and numbers on the screen roll on by. 12:37 A.M. 101.9. Paper Bag - Fiona Apple.  You’re so out of it. You yawn and blink a couple of times, focusing back on the narrow roads of your neighborhood. It’s so poorly lit over here, and it doesn’t help that one of your headlights is out. Joel’s been bugging you to let him fix that, he says it’ll only take five minutes.

You turn onto your street and bam. You’re wide awake now. You just hit something. 

You hit Joel’s car. Joel’s fucking car. What the fuck is it doing on the street? He always has it safely kept in his garage. Oh dear god, the panic is setting in. This is Joel’s baby. You just hit his baby, his pride and joy. 

You can’t even bring yourself to assess the damage you’ve inflicted upon his dear Chevy. Probably dented to shit, but you don’t really wanna know. Instead, you just pull your foot off the brake, press your remote control garage door opener, then pull into your garage as you press your lips together tightly. You’re surprised and relieved to find that there’s hardly a scratch on your own car. Joel won’t know. He won’t.

The next morning, you’re sipping on your coffee as you check your mailbox. Joel’s outside his house, loading up his work truck with some tools and supplies. He waves to you and you wave back, a small stack of mail in your hand. 

“Whose mail you got today, sweetheart?” he calls to you. 

You check the names on some of the letters. “Davidsons’ and Pierces’,” you answer through a chuckle. Joel rolls his eyes and laughs. The incompetent mailman is a running joke amongst yourself, Joel, and your other neighbors. He never seems to deliver anything to the right address, so you and your neighbors are often hand delivering each other your misplaced mail.

You laugh with Joel until you notice his smile disappear. He’s narrowing his eyes on his Chevy. Your heart drops as he steps closer to the vehicle, then pinches his nose in frustration. Fuck. Joel stomps back to his work truck, haphazardly tosses something in the bed and then slams the tailgate. Yeah, he’s fucking pissed. Your neck and your face heat in shame as you quickly run back inside.

-

In the two weeks since Joel’s car was hit, he’s been working to repair it tirelessly. He’s ordered a new tail light, since whoever hit his car shattered it and he’s spent a pretty penny ordering the exact shade of baby blue paint to touch up all of the scratches. Joel only trusts himself to touch his car, but the situation necessitates that he’ll have to take it in to a local repair shop to get the dents out. Fucking fantastic. 

When Joel gets off work tonight, he notices he’s got some packages on his doorstep, hoping it’s the shit he ordered for his car. He’ll open them shortly, but he first notices that one of the packages is addressed to you. Go figure, he thinks, chuckling to himself. He walks the package over to your house, noticing your car is parked outside of the driveway. And it’s backed in too, which is odd. Joel assumes your car must’ve been blocking your brother’s, so he probably played musical chairs with your cars to get his out and then backed yours up onto the driveway. You never back your own car in the driveway, and Joel’s pretty sure it’s because you don’t know how. You probably can’t parallel park, either. He’ll have to show you how to do that sometime.

What’s also new is a bit of baby blue paint on your red Honda Civic’s exterior, right by your headlight, the same headlight he’s been nagging you to let him fix. Joel bites the inside of his cheek. Interesting. He knocks on your door, package in hand, but he’s met with no answer. No biggie. He leaves the package on your porch and goes back to your car, inspecting the paint once more. He scoffs in astonishment and walks home. Unbelievable. 

-

The next evening, you check your mailbox after forgetting to do so earlier. As always, you never have just your own mail. This time you’ve got Joel’s. You walk it over to Joel’s house with the intention of dropping it off on his porch and going back home, not wanting to bother him as he works on his Chevy but his whistle startles you. “Hey you,” he says. “C’mere.”

“O-oh,” you stutter. “I’m just dropping off your–”

“Yeah, I know. Just c’mere a minute,” Joel says. “Got a fuckin’ bone t’pick with you.”

Your palms are beginning to sweat. He doesn’t know anything. Maybe he just wants some company while he works on his car, it wouldn’t be the first time. But still, there’s something about his tone. You step off of his porch and cut through his lawn to get to his garage. Once inside, you help yourself to a root beer from his refrigerator. Something cold and fizzy and sweet to help you calm your nerves.“Oh, sure, help yourself,” Joel mumbles. He notices your fingers slipping off the tab of the pop can and pulls it from your hands, then opens it for you. He’s wearing a stained Prince and the Revolution t-shirt and a slightly too tight pair of jeans that squeeze his ass just so. His garage is decorated with old license plates, posters, other odds and ends. 

“Thank you,” you whisper. 

Joel says nothing as he walks to his work bench. He pulls a lightbulb out of a cardboard box and waves it in your direction, he’s only a couple of feet from you. “Ordered the wrong bulb,” he tells you. 

You can only nod. You think about maybe making a joke about the mailman screwing it up somehow, but you bite your tongue. You don’t trust yourself not to stutter right now.

“M’sure you saw, my baby here’s all banged up,” Joel puts the bulb back in the box and leans against his work bench, facing you. “Happened a couple weeks ago.”

“Mm,” you hum.

“Hit and run, can you believe that?” 

“No, I can’t. That-that’s terrible.”

“I know it is. And here I thought we had a nice neighborhood…” he trails off before speaking again, “You think you know someone, huh.” 

Someone. So he has someone in mind? “Yeah, it’s terrible…what happened to your car. Can’t believe someone would uh…would do that, knowing how you, your car…yeah. Terrible.”

Joel stares at you for a minute before speaking again, taking note of how you can’t seem to hold eye contact with him. He steps closer to you.

“You wouldn’t know a thing about it, right?”

“Yes,” you answer, quickly realizing your word mishap when Joel raises his eyebrows. “No, yeah. I don’t know–yeah, nothing,” you sip your root beer before fidgeting with the pop tab and shifting your weight from one foot to the other. 

Joel notices. “Squirmin’ an awful lot over there, sweetheart. You got something you wanna tell me?” You shake your head, still playing with the tab on the pop can. Joel removes it from your hand, his fingers gracing over yours before placing it on the workbench. He’s moving closer to you now, matching your pace as you walk backward until the back of your legs hit his car. You gasp, he stands so tall and imposing in front of you. “Easy,” he warns. “You be careful with her.”

“Yeah, I know. Always,” you reply. Your voice is beginning to shake. 

Joel hums at your response. “Not always, though, sweetheart. Think you were pretty careless with my baby a couple weeks ago.” 

The familiar pressure behind your eyes is beginning to build as tears are pricking your waterline, “I don’t know what–”

“Awh, don’t do that. Don’t lie t’me.” 

 The tears spill over. You’re caught. You don’t know how Joel figured out what you did, but he did. “You’ve got a guilty conscience, dontcha?”

You nod before you can speak. “I’m so sorry,” you cry. Sobs begin to wrack your body, your tears now flowing freely. You’re so guilty. You should’ve told Joel what happened that night. It was an accident, and he might’ve been mad, but you’ve probably made it worse for yourself with your dishonesty. “I’m so sorry, Joel, it was late and I was so tired–”

Joel pulls you in a tight embrace, stroking your back with his fingertips. “Shhh, I know. I know,” he whispers in your ear,  “S’okay, sweet girl.” 

“It was so…” you try to explain, choking on your sobs and your sniffles. “So late and d-dark and I wasn’t paying attention.”

“I know. Quit your cryin’, s’gonna be fine,” Joel whispers. He pulls away from you, looking at you with those deep brown eyes of his as he wipes the tears from your face with his thumbs. Know you’ll make it up to me.”

“I will,” you agree quickly. “I’ll pick up some more shifts, Joel, and I’ll save and–”

“Oh, no. Not that. Save your money,” he tells you earnestly. “Somethin’ else,” Your eyes follow Joel when he leaves you for a moment to flip a switch on the wall of his garage. Something in the air changes then, a thick, heavy feeling between you both when he makes his way back to you. “Use your head, sweetheart. How are we gonna make it right?”

Your mouth is dry, your tongue swollen as you pick up what Joel’s putting down. “Let me give ya a hint,” Joel grunts, sucking in his gut slightly as he unbuttons his jeans. He wears no underwear, a thatch of coarse hair littering his skin is what you see when he pulls down his zipper. He grips your wrist and shoves your hand beneath the denim where you feel his package, already half hard. It’s warmer, thicker than you would expect. He feels heavy in your palm, his pubic hair wiry and scratchy against your knuckles. 

He doesn’t tilt his head in confusion at your hesitancy. “Don’t know what to do with all this, do ya?”

You shake your head no. “I’ve never…with anyone, before.”

“S’alright. I’ll walk ya through it all,” Joel says, seemingly unsurprised at the revelation. With your hand still on his cock, Joel pulls himself out of his jeans entirely. He’s harder now. “Like this,” he instructs, bringing your hand to his mouth and spitting in it. A pang of arousal fills your gut at the action. He pushes your hand lower and guides you to wrap your hand around his cock. It feels heavy, warm to the touch, sticky with his sweat and his saliva. Rock hard, but smooth like satin. You admire him, his blushed tip, the prominent veins on his shaft. 

Your breath hitches as Joel takes control, using his strong, weathered hand to guide your own to massage his cock. “You got it,” he encourages, sensing your rigidity. “Tighter,” he instructs, squeezing his hand around yours. You’re slow to gain confidence but he’s patient, doing the work himself for now. “You move your hand all the way up, all the way down my cock,” he tells you. 

You nod in understanding. Joel drops his hand but yours stays stroking his member. He sighs and tilts his head backward as you focus on the task at hand. Without the pressure of intense eye contact, you take the opportunity to admire him, the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, the small drops of sweat rolling down his throat. You’re shy when he smiles at you, quickly averting your attention from him and to his cock, watching the way it twitches beneath your hand, where a little bead of precum forms. Experimentally, you swipe your thumb over the tip. “That’s it,” he whispers, stroking your cheek with the back of his hand. He ruts his hips into your hips, “Doin’ just fine.”

You stroke his cock like this for a while, gaining confidence in yourself until he stops you suddenly.

 “Is that it?” 

“Is that it,” Joel mocks with a feigned pout. “No, hon. You banged up my baby pretty good. We ain’t quite square yet.”

His leaking cock bounces against his tummy as he approaches his work bench. Your heart pounds as you can’t quite see what he’s reaching for. “Know it’s new to ya,” he says.  “Just listen to me, s’all you gotta do.”

Joel returns to you with a dirty rag in his hand and lays it on the concrete ground, then reaches for your face. He pulls your bottom lip down and lets it go to watch it bounce back up. “Knees,” he whispers, gently pushing you by your shoulders to the ground. The rag he laid on the concrete for your knees is a sweet touch, all things considered. His cock is inches away from your face as he holds it between his thumb, middle, and forefingers. He presses himself to your lips, encouraging you to open your mouth. “Give it a taste,” he instructs you. “An’ you can kiss it too, if you’re feelin’ amorous.” 

You part your lips and tentatively lick the weeping slit of his thick head just once. After a moment, taking in the saltiness of his precome, you lick him a couple more times, gaining confidence quicker than you did using just your spit soaked hand on him. Bigger stripes now, using more pressure. Like Joel advised, you kiss his cock a couple times, each kiss sloppier than the last before swirling your tongue around the tip. You’re learning it all, the softness of his skin, his musky, heady taste. 

“Give me your hand,” Joel says. “Goes right here,” He wraps your hand around the base of his cock, same as before. He places one of his hands on your head, guiding you closer to him, encouraging you to take him deeper now. You do as such, sputtering and choking when you get overzealous and take him too quickly.

Joel chuckles, “Not all at once, sweetheart. Go slow. Try it again.” This time, Joel controls the pace at which you take him. He pushes himself into your mouth and senses when it becomes too much, pauses for you. He pulls his hips back, then rocks back into your mouth, building a slow, shallow pace for you to get used to. 

He’s pushing his cock deeper into your mouth. His tip teases the back of your throat as he whispers, “Little more. Be brave,” You gaze up at him, searching his eyes for some sort of approval. He nods with his brows furrowed. “Do it for me, hon.”

You allow him to fuck himself deeper in your mouth now, your eyes pricking with tears as you gag and sputter on his cock. This time, Joel doesn’t stop himself. He’s grunting, groaning, savoring the warmth of your wet, soft mouth. “So good,” he tells you before tapping your hand, reminding you to put it to use.

What you can’t reach with your mouth, you massage with your hand as you cup his balls with your other. You and Joel work in tandem, him drawing in and out of your mouth as you bob your head and flick your tongue against his shaft. Your jaw is sore with the newness of it all, and just as you’re becoming used to the thickness of his cock between your lips and on your tongue, he pauses. “M’gonna stop you now,” Joel mumbles as he pulls out of your mouth, his eyes focused on your swollen lips and how the string of saliva connected from them to his cock breaks. “S’your turn.”

“My turn?”

“Mhm. It’s etiquette, hon,” Joel says with a grunt, lifting you to your feet. He reaches between your bodies and unbuttons your pants, pushing both them and your underwear down your legs. “Always return the favor.” Joel lifts you slightly, sitting your bare ass on the hood of his car, then pulls your pants off your legs the rest of the way. “Arms up,” he tells you. He lifts your shirt off of your body, unhooks your bra and lets it fall to your lap. You’ve never been so vulnerable, so exposed in front of someone before.  Instinctively, you cover your chest with your arms and cross your legs. 

“You’re shy,” he whispers. Joel drapes your clothing over his shoulder before reaching for your arms, removing them from your chest and placing them on either side of your body. “Stay like this,” He holds your knees next, uncrossing your legs and spreading them wide for his view. 

Joel takes in your body and admires your wet cunt, how your thick curls frame it beautifully. A shiver goes down your spine as his eyes scan the rest of your body before he holds intense eye contact with you as he folds your clothes, placing them in a neat pile next to you on his car. You watch his chest rise and fall with steady breaths as he drops to his knees, situating himself between your thighs.

He presses a sloppy kiss against your inner knee, then another on your other leg. He kisses his way up your inner thigh, nipping at your flesh and soothing the marks with his tongue. He holds your legs firmly apart, knowing your instinct is to shut them when he reaches your cunt, his hot breath fanning over your center. “Wider,” he whispers, “I gotcha.”

The once cool metal of Joel’s car is now hot and slick under your sweaty, trembling palms. Your pulse beats as you look up at the garage ceiling, lacking the courage to look at Joel between your thighs. “Relax for me,” he tells you. You try. 

You gasp when he finally begins exploring you, first his thumb parting open your folds. Adding a couple more digits, he hums in satisfaction as he finds you’re already wet, your slick glistening on his fingers. He dips one of those fingers inside of you slowly, watching how you react to his touch. You twitch and fight to keep yourself still and silent as he adds a second finger, curling it rhythmically and stroking that sweet spot inside you. 

“Oh, god,” you moan as he dives into your cunt, the soft and warm, private place between your thighs, his mouth now joining where his fingers touch. His tongue is hot and wet as he drags it through your sex, circling your clit with it. “Joel, please.”

Joel’s satisfied as he hears sounds of pleasure fall from your lips, feeling your hips bucking and grinding gently against his mouth. He sucks one fold, nips at the other as he curls his fingers inside you rhythmically. With the hand that’s not teasing your pussy, he digs his fingers into the soft flesh of your thigh. “Quit squirmin’ on my car,” he warns with a firm squeeze to your thigh, hard enough to bruise you. “Ya tryin’ to scratch her again?”

His wiry stubble drags across your skin, scratching gently against the inside of your thighs. You can feel it building up quickly, that hot, sparkling feeling deep in your core as he works you, sucks your clit between his lips. 

“Please,” you cry, the only word you can form at the moment. 

“I know, hon,” he murmurs, escalating his efforts on your pussy. Sucking, licking, curling his fingers harder. He works you through your orgasm, feeling you gush against his mouth, your arousal dripping down his fingers and pooling into the palm of his hand. Your hands fly to his scalp, twitching and jerking from the sensitivity with your fingers tugging on his curls when he licks a stripe up the seam of your cunt. 

Joel pulls away from your center with a satisfied grin, lips shiny, his facial hair damp. He rises, standing above you, and sloppily kisses your lips. You’ve never tasted your own arousal before. His strong hands find your ass cheeks, pulling you closer to where he wants you.

From there, you gasp when he slides his cock through your slick folds, rubbing thick head against your sensitive clit and watches how you react to his touch. “What do you think I’m doin’ to ya next?”

“Joel,” you whimper, your hips chasing his movements, following where his cock teases your cunt. 

“Yeah, you know what I’m doin,” he purrs. “Crossin’ it all off your list tonight.”

You tense when he notches just the head of his cock in your pussy, reaching for his arm, his shoulder, any part of him you can hold. 

“Know you’re nervous,” he says softly, rubbing circles into your thighs. “But s’just me an’ you here. Wider, hon. Spread your legs for me.”

You nod quickly, following suit and spreading your legs to accommodate him. “Like this?”

“Yeah, like that. S’perfect, hon, that’s all I need from you. C’mere,” Joel adjusts his hold on you before inching his cock into you a bit more. You’re so tight, squeezing him hard and whining through the stretch as he pushes into you further, the gradual slide inside your body causing him to grunt quietly. “Relax for me,” he groans through a strained breath, parting your insides as he’s sheathed himself inside you fully now. “Bite me f’ya need to, sweetheart. It’ll be okay. You’ll get used to it.”

It aches, but the pain dulls as Joel lets you get used to the feeling, the newness of his cock inside you. He holds you close and you take advantage of his suggestion, biting softly into the flesh of his neck, tasting the saltiness of his skin as you whimper quietly. Joel groans, his eyebrows furrowing together. “Shh,” he hushes, “You’re okay, hon. You’re doin’ alright.”

Joel slowly pulls out of you and fills you up again. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he praises as you tilt your hips, opening yourself to accept more of him. You’re humming into his neck as his cock recedes and then pushes in once more. “Eyes on me now. There it is, easy. Easy.”

You do as instructed, pulling your face away from him to meet his gaze. His sparkling brown eyes stay on yours as he pulls out of you, pushing into you slowly, deliberately. You hold onto his neck, his broad shoulders, clutching the fabric of his sweat dampened shirt as he builds a steady pace now. He holds you close to his body, one of his hands traveling up your body and groping your bouncing breasts, teasing your sensitive nipples.

“You just follow my lead,” Joel says, fucking you faster now. His fingers are pressed firmly into your waist now as he rolls his hips against yours. The pain is gone now, dissipated with his continued languid thrusts into you. You feel so full, so satisfied with his thick cock inside you, massaging your insides.

He fucks you steadily but gently, maintaining a quick rhythm. You didn’t know sex could make you feel this way, so much pleasure.  You’re moaning freely, overwhelmed with emotion, tears flowing freely down your cheeks. God, you love it, and it’s nothing but pure pleasure. 

Joel’s not oblivious to your enjoyment. He’s watching you, your face contorting, he’s listening to your moans and your cries, feeling you shiver and twitch beneath his touch and how it’s all because of him, all of your pleasure at the hands of Joel and only ever Joel. He feels a sort of carnal sense of power over this, the effect his touch has on you. You’re soft, so soft and all for him, your flesh for his hands and his teeth alone to squeeze, dig into, to bite on. 

You reach for his arm and guide his hand to your center, pressing his fingers against your clit as that familiar tightness in your gut begins to build once more. “Please,” you beg. 

“Thought this was supposed to be a deal for me. Didn’t need to hit my car f’ya needed me like this,” he taunts, laughing breathlessly. But Joel obliges, of course he obliges you. He moves his calloused fingertips in circles over your clit, coaxing out your release. “Takin’ me so good, sweetheart. Look at you, m’gonna make you come again. Makin’ out like a fuckin’ bandit, aren’t you?”

Indeed you are. It’s not long before you’re coming for him. With his ministrations on your clit, his thrusts now faster, harder, deeper, you’re coming undone for him as his name pours from your lips, long and slow like honey. With your lips parted open, you’re twitching and shuddering against him as you watch his face, letting yourself go. You whimper and moan, and your release is volcanic in the way it washes over your body so fiercely. Heavy, vivid waves of pleasure washing over you the way lava rolls down the earth. Slow, fiery, intense.

Your pulsing cunt milks Joel’s own climax, his orgasm crashing through him in such a way that he loses focus on you. His eyes screwed shut, the noises he’s making louder than he intended–what starts as a grunt turns into a moan, long and libertine as he fucks you harder than he probably should as you whimper in overstimulation. His thrusts turn harder and frenzied as he milks himself with your cunt, spurting hot ropes of his come inside you. You take everything he gives you, feeling so warm and full of his spend. 

His movements then begin to ease, slowing down some more until he eventually stills inside of you. He takes the quiet moment to check on you, holding your face in his hands as he makes sure you’re okay. Your chest heaves as he wipes your tears, but you silently nod, reassuring him that you’re alright.

With a soft grunt, he pulls out of you. He watches how your combined arousal spills on the baby blue paint of his Chevelle, then uses his thumb to push a bit of his escaped come back inside you. Such a lewd action from the man. 

Joel helps you to your feet, steadying you as you stand on shaky legs. He reaches for your clothes from the hood of his car, helping you dress yourself. “Didn’t want ‘em to get dirty,” he explains. “Everything’s covered in fuckin’ dirt and grease in here.”

“Thank you,” you smile shyly. Joel opens the garage door, the once peachy and blue sky now inky black. You didn’t realize how much time had passed. You take off back to your house, but Joel grips your bicep before you can step any further. 

 “Nuh uh,” he tuts. “Ya already hit my car, hon, you don’t wanna leave your mess on the hood now too, do ya?” Joel gestures to your combined arousal on the hood of his Chevelle, swipes his pointer finger through the mess and pushes it between your lips. Your brows furrow at the taste, that salty, heady flavor you’ve never tasted before now. “Use your tongue, sweetheart.”

“You want me…”

“Lick it up,” he instructs in a quiet voice. Joel figured he might’ve let you off too easy, seeing as how you came twice–once on his tongue and once on his cock when this was all supposed to be for him. He bends you over the hood of his car, groping your ass as he leans over your shoulder to inspect your work, making sure it’s a job well done. “Good girl,” he praises, watching you lick his car clean. When you’re done, he kisses you softly.

He walks you home, dropping you off on your doorstep. You’re not quite sure what to say, whether you should apologize again, thank him, say goodnight. Joel fills the silence for you. “Gonna teach you how to drive right one of these days. Keep you out of another mess like this one, hm?” he smirks as he kisses your cheek. “Goodnight, hon.”

If you enjoyed, please reblog, leave me a comment, and/or send an ask 🩷 your words mean the world to me and your interaction keeps me motivated to write. Love you all <3

From now on I’ll be sharing cat pics at the end of my fics. Hope you don’t mind 🐈‍⬛😻

[bones-of-a-rabbit]

Pawn AU Sun and Moon: We haven’t seen or heard from our older brother in years, but that’s fine bc he’s a huge asshole anyway

Pawn AU Eclipse, showing up five years later with no milk, blatantly flirting with their crush: :3c uwu

Sun and Moon: 🙃🔪🔪🔪🙃🙃🙃🔪🙃🙃

no one:

absolutely utterly no one:

Pawn AU Eclipse:

[yandere-writer-momo]

Thinking about a Yandere Demon Lord. This is Part 1.

Yandere Head Canons:

Defying Destiny

Yandere Demon Lord x Isekai Saintess Reader x Yandere Hero

TW: Voyeurism, stalking, Somniaphilia, dacryphillia, dark content, etc

Part 2

You were surprised to be alive after your cold fiancé pushed you into oncoming traffic when you got into an argument with him… all you had wanted was for him to show you that he loved you, but instead he killed you. Yet your life didn’t end… no. Far from it.

Rather than waking up in the supposed after life, you woke up in the Rerenth Kingdom. A fantasy kingdom in a magical world plagued with problems written in fiction novels. And the emperor explained to you, no, demanded that you to take on your role as Saintess to save them from the Demon King.

The demon king was now your enemy. Defeating him was the only way for you to go home… but did you even want to do that? In your last life and in this one, you were merely another unhappy pawn. The silk robes and dazzling abilities did nothing to shield you from the harsh reality of what your life has become once more… would you ever truly be free? Would you ever truly be happy?

The servants often spoke of the monstrous Demon King who controlled the forces of darkness that sought to destroy the light. A demonic entity none of the people in this kingdom had ever truly seen with their own eyes, but they believed him to be out there… how else were they to explain the supernatural happenings that plagued their kingdom? This entire ordeal made little sense to you since you hadn’t seen many disputes between humans and demons unless they were over territory. Vast majority of the time, it was humans that ventured into the demonic lands anyways. Was this perhaps some propaganda tactic? You didn’t know and you didn’t question it, you simply wanted to retire to a peaceful life.

It took a few weeks for you to be able to control your new holy power, but you were able to now harness it for barriers and for healing. Abilities that would be useless without a hero… a fact that the citizens soon realized so they began to devise another plan. To summon a hero!

Another few weeks passed by and they successfully summoned a valiant hero by the name of Reinhardt. His chiseled face was constantly covered by the taxidermied lion mask that adorned his face. The man was massive and intimidating, yet you couldn’t help but feel there was something familiar about him. You couldn’t place a finger on who he could possibly be since you didn’t know anyone else with an imposing stature like his but that gut feeling never left you.

Reinhardt would often glance you up and down when he thought you weren’t looking. His green eyes would bore into yours until you felt as if you’d be set ablaze. He was terrifying to you. Especially now that you were on a journey with him to defeat the demon king… along with a fox beastwoman fighter and an elven mage who had joined your party due to the emperor’s order. The Emperor didn’t see you to be enough aid to the hero on this important quest.

Both adventurers were quite rude to you at first since you had no offensive abilities. They often fawned over the hero who blatantly ignored their affections to instead watch over you like a hawk. A fact the two women didn’t really enjoy, but they accepted it as the weeks melted into months. And you still didn’t know their names since they never told you (and Reinhardt never spoke).

The three of them often fought and killed monsters and demons while you protected the supplies and healed their injuries. It upset you that your party ambushed them since the enemies usually were unarmed. Majority of the time, it was a one-sided slaughter. An endless bloodbath that you had no power to stop.

You often lied to your peers about monsters hiding, unaware that your small act of kindness would lead to a snowball effect in the future. You had now caught the eye of an entity much stronger than you and the hero’s party… all because you were merciful. You were kind and sweet. A true saintess.

Your softness had made your peers joke about you being a cry baby. The elven mage and beastwoman often jabbed their elbows into your side to joke about the tears you’d cry because they thought you were scared. The dense women never realized your tears were for the innocent monsters they slaughtered on a day to day basis too. You were never scared of the demons or monsters, you were scared of them.

Yet Reinhardt nipped the subtle bullying in the bud by shoving the other two adventures away from you with his strong arms. He always made sure you were safe before he offered his body for healing… which he’d just make gesture at you with his hands rather than speak. It seemed he was fond of you, a fondness you didn’t understand since he never spoke to you.

Reinhardt would often pick you up without asking you and tuck you into the crook of his large arm. It bothered you that he never took off his mask, but he had quite an attractive jawline with the slightest bit of stubble. There was not a doubt in your mind that Reinhardt was likely an attractive man, but that didn’t matter. Since he was creepy.

Reinhardt never uttered a word to you but would always dutifully stand by your side (or carry you like some sort of damsel). He often reminded you of your ex fiancé with his stoic demeanor and his bewitching green eyes. And the staring. You swore you felt bare under his gaze even if you had multiple layers on.

And it wasn’t just his eyes you felt on you, you swore there was someone else watching you in the shadows and the possibility of you having another stalker made your skin crawl. Had you finally gone insane from having Reinhardt be around you 24/7? Or was there something sinister amiss?

Maybe that’s why Reinhardt so dutifully clung to you? Whether his protection was out of obligation or simply because he lusted for you, his presence did little to ease the extra set of eyes. In fact, he made it worse.

Wherever you were, Reinhardt was never far. He was with you when you bathed to stand guard. He was carrying you if you couldn’t keep up with him and the rest of the hero’s party. Reinhardt even began to stay in your tent with you…

He didn’t utter a word when he watched over you whenever you had nightmares. Reinhardt never woke you up from the horrific dreams of the man with pitch black hair and sharp talons pulling you into his lap and having his way with you. No, Reinhardt instead dragged his tongue down your tear stricken face in delight.

Reinhardt knew his actions were wrong, but he couldn’t help but fawn over your helpless form. You were so weak without his protection… you were a lamb sent to a slaughter that luckily had a herding dog with you. You should be grateful Reinhardt had such an intense interest in you, otherwise you could have perished earlier on at the goblin camps. Or those other two party members would have likely broken a few of your bones from rough housing. You were a frail bird that needed to be locked up at all times and Reinhardt was willing to be the one to do that! He would keep you safe, even if it took you years to understand even an ounce of his magnitude of feelings for you. He was a patient man!

It wasn’t uncommon for you to wake up in your tent with Reindhart’s imposing form standing over you ominously. You’d cry every single time, but he’d make no move to comfort you. Only stare.

Over the last four weeks, you begin to receive little trinkets in your tent on the daily. Delicacies that Reinhardt would immediately pitch once he saw them, but it filled you with anxiety that he was not the one slipping you those gifts… who on earth could be gifting you such pretty rocks and wild flowers?

You were flattered, just the tiniest bit, by the small, temporary gifts. They were much more welcomed than the iron grip of Reinhardt’s arms. Even though the sender made you anxious, it was nice to know that someone took you into consideration. It was a small action that filled you with hope. Perhaps you would be saved from this fate?

Shame you didn’t understand just how much those tiny gifts upset the hero. Your eyes should only be on him. Your entire purpose should revolve around him. Reinhardt wanted to find the individual who sent you these gifts so he could rip them limb from limb. You belonged to him and he would show you that you had no way of escaping him. You were going to be his bride! Whether you liked it or not, the hero had chosen you as his destined one!

Recently, you’d wake up to him laying beside you in your tent with his large arms wrapped around you. His Roman nose buried into the crook of your neck. This was far worse than him lingering in your tent since he had become so physical.

And your peers did nothing about his harassment of you. To them, it was cute that the hero was so ‘enamored’ with the Saintess! You’ve even heard whispers of how the emperor will no doubt arrange a marriage between the two of you once the four of you eliminated the demon king. It terrified you even more because you knew you’d have little say in the matter… your life was spiraling out of your own control once more. This time, into the arms of some brute with attachment issues. You didn’t want to marry another emotionally constipated man! You wanted to have freedom!

You often cried yourself to sleep which only made Reinhardt even more overbearing. He now would press kisses to your cheeks and cuddle his body into yours. Even in your dreams, you couldn’t escape this massive man. If only you could be saved…

And when you drifted off into an unnaturally heavy sleep, your barriers deactivated. An action that allowed the Demon King to finally slip into your party’s camp and take what he wanted. You.

[scribbleseas]

The Indignant Pawn, Chapter XVIII: The Eternal Promise

Description: You are Y/n Y/l/n- formerly known as Princess Helena, the runaway princess.

You're an assassin for hire who only agrees to find the worst of London's criminals at the business end of your knife; until a mysterious woman hires you to end the likes of Ciel Phantomhive, the King of the Underworld. You find yourself trading your weapons for your abandoned family crest in order to infiltrate his home as none other than Princess Marie-Louise, your twin sister. What's to happen when you find that the young Earl is more than a callous businessman?

OVERALL STORY WARNINGS: sexual assault (once in the prologue), objectification, misogyny, death, detailed description of blood/gore, detailed description of murder, lying, impersonation, theft, weapons, detailed panic attacks, symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder, kissing

Author’s Note: Hi everyone! This is the last chapter of The Indignant Pawn! Thank you so much for reading and following along on this story! It means the world to me and I’m so happy that I was able to complete this for you, and so soon. I ended up having more time than I thought, and I was so inspired. I couldn’t start to study for finals without completing this, unfortunately. Please let me know how you feel about the ending. It’s been years in the making. 

One more thing, I opened commissions! If you're remotely interested, please check out this post!

Happy Reading!

- Dan

⇠ PREVIOUS CHAPTER

MASTERLIST  

. . .

MAY 12TH, 1892

SCHLESWIG-HOLSTEIN, GERMANY

It was early noon and you were already exhausted. 

Last night, the Glücksburg Castle staff separated you and Ciel the moment your steamship docked at the port. They pulled you apart before you could share much of a goodbye; taking you to the castle in different carriages and in separate routes before showing you to separate quarters. In accordance with common wedding superstition, you weren’t to see Ciel until the wedding ceremony, the next day. 

Instead, your company was the bridal party, handpicked by Queen Victoria. The Hesse sisters occupied the full length of the brunch table’s left side, talking amongst themselves.  

Despite being married across the continent, they still came in a set of four, the beautiful and elegant daughters of your late Aunt Alice. The eldest, Victoria, was about ten years your senior, married to Louis of Battenberg, the adventurous one. She was engaged in some emphatic discussion with her sister, Elisabeth, one of the most beautiful women in Europe, the papers liked to say.

Elisabeth turned down numerous dukes and princes before Grand Duke Sergei Alexandrovich captured her heart. 

The other two sisters were Irene and Alix, both were shy and withdrawn, at least by comparison to their siblings. Irene was content to let her elder sisters engage the European press, enjoying her serene marriage with Prussian Prince Henry. Meanwhile, Alix was still engaged to Nicholas II of Russia. She was unpopular with the Russian public, but a noted beauty.

“I believe our gowns are soft blue or some shade of periwinkle, are they not?” Victoria of Hesse said ponderously, adding a half-spoonful of sugar into her tea. She had your deceased aunt’s pleasant smile and joking eyes-- at least from what you remembered of Aunt Alice.

“I’m sure I don’t know,” Elisabeth replied, “Gangan had our modiste send over my measurements and that was all. Do you know, Marie?” she asked, turning the table’s attention back to you. 

“No; Gangan handled all of the wedding planning,” you hoped your tone was light enough to portray amusement. “I haven’t so much as seen my gown, much less yours.” It was true. Nina merely sent your measurements to your Matron of Honor, Aunt Beatrice, and that was all. You were even unsure if the wedding was going to take place at the castle or a traditional church. 

“We should hope it is a more vibrant color than blue, no?” Grand Duchess Maria chimed in, seated at the right of the table by Lizzie. You managed to convince your grandmother to allow the Midfords to attend the wedding, so long as you strictly referred to their familial relationship, rather than past engagement. Not to mention, Ciel needed stand-ins in the wedding procession for his parents.

She seemed well-suited to the royal table, easily carrying conversations with the Hesse sisters, and winning over the Grand Duchess. Maria was advertising her and your Uncle Alfred’s son, Alfred II, for Lizzie to consider marrying. They were the Duke and Duchess of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha, and they were looking for a bride for their second son. Lizzie would make a better duchess than you did a princess.

“If it’s a baby blue, I think it could look quite elegant,” Irene said. “Especially if the gentlemen wear deep navy and with chartreuse accents.”

“That’s exactly what I thought!” Lizzie smiled. “That color scheme is perfect for the spring.” Her word of agreement seemed to encourage shy Irene. Lizzie navigated these situations flawlessly, engaging the outspoken, and encouraging the quiet. You respected her ability to infuse cheerful care into every conversation she was a part of, even if it was these sort of superfluous topics.

After all, this was the sort of aimless conversation you had been entertaining all morning. It was endless torture with a side of tea and miniature pastries and finger sandwiches that the other women hardly touched. You would’ve taken the pain that came after Mey-Rin’s grazing bullet over entertaining this group of frivolous women. 

“Good morning, everyone!” Princess Beatrice of the United Kingdom entered, carrying a wooden box with both hands. By the tension in her shoulders, it seemed heavy.

Beatrice was your youngest aunt; Queen Victoria’s youngest child. She was Victoria’s known confidante; living with her for years as her secretary. Beatrice and her husband, Henry of Battenberg, made home with Victoria since their early marriage.

And for the next several days, she was to serve as your Matron of Honor.

You were satisfied with that choice, as well. Out of all your grandmother’s daughters, Aunt Beatrice was the most motherly. Marie was fond of her — she was a bridesmaid at her wedding in 1885. You were always most partial to your Aunt Louise, the Duchess of Argyll, but much to your silent chagrin, she was not a part of the wedding party. 

The table rose, everyone dropping into a shallow curtsey, though Duchess Maria’s was too quick to be genuinely respectful. Your aunt was too humble to comment on it and make an unnecessary scene. Instead, Beatrice took measured strides towards you, exchanging knowing smiles with the rest of the table.

“Good morning, Aunt Beatrice,” you greeted, swiftly kissing one another on the cheek. “Thank you for being here,” you said, though you doubted the queen gave her the option.

“Of course,” she smiled fondly, setting the heavy box on the table. 

“Marie, Aunt Beatrice had to secure your ‘something borrowed’ as it were,,” Victoria of Hesse explained. She gestured to the guard behind Beatrice with the slightest chin tilt. Of course, all traveling jewels from the royal vault needed to be accompanied by a guard and a gun.

“Go on, Marie,” your aunt encouraged, setting the thick wooden box down. “We all spent ages in the vault picking the right one for you.” 

You smiled. You hoped it looked more grateful than nauseous as you unclasped the box. Crimson velvet insulated the box’s interior, cushioning the imposing tiara that sat inside. The diamonds sparkled, cut into long, pointed off spikes. Small circle-cut diamonds lined each spike.

This tiara was a piece your grandmother obtained as a gift at the beginning of her reign in 1837, originally commissioned by her uncle, King William IV for his wife. 

“Queen Adelaide’s Diamond Fringe,” Aunt Beatrice said, though you knew the name. It was one of the oldest installments in the Royal Collection. Likely sensing your surprise, your aunt chuckled, “it did not take much convincing on the Queen’s part. Not after I insisted it would look best with your wedding gown.”

Reluctantly, you used the cloth included in the box to pick up the tiara, inspecting it more closely. The diamonds sat on the heads of two generations of royal women: Queen Adelaide, Queen Victoria…and now, you. An imposter. Royalty by blood, but of course, not by private association.  

“It’s lovely—” you began to say, until your cousin interrupted you.

Elisabeth of Hesse gasped, “Aunt Bea! You’ve seen her dress!” The rest of the table expressed their overlapping speculations, was it lace or tulle? Was the neckline straight across or Queen Anne?

“Elisabeth, Victoria, she would never hint at such a secret, there’s no point in accosting the woman,” Grand Duchess Maria scoffed, taking a cavalier sip out of her tea. She was jealous. 

“You will see it tomorrow!” Beatrice replied, laughing. The reminder of tomorrow forced another jolt of anxiety down your spine, but you used the energy to laugh as well. “In the meantime, I was also tasked with escorting you to your fitting, Marie. I do apologize for cutting your breakfast short, ladies.”

“That’s all right,” you smiled, carefully putting the priceless tiara back into its box. The moment you clasped the box, Beatrice’s guard took hold of it. After a reverent bow to the room, he took his leave, likely going to put the tiara into Glücksburg vault.

 At least you could escape this useless chatter. 

. . .

Given that your day was nothing short of exhausting, you should have had an easier time falling asleep. Yet, you paced Marie’s quarters, restless. It was unsettling to be around all of her recent belongings; letters, left behind clothing, books, her violin. It was as if she was truly on a short vacation in England.

A new lump of guilt rose in your throat.

But more importantly, you wanted to see Ciel. Strangely, after only a day of separation, you missed him.

Having lived together for the past several months, you were accustomed to being around him. Even if some of the time you spent together was quiet, and you only felt his presence at your side.

“I was sent to escort you to my Lord’s room, Miss Y/n,” Sebastian’s voice came from behind you. 

Instinctively, you turned on your heel and reached for the closest weapon possible, a small pair of scissors off your vanity. They were hardly big enough to cut thread with. You brandished the scissors in Sebastian’s general direction, but failed to find the voice’s source at first glance. The butler blended with the shadows, wearing nearly all black. He chuckled mirthlessly.

His red eyes were certainly glowing in the dark. 

“Yes, Sebastian?” You asked impatiently, putting the scissors back on the table. They wouldn’t be of much help to you, anyway. Nothing would be— not against some… being… that caught bullets. 

“My Lord requests your presence in his quarters. Unfortunately, you’ve made him care for you. Considerably,” he said. You hated his smile, the light tone his voice took. You would prefer he yell, or scowl, or frown. Anything to replace the patrronizing look that you knew so well. 

“Made him?” You questioned. Your eyebrows knitted together indignantly as you crossed your arms. What was he insinuating?

“Yes,” the butler said bluntly. “You’ve become an unfortunate distraction. A scourge to his soul.” His… soul?

“Thankfully, that is not for you to decide. Any opinion you have is irrelevant to us, Sebastian.” You said, turning your back to him to find flats to slip on. You never knew Sebastian to lie; he certainly wasn’t holding back at that moment.

“I simply want you to be aware that my loyalties will always fall with my master,” Sebastian replied, the undertones in his voice clear enough. If there is a life and death situation tomorrow, I will let you die, if I can.

“Well, you’ve been such an obedient servant, thus far,” you mirrored his obsequious tone, pairing it with your own reprimanding smile. “You ought to keep your Lord’s best interests in mind. Not to worry, Sebastian, I can handle myself.”

“Happy to hear it, Miss Y/n,” Sebastian replied, bowing with a hand over his heart. The gesture was as genuine as Duchess Maria’s greeting to your aunt had been.  

“My Lord ordered me to escort you. There are guards in the hallway,” the butler explained. His eyes brightened, daring you to decline him. 

You scoffered in disbelief, shaking your head. It was precaution from Diego’s warning, you assumed. “Fine.”

You left the room first, surprised that there was no guard fixed outside your door. Though you knew where you were going, Sebastian led you to the guest wing. Instinctively, you remembered where to step so as not to cause the wooden floor to complain.

Every few paces, Sebastian would have you pause to let a guard pass. Apparently, he sensed them much sooner than you did. 

Do some reading about the supernatural after all of this is over with, you reminded yourself. The thought was ridiculous, but there was no harm in investigating. Besides, Sebastian was becoming too unmistakable to continue ignoring. 

The moment you knocked on Ciel’s door, Sebastian disappeared. Your fiancé opened the door. Before he could speak, you hugged him tightly, hiding your face in his nightshirt. You breathed in his familiar scent, letting your eyes flutter closed. Your fingers grabbed fistfulls of his shirt, bunching the material around his back. Ciel hardly managed to close the door behind you, locking it to be safe.

“I waited to see you all day,” Ciel said simply, brushing strands of your hair behind your ear when you looked up at him. He pressed a greeting kiss on your cheek. “My groomsmen insisted we explore the city. It was quite a hindrance.”

“Well, I was stuck in a flock of blushing bridesmaids,” you laughed humorlessly. “If I so much as started saying your name, they would throw some fit— something about bad luck.”

“If simply saying my name is bad luck, seeing me must be absolutely damning,” Ciel quipped smugly. He guided you to sit on the edge of his bed, shamelessly regarding you. You returned the favor, your gaze catching on the way his collar bones protruded under his loose nightshirt.

You thought about the last time he sat on the edge of his bed with you present, climbing into his lap, pleasuring yourself against the hardness in his trousers. Technically, you wore more that evening than in this current moment. All you wore was a white nightgown. Nothing under it, nothing over it. It was made of satin, as sheer as a curtain.

Ciel made a respectable effort to look at your face only. 

“Tomorrow night, we will be wed,” you said meaningfully, feeling your face flush. 

“Yes,” Ciel’s response was impatient, “we will be.” He hated to wait, but he was never one to do something so significant haphazardly. If you were to consummate, you had to be married. But this time tomorrow, you would be. 

An amused smile tugged at your lips, “my Aunt Beatrice was giving me…anecdotes about her wedding night.” The interaction had been excruciating during your gown fitting, but now you thought it was rather humorous. Beatrice was a few years past 30— she had three children, another on the way, so it was rumored.

Ciel cringed at the thought of your relative telling you about what takes place behind a couple’s locked door. As if he had no clue, and didn’t want to know. You knew he knew. “And I thought nothing could be worse than my own cousin.”

While your eyebrows knit, initially figuring he was referring to Lizzie, but you took a sigh of relief upon realizing that he was speaking of Edward Midford, her brother. He was Ciel’s best man.

“Better than Sebastian,” you quipped. However, your smile faltered at the thought of the butler. Marrying Ciel meant you were resigning yourself to a life with a powerful, supernatural servant who wanted you dead. If given the chance, he would kill you. 

“Y/n?” Ciel frowned, mirroring your disheartened expression. 

“It’s nothing. I just…I suppose I’m tired,” you said unconvincingly. 

You rested your head on the side of his arm. “Being here…seeing my aunt and cousins. Living in my sister’s room....” It wasn’t the full truth, but certainly wasn’t a lie. There was an unwavering pit in your stomach. A premonition that something was about to go terribly amiss. 

“We’re taking the first steamship tomorrow night,” Ciel replied, running his thumb over your knuckles. It was a habit he picked up from you, the way you liked to ground yourself through small, repetitive motions. “I assumed being here would be difficult for you.”

“Where are we going?” The destination of your honeymoon was supposed to be a surprise, one left to Ciel’s careful planning. However, you were never one for surprises, and you would be away for about a month. You deserved to know where you were going to be for such a long span of time.

Ciel replied in French, “Quelque part où il y a du vin, des champs de lavande et une grande tour, ma chère.” He rarely used his second language, considering you couldn’t understand it and he was in the midst of perfecting his German, but it was attractive. You flushed at his graceful accent, the way the complex language suited his voice. 

“Ciel…” you started, chuckling fondly. 

“Et quand nous y serons, nous ferons des choses innommables les uns avec les autres,” Ciel continued, gauging your reaction. He kissed your cheek and slightly below your jaw before moving your hair out of the way to press a peck on the nape of your neck. The more you were intimate, the more you noticed his fixation with your neck. 

As Ciel turned to face you completely, his hand released yours to settle on your bare thigh. You moved further up the bed to make space.

His voice dropped to a whisper, “nous avons tous deux attendu si longtemps.” Your arms erupted with goosebumps as you pulled him closer, his lips centimeters from your own. 

For all you knew, he could be stringing nonsense into sentences, but it didn’t matter. It sounded perfect, his tender touch giving way for a new warmth to spread in your stomach.

Your fingers tangled into his hair as you pulled him down against the bedspread with you. The kiss was breathless and all-consuming. It ignited every nerve— down to your toes. You could feel Ciel’s warmth through his shirt, and you were consciously aware of everywhere your skin touched his. His legs bracketed yours. 

Giving you a moment to catch your breath, he kissed the center of your throat, your drumming pulse point. He paused, an amused grin playing at his lips. 

“What is it?” You managed. 

“Do you recall the last time we were in a position like this?”

After a beat of silence, you laughed. “Our dispute! When I nearly broke your nose and ran away.” Even when you hated Ciel, you couldn’t bring yourself to meaningfully injure him. 

Ciel hummed in confirmation, though his dubious look suggested he thought your recollection of the altercation was self-serving. “And you still looked like you wanted to kiss me. Even when I held a knife right here,” his fingers grazed over the scar on your throat— a superficial wound above your left carotid. 

“Yes… just like this,” you smarted, pulling him close to steal an innocent peck from his lips.

“Yes, I suppose just like that,” Ciel conceded, rolling his eye. 

“What’s more, you couldn’t bring yourself to press harder,” you added teasingly, pulling him back in for a long kiss, treating this opportunity to be intimate with your fiancé as if it was your last.

. . .

MAY 13TH, 1892

SCHLESWIG-HOLSTEIN, GERMANY

You didn’t recognize yourself in the mirror. 

Mey-Rin and Nina made elegant work with your makeup; darkening your eyebrows, painting on a blush that made your cheeks look flushed, a lipstick that made your lips appear bitten. After all, obvious makeup was considered fraudulent and deceptive; the work of women who worked street corners, Queen Victoria would say. 

Nina twisted your hair into a French twist updo, leaving curled strands out in the front. Queen Adelaide’s Fringe Tiara felt heavy on your head, fastened to your hair with pins. It dug into your scalp, the pain made it impossible for you to forget that it sat there.

Your gown was surprisingly simplistic; it was whiter than snow, free of any lace or bead detailing. Instead of was a sheen of satin, the lustrous fabric beautiful without being flamboyant. Your sleeves, controversially, were off the shoulder, meeting in a seam in the middle of your chest. 

To hide the gruesome scar on your arm, you wore matching white gloves that reached your elbows. They were out of season, but there was no way for you to hide the old wound otherwise. 

Under such a heavy dress and tiara, you were ready to collapse. Your preparation team had you awake before the sun rose, giving you a small breakfast before stuffing you into a carriage and taking you to the church to get dressed. It was a prayer room made into a makeshift dressing areafor your purposes; security did not want to risk the wedding party arriving at the ceremony in carriages, per tradition.  Instead, everyone in the wedding had to get to the church at inane hours to let the guards watch every doorway and window for intruders, once again taking separate carriages in different routes.  

You took a deep breath in, trying to settle your nerves. You were marrying the man you loved, someone who understood you in a way that no one since Baxter did. Only…now your life was to belong to the monarchy once more. This wedding ceremony was more symbolic and full of circumstance than romance. It wasn’t yours and Ciel’s. It was Europe’s. 

Not to mention, Diego warned you that Mariana had a plan. Mariana…it was still strange to have a real name for the woman. A reason why she was determined to kill you both, but more importantly, Ciel. You couldn’t allow that, even if he did kill her husband.

No matter how security prepared, she was still a threat. She would try to kill the both of you until either she succeeded, or you killed her first. Still, you knew that every possible measure was made. Sebastian would protect Ciel to the bitter end, regardless. That was what mattered. 

There was nothing more for you to do besides having the wedding. You laughed at your reflection. You looked like a princess, but what raced through your mind — murder, death threats, the leader of a foreign drug empire — were not regal bride concerns in the least. 

And you looked much more calm than you felt. At least you could contain your inner turmoil; stuff it down, sort your worries into neat categories. Impending doom, a death threat, a potentially supernatural butler. Hide it all behind the image of a jubilant princess who balanced the weight of a diamond tiara and a dagger all the same. 

Besides, there was no other option. Ciel had an earldom to run, a business to support, an Underworld to terrorize. He was too proud to live in middle class America. He would detest waking up every morning, and that would soon become a hatred for waking up with you. All you could do was marry, and support each other in your new royal family role. Dispel evil together. Dispel Mariana if she attempted to challenge you. Maybe even have a child or two. 

You squeezed your eyes closed, thinking about last night. All you needed to do was complete the day, and you would be together. In every way a couple could be together.

There was a stiff knock at the door, forcing you to open your eyes and paint a pleasant expression on your face. “Come in.”

“Marie,” Christian, your eldest brother, entered. You figured he would be walking you down the aisle — giving you away — instead of your father. No one told you, but you had the good sense to expect it. It was well-known that Queen Victoria disliked your father. She didn’t care for Prince Christian I, matching your mother, Princess Helena, with him because she couldn’t find a proper European house to marry her middle child into. 

Meanwhile, it was no secret that Victoria favored your brother. The Queen adored him for studying at Wellington College as she wanted, and she found nothing more befitting of a prince than serving in the military. Christian recently returned from an expedition in Isazi as an officer in the British Army. His skin was still lightly tanned from being in South Africa for so long. He wore his uniform and full officer decorations. Other men in the service were likely doing the same; Edward Midford and his father, Lord Scotany.

“Christian,” you were unsure how Marie greeted him, and your hesitance showed. There was a beat of silence as he regarded you.

Christian raised his eyebrow, “why did you do away with Christle?” He was referring to that puerile nickname you both used for him as children. 

Marie still referred to him as Christle at this age? He was a military official!

“You’ve been acting differently lately, Marie. Are you sure you love Phantomhive? Is this what you want to do?” Christian asked, worry furrowing his eyebrows. He looked like you when you were apprehensive, the same level stare, pursed lips. 

“How am I different?” You asked. It was easy to act around Queen Victoria and your mother— anyone who spent more time worrying about themselves or their positions to really understand the difference between you and your sister. But Christian was more complicated. He was your authority figure while your mother was opening hospitals abroad and your father worked. Christian spent plenty of time playing with Marie, admonishing you for being lax in your duties as a child. As the eldest, he was 16 the second time you ran away, 15 the first. 

You felt like you were nine years old again, getting admonished for refusing to ride a horse side saddle, or for getting mud all over your dress before the family portrait. 

“You’re…acting quite like Thora,” Christian said, his militant eyes practically staring into your soul. You tried not to grimace at your old nickname. 

He wasn’t accusing you; his voice was thoughtful or concerned, if anything. “Aunt Beatrice was worried, too. I only…” he paused. “I only want to ensure that this marriage is what you want. You will always be my younger sister, even if I’m supposed to be giving you away.”

The honorable Prince Christian never changed.

“If I’ve been somber…I don’t mean to be,” you replied. “I…the past few months of my life have been terrifying. I know you were away in Africa but there was a death threat sent to court. On my life. The Phantomhive manor was even attacked, months ago,” you rolled down your glove to show him the injury. If you could persuade your brother, no one would question you. 

Christian sighed, his face unchanging. The military seemed to desensitize him to these sorts of wounds. He inspected the healed scar, and nodded once. “It healed well. Phantomhive’s medic is rather talented,” he admitted gruffly. The irony being, that the medic was Sebastian, a monster who wanted you dead. 

You pulled the glove back over your forearm. Christian didn’t argue with you, but you knew he was unconvinced. Before he could speak, the quick notes of Mendelsson’s Wedding March reverberated throughout the church, preceded by soul-shattering chords. That was your cue to join the procession. 

Christian glanced at the clock to confirm the time was right. “We have to join the others,” he offered his arm. You laced yours with his, and two servants you didn’t know picked up your gown’s long train. 

When you joined the procession from behind, the first of the wedding party was already walking down the aisle. First was Queen Victoria, accompanied by her secretary and two guards; the Officiant; Lord and Lady Scotany as they filled in for Ciel’s deceased parents; your parents; Ciel and his groomsmen. You and Christian joined from the hall behind the doors to the Sanctuary, so you didn’t see any of them before they walked. 

Instead, you saw the middle of the procession: your bridesmaids, the Hesse sisters, Cornelia, and Aunt Beatrice. Cornelia was one of your bridesmaids because her husband, Edward, was Ciel’s best man. It was more of a formality, than a show of closeness between you. 

After them was the ring bearer and the flower girl, respectively. While you expected Victoria to insist the roles be fulfilled by your younger cousins, she allowed Ciel to fill those positions from his own friends and family. He asked little Beatrice Moore and her betrothed, Theodore Ambrose, the next Earl of Granard. Beatrice was still giggling at the fact that she shared a name with a real princess, your Aunt Beatrice.

You settled behind the children. Little Beatrice nearly missed her cue because her eyes were locked on your tiara and seemingly endless gown. Beatrice waved at you vigorously, causing you to smile. “Marie! You look so beautiful!” She exclaimed, shooting Theodore an irritated look when he tapped her shoulder and reminded her to walk with him. 

One of the servants handed you a bouquet of flowers, alstroemerias with white roses, and baby's breath incorporated. It was your turn to walk down the aisle with your brother, but you couldn’t help but wish it was Baxter at your side. That this wedding had less people, a tiara that didn’t weigh more than your brain…

Smile. You urged yourself not to buckle under the weight of everyone’s states. Everyone stood for the entire wedding procession, given that Queen Victoria was standing as well. No one sat while the highest-ranking royal stood. 

First, you passed the servants and guards in the furthest pews from the altar. Mey-Rin dabbed at her tears from under her glasses, Finny waved, Baldroy nodded once. Nina smiled at you, gesturing for you to keep walking in time with the music. You had paused for a half second, attempting to find Sebastian. The awkward timing forced Christian to stop his stride to let you catch up. 

You didn’t see Sebastian, and you were unsure if that caused you more anxiety, or alleviated it.

Strictly-screened journalists and press members were in the pews in front of the servants. Their cameras clicked, lenses immortalizing the moment. You smiled for them, struggling to find a place to look.

The music echoed throughout the Sanctuary, overly cheerful. It was the same chords repeating on the grand organ behind the altar. 

Closer to the altar were the aristocratic and the royal guests. Several faces stuck out to you— your Aunt Victoria, the Queen’s eldest child; brother, Albert; Aunt Louise; Mateo and Valentina Bianchi ; the heirs to the English throne, Uncle Edward and Alexandra of Denmark. 

You caught Lizzie’s emerald gaze; she was in the front row, to the side. She looked at you before pointedly looking ahead of her. Look at the man you love. The rest of the world will simply fall away. She was too empathetic for her own good, sometimes. 

As you took your concluding steps towards the altar, you finally looked at Ciel. She was right. Your heart flipped immediately, taking in his deep navy suit. He had a white rose tucked pinned over his chest, his signature flower. The tie tucked into his jacket was a soft pink; pale enough that you thought it was white at first glance. The rest of the wedding party coordinated with him, the bridesmaids wearing the same pink, and the groomsmen the same blue.

Ciel didn’t smile broadly, but you knew better than to fixate on that. Instead, the corners of his lips turned upwards. He took in your appearance slowly, as if he were fixating on a painting. Inspecting every detail with the intensity of someone trying to commit each brush stroke to memory.

At the altar, you took your place across from Ciel. Christian stood behind you, to the officiant’s side. Aunt Beatrice took your bouquet for you.

All you needed to do was finish the ceremony, and you would have the man across from you all to yourself for the next month. Just you, him, Carl, and the servants abroad in some beautiful place. There was no royal tour— all you needed to do was attend Alix of Hesse and Nicholas II’s wedding in Russia as guests.

The thought of such solitude was elating. It helped your smile widen naturally, though your cheeks were beginning to sting.

The music quieted into a small, soothing tune that the officiant could speak over. 

“Welcome, everyone,” the officiant said. He was an agind man with kind blue eyes and a thoughtful smile. There was a gold wedding band on his left ring finger, matching his red and gold robes. “Please be seated. Thank you all for joining us on this joyous day and cloudless afternoon.” 

“Every one of you today has been invited today because you, in one way or another, shaped the lives of these lovely individuals standing before me, Her Highness Princess Marie Louise of Schleswig-Holstein and Lord Ciel Phantomhive.”

Not hearing your name hurt you more than you thought it would have. 

“For those of you I have not had the chance to meet, my name is Reverend Arthur Green. I have officiated the past…six… royal weddings,” he said with a flourish, making a show of counting. There were scattered laughs in the audience in response. Green was close with the Queen, who sat in a distinguished throne to the side of the author with her Munshi, Abdul Karim. Notably, not all of her children were present— likely for security reasons. 

Reverend Green continued, “we were all taken by surprise by this sweeping love connection, but seeing the way these two beautiful souls regard one another, their love is strong and true.” 

You felt your face redden, matching the new flush over Ciel’s cheeks. 

“I have vows prepared for both the bride and groom,” Green announced. Neither of you expressed a desire to write your own vows, and you doubted the Queen would have let you. She was reluctant with royalty expressing such passionate feelings in public, preferring to preserve the dignified appearance her Royal Mob upheld. 

“Please repeat my words, Your Highness,” he requested, forcing you to refocus. 

You repeated. “I, Marie, take thee, Ciel Phantomhive, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish; and I promise to be faithful to you until death parts us.”

Ciel repeated the same vow, having the same reluctance with saying your name. No, Marie’s name. 

This is just the beginning, Y/n.

Ciel broke into a broader smile, yours matching his. His blue eye seemed even darker in the sunset. When you looked at him, you saw your honeymoon, your future, your husband. Your closest friend and confidante. Your heart fluttered, your mouth was dry. More than anything, you wanted to kiss him.

When you looked at him, you forgot about the weight of the tiara on your head.

“Your Highness, do you promise to love, honor, cherish, and protect Lord Phantomhive, forsaking all others, and holding only unto him forever?” Reverend Green asked.

“Yes!” You said more enthusiastically than you meant to. The guests laughed, and out of the corner of your eye, you caught Lizzie’s amused grin. You cleared your throat, “yes, I do.”

“And Lord Phantomhive, do you promise to love, honor, cherish, and protect Her Highness, forsaking all others, and holding only unto her forever?”

“Indeed, I do,” Ciel’s reply was much calmer than yours, but his face was full of love. It made your eyes sting, as if you could cry. You tried to blink the forming tears away. You thought about what his lips feel like, how his arms feel when they wrapped around you to combat your surfacing feelings.

The both of you already loved, honored, cherished, and protected each other. You’d do it forever, if that’s what the Fates had in store for you.

Reverend Green nodded at Theodore, preparing the child to get ready for his cue to bring your wedding rings up to the altar. 

Theodore nodded aggressively in response, tightening his grip on the small cushion with your rings. The audience laughed, but you couldn’t make yourself look away from Ciel to survey their responses any longer.

Green grinned, his eyes brimming with tears as well. At least you weren’t alone in your tragically sentimental feelings. “Now, if there is anyone present, who can show just cause why these two persons may not be joined in matrimony, speak now, or forever hold your peace,” he declared, naturally assuming that no one in the audience would protest. 

The gasps and screams forced you to look away from Ciel and into the audience as it rippled, devolving into chaos. They dove away from a singular woman who stood, aiming a small purse gun at the altar. 

Guards sprang into action, their guns unlocking, but they couldn’t shoot with terrified guests fleeing and hiding. Mey-Rin argued with a soldier, likely in an effort to take his weapon and fire. She was the best shot there, but you assumed the guards refused to let her bring a weapon in.

You didn’t need to look longer to know what was about to happen. You refused to let it. 

Before you knew what you were doing, you moved. You pulled yourself out of Christian’s restrictive grip, and pushed Ciel to the ground, just as the woman shot. The shot sounded throughout the Sanctuary, amongst the course of screaming guests, shouting guards and crying guests. 

You remained standing, merely feeling a searing warmth rip through your left chest. It was nothing like Mey-Rin’s grazing bullet. In fact, it hurt less. It was hot like nothing you’ve ever touched, but it didn’t hurt. Not even the hot stove you touched by accident as a child compared to the sensation in your chest. 

Ciel managed to pull himself off the ground, startled by your hard shove. He’d tripped down the short steps and hit his head, but otherwise, he seemed unharmed. You would have been relieved, had he not been staring at you in panic.

“Y/n,” he managed, horrified. 

But you name was lost amid the chaos. Before you dared look down, you took a quick survey of the rest of the Sanctuary. Queen Victoria and most of the guests fled or hid, guards shielding their escape. Edward sprung in front of Cornelia, the Reverend, Theodore, and Beatrice. The children cried for their parents, who were likely forced to leave with the guards. 

Reverend Green trembled behind the altar, bear hugging young Beatrice and Theodore, the Hesse sisters and Aunt Beatrice fell to the floor, covering their heads. Your brother stood before them, gun drawn. Royalty received crisis training for situations like this. 

Mariana was gone, having used the chaos to make her escape.

“Edward, take the kids!” Cornelia demanded, “get them to their parents.”

“I will not leave you,” Edward Midford insisted, his voice trained to be steady in the face of danger. He was a soldier, like Christian. 

“I-I can,” Reverend Green said, trembling. “Come on, children. We must— we must, go.” He tried to let go of them, but Beatrice held on, hiding her face in the man’s robes. 

“I’ll make sure nothing happens to them,” Green assured Cornelia, but neither child seemed interested in leaving.

“Y/n!” Ciel shouted, his face red as if he’s been trying to capture your attention. He put his hand on your shoulder, but he was trembling. His gaze alternated between your chest and your face, and you made the mistake of looking down at your fresh wound. At the fresh crimson blood that blossomed on the left side of your dress’s bodice. It was in the middle of your left breast— the third or fourth rib you assumed. 

“Oh,” you managed. Your legs buckled, but Ciel caught you and carefully helped you to the floor. He tore his jacket off and pressed it against the wound, hard enough for you to cry out in pain. The ease that he pressed indicated that the bullet fractured your ribs. Ciel sensed that the wound gave way too easily and paled. 

You took a difficult breath in, shivering despite the warm bullet in your chest. Your teeth chattered.

Pain, tenderness, difficulty breathing, you told yourself. Baxter always said that self-assessment came first. It was a small gun. The best you could hope for was a fractured rib, but the way your chest gave way to Ciel’s pressure suggested it was shattered. 

“Why can a shattered rib be dangerous, Y/n?” Baxter asked.

Massive bleeding from ruptured blood vessels, bone fragments from the rib can puncture a lung… or my heart.

Air could build around the lung and cause a tension pneumothorax… assuming the bullet didn’t puncture the lung and do that already.

“Ciel, keep the pressure steady,” Cornelia said. You forgot she was a nurse. Maybe you had a chance, if it wasn't a tension pneumothorax. But you never had that kind of luck. “Help me check for an exit wound,” she said to someone on your right side. The three of them lifted your torso up, and confirmed that you were also bleeding out from the back. They ripped the satin from your gown and used another man’s jacket to slow that bleeding while Ciel held pressure on your front. 

“We need a carriage to get her to a hospital,” Cornelia declared, checking your pulse.

“I-I think the guests took them all,” Lady Scotany said, “Alexis— go check. For a guard, a doctor, a commoner with a carriage, anyone.” With a grim nod, Alexis Midford ran with Baldroy and Mey-Rin. 

“Marie, I know it hurts but I need you to do your best to breathe. And wiggle your fingers,” Cornelia said, but you were more concerned with Ciel. His hands were soaked with your blood, despite Aunt Beatrice continuously giving him new material to help stop the bleeding with. 

“Marie!” Cornelia repeated. When you didn’t respond, she turned to Ciel. “Ciel, you need to tell her to breathe,” she said, “she will listen to you.”

You were Marie, even when you had a bullet in your chest. It was a cruel joke.

Were you not breathing? Was that why your lungs were aflame? Was that why your throat was constricting? Was that why your vision coated in white, and your ears rang like church bells?

Ciel trembled, but he nodded. “Look at me,” he ordered, “breathe. You need to breathe.” Breathing hurt. It hurt more than any pain you ever experienced in your life. It hurt more than your arm. Inhaling hurt more than the bullet itself hurt. 

“T-trying…” you managed.

“You’re doing well, Marie, it’s okay,” Lizzie said, sniffling. Your head was in her lap, though you were unsure when she showed up. “J-just focus on breathing.”

My ribs are broken. I probably have a tension pneumothorax, you wanted to cry out. But your voice wasn’t cooperating. You could feel your rationality slipping out with the same urgency blood bubbled from your wound.

Cornelia cut your bodice open, cutting through the dress and corset. Finny gave his jacket to Lady Scotany to drape over the right side of your chest, for your modesty. As if that was the most concerning part of the situation. 

“Take a deep breath in,” Ciel said, repeating Cornelia’s words. You shivered, struggling to do as told. Your lungs were already full— as if you took an inhale prior, held it, and tried to inhale again, all without exhaling. 

“Abnormal lung sounds,” Cornelia drew back to watch your chest as you struggled to breathe. “Asymmetrical expansion of the chest,” she mumbled gravely.

The problem with being right all the time, meant that you had also diagnosed yourself correctly. And this diagnosis was fatal without near-immediate treatment.

“What does that mean?” Ciel insisted. “Cornelia!” He shouted, but the nurse didn’t meet his gaze. 

“It probably means it’s a…tension pneumothorax,” Cornelia admitted.

“She got away,” you heard Baldroy say from a distance, returning with Lord Scotany. He shouldered his coat off to let Lady Scotany put it beneath the exit wound on your back. “Guards were too concerned with gettin’ the royals to safety. Took all the carriages, too.”

“What does that mean, Cornelia?” Ciel shouted.

“Where is Sebastian?” Lizzie asked, trying to keep her voice level. She removed the heavy tiara from your head and gently smoothed her fingers over your hair.

“Sebastian?” Lady Scotany asked. “He’s getting another carriage. We need to get her to the hospital.” 

You wanted to laugh. With Sebastian getting the carriage, you were surely going to bleed out— or die of hypoxia— whichever came first. You were going to die in front of an altar. In a church. At your own wedding.

“Cornelia!” Ciel yelled. 

“Ciel, shut up and let me work!” Cornelia put her ear to your chest again. 

“Air is building around the outside of her lungs, rather than inside because the bullet— or a bone fragment punctured it,” Christian said, pitying your…husband? Fiancé? 

“The air puts pressure around the punctured lung, and that strains that lung and her heart. Since the lung is punctured, air keeps getting stuck when she inhales, so there is no room for it to expand when she breathes,” your brother explained.

Your lung definitely collapsed. The well-meaning pressure Ciel put on the wound couldn’t be helping, either.

“Hyperresonant chest percussion,” Cornelia noted under her breath. Her concerned frown deepened.

“Cornelia, her neck,” Christian added calmly. He kneeled at your other side, across from Ciel, light fingers touching your throat, feeling for your trachea. “Tracheal deviation to the right and distended neck veins.”

“Tension pneumothorax,” they said in synchrony, sharing a look. 

“So what can we do?” Lizzie cried out. 

“Dying,” you mumbled, fully believing that these were your final moments. The procedure you needed was impossible on the floor of the church. If Sebastian was tasked with the carriage, you weren’t going to get there in time. And he was why you were shot, in the first place. 

He caught bullets. He wanted you dead…it was simple. Bloody demon.

That’s what he was, wasn't he?

“We need a large bore needle!” Christian exclaimed.

“A needle? Whatever for?” Lizzie cried out.

“To evacuate the air,” Cornelia said, “but we don’t have the right kind here.”

“So what do we do?”

“You are not dying, you utter imbecile,” Ciel insisted, steady tears streaming down his face. You weren’t sure if he noticed that his forehead was bleeding, much less the salty tears streaming down his cheeks. “She was bloody aiming at me.” 

You wanted to reach out and wipe the tears off of his face, but your arm was limp at your side, refusing to obey. You could wiggle your fingers, but you couldn’t quite muster the strength to lift the limb. You tried again, but your arm fell to your side uselessly.

You could hear your heartbeat in your ears, pounding in your brain. It was a welcome change from the terrible ringing.

“I’m s-..sorry,” you managed, but it was a lie. If you hadn’t pushed Ciel, it might have hit him. If the man you loved died from your inaction, you wouldn’t be able to forgive yourself for it.

You felt there was a constrictive corset around your brain, tightening and tightening. Your breathing was rapid, in out, in out, in out. You could feel your head throb in time with your heart. With every inhale you managed, you got less air. 

But even so, you would do it again. 

“They’re not going to have the right needle here, we have to burp the wound.” Cornelia said. “Otherwise, she’ll suffocate before the carriage gets here.”

“Burp the wound?” Ciel asked incredulously. 

“The air caught in the pleural space won’t come out safely and she’ll suffocate if we don’t let air escape the opening that’s already there. Ciel, you need to step aside for a moment,” Cornelia explained.

“But— but, she’s still bleeding! I’m…stopping the bleeding! She will bleed out if I stop!” Ciel argued, looking from his bloody hands on the wound to your paling face. Back and forth once more.

“She’s going to die of hypoxia if you don’t let the air out of the lung cavity, Ciel.” Christian said. “You need to move, or I will move you.” Christian was much taller than Ciel. It would’ve been as simple as moving a chess piece.

Ciel moved reluctantly, and switched spots at your side with Christian. 

Cornelia moved the blood-soaked dressing from the wound, and you caught a quiet rush of air before she put fresh dress fabric over it once more. It was only a little easier for you to breathe before it grew difficult again. However, she quickly  removed the dressing when she noticed you beginning to strain. The nurse repeated the process in tandem with your discomfort. 

You shivered, watching the world above you— Ciel’s face, Lizzie’s, your brother’s. The world was brighter, it was blurry. And then it was refined. It was vibrant, and then it wasn’t. Vibrant, clear, blurry, bright…

Was this what Baxter saw? you wondered.

“No, Y/n. It’s not your time, yet.” Baxter said. “You need to wait. You need to try to live. The doc’s comin’ in a carriage with his supplies. He will be there. Just hold on. We’re all here for you every step of the way. You will not die.”

Earnest Baxter.

You refocused on Ciel. His face was clear, and vibrant. And then it was blurry. It was bright. He was still bleeding. He was still handsome.

You put all of your focus into your next words. “I love you,” you managed. Your eyes fluttered closed, it was getting too hard to concentrate and keep them open. 

“No, don’t you dare say that!” Ciel demanded. “You will not die. I don’t know what I’d do without you,” his fingers felt warm on your face, they smelled like blood. Your eyes fluttered open again. You smiled weakly. 

You weren’t sure what you would do without Ciel, either. 

“It’s…not my intent to but…” that might be out of my hands.

This was supposed to be the day you eternally promised yourselves to one another, but apparently, plans sometimes went awry. Sometimes, the determined widow got her happy ending.

But you won too. All because the last face you were going to see was the face of the man you loved.

“Surgeon’s here! He’s got supplies!” 

Hold on, Y/n.

. . .

Acknowledgements:

First of all, I want to thank everyone on Amino (who I unfortunately, didn’t keep in contact with) for telling me that the first 2 chapters of this fic were worthwhile. Without motivation from them, I never would have felt inspired enough to keep developing this idea. 

I also want to thank my best friend for listening to me rant about this piece. About the hours and hours of research about historical figures, laundry in the 1890s, makeup in the 1890s, speech, Victorian slang terms, hair, names, German breakfast food, types of tea, Victorian wedding traditions, serial killers, post-traumatic stress disorder, bilingualism, travel, everything. Even anatomy, dangerous chemicals, ages of me studying self-defense, waltz, and harp tutorials on YouTube. I even did the math-- Cornelia really is an 8th-generation New Yorker! I sat down and put a half hour into making a very preliminary family tree for her. Don’t even get me started on how many times I watched the anime and took notes on the cast’s speech and mannerisms. I even scoured Pinterest for reference pictures, outfit inspiration…everything you could ever want. It all amounted to 300+ pins to my TIP board, and exactly 127,411 words.

I digress. My best friend is so motivating, and without her telling me not to force myself to write when I don’t feel it, you guys wouldn’t have gotten anything close to this quality of work. In fact, she’s also a bit responsible for a scene in this chapter.

I also want to thank Sweet Anon, mylostleftfootsock, katherine101, for consistently reaching out to me in asks, DMs, and commenting. You all motivate me so much, and there’s nothing quite like knowing that the story I write touches you. Without knowing people were really engaging with what I put out, writing would have taken a lot longer, if it happened at all. 

Thank you all, so much. I’m so grateful for every single read.

I can't wait to share my next projects with you. I'll even give you a few hints to make up for this ending: Ciel Phantomhive, ballerina!reader, fake courtship, serial killer. Do with this what you will <3

Love, Dan

[joelsgreys]

flutter

Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Pregnant! Female Reader

snapshots masterlist

summary: When you finally start to show, Joel has a tough time with it as the reality sinks in—he’s going to be a father again.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. JACKSON ERA. (TW) PREGNANCY. established relationship. no mention of reader’s age, however in other works for this universe, it is implied she is younger than Joel, her specific age will never be stated so do with that what you will. brief descriptions of a pregnant woman’s changing body, brief mention of morning sickness, mention of breastfeeding (it only comes up in a conversation very briefly) these subjects can possibly be triggering, especially mentions of a changing body, so while i try to handle everything with the utmost care, i still ask that you proceed with caution. domesticity, reader enjoys taking care of her family, ellie is a little shit, grumpy joel, he’s sort of a dick at first? but only because he’s working through some feelings so let’s forgive him, okay?

word count: 3.5k

a/n: this is part of the snapshots universe, but it could absolutely be read as a standalone too. minimal editing, this has been sitting in my drafts and i did a quick edit during my lunch hour, so please excuse any mistakes.

“Shit.”

You almost can’t believe your own two eyes. Staring at your reflection in the large, oval shaped mirror hanging over the porcelain bathroom sink, your gaze widens in complete surprise. “Jesus Christ,” you mutter, turning to the side. It takes your brain about a good minute or two to process, really process, the way that your belly strains against the thin, white cotton of your camisole. It had seemingly swollen overnight—because it hadn’t been this prominent the day before, had it?

Over the last few months, there’d been changes.

Some subtle and some not so subtle.

“Ellie! Stop fucking staring at them,” you’d scolded the teenager late one evening during yours and hers weekly game night. For as hard as you tried focusing on what move you should make next, it was hard to concentrate on the chessboard in front of you when you could feel the way her eyes were fixed on your breasts. “I mean it! Quit staring at my boobs, you little shit.”

She held up her hands, her mouth full of popcorn.

“Hey, in my defense, they’re just fucking there, man. If anything, they’re fucking staring at me, okay?”

During your chess rematch the following week, you had accidentally knocked one of your pawn pieces off of the table. When you’d stood up and bent over to pick it up, she had made the observation that your butt seemed to have gotten a little bigger too.

“Bet Joel’s liking these changes,” Ellie had smirked. “It sure as hell explains why the headboard’s been banging against the wall more than usual lately.”

You threw the pawn at her, smiling in satisfaction when it bounced off her forehead and landed into her glass of lemonade.

One part of your body, however, hadn’t changed.

Not until now.

“Hon, trust me, you have nothing to be worried about,” Maria had assured you with confidence when you had brought up your concerns about your stomach. “Every woman, and every pregnancy, is different. I didn’t start showing until I was around six months, remember?”

“I guess you’re right.” You’d been around four months, then. “Doesn’t help that I haven’t felt the baby move.”

“You will,” Maria had promised. “Just be patient”

Biting your lip, you place a hand on your belly.

It’s always been one of the softer parts of you, but now, it’s firmed into a perfect, round bump.

“Maybe soon I’ll feel you move,” you murmur, giving it a gentle pat. You tug the lace hem of your camisole down as far as it can go and then pull at the elastic waistband of your blue, terry cloth shorts.

Shutting off the lights in the bathroom, you slip out into the bedroom where you find that Joel’s still tangled up in the sheets, fast asleep. He had been assigned to the afternoon patrol route today—normally an early riser, if he was still snoozing, it meant that he really needed the rest. Deciding it was best to let him keep sleeping for a little while longer, you quietly tiptoe out of your shared bedroom and head downstairs into the kitchen.

After making yourself a glass of fresh squeezed orange juice, and one for the kid as well, you prepare the coffee maker for Joel. You spoon dark roast grounds into the filter and set the timer for the coffee to start brewing in thirty minutes.

He should be up by then, you think, pulling a basket of eggs out of the refrigerator.

You’re starting to get used to this. Domesticity.

Despite your protests, Maria had made the decision to pull you off patrol that same afternoon you had shared the news of your pregnancy. “I’m putting you on leave,” she’d told you. “Effective immediately. I don’t want to see you outside of these walls. Got it?”

“That’s not fair, Maria. You were out on patrol until—”

One stern glare from her had shut you right up.

“Fine.”

Sure, you missed it and looked forward to the day when you’d be able to get back into the saddle with your rifle in hand, but this way of life had grown on you. Certainly a lot more than you thought it would.

You enjoyed taking care of the house. Packing Ellie her lunch for school and checking her homework. Having a nice a meal on the table for the three of you to enjoy in the comfort of your own home instead of having to go down to the crowded mess hall for supper because you and Joel were both always much, much too tired after a long day out on patrol to bother with cooking.

With the baby due to arrive in the winter, looking after your little family had become your purpose, and you did not mind it one bit.

As strips of bacon sizzle in one pan on the gas powered stove, you crack a couple of eggs into another, knowing the kid is already on her way downstairs. You can hear the sound of her old, tattered low top sneakers that you have been trying to throw away for almost a year now squeaking on the kitchen tiles just as you finish plating her breakfast.

“Morning!” Ellie pipes, the loud plop of her backpack into a chair prompting you to turn around. “What’s for brea—whoa! Holy shit!” Her brown eyes widen in shock when she sees you and her jaw drops. “Dude.”

“Ellie,” you say her name warningly as you walk over to the table. “Don’t.”

“You’re bigger!”

With a playful glare, you set her plate down, along with her glass of orange juice. “Thanks a lot, you little jerk.” You feign offense. “You’re making your own eggs from now on.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” Ellie’s cheeks flush a shade of red and she squirms, sputtering apologetically, “I swear, I don’t mean it like that at all. It’s just, your stomach, it didn’t—you didn’t look like this last night, you know?”

She’s fucking lucky that your raging hormones decided to take the morning off duty.

“You look different. I mean, you look great—”

“Ellie?”

“Yeah?”

“Just shut up and eat.”

“Deal.”

She shoots you a sheepish grin and sits down, scarfing down her food in her usual manner. 

“You get your fractions homework done?”

“Yeah.” Ellie huffs, rolling her eyes. “Took me forever. I was up until fucking midnight.”

Amused, you offer, “Want me to check your work?”

“Sure.”

As Ellie inhales the rest of her breakfast, you pull out a green, single subject notebook from her backpack and look over her homework for miscalculations.

“So, uh, how are you feeling?” she asks after a minute.

“I’m feeling alright. I think the morning sickness finally stopped, so can’t complain.” Shrugging, you close the notebook and stick it into her backpack. “You did good, kid. Only got two problems wrong.”

“Man, I really wish we knew whether it’s a boy or girl,” Ellie mumbles through a mouthful of scrambled eggs. “What do you want to have, anyway?”

“It doesn’t matter to me, Ellie,” you answer, honestly. Clocking the skepticism on her face, you laugh and say, “It’s true. As long as the baby’s healthy, that’s all I care about.” And you mean it. As an expectant mother in the post outbreak world where medicine is scarce, supplies are limited, and the closest thing you have to a hospital is the town’s old clinic, the only thing you can hope for is the smooth, safe delivery of a healthy child.

Before she can say anything, you both catch the sound of Joel’s heavy boots as he descends the staircase.

She quirks an eyebrow. “Uh, has Joel seen you yet?”

Grimacing, you shake your head. “No.”

“Well, I don’t wanna be here for all that awkward,” Ellie says, chugging the rest of her orange juice. She stands up and snatches up her backpack, along with her lunch bag, which you’d packed for her earlier that morning. Just as she’s about to whirl around on the heel of her sneaker and make a run for the front door, she pauses, watching as you make your way back over to the stove to light another flame. “Unless you want me to be?”

“I’ll be fine, Ellie,” you assure her. “Go on, get to school. Maybe you’ll be on time to class for once.”

“If you say so.” She wishes you luck and then bolts out of the kitchen, throwing a quick goodbye at Joel on the way out. “See ya later, old man!”

Nervously, you turn around and start cracking another two eggs into the pan. There’s no telling how he’s going to react.

Joel’s been fairly supportive since you’d found out you were pregnant, considering how unplanned it was. But you know him like the back of your own hand, and you know, despite the numerous times he’s denied it, that it has been weighing heavily on him. Each time you’d try to sit down to talk to him about it, he would brush you off and insist he was fine. But he wasn’t fine.

And you wish he would spit it out and tell you why.

In your periphery, you notice the stained glass butterfly he had hung in front of the window above the sink, the ornament catching and refracting the sunlight. Flecks of color dance across the walls in captivating patterns, brightening the space. You think of the sweet little girl he’d hung it for, the little girl he rarely talks about, that he keeps tucked away safely in his memory.

You bite back a small sigh.

By now, you’ve learned not to push him. Especially not about what he was feeling. He would tell you when he was ready.

“Who the hell lit a fire under her ass this mornin’?” Joel asks gruffly as he walks into the kitchen. “She ain’t ever this fuckin’ eager to go to school.”

“Not sure,” you reply in the most nonchalant tone you can muster as you use a spatula to scramble the eggs. Transferring them onto a plate, you add three strips of bacon, and then pour his coffee. “I have your breakfast ready, Joel. Have a seat.”

You hear a chair scrape against the tile.

“I keep tellin’ you I can make my own breakfast, darlin’.”

“And I keep telling you I don’t mind making it for you,” you quip, and you hear him grumble something under his breath.

Inhaling a deep, calming breath through your nose, you take the plate of eggs and bacon in one hand, and his cup of coffee in the other. Your fingers grasp the handle of his ceramic, owl mug in a near death grip. You exhale slowly, and then turn around to face him.

He sees your swollen middle and stiffens in his chair. 

The tension is instantaneous. Palpable.

Uncomfortable.

Awkwardly, you shift from one foot to the other.

“Your belly,” Joel murmurs, a visible tick in his jaw as his gaze drags over your midsection. “S’bigger.”

“Yeah. It is. Guess I’m going to have to start trading for maternity clothes soon,” you remark, shuffling over to the table. Setting down the plate and mug of coffee in front of him, you take a seat across the table. Your eyes try desperately to meet his, but they refuse. There’s no way for you to decipher what he’s thinking. You let out a small, nervous laugh. “Can you please say something?” 

He lightly clears his throat. “I’ll take you to Main Street on Saturday,” he tells you, picking up his mug. “I’ve got the day off from patrol. I’ll, uh, pick through some of my own things and see what I don’t need so we can make a trade for some clothes.” He pauses, then offers quietly, “In the meantime, you can wear my shirts. They might be more comfortable for you.”

You flash him a grateful smile. “Thank you, Joel.”

Sipping his coffee, he continues to avoid your gaze.

“Mhm,” is all he says.

Your smile falters.

It’s the middle of August.

The afternoon heat is sweltering. Unforgiving.

“Jesus, it’s a fuckin’ scorcher,” Tommy sighs, glancing over towards the lake where his mare, Maxine, is taking a drink beside his brother’s stallion, Phoenix. His raven curls are damp with sweat, plastered to his forehead. “Hotter than the devil’s fuckin’ balls out here, ain’t it?”

He’s met with silence.

Looking over his shoulder, he sees Joel leaning against a tree, his rifle in hand as he stares at the Grand Tetons in the distance almost like he’s in a trance. “Joel?”

Blinking furiously, Joel shakes his head. “Sorry, you say somethin’ to me just now?” He asks in a daze, pushing away from the lodgepole pine. “We headin’ out?”

“You’ve been actin’ real strange all afternoon,” Tommy observes, walking towards him with his own gun slung over his shoulder. “Either the heat is startin’ to get to you, or you’ve got somethin’ on your mind, big brother.”

Joel hesitates. His dark eyes flit to the other side of the lake where the other members of their afternoon patrol group are refilling their canteens with water.

“S’alright,” his younger brother says. “Don’t worry ‘bout them. Can’t hear us.”

Joel’s chest heaves with a heavy sigh. “She popped.”

“Huh?”

“Her belly finally popped. She’s showin’ now.”

Amused, Tommy lightly shakes his head. “Y’shouldn’t be so surprised, Joel. Was ‘bout time,” he remarks with a shrug. “What is she—like six months along now?”

“She’ll be six months in a couple weeks.” Joel wipes the perspiration off his brow with the back of his hand and sighs once more. “Look, I ain’t stupid, Tommy. I knew it was bound to happen sooner or later, but it still caught me by surprise. When I saw her, it became real for me. She’s got my kid in there. I’m gonna be a dad again.”

“You’re scared.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement.

“Shitless,” Joel confesses, feeling his chest tighten. 

“What are you afraid of?”

Joel almost laughs.

He doesn’t know where to start.

He’s afraid of everything.

“All of it, Tommy. I’m afraid for her, havin’ to give birth with no medicine,” he tells him, his voice breaking. “I’m afraid I won’t remember what to do with a newborn or that I won’t know how to help her durin’ those first few months—”

“This ain’t your first rodeo,” Tommy reminds him. “You did it once, and you did just fine, Joel.”

“That was over three fuckin’ decades ago. And it was a different world. If Sarah—” He stops, taking a second to catch his breath. The image of his daughter’s little face flashing in his mind feels like a violent punch to the gut. Even after all this time, it still knocks all of the wind out of his lungs. “When her mom had trouble breastfeedin’ her, I could head to the grocery store and buy her baby formula. If she got a real bad fever, I could load her up in the truck and drive her to the emergency room.” He glances down at his broken watch. “Besides, I was a lot younger, then. And I wasn’t half fuckin’ deaf like I am now. When Sarah would wake up cryin’ in the middle of the night because she needed a diaper change, I’d hear her. What if I can’t hear my own kid cryin’?”

“Joel—”

“I’m in my fifties. What if I can’t keep up because I’m too fuckin’ old?”

Tommy reaches out, clapping a hand onto his shoulder.

“Brother, I need you to take a fuckin’ breath,” he says, chuckling softly. “You’re puttin’ the weight of the world of your shoulders right now—you need to put some of it down. Look, we might not have everythin’ we used to before the world ended, but we make do with what we do have. Considerin’ just how many growin’ families we have and how many little ones we’ve got runnin’ around our town, I’d say it’s workin’ out pretty fuckin well.” He gives his shoulder an encouraging squeeze. “And as far as your ability to be a good dad, you’ve still got it, Joel. You know what to do, and so does she. I’ve seen her in action with my little boy, and it seems like she’s already got those maternal instincts, y’know?”

“Yeah, she does,” Joels agrees quietly, thinking of how you had stepped up to help him care for Ellie.

“Trust me, between the two of you, it’ll be alright.”

He peers at him. “You really believe I still got it in me?”

“I do.” Tommy smiles. “You never stopped knowin’ how to be a father, Joel. You’re gonna be just fine.”

Their patrol shift extends into the evening, turning into a double, and it’s late when he gets home. 

“What the hell are you still doin’ up?” Joel asks when he finds Ellie sitting at the kitchen table, cursing to herself as she flips through the stale, yellowing pages of an old life science text book.

“What does it fucking look like, man?”

“Shouldn’t have waited until the last minute, kiddo—”

Ellie holds up a hand and cuts him off.

“Save the lecture for another time, dude. I’m busy.”

Joel rolls his eyes. “Finish up and get to bed. S’late.”

Without waiting for some smartass response, he turns on the heel of his boot and then heads upstairs to your shared bedroom. He flips on the lights only to find that you’re already in bed, fast asleep, wearing nothing but one of his t-shirts and a pair of panties. He toes off his boots and leaves them by the door, being as quiet as he possibly can as he rummages through his top drawer for some clean boxers to sleep in.

He slips into the bathroom where he takes a quick, hot shower, scrubbing off that day’s sweat, dirt, and grime. After he’s dressed and his sopping wet, salt and pepper curls are haphazardly towel dried, Joel walks back out into the bedroom where he switches off the lights and climbs into bed next to you.

He lays on his side and he’s just about to close his eyes when he feels a light shift beside him. You roll over and curl into him, your belly pressing up against his curve of his spine.

He stiffens, freezing as if someone had just placed the barrel of their pistol against his back, their finger over the trigger.

Christ, get a damn grip, he thinks silently to himself.

Joel thinks about that morning in the kitchen.

He knows his reaction had hurt you. Or rather, his lack of a reaction. His shitty ways of coping aren’t your fault, and his struggle to come to terms with your pregnancy sure as hell isn’t your fault, either. He owed it to you to try harder to be the man you needed.

The man you both needed.

Joel’s train of thought comes to a screeching halt when he feels a soft flutter against his middle of his back, the spot right where your tummy is nestled—did the baby just move?

He lies still, waiting to see if he feels it again, and when he doesn’t, he rolls over to face you, causing you to stir.

“Joel?” you mumble his name, sleepily. “What time—?”

“Shh,” Joel soothes, pulling you into his bare chest. He kisses your temple. “S’okay, baby. Go back to sleep.”

He doesn’t have to tell you twice.

Within seconds, you’re asleep again, snuggled into him and snoring softly.

Lifting a hand, he hesitates, then rests it on your belly.

He waits.

And waits.

And waits.

And waits.

Until the minutes turn into hours.

Until dawn’s light filters in through the lace curtains. 

Until he finally feels that little flutter again.

He feels it against the palm of his hand. Faint, nothing more than a brief whisper against his skin, but there is no mistaking it.

He’d just felt the baby’s movement.

There’s a sudden shift.

Tense muscles that had been painfully wound up since the moment you’d mentioned to him your period was a week late back in the spring loosen slightly—the breath he had been holding since he’d picked up that positive pregnancy test from the bathroom counter finally falls from his lips, fanning over yours.

His fears, his worries, his uncertainties about what lies ahead, they’re all still there, of course, but he finds they are now accompanied by a glimmer of hope, a sliver of optimism that maybe, just maybe, Joel doesn’t have to be as afraid as he is.

Joel’s eyes glaze over your face, warmth radiating in his chest when you breathe a little a sigh of content in your sleep as he gently rubs your stomach through his shirt.

With his hand still splayed over your belly, he closes his eyes and begins to drift off, falling into the most decent sleep he’s had in the last few months.

Maybe his brother’s right.

Maybe he will be just fine.

divider credit to @saradika 🤍

[desiredcaramellatte]

Pure Vanilla x Chess Choco & Sorbet Shark (FT. You)

Platonic! Also includes you being their other parent!

Greetings all! I’m back from my little break!

I may not be posting every day, but I’ll try to post frequently enough to where there’ll be something new every so often (maybe every 1-3 days? Depends on requests, my time, and my level of braindeadness lol)

I was re-reading my old posts for funsies and found this

“One time the three were trying to reach some jellies on a high shelf. The Choco Chess Twins were on the bottom, holding Sorbet Shark up. Pure Vanilla found them doing so and was quite amused. He lifted Sorbet Shark up higher for them to grab the jellies, which they happily did, before putting them back down and whispering “Don’t tell [mom/dad/parent/S/O]!” That’s a common phrase for him.”

So I thought, dang, I’m gonna make a one-shot of that now!

And here is that one-shot! Sorry if it’s a bit short, but I enjoyed writing it hehe.

Pure Vanilla had always been busy, being a king and all, the Pure Vanilla Kingdom depended on his for a lot of things, and it wasn’t very often he got a break.

As the cookie walked through the long, large halls on the palace, his staff lightly tapping against the ground as he went, he couldn’t stop thinking about the kingdom.

There was a lot on his plate. He was still dealing with the reconstruction of his entire kingdom, after all, it would take years to get everything back in order. Even then, there were bound to be problems, and he still had a bit of self-doubt about his rulership. His kingdom had fallen once under his watch, who’s to say it can’t again?

The pale cookie shuddered, but he was quickly knocked out of his thoughts by some light voices. He paused, his mind now frozen as he strained to listen. Pure Vanilla always had sharp ears, so he could detect the voices through the walls.

“Go higher!” “You need to get farther up.”

“OooOOOo0oo…!!!”

The voices were all to familiar to Pure Vanilla, especially the bubbly ones. The cookie gave a light smile as he slowly made his way over to the door of the kitchen, opening it in a slow but steady manner, as not to hint to his appearance.

“You’re so close!” “Nearly there.”

Pure Vanilla couldn’t help the wide smile as he saw what his adopted children were doing. Chess Choco was holding Sorbet Shark up, a twin having each of the little mer-cookie’s legs, so that Sorbet Shark could reach the top cabinet, which they knew had some jellies inside.

It was just like them to get into this sort of mischief, but their shenanigans always made him smile. Ever since his love had brought home the three little cookies, Pure Vanilla had been an absolute sucker for them. Even through his stress, he couldn’t help but adore and make time for the three little cookies he was calling his own.

Carefully approaching, Pure Vanilla Cookie watched as the three continued to fail in their attempt to reach the cabinet, Sorbet Shark giving bubbles of protest whenever one of the twins stumbled under their weight.

“We need a chair, or something!” Pawn White Cookie said with a slight whine, as their arms shook from the effort. “Good idea.” came Pawn Black’s response, like clockwork.

“You could use a chair,” Pure Vanilla put in, which made the three small cookies freeze in place, “or you could get assistance from someone who can help!”

Pure Vanilla was no small cookie, and though he may not be tanky, he still had some height to him. The golden cookie was behind the three’s small triangle by now, and he slowly, gently wrapped his hands under Sorbet Shark Cookie’s armpits, before lifting the little cookie up.

A dramatic “ooOo00!!” came from the shark cookie’s mouth, but they happily opened the cabinet door and grabbed the jar of treats in the corner, beside some pans.

Pure Vanilla set Sorbet Shark back down, and the Chess Choco twins quickly huddled around their adopted sibling. The four cookies sat down on the clean, hard-tile kitchen floor, as Sorbet Shark Cookie opened the jar to reveal a bunch of star jellies.

The twins and mer-cookie wasted no time in stuffing a few into their mouthes, and Sorbet Shark passed some to Pure Vanilla, who graciously accepted them. “Thank you.”

“OoOo0!!” Sorbet Shark replied through their mouth full of jellies, pretty obviously enjoying themself by now, apparent by the big smirk and relaxed eyes of the cookie.

“Thanks dad!” “Thank you, father.” came the twins, Pawn White with a large smirk and Pawn Black with a small, nearly unnoticeable one.

That made Pure Vanilla’s heart melt. The golden cookie smiled, finally peering open his washed out heterochromic eyes, and his staff closed it’s eye.

“Anything for you, my darlings. Just don’t tell [mom/dad/parent/S/O]!”

It’s 2:16 AM when I post this yay

Sleep time

[pucksandpower]

Changing Lanes

Charles Leclerc x Horner!Reader

Summary: Charles Leclerc always thought he would spend the rest of his career racing in red. But you make him see that he deserves better than false promises and unrequited love

“Took you long enough,” you say, lounging casually on the small leather couch in Charles’ driver’s room, your fingertips tracing intricate patterns on the cushion beside you.

Charles raises an eyebrow, letting out a dry laugh as he kicks off his shoes. “Every single time I see you, Y/N, you always have something to say.”

You linger on him. “Is it my fault you had to chat with the entire paddock before coming here?”

He smirks, crossing the room. “It’s called being polite. Something you could learn from.”

“Polite?” You scoff, feigning innocence. “Oh, like how Ferrari celebrated that P3 like it was a win? That kind of polite?”

Charles stiffens but he keeps his cool. “We take what we can get.”

You tilt your head, eyes narrowing. “Starting on pole and settling for P3? Charles, you deserve better.”

“I know,” he sighs, avoiding your gaze. “But this is racing. Sometimes it just doesn’t go your way.”

You lean in closer, your voice dropping an octave. “It could, though. If you were with a team that actually valued you, that gave you a car worthy of your talent.”

He looks up, meeting your gaze with a challenge. “You mean Red Bull?”

A coy smile plays on your lips. “It’s not a secret that Dad wants you. And imagine … you, in a competitive car, and me, right by your side as your race engineer.”

Charles’ eyes dart to your lips then back up to your eyes. “Tempting,” he murmurs, leaning in just a fraction closer. “But is this for the team or for you?”

“Can’t it be both?” You whisper back.

His breath hitches and he pulls back slightly. “This isn’t just about racing, is it?”

You hesitate. “I see how they treat you. How they let you down time and time again. But with us ... with me ... it would be different.”

He looks conflicted. “It’s not that simple.”

“Why not?” You press. “With Red Bull, you’d have support, a competitive car, and … me.”

Charles sighs, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not just about what happens on track. It’s about the politics, the contracts, the media ... it’s all complicated.”

“You make it sound like an impossible puzzle,” you say, tracing circles on his wrist. You gaze locks with his, trying to convey everything you feel.

“It might be.”

You lean in, lips just inches from his. “Then let’s solve it together.”

He hesitates, searching your eyes. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Y/N.”

You smirk, confidence oozing from every pore. “Isn’t that what racing’s all about?”

Charles chuckles softly, the tension in the room slowly melting away. “You always have an answer for everything.”

“It’s the Horner in me,” you retort with a smug smile. “Besides, aren’t you tired of being just another pawn in Ferrari’s game?”

“It’s not easy. To just switch teams, to give up on something you’ve worked for your entire life.”

You reach up, tucking a stray lock of hair behind his ear. “Who says you’re giving up? You’d be making a choice. A choice to be somewhere you’re valued. Somewhere you have a real shot at the championship. With people who truly care about you and actions that reflect that.”

He closes his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. “It’s not just about the racing. There are so many other factors.”

“Like what?”

He opens his eyes, meeting yours. “Like us.”

You blink, taken aback. “What do you mean?”

“If I come to Red Bull … if I work with you … it changes everything. Our relationship. Our dynamic. Everything.”

You take a moment, absorbing his words. “We can handle it. We’re strong enough.”

He gives you a sad smile. “I wish I had your confidence.”

You cup his cheek, your thumb stroking his skin. “You have me. Together, we can face anything.”

Charles looks at you for a long moment, his emotions raw and exposed. Finally, he speaks. “I’ll think about it. But whatever I decide … know that it’s not just about racing. I refuse to give you up.”

“Just promise me one thing.”

He raises an eyebrow. “What?”

You lean in, your lips brushing his ear. “Never settle for less than you deserve.”

He smiles, capturing your lips in a soft, lingering kiss. “Same goes for you, Y/N Horner.”

***

“I still can’t believe they forgot to remove the radiator blank,” you murmur, your fingers softly tracing patterns on Charles’ bare chest as he lies next to you in his São Paulo hotel. The dim light from the bedside lamp paints soft shadows on his face, emphasizing the frustration in his eyes.

Charles sighs heavily, turning his head to look at you. “Neither can I. Another race, another issue. I don’t even know why I’m surprised anymore.”

You lean in closer, lips brushing against his ear. “You don’t deserve this, Charles. You’re better than this. Better than them.”

He chuckles humorlessly, eyes closing. “It seems like it’s one thing after another.”

“Come to Red Bull,” you whisper, fingertips dancing down his arm. “You know it’s the right move.”

He opens his eyes, looking deep into yours. “Y/N, we talked about this.”

You press a gentle kiss on his jaw, speaking against his skin. “Hear me out. If McLaren overtakes Ferrari in the Constructors’ standings, you can activate your exit clause. You could leave them, Charles.”

Charles swallows hard, feeling the warmth of your breath on his neck. “And if they don’t?”

“Then we’ll buy you out,” you say confidently, trailing kisses down his collarbone. “Dad’s already spoken about it. We want you. I want you.”

Charles’ breath catches as your hands explore his torso but he tries to focus. “Equal status with Max?”

“Of course,” you assure him, pressing your body flush against his. “You and Max, racing side by side. Just think of the possibilities.”

He groans, both from your touch and the tempting offer. “A car designed by Adrian Newey ...”

You nod, “With plenty of oversteer, just how you like it. No more one-sided compromises.”

He laughs softly. “You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?”

You smirk, lips hovering over his. “Always. And instead of Xavi, you’d hear my voice on the other end of the radio, guiding you, supporting you.”

Charles captures your lips with his, deepening the kiss before pulling back. “You’re making it very hard to think.”

“That’s the point,” you whisper with a playful grin, your hands tugging at his waistband.

He bites his lip, trying to resist your charms. “But Y/N ... it’s not just about the racing. It’s ... it’s us. What happens to us?”

You cup his cheek, gazing deep into his eyes. “We fight together, we win together. Every podium, every championship, we celebrate together.”

He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. “You make it sound so perfect.”

“It can be,” you promise, pressing soft kisses on his eyelids. “With Red Bull, you’d have everything you’ve ever dreamed of. And me.”

Charles smiles, caressing your cheek. “You’re very persuasive, you know?”

You grin. “It’s one of my many talents.”

He chuckles, capturing your lips once more. “I’ll think about it.”

“Whatever you decide, I’ll still be by your side.”

He smiles, pulling you closer. “I know. And that’s what makes this decision so hard.”

***

“Absolutely unbelievable,” your father mutters, watching the replay of Ferrari’s disastrous double stack. “You would think they’ve never done a pit stop before.”

You nod, equally shocked. But your attention shifts as the familiar figure of your favorite Monegasque storms into the Red Bull garage, his helmet still on and visor obscuring his face. You can feel the fury emanating from him.

“Charles?” You question hesitantly.

He doesn’t respond to you but instead turns to your father, “Christian, can we talk? Now. Somewhere private.”

Christian looks taken aback by the intensity in Charles’ voice but nods. “Of course.”

Charles glances at you. “You too, Y/N. Please.”

You follow, the weight of the moment heavy on your shoulders. Once inside the small office, Charles finally removes his helmet, revealing eyes red from restrained tears. He takes a moment, collecting himself before he speaks.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Charles exhales. “Every single time I think they’ve hit rock bottom, they find a new low. Today was the last straw.”

You approach him, gently placing a hand on his arm. “Charles, I’m so sorry.”

Your father is equally sympathetic. “That was hard to watch. I can’t even imagine what it felt like.”

Charles closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. “It’s not just today. It’s everything. I gave them everything. I wanted to win with them. For my father. For Jules.”

You swallow hard, emotions swirling. “They would be so incredibly proud of you. No matter what.”

He blinks back tears, voice strained. “I wanted to drive that red car to the top for them. But I can’t keep sacrificing myself for a team that clearly does not value me in return.”

Your father speaks up, “Charles, if you’re thinking of a change ... Red Bull is ready to welcome you with open arms.”

Charles looks up, locking eyes with him. “I know. And as much as Ferrari has been my dream, my home, I can’t do this anymore. I want to be with a team that values me. I want to join Red Bull.”

You’re taken aback by his sudden declaration but the look in his eyes tells you that he’s made up his mind. “Charles,” you whisper, stepping closer. “Are you absolutely sure?”

“It’s hard,” he admits. “But this is where my heart is telling me to go.”

Your father gives the two of you a moment, leaving the office to give you privacy.

Charles takes a shaky breath, pulling you close. “I never imagined leaving Ferrari. But after everything, I know it’s the right decision.”

You wrap your arms around him, resting your forehead against his. “They will be so proud of you, Charles. No matter what colors you wear or what car you drive.”

He smiles weakly. “Thank you. I really needed to hear that.”

You pull back slightly, searching his eyes. “This is a big step. I don’t want you to regret anything. Are you still sure?”

He nods, determination in his gaze. “More than I’ve ever been.”

You smile, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “Then welcome to Red Bull.”

***

“I have to tell Ferrari,” Charles straightens, determination evident in his eyes. “I just need to get it over with. Will you come with me?”

“Of course.“

Charles grabs your hand, pulling you towards his driver’s room. “Wait here,” he says, going in and returning moments later with his Ferrari jacket. He places it over your Red Bull team polo, attempting to keep your allegiance concealed for now. You both then proceed to the debrief room where the Ferrari team is waiting.

Fred Vasseur begins his speech the moment you both enter, “This wasn’t how we wanted to end the year but looking ahead to next season—”

Charles cuts him off, “Actually, there won’t be a next season. Not for me.”

The room falls into a tense silence, all eyes on the driver who has given them his heart and soul.

“What do you mean?”

Charles takes a deep breath, “I’ve decided to leave Ferrari.”

Gasps fill the room. Fred’s eyes land on you, finally noticing the Red Bull logo peeking out from under the jacket you’re borrowing. “And you bring her, of all people, here to tell us this?”

Charles squares his shoulders. “Y/N is here because I asked her to be. This decision is mine and mine alone.”

Xavi stands up, “After everything we’ve done for you! This is how you repay us?”

You can’t hold back any longer. “Everything you’ve done? You mean the countless strategy mistakes, the endless car issues, the complete lack of support?”

Another team member cuts in, “This is not your place, Y/N!”

“It is today,” you retort. “I’m here to support my new driver.”

Charles’ voice shakes but he speaks with conviction, “I gave everything for this team. I bled Ferrari red. But I can’t keep doing this. Not when it’s clear that my effort and commitment is not matched in return.”

Fred’s voice softens. “Charles, we’ve had our challenges but we can overcome them together.”

Charles shakes his head, tears threatening to spill. “I’ve made up my mind. I’m joining Red Bull. My manager will send over the necessary legal paperwork as soon as possible.”

The room is filled with murmurs, disbelief evident on every face. Charles takes one last look around, his eyes filled with pain, and turns to leave.

You follow closely, feeling the weight of every step as you exit the debrief room.

The second you’re around the corner, Charles breaks down. He rests his forehead against the wall, tears rolling down his face silently. “I didn’t ... I didn’t think it would hurt this much.”

You pull him close and try to find the right words. “It was never going to be easy. But you did what you had to. For yourself. For your future.”

He turns to look at you, eyes red-rimmed but determined. “I just wanted to make them proud.”

You cup his cheek, wiping away a tear with your thumb. “They would be proud of you. Not for the badge you wear or the car you drive but for the man you’ve become.”

Charles takes a shaky breath, pulling you into a tight embrace. The two of you stand there for a moment, finding solace in each other’s presence.

When he finally pulls away, he manages a weak smile. “Thank you. For standing by me.”

You squeeze his hand. “Always.”

***

***

***

Charles stands in front of the massive two-story trophy wall at the Red Bull Racing factory in Milton Keynes, eyes wide with wonder. “Ferrari would never do something so ... gaudy.”

You smirk, sidling up next to him. “And yet, you love it.”

“I do,” he laughs. “It’s … different.”

You lean in, whispering conspiratorially, “Well, Ferrari hasn’t had all that much to exhibit in the last two decades. Not for lack of trying from the drivers, of course.”

He playfully nudges you with his elbow, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Cheeky.”

The two of you walk further into the factory. “So,” Charles draws out, “I was wondering if you could recommend a good real estate agent in the area.”

You raise an eyebrow in confusion. “Why would you need an agent when I have a perfectly good apartment we can share?”

“Really? Are you sure? I just … I wasn’t sure if you would want that and I don’t want to pressure you.”

You roll your eyes affectionately. “Of course I do, Charles. It’s not even a question.”

He smiles, the weight of the decision to move seeming a little lighter now. “Thank you.”

You wink, taking his hand. “Come on, let me show you around.”

As you guide him through the factory, he’s like a kid in a candy store, eyes wide with wonder and curiosity. “This place is incredible,” he murmurs, running a hand along a piece of machinery.

You grin, pulling him towards the simulator room. “Wait until you see this.”

He steps inside, eyes immediately drawn to the impressive simulator setup. “Wow.”

You gesture for him to sit down, watching as he takes a seat, adjusting the settings. “Ready for your first sim run in the RB20?”

He nods eagerly, “Let’s do it.”

As he starts the simulation, you watch closely, monitoring the data and providing feedback. The two of you work seamlessly together, the connection between race engineer and driver already forming and growing.

After several runs, Charles steps out of the simulator, a huge grin on his face. “That was incredible! The car feels amazing.”

You smile. “I’m glad you think so. The team has put a lot of work into it.”

He pulls you into a hug, burying his face in your hair. “I can’t wait to get on track with you on the other side of the radio.”

You pull back, looking into his eyes. “Me too. We’re going to do great things together. I know it.”

He nods. “I know we will too.”

***

“I have to admit,” Charles says, eyes scanning the paddock, “I’m thankful that Mercedes and McLaren are between our motorhome and Ferrari’s. Makes things less ... awkward.”

You glance towards the distant red of the mobile Ferrari building, understanding the sentiment. “Must be weird being so close and yet so far.”

He nods, a hint of melancholy in his gaze as he looks at the place he called home for so long. “It’s bittersweet.”

Pulling him from his thoughts, you nudge him playfully. “Come on, Mr. Pole-Sitter. We have a race to prep for.”

Charles smirks, playfully rolling his eyes. “Always so professional, Miss Horner.”

You grin. “Only when it counts.”

The atmosphere in the Red Bull garage is electric. Mechanics and engineers hustle around, getting everything ready. The RB20 sits gleaming, waiting for its moment to shine.

Charles adjusts his gloves, taking a deep breath. “Feels different,” he admits, looking at you. “Being here, in this car, with this team. But a good kind of different.”

You lean in, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. “You’ve got this. It’s just another race.”

He smiles. “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one in the hot seat.”

“True, but I’ll be with you every step of the way. Just listen to my voice and trust me.”

“I always do.”

As he gets into the car, you lean in closer to his helmet, your lips touching it’s hard shell. “And Charles? Stay safe out there.”

He looks at you and winks. “I’ll come back to you.”

The race begins with a burst of energy. Charles takes off from pole, holding his position as the field jockeys for placement behind him.

“Good start,” you say through the radio, your voice calm and composed. “Keep it steady.”

“Copy.”

The race is intense, with Charles and Max battling for the lead, their cars dancing on the edge of perfection. The radio chatter between the two of you flows naturally, filled with technical details, strategy adjustments, and the occasional personal quip.

“Feeling the heat from Max?” You tease after a particularly close call between the two Red Bulls.

Charles laughs breathlessly. “Just keeping things interesting for the fans.”

The race continues at a blistering pace, with Charles and Max pushing each other to the limit. But through it all, Charles remains in the lead, with you guiding him from the pit wall.

“Final lap,” you inform. “Bring it home.”

He nods, pushing the car to its limit. The cheers of the crowd grow louder as he crosses the finish line, securing his first victory with Red Bull.

“Amazing job, Charles! I knew you could do it!”

He lets out a whoop of joy. “Yes! Thank you, team. Thank you, Y/N. I couldn’t have done it without you all.”

The two of you celebrate the victory, and as the rose water sprays and the cheers of the crowd fill the air, you know that this is just the beginning of an incredible journey together.

***

“You’re sure about the medium tyres, Y/N?” Charles asks nervously as he looks at the other cars lining up. “Everyone else is starting on softs.”

You nod confidently, tapping the race strategy on your clipboard. “Yes. The upside of using the mediums is it gives us flexibility. We can extend our first stint if needed, especially with possible rain on the forecast. While everyone else has to pit early for hards and then again for inters when the rain starts, we’ll only have to pit once. Trust me.”

He inhales deeply, trying to quell the unease bubbling inside. “I do trust you. It’s just ... Ferrari ... the strategies there ...”

“I know,” you interrupt softly, understanding the trauma and distrust years with Ferrari had instilled in him. “But this isn’t Ferrari. It’s Red Bull and we work differently. I’ve got your back.”

“Alright,” he looks into your eyes, finding assurance and conviction there, “let’s do this.”

The race begins, and Charles holds his ground well on the medium tyres, though the drivers running softs initially show quicker pace. But as predicted, the clouds soon darken and the threat of rain becomes increasingly evident.

“Stay focused,” you guide through the radio. “Remember the plan.”

He pushes on, expertly handling the streets of Monaco. The cars around him begin to lose grip and one by one they dive into the pits for hard tyres.

Charles keeps lapping. He moves up the order.

“You’re doing great,” you encourage. “Stick to the plan. We’re right on schedule.”

However, as the first raindrops begin to fall, panic sets in among the other teams on the grid. Those who just pitted for hard tyres are forced to pit again for intermediate tyres, losing precious time.

“Now,” you command, “Box this lap.”

He follows your instruction, driving into the pits, and with a flawless stop by his Red Bull crew, re-emerges in the lead.

The rain continues but Charles navigates the treacherous streets of Monaco expertly, maintaining his lead. When the chequered flag waves, it’s Charles who crosses the line first and finally claims victory at his home Grand Prix.

Tears of joy and relief pour from Charles’ eyes as he takes in the moment. “Thank you,” he says over the radio, voice choked with emotion. “I can’t believe it. We did it in Monaco!”

You smile, tears in your own eyes. “We did. I told you to trust me, didn’t I?”

He laughs, the sound full of pure joy. “You did. And I’m so glad I did. Thank you for everything.”

As he steps out of the car and jumps on its nose, arms spread wide, the crowd roars in approval, their prince finally crowned in his home race.

Then he rushes to the barriers and jumps into the cheering crowd of dark blue waiting for him. When his sweaty lips find yours surrounded by the celebrating Red Bull team, you take a moment to whisper a promise, “This is just the beginning. It will only get better from here.”

***

The season flies by in a blur of champagne showers. Heading into the Italian Grand Prix, Charles find himself leading the Drivers’ Championship with Max nipping at his heels.

“I’m not sure I can do this,” Charles confesses, staring out at the Autodromo Nazionale Monza. “This was home. I don’t know how they will react now that I’m no longer wearing red.”

You rest a reassuring hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. “Many fans support the driver, not just the color he wears.”

He takes a deep breath and looks over the crowd. “The Tifosi are different. They bleed Ferrari red. I’m afraid they will see me only as a traitor.”

“You gave them your all,” you counter. “They’ve seen the struggles. They know why you left. They understand. Trust in them and in yourself.”

As the two of you make your way towards the paddock, the familiar chorus of cheers fills the air. But instead of the jeers and boos he feared, a chant begins to rise among the crowd of red: “Charles! Charles! Charles!”

Charles stops in his tracks. “They’re ... they’re cheering for me.”

You nod, a smile playing on your lips. “Told you.”

He’s soon swarmed by a group of fans, all clamoring for autographs, photos, and just a moment of his time. It’s clear that the bond between Charles and the Tifosi remains unbroken.

An older fan steps forward, his Ferrari cap worn with age. “You are still Il Predestinato. We wish it ended differently but we have eyes. We watched the races. We know why you left. No matter what team you drive for, you always have our hearts.”

Charles blinks back tears, deeply touched. “Grazie,” he whispers and claps the fan’s weathered hands in thanks.

Another fan, a young girl with a homemade sign that reads Once a Tifosi, Always a Tifosi, shyly approaches. “We still love you, Charles,” she says.

He kneels down to give her a gentle hug. “Thank you,” he murmurs, taking off his Red Bull cap and placing it on her head.

As the day goes on, the support from the Tifosi only grows. They cheer for him during practice, during qualifying, and every time he appears in front of the stands.

It’s clear that the bond between Charles and the Tifosi is as strong as ever.

That evening, as the two of you sit in the garage looking over data, Charles reflects on his day. “I was so afraid,” he admits. “Afraid of being rejected, of losing their love. But today ... today was incredible.”

You close the analytics. “The Tifosi love you. Not because of the car you drive or the colors you wear but because of who you are. Just like I do.”

He nods slowly. “It’s overwhelming. Monza has always been special to me. To feel this level of love and support ... it’s more than I ever expected.”

You lean closer, resting your head on his shoulder. “They see your passion. They see how much you give on and off the track. Anyone who does not love and respect you for that needs to reconsider.”

He exhales slowly, “I just ... I wanted to make them proud, to win for them in red and bring glory back to Maranello. But knowing they still support me no matter what ... it means everything.”

You look up into his eyes. “And they always will. Because they know you always gave and will continue to give your best. They love you because they are loved in return.”

He laughs, pulling you into a tight hug. “Thank you,” he murmurs into your hair. “For always being my rock, especially in moments like these.”

“Now let’s go out there tomorrow and win.”

***

“Vegas, baby!” Charles shouts, swinging an arm around your shoulders, both of you holding champagne glasses that have been refilled one too many times.

You giggle, distinctly feeling all of the alcohol you’ve consumed. “We won! We did it!”

Charles laughs, pulling you closer. “We did! And do you know what people do when they’re in love and win in Vegas?”

You think about it for a moment, a mischievous glint appearing in your eyes. “Get ... married?”

Charles nods enthusiastically. “Exactly! Y/N Horner, will you marry me tonight?”

You don’t hesitate, “Hell yes!”

The two of you, in your drunken stupor, begin your mission to find a wedding chapel. However, before you can get very far, Max spots you and quickly catches on to what you’re planning.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Max exclaims, grabbing Charles by the shoulder. “Where do you think you’re going with Y/N?”

Charles replies with a sloppy grin, “To make her Mrs. Leclerc!”

Max bursts into laughter, trying to play the voice of reason. “Mate, as much fun as that sounds, I think you might want to sleep on that idea.”

But you’re not having it. “No, Max! We’re in love and it’s Vegas. We’re doing it!”

Before the conversation can escalate further, your father joins the fray, looking both amused and concerned. “What on earth is going on here?”

Max chuckles, “Your daughter and Charles here have some ... ambitious plans for the evening.”

You pout and stumble slightly, “Daddy, we want to get married! Right now!”

Your father’s eyebrows shoot up. “Married? Tonight? Seriously?”

Charles nods with absolute seriousness, though his precarious swaying contradicts his tone. “Christian, I love your daughter. And we won. In Vegas. So ... wedding?”

Your father places a firm hand on his driver’s shoulder. “Listen, Charles, I have no doubt about your feelings for Y/N. But my baby girl deserves the world. When and if you ever decide to propose, I expect you to get down on one knee, stone-cold sober, and ask her properly.”

Charles blinks, processing the words. “But ... Vegas?”

You laugh and go to hug your father, almost falling over in the process. “He’s right. Let’s just enjoy tonight. And if we still feel like getting married in the morning, we can discuss it then.”

Max smirks, “Trust me, you’ll thank us in the morning. If you can even remember this conversation, that is.”

***

“Charles,” you begin, your voice echoing in his helmet, “The team has made the call. You and Max are free to race. No team orders.”

There’s a pause on the other end. “Understood. May the best man win.”

The tension in the garage skyrockets as soon as the lights go out. It’s evident that this is going to be an epic battle from the very first turn. Max and Charles swap places multiple times, pushing their cars to the very edge of their limits.

“Breathe,” you remind him calmly as the laps go by, “Don’t loose sight of the race as a whole. There’s a championship at stake.”

The entire race is a blur of overtakes, pit strategies, and nail-biting moments. The two Red Bull cars battle wheel-to-wheel lap after lap. One side of the garage against the other.

Coming into the final laps, Charles is right on Max’s tail — the championship hanging in the balance between them.

You know there’s not much you can do to guide him anymore … it’s all up to Charles.

“Last lap,” you try to sound composed despite the pounding of your heart. “You can do this.”

The cheers and gasps of the crowd are deafening as Charles makes his move, taking the inside line and overtaking Max on the penultimate turn.

“Push now! Just a few more corners.”

As Charles crosses the finish line, the enormity of the moment crashes over both of you.

“Charles Leclerc,” you scream over the radio as tears stream down your face, “you are the World Champion!”

“Yeeeesssss! Yes! Yes! I ... I can’t believe it. This is ... thank you, everyone. To the entire Red Bull team, you’ve given me the chance to chase and achieve my dreams. To my friends, my family, to every single person who’s been by my side, believed in me, and supported me … thank you. And Y/N, you’ve been my rock and my oxygen. Without you, this wouldn’t have been possible. Thank you! Thank you. Thank you so much!”

***

“Whew! That was a lot of rose water!” Charles laughs, wiping the bubbly liquid from his eyes.

You chuckle and try to wring out your hair. “You didn’t have to drench me, you know!”

Charles grins cheekily. “It’s a special occasion, after all. Both of us on this podium? It’s a dream!”

Then suddenly, he turns serious and signals to his brother in the crowd below, who throws him a small leather box. Charles catches it and promptly lowers himself down on one knee in front of you, making the crowd fall into a stunned silence.

“I tried this in Vegas,” he starts with a laugh, “But I might have been too drunk and missed a few pretty important steps.”

Charles takes a deep breath and his eyes lock onto yours, saying everything that words would never be sufficient to. “Y/N, being on this podium with you, winning the World Championship, it’s the pinnacle of my career. But what we have ... it’s the pinnacle of my life. I can’t imagine going on this journey with anyone else, facing the highs, the lows, the in-betweens. Will you marry me?”

Tears flow steadily down your cheeks and you nod with a fervor that would make bobbleheads jealous, “Yes! There’s no one else I’d want to spend forever with.”

The crowd erupts into cheers and applause, the deafening roar echoing around the Yas Marina Circuit. Max gives a loud whistle, his face lit up with a big grin next to you on the podium stage.

Charles rises to his feet and pulls you close, attacking your lips as the crowd goes wild.

“Promise me we won’t head to a chapel right after this race?” You joke, sniffling and giggling at the same time.

Charles laughs, looking slightly sheepish. “I promise, mainly because I’m too young to die and your father would definitely kill me if I even thought about pulling the stunt we tried in Vegas again. You deserve a fairytale wedding.”

You press your face against his chest, feeling the rhythm of his heartbeat as fireworks explode overhead. “All I need for my fairytale is you.”