#she's judging you... :D
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horizon forbidden west | vanasha 3/?
#horizon forbidden west#hfw#vanasha#she's judging you... :D#(i finally got her out in some sunlight!!! for some reason the first time i tried modding her inâ my game just hung loading forever -#- but i tried again and then it was fine. soooooo idk)#hfw vanasha#hfw npcs#hfw pc#(character swap mod)#(photomode mod)#<- just for some minor tilting adjustments to head/torso to make this pose work a little better#chromatichorizon
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im like the lorax when it comes to women's body hair. we should let it grow.
#eliot posts#the other day my roommate was talking abt how she hates shaving#but does it anyway bc she doesn't want people to be mean to her about her body hair#and i was like yeah i mean i used to#also worry about that bc my mother was always so fucking cruel to me when i didn't shave#but as an adult i find that it's extremely rare that anyone even mentions it (tho my body hair is pretty light so that could be a factor)#but even when people are shitty i find that i no longer give a shit about what what those idiots have to say about my body#but i understand that that can be a hard step to take so if you need to keep shaving for your own comfort then i won't judge#but on the inside i was just like#*ibuprofen hand meme* ''let's get called disgusting hairy d*kes together <3''#i had a great time showing off my pit hair at the pool today!#(i get read as a woman when im swimwear cuz i can't hide my body as much. so i get read as a hairy masculine woman.)#i show off my leg hair every time i wear shorts but like. my leg hair is Pathetic#i look practically prepubescent vis a vis my leg hair (my mother still calls it disgusting lmao)#but my pit hair is pretty good#i occupy a weird gendered place in society where i am more of a man in identify but society genders me as a woman#the only time i feel remotely okay being seen as a woman is when i am seen as a BAD woman. a woman who cannot/will not be A Proper Lady#it's not an entirely ACCURATE view of me but there's Something in it
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If you guys won't hate on the parents of One Piece, I will. Where you are weak l am strong. And I don't care if they're beloved or have reasons either. I dont even care if their kids forgive them canonically. Baby, I can hate on One Piece parents you haven't even thought of as valid parental figures.
~OP is only just past Enies Lobby, ABSOLUTELY NO SPOILERS~
#yeah this goes for the likes of Bellemere too#i can even agree a lot of these people love there kids#but they all either hit them or neglect them or teach them to hate themselves or something#OR STRAIGHT UP LEAVE AND NEVER COME BACK#FUCK Yasopp specifically btw#Zeff is on the THINEST fucking ice#monkey d garp when i catch you#monkey d garp#one piece bellemere#yasopp#monkey d dragon#fuck it im counting#dracule mihawk#judge vinsmoke#nico olvia#Doctor Kureha#because she ''get outta here you dumb dog'd'' my boy chopper#that bitch who was Kuina's father#red leg zeff#(he's on thin ice but one of the better ones)#tom the fishman from water 7#anti yasopp#anti monkey d garp#one piece#monkey d. luffy#roanoa zoro#black leg sanji#nami#nico robin#franky one piece
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ngl i think the way chizuchan calls renren by his first name (when she doesnât do it with p much everyone else) is really cute~~~
#(top panelâs from ch8; bottom panelâs from ch9: both panels were shoddily tled on mobile so~~~ whoops~~~?)#her calling aizo âaizoâ is excusable since heâs an idol and thatâs the name he debuted with (aizo of lxl)#but. like. she calls hiyori âsuzumi-sanâ and juri âhattori-sanâ (iirc⊠i think she called juri âhattoriâ in honeypre thoughâŠ)#and discounting her customers (whom she addresses by their cafe nicknames) and concon (who she addresses by her twt un)#renrenâs the one person she calls by first name and i think thatâs really precious actually~~~~#the fact that theyâre going on an oshikatsu date is so funny thoughhhh bc. like. why would you want lxl merch 3rd and 4th wheeling your date#aaaaaaa i wanna read ch9 soooooo baddddddd lol id be insufferable for at least 3 days once itâs free from regionlock#but~~~~~~ judging from how the chapter-only ver of ch8âll be out in april⊠i think ch9 will be freed in like. late june/early july earliest#l o r d i hope we get a bonus comic about how chizuren attended the recent lxl solo concert and watched the meoto dance#ik itâd never happen but. man. itâd be so funny if they did#and this mangaâs no stranger to the hilariously *strange* after all (see: ch4) so~~~~ im gonna delusionally hope~~~~~~#aaaaaa vol 3 w h e n i wanna see chizuren again~~~~~~~~~#chizuutan chizpost
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Luna D. Moth
#just realized i never posted our new kitty!#i held off for a while just in case her and baby kitty didn't get along#and you know just in case one of my mutual somehow noticed we had to get rid of her and judged me for it đ#(as if anyone pays enough attention to my blog to know that happened)#anyway she's wonderful and lovely and her and baby kitty only fight sometimes đ#luna d moth
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[ đđđ đđđ đđđđ'đ đđž đđđđđđđđđđđđđ ]
it's the idealization duo's interrogation time! these two have a lot to say this time, hopefully it helps you understand their crimes and backstories a little better (especially kei's. btw what's everyone thinking about his crime rn)
Q.001. What would you want to hear from your lover?
Kei:Â That they accept me.
Eiko:Â That they want to be the best partner I've ever had.
Q.002. Can you drive?
Kei:Â Eiji, don't you remember how I used to drive you to school when you were younger?
Eiko:Â I do have a license and my own car, but I don't really drive. I'd prefer my partner to do that.
Q.003. What's your favorite drink?
Kei:Â I like milkshakes, especially strawberry ones. I have a lot of nice childhood memories associated with them, haha.
Eiko:Â Just lemon tea is fine.
Q.004. Your ideal type?
Kei:Â Someone who doesn't judge me and someone who can keep up with me.
Eiko:Â Someone who is always honest with me and someone who is willing to do their very best for me. I think I'd like to date someone like you, Eiji-kun~
Q.005. Do you have any fun memories of your childhood?
Kei:Â My favorite one is when our dad's friend taught me how to take photos with my new camera and he told me to go and take a picture of anything I want. I took a picture of a dead butterfly lying on the ground. He said that I'm very creative and that I have a bright future ahead of me.
Eiko:Â I remember going shopping with my dad when I was little and he told me that I can have anything I want. I told him that I want to see him smile. He almost cried after that for some reason.
Q.006. Have you ever tried learning a foreign language?
Kei: I can speak English fluently, I mean, our dad is half-American and I've also spent a lot of time overseas. I tried to learn some other languages too, like French and Spanish, but I gave up. I'm not even that good at reading and writing kanji, so..
Eiko:Â I can speak English and a little bit of Korean, but mostly because I listen to a lot of music in those languages, haha.
Q.007. State the meaning of your name.
Kei:Â I think it's supposed to mean "gemstone"? Mom said that she named me that because she thought I was so beautiful, she wanted me to have a name that would have a meaning just as beautiful as me.
Eiko:Â I think it's something like.. "an excellent child"? Haha, my parents must've had a lot of expectations for me.
Q.008. What do you think about your siblings?
Kei: I love you, Eiji, even if you can be really mean sometimes.
Eiko:Â My little brother is very nice. He does have his quirks, but I think they make him cuter.
Q.009. What are lies to you?
Kei: Something that is necessary to have a fun life!
Eiko: Something that is forgivable only if it's done to save someone. I still won't forgive anyone who lies to me though.
Q.010. What are your parents' occupations?
Kei: Dad's a movie director and mom's a toymaker! Both of them are so creative! There's just something about our family that makes all of us so artistic.. You too, Eiji. Dad always praised you for being so reliable.
Eiko: I don't know actually. And I don't really care. Well, as long as they continue to buy me gifts and help me with money if anything happens, I'm fine.
Q.011. Do you like children?
Kei:Â I wouldn't be surprised if it turned out that I actually have one, considering my lifestyle.
Eiko:Â Not really. They're not a part of my concept of a perfect life.
Q.012. What is/was your major?
Kei:Â Photography, obviously.
Eiko:Â Fashion design, though I'm more interested in modelling than designing clothes.
Q.013. Tell us about your dating history.
Kei:Â Um, are we talking about, like, "serious relationships"?.. Then I guess Ruka is the only one that counts..
Eiko:Â My victim was the only person I've ever dated.
Q.014. Did you have any friends in school?
Kei: I think I had one?..
Eiko:Â Yeah, but I wasn't really close with them. We talked a lot, but our relationship wasn't that deep.
Q.015. What's the greatest act of love?
Kei:Â Uhh, if it's from my lover, I think I'd just want them to tell me that they love me even when I don't look so good. If it's from me.. I don't know! Holding myself back
Eiko:Â Promising to make someone's life as happy as possible and actually keeping that promise.
#idk how to explain but i really like this parallel between kei and eiko like..#sure whatever the themes of kei's songs can be more mature than most other prisoners whatever.#sure he can flirt with other prisoners and all of that stuff.#but the moment when it comes to like.. what's actually going on inside his head he's like#âoh i love milkshakes :) i love mom and dad a lot! i love eiji-nii too! wdym he's younger than me?â#and like. he casually goes âoh maybe i do have a child :D who cares like omg who cares!!â#meanwhile sure you can judge eiko for dismembering a guy for betraying her expectations#but she's also much more mature than kei and she's actually one of the smartest prisoners here#believe me when i say that if it wasn't for her being apathetic she'd solve all mysteries of milgram in like. one or two days#also. i'm thinking of maybe. maybe dropping mrs sanada and mrs yoshioka designs? đ#also yes there was a hint about eiji's past. yes.#âïžinterrogations! âïž#đprisoner 005: sanada kei đ#đprisoner 006: yoshioka eikođ#milgram#milgram oc#milgram project#ocgram
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TMP 1 Adventures (Patreon)
#Doodles#Tamagotchi#Yaaay I can share them! My Tamas! â„#It's been a fun experience to play with Tamagotchis for the first time haha - it's a much slower burn than I could've expected!#I only ever got to even hold a Gotch for maybe twenty minutes up til this point? Lol - not very long at all!#As you can imagine I only got to play with the Egg Hatching/Baby stage which is very chaotic and needy so that's what I had to go off of#It's different! Not Super different in certain ways lol âȘ But different!#Smol very graciously agreed to play with me since I got both a Mesu and Osu :D She got the Mesu and named her Honey#And I kept the Osu and named him Bee! :D#I'm still in a little bit of conflict as to whether the Device (Gotchi) is named Bee or if the Creature (Tama) is named Bee lol#I think I've decided that the Device /and/ the first generation of Tama is named Bee and then all subsequent generations are puns on Bee lol#So for Bee's child I named him Bay - BayBee lol#Bee was a cute little lad <3 I miss him a bit :') But he was a good father as well! Fed little BayBee haha#It was sooo cute to see their futons next to each other and then a little bittersweet to see little Bay's all alone one night :'''D#Other fun little things like smol raising Honey differently than I raised Bee so we ended up with non-counterparts lol#If you know anything about Osutchi raising yes you are allowed to judge me on my competency lol#I still think he's cute! He was almost half Honey's size tho which I found funny haha#I love my very big wife#There was also the fun of having a somewhat scuffed sleep schedule but them always waking me up Earlier than necessary thanks guys#They were mostly good! Bee was awful for naps tho lol - and I watched both of them at night since smol was scared she'd miss Honey's wake up#We also discussed the implications of the babies being twins but also....growing up to be.........partners? Uhm#My personal headcanon was something akin to parthenogenesis and non-mutating identical genes leading to identical babies-#Look they're code as far as I'm aware virtual pets don't suffer from inbreeding lol#And if they do well darn oh gosh oh no I guess I'll just have to get more lol âȘ#They are hecka cute <3 They quite literally grow up so fast! I'm glad I get to play :D
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i think i shouldâve been my auntâs daughter and my cousin shouldâve been my momâs. then maybe weâd all be happy
#istg my aunt is the only person in my family who actually likes me#shoutout my aunt :â)#i texted her to ask about something for the short film iâm working on and she actually asked me about it and was like âthatâs so cool ked!#i wanna hear about it! and you can borrow whatever you need from me for props!â#meanwhile the two times iâve mentioned it to my mom sheâs become visibly irritated for reasons unknown to me and has been unable to even#feign interest or act excited for me#but hey. my aunt did :â)#except the difference is despite their differences and issues my aunt still likes my cousin and theyâve always been close#my mom and i have never gotten along and well. cue that ladybird dialogue i asked if you liked me not if you loved me etc etc#my cousin has always been fem and pretty and athletic and popular and a literal cheerleader and all the things my mom was too and well.#i was an autistic weirdo who was obsessed with bats and dinosaurs and had dyspraxia and spent all my time reading and making art from trash#but my aunt is also a fellow trash collecter-artist so at least she doesnât judge me for my hobbies!#she also has adhd and is chronically ill so that helps. my mom is neurotypical and able bodied and that is like the root of at least half#of our issues#anyway! my aunt has a bunch of spare faux fur fabric that sheâs gonna let me use for the roadkill rabbit i need to make for the film :) the#rest of it will be mostly comprised of trash :D#sorry to vent post. again. đ„Ž
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Can someone give me some propaganda as to why Carmilla is a great CAPTAIN? Yes, it's awesome she's a very diverse character, in regards to identity markers, but what does she do as a captain? Because Luffy is very much dream or die for his crew(found family). What has she done as a CAPTAIN?
Battle of the Captains
Semifinals 1b


No antipropaganda on my polls please
#asking genuinely since she's ahead by a distinct margin#and because i assume everyone is voting on whether said character is a great/good captain not whether the character is cool or you like the#are you there for your crew? do you keep your crew and ship safe? do you care for your crew? did you give new life & freedom to your crew?#that's my marker by how i judge the contestants i know and the propaganda i see (i don't read all of it admittedly)#one piece#monkey d. luffy#polls#captains vs captains
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.
#taylor anon#i'm so sorry to hear that :(#but i gotta admit i don't quite get how would that work/what exactly do you mean#is there some post that explains it?#from what i've seen in media i read the consensus seems to be is that the death is the venue's 'fault'#as they're the ones who'd been asked to distribute water and didn't#i also can imagine how awful it must be to indirectly cause a death like that and be forced to keep working#i'd imagine she'd neer more privacy and a safety net after that#so tl;dr are we sure it's deliberate distancing and not just her trying to grieve#as much as she can having thousands cameras pointed at her face every gig?#i promise my questions are genuine if you have good resources please let me know#also sorry for the typos here i think i broke my phone today D: can't use emojis rn and the touchscreen is acting crazy#anyway tl;dr i wouldn't be quick to judge bc i think ppl might be especially vulture-y and invasive towards her rn#trying to catch a glimpse of a breakdown or something#but yeah if there's proof she's treating latin american fans worse than the rest of them i'd be interested to see it#this got long! sorry if i don't response quick i'm unfortunately very busy these days ):#but i'm sending you loads of hugs anon#hang in there <3<3<3#*respond. sigh
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Meant to Be
Charles Leclerc x Arthurâs girlfriend!Reader
Summary: Charles knows itâs wrong to fantasize about his younger brotherâs childhood sweetheart ⊠but he also knows that when the opportunity presents itself, heâll do absolutely anything to make you his and his alone
Warnings: 18+ content, manipulation, somnophilia, and baby trapping
Arthurâs sprawled out on Charlesâ couch, his legs kicked up over the armrest, a half-empty beer bottle dangling dangerously from his fingers. His cheeks are flushed, a sure sign that heâs had too much, and heâs in one of those moods â reckless, unguarded, talking too much.
Charles stands by the window, fingers tapping against the neck of his own beer. Heâs watching Arthur with the kind of stillness that should set alarms off, except Arthurâs too drunk to notice.
âSix years.â Arthurâs voice breaks the silence, words slurring together. He lifts his head, eyes bleary and unfocused. âSix fucking years, and she still wonât let me touch her.â
Something sharp and ugly flares up in Charlesâ chest. Itâs quick, like a blade slicing through air â painful but over in an instant, leaving behind only a low, simmering anger. He takes a slow sip of his drink, savoring the way the cold beer burns down his throat, grounding him.
âYouâre talking nonsense,â Charles says, tone deceptively calm. âStop being dramatic.â
Arthur scoffs, shaking his head. He looks ridiculous â lips pulled down in a childish pout, eyes narrowing like heâs being unfairly judged. âYou think Iâm lying? Iâm telling you the truth.â He sits up abruptly, the motion causing a bit of beer to splash onto the couch. He doesnât notice. âSheâs still ⊠I donât know, holding out or something. Makes me feel like Iâm not good enough.â
Charlesâ grip tightens around the bottle. âSo what? You think she owes you something just because youâve been together for a long time?â
âNo, no, itâs not like that.â Arthurâs defensive, hands up in mock surrender. Heâs shaking his head, but Charles sees right through it. âItâs just â what kind of relationship is this? I mean, I love her, but itâs like sheâs keeping part of herself locked away from me. You wouldnât get it.â
Oh, but Charles gets it. He gets it too well. That same fury, that same sense of being kept at armâs length â heâs felt it for years. Watched you grow up beside Arthur, become this beautiful, untouchable thing that only Arthur could claim. Always the best friend, the girlfriend, the almost-but-not-quite.
âMaybe sheâs just not ready,â Charles says softly. His voice is low, dangerous. He turns his back to the window, narrowing his eyes on Arthur. âMaybe youâre pushing too hard.â
Arthur laughs, the sound bitter and hollow. âYou know me. Iâm not pushing her at all. Iâm just â fuck, Iâm frustrated, okay? Weâre supposed to be moving forward, but itâs like sheâs ⊠stuck.â He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. âI donât want to wait around forever. Whatâs the point?â
Charles is moving before he realizes it, crossing the room in a few long strides until heâs standing right in front of Arthur. His shadow falls over his younger brother, the tension in the air crackling like static.
âDonât talk about her like that,â Charles murmurs, voice tight. âSheâs not some ⊠milestone you have to hit. Maybe she doesnât want to-â
âWith me, you mean.â Arthurâs eyes meet Charlesâ, defiance simmering just beneath the surface. âMaybe she doesnât want to sleep with me. Right? Maybe thatâs what youâre thinking. That Iâm not enough for her.â
Charles holds his gaze, unflinching. âI didnât say that.â
âYou didnât have to.â
Thereâs a pause, charged and suffocating. Charles can feel the blood pounding in his ears, a dangerous thrill threading through his veins. He should shut this down, diffuse the situation before it escalates, but some twisted part of him wants Arthur to keep going. He wants to hear it. Every insecurity, every frustration, every ugly piece of truth.
âWhy are you telling me this?â Charles asks finally, his voice deceptively calm. âWhat do you expect me to say?â
âI donât know.â Arthur slumps back against the couch, looking defeated. âMaybe I just needed to get it off my chest. Itâs like ⊠I feel like Iâm going crazy. Everyone else is moving forward, and Iâm just stuck here, waiting for her to catch up.â
Charles takes a deep breath, forcing himself to stay composed. He shouldnât feel this satisfaction, this possessive pleasure at hearing Arthurâs struggle. Itâs wrong. Itâs twisted. But itâs there, coiling tight in his chest.
âAnd if she never catches up?â Charles asks quietly. âWhat then?â
Arthur shrugs, looking away. âI donât know. Maybe weâre just not meant to be, you know?â
The words hang heavy in the air, and Charles feels something dark and vicious settle inside him. Heâs been waiting for this â years of watching from the sidelines, of biting back his own desires because you were always with Arthur. Always just out of reach.
But if Arthurâs doubting â if Arthurâs thinking of letting go âŠ
Charles clenches his jaw, forcing himself to speak evenly. âYouâre drunk. You shouldnât be talking about this right now.â
Arthur snorts. âMaybe. But that doesnât mean Iâm wrong.â He pauses, glancing up at Charles with a look thatâs almost pleading. âWhat would you do? If you were me, what would you do?â
The question catches Charles off-guard, a cold laugh escaping his lips before he can stop it. âIf I were you?â He leans down slightly, voice dropping to a low murmur. âI wouldnât be here, complaining to my brother like a pathetic idiot. Iâd be with her, figuring it out. Doing whatever it takes to make her happy.â
âYeah?â Arthur mutters, his voice cracking slightly. âEven if it means waiting forever?â
Charles straightens, something resolute and steely hardening in his chest. He looks down at Arthur, gaze cold and unyielding. âIf you love her, you wait.â
Arthur looks away, shoulders slumping. âYeah. Yeah, youâre right. I just â forget it. Iâm talking bullshit.â
But Charles doesnât forget. He stands there, watching Arthur fall silent, mind spinning with a thousand possibilities. He canât let anyone else have you, not even Arthur. Especially not Arthur. He knows itâs wrong, knows itâs sick, but he canât shake the image of you â untouched, unspoiled, something pure and perfect that only he deserves to claim.
Charles forces a smile, dropping a hand onto Arthurâs shoulder. âGo to bed. Sleep it off.â
Arthur nods, muttering something unintelligible as he pushes himself up and stumbles towards the guest room. Charles waits until the door closes behind him before letting out a long, shuddering breath.
He should feel guilty. But all he feels is a fierce, possessive resolve. Arthurâs doubt is his opportunity. His chance to take whatâs always been denied to him.
His gaze drifts to his phone on the coffee table. A single message â an excuse, really â and youâd be here, sitting on his couch, looking at him with that soft, trusting smile. Like heâs someone you can rely on. Like heâs someone safe.
Safe. Charles laughs quietly, the sound bitter and mocking. Safe is the last thing he is right now.
He picks up the phone, thumb hovering over your contact name, and hesitates. Not yet. He needs a plan. Needs to be smart about this.
But one way or another, heâs going to be your first. Your only. Arthurâs hesitation has given him the opening heâs been waiting for.
All he has to do now is make his move.
***
Charles parks the car a little down the street from your apartment, his hands gripping the steering wheel tight as he stares at the dashboard. The engine is off, the keys dangling in the ignition, but he hasnât moved. Not yet.
Heâs thinking.
Heâs been thinking all night, really â ever since Arthur stumbled off to bed, leaving Charles alone with his thoughts. Thoughts that spiraled, dark and hungry, circling the idea thatâs been gnawing at him for years. How close he is now. How one small push could tip the balance in his favor.
And today, heâs ready to push.
In the passenger seat sits a box of pizza from that place you love, the one he knows you always order from on Fridays after a long week. Thereâs a bottle of wine in the backseat too, the kind you once told him was your favorite, when you were still just Arthurâs girlfriend, still so impossibly out of reach.
Charles grabs the pizza, slides out of the car, and walks to your building with measured steps. Each one feels deliberate, calculated, as if heâs forcing himself to maintain control. But inside, his thoughts are a frenzy.
Itâs easy enough to get inside the building. You gave him the door code months ago, back when things were still ⊠uncomplicated. Before his obsession became something he couldnât contain.
As he rides the elevator up, Charles lets out a slow, steadying breath. He can do this. He will do this.
When you open the door, the surprise on your face is immediate but quickly melts into warmth. Your eyes light up, and you smile â God, you smile at him like heâs your favorite person in the world. Like you trust him.
âCharles!â You exclaim, stepping forward and pulling him into a hug before he can say a word. You wrap your arms around his neck, and he feels that familiar jolt, the one that always comes when youâre this close. âWhat are you doing here? This is a surprise.â
He hugs you back, holding you a second too long before he pulls away. He lifts the pizza box with a sheepish grin, the one he knows you always fall for. âThought you might be hungry. Brought your favorite.â
Your eyes widen slightly, and you laugh, that soft sound that always makes him feel like youâre letting him in on a secret. âYou didnât have to do that, but Iâm not complaining.â You step aside, gesturing for him to come in. âCome on, I was just thinking about ordering food.â
He follows you into the apartment, closing the door behind him. Itâs small, cozy â the kind of place that feels lived in, full of your personality. Heâs been here before, but tonight it feels different. Tonight, heâs here for a reason.
You grab plates while Charles sets the pizza on the table, and then you settle in. Conversation is easy, natural. You ask him about his week, tell him about yours, and the rhythm of it all is so familiar that for a second, Charles almost forgets why heâs really here.
But then he watches you take another sip of wine, and something inside him snaps back into focus. Youâve had just enough to soften the edges, to make you more open, more vulnerable.
Nowâs the time.
âIâve got something I need to talk to you about,â Charles says, leaning back in his chair. His voice is low, careful. He watches your expression shift, the way your brow furrows slightly as you put your glass down.
âSomething serious?â You ask, your tone shifting from playful to curious, maybe even a little concerned.
Charles nods, the weight of his next words pressing down on him. He almost hates what heâs about to say. Almost. But the thought of losing you to Arthur â again, after all these years â drives him forward.
âI donât want to hurt you,â he starts, choosing his words deliberately. âYou know I care about you. A lot.â
Your frown deepens, and you sit up straighter. âCharles, what is it? Youâre scaring me.â
He exhales, dragging a hand through his hair. âItâs Arthur.â
You blink, confusion flashing across your face. âArthur? What about him?â
Thereâs a beat of silence, and Charles watches your face carefully, gauging every reaction. He needs to be precise here, needs to strike the right balance between concern and truth.
âI wish I didnât have to be the one to tell you this,â he says quietly, voice soft but steady. âBut you deserve to know.â
âKnow what?â Your voice is more tense now, on edge. Youâre bracing yourself.
Charles looks down at the table for a moment, pretending to struggle with his words, to hesitate. Then, with a carefully measured sigh, he meets your gaze.
âArthurâs cheating on you.â
Your reaction is instant â disbelief, followed by a laugh thatâs more of a reflex than anything. You shake your head, the idea not even sinking in before youâre dismissing it outright. âCharles, come on. Thatâs not funny.â
âIâm not joking.â
You freeze, staring at him like heâs said something that doesnât compute. âWhat are you talking about? Arthur would never â heâs not that kind of guy. He â he loves me.â
Charles leans forward, his eyes locking onto yours, unflinching. âI know you donât want to believe it. Trust me, I hate having to tell you this. But Iâve seen it. Heâs been ⊠seeing someone else.â
You blink rapidly, shaking your head again, more violently this time. âNo. No, that doesnât make any sense. Why would he do that? Weâve been together for six years, Charles. Weâre-â
âI know,â Charles cuts in, voice low and firm. âBut that doesnât change the fact that itâs happening.â
You stare at him, searching his face for any sign that this is some kind of twisted joke. But all you find is a steady, unwavering resolve. And it hits you, hard â heâs serious.
The first tear spills over before you can stop it. You swipe at it quickly, shaking your head, still trying to deny it. âNo. Youâre wrong. He wouldnât ⊠he wouldnât do that to me.â
Charles watches you, his heart pounding in his chest, but he stays calm. He has to see this through. âI wish I were wrong. I really do. But I wouldnât lie to you about something like this.â
You press your palms to your temples, shaking your head again and again, like you can somehow shake off the weight of his words. âWhy? Why would he âŠâ
âHeâs an idiot,â Charles says quietly, his voice softening just enough. He reaches across the table, placing a hand over yours. âHe doesnât see what he has with you. He doesnât appreciate you the way he should.â
You pull your hand away, standing abruptly from the table and pacing the small space of your living room. âThis doesnât make any sense. Heâs been ⊠heâs been distant lately, but I just thought it was work or something. He wouldnât-â
Charles stands too, his movements slow and deliberate. âI wish I could tell you thereâs some explanation, but ⊠sometimes people just make stupid choices. It doesnât make it your fault.â
The tears are falling freely now, and you wipe at them furiously, like youâre angry at yourself for crying. âI donât believe you. I canât believe you. Arthur wouldnât do that to me.â
Charles steps closer, his chest tightening at the sight of your tears. He hates seeing you hurt, but some part of him â some twisted, possessive part â revels in this. In being the one you turn to, the one you fall apart in front of. Because this is his chance. His moment.
âIâm so sorry,â he murmurs, reaching out to pull you into his arms.
You donât resist. Youâre too overwhelmed, too broken by the weight of what heâs telling you. You collapse against him, your face buried in his chest as the sobs start to shake your frame.
Charles wraps his arms around you, holding you tight, his hand moving slowly up and down your back. âShh, itâs okay,â he whispers into your hair, pressing his lips to the top of your head. âIâm here. Iâve got you.â
Your sobs only deepen, and Charles feels his pulse quicken. Thereâs something intoxicating about the way you cling to him, like heâs the only thing keeping you from falling apart completely.
âI didnât want to tell you,â he says, voice low and soothing, his fingers tracing gentle patterns along your spine. âBut you deserve to know the truth. You deserve better than him.â
You donât respond, just keep crying into his chest, and Charles holds you tighter, his grip firm and possessive. Heâs in control now. Heâs the one you trust, the one youâre turning to.
And heâs not going to let you go.
âShh,â he murmurs again, his voice a soft coo as he continues to run his hand down your back. âIâve got you. Iâm here.â
He presses his lips to your hair again, his chest swelling with a dark, possessive satisfaction.
This is where you belong.
With him.
***
Charles tightens his hold on you as your sobs weaken, though they still come in shaky, uneven breaths. He keeps his chin resting gently on top of your head, his fingers stroking slow circles along your back, coaxing you into some semblance of calm. Each wet gasp, each tremble from you presses deeper into him, a reminder of just how fragile you are right now â how close you are to breaking.
And you are his to fix.
âI canât believe âŠâ you start, your voice muffled against his chest, thick with tears. You take a shuddering breath and pull back slightly, just enough to meet his eyes, though your gaze is glazed and unfocused. âI canât believe I was ⊠I was going to let him âŠâ Another sob catches in your throat, and you lower your head again, pressing your palms against your eyes as if to block out the thought.
Charles feels something stir in him, deep and raw. His breath catches. He knows what youâre about to say. Heâs waited for this moment for so long.
âI thought I was ready,â you whisper between tears, each word slipping out in a jagged edge. âI really thought I was ready. I was going to ⊠I was finally going to give him everything. And he â he doesnât even care. I was going to let him take everything from me.â
Charlesâ jaw tightens. His arms encircle you even more, as if he can shield you from the pain and the reality of it all. But behind that protective front, something inside him twists darkly. Arthur was going to be the one. The one to touch you first, to take what should never have belonged to anyone else.
The thought alone makes his stomach churn, but he forces his voice to remain steady, soft, as he leans in closer, his lips brushing the top of your head. âYou donât need to think about that now,â he murmurs, gently rocking you as your body shakes against him. âArthur didnât deserve you. He never did.â
You sniffle, lifting your head again, your eyes glassy and red. âBut I thought ⊠I thought we were going to-â You break off, biting your lip hard enough that it must hurt, your hands twisting in his shirt. âI thought I was finally ready to-â Another sob wracks through you, and you look down, as if ashamed of the words you canât quite bring yourself to say aloud.
Charles feels a rush of anger â not at you, but at the mere suggestion that Arthur was close to having what only he should be worthy of. The idea that his brother, clueless and careless, almost had you, had almost been the first to touch you like that, makes something primal flare up inside him.
But he doesnât let it show. Not yet.
Instead, he tilts your chin up gently, guiding your eyes back to his. His expression is soft, understanding, but underneath it, thereâs that edge. The simmering need for control, for possession, for you.
âListen to me,â he says, his voice low but firm. âArthur would not have deserved something like that from you. He doesnât appreciate you â he doesnât even know how to treat you right.â
You open your mouth to argue, but all that comes out is a half-choked sound, somewhere between a sob and a laugh. âI was going to give him ⊠everything. And now-â You shake your head, your eyes welling up again, new tears slipping down your cheeks. âNow Iâm just ⊠Iâm going to be a virgin forever, arenât I?â
Your voice cracks on the last word, and the raw vulnerability of it strikes Charles harder than anything else youâve said. You sound so broken, so small, like youâve given up on the idea that youâll ever be loved the way you deserve.
But Charles knows better. He knows exactly what you deserve. And more importantly, he knows exactly who should be the one to give it to you.
His heart pounds in his chest, each beat louder than the last as he watches you crumble before him. He pulls you in again, holding you close, his chin resting on top of your head once more. âYouâre not going to be a virgin forever,â he whispers, his voice as soothing as it is purposeful. âDonât say that.â
Your breath hitches against his shirt. âBut who else is there? I canât â I donât want to be with anyone else after this. Not after Arthur âŠâ
Charles feels you tremble, your body fragile against his, and something in him snaps. It takes every ounce of restraint he has not to push forward, not to take what heâs wanted for so long right here and now.
But he knows better than that. He knows how to play this. He knows you, knows what you need to hear in this moment.
âArthur isnât the only one whoâs ever going to want you,â Charles murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper as his fingers trace along the curve of your spine. âYouâre worth so much more than you realize.â
You shake your head into his chest. âI just ⊠I donât know anymore.â
The words tear at him, but they also give him an opening. He can feel it â the way youâre unraveling, the way youâre grasping for something to hold onto. Something steady. Someone who understands you in a way Arthur never could.
And heâs more than willing to be that person.
Charles hesitates â just enough to make it seem genuine, just enough to plant the seed of doubt in your mind about what heâs about to say next. He exhales slowly, like heâs weighing his words carefully, like theyâre difficult for him to get out.
âThereâs ⊠another option,â he says, his voice hesitant, as if heâs afraid to even suggest it. He feels your body tense slightly in his arms, and he knows youâre listening, knows he has your full attention.
You pull back just enough to look at him, your brows furrowed in confusion. âWhat do you mean?â
He meets your gaze, his eyes soft but unwavering. He can see the vulnerability in your expression, the way youâre looking at him like youâre trying to make sense of what heâs saying.
Charles takes a breath, keeping his voice as even as he can, though his pulse is racing. âI donât want you to feel like youâll never be able to ⊠move on from this. From Arthur. You deserve better than that.â
You blink at him, still confused. âI donât understand.â
He lowers his eyes for a moment, as if heâs struggling with the thought, and then looks back up at you, his expression serious. âIâm saying ⊠if you wanted to ⊠if you wanted someone who actually cares about you, who respects you, to be your first ⊠I could be that person.â
Your eyes widen, and you freeze in his arms, staring at him like you canât believe what you just heard. For a second, Charles wonders if he pushed too far, if he misread the moment. But then he sees the flicker of doubt in your eyes, the way your lips part slightly like youâre considering it, like youâre not entirely sure what to say.
âYou?â You whisper, your voice barely audible.
Charles nods slowly, his heart pounding in his chest, but he keeps his expression calm, controlled. He lets out a soft breath, as if heâs reluctant to admit it but knows itâs the right thing to offer. âI donât want you to feel pressured, or like you have to make a decision right now. But ⊠I care about you. I always have. And I would never hurt you the way Arthur did.â
Your gaze drops to the floor, and Charles watches as you process his words, as the weight of what heâs offering settles over you. He can see the conflict in your expression, the way youâre torn between your pain and the possibility of comfort, of feeling wanted again.
And thatâs exactly where he wants you.
âI just donât know if I can trust anyone right now,â you whisper, your voice shaky, your hands trembling slightly as they clutch the fabric of his shirt.
Charles reaches up, gently cupping your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the remnants of your tears. He tilts your head up, forcing you to meet his gaze. âYou can trust me,â he says softly, his voice steady and sure. âI would never hurt you, never betray you like he did.â
You look at him, your eyes wide and searching, and Charles can feel the shift in the air between you. The way youâre leaning into him, the way your breathing has slowed, your sobs replaced by something quieter, something more uncertain.
And thatâs when he knows. Heâs won.
âI donât know,â you murmur again, but your voice is softer now, less sure, and Charles can feel the cracks forming, can see the way youâre wavering.
He leans in slightly, just enough that his forehead brushes against yours, his breath warm against your skin. âIâm here for you,â he whispers, his voice a gentle coo as he strokes your cheek. âWhatever you need. Iâll take care of you.â
You donât pull away.
Charles shifts his grip, his fingers slipping into your hair as he tilts your head back, giving himself access to the soft, untouched skin of your throat. He pauses for just a moment, taking in the sight of you: lips parted, eyes glazed and half-closed, a hint of vulnerability still lingering behind the tentative acceptance. His pulse thrums with a steady, insistent beat, desire coiling tighter with every ragged breath you take.
âJust relax,â he murmurs, his voice low and rough against your skin. âLet me take care of you.â
Your breath hitches, and Charles feels the way your body reacts, how you arch slightly into him, seeking more of his touch. His heart pounds harder, his gaze darkening as he dips his head and presses his mouth against the side of your neck.
It starts slow. A soft kiss, just below your jaw, the barest brush of his lips. Then another, lower this time, lingering on the spot where your pulse flutters erratically. He kisses you again, harder now, teeth grazing over your skin. He feels the way you shudder beneath him, hears the sharp intake of breath that escapes your lips, and it fuels something possessive inside him. He lets his mouth linger, sucking at your skin until a faint red mark blooms beneath his lips.
Good. Itâs not enough, but itâs a start.
Charles keeps going, kissing and biting his way down your throat, alternating between gentle nips and soothing licks. He can feel the way your body responds to each touch, the soft little noises you make that only seem to spur him on. Every mark he leaves behind feels like a victory, like heâs claiming you inch by inch, branding you as his.
And youâre letting him.
His hand slides down your side, fingers skimming along the curve of your waist before they hook under the hem of your sweater. He pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his breathing ragged. Thereâs a question in his eyes, and he sees the way you hesitate, your lips parting as if to say something â before you slowly nod.
The look in your eyes is hesitant but trusting, and it sends a surge of possessiveness straight through him. He keeps his eyes locked on yours as he tugs the fabric up, slowly, deliberately, giving you every chance to stop him. But you donât. Instead, you lift your arms, letting him pull the sweater over your head and toss it carelessly over the back of the couch.
Charlesâ gaze drops, his eyes tracing the shape of your collarbones, the gentle curve of your breasts. Thereâs a flush spreading across your chest, and he canât help but smirk, the sight of you like this making his blood heat. Youâre so exposed, so vulnerable beneath him, and the trust in your eyes â the way youâre giving yourself to him, piece by piece â is intoxicating.
âYouâre perfect,â he murmurs, his voice a low growl as he leans in again, his mouth hovering just above the swell of your chest. âDo you know that? How perfect you are?â
Your cheeks flush a deeper shade, and you glance away, your fingers twisting nervously in your lap. Charles doesnât give you time to respond. Instead, he presses his lips against the curve of your shoulder, his mouth moving slowly, deliberately, as he makes his way across your chest.
Each kiss is a claim, each touch a reminder of who you belong to. He can feel the way your breathing changes, the way your fingers twitch and flex as if you donât know what to do with yourself. Heâs relentless, sucking and nipping at your skin until more red marks bloom beneath his mouth, each one a testament to his need to mark you, to make sure no one else will ever look at you without seeing his touch.
âCharles âŠâ You whisper his name, your voice barely audible, a hint of something like disbelief in your tone.
He pauses, lifting his head just enough to meet your gaze again. âWhat is it?â He asks softly, his fingers brushing along the underside of your breast, tracing lazy circles against your skin. âTell me.â
You swallow hard, your eyes darting away for a moment before they find his again. âI ⊠I just canât believe this is happening.â
Charles smiles, something dark and possessive flickering in his gaze as he shifts his weight, leaning closer until his body is pressed against yours. He can feel the heat radiating off you, the way your chest rises and falls with every shaky breath you take. âBelieve it,â he murmurs, his voice a low, dangerous whisper. âIâm here. This is real.â
And it is real. He can feel it â the way you tremble beneath his touch, the way your body yields to him without resistance. Heâs waited for this moment for so long, dreamed of it in vivid, desperate detail. Now that he has you, heâs not going to let go. Not ever.
He lowers his head again, his mouth finding the skin between your breasts, and he kisses his way down, down, each press of his lips more insistent than the last. His hands are on your waist now, fingers digging into your hips as he holds you still, his breath hot against your skin. He pauses when he reaches the edge of your bra, his tongue flicking out to trace along the fabric.
âMay I?â He murmurs, his voice rough with restraint. He glances up at you through his lashes, waiting for your response.
You hesitate for just a moment before nodding, a small, uncertain movement. But itâs enough for him. Charlesâ fingers move with practiced ease, unclasping the bra and sliding it off your shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.
His breath catches at the sight of you â bare, vulnerable, all his. He doesnât waste any time, lowering his head to your chest and pressing his mouth against your skin, his tongue flicking out to taste you. He hears the way you gasp, feels the way your back arches beneath him, and itâs everything heâs ever wanted.
Charles takes his time, kissing and licking his way down your body, leaving more marks in his wake. He can feel the tension coiling tighter in your muscles, the way your breathing grows more erratic the lower he goes. His hands roam over your skin, mapping out every curve, every dip and hollow of your body as if heâs memorizing you.
When he finally reaches your waist, he pauses, his fingers tracing the band of your panties. Theyâre delicate, a flimsy piece of lace that does nothing to hide you from him. He glances up, meeting your gaze, and for a moment, he just holds it, waiting.
âTell me,â he says softly, his voice a low murmur. âI need to hear you say it. Do you want this?â
You bite your lip, your eyes wide and uncertain, but thereâs something else there, too â something like trust, like surrender. Slowly, hesitantly, you nod.
âYes,â you whisper, your voice barely audible. âI ⊠I want this. I want you.â
The words send a jolt of electricity through him, sharp and exhilarating. Charles lets out a slow breath, his fingers slipping under the band of your panties, and he pulls them down, his eyes never leaving yours.
âGood,â he murmurs, his voice a dark, satisfied growl as he tosses the lace aside. âBecause Iâm going to give you everything.â
He dips his head again, his mouth following the path of his hands as he kisses his way down your belly, your hips, lavishing attention on every inch of exposed skin. He takes his time, his tongue flicking out to taste you, his teeth grazing along your skin. Each touch, each kiss is deliberate, calculated, meant to draw out every sound, every reaction he can coax from you.
And you respond to him beautifully, your body trembling beneath his touch, your breath coming in soft gasps and whimpers. Charles feels his own control slipping, the need to take you, to claim you fully, growing stronger with each passing second. But he holds back, savoring the way you writhe beneath him, the way your fingers clutch at his hair, desperate for more.
When he finally reaches the apex of your thighs, he pauses, his breath warm against your skin. He looks up at you, his gaze dark and intent, and he waits â waits for you to give him the permission heâs been craving.
âAre you sure?â He murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. He needs to hear you say it again. Needs to know that youâre giving yourself to him willingly.
You nod, your breath hitching as your eyes meet his. âYes,â you whisper, your voice trembling but sure. âPlease, Charles. I want this. I want you.â
Charles doesnât hesitate â not for a second. He buries his mouth against you, and the taste of your sweetness floods his senses. A low growl rumbles up from his chest, vibrating against your skin as he hooks his hands under your thighs, spreading you wider.
The taste of you is intoxicating, dizzying, like a drug seeping into his veins and lighting him up from the inside. Youâre slick and warm, every part of you yielding to his touch, and he drinks you in like a man starved.
âGod,â he mutters against you, his voice rough and reverent. âYouâre so perfect ⊠so sweet.â He can barely get the words out, his tongue slipping between your folds to lap at you with long, deliberate strokes.
You gasp, your hands flying to his hair, your fingers tangling in the strands as if you need something to anchor yourself. Your back arches off the couch, and Charles takes advantage of the movement, pulling you closer, deeper into him. He wraps his arms around your thighs, holding you in place as he feasts on you, his tongue tracing every inch of you with a hunger that borders on desperation.
Your moans fill the air, soft and breathless, each one sending a jolt of satisfaction through him. He can feel the way your thighs tremble under his grip, the way your body shudders with every flick of his tongue, every soft nip of his teeth. He doesnât stop, doesnât let up for even a second, his mouth working you with a single-minded focus thatâs almost feral.
âCharles,â you whimper, your voice breaking on the syllable. âI-I canât-â
âYes, you can,â he growls, his breath hot against your skin. âYouâre doing so well. So good for me.â
He dips his head lower, his tongue swirling around your clit before he sucks it into his mouth, his lips closing around the sensitive bundle of nerves. You cry out, your hips bucking against him, and he tightens his grip, holding you down as he laves at you, his mouth relentless.
Youâre so responsive, so pliant beneath him, and itâs driving him wild. He wants to pull every sound from your lips, wants to make you lose yourself in him, wants to make you feel so good that youâll never be able to think of anyone else. He wants you ruined â completely â until the only name you can say is his.
âPlease,â you breathe, your fingers clenching and unclenching in his hair. âCharles, I-Iâm so close-â
He hums in response, the vibration making you shudder. His tongue moves faster, more insistent, as he drives you higher, his lips never leaving your skin. He can feel the tension coiling in your body, tighter and tighter, and he knows youâre right on the edge.
âCome for me,â he murmurs, his voice a low, coaxing purr. âI want to feel you, taste you. I want you to come for me.â
You let out a broken sob, your body arching into him as you fall apart. He holds you steady, his mouth never leaving you as he works you through your orgasm, his tongue moving in slow, soothing strokes as your body shakes beneath him. He can feel the way you pulse and clench, the way your thighs tremble and your breath catches, and he doesnât let up until youâre completely spent, every last aftershock of pleasure wrung out of you.
Only then does he pull back, his chest heaving as he looks up at you. Youâre a mess â hair tousled, cheeks flushed, eyes half-lidded and hazy with pleasure. He can see the faint sheen of sweat on your skin, the way your chest rises and falls with every ragged breath, and it sends another surge of possessiveness through him.
This â the sight of you like this, wrecked and breathless and marked with his touch â this is what heâs been waiting for. This is what heâs been craving.
âAre you okay?â He asks softly, his voice low and rough with barely restrained desire. His fingers brush gently along your thighs, tracing lazy patterns on your skin as he watches your face. He needs to hear it from you, needs to know that youâre still with him.
You nod slowly, your lips curving into a small, breathless smile. âYeah,â you whisper, your voice trembling slightly. âIâm ⊠Iâm okay.â
Relief washes through him, and he leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to the inside of your thigh. âGood,â he murmurs, his lips brushing against your skin. âBecause weâre not done yet.â
Your eyes widen slightly, your breath catching in your throat as you look down at him. âCharles-â
âShh.â He presses another kiss to your skin, this one softer, more tender. âJust trust me, okay?â
You hesitate for a moment, then nod slowly, your fingers still tangled in his hair. Thereâs a flicker of uncertainty in your eyes, but also something else â something like trust, like surrender. And itâs that look, that trust, that makes his chest tighten, makes something in him twist and shudder.
Charles shifts his grip, sliding his hands up your body until theyâre resting on your waist. He leans up, his gaze locked on yours as he brushes his lips against your belly, the faintest hint of a smile playing on his lips.
âIâm going to make you feel so good,â he murmurs, his voice a low, dangerous promise. âIâm going to take care of you. Make you mine. Completely.â
Your breath catches, your lips parting as if to say something, but no words come out. Charles doesnât give you time to respond. He leans in again, his mouth finding yours in a kiss thatâs slow and deep, his tongue sliding against yours with a languid, sensual stroke.
He can taste you on his lips, can still feel the echo of your pleasure thrumming through your body. Itâs a heady, intoxicating feeling, and he deepens the kiss, his hands sliding down to grip your hips as he pulls you closer, his chest pressing against yours.
Youâre still trembling, your body soft and pliant beneath him, and he shifts, adjusting his weight until heâs cradling you in his arms. He breaks the kiss, his lips hovering just above yours as he murmurs softly, âLie back for me, baby.â
You blink up at him, your gaze hazy and unfocused, but you do as he says, leaning back against the couch. Charles watches you for a moment, taking in the sight of you â your flushed cheeks, your parted lips, the way your hair spills over the cushions. You look so small, so vulnerable, and it makes something dark and possessive curl inside him.
He wants you like this forever. Wants you beneath him, at his mercy, trusting him to take care of you.
Slowly, deliberately, he reaches out, his fingers brushing against your cheek in a soft, almost hesitant touch. âYouâre so beautiful,â he whispers, his voice rough and sincere. âSo perfect.â
You blink up at him, a faint smile curving your lips. âCharles ⊠you donât have to-â
âI mean it,â he interrupts, his voice firm. âIâve never wanted anything the way I want you. Never felt like this before.â
Your smile falters slightly, and he sees the uncertainty flicker in your eyes, the way your fingers fidget in your lap. He knows you donât quite believe him, knows that youâre still struggling to understand what this â what he â means to you.
But thatâs okay. He has time. Heâll show you, piece by piece, until thereâs no doubt left in your mind.
Leaning in, Charles presses another kiss to your lips, softer this time, more tender. âLet me take care of you,â he murmurs against your mouth. âLet me show you how much I want you. How much I-â
How much I love you. The words hover on the tip of his tongue, but he swallows them down, his chest tightening. Heâs not ready to say it yet â not when youâre still reeling from everything heâs thrown at you tonight. Not when thereâs still so much he needs to do to make you his.
Instead, he kisses you again, pouring all of his need, all of his desperation, into the touch. You respond to him, your body arching into his, your fingers tightening in his hair, and he knows â knows that youâre right where you belong.
With him.
Charles takes a breath, letting the air fill his lungs as he looks down at you, still trembling and flushed beneath him. The sight of you â so soft, so vulnerable â sends a wave of possessiveness through him that makes his hands shake. Youâre his, all his, and heâs about to take what should have been his from the beginning. He wants to savor it, wants to make every moment last, but the need coursing through him is wild, uncontrollable.
His hands slide down your thighs, spreading you open again, his thumbs brushing along the soft skin just inside. Youâre still shaking, your breaths coming in short, uneven gasps, and he leans down to kiss you, soft and slow, grounding you in the moment.
âHey,â he murmurs against your lips, his voice a low rumble. âIâve got you. Okay? Just breathe.â
You nod, but thereâs a hint of fear in your eyes, a flicker of uncertainty, and it makes his chest tighten. He doesnât want you scared. He wants you to trust him, to need him the way he needs you.
Gently, he presses his forehead against yours, his voice softer now, more coaxing. âYou trust me, donât you?â
You swallow, your eyes fluttering shut for a moment before you nod again. âI do,â you whisper, your voice barely audible.
âGood,â he breathes, his lips brushing against yours. âIâm going to take care of you. I promise.â
He moves slowly, his hands tracing over your skin, mapping every curve and dip of your body. He wants to memorize you, wants to know every inch of you like the back of his hand. His fingers ghost over your hips, sliding up your waist, your ribs, before they dip down again.
You shudder at the touch, your breath hitching in your throat, and Charles smiles â a slow, dangerous smile that sends a thrill through him.
âGod,â he murmurs, his voice thick with awe. âYouâre perfect.â
You look up at him, your lips parted, your chest rising and falling with every shaky breath, and for a moment, the world seems to stand still. Itâs just the two of you â no distractions, no outside noise â just you, laid out before him, vulnerable and trusting, and him, teetering on the edge of losing himself completely.
His fingers trail down between your thighs, gentle, teasing, as he watches your face for any sign of hesitation. He wants this to be perfect for you â wants you to remember this as something special, something that no one else could ever give you.
âTell me if itâs too much,â he whispers, his fingers brushing against you softly. âIf you want to stop, you just say the word. Okay?â
You nod, biting your lip, and he can see the way your body trembles in anticipation, the way your eyes flutter shut as his fingers dip lower, brushing against the slick heat of your core. Youâre so warm, so soft, and he can feel how ready you are for him, how your body responds to his touch without hesitation.
He presses a single finger into you, slow and gentle, watching the way your mouth falls open, the way your back arches off the couch as you let out a soft, broken moan. The sound goes straight to his head, dizzying him, making him harder than he thought possible.
âGood girl,â he murmurs, his voice a low, soothing rumble. âYouâre doing so well.â
You whimper in response, your hands gripping the cushions beneath you as he moves his finger in and out of you, slow and deliberate. Heâs not rushing, not yet. Heâs taking his time, getting you used to the feeling, making sure youâre ready for him.
âDoes that feel good?â He asks, his voice rough with barely restrained desire.
âYes,â you breathe, your eyes fluttering open to meet his. âIt ⊠it feels good.â
Charles smiles, his thumb brushing against your clit in a slow, circular motion, making your whole body jolt in response. âI want to make you feel even better,â he murmurs, his gaze dark and intense. âBut I need to make sure youâre ready for me. Can I add another?â
You nod quickly, your breath hitching in your throat as he slides a second finger into you, stretching you wider. You gasp, your hips bucking up against his hand, and he groans at the way you respond to him, the way your body is so eager to take everything he gives you.
âYouâre so tight,â he mutters, his voice thick with lust. âSo perfect. I canât wait to feel you around me.â
You moan softly, your hands flying to his shoulders, your fingers digging into his skin as he works his fingers in and out of you, coaxing more soft sounds from your lips with every movement. Heâs careful, deliberate, making sure not to hurt you, but the need burning inside him is almost unbearable.
âCharles,â you whimper, your voice trembling. âI ⊠I need you.â
The words send a bolt of electricity through him, and he curses under his breath, his hands shaking as he pulls his fingers out of you, his heart racing in his chest. He canât wait any longer. He needs to be inside you.
He shifts, positioning himself between your thighs, his hands gripping your hips as he lines himself up with your entrance. He looks down at you, his breath coming in short, uneven gasps, and for a moment, he hesitates.
âAre you sure?â He asks, his voice low and hoarse. âI donât want to hurt you.â
You look up at him, your eyes wide and trusting, and you nod, your voice soft but steady. âIâm sure.â
Charles swallows hard, his chest tightening at the sound of your voice. You trust him â completely â and it makes his head spin. Heâs never wanted anything more than this moment, and now that itâs here, it feels almost surreal.
Slowly, carefully, he presses into you, inch by inch, his hands tightening on your hips as he pushes deeper. You gasp, your body tensing beneath him, and he pauses, his jaw clenched as he fights the urge to move too fast.
âYouâre okay,â he murmurs, his voice strained. âYouâre doing so good. Just breathe for me.â
You nod, taking a shaky breath as you try to relax, and Charles groans as he slides deeper, the tight heat of you surrounding him, squeezing him in a way that makes it almost impossible to think.
Heâs never felt anything like this before â never felt so close to losing control, so close to falling apart completely. But he canât rush. Not with you. He has to take his time, has to make sure youâre ready for all of him.
Once heâs fully seated inside you, he stills, his breath ragged as he presses his forehead against yours. âYou okay?â He asks, his voice barely above a whisper.
You nod, your hands clutching at his shoulders, your body trembling beneath him. âYeah,â you breathe, your voice soft. âIâm okay.â
Relief floods through him, and he presses a soft kiss to your lips, his hands brushing against your skin in slow, soothing strokes. Charles inhales deeply, savoring the intoxicating scent of your skin mixed with sweat and arousal. Youâre so tight around him that it takes every ounce of restraint he has not to lose himself right away. Every trembling exhale from your parted lips makes his head spin, and it takes everything in him to keep himself composed, to hold back just a little longer so he doesnât scare you.
âYouâre such a good girl,â he murmurs, voice gravelly, heavy with want. He cups your cheek tenderly, fingers brushing against the tear-streaked skin as he begins to move â slowly, gently â just enough for you to feel every inch of him. âDoing so well for me ⊠taking me so perfectly.â
You whimper, the sound breaking and needy, and it shoots straight through him, making his hips snap forward involuntarily. He freezes, staring down at you, but you only arch your back, letting out another soft, breathless moan that sends a shiver through his spine.
âThatâs it,â he breathes, his thumb stroking over your cheek. âLook at you ⊠so beautiful like this. All mine.â His voice drops lower, almost to a growl, as he pulls back and thrusts into you again, harder this time, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips. âYou know that, right? Iâm your first ⊠and Iâll be your only.â
You nod frantically, eyes squeezed shut, fingers digging into his shoulders as your whole body arches up to meet his. âYes,â you gasp, voice trembling, the word barely coherent.
âSay it.â His hand slips down, gripping your hip as he holds you still beneath him, his thrusts measured and deliberate. âI need to hear you say it.â
Your breath hitches, your head lolling back against the cushions as you struggle to form words through the haze of sensation clouding your mind. âYouâre ⊠youâre my first,â you manage, your voice breaking on the last word. âMy only.â
The words make his chest swell with something dark and possessive, and he groans, leaning down to bury his face against your throat. âDamn right,â he murmurs against your skin, lips brushing against the sensitive spot just beneath your ear. âIâm going to ruin you for every other man. No one else will ever get to have you like this. No one else will ever get to touch you.â
You shudder beneath him, a broken moan escaping your lips, and he can feel the way your body clenches around him, almost as if your body itself is responding to his words. His control frays further, his thrusts picking up pace, harder, deeper, as he loses himself in the feeling of being inside you, in the way your body takes him so perfectly.
âFuck,â he growls, his teeth scraping lightly against your collarbone. âIâd kill any other man who tries to touch you like this. Do you hear me? No one else gets to have you.â
You whimper again, your hands sliding up to clutch at his back, your nails digging into his skin as if youâre trying to anchor yourself. âCharles-â you choke out, but whatever youâre trying to say gets lost in another breathless moan as he drives into you again, hitting a spot that makes you cry out, your whole body going taut beneath him.
âShh,â he soothes, his voice low and dangerous as he kisses a trail down your throat, letting his teeth scrape against your skin just enough to leave marks in his wake. âItâs okay, mon cĆur. Iâve got you. Iâll always take care of you. You donât need anyone else.â
His lips move lower, brushing against your chest, leaving more marks there â proof that youâre his, that you belong to him and only him. He wants everyone to see, to know just by looking at you that youâre taken, that youâre his, that no one else can have you.
âYouâre mine,â he murmurs, his voice dark and possessive. âYouâll always be mine. Iâll make sure of it.â
He shifts slightly, angling his hips, and you let out a sharp cry, your hands flying up to grasp at his shoulders as your whole body shudders. Charles grits his teeth, his jaw clenched as he fights to keep his control, to keep himself from losing it completely.
âAre you on birth control?â He asks suddenly, his voice tight, strained. The question seems to come out of nowhere, and for a moment, you just stare up at him, your eyes wide and unfocused.
âWhat?â You whisper, breathless and confused.
âBirth control,â he repeats, his gaze locked on yours, intense and unrelenting. âAre you on it?â
You shake your head, your brow furrowing slightly as you try to make sense of his words through the haze of pleasure. âNo ⊠Iâm not âŠâ
Charlesâ breath catches, and he has to fight to keep the grin off his face. He moves again, thrusting into you slowly, deliberately, making you moan, your head falling back against the couch. âYouâre not?â He murmurs, his voice low and almost mocking. âThen I could put a baby in you right now, couldnât I?â
The words make your eyes fly open, a look of shock and something almost like panic flashing across your face. âCharles-â
âI could,â he continues, his voice soft, coaxing. âI could fill you up, make you mine forever. No one else would ever look at you again. Youâd be tied to me â completely.â
You let out a soft, broken whimper, your hands trembling as they clutch at him, and he groans at the sound, his hips snapping forward as he loses a bit more of his control. âBut I wonât,â he breathes, his lips brushing against your ear. âNot yet. Not tonight. But soon.â
âSoon?â You echo, your voice a breathless whisper, and he nods, his hand slipping down between your bodies, his thumb brushing over your clit in slow, teasing circles.
âYes, mon ange,â he murmurs, his voice dark and sweet. âSoon. Iâll make you mine in every way possible. You wonât be able to think of anyone else. You wonât want anyone else.â
You moan, your whole body trembling beneath him, and he can feel the way you tighten around him, the way your body responds to his words, to the promise in his voice. Heâs going to make you his, completely and utterly his, and the thought of it drives him wild.
âYouâll be perfect,â he whispers, his voice low and rough. âCarrying my baby, looking so beautiful with my child growing inside you. Youâd like that, wouldnât you? Being so full of me.â
You shake your head frantically, a choked sob escaping your lips, but your body betrays you, arching up against him, pressing closer as if you canât get enough of him. âNo,â you gasp, but itâs a broken, desperate sound, and he can hear the way your breath catches, the way you moan when he moves inside you again.
âNo?â He teases, his lips curving into a slow, dangerous smile. âAre you sure? Because your bodyâs telling me something different.â
You whimper, your hands gripping his shoulders tightly, your nails digging into his skin, and Charles groans, his hips snapping forward as he thrusts into you again, deeper, harder.
âYouâre mine,â he growls, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. âAnd Iâm not letting anyone else have you. Ever.â
You donât answer â canât answer â your head falling back against the cushions as you cry out, your whole body shuddering beneath him. And Charles knows, in that moment, that heâs won. Youâre his, completely and utterly his, and thereâs no going back.
Charlesâ breath stutters as he finally lets go, a deep, guttural groan spilling from his lips as he buries himself inside you, pushing deep, deeper than before, until you gasp and shudder beneath him. Heâs been holding himself back for so long, waiting, controlling his own desire just to make sure this moment, your first time, is perfect.
And now â now heâs giving in.
His entire body trembles as he empties himself inside you, his eyes locked on your face, watching every twitch of your brow, every little gasp, every soft, broken moan that escapes you. Youâre too overwhelmed to even think, your gaze unfocused, mouth parted as you take him in, your chest heaving with every breath. He can see it, the look of exhaustion and pleasure mingled together, and he loves it. He loves that heâs the one who put it there.
A small whimper falls from your lips as he pulls back slightly, his hips giving a final, gentle thrust as he lets the last of his release fill you. Youâre trembling, your entire body shaking with the aftershocks of pleasure, and he canât help but lean down, pressing soft kisses along your jaw, your throat, murmuring praises against your skin.
âThere you go,â he murmurs, his voice thick and low. âYou did so well ⊠such a good girl for me.â He pulls back slightly, his hand slipping down between your thighs. He can feel his release already starting to slip out of you, a small, creamy trickle that makes something dark and possessive curl in his chest.
âNo,â he breathes, almost to himself, his thumb gently brushing over your swollen, overstimulated clit as he scoops up a bit of the mess between your thighs. You shudder, your hips jerking involuntarily at the contact, and a soft whimper escapes your lips. Charles watches, eyes dark and heavy-lidded, as he brings his fingers up to your lips, smearing his release over them.
âOpen,â he whispers, his voice soft but firm, and you do, your lips parting obediently, eyes fluttering shut as you take his fingers into your mouth. He watches, enthralled, as your tongue flicks out, tasting him. His release. Your combined arousal. He can feel the warmth of your mouth, the way your tongue swirls around his fingers, and a low, satisfied hum escapes him.
âThatâs it, baby,â he murmurs, his voice rough and deep. âDonât waste a drop. I want you to taste how good we are together. How perfect you are for me.â
Youâre so pliant, so willing to do whatever he asks, and it sends a thrill through him, makes his stomach twist with a dark, heady satisfaction. Youâre his. Completely and utterly his. He watches as you swallow, a small, helpless sound escaping your throat, and he groans softly, his hand cupping your cheek as he leans down to press a gentle kiss to your lips.
âGood girl,â he breathes against your mouth, and then, slowly, carefully, he pulls back, his body protesting as he slips out of you. A small whimper falls from your lips at the loss, and Charlesâ chest tightens, a sharp pang of something almost like guilt shooting through him. But he pushes it away. He canât afford to feel guilt right now. Not when youâre still trembling beneath him, your breath hitching in soft, broken sobs of pleasure.
With a soft, low sigh, he reaches down, his arms slipping beneath you as he scoops you up, cradling your boneless body against his chest. Youâre so light, so small in his arms, and he holds you close, pressing his cheek against your hair as he breathes you in.
âIâve got you,â he murmurs, his voice low and soothing as he stands, holding you securely. âIâve got you, mon amour. Youâre safe.â
Your head lolls against his chest, your eyes fluttering shut as you let out a soft, contented sigh. Youâre still trembling, your entire body limp with exhaustion, and Charles glances down at the mess youâve both made on the couch â a wet spot thatâs spread across the fabric, a mixture of his release and yours. He grimaces slightly, knowing itâs going to need a thorough cleaning later. But he doesnât care. Not right now. Not when youâre in his arms, so soft and warm and completely at his mercy.
He carries you down the hall, each step deliberate and careful, not wanting to jostle you too much. Youâre completely relaxed against him, your arms loosely draped around his neck, your cheek pressed against his shoulder. He can feel your breath against his skin, soft and even, and it makes something twist painfully in his chest.
He nudges the bathroom door open with his foot, flicking on the light with his elbow as he steps inside. The room is cool and quiet, and Charles glances around, trying to figure out the best way to set you down without letting you go. After a moment, he carefully lowers you onto the countertop, his hands lingering on your waist as if he canât bear to let you go just yet.
You make a soft, sleepy sound, your head lolling to the side as you blink up at him, eyes glazed and unfocused. âCharles âŠâ Your voice is a soft, broken whisper, and Charlesâ heart clenches at the sound.
âIâm here,â he murmurs, his thumb brushing gently over your hip as he reaches over to turn on the faucet, the sound of water filling the room. âJust going to run a bath for you, okay? I want to take care of you.â
You nod slowly, your gaze drifting back to him as if youâre trying to keep your focus, trying to stay present. Charles watches you, his chest tight, a strange mix of emotions swirling inside him. He hates seeing you like this â so exhausted, so spent. But at the same time ⊠he loves it. Loves that heâs the one who put you in this state, loves that you trusted him enough to give yourself to him completely.
He adjusts the temperature of the water, letting it run for a moment to make sure itâs just right before he turns back to you. Youâre still watching him, your gaze soft and a little dazed, and he smiles gently, his hands slipping under your thighs as he lifts you again.
âCome on,â he murmurs, his voice low and soothing as he lowers you into the warm water. âLetâs get you cleaned up.â
You let out a soft, contented sigh as the water envelops you, your head falling back against the edge of the tub. Charles watches, his gaze lingering on your face, on the way your eyes flutter shut, your lips parting slightly. He stands there for a moment, just looking at you, his chest tightening with something fierce and possessive and so, so tender.
Then, slowly, he slips out of his own ruined clothes, letting them fall in a heap on the floor as he steps into the tub behind you. The water is warm, soothing, and he settles in, pulling you back against his chest, his arms wrapping around your waist as he holds you close.
You let out a soft hum of contentment, your body relaxing against his, and Charles sighs, his chin resting on your shoulder as he nuzzles his cheek against your hair.
âThere we go,â he murmurs, his voice low and soft. âJust relax, baby. Iâve got you. Iâll always take care of you.â
You sigh softly, your hand drifting up to rest on his arm, your fingers curling loosely around his wrist. âThank you,â you whisper, your voice barely more than a breath. âFor ⊠for everything.â
Charlesâ heart clenches, and he tightens his hold on you, his lips pressing a gentle kiss to your shoulder. âYou donât have to thank me,â he murmurs, his voice rough with emotion. âIâll always take care of you. Always.â
You nod slowly, your body sinking further into his embrace, and Charles closes his eyes, letting himself just ⊠feel. Feel the warmth of your body against his, the soft rise and fall of your chest, the steady beat of your heart. He holds you close, his fingers tracing gentle patterns on your skin as he murmurs soft, soothing words against your hair.
And in that moment, he knows. Heâll never let you go. Never. Heâll do whatever it takes to keep you with him â to keep you his. Because youâre his. His first. His only. His forever.
***
The warmth of your body still lingers against his skin as Charles carries you from the bathroom to your bed. Youâre completely boneless, head tucked beneath his chin, the gentle rhythm of your breathing soft and even in the quiet room. He glances down at you, the way your hair falls messily across your forehead, the relaxed expression on your face. The exhaustion etched in every line of your body.
Heâs never seen anything more perfect.
You donât even stir when he lowers you onto the mattress, your arms falling limp at your sides as he tucks the covers around you. Thereâs something intensely gratifying about it â about knowing how thoroughly heâs worn you out. About being the only one whoâs ever seen you like this, so vulnerable and open and ⊠completely his.
He straightens, looking down at you, his chest tightening with something almost too big to name. He takes a moment, just ⊠standing there, watching you, every instinct in his body screaming at him to stay close. To keep you safe. To make sure nothing ever takes you away from him.
The soft, steady rise and fall of your chest is hypnotic, your breath a gentle whisper in the stillness of the room. Charles reaches down, brushing a stray lock of hair away from your face. His fingers linger, tracing lightly over your temple, down the curve of your cheek, his touch feather-light. You sigh softly in your sleep, leaning into his hand, and something fierce and protective flares in his chest.
Itâs not enough.
Even now, standing here, looking at you, knowing youâre finally his ⊠itâs not enough.
Slowly, he slips off his towel, dropping it in a silent heap on the floor. The bed dips slightly under his weight as he climbs in beside you, careful not to jostle you too much. He shouldnât do this, he knows â shouldnât be so close, shouldnât let himself cross this line again. But he canât help it. Canât stop himself from reaching out, his hand brushing over the soft curve of your waist.
You donât wake. Youâre too deeply asleep, too exhausted to even stir, and Charlesâ chest tightens as he watches you. Youâre completely oblivious, completely unguarded, your breathing slow and even. So trusting. So vulnerable. So ⊠his.
He shifts closer, his body pressing against yours as he slips a hand under the covers, his fingers ghosting over the soft skin of your stomach. Youâre so warm, so soft beneath his touch, and he canât resist â canât help but trace the gentle swell of your belly, the curve of your waist, the delicate line of your hip. Every inch of you is perfect. Made for him. You were always meant to be his.
His fingers linger at the crease of your thigh, hesitating for just a moment. He should stop. He knows he should stop. But ⊠youâre his. Youâve given yourself to him, trusted him with your body, and that trust â your submission â is more intoxicating than anything heâs ever felt before.
Slowly, carefully, he grabs the duvet and tugs, pulling the fabric down, down, until itâs slipped free of your legs. The cool air brushes against your bare skin, and you shiver slightly, a soft, broken sound escaping your lips. But you donât wake. You donât even stir. Youâre completely lost to sleep, completely at his mercy.
He breathes out slowly, his gaze dark and intent as he watches you, his heart pounding hard in his chest. Youâre perfect. So perfect. So beautiful, lying there, your body splayed out beneath him. His to touch. His to take. His to claim.
He moves slowly, carefully, his hand sliding between your thighs, his fingers brushing against the slick warmth of your core. A soft sigh falls from your lips, your body arching slightly into his touch, and Charlesâ breath catches in his throat. Youâre so wet, so pliant and soft and ready for him, even in sleep.
He shouldnât do this. He knows he shouldnât do this.
But he canât stop himself.
His hand trembles slightly as he lines himself up, the head of his cock brushing against your entrance. He grits his teeth, his entire body coiled tight with the effort it takes not to just thrust â to push inside and take you all over again. But heâs patient. Heâs careful. He moves slowly, gently, inching forward until heâs just barely inside you.
You stir, a soft moan escaping your lips, your body arching slightly beneath him. Charles bites back a groan, his hands gripping your hips as he holds himself still, waiting for you to settle. His breath comes hard and fast, his heart pounding in his chest as he watches you, every instinct screaming at him to move. To take. To claim.
But he waits. Heâs patient. Heâs careful. He wonât hurt you.
Slowly, carefully, he inches forward, his breath hitching as he sinks deeper, deeper, until heâs fully seated inside you. Youâre so tight around him, so warm and wet and perfect, and it takes everything in him not to just move. To thrust. To take you the way he wants to. The way he needs to.
A soft whimper falls from your lips, your body twitching slightly beneath him, and Charles freezes, his entire body going tense as he watches you. You donât wake. You donât even stir, your breathing soft and even, your chest rising and falling steadily.
He breathes out slowly, his hands trembling slightly as he releases the breath he didnât even realize he was holding. Youâre still asleep. Still lost to whatever dream has you sighing softly, your lips parted slightly, your brow furrowed in the softest frown.
Youâre his. Completely and utterly his.
He moves slowly, carefully, his hips shifting as he pulls back slightly, only to push forward again, sinking deeper inside you. A soft, broken sound escapes your lips, and Charlesâ heart clenches, his entire body trembling with the effort it takes to stay slow. To stay gentle. To make this perfect for you.
His hand slips up, brushing over the soft skin of your stomach, his thumb tracing lazy circles over your navel. Youâre so beautiful like this â so soft and pliant and completely at his mercy. He moves again, a slow, gentle thrust that has you sighing softly in your sleep, your body relaxing even further beneath him.
He keeps it slow, keeps it gentle, his movements deliberate and careful as he rocks into you, each thrust a soft, measured press of his hips against yours. Heâs not trying to wake you. Not trying to take you out of this soft, quiet world of sleep. He just wants to be close. Just wants to feel you. Just wants to be inside you, surrounded by your warmth, your softness, your perfect, trusting submission.
A soft whimper escapes your lips, your body twitching slightly, and Charles leans down, his lips brushing over your temple, your cheek, your lips. âShh, baby,â he murmurs, his voice a low, soothing whisper. âIâve got you. Just relax. Let me take care of you.â
You sigh softly, your body going limp beneath him, and Charlesâ heart clenches, a fierce wave of something dark and possessive washing over him. He holds himself still, his breath coming hard and fast as he watches you, his gaze dark and intent.
Youâre his. Youâre finally his. And nothing â nothing â will ever take you away from him.
Slowly, carefully, he shifts his weight, his body pressing down against yours as he buries himself inside you, his arms wrapping around your waist as he pulls you close. He can feel the soft, steady beat of your heart against his chest, the gentle rise and fall of your breath, the warmth of your skin against his.
Heâs never felt anything like this before. Never felt so ⊠complete. So at peace. So whole.
Youâre his. Finally.
And heâs never letting you go.
With a soft, contented sigh, Charles settles in behind you, his body curled protectively around yours as he holds you close. He stays inside you, his cock still nestled deep, the warmth and softness of your body enveloping him. Heâs never felt anything like this before â this perfect, blissful sense of rightness, of belonging.
He leans down, his lips brushing over the back of your neck, his breath a soft, warm whisper against your skin. âMine,â he murmurs, his voice low and rough with emotion. âYouâre mine, ma chĂ©rie. My good girl. My perfect girl.â
You let out a soft, sleepy sigh, your body shifting slightly in his arms, and Charles smiles, his heart swelling with a fierce, possessive joy. Youâre his. And heâll do whatever it takes to keep you with him.
Slowly, he closes his eyes, his arms tightening around you as he lets himself drift, his breath evening out as he falls into a deep, contented sleep. The last thing he feels is the steady beat of your heart, the soft warmth of your body, and the perfect, blissful sense of belonging that comes with knowing âŠ
Youâre his. Finally, irrevocably, and forever his.
***
The morning light spills softly into the bedroom, casting a warm, golden glow across the sheets tangled around your body. Charles wakes slowly, the remnants of sleep clinging to his mind like a fog as he blinks his eyes open. The first thing he feels is you â still warm and soft against him, your body completely relaxed, your head nestled against his shoulder.
Heâs still inside you.
The realization makes something tighten in his chest, something dark and possessive and overwhelmingly satisfied. Youâre still so tight around him, so soft and warm, your body fitting perfectly against his. He should feel guilty. He should feel remorse or shame or some shred of decency for what heâs done.
But he doesnât.
Instead, he stays still, his eyes tracing the lines of your face, the gentle curve of your mouth, the delicate flutter of your eyelashes against your cheeks. Youâre still fast asleep, your breathing slow and steady, your chest rising and falling in a gentle rhythm that matches the beating of his heart.
His.
Youâre finally his.
The thought makes his breath hitch, his gaze darkening as he watches you, a fierce, possessive satisfaction washing over him. Heâs been waiting so long for this â been wanting you for years, watching you from a distance as you smiled and laughed and loved his brother instead of him. And now youâre finally here, wrapped up in his arms, his cock still buried deep inside you.
He tightens his hold on you, his arms wrapped around your waist as he pulls you closer, your body shifting slightly in your sleep. You murmur softly, a small, sleepy sound escaping your lips, and Charlesâ chest tightens, his heart swelling with something almost too big to name.
He could stay like this forever. Could spend the rest of his life holding you like this, feeling your warmth, your softness, the gentle, perfect way your body molds to his. But the light filtering through the curtains is growing brighter, the morning creeping steadily in, and he knows he canât stay like this forever. Thereâs too much to do. Too much to take care of.
Too many loose ends to tie up.
Carefully, slowly, he shifts, pulling out of you with a soft, reluctant sigh. His cock slips free, and he watches, mesmerized, as a trickle of his release follows, sliding down your inner thigh to stain the sheets beneath you. Something dark and primal stirs in his chest at the sight, his fingers itching to reach out and touch, to gather up the evidence of his possession and push it back inside you where it belongs.
But he resists. Youâre still sleeping, your face soft and peaceful, your body completely relaxed. He doesnât want to wake you â not yet, at least. You need your rest after last night. You need time to recover, to heal, to get used to the new reality of being his.
Instead, he pulls the covers up over you, tucking them gently around your body before slipping out of bed. His feet hit the cool floor with a soft thud, and he bends down, retrieving his discarded boxers from the pile of clothes spilling out of the bathroom. The fabric is soft and worn against his skin as he slips them on, his gaze drifting back to you, sprawled out on the bed, your hair a tangled mess on the pillow.
Heâll let you sleep a little longer, he decides. Youâve earned it.
Heâs just turning away, his fingers brushing through his own tousled hair, when the sound of a knock echoes through the apartment.
Charles freezes, his entire body going still, his gaze snapping toward the bedroom door. The knock comes again, louder this time, more insistent, and a flicker of irritation sparks in his chest.
Who the hell-
Another knock, and Charlesâ jaw clenches, his teeth grinding together as he stalks out of the bedroom, his bare feet silent against the floor. The apartment is quiet, the only sound the soft rustle of his movements as he makes his way to the front door.
He knows who it is before he even reaches for the handle.
Knows, because heâs been waiting for this â waiting for the moment when everything comes crashing down, when the reality of what heâs done, what heâs taken, finally hits his brother.
The door swings open, and there he is.
Arthur stands in the doorway, his face pale and drawn, his eyes wide and wild with something close to panic. Heâs still in the same clothes he was wearing yesterday, his hair a mess, dark circles smudged beneath his eyes.
âCharles?â His voice is rough, a strange, desperate edge to it. He looks ⊠lost. Confused. Like heâs not quite sure what heâs seeing.
And then his gaze drops, taking in the sight of Charles standing there in nothing but his boxers, his bare chest still flushed with the lingering heat of last night. Arthurâs mouth opens, then closes, his eyes narrowing as something sharp and dangerous flickers across his face.
âWhat the fuck are you doing here?â
Charlesâ expression doesnât change. He leans against the doorframe, his arms crossing over his chest, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. He should feel bad â should feel guilty or ashamed or something for what heâs done.
But he doesnât.
âGood morning to you too, Arthur,â he drawls, his voice calm, almost bored. âWhat brings you here so early?â
Arthurâs hands clench into fists at his sides, his jaw tightening as he glares at his older brother. âDonât play games with me, Charles. What the hell are you doing here? Why are you in her apartment?â
Charlesâ gaze flicks over him, taking in the way his shoulders are hunched, the way his hands shake with barely contained anger. He almost feels a pang of pity.
Almost.
âI think the better question,â he murmurs, his voice soft and even, âis why youâre here, Arthur.â
Arthur blinks, his brows furrowing in confusion. âWhat the hell are you talking about?â
Charles straightens, pushing off the doorframe as he steps forward, his gaze steady and unflinching. âShe doesnât want to see you anymore,â he says quietly, his voice firm and unyielding. âYour relationship is over.â
Arthurâs mouth falls open, shock and confusion and a hundred other emotions flickering across his face. âWhat â what the fuck are you talking about?â He stammers, his voice rising in pitch. âWhat do you mean, itâs over? She â she wouldnât-â
âShe did,â Charles interrupts, his tone cold and matter-of-fact. âShe ended it last night. She doesnât want to be with you anymore. Itâs over.â
The words hang heavy in the air, the silence that follows thick and suffocating. Arthur stares at him, his eyes wide and disbelieving, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly. He looks ⊠broken.
Charles almost feels a pang of guilt.
Almost.
But then he remembers the way you looked last night â the way you moaned and gasped and begged for him, your body arching beneath his, your lips parted in breathless pleasure. He remembers the way you whispered his name, the way you clung to him, the way you gave yourself to him so completely, so perfectly.
And any trace of guilt or remorse disappears, replaced by a fierce, possessive satisfaction.
Arthur was a necessary sacrifice. A means to an end. Something to be discarded and forgotten now that he has you. Now that youâre his.
âCharles, this â this is insane,â Arthur chokes out, his voice shaking. âYouâre â youâre sick. Youâve always been obsessed with her, but I never thought-â
âCareful, Arthur,â Charles murmurs, his voice low and dangerous. He takes another step forward, his gaze locking with his brotherâs, his expression cold and unyielding. âYouâre starting to sound like you donât believe me.â
Arthurâs face twists, a snarl curling his lips as he takes a step back, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. âYouâre lying,â he spits, his voice thick with rage. âYouâre fucking lying. She wouldnât â she wouldnât do that.â
âShe did,â Charles says calmly, his gaze never wavering. âAnd if you care about her at all, youâll respect her decision. Youâll leave her alone.â
Arthurâs chest heaves, his breath coming hard and fast as he glares at his older brother, his eyes wild with desperation and fury. âYouâre â youâre a fucking monster,â he breathes, his voice trembling with barely contained rage. âSheâs â sheâs everything to me, Charles. You canât just-â
âSheâs not yours,â Charles cuts him off, his voice a low, dangerous growl. âShe was never yours. And now, sheâs mine.â
The words are a final blow, a cruel, cutting truth that shatters whatever fragile hope Arthur was still clinging to. His shoulders sag, his head bowing as the fight drains out of him, leaving him hollow and broken and utterly defeated.
âGet out,â Charles says quietly, his voice calm and cold and unyielding. âAnd donât come back.â
Arthur stares at him for a long, agonizing moment, his eyes filled with pain and betrayal and a thousand other emotions Charles doesnât care to name. And then, slowly, he turns, his movements stiff and mechanical as he stumbles back down the hallway.
Charles watches him go, his gaze dark and unreadable, his heart pounding hard in his chest.
Charles closes the door softly, the lock clicking into place with a finality that makes his chest swell with satisfaction. He doesnât spare another thought for Arthur, doesnât bother with the remnants of guilt still faintly tugging at the edges of his mind. Itâs done. Heâs gone.
Youâre all that matters now.
He turns away from the door, the apartment eerily quiet as he pads silently back down the hallway. The morning light is streaming in through the windows, casting long shadows on the floor, but everything is still, peaceful. The calm after the storm.
When he reaches the bedroom, his eyes find you immediately. You havenât moved. Still lying there, curled up under the sheets, your hair a soft halo on the pillow, your face turned slightly to the side. You look so peaceful, so innocent, so his. He watches you for a moment, his heart pounding in his chest, his entire body thrumming with an electric anticipation.
He canât help himself.
Slowly, he slips out of his boxers, letting the fabric fall to the floor in a careless heap. Heâs hard again â has been since Arthurâs interruption, the confrontation with his brother only heightening the possessive desire coursing through his veins. He wants to claim you all over again. Wants to bury himself inside you, make you moan and gasp and beg for him like you did last night.
Wants to remind himself that youâre his and his alone.
The bed dips under his weight as he crawls in beside you, the mattress creaking softly as he settles in, his body pressed against your side. He moves slowly, careful not to wake you just yet, his eyes tracing the delicate curve of your neck, the soft rise and fall of your chest. He leans in, pressing his lips to your shoulder, his mouth trailing down the smooth line of your back, his hands sliding under the covers to caress your skin.
You murmur softly in your sleep, a small, content sound that makes something tighten low in his belly. He shifts, his hand trailing down your back, over the curve of your hip, his fingers brushing the soft skin of your thigh. Slowly, carefully, he moves, spreading your legs just enough to make room for him as he positions himself between them.
His cock presses against your entrance, the heat of your body searing against his skin. He pauses, his breath catching in his throat as he waits, his gaze locked on your face. Youâre still sleeping, still blissfully unaware, and he bites back a groan, his hands trembling with the effort of holding himself back.
But only for a moment.
He pushes forward, just a fraction, just enough to feel the tight, wet heat of you enveloping him, your body resisting for a split second before yielding to his intrusion. He bites down on his lip, a soft hiss escaping as he inches in deeper, his hands braced on either side of your body, his chest pressed against your back.
You stir, a soft gasp slipping from your lips as your body tightens around him, your back arching slightly in response. He freezes, his gaze snapping to your face, watching as your brows furrow, your lips parting in a soft, breathless moan.
âCharles âŠâ you murmur, your voice thick with sleep, confused and disoriented as you shift beneath him. âWhat âŠâ
âShhh,â he whispers, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he leans down, his voice low and soothing. âItâs okay, baby. Just relax. Let me take care of you.â
You shudder, your body trembling beneath him as he presses in deeper, the sheets rustling softly as he moves. Heâs careful, slow, giving you time to adjust, his hands sliding up to cradle your hips, his thumbs brushing soothingly over your skin.
âCharles âŠâ you breathe again, your voice a soft, broken whisper as your body arches against his, your legs parting wider to accommodate him. âWhat are you-â
âI couldnât wait,â he murmurs, his voice low and rough with need as he thrusts in the rest of the way, his hips pressing flush against your ass. You gasp, your body clenching around him, a soft whimper escaping your lips. âI couldnât wait to be inside you again. To wake you up like this.â
Your breath hitches, your fingers clutching at the sheets as he pulls out, just a fraction, before pushing back in, his movements slow and deliberate. âCharles, I-â
âShhh,â he soothes, his hands sliding up your sides, his thumbs brushing the curve of your waist. âJust feel me, baby. Let me make you feel good.â
Youâre still half-asleep, your mind foggy and slow, your body moving on instinct as he starts to move, his hips rocking gently against yours. Heâs barely holding back, his entire body strung tight with need, the urge to fuck you hard and fast and claim you again roaring in his veins.
But he holds back. Takes his time. He wants you to feel every inch of him, wants you to wake up to the sensation of him buried deep inside you, stretching you, filling you completely.
âI canât wait to do this every day,â he murmurs, his lips brushing the nape of your neck, his voice a low, possessive growl. âEvery morning. Every night. For the rest of our lives.â
You moan softly, your body shuddering beneath him as his words sink in, your breath coming faster, your chest rising and falling in quick, shallow pants. âCharles, I-â
âYouâre mine,â he breathes, his hips moving in a slow, steady rhythm, each thrust deep and deliberate, each movement designed to remind you exactly who you belong to. âYouâre mine, baby. And Iâm never letting you go.â
Your fingers clutch at the sheets, your head falling back against his shoulder as he fucks you slowly, thoroughly, his hands sliding up to cup your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples. You gasp, your back arching, your body tightening around him, and Charles groans, his own control fraying at the edges.
âYouâre so perfect,â he murmurs, his voice rough and thick with need. âSo tight and wet and perfect for me.â
âCharles âŠâ you whimper, your voice a broken, desperate plea, your body trembling beneath him. âI â please, I-â
âShhh,â he soothes, his lips brushing the curve of your jaw as he thrusts in deep, his cock buried to the hilt inside you. âItâs okay, mon ange. Just let go. Iâve got you.â
He can feel you starting to fall apart, your body tightening around him, your breath coming in quick, shallow pants. He knows youâre close â can feel it in the way your body clenches and quivers, in the soft, breathless moans slipping from your lips.
âCome for me, baby,â he murmurs, his voice a low, rough command as he picks up the pace, his hips snapping against yours in quick, shallow thrusts. âCome on, let me feel you.â
You shudder, a broken, desperate sob escaping your lips as your body tenses, your muscles locking up as pleasure crashes over you, your entire body trembling with the force of it. Charles groans, his own release building, his cock throbbing as you tighten around him, milking him, drawing him deeper.
âGood girl,â he breathes, his voice thick with praise and satisfaction as he thrusts in hard, his hands gripping your hips as he buries himself deep, his release hitting him like a freight train. âSuch a good girl.â
He stays there, buried deep inside you, his chest heaving, his heart pounding as the last waves of pleasure roll through him. Youâre still trembling, your breath coming in soft, ragged gasps, your body pliant and boneless beneath him.
âCharles âŠâ you murmur softly, your voice a sleepy, sated whisper as your eyes flutter open, your gaze dazed and unfocused. âI-â
He shifts, his hand sliding up to cradle your cheek, his thumb brushing gently over your lips. âItâs okay, mon amour,â he murmurs, his voice low and soothing. âGo back to sleep. Iâm here.â
You sigh softly, your eyes drifting closed again as sleep pulls you under, your body relaxing completely beneath his. Charles watches you for a long moment, his gaze softening, his chest tightening with something almost too big to name.
Youâre his.
And heâs never letting you go.
With a soft sigh, he lowers his head, his lips brushing the curve of your shoulder as he shifts, his body molding to yours. Heâs still inside you, still connected, still a part of you. And thatâs exactly where he wants to be.
Where heâs always wanted to be.
His arms tighten around you, his eyes closing as he breathes in your scent, the warmth of your body seeping into his. He can feel sleep tugging at the edges of his mind, but he doesnât fight it. Not this time.
Not when heâs finally, finally where he belongs.
With you.
For now. For always. Forever.
***
Charles isnât entirely sure how many weeks itâs been since that morning. Since Arthur. Since everything changed. But the blur of days and nights, of waking up beside you, of coaxing you into his bed, into his apartment, into his life, has been the sweetest kind of haze.
Itâs been a slow, deliberate process. Each night, he asks you to stay a little longer. Each morning, he insists on making you coffee, on sharing a quick breakfast, on driving you to work. Heâs patient, meticulous, letting you come to him little by little, your things finding their way into his space in a way that feels natural, unforced.
Until itâs not just a toothbrush left in his bathroom, but your favorite skincare products. Not just a spare shirt, but an entire drawer full of your clothes. Not just a book or two, but stacks of them lining his shelves, mingling with his own, your life slowly intertwining with his in every way.
Itâs intoxicating, watching you settle in, watching you relax, watching you start to think of his space as yours. Itâs almost too easy.
Every evening, when he casually suggests you bring over something else â a few more clothes, your laptop so you can work from his place, that blanket you love because his living room gets drafty â your hesitation fades a little more. And every time you say yes, every time you come over and unpack just one more bag, his heart clenches with a satisfaction so intense itâs nearly painful.
Tonight, itâs the same routine. Youâve brought over another bag, this one heavier than usual. Charles watches, hiding a smile, as you kick off your shoes in the hallway, setting the bag down with a small, relieved sigh.
âDid you bring your entire closet this time?â He teases, leaning against the doorway, his eyes tracing the curve of your body as you stretch, your sweater riding up just enough to show a sliver of skin. The sight makes his fingers itch to touch, to pull you close and never let go.
âJust the essentials,â you reply lightly, your voice warm and teasing as you give him a playful look. âYou told me to, remember?â
âDid I?â He raises an eyebrow, pretending to think. âI mustâve forgotten. Or maybe I just want you to have everything you need here.â
âEverything?â You tilt your head, giving him a curious look. âWhat are you saying, Charles?â
He pushes off the doorway, crossing the short distance between you in a few easy strides. He stops in front of you, his hands finding your hips, his thumbs brushing the fabric of your jeans in slow, deliberate circles.
âIâm saying,â he murmurs, leaning in close, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, âthat you should just stay here. For good.â
He feels the way you stiffen, your hands coming up to rest on his chest, your fingers curling slightly into his shirt. âCharles, I-â
âThink about it,â he cuts in softly, his voice low and soothing. âYouâre here almost every night anyway. You have more clothes here than you do at your place. It just makes sense.â
âSense,â you echo, your voice quiet, almost hesitant. âBut-â
âYouâre wasting money on rent for a place you barely stay at,â he continues, not letting you pull away, his hands tightening on your hips. âWhy would you need that when you could just be here with me?â
You hesitate, your gaze dropping to his chest, your teeth worrying your bottom lip. âI donât know, itâs just ⊠it feels so fast.â
âFast?â He huffs a soft laugh, his hands sliding up your sides, his thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts. âItâs been weeks. Weâve known each other for years. Thereâs nothing fast about this.â
âI know, but âŠâ You trail off, shaking your head slightly, your brows furrowing as if youâre trying to find the right words. âI just â Charles, I donât want to rush things.â
Heâs quiet for a moment, his gaze tracing your face, taking in the uncertainty in your eyes, the way your lips are pressed into a thin line, the way your body is tense under his touch. He can feel your hesitation, your reluctance, the lingering doubt thatâs keeping you from taking that final step.
And he knows exactly how to make it go away.
Slowly, deliberately, he lowers himself to his knees, his hands sliding down your body to rest on your thighs. He looks up at you, his gaze dark and intense, his fingers curling into the waistband of your jeans.
âCharles, what are you-â
âShhh,â he murmurs, his voice soft, almost coaxing. âLet me show you how much I want this. How much I want you.â
You swallow, your throat working as you look down at him, your eyes wide, your breath coming in quick, shallow pants. He waits, watching the way your pupils dilate, the way your hands twitch at your sides, the way your body sways just slightly toward him.
And then he moves.
His hands find the button of your jeans, flicking it open with a quick, practiced motion, the sound of the zipper rasping loud in the quiet apartment. He pulls the fabric down, his fingers brushing over the soft skin of your thighs, your legs, until heâs stripped you bare from the waist down, his gaze never leaving yours.
âCharles,â you whisper, your voice trembling slightly, your hands fluttering at your sides. âYou donât have to-â
âI want to,â he murmurs, his voice low and rough as he leans in, his mouth brushing the soft skin of your inner thigh. âLet me.â
He can feel the way your body tenses, the way your breath catches, the way your legs tremble slightly as he presses a soft, open-mouthed kiss to your skin. He takes his time, his mouth moving higher, his tongue darting out to taste, to tease, until he reaches the delicate lace of your panties.
He looks up at you, his hands sliding up your thighs to grip your hips, his thumbs brushing over the edge of the lace. He waits, watching the way your chest rises and falls, the way your eyes are dark and heavy-lidded, your lips parted, your breath coming in quick, shallow pants.
âPlease,â you whisper, your voice barely more than a breath.
Itâs all he needs.
With a low, satisfied hum, he hooks his fingers into the lace, pulling it to the side, exposing you to his gaze. He leans in, his mouth brushing over your folds, his tongue darting out for a quick, teasing lick.
You gasp, your hands flying to his shoulders, your fingers curling into his shirt as your body jolts in response. He grins, his hands tightening on your hips as he leans in again, his tongue tracing a slow, deliberate path over your clit.
âCharles â oh god-â You choke out, your voice breaking as he licks again, his mouth moving with slow, practiced precision. He can feel the way your body is trembling, the way your fingers are digging into his shoulders, your breath coming in quick, desperate pants.
He knows exactly what heâs doing to you.
Knows exactly how to push you to the edge.
He laps at you slowly, deliberately, his tongue teasing and tasting, his mouth moving with a languid, almost lazy rhythm. He wants to savor this, wants to make you fall apart slowly, wants to make you feel.
Youâre moaning now, your head falling back, your body arching against his mouth as he licks and sucks, his tongue swirling over your clit, his lips brushing against your folds. He can feel the way youâre trembling, the way your body is tensing, the way your breath is coming in quick, ragged gasps.
âPlease â oh god, please-â
He pulls back slightly, his gaze flicking up to yours, his breath hot against your skin. âPlease what, mon cĆur?â
âDonât stop,â you gasp, your voice a broken, desperate plea. âPlease, donât stop.â
He grins, his hands tightening on your hips as he leans in again, his tongue flicking over your clit, his mouth moving with a relentless, determined rhythm. He can feel the way youâre trembling, the way your body is tightening, the way your breath is coming in quick, shallow pants.
And then youâre coming apart, your body arching against his mouth, your fingers clutching at his shoulders as you cry out, your release crashing over you in waves. He groans, his hands gripping your hips as he holds you steady, his tongue moving slowly, gently, coaxing every last tremor from your body.
When you finally collapse against him, your breath coming in soft, ragged gasps, he pulls back, his mouth slick and wet, his gaze locked on yours.
âYou belong with me,â he murmurs, his voice low and rough as he presses a soft, lingering kiss to your thigh. âSay youâll stay.â
âI-â You swallow, your voice trembling as you look down at him, your eyes wide and dazed, your body still trembling. âOkay.â
He smiles, satisfaction and triumph blooming in his chest as he stands, his hands finding your waist, pulling you close. âGood girl.â
And just like that, youâre his.
***
The soft murmur of conversation and the clinking of silverware fill the cozy space of Charlesâ apartment. The dinner table is set beautifully, as always â warm, ambient light filtering through the modern chandelier above, casting gentle shadows on the polished wooden surface. Plates are lined with an assortment of carefully prepared dishes, most of which you helped with under his guidance, the evening flowing seamlessly in the comfortable domesticity theyâve created together.
Charles glances across the table, his gaze settling on you with the same fierce, possessive warmth thatâs become more familiar over the past few weeks. Youâre laughing softly at something he said, fingers wrapped loosely around the delicate stem of your wine glass. He leans back, watching you take another slow sip, and waits.
And then it happens.
You lower the glass, a slight furrow forming between your brows, your nose scrunching up in confusion. âHmm, thatâs ⊠strange.â
Charles cocks his head, feigning curiosity. âWhat is?â
âThis âŠâ You frown, swirling the liquid gently, as if expecting the taste to change with the motion. âI donât know. The wine tastes ⊠different tonight.â
âDifferent?â He raises a brow, playing along, watching the subtle flicker of emotions cross your face. Confusion. Curiosity. Just the hint of concern. âHow so?â
âI canât really explain it,â you say, looking up at him, your lips quirking with a slight grimace. âItâs like itâs missing something.â
He lets the silence stretch for a beat, then two, before leaning forward slightly, his fingers drumming once against the table. âThatâs because itâs not wine.â
The statement hangs in the air, and you blink, clearly taken aback. âWhat?â
âItâs sparkling grape juice,â he clarifies, his voice calm, as if discussing the weather, as if this is the most natural thing in the world.
You stare at him, your expression shifting from confusion to outright bewilderment. âGrape juice? Why would you-â
âBecause,â Charles interrupts gently, leaning forward, his gaze locking onto yours with a quiet intensity, âwe havenât used protection. Not once. And if ⊠if youâre already pregnant, I donât want to risk anything.â
He watches the way your face goes slack with shock, the way your fingers tense around the stem of your glass, your knuckles whitening. For a moment, itâs as if youâve forgotten how to breathe.
âPregnant?â The word slips out in a whisper, almost inaudible, your voice trembling on the single syllable.
âYes, ma chĂ©rie,â he murmurs, standing slowly, moving around the table with deliberate ease. His eyes never leave yours, every step measured, controlled, calculated. âItâs a possibility, isnât it?â
âCharles-â Youâre shaking your head now, as if trying to dispel the thought, as if the mere suggestion is too much to handle. âI ⊠I canât be ⊠Iâm not-â
âWe donât know that,â he counters softly, his voice almost a purr as he closes the distance, his hand coming to rest lightly on your shoulder. He feels the way your body tenses under his touch, the way youâre holding yourself so still, like a deer caught in headlights. âAnd if you are âŠâ
He trails off, his hand sliding down to your arm, his fingers brushing against your skin in slow, soothing strokes. You donât move, donât pull away, your gaze locked on his, wide and unblinking, your breath coming in short, sharp bursts.
âBreathe,â he murmurs, his thumb tracing gentle circles on your forearm. âItâs okay. Just breathe, baby.â
âBut-â Youâre struggling to find words now, your voice breaking on the sound, your eyes darting wildly, like youâre searching for some kind of escape, some kind of explanation that makes this all make sense. âI â we didnât. We-â
âI know,â he soothes, his tone soft, patient, as if heâs speaking to a frightened child. âI know. But these things happen. And if itâs meant to be, itâs meant to be.â
You stare at him, your chest heaving, your fingers trembling against the table. He can see the panic rising in your eyes, the fear, the uncertainty, the way your mind is racing, struggling to process what heâs just said.
âI-I donât-â You swallow hard, your throat working, your gaze flicking away, like you canât bear to look at him, like youâre trying to hold onto some semblance of control. âI canât be pregnant. I canât-â
âBut what if you are?â He murmurs, stepping closer, his hand sliding up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin with feather-light pressure. âWhat if, right now, thereâs a little piece of us growing inside you?â
You let out a choked sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sob, your shoulders trembling under his touch. âCharles, please, I ⊠I canât-â
âShhh.â He moves in closer, his other hand coming up to cradle the back of your head, his body pressing against yours, caging you in, holding you steady. âItâs okay. Itâs going to be okay.â
âOkay?â You let out a breathless, disbelieving laugh, your hands coming up to press against his chest, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. âHow can this be okay?â
âBecause,â he murmurs, his lips brushing the crown of your head, his breath warm against your hair. âBecause it would be a good thing. Because I love you. Because this is what I want.â
âCharles âŠâ You sound lost, your voice wavering, your fingers clenching in his shirt, like youâre trying to ground yourself, like youâre trying to hold onto something solid, something real. âI-I donât know if Iâm ready for this. I donât know if I can-â
âYou can,â he murmurs, his voice firm, reassuring. âYou can, and you will. And Iâll be right here with you every step of the way.â
He tilts your head up gently, forcing you to meet his gaze, his eyes dark and intense, his expression softening as he takes in the fear, the confusion, the overwhelming uncertainty swirling in your eyes.
âListen to me,â he says quietly, his thumb brushing over your lower lip, his gaze locked on yours. âIf youâre pregnant, itâs because itâs meant to be. Because weâre meant to be. This is a good thing, baby. This is everything Iâve ever wanted.â
âCharles, I âŠâ You shake your head, tears welling in your eyes, your voice breaking on a sob. âI donât know if I can do this. Iâm not ready to be a mother. Iâm not-â
âYouâll be perfect,â he whispers, his hands tightening on your face, his gaze burning into yours. âYouâll be the perfect mother, and Iâll be the perfect father, and weâll be the perfect family. You and me. And our baby.â
âOur baby,â you repeat, your voice a broken, breathless whisper, the words catching in your throat like you canât quite believe them.
âYes.â He smiles, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead. âOurs.â
You let out a shuddering breath, your body trembling in his arms, your eyes wide and wet with unshed tears. He can see the way youâre struggling, the way youâre fighting to hold onto something, anything, that makes sense, that feels real.
âItâs going to be okay,â he murmurs again, his voice a low, soothing murmur, his hands sliding down to your waist, pulling you closer. âI promise. Everythingâs going to be okay.â
âBut-â
âNo buts.â He cuts you off gently, his lips brushing against your temple, his arms wrapping around you, holding you close. âIf itâs meant to be, itâs meant to be. And Iâll be right here with you. No matter what.â
You let out a soft, broken sob, your body crumpling against his, your fingers clutching at his shirt as you bury your face in his chest. He holds you, his hands stroking your back, his voice a low, soothing murmur as he whispers reassurances, promises, vows.
âItâs going to be okay,â he whispers, his lips brushing against your hair. âYouâll see. Itâll be perfect. Just like you.â
He tightens his arms around you, his gaze dark and possessive as he stares over your head, his mind already racing, already planning, already imagining what itâll be like.
A baby. A family. A future.
His.
All his.
***
Charles has always been meticulous â about his training, his racing, every part of his life carefully calculated, a system he maintains with the precision of a clock. But this, this is different. This is obsession. And it consumes him entirely.
It started the morning after the conversation, when you looked so fragile, cradled in his arms, your voice a whisper of uncertainty. Charles felt something shift inside him, something deep and primal. Heâd reassured you, soothed you, but the truth was, he already knew. He could feel it in his bones: this was happening. This had to happen.
For weeks, he watches you closely. Everything you do, every move you make â he sees it all. You, oblivious in your softness, in the way you trust him, rely on him. You donât see the way he lingers on you when you arenât paying attention, how his eyes darken with possessive thoughts. You donât notice the subtle changes in the way he cares for you, the little routines heâs established â checking your moods, your energy levels, the way your skin looks, the tiniest shifts in your appetite.
Charles starts tracking everything. He memorizes your menstrual cycle, noting the dates carefully, storing them in his phone, his mind keeping a careful countdown to when things might change. When you might miss it. Itâs a private ritual now, something he doesnât share with you, something he keeps close to his chest. It feels like power, like control, like the final piece falling into place.
When youâre a few days late, Charles feels it before you do. He watches your morning routines with more focus than ever, noting your subtle tiredness, the slight changes in your mood. You donât even realize, but he knows. The idea of telling you swells in his chest, but he holds back. Not yet. Not until heâs sure.
Instead, he begins preparing, silently, methodically.
Every morning, Charles brings you lemon water, just like always, but now with a small twist. He crushes prenatal vitamins into the glass before mixing it, careful to stir it in completely so the powder dissolves. He watches as you take your first sip, the way your lips curl around the edge of the glass, unaware of the extra care heâs put into it. He knows itâs too early, far too early to be certain, but that doesnât stop him. He wants you and the potential life growing inside you to be nourished, prepared.
In the evenings, itâs the same ritual with your tart cherry juice, the one you love before bed. Youâve commented how well youâve been sleeping lately, how rested youâve been feeling. Charles smiles at that, hiding his satisfaction behind his glass. He can already imagine the next steps, the way your body will change, grow round with his child, the way your life will transform to center around him and the future heâs already decided for both of you.
When you fall asleep at night, Charles often stays awake, his mind racing, his hand drifting to your belly while you breathe softly beside him. His palm lingers there, the flatness of your stomach warm beneath his touch, and he lets his mind wander â imagining how in just a few short months, that same spot will be rounded, filled with life. His life. His blood. The perfect blend of both of you.
He closes his eyes and pictures it â how youâll look swollen with his child, how your body will change, become fuller, softer, more his than ever. He pictures you, tired and glowing, his hand resting possessively over your bump, the world knowing exactly who you belong to.
Sometimes, in the dead of night, when the room is still and your breath is steady in your sleep, Charles whispers to your belly. His lips brush against your skin, words murmured softly into the night, a promise to the life growing there. He tells you how heâll take care of you, how everything will be perfect. How you donât need to worry, because heâll handle everything.
He tells you how much he loves you, how this is what heâs wanted all along.
In the mornings, you donât seem to notice the small changes in him, the way he hovers just a bit more, the way his touch lingers on your stomach longer than it used to. You think itâs tenderness, maybe affection, and in a way, it is. But itâs more than that â itâs control, itâs possession, itâs the weight of something bigger than either of you.
One evening, over dinner, Charles watches you more intently than usual. Youâre laughing, oblivious, completely unaware of the storm brewing inside him. Youâve been tired lately â more than usual â and youâve mentioned feeling a bit off, but you brush it away, thinking itâs just stress, or maybe a cold coming on. He nods, agreeing with you, but inside, he knows better. He knows exactly whatâs happening.
After dinner, as youâre curled up on the couch, Charles leans against the kitchen counter, his eyes fixed on you, a small, satisfied smile tugging at the corners of his lips. You glance up at him, your head tilted in question.
âWhat?â You ask, a soft laugh in your voice.
âNothing,â he replies smoothly, moving towards you. âJust ⊠thinking.â
âAbout what?â
Charles sits beside you, pulling you gently into his lap, his hands resting on your hips. He brushes a kiss to the side of your neck, his lips lingering there for a moment before he speaks, his voice low, careful.
âAbout how lucky I am.â
You smile, relaxing against him, your head resting on his shoulder. âYouâre sweet.â
He hums in response, his hand trailing down to your stomach, his fingers spreading across the flat surface. You donât seem to notice the significance of the gesture, too lost in the warmth of his touch, the closeness between you.
âWe should talk about the future,â he says suddenly, his voice calm but firm.
You shift slightly in his lap, looking up at him with a hint of surprise. âWhat do you mean?â
Charlesâ fingers trace absent circles over your stomach, his gaze darkening as he imagines the changes that are coming. âI mean ⊠where weâre heading. Together.â
You blink, the question hanging between you, heavy with implications. âWeâve talked about the future before.â
âNot like this.â His voice is steady, his thumb brushing over your skin with deliberate care. âI mean ⊠in a few months, things could change. We could be expecting.â
Your breath catches, and for a brief moment, he feels you stiffen in his arms. But heâs prepared for this, for your uncertainty, your hesitation. Heâs been planting the seeds for weeks now, and he knows exactly how to ease you into it.
âI donât think Iâm âŠâ You trail off, your voice wavering slightly. âI donât think Iâm ready yet.â
Charlesâ grip tightens just a fraction, not enough for you to notice, but enough for him to feel the need to maintain control. âYou donât have to be ready right now,â he says softly, his tone soothing. âBut when it happens â if it happens â itâll be the most beautiful thing in the world.â
You swallow hard, your fingers curling slightly against his chest. âI just ⊠I donât know.â
âYou donât have to worry about anything,â he whispers, his lips brushing against your temple. âIâll take care of everything. You know that.â
He feels you nod slowly, your body relaxing slightly in his arms, and he knows heâs won, at least for now. He plants a kiss on your forehead, holding you close, his hand never leaving your stomach.
In the quiet of the night, when youâre fast asleep, Charles slips out of bed and heads to the kitchen, carefully preparing your morning lemon water. The vitamins are crushed to a fine powder, dissolved into the liquid, the routine seamless now. Heâs preparing you, your body, for the life heâs creating with you, and soon enough, youâll know it too.
When he returns to bed, he slides in behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist, his hand resting once again on your stomach. He falls asleep that way, his dreams filled with the image of you â round, glowing, full with his child.
His future is set. And you? You belong to him completely now.
***
Charles is lounging on the couch when you walk in, your eyes wide and rimmed with red. He looks up, a subtle smile curving his lips as he watches you shuffle closer. You seem nervous, almost hesitant â heâs noticed it for days now, the way youâve been quiet, reflective. But he doesnât prod. He doesnât ask. Heâs been waiting for this, letting it build, savoring the anticipation. And now, itâs finally here.
You stand before him, clutching something small in your hand, your fingers trembling. He sees it, the faint outline of the white plastic, and his heart quickens, a rush of satisfaction coursing through him. But he schools his features into calm curiosity, tilting his head as if he has no idea whatâs coming.
âCharles âŠâ Your voice is barely more than a whisper, wavering with emotion. âI, um, I have something to show you.â
He sets his book aside, focusing all his attention on you. âWhat is it, ma chĂ©rie?â The endearment falls from his lips smoothly, wrapping around you like a soft blanket.
You take a shaky breath, stepping closer. Then, with a trembling hand, you hold out the pregnancy test. Charles lets his gaze drop to it, his brow furrowing in feigned confusion. He lets the silence stretch, just for a moment, just enough to feel the weight of your emotions press into him.
âWhat âŠâ He blinks, his eyes widening as if in realization, then flicks his gaze up to meet yours, his mouth falling open slightly. âIs that-â
You nod quickly, your breath hitching, a sob escaping your lips. âIâm pregnant, Charles,â you choke out, tears spilling down your cheeks. âI-I didnât know how to tell you, and Iâm so scared, and-â
Heâs up in a second, his arms wrapping around you tightly, pulling you against his chest. He holds you close, feeling the way you tremble against him, your tears soaking into his shirt. He strokes your hair, his other hand sliding down to rest on your back, keeping you anchored to him.
âShh, mon amour, shh,â he murmurs, his voice soothing, tender. He presses his lips to the top of your head, breathing you in. âItâs okay, everythingâs okay.â
You clutch at his shirt, your sobs muffled against his chest. âI-I didnât think ⊠I didnât think it would happen so soon.â
He pulls back slightly, cupping your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away your tears. His eyes search yours, a soft, affectionate smile forming on his lips. âI canât believe it âŠâ he murmurs, letting his voice crack with supposed disbelief. âYouâre pregnant?â
You nod again, more tears spilling over, your emotions a whirlwind of fear and uncertainty. âY-Yes ⊠I just found out. I wasnât sure, and I didnât want to get my hopes up, but-â You break off, another sob tearing through you. âCharles, Iâm so scared. What if-â
âHey, look at me.â His voice is firm now, his grip on your face gentle but unyielding. He waits until your eyes lock onto his, your gaze swimming with emotion. âThis is the best news Iâve ever received, okay? Youâre carrying our child. Our baby.â He pauses, letting the words sink in, then leans forward to kiss your forehead, lingering there, his breath warm against your skin. âIâm so happy, mon amour. So, so happy.â
He feels your body soften against his, the tension easing slightly. But thereâs still that uncertainty in your eyes, that flicker of doubt that makes his heart tighten. Youâre so fragile, so beautifully breakable. And heâll do everything in his power to make sure you never feel that doubt again.
âCome here,â he whispers, taking the test from your hand and setting it aside on the coffee table. He pulls you onto his lap, his hands settling on your hips, guiding you until youâre straddling him, your knees pressing into the cushions on either side of his thighs.
âCharles âŠâ you start, but he shushes you gently, his hands sliding up your sides, tracing the shape of your waist, the curve of your breasts. He canât stop touching you, canât keep his hands still, not when youâre sitting on him like this, flushed and teary-eyed, carrying his child.
âLet me show you how happy youâve made me,â he murmurs, his lips brushing against your jaw, trailing soft kisses along your skin. He feels you shiver, your hands gripping his shoulders, your breath hitching as he nips lightly at your neck. âLet me celebrate with you, hmm?â
Your response is a broken sound, half-whimper, half-sob, your body leaning into his touch. He shifts beneath you, his hands moving to your thighs, pushing up the hem of your dress. He feels the fabric slide higher, baring more of your skin, and he canât help the way his fingers tighten, his grip almost bruising.
âDo you know how much I love you?â He breathes against your ear, his voice low, rough with want. âHow much I love the thought of you carrying my baby?â
You shake your head, your eyes fluttering closed as he moves lower, his mouth trailing over your collarbone, leaving a path of heat in its wake. âN-no ⊠I ⊠I donât know âŠâ
Charles growls softly, his hands sliding up to cup your ass, pulling you flush against him. Heâs hard, straining against his pants, and he can see the way your cheeks flush, the way your breath catches as you feel him. âIâm going to make you feel it,â he murmurs, his lips brushing against the sensitive spot on your throat that always makes you squirm. âIâm going to make sure you know just how much I love you, how much I need you.â
Before you can respond, heâs lifting you, positioning you over him. His hands are firm on your hips as he drags you down slowly, letting you sink onto him inch by inch. He watches your face, the way your eyes widen, your mouth falling open in a silent gasp. He feels every tremble, every quiver of your muscles as you take him, and itâs almost too much. Almost.
But he drags it out, holding you in place, his fingers digging into your skin. He doesnât let you move, doesnât let you do anything but feel. Heâs deep, too deep, and he can see the way your body strains, the way youâre already close to unraveling, and he loves it. Loves seeing you like this â vulnerable, overwhelmed, completely at his mercy.
âCharles,â you whimper, your hands gripping his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. âPlease, I-â
âShh, chĂ©rie,â he coos, his hands holding you still as he thrusts up slowly, savoring the way you tighten around him, the way you moan helplessly. âYouâre okay. Just let me take care of you.â
He sets a slow, deliberate rhythm, his thrusts deep and measured, his eyes locked on your face. He watches every flicker of emotion, every gasp, every tear that slips down your cheeks. Youâre sobbing now, incoherent with need, your body trembling as he drags you closer and closer to the edge.
âPlease,â you beg, your voice breaking, your hips trying to move against him, but he doesnât let you. He keeps you still, his thrusts controlled, his gaze never leaving yours. âPlease, Charles, I need-â
âI know what you need,â he murmurs, his voice a low growl. He pulls you down harder, driving into you with a force that makes you cry out, your head falling back. He feels the way you clench around him, the way your body convulses, and he knows youâre close, so close. âBut Iâm not going to give it to you yet. Not until I know you understand.â
âUnderstand w-what?â You sob, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling desperately.
âThat youâre mine,â he growls, his thrusts quickening, his grip on your hips almost punishing. âThat you and this baby â everything â belongs to me.â
âYes, yes, Iâm yours, I-â Your voice breaks, your body arching against him, and he finally lets you move, lets you ride him, lets you take what you need.
âGood girl,â he breathes, his hands guiding you, his own release building, tightening in his core. âThatâs it, baby, take what you need. Show me how much you want it.â
You shatter around him, your body convulsing, your sobs filling the room. He feels you come undone, feels the way you squeeze him, and it sends him over the edge, his own release crashing through him. He buries himself deep, holding you against him as he spills into you, his teeth gritted, his eyes squeezed shut.
For a moment, everything is still, the only sound your ragged breathing, the quiet hum of satisfaction filling the space between you.
Then he moves, pressing a soft kiss to your temple, his hands stroking your back gently, soothingly.
âSee?â He whispers, his lips brushing against your skin. âWeâre going to be so happy, mon amour. You, me, and our baby. Everything will be perfect.â
***
The bell above the shop door jingles softly as you step into the boutique, the warm, perfumed air inside a welcome contrast to the chilly breeze outside. Charles follows behind you, his hand resting possessively on the small of your back as you browse through the racks of maternity clothes. Your stomach is starting to show now, rounding out beneath the soft fabric of your sweater, a tangible reminder of the life growing inside you.
Charles glances down at your belly, a surge of pride swelling in his chest. He loves seeing you like this â loves the way your body is changing, loves the way youâve become even more beautiful, more radiant. Youâre glowing, in every sense of the word, and he canât get enough of it.
âDo you like this one?â You ask, holding up a pale blue dress, your voice hesitant.
Charles steps closer, his hand sliding from your back to your waist, resting just above your bump. He tilts his head, considering the dress for a moment, before nodding with a smile.
âItâs perfect,â he says, his voice low and reassuring. âYouâll look beautiful in it.â
You smile shyly, your fingers smoothing over the fabric, and Charles feels a pang of possessiveness twist in his gut. He loves how soft and uncertain youâve become lately, how much more you lean on him, rely on him. The pregnancy has made you vulnerable, and he thrives on it. He loves that you need him now, in a way you never did before.
As you make your way to the changing rooms, Charles lingers by the front of the shop, his eyes scanning the street outside through the large glass windows. Heâs always on alert, always watching. He has to be. The thought of anyone â or anything â interrupting this perfect life heâs built with you sends a cold shiver down his spine.
And then he sees him.
Arthur.
Standing across the street, frozen in place, his eyes locked on Charles through the glass.
Charlesâ entire body tenses, his jaw clenching tightly. He can see the shock in Arthurâs expression, the way his eyes flicker past Charles, searching for something â no, for someone.
You.
Arthurâs gaze drops to the shop window, and Charles knows exactly what heâs looking at. Your silhouette, your round belly. The truth hitting Arthur like a punch to the gut.
For a brief, panicked moment, Charlesâ mind races. He thought heâd been careful. Heâs kept Arthur away from you, made sure to cover all his tracks, kept you isolated from anything or anyone that could pull you back into your old life. Heâs been meticulous, perfect in his control.
But now, standing across the street, is the one person Charles never wanted you to see again.
Arthur begins to move, his feet carrying him across the street with determined strides, and Charles feels a cold sweat break out across the back of his neck. He canât let this happen. Not now. Not when everything is so perfect.
You emerge from the changing room, your face bright and cheerful as you smooth the fabric of the blue dress over your belly. âWhat do you think?â You ask, spinning around slightly to give him a full view.
Before Charles can respond, the door to the boutique swings open with a sharp clang, and Arthur steps inside.
âY/N,â Arthurâs voice cuts through the air like a blade, filled with shock, disbelief, and something else â something darker, more dangerous.
You freeze, your eyes going wide as you turn to face him. For a moment, the three of you are locked in a tense, suffocating silence. You glance between them, confusion written all over your face.
âArthur?â You whisper, your voice barely audible.
Charles steps forward, immediately positioning himself between you and his younger brother, his hand gripping your arm tightly. âWhat are you doing here?â His voice is low, warning, dripping with barely contained anger.
Arthurâs eyes never leave you, flicking from your face to your belly with an expression thatâs a mixture of hurt and fury. âWhat the hell is going on, Y/N?â He demands, ignoring Charles completely. âYouâre ⊠youâre pregnant?â
Your face drains of color, your hand instinctively moving to cover your stomach, as if to shield the truth from him. âI ⊠I can explain,â you stammer, your voice trembling.
But Charles isnât having it. He steps forward, his body blocking Arthurâs view of you completely. âShe doesnât owe you an explanation, Arthur,â he snaps, his voice cold and cutting. âYouâre not part of her life anymore.â
Arthurâs face twists with anger, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. âNot part of her life?â He spits, his eyes blazing. âI was with her for six years, Charles. Six years. You think you can just waltz in and take everything?â
Charlesâ grip on your arm tightens, his nails digging into your skin as he fights to keep control. His pulse is racing, his heart pounding in his chest, but outwardly, he remains calm, collected. He has to. He canât let Arthur get under his skin, canât let him ruin everything heâs worked so hard for.
âY/N made her choice,â Charles says evenly, his voice cold as ice. âShe chose me. Weâre having a baby together. Our baby.â
Arthurâs face goes pale, his eyes widening in disbelief. âA baby?â He whispers, his voice breaking. He looks at you then, truly looks at you, and Charles can see the hurt in his eyes, the devastation. âIs that true, Y/N?â He asks, his voice shaking. âYouâre having his baby?â
You open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Tears well up in your eyes, and you look down, avoiding Arthurâs gaze.
Charles takes a step closer to Arthur, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. âYou need to leave, Arthur. Now.â
But Arthur doesnât move. He just stands there, staring at you, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. âHow could you do this?â He chokes out. âHow could you betray me like this?â
Before you can respond, Charles steps in front of you again, his body a wall of protection. âShe didnât betray you,â he says harshly. âYou were never good enough for her. You could never give her what she needed. I could.â
Arthurâs face twists with fury, and he takes a threatening step forward. âYouâre sick, Charles,â he growls. âYou manipulated her, didnât you? Youâve been controlling her this whole time.â
Charlesâ eyes darken, his hand clenching into a fist at his side. âYou donât know anything about us,â he says, his voice dangerously low. âYou have no idea what weâve been through. What we have together.â
Arthur looks like heâs about to explode, his fists trembling with barely contained rage. âYouâre delusional,â he spits. âYou think you can just take her and make her yours? You think sheâs going to stay with you?â
Charlesâ lips curl into a cold smile, his eyes narrowing. âSheâs already mine,â he says, his voice soft but deadly. âSheâs carrying my child. Weâre going to be a family. And thereâs nothing you can do about it.â
Arthur looks at you again, his expression filled with pain and disbelief. âY/N, please,â he begs, his voice breaking. âTell me this isnât true. Tell me he hasnât brainwashed you.â
But you canât look at him. Your hand is still resting on your belly, your eyes filled with tears, and you shake your head slowly, unable to find the words.
Arthur lets out a shaky breath, his shoulders slumping in defeat. âI donât believe this,â he whispers. âI donât believe youâd do this to me.â
Charles steps forward, his voice sharp and final. âLeave, Arthur,â he says coldly. âBefore I make you.â
For a moment, Arthur stands there, staring at the two of you, his face pale and broken. Then, without another word, he turns and walks out of the shop, the door slamming shut behind him.
Charles watches him go, his heart racing, his body thrumming with adrenaline. He turns to you, his hand moving to cup your face, his thumb brushing away your tears.
âItâs okay,â he murmurs softly, pulling you into his arms. âHeâs gone now. He canât hurt us.â
You bury your face in his chest, your body shaking with quiet sobs, and Charles holds you tightly, his hand resting protectively over your belly.
âItâs just us now, mon amour,â he whispers, his lips pressing against your hair. âJust us and our baby.â
And as he holds you close, a dark, satisfied smile spreads across his face.
Arthur was always a necessary sacrifice.
***
Charles is pacing the living room when the call comes through. His fingers drum against his thigh, jaw set in a grim line as he answers, putting the phone to his ear. He keeps his voice low, careful not to let it carry down the hall where youâre napping in his bed. Where youâre safe.
âIs it handled?â He asks, words clipped and impatient.
His managerâs voice comes through the speaker, tight and strained. âWeâre working on it. But the storyâs already circulating. Itâs gaining traction.â
Charles squeezes his eyes shut, frustration and anger twisting through him like a hot blade. This was not supposed to happen. He made sure of it. He thought heâd made sure Arthur was too broken, too defeated to put up a fight.
âFix it,â he grinds out, his grip on the phone tightening. âI donât care what it takes â just make it disappear.â
Thereâs a pause on the other end of the line, the silence stretching thin and taut, before his manager responds quietly, âItâs not that simple, Charles. Heâs not backing down. And the media â well, they love a scandal. Especially one like this.â
Charlesâ teeth clench, a low growl rumbling in his chest. He knows exactly what his manager is implying. The story is out there. Arthurâs desperate, crazed accusations that Charles is holding you against your will, that heâs manipulative, unhinged, obsessed. That heâs stolen Arthurâs long-time girlfriend and trapped you in some twisted relationship.
Charlesâ jaw ticks, fury simmering just beneath the surface. He wants to laugh. Obsessed? Maybe. Manipulative? Definitely. But youâre not a hostage. Youâre his â his to love, his to protect, his to control. Arthur has no idea what heâs talking about. He doesnât know anything about what you and Charles have together.
âBuy them off,â Charles snarls, each word falling from his lips like a command. âOr threaten them. Do whatever you have to do to make them stop printing this shit. And Arthur-â He cuts himself off, breathing hard, the urge to fly across the room and smash something almost overwhelming.
âKeep him away from Y/N,â he finishes darkly, his voice low and dangerous. âI donât want him anywhere near her. Understood?â
âUnderstood,â his manager replies, voice tight. âBut Charles ⊠this could get messy. Really messy. Iâm just warning you-â
âJust do it,â Charles snaps, cutting him off. âI donât want excuses. I want results.â
He ends the call, his hands shaking slightly as he lowers the phone. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm the wild, chaotic storm raging inside him. He canât lose his temper. Not now. Not when Arthurâs doing everything he can to tear them apart.
Charles turns his gaze to the shattered pieces of your phone lying in the corner of the room. It only took a second to crush it beneath his heel, to cut off your access to the outside world. He canât risk you seeing whatâs being said, canât risk you hearing Arthurâs poisonous words.
If you did ⊠you might start to doubt him. You might start to wonder if Arthurâs telling the truth. And Charles canât let that happen. He wonât let that happen.
With a deep breath, he forces himself to relax, his expression smoothing out into a mask of calm. He has a plan. He always does. Heâll deal with the media, silence Arthur for good. And you ⊠youâll be none the wiser.
Heâll make sure of it.
Charlesâ gaze drifts down the hall, his chest tightening with a fierce, possessive longing. He needs to see you. Needs to remind himself that youâre his, that Arthurâs pathetic attempts to tear you away from him are futile.
He heads to the bedroom quietly, pushing open the door to find you curled up on your side, still sound asleep. You look so peaceful, so delicate, your hair spread out across the pillow, your lips parted slightly. He moves closer, his eyes tracing the curve of your belly beneath the sheets, the swell of your pregnancy more visible by the day.
His heart clenches with a strange, overwhelming mixture of love and obsession. Youâre carrying his child. His blood, his legacy. You belong to him in every way that matters.
But even thatâs not enough for him. He wants more. Needs more. He wants to own every part of you â your body, your mind, your soul. He wants you to think of him every second of every day, wants you to be consumed by him, just as heâs consumed by you.
A dark smile curves his lips as an idea forms in his mind, a way to keep you distracted, to keep you from thinking too much about whatâs happening outside the safe, perfect world heâs built for you.
âMon ange,â he murmurs softly, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead.
You stir slightly, blinking up at him with sleepy eyes. âCharles?â You mumble, your voice thick with drowsiness. âWhatâs wrong?â
âNothing, chĂ©rie,â he murmurs, brushing your hair back from your face. âI just thought ⊠you might like a bath. Something relaxing, to help you unwind.â
You smile at him sleepily, nodding slightly. âThat sounds nice.â
He scoops you up gently, carrying you to the en suite bathroom, where he sets you down on the edge of the large bathtub. He turns on the taps, the water rushing in with a soothing, steady sound. He adds a few drops of lavender-scented oil, the scent filling the air, calming and comforting.
Charles helps you out of your clothes, his hands lingering on your skin, his fingers tracing over the swell of your belly with reverence. He lowers you into the warm water, watching as you sink down with a contented sigh, your head resting against the back of the tub.
âComfortable?â He asks softly, his voice a low murmur.
You nod, your eyes fluttering shut as you relax into the water. âMmm ⊠yes.â
Charles smiles, kneeling beside the tub. He reaches over and adjusts the settings on the jet controls, a wicked gleam in his eyes as he turns them on, directing the powerful stream of water right between your legs.
You let out a startled gasp, your eyes flying open as the sensation hits you. âCharles-â
âShh, chĂ©rie,â he murmurs, his voice a soothing purr. âJust relax. Let me take care of you.â
Your eyes are wide, your cheeks flushed as the water pulses against you, the sensation building steadily, turning your body to jelly. Charles watches with dark satisfaction as you squirm, your breaths coming faster, your hands gripping the edge of the tub.
He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear. âYouâre so beautiful like this,â he whispers, his voice low and husky. âSo perfect. So mine.â
You whimper, your hips shifting involuntarily as the jets work their magic, your body reacting helplessly to the stimulation. Charlesâ hand slips beneath the water, his fingers sliding over your heated skin, teasing you further.
âCharles, please-â you moan, your voice breaking.
He hums softly, his lips ghosting over your neck. âPlease what, mon amour?â
âI ⊠I donât know,â you gasp, your head falling back, your body arching in the water. âItâs â oh God, itâs too much-â
Charlesâ eyes darken with satisfaction, his fingers trailing lower, stroking you in time with the jets. âJust let go, baby,â he murmurs, his voice a soothing, hypnotic lullaby. âLet me take care of everything.â
You cry out softly, your body trembling as the sensation crests, waves of pleasure crashing over you. Charles holds you steady, his touch firm and unrelenting, pushing you higher and higher until you canât take it anymore, until youâre shuddering and gasping and begging incoherently.
And then, finally, when youâve been thoroughly unraveled, when your body is limp and boneless, Charles shuts off the jets, his fingers gently stroking your skin as you slump back against him, utterly spent.
âGood girl,â he murmurs, his voice thick with satisfaction. He gathers you up in his arms, holding you close as you drift off, your breathing soft and even against his chest.
Charlesâ lips brush against your hair, a dark smile curving his lips. He may not be able to control what happens outside these walls, but in here â in his world, in his arms â youâre his.
Arthur can try to tear you apart. He can try to expose Charlesâ darkness to the world. But it wonât change a thing.
Because youâre never leaving.
***
Charles doesnât tell you heâs going out. He leaves quietly in the early hours of the morning, long before the sun has risen. The only sound in the otherwise silent apartment is the faint click of the front door shutting behind him, and even that feels like a betrayal of his intent to remain unseen. Heâs meticulous as he slips into his car, the leather seats cool against his back. The drive to Arthurâs location â some nondescript hotel in Nice â is a blur, the city lights flashing by in a hazy smear of gold and white.
His jaw is set, eyes cold and unyielding as he pulls up to the parking lot. He grips the steering wheel tightly, the skin of his knuckles taut, veins prominent. This is a loose end that needs tying, and heâs finally run out of patience. Heâs given Arthur time â more than enough time to drop his accusations, to back off. Heâd even sent a few pointed warnings through other channels, but it seems Arthurâs stubbornness knows no bounds.
No matter. This ends today.
Charles steps out of the car, the chill of the pre-dawn air nipping at his skin. He straightens his coat, taking a deep breath as he crosses the lot, his footsteps the only sound in the stillness. He can feel the coiled tension thrumming beneath his skin, the barely contained violence that always simmers just below the surface whenever Arthurâs name comes up.
It only takes him a minute to reach the room â third floor, end of the hall. Room 317. He can hear the murmur of voices inside as he approaches, one of them unmistakably Arthurâs, sharp and agitated. Charles pauses for a second, just outside the door, his pulse pounding steadily in his ears. He listens, picking up the sound of shuffling feet, the clink of glass against glass, a muffled curse.
Charles knocks once, the sound echoing through the otherwise silent hallway.
Thereâs a beat of silence, and then Arthurâs voice â hoarse, disbelieving. âWho the hell is it at this hour?â
No answer.
Charles knocks again, harder this time, the force reverberating down the length of his arm.
The door swings open, and Arthurâs face appears, disheveled and bleary-eyed. Thereâs a moment where Arthur blinks, his gaze taking in the man standing on the other side of the threshold as if heâs not quite registering what heâs seeing.
âCharles?â Arthurâs voice is incredulous, slurred slightly, the smell of alcohol heavy on his breath. âWhat the-â
Charles doesnât give him a chance to finish. He steps forward, crossing the threshold in one smooth, fluid movement, shoving Arthur back with a force that sends him stumbling into the room. The door slams shut behind them, and Charlesâ hand is already around his brotherâs throat, fingers digging into the soft, vulnerable flesh.
Arthur chokes, his eyes going wide, hands scrabbling uselessly at Charlesâ wrist. âW-what the fuck are you doing?â
âEnding this,â Charles says softly, his voice calm and controlled despite the dark rage swirling through him. âI warned you, Arthur. I warned you to stop. But you didnât listen.â
Arthur gasps, his face turning red, his body jerking as he tries to wrench himself free from Charlesâ iron grip. âY-youâre fucking insane!â He manages to choke out, his voice a rasp. âY/N â she-â
âDonât say her name,â Charles snarls, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl. He tightens his hold, watching with detached satisfaction as Arthurâs face contorts in pain, his eyes bulging. âYou donât get to talk about her. You donât get to even think about her.â
Arthurâs lips part, but no sound comes out â just a strangled wheeze, a desperate, broken noise. Charles watches him dispassionately, his expression blank as he waits, as he lets his brother teeter on the edge of unconsciousness before loosening his grip just enough for Arthur to suck in a ragged, shuddering breath.
âCharles, please-â Arthur rasps, his voice weak and desperate. âYouâre â killing me-â
âAm I?â Charles tilts his head, regarding his brother with an almost clinical interest. âBecause the way I see it, youâve been trying to kill me. Trying to destroy everything Iâve built, everything I love. All because youâre too much of a coward to accept the truth.â
He lets go abruptly, shoving Arthur to the floor. Arthur collapses in a heap, coughing and gasping, clutching at his throat. He looks up at Charles, eyes wide with fear and confusion, his voice barely a whisper. âWhat truth?â
âThat sheâs mine,â Charles says softly, his gaze dark and unrelenting. âSheâs always been mine, Arthur. You were just too blind to see it.â
Arthur shakes his head, his expression one of horror and disbelief. âNo ⊠no, thatâs not true-â
Charles takes a step forward, his presence looming over his brother, his shadow swallowing the dim light of the room. âDo you really think she wanted you?â He asks quietly, his voice a soft, deadly murmur. âDo you really think she loved you?â
Arthurâs face crumples, his hands trembling as he pushes himself up, his shoulders hunched. âShe did,â he whispers, his voice broken. âShe â she was with me for six years, Charles. Six fucking years-â
âAnd yet she never let you touch her,â Charles cuts in smoothly, his lips curling into a cruel smile. âShe never gave you what she gave me so easily. Donât you understand? You were just a placeholder. A distraction. She was always meant to be mine.â
Arthur shakes his head again, his eyes filling with tears. âYouâre lying. You-â
âLying?â Charles laughs softly, the sound low and humorless. âAsk her yourself. Oh, wait â you canât. Because she doesnât want to see you anymore. She doesnât even think about you anymore.â
Arthur flinches, his face crumpling. âCharles, please-â
Charlesâ smile fades, his expression hardening once more. âIâm not here to beg,â he says coldly. âIâm not here to negotiate. Iâm here to make it clear â to make you understand â that this is the end.â
Arthur looks up at him, his eyes wide and fearful. âWhat ⊠what are you going to do?â
Charles leans down, his gaze locking onto his brotherâs, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous whisper. âYouâre going to disappear. Youâre going to leave this city, leave this continent, and youâre never going to come back. Youâre going to vanish without a trace, and youâre going to stay gone.â
Arthur swallows hard, his throat working as he tries to form words, his lips trembling. âAnd if I donât?â
Charles straightens, his gaze never leaving his brotherâs face. âIf you donât,â he says softly, âIâll make sure you do.â
The threat hangs heavy in the air, a promise wrapped in steel. Arthur shudders, his eyes squeezing shut as he lets out a ragged, broken sob. He nods slowly, his shoulders slumping in defeat.
âGood,â Charles murmurs, a satisfied smile curving his lips. âIâm glad we understand each other.â
He turns on his heel, heading for the door. He doesnât spare his brother a second glance as he steps out of the room, as he walks down the hall and back to his car. He doesnât look back as he starts the engine, as he drives away, leaving Arthur and the mess he created behind him.
Heâs dealt with it. Arthur wonât bother them again.
And now ⊠now he can go back to you. Back to where he belongs.
***
Charles plans everything meticulously.
When he returns to the apartment that morning, heâs all warmth and tenderness. He finds you still curled up in bed, blankets tucked around you like a cocoon. You look so peaceful, so beautiful in the early morning light, the hint of a bump peeking through the oversized T-shirt he had pulled over your head the night before.
He slips out of his clothes with practiced ease, folding them neatly on the chair by the bed. The sight of your bare shoulders, your slightly parted lips, the slow rise and fall of your chest â itâs enough to make his heart swell with possessive pride. He pads over quietly, slipping under the covers beside you, and wraps his arms around you, pressing his face into the curve of your neck.
The first thing he does is inhale deeply, taking in your scent â soft, warm, and uniquely yours. His hands move over your skin with reverence, tracing the curves of your shoulders, your waist, your growing belly. You stir slightly, murmuring something unintelligible, but you donât wake.
Perfect.
Itâs not until the sun has fully risen that he lets you stir awake, nudging his nose against your cheek and pressing kisses along your jaw until you slowly blink your eyes open. You turn your head, a sleepy smile tugging at your lips as you meet his gaze.
âMorning,â you whisper, voice thick with sleep.
âMorning, ma belle,â Charles murmurs, his voice low and tender. He pulls you closer, his hand smoothing over your belly. âHow are my two favorite people today?â
You laugh softly, your eyes crinkling at the corners as you look down at the small swell of your stomach. âStill waking up.â
âThen let me help,â he breathes, lowering his head to nip gently at your collarbone. You gasp softly, your hands coming up to clutch at his shoulders as he trails a line of open-mouthed kisses down the column of your throat. His hands wander, exploring, kneading, until youâre arching into his touch, your breathing shallow and uneven.
âCharles-â Your voice is a soft, breathless moan, filled with the kind of trust and yearning that makes something primal in him twist and tighten. âWe â ah, we have to get ready for the parenting class.â
He hums against your skin, the sound vibrating through you. âWe have time.â
His lips close around a particularly sensitive spot just below your ear, and you let out a shaky whimper. Heâs not sure how long he spends like that, working you up, savoring every sound, every shudder, every whispered plea that falls from your lips. But he knows exactly what heâs doing.
Itâs only when youâre completely lost to the haze, your fingers clutching at the sheets, your body trembling with need, that he finally leans back, his breath coming in soft, measured pants. He reaches over to the bedside table, pulling out a neatly folded piece of paper and a pen, and places it on the bed beside you.
âWhatâs that?â You murmur, still dazed, your eyes fluttering as you try to focus on the form in front of you.
âJust a little thing to sign for the class,â he says smoothly, his tone casual, nonchalant. He settles between your legs, his fingers trailing up your inner thighs in slow, teasing strokes. âYou know, to confirm our participation and all that.â
You glance down at the paper, brow furrowing slightly as you try to read it, but Charles doesnât give you a chance to focus. He lowers his head, his mouth finding that sensitive bundle of nerves, and you gasp, your back arching off the bed as pleasure shoots through you.
âCharles â oh, god,â you breathe, your voice trembling. Your hands fly to his hair, tugging gently, but he doesnât relent, his tongue moving in slow, torturous circles, his fingers digging into your hips to keep you still.
âJust sign it, ma chĂ©rie,â he murmurs against your skin, his voice a low, seductive purr. âThen I can make you feel so much better. I promise.â
You whimper, your eyes fluttering shut as you struggle to concentrate. He can see the moment you give in, your resistance melting away under the onslaught of his mouth and hands. You reach blindly for the pen, your fingers fumbling as you scrawl your signature at the bottom of the page, your hand trembling with each pass.
âThere we go,â he coos, lifting his head just long enough to watch as you finish signing. âGood girl.â
Heâs careful to fold the paper back up, slipping it into the drawer with a satisfied smile before turning his full attention back to you. Youâre pliant, needy, your body arching and twisting beneath him, your breath coming in soft, desperate pants.
âSuch a good girl for me,â he murmurs, his voice low and thick with possessive pride. âSo perfect, so sweet. Do you have any idea how much I love you?â
You shake your head, your fingers curling in his hair, your voice a breathless whisper. âCharles, please-â
He knows exactly what youâre asking for, what youâre begging for, and it only makes him want to draw it out longer. He settles into a slow, torturous rhythm, his mouth and hands moving in perfect harmony, until youâre shaking, your thighs trembling, tears gathering in the corners of your eyes.
âPlease,â you whimper again, your voice breaking on the word. âPlease, Charles-â
âShh, shh,â he soothes, pressing soft kisses to your inner thigh, his breath hot against your skin. âIâve got you, mon cĆur. Let go. Just let go for me.â
And when you finally do, your body going rigid and then melting into the bed as pleasure washes over you in waves, heâs right there with you, holding you, whispering soft, sweet words against your skin.
âThatâs it, ma chĂ©rie. Just like that. Youâre so beautiful like this. So perfect.â
He stays with you like that, his hands gentle as they roam over your skin, his mouth pressing soft, reverent kisses along your belly, your hips, your thighs. He savors the way you tremble, the way you whisper his name like a prayer, the way you cling to him as if heâs the only thing keeping you grounded.
And maybe he is.
When you finally come back to yourself, your body still humming with the aftershocks of pleasure, he helps you sit up, his hands firm and steady on your shoulders.
âReady for class?â He asks softly, his smile warm, his gaze soft as he looks down at you.
You nod slowly, still a little dazed, a soft, contented smile tugging at your lips. âYeah ⊠I think so.â
He leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, his heart swelling with love and pride. âGood.â
He helps you dress, his hands lingering on your skin a little longer than necessary, his eyes lingering on the small swell of your belly. Itâs not long now, he thinks, his chest tightening with anticipation. Soon, everyone will know. Soon, there will be no denying it â no denying that you belong to him, that youâve always belonged to him.
He tucks the signed marriage application form away carefully, making a mental note to drop it off at the Monaco Town Hall later. Thereâs no rush. Itâs just a formality now. A piece of paper to make it official. Because youâre already his in every way that matters.
And soon, the world will know it too.
***
Charles can barely breathe.
He stands at the head of the hospital bed, his hand locked around yours, gripping tight enough to leave marks, but you donât seem to notice. Your own fingers are trembling, clenched around his as if theyâre the only thing tethering you to reality. Sweat beads on your forehead, dampening your hair, and your face is contorted with pain and effort as another contraction rips through you.
âItâs okay, ma chĂ©rie, youâre doing so well,â Charles murmurs, his voice strained with worry and something else â something darker, sharper, a fierce, primal protectiveness that twists in his chest like a living thing. He swallows hard, pressing a kiss to your temple, tasting the salt of your sweat on his lips. âJust a little longer, I promise. Youâre almost there.â
You whimper, your head lolling to the side, your eyes half-shut with exhaustion. âCharles ⊠I-I canât-â
âYes, you can.â His voice is firm, unyielding, his eyes blazing as he stares down at you. âYou will. Youâre the strongest person I know, and youâre going to do this. For us. For our son.â
The reminder seems to give you strength, and you nod weakly, sucking in a deep, shuddering breath as you steel yourself for the next wave. Charles can feel your grip tighten even more, and he shifts closer, his body almost draped over yours, his other hand smoothing over your hair, your shoulder, your belly â wherever he can reach, just to be touching you, grounding you.
âFocus on me,â he whispers, his voice low and urgent. âJust on me, okay? Breathe with me. You can do this. We can do this.â
Itâs an eternity, an endless cycle of pain and panting breaths and whispered encouragement, until the OBGYN finally leans over, glancing between your legs with a nod of approval. âYouâre almost fully dilated. Just a few more pushes, and youâll get to meet your baby.â
Charles tightens his grip on your hand, his eyes fixed on your face, watching every flicker of emotion, every furrow of your brow, every flicker of fear and determination and exhaustion. He hates this, hates seeing you in pain, hates that he canât just take it all away. But he knows this is what you wanted, what you dreamed of, and heâll be damned if he lets his own fear ruin it.
âJust a few more, bĂ©bĂ©,â he breathes, his voice low and rough with emotion. âYouâre so close. Youâve come so far. Iâm so proud of you. So proud.â
Your eyes flutter open, meeting his gaze, and for a moment, thereâs something there â something raw and vulnerable and achingly beautiful. âCharles ⊠I-â
âI know,â he whispers, leaning down to press his forehead to yours. âI know, ma belle. I love you too. So much.â
And then youâre pushing again, a raw, primal scream tearing from your throat, and Charles can only hold on, his heart pounding in his chest as the doctorâs voice rises over the chaos.
âThatâs it! Thatâs it! Just one more, give me one more big push!â
You scream again, your whole body straining with the effort, and then suddenly, thereâs a high, thin wail that cuts through the air like a knife.
Time seems to freeze.
Charlesâ breath catches in his throat, his whole world narrowing down to the tiny, wriggling figure the nurse is holding in her hands, covered in blood and amniotic fluid and screaming its tiny lungs out.
âOh my god,â he breathes, his voice breaking on the words. âOh my god, heâs â heâs here. Heâs-â
A nurse moves quickly, wrapping the baby in a soft, clean towel, and then sheâs turning, holding him out to you, her face creased with a gentle smile.
âCongratulations, you two,â she says softly. âItâs a boy.â
Youâre shaking, tears streaming down your face as you reach out with trembling hands to take the baby. Charles moves with you, his arms slipping around you to support you as you cradle the tiny bundle against your chest, your breath hitching with sobs.
âHi,â you whisper, your voice trembling, filled with wonder and awe. âHi, little one. Oh my god, hi âŠâ
Charlesâ heart feels like itâs about to burst, his chest so tight he can barely breathe. He looks down at the baby â his son â nestled in your arms, his tiny fists flailing, his face scrunched up as he lets out another wail.
âHeâs ⊠perfect,â Charles whispers, his voice thick with emotion. He reaches out, his fingers trembling as he brushes them gently over the babyâs head, feeling the soft, downy hair beneath his fingertips. âYouâre perfect, mon fils. Absolutely perfect.â
The babyâs cries soften, his tiny body relaxing as he feels the warmth of your skin, the steady rhythm of your heartbeat. Charles watches, his gaze riveted to the small, scrunched-up face, the tiny fingers curling around the edge of the towel.
He canât believe it. He canât believe that this tiny, fragile life is his, that he helped create something so beautiful, so precious. Itâs overwhelming, a tidal wave of emotions crashing over him, and he feels his eyes sting with tears, his throat tightening with a sob.
âLook at him,â he whispers, his voice choked. âJust ⊠look at him.â
You nod, your own tears falling freely as you gaze down at your son, your fingers tracing over his tiny features with reverence. âHeâs so beautiful,â you murmur, your voice breaking. âCharles ⊠I â thank you. Thank you so much.â
Charles shakes his head, his arms tightening around you, pulling you closer, his lips brushing against your temple. âNo, thank you. You did all the hard work. You brought him into this world. Iâm just ⊠Iâm just so proud of you.â
You let out a soft, breathless laugh, your gaze never leaving the babyâs face. âWe did this together,â you whisper. âAll three of us.â
âYeah,â Charles breathes, his voice filled with awe. âYeah, we did.â
Itâs a blur after that, nurses bustling around, cleaning up, checking your vitals, making sure the baby is healthy and strong. But through it all, Charles never lets go of you, his arms wrapped around you and his son, his gaze never wavering.
When the medical team finally leave, giving you some privacy, Charles shifts carefully, easing onto the edge of the bed beside you. He reaches out, his fingers brushing gently over the babyâs tiny hand, marveling at how small and delicate it is.
âCan I âŠâ He murmurs, his voice tentative, almost shy.
You smile softly, your eyes still wet with tears as you look up at him. âOf course.â
Charles swallows hard, his heart pounding as you carefully lift the baby, placing him in Charlesâ waiting arms. He shifts, cradling the tiny bundle against his chest, his breath catching as the baby lets out a soft, sleepy sigh.
âHey there, little guy,â he whispers, his voice shaking. âIâm your papa. Itâs so nice to finally meet you.â
The baby stirs, his tiny face scrunching up for a moment before relaxing again, and Charles feels something inside him shatter and reform, something deep and primal and fierce.
âI promise Iâll take care of you,â he murmurs, his voice low and fervent. âIâll protect you and your maman, always. Iâll keep you safe. Iâll make sure you have everything you could ever want, everything you could ever need. Youâll never have to worry about anything. I promise.â
He lifts his gaze, meeting yours, and his breath catches at the look on your face â so full of love and warmth and happiness. âWe did it,â he whispers, his voice breaking. âHeâs really here.â
You nod, your smile soft and radiant. âHeâs really here.â
Charles leans forward, his lips brushing over your forehead, your nose, your lips, and then over the babyâs head, pressing soft, reverent kisses to each of you.
âI love you,â he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. âBoth of you. More than anything.â
Your eyes soften, and you reach up, your fingers brushing over his cheek. âWe love you too, Charles.â
And in that moment, holding his son in his arms, with you by his side, Charles feels like heâs finally found everything heâs ever wanted. Everything heâs ever needed.
His family. His life. His everything.
And he knows, with a certainty thatâs as solid and unyielding as stone, that heâll never let go of it.
***
Arthur watches from a distance, and itâs like staring through frosted glass into a life he no longer recognizes. The family picnic sprawls out on the pristine lawn of Charlesâ estate, the manicured gardens framing a picturesque scene of domestic bliss.
Youâre sitting on a checkered blanket under the shade of an old oak tree, a baby cradled in your arms. Your soft murmurs drift through the air, your gaze locked on the tiny face peeking out from beneath the blue cotton blanket. You look ⊠peaceful. Serene. And despite everything, Arthurâs chest tightens painfully at the sight.
Heâs too far away to hear what youâre saying to the baby, but he can see your lips moving, the way your smile brightens, the gentle curve of your mouth as you lean down and kiss the babyâs forehead. His nephew. Charlesâ son.
It should have been his.
Arthurâs fingers twitch at his sides, his nails biting into his palms as he forces himself to stay still, to stay hidden behind the row of hedges that separate the lawn from the main driveway. He knows he shouldnât be here. Knows heâs not supposed to come anywhere near you or the baby, not after everything thatâs happened.
But he couldnât help it.
The compulsion, the desperation to see you, to see his family â it had clawed at him until heâd caved, his resolve shattering like glass beneath the weight of his longing. He just wanted to see you. To see if you were okay. If you were happy.
But now ⊠now he wishes he hadnât come.
Because what he sees isnât just happiness. Itâs a life heâs been shut out of, a life that Charles has taken for himself, a life Arthur knows was meant for him.
You shift slightly, adjusting your hold on the baby, and Arthurâs heart gives a painful lurch as he watches you unbutton your blouse, the soft fabric parting to reveal the swell of your breast. Youâre murmuring to the baby, your voice a soothing hum that carries on the breeze, and then youâre guiding the babyâs mouth to your nipple.
Arthurâs breath catches, his throat tightening as he watches you begin to nurse. Itâs an intimate, tender moment, one he knows he shouldnât be witnessing, but he canât look away. His gaze is locked on you, on the way your face softens, the way your shoulders relax, the way your eyes flutter shut as you cradle your son against your breast.
Charlesâ son.
Arthur feels something dark and bitter twist in his gut, something that tastes like envy and regret and loss all wrapped up in a tangled knot of emotion he canât untangle. This should have been his. You should have been his. The baby â his nephew â should have been his child. He was supposed to be the one sitting beside you, watching over you, protecting you, loving you.
But instead, heâs been reduced to a spectator, watching from the shadows as his older brother lives the life that Arthur had built with you for six long years.
âDo you miss me?â Arthur whispers under his breath, his voice barely audible, swallowed up by the distance between you. âDo you ever think about me? Do you even remember?â
But you donât answer. You canât hear him. Youâre lost in your own world, your attention focused entirely on the baby at your breast, on the tiny, greedy mouth suckling at your nipple.
And then, as if sensing his presence, you glance up â your eyes drifting towards the hedges where Arthur is hiding.
He freezes, his heart slamming against his ribs, his breath catching in his throat. For a moment, your gaze seems to land on him, your brow furrowing slightly in confusion. His pulse roars in his ears, his fingers curling into fists at his sides as he wills himself to remain perfectly still, to blend into the shadows.
But then, you blink, and the moment passes. Your gaze shifts away, back down to the baby, and Arthur lets out a shaky breath, his shoulders sagging with a mixture of relief and disappointment.
You didnât see him. You didnât recognize him. You didnât even notice he was there.
Heâs invisible. Irrelevant. Forgotten.
And that knowledge cuts deeper than any knife.
âEnjoying the view, little brother?â
Arthurâs entire body jerks violently, his breath stuttering as he spins around, his eyes wide with shock. Charles stands a few feet away, his hands tucked casually into the pockets of his tailored trousers, his expression cool and composed, but thereâs a sharp edge to his gaze, a dangerous glint in his eyes.
âWhat the fuck are you doing here, Arthur?â Charlesâ voice is low and calm, but thereâs an undercurrent of menace beneath the words, a warning that sends a shiver down Arthurâs spine.
âI-â Arthur swallows, his throat dry, his mind scrambling for an excuse, an explanation, anything that might defuse the tension radiating off his brother in waves. âI just wanted to see her. To see ⊠the baby.â
Charlesâ lips curl into a mocking smile, but it doesnât reach his eyes. âYou have some nerve, you know that? After everything you tried to pull? After you went to the press, after you tried to ruin my life, our life-â
âYou ruined my life!â Arthur snaps, his voice breaking on the words, the pent-up frustration and anger and grief spilling over. âYou took everything from me, Charles! Everything! She was supposed to be mine-â
âShe was never yours,â Charles interrupts coldly, his gaze hard and unyielding. âNot really. She was mine the moment I laid eyes on her. You were just too blind to see it.â
Arthur flinches, his heart twisting painfully in his chest. âYou canât just take whatever you want, Charles. You canât just-â
âYes, I can.â The words are soft, but they land like a slap, leaving Arthur reeling. âAnd I did.â
Charles steps closer, his gaze locking onto Arthurâs, unblinking and fierce. âYouâre lucky I havenât done worse. Youâre lucky Iâm even letting you stand here and breathe the same air as her. But donât push me, Arthur. Donât test me. Because if you come near her again â if you even think about trying to take her or our baby away from me â Iâll destroy you.â
Arthurâs throat works, his hands shaking at his sides as he fights to hold back the tears threatening to spill over. âYouâre a monster,â he whispers hoarsely. âYouâre sick, Charles. Youâre-â
âHappy,â Charles cuts him off, his smile widening, his gaze gleaming with something triumphant and cruel. âIâm happy, Arthur. Weâre happy. And thereâs nothing you can do to change that.â
Arthurâs chest heaves with ragged breaths, his vision blurring as he glares at his brother, his entire body trembling with barely suppressed rage and heartbreak.
âI hate you,â he spits, the words venomous and bitter on his tongue. âI hate you so much.â
Charles doesnât even flinch. He just tilts his head slightly, his gaze flicking back to where youâre sitting on the blanket, completely oblivious to the confrontation happening just a few yards away.
âMaybe,â he murmurs thoughtfully, his voice softening as he watches you. âBut youâre not the one sheâs going home with, are you? Youâre not the one sheâs going to spend the rest of her life with. Youâre not the one sheâs given her heart to. So hate me all you want, little brother. It doesnât matter.â
He turns back to Arthur, his smile sharp and satisfied. âBecause in the end, I won.â
Arthur stares at him, his breath hitching painfully in his throat, and for the first time in his life, he feels completely powerless. Helpless. Defeated.
And as he watches Charles turn and walk away â back to you, back to your son, back to the life that should have been his â Arthur knows, with a bone-deep certainty, that heâs lost.
Lost you. Lost his family. Lost everything that ever mattered.
And thereâs no getting it back.
#f1 imagine#f1#f1 fic#f1 fanfic#f1 fanfiction#f1 x reader#f1 x you#charles leclerc#cl16#charles leclerc imagine#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc x you#charles leclerc fic#charles leclerc fluff#charles leclerc fanfic#charles leclerc blurb#f1 fluff#f1 blurb#f1 one shot#f1 x y/n#f1 drabble#f1 fandom#f1blr#f1 x female reader#charles leclerc x female reader#charles leclerc x y/n#scuderia ferrari#charles leclerc one shot#charles leclerc drabble
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WRONG NUMBER, LOSER â rafe cameron (2)




a rafe cameron mini smau series
summary Rafe gets tangled in a complex love-hate relationship when shooting his shot at a party, merely for him to end up with the wrong number instead, leading to a new beginning, or so he assumed, unaware of who really was behind the screen; his next door neighbor, whom he'd define his sworn enemy. contains neighbor!reader, enemies (?) to lovers, wrong number trope, mostly texts, sexual jokes, shameless flirting, loser!rafe, jealousy, lots of tension, attempt at humor
NAVIGATION. main masterlist; 01 ÂĄ 02 ÂĄ 03

Loser: Aye
Loser: WsgÂ
Loser: HelloÂ
Loser: Uhmmmm đ«€Â
Loser: ???
Loser: Did you delete my number alr?Â
Loser: Am I tripping? Are my messages not going throughÂ
You: broÂ
Loser: There she is
Loser: Hey sugar ;)Â
Loser: ⊠Did you disappear againÂ
Loser: It hasn't even been a min :(Â
You: shut
You: up
You: GUCK YOI LIKE ACTUAJLYÂ
Loser: Tf
Loser: What did I do?Â
Loser: Biting my fingernails why are you edging meÂ
Loser: Mommy Iâm scared
You: .Â
Loser: Oh hey
Loser: Youâre backÂ
You: snifflesÂ
You: you just got me scolded dumbass i hate you i hate you I hate You so muchÂ
Loser: Huh đ§
Loser: Who scolded you baby
Loser: Iâll kick their assesÂ
You: boiii đ€šđ€š
You: Ugh this is so annoying whyâd you text me when it was dead silentÂ
Loser: I am so confused rn
Loser: What did I do exactly?Â
You: Text meÂ
You: i forgot to turn dnd on WAHHH đđđÂ
You: i was tryna hit now that professor hates me :(
Loser: OhÂ
Loser: How old is heÂ
You: 54Â
Loser: OhÂ
Loser: And how old are you?
You: 20 đ
Loser: OhÂ
Loser: Thatâs nice sweetie
You: stop Ohing meÂ
You: it's no biggie hes only 34 yrs older
Loser: Girl he could be your dad
You: good thing he isnt
Loser: Bro...
Loser: This generation dawg
You: why are you judging me
You: god forbid a girl has hobbies
You: How old are you big fellaÂ
Loser: Why do you wanna know?Â
Loser: You interested in me or sum? ;)Â
You: Die nvmÂ
Loser: No Iâm sorry
Loser: Iâm 24
You: đŽ
Loser: BroÂ
Loser: Wym by thatÂ
You: Nothing old Man.Â
You: No wonder you Type like ThatâŠ
Loser: What the hellÂ
Loser: Whatâs wrong with the way I typeÂ
You: Nothing honey youâre Doing Great keep it up đÂ
Loser: This is humiliatingÂ
Loser: Why am I getting cyber bulliedÂ
You: nah you'll be fine
You: taking it like a champÂ
Loser: Oh⊠hehhehebeh đ
You: What.Â
You: Why are you Laughing old man
Loser: No reasonÂ
You: RightâŠÂ Â
Loser: WydÂ
You: well i technically just got kicked out so now im walking around capmus waiting for my next classÂ
Loser: Seems funÂ
You: im having soooo much fun thanks to someone đ
Loser: Iâm sorryÂ
Loser: I didn't mean to get you scolded sugar
Loser: Promise I won't disturb you during lesson hours from now onÂ
You: from now on??? YOU PLAN TO STICK ALONG???Â
Loser: I mean⊠You haven't blocked me yet
Loser: Taking it as a signÂ
You: Dawg you're hella clingyâŠÂ
You: do you not have other ppl on your phoneÂ
You: leave me ALONE đđđđÂ
Loser: Nah I like you
You: erm
Loser: Wait
Loser: Not like that
Loser: WAIT.Â
Loser: You know what I mean right?Â
Loser: I just think you're funny and cool hahahahÂ
You: mhmâŠÂ
Loser: Not that thereâs anything wrong with liking you of courseÂ
Loser: I mean you must be gorgeousÂ
You: How do you know Iâm not an ugly discord kitten catfishing you for money
Loser: ⊠Are you?Â
You: wow okay đ
Loser: Just messing I know youâre pretty sugarÂ
You: Quit calling me thatÂ
Loser: Why I think itâs cute
Loser: It suits youÂ
You: shut upÂ
Loser: Did that get you?Â
You: get me as inâŠÂ
Loser: IdkÂ
Loser: You seem p flusteredÂ
You: WHATÂ
You: i literally just said shut up Â
Loser: Yeah yeah they all say thatÂ
You: âtheyâ referring to the two poor ladies you probably forced into a conversation?Â
Loser: HeyÂ
Loser: A lot of women find me attractiveÂ
You: never said you weren't
Loser: Woah
Loser: Are you flirting with me :DÂ
You: what No
You: Weâre talking about conversations youâre the one who brought up being attractiveÂ
Loser: That somehow hurt my feelings
Loser: Do you not think Iâm attractive?Â
Loser: Should I just die?Â
You: k i never said thatâŠÂ
You: i don't know what you look like its as simple as thatÂ
Loser: OhÂ
Loser: Should I doll myself up and send you a selfieÂ
You: NoÂ
Loser: What why :(Â
You: what if youâre uglyÂ
Loser: I am not ugly.Â
You: everyone is a beautiful tootsie in their mother's eyes
Loser: My momâs deadÂ
You: OhâŠÂ
You: sorryÂ
Loser: Itâs fineÂ
Loser: Wyd?Â
You: walking
Loser: Still? Are you not tired?
You: im exhausted. ive been pacing around capmus for like fifteen minutes ughÂ
Loser: When does your next class start?Â
You: 3:20Â
Loser: What the hell
Loser: Thatâs an hour from now
Loser: Go home and rest in the meantimeÂ
You: that would be even more exhaustingÂ
Loser: Is it a long ride?Â
You: noÂ
You: i have a bitchy neighbor im not risking it đ
Loser: Again with your fussy neighborâŠ
Loser: What is that son of a bitch doing to annoy you that much
You: existÂ
Loser: OhÂ
Loser: Sue him for existing?? đ
You: i wish
You: he actually gets on my nervesÂ
You: always so cocky and for what this is why you don't get no bitches cunt
Loser: Hell yeah fuck that hoe whyâs he being a bitch đÂ
Author â laughing like theyâre not talking ab himâŠÂ
You: IM SAYINGGGÂ
You: You get me thank youÂ
Loser: I actually do đ«€
Loser: I too have a lousy neighbor itâs so difficult dealing with her
You: see now this is something we can bond overÂ
You: you found your purpose loserÂ
Loser: Loser? Hey >:(Â
You: im starvingÂ
You: my stomach just grumbled in front of fine shyt bury me aliveÂ
Loser: Itâs fate. Youâre not meant to be.Â
You: die are you praying on my downfallÂ
Loser: đ€·đŒââïžÂ
Loser: Seriously though do grab a biteÂ
You: ugh i mightÂ
Loser: Iâll leave you to it then ;)Â
Loser: Eat and have fun in class sugar
You: dont call me that
Loser: Sorry baby
You: that too
Loser: Mb sweetheartÂ
You: bye.Â
Loser: Js accept it next timeÂ
You: I am Too hungry to be arguing with you right now. Bye.Â
Loser: Okay. Bye.Â
You hearted loserâs message!Â

a/n hi :p this was fun def took a different approach but i went w the flow so yayyyy!! hope you enjoyed let me know what you think hehe!! ill try working on ch 3 faster these are acc super fun || also sorry for how much of a loser rafe is... i dont talk to men inhate them so im just making him sound like a facebook mom hope you guys dont mind hes just a cute tootsie...
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Do you think ethics are just an attempt at being a healthier form of selfish?
In one of your Detail Diatribes where Batman confronts Catwoman and tries to stop her from killing Falcone, you highlighted the fact that his reasoning was not to protect her father, but to try and save her. Ever since, some very strange ideas about the nature of selfishness and selflessness have been rattling around my head.
It only started coming into focus when I tried to put into words why it was a bad thing that D-16 killed Sentinel Prime. My best answer right now is because it made D-16 into Megatron. Orion wasn't trying to save Sentinel, he was trying to protect the cybertronian people. Maybe if Orion focused more on saving D-16, they wouldn't have lost their friendship and all of Cybertron would be better for it. Of course, in the end, Megatron was the deciding factor in making himself, caring more about his pride than his current identity, but this highlights a strange selfish quirk in sustainable selfless behavior.
If you are purely selfless you suffer from spending more of yourself than you have to give. If you're too selfish you can't maintain the human connections that are a requirement for being a complete and healthy person. It leaves the best options as being selfless to make your environment an easier one for you to live in. Where your actions for others are repaid by the selflessness from your community. Or, being selfish with your charity. Taking care of what you care about because their well being positively contributes to your own.
To be fair, the opening sentence now looks like an incomplete thought. It probably should be asking if you think ethics is just an attempt at being a more healthy form of selfish and selfless. Really, just asking if ethics is meant to make you better at being a person, which seems like a question that can answer itself. Still, it feels like an important insight to highlight that to be ethical isnât about how much of your own life you're willing to sacrifice. It's hard to be a good person when you're not a person anymore.
This is a fascinatingly deep question, and I'm very tickled that our two touchpoints in it are a transforming robot tank and Batman.
My personal opinion is that ethics and morals are not reflections of some universal truth of Justice and Goodness, as they are often framed, but are instead best-practice guidelines on how to function in the big, messy world without causing undue suffering to yourself and others. A facet of this is determining, case by case, how much you need to prioritize yourself vs how much you can afford to help others - in the framing you've proposed, selfishness vs selflessness.
Taking the specific examples we're focusing on - two cases where someone attempts to prevent a revenge killing for the benefit, not of the victim, but of the avenger - I think they reflect this worldview, that the killing is not seen as some innately universally-judged evil act that must be prevented for its own sake, but that the act of killing will harm the killer in a way the person trying to stop them doesn't want to see.
For Catwoman, committing premeditated murder wouldn't solve any of her problems in any way that arresting Falcone and having him legally unraveled would. It'd just park a first degree murder charge on someone who'd up til this point only dealt with petty larceny, and it would potentially weigh her down with misery and regret as she grappled with the trauma of taking a life.
For Megatron, killing Sentinel Prime wasn't a bad action because he deserved to live. They just spent that whole fight scene tearing through enemies. They're warriors on track to spend the next four million years killing each other; the whole "taking a life" ship has already sailed. The problem is that Sentinel is a symbol and a structural part of the political narrative in the founding of the next stage of Cybertron's society. If the first thing the new regime does is bloodily avenge itself on the face of the old regime for the personal wrongs it did them, that proves that the only thing they care about is personal satisfaction of their individual desires - just like Sentinel. Meet the new boss, same as the old boss. If they can instead take a step back, think of the good of Cybertron as a whole, enforce a rule of law and a fair system of justice that applies equally to everyone, even on someone they personally loathe, that would signify integrity and credibility and the hallmark of wise, just and fair leadership capable of setting aside personal feelings for the greater good. It's not about Sentinel; it's about whether the satisfaction of killing him is worth the price of enforcing forever that personal vendettas are more important than the well-being of the people of Cybertron. Which makes it really obvious which one Megatron is going to pick.
My hottest take, and I mean this very genuinely, is that most of the human perception of what constitutes goodness and justice is one thousand percent based on vibes, and is extremely susceptible to narrative reframing. We see an unsympathetic victim (Sentinel Prime, Falcone) who has gleefully caused suffering to innocent people (so judged because they are framed sympathetically, not because we've actually enumerated their lifelong actions to determine they've never done anything wrong) and we feel (feel) that it would be right and just for them to suffer consequences (emphasis on suffer) because that would balance the scales on this vibes equation and that would make us feel like justice had been served. Would this suffering lead to any material good? Not inherently. Would it heal the victims? Not usually. Would it remove the source of the problem? Categorically not, what with how negative reinforcement works (or rather does not work.) It also wouldn't do anything about the other people empowered by the same system to be just as shitty in just as many ways that just happen to be offscreen from our POV. But it feels fair. So what is justice, if it reduces down to "I want them to hurt for the hurt they've caused me"? If it can be sated with a spectacle or distracted by a long nap and a good joke to let the feeling fade? What purpose does this justice serve if it is devoted wholly to the satiation of a bone-deep chordate-brain hunger for Retributive Violence rather than towards actually ensuring that the lives of those harmed are healed and supported and built up again after being broken down? (This is the entire core character arc in The Batman, btw, I'm not just monologuing for no reason here. He calls himself Vengeance for a reason, and the reason is he's doing Batman wrong)
That feeling - that white-hot burning core of Righteous Fury - is the unexamined heart of many systems of morality that focus, not on doing good, but on exacting satisfying retribution on Bad People Who Deserve It, categorized as People Who I Can Hurt Without Feeling Bad Myself. It's a very tempting concept for people who have suffered at others' hands. That feeling, that powerful instinctual understanding of "that's unfair," is incredibly strong. In my opinion, most systems of ethics are built, not around relitigating what is Good and what is Bad per se, but in trying to shape and curb that bone-deep, unbelievably powerful desire to rend the flesh from the bones of your tormenters.
But I mentioned that feeling is susceptible to narrative reframing. This is, as I understand it, a huge part of lawyering. Tell the story of what happened using true events and adding no falsehoods, but highlight the parts that make it feel like your client is the one who is being treated unfairly. They're not an unsympathetic wrongdoer who you can punish without personal moral stain - they're a loving spouse, a parent of three adorable children, they have a really cute puppy, they donate to charity, they're a wonderful conversationalist, a kind friend, etc etc. All those things can also be true of people who do terrible things, but thinking about them defuses that White Hot Core by making us sympathize with the sympathetic parts of them.
This is incredibly well-understood in fiction. It's the whole reason the tropes Kick The Dog and Pet The Dog exist. When you want the audience to root for a character's destruction, leave aside any of their potential quiet moments of sympathy - their tragic backstory, their cute pet, their adorable relationship with their mom - and instead show them going out of their way to commit some minor act of petty cruelty, say Kicking The Dog. The audience will infer that this badness is 24/7 and they have no reason to curb their enthusiasm for Righteous Vengeance. But if the writer wants the audience to see a spark of good in them, to sympathize, to believe they can be redeemed, they'll highlight one of those small moments of charming kindness, and allow them to Pet The Dog instead.
Neither of these acts, in the grand scale, have any bearing on the morality of this person's actions. A pet dog doesn't counterbalance a razed village; a kicked dog doesn't negate a generous contribution to the local soup kitchen. Goodness and badness is not a linear scale added or subtracted to by opposing deeds. BUT showing them to an audience reframes them narratively, and THAT is what shapes the judgment of the White Hot Burning Core. In the space of fiction, this form of bottom-shelf emotional manipulation is one of the cleanest ways to get the audience to root for the messy destruction of what is ostensibly, in the universe of the fiction, a wholly complex and living person who definitely has reasons for everything they've done, even ones that could be framed sympathetically when shown.
Meanwhile, in the real world, ethics are an attempt to judge what is best in a given situation without trusting the White Hot Burning Core to make the call, no matter how compelling "but it would feel really good though" might seem. They try to give someone perspective, context, other priorities to consider. The White Hot Burning Core might want you to rip someone's arms off for driving slow when you've got important places to be, but Ethics can present a number of compelling reasons not to do that - even if it's just "ripping their arms off will definitely make me even more late." And yes, this can be a balance of Selfishness Vs Selflessness. You are one of the people whose wellbeing ethics is designed to make you prioritize improving even if it feels weird, and when all other things are equal, your own health and happiness can be the deciding factor. In a world with an overarching Moral Force that weighs the goodness of your soul by sifting through every grain of action and intent seeking negativity to punish you for, absolute selflessness to the point of self destruction would still probably be seen as Morally Wrong, simply because the universe is a better place with you in it trying your best.
Anyway, if doing the right thing was simple, easy and painless, we probably wouldn't have so many thousands of years of arguing about what it looks like. Good luck out there everybody đ
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hi angel!!!! absolutely adore your blog and especially the way you write for regulus đ„čđ„č makes my heart so happy, like thatâs baby boy!!!! thank you so much for sharing with us!!! i have a prompt request but only if you feel so inclined!!! number d8 âwhere is she?" with regulus, pretty please, like maybe something happens to reader and he is the last to find out (busy w quidditch or prefer things) so when someone finally tracks him down being like your girl needs you, his composure is for once non existent and he is panicking!!!! ughhh hurt/comfort with reg is everything!!! anyway only if you feel my up to my love no pressure ever - love your blog regardless đđđ
hi my love<33 this is hands down the sweetest request i have received, thank you so much for being so kind đ€đ€ i genuinely appreciate your words so much! as for the request, i adore some hurt/comfort with reg, and this is an idea i've had for a while, so it was so fun to write
Prompt: D.8 "Where is she?"
Words: 6k
Warnings: not proofread, fem!reader, severe injury (happens off screen, explained and treated on screen), lacerations, typical regulus anxiety (overworked), best friends to lovers, pomfrey being a badass, snape is a villain, animal abuse (technically), background marlene, rosekiller, etc.


It was common knowledge that Slytherin quidditch practice was never to be disturbed, especially this close to the final match of the season against Gryffindor.
This was Regulusâ first year as captain and he was determined for it to be written in the history books as a victorious one, to make himself deserving of the title. Playing opposite his brother and his best friends didnât lessen the pressure much, either.Â
He knew he had been pushing the team quite hard, but he also knew that if anyone could handle it, it was them. Evan and Barty funnelled all their chaotic energy into quidditch once they realised just how much it mattered for their mate, and Dorcas had just as much to gain from winning against Marlene as Regulus had against Sirius. Fenwick had had his skull bashed in by enough bludgers in his career to not be able to formulate any complaints, even if he had them. The rest of the team were relatively young players, a risk most others had chastised Regulus for taking, but one that was playing off beautifully â and with those rumours, they wanted to prove themselves, too.Â
There really was little problem with this arrangement, he told himself, other than the fact that he was perhaps wearing himself a bit thin when balancing it all with his prefect duties and exams.
And, more importantly, missing you.
You had been the best friend he could have asked for during this hectic year of his, always standing by his side, just as much of a loyal team-player as those on his actual sports team. That unwavering dedication you had shown him over the years that taught him that maybe, just maybe, he was capable of being loved â and most definitely of loving, because Regulus would be damned if he didnât admit that that was the only appropriate word for how he felt about you.
Not that he had told you that yet, though, and neither had you. It was never the right time, and you both knew, at least to some degree. For now, it was enough. You had each other, always, and it was enough. He told himself as much, at least.
Regulus was trying to zero his thoughts back on his team running through their plays off-broom on the ground, looking for any weakness in their formation, when the cardinal rule of not disturbing practice was broken.
âBlack!â A voice shouted as it ran across the pitch from the school.Â
Regulus squeezed his eyes shut, trying to will the pestering fourth year away, one of those who just seemed to always be there, nameless and bothersome. It was to little avail, though, judging by the sounds of his heavy steps hitting the still somewhat moist dirt on the field.
âBlack, I have toââ
âWe are in the middle of a practice!â Regulus cut the kid off, letting his nerves get the better of him as he saw most of his players stop in the midst of what had been their best run-through so far. âUnless someone has died, it can wait.â
âButââ
âHas someone died?â Regulus had his hands on his hips, half aware that he looked way too much like his older brother as he regarded the student-shaped owl in front of him with derision.Â
âNo, butââ
âAre someone in the midst of dying? Like within the hour?â
âNâ no.â
âThen you may leave.â The student looked thoroughly confused, clearly not having been properly warned by whoever sent him as a make-shift owl that this was the only response he would be getting from Regulus. He could vaguely hear you whispering poor boy in his mind, always advocating for Regulusâ softer side, but right now he pushed it away as he turned back to his teammates. âWhatever it is will still be there when we are finished up here.â
Regulus didnât wait for him to go before he began to pretend he was air, attention fully on his team once more.
Barty snickered as he tried to lean his chin on Evanâs shoulder, only to have the taller boy fully shove him off. Regulus shook his head, ignoring the crestfallen student beside him as he tried to increase his energy levels back to where they needed to be.
âOkay, that last round was getting closer to where we want to be. Ready to take to the sky for the last few minutes?â
When he finally stepped foot inside the quidditch locker rooms, Regulus sped through his shower routine. He was eager to get out of there and back to the dorms quick enough to have sufficient time to spend with you before going to sleep. He had half a mind to ask you to sleep in his bed tonight, but he wondered if that might be pushing it since you just did that a few nights ago. Nothing ever happened, of course, you were just the best of friends â and even if you had been something more, it was hard for anything to happen with Evan and Barty in the same room.
You just brought him a sense of peace he found himself craving more day by day. He wished to squeeze out every ounce of it he possibly could.
His hair was still wet, bag thrown about as haphazardly over his shoulder as he could allow himself to without spiralling â which is to say, he still looked perfectly polished to anyone but him. He turned to give the team lingering behind an attempt at an emphatic great work today that ended up falling a bit short from his hoarse voice. Thankfully, everyone else seemed tired enough to accept it without reservation, and Regulus could exit the changing room before all but running towards the Slytherin dorms.Â
On his way there, he passed through the Great Hall, attempting to slow his stride to look a bit more composed, but quite ready to throw all of it away for the night just to curl up with you.
âRe- Regulus?!â
Siriusâ incredulous voice sounded behind him, and though Regulus loved his brother dearly, he took a deep sigh at the disturbance, knowing that, with him, it would likely not be a short one.
âThat would be me.â Regulus turned around with a sarcastic half-smile, only for it to waver when he saw the expression on Siriusâ face.Â
There was an evident tension in his face when he looked Regulus up and down, as if trying to figure him out while a thousand thoughts ran through his mind. Siriusâ lips were pressed tight, as if holding back a severe frown and his eyes were decidedly clouded with worry.
âReg, what are you doing here?â His voice conveyed more confusion than upset, but both were woven into his tone.
âIâm⊠on my way to Slytherin? We just finished practice.âÂ
It was as if Sirius found an answer to his confusion as his face settled into a form of defeat. âYou donât know.â
âDonât know what?â Regulus stared his brother down, heart speeding up in his chest, but he could feel it in his whole body. âWhat is it, Siri?â
âJames sent someone to tell you,â Sirius says, speaking more to himself.
âTell me what?â Regulusâ patience was worn thin by his pulse straining his skin.
âUh, itâs Y/N.â Pangs shot through his body, pulling every vein taut. âSheâ she will be fine, donât worry, butââ
âWhere is she?â
Regulus struggled to make out where Sirius stood in front of him as the world seemed to tunnel around him and his mind was immediately elsewhere, immediately with his best girl, imagining any possible horror that might have overcome you. Had it not been for Siriusâ delivery of the news and the way he looked at Regulus, he might have felt more calm. But he had always known his big brother to be more composed than this.
âThe infirmaryââ
He didnât need to hear more before he was running at full speed down the hallway.
Little to nothing registered with Regulus on the way to the infirmary, that he for the first time in his life realised was located painfully far away from the Great Hall. Illogical, given how many students go through there throughout their days.Â
He felt lighter than ever as he was entirely certain he had never run this quickly in his life, simultaneously as every limb felt heavy with worry.Â
She will be fine is only reassuring if he was concerned you had died â in every other scenario it is the worst thing to hear, because it confidently means you are not fine right now.
Regulus is half aware that he has run through two ghosts, into one student and past a professor â he thinks maybe Flitwick? â but he paid none of them any mind, willing to take the point deductions or even detentions, if only they donât slow him down. He can deal with everything and anything else later.Â
When he finally reached the door to the infirmary, it took everything in him to come to a halt.Â
He all but crashed into the door, catching himself with one hand on the doorframe as he breathed heavy, giving himself but two seconds to collect himself, lest he be banned from the infirmary by life by Madam Pomfrey. That was not something he could afford right now.
Still heaving, he opened the door and took two steps inside â before his vision became entirely swamped by that very same woman, standing with her hands on her hips.
âIs she here?â He tried to get out before she could say anything.
âNo visitors at the moment,â Madam Pomfrey said sternly.
âPlease, is she here?â Regulus couldnât even think to say your name, but the look on the matronâs face told him she knew.
âShe is, and she is alright, but there will be no visitors at the moment.â Her voice was a bit softer now, but she was not relenting and she was not moving.
Regulusâ breath picked back up, and he didnât register the tears that were forming in his eyes. A choked please was forming on his tongue whenâ
âPlease.â
You beat him to it. Your meek voice sounded from a few curtains down behind Madam Pomfrey. Regulus didnât hear the noise that escaped him when he heard the soft pain in your usually chipper voice, but the matron did. Still, it seemed to be on your account and not the lovestruck, fear-sickened boy in front of her, that she took a step to the side.
âOnly you, and it must be brief.â
Her words were mostly caught by the air that Regulus left in his wake the moment she moved to the side, because as soon as he could he was by the curtain he had heard you speak from behind, ever so gently pulling it to the side.
âOh, mon amour.â
The sight he was faced with both mended and broke his heart â because you were there, awake and already looking at him, but your forehead and right arms were bandaged and your face bore telltale signs of pain. He could see tear tracks down your delicate cheeks, mascara smudging just barely beneath your eyes. You looked happy to see him, he could see your chest heave a breath of relief, but that was about the only positive thing he could decipher in you at the moment.
At last, his movements were measured and careful again, but for once not for the sake of how he was perceived, but rather to not disturb the space around you, as if that could lessen your pain. He barely managed to close the curtain behind him with trembling hands, giving you a semblance of privacy, even in this infirmary that he had no idea hosted how many others.
There was enough space on the left side of the bed beside you for Regulus to take his rightful place by your side, as close as he dared. His eyes kept jumping all over your body and face, breath hitched.
Your name escaped his lips in a small breath as his eyes widely roamed your form.
He didnât realise his hand was hovering between you before you reached up to him with your left hand and took it in yours. Your grip was weak and the tips of your fingers cold, but it was still the smooth skin he was used to feeling on his.
Upon your touch, he seemed to be brought back down to earth and the welling tears spilled down his cheeks.
âOh, Reggie,â you whispered, squeezing his hand. âItâs okay, Iâm alright.â
âMy poor love,â he whispered back, letting his free hand move up to lightly caress your cheek, brushing some damp hair away. It must have gotten wet when Pomfrey tended to whatever wound was bandaged on your upper forehead. âWhat happened to you, amour?â
Regulus often referred to you with terms of endearment, you knew you were each otherâs person, but the absolute softness of them now broke your heart a little.
âIt wasâŠâ you trailed off, wincing as you scrunched your brows in confusion and consequently pulled on your bandage. âIt was an accident.â The sound that escaped you was almost a laugh, but it was too wet and strangled to truly be classified as such.
âWhat happened?â Regulusâ voice urged, more desperate than before. He held your hand tighter, bringing it closer to his chest, as if to protect it.
âWe were helping Kettleburn â unwillingly mind you ââ
âWho are we?â Regulus cuts you off, still seeming rather feverish in his desperation to know what was wrong. You squeezed his hand and smiled at him to calm him down.Â
âAn unfortunate bunch of us who happened to be enjoying the fresh air by the benches. Me, Lily, Marlene, Snape, Avery and some others we donât really know too well, mostly fourth years.â
Regulus scowled at the mention of Snape and Avery, but nodded, as if encouraging you to continue.
âKettleburn needed some help preparing bait. He believed there was a hippogriff in the Forbidden Forest that he wanted to draw out. It worked a bit too well, a bit too well.â
His brows scrunched at that. âBut hippogriffs are mainly peaceful unless you disturb them?â Unease was growing in his stomach.
âYes, thatâs what I said as well,â you feel a bout of dizziness come over you, but try and speak through it. âWe were down, probably a bit too close to the forest when it came out. I tried to push the bait towards it carefully, keeping my distance. It just wanted food, you know.â
âBut?â
âBut Snape and Avery freaked. When it took a step closer, just to eat â they let curses fly, kneejerk self defence reaction they said.â
Regulus had to be mindful to not hurt your hand as his fists clenched on reflex. He settled for holding the sheets beside him disturbingly hard instead â he had already pieced together what happened. âYou were still in the line of fire,â he concluded, eyes darkening.
âYes,â you whispered weakly. âIt would have been fine, if it had only been a stupefy or something, but Snape shouted something else, some freak hex. It was like being slashed with a knife all over.â
Regulusâ breath hitched as he let his eyes travel from gauze to gauze. His fingers came up to linger near a particularly large bandage that travelled from your shoulder in under your hospital gown. âAll over?â His voice was a mere whisper before he finally looked in your eyes again. He found them teary, and his heart clenched painfully.
âYeah, Iâ The biggest one is across my stomach. Pomfrey has patched me up nicely, but it was, uh, it wasnât good.â
He canât fight the new tears that spill as he whispers my girl before carefully shuffling closer to you to give you a hug, or at least as close to one you could get right now. His cheek is pressed into yours, his hand on the back of your head, and you can hear him cry directly into your ear, drawing tears from you as well. âIâm so sorry,â he whispered into you. âSo sorry, amour.â
âReggie, there was nothing you could do,â you try to look at him, but his grip on your head remains steadfast.
âNo, I should have been there. Iâm so sorry.â He presses a kiss to your upper cheek, and his lips are wet. âI shouldâve been there.â
âReg, there was no way anyone could have known.â
He pulls back slightly, looking you over to see if he was hurting you before settling in with his forehead against yours â making sure to avoid the wound in the top left. When his eyes look into yours, you feel a sense of calm finally wash over your body that had been riddled by the shock of being torn open. A grey safe haven.
âIâm sorry, amour.â He keeps saying it like a prayer.
You try to shake your head, but wince at the action. His hand immediately shoots up to your jaw, to still your head. Protecting you, even from yourself. âYouâre not allowed to be sorry, Reg, you didnât do anything. You can only feel sorry for me, which isnât quite that hard. I look pathetic right now.â
Your half-hearted attempt at humour doesnât seem to drag him from his despair as his eyes keep searching your face, flitting from the tears to the deviating makeup. His thumb, ever so carefully, drags under your eye to wipe away some of the mascara there. You lean into his touch.
âThey tried to tell me, but Iâ I didnât know, so I didnât listen andââ
âYou were at quidditch practice,â you cut him off. âEveryone knows you canât be disturbed then.â
Regulus looked at you incredulously. âThis is disturb-worthy, you â anything with you is always the biggest priority. Iâm sorry.â
âOne girl versus preparing for the match of your life? Hm, I think itâs good you werenât distracted.â You are determined to lighten his mood, the sinch of his eyebrows and worry in his eyes were beginning to make you feel sick for him.
âBut youâre my girl,â he says in a low voice, stressing the words as if to pour additional meaning. âYouâre my best friend, my everything. Y/N, you are everything.â
You struggle to come up with a response to that. Any mask Regulus switches between is completely discarded in this small infirmary section with you. When he holds your face and looks at you, you know what it is.
Unable to speak over the lump in your throat, you just drag his face closer to press a sweet kiss to his cheek, as always.
Except this time, while your lips linger on his cheek, Regulus uses his hand still on your jaw to angle your face towards his. With your lips millimetres apart, he looks from them to your eyes, searching for something, and then back down. He whispers another soft everything before pressing his lips to yours.
For all the times you had thought of kissing Regulus, nothing compared. You never expected there to be salty from tears, you never imagined his scent in your nose to be swirled with the disinfectant covering everything around you â but he was right, it was everything. His lips were unbelievably soft against yours, even as he pushed himself even closer to you, as if he needed you underneath his skin, not just on top of it. The pinky underneath your jaw digs into your skin, and you can feel your pulse beat against his finger.
When Regulus pulls away, your mouths are still essentially connected, slightly parted, just breathing into each other. You open your eyes and find him looking at you with nothing short of love.
âIââ
âI love you.â You cut him off, smiling a bit as he half feigns indignance before it turns soft once more.
âI love you, belle fille.â
âI know.â
Finally, finally he gives you a genuine smile. It eases your nerves more than even his eyes could, and you feel yourself melting back into your pillow. Unfortunately, comfort makes you even more aware of the pain and soreness in your body, but he doesnât need to know that.
âIâm sorry,â he whispers again, mostly to himself it seems.
âI wonât allow that.â You tug your intertwined hands closer to you, wanting to share the comfort with him. âIâm alright, Reggie.â
âYouâre wounded and bandaged.â
âAnd Iâm perfectly okay.â
He gives you an as if look, but itâs good enough for you, for now. Then his face twisted into something darker and you saw the same desperation from earlier bubbling to the surface.
âWhat happened to Snape? And Avery?â His hold on you is still soft and caring, but the rest of his body has grown stiff, mind racing with imagined visions of what went down and of what he would do with them in return.
âNothing yet,â you said with a careful, measured voice. âKettleburn wanted to ease the situation first, but since it was technically his fault for bringing us along unprompted, Iâm not sure what would be done. Detention maybe?â
âYeah, Kettleburnâs an idiot for that, but Snape was the one who used an unorthodox and probably dark hex. He has to be dealt with.â
Though you donât condone how fast some of your friends resorted to revenge and violence, even you had to admit that the idea of Snape knowing magic like that didnât sit right with you either. There was no situation you could imagine where a slasher spell like that would be moral in combat.Â
âIâm sure they will deal with him tomorrow,â you settle on. âTonight the main priority seemed to be making sure I donât bleed out on the grounds.â
Regulusâ look was pained as he pressed his lips together. âHow did you get in after that anyway?â
âI donât remember too well.â You truly didnât, and the flashes that went through your mind were not ones Regulus would be better off knowing about. âKettleburn shushed the Hippogriff back into the forest â it thankfully didnât get severely injured it seemed â while everyone else panicked. Lily and Marlene were the first ones by my side.â
You both smile absentmindedly at that. When you first befriended Lily through your study sessions at the library, Regulus had been unsure of how to approach your joint integration into his brotherâs friend group, but the girls had turned out to be some of the best friends you could have asked for.Â
âOh!â you exclaim, almost straddling Regulus. âAlmost forgot, but youâll be happy to know that Marlene suckerpunched Snape before they brought me inside with a levitation spell. Pretty gnarly punch, too.â
Regulusâ smiled seemed to be less from gratification and more from endearment from you. âI think Iâd like to see Snape get a little more than a punch for what he did to you. But thatâs a great start, darling.â
You rolled your eyes playfully at him. âItâs a start. And again, we can deal with all of that tomorrow. I donât have the energy today.â
âNo, no, you are the only priority right now, amour.â Any mirth slipped from his face as he studied you concernedly once more.
âI know youâre âalrightâ, but youâre not alrightâ he started. âCould you tell me where it hurt the most?â He looks over you again, as if he can map you out and fight your pain off, spot by spot.
âMy stomach and chest got it worst,â you admit. âItâs growing more sore, but Madam said I could get more pain relief in just a little while.â
âWell, she also said I could only stay here for a short while,â he whispers conspiratorially, looking towards the curtain as if he expected it to be ripped back any minute. âPretty sure weâre way past that.â
âMaybe she heard us crying like babies over a non-fatal injury and figured it was less of a hassle to leave us to it.â You squeeze Regulusâ thigh with a grin and he bites back a yelp.
âShe would be wise to do so. Especially because thereâs no bloody way Iâm leaving.â
You donât say much to that because you really, really donât want him to either. You know you are fine, and for his sake you try and seem even more assured of it, but the white panic that soared through your veins those first few minutes is hard to shake. Even though you donât want him to hold his absence against himself, you donât like the thought of him leaving now that he was there.
âHas she said anything about a treatment plan? How long youâll be here? She said youâre fine, so it shouldnât be too long right?â Though Regulus looks at you as he asks his questions, you know he is already trying to piece together probable answers in his head.
âMost of our first conversation was her narrating what she was doing while I was moaning and not listening.â Your comment was off-handed, but Regulus seemed to wince at the image it painted in his head. âSorry,â you mumbled bashfully, but he just gave you a smile.â
âGood thing I have the memory of an elephant, then.â Madam Pomfreyâs voice sounded just seconds before she ripped the curtain back and stepped into your little bubble.Â
Regulus went straight into autopilot, rightening his posture and schooling his expression. You squeezed his hand tighter, so that he couldnât pull away, but that had not even been any option in his mind. Pomfrey went through the station beside you at the speed of light, way too familiar and comfortable with these procedures.
âMiss L/N had 5 deep lacerations and several shallow ones,â she begins to recite and Regulus hangs onto every word. âThe shallow wounds are almost entirely gone from the treatment already, but the more severe ones will need time to recover. She will have to stay in the infirmary overnight today and tomorrow for observation and continue to receive some medication. Among those are pain potions and salves for the wounds. Rebandage every 10 hours and apply new salves.â
âHow will that affect her?â Regulus asked, probably pushing his luck with the matron.
âThe pain potions will make her a bit slow and groggy, but she will still be awake. Though she should sleep.â At that she gives you a curt look over her shoulder. âThe healing process for the wounds will likely be itchy and uncomfortable and she may develop a fever. We will pay particularly close attention to the stomach wounds in case she develops any infections there.â
âWhat are the symptoms of infections like that?â
You try and pat Regulusâ leg to say down, boy, but he doesnât give you the time of day, instead focusing fully on any and all information the matron is willing to share with him. You had half a mind to joke that this was private medical information, but let it be.
Madam Pomfrey turns to Regulus at his fourth question, putting her hands on her hips as she measured him closely. It seemed like she decided on something and the next second she exited through the curtains again. You and Regulus barely had time to exchange a glance before she came back and threw a white coat at Regulus who catched it bewilderedly.
âSeems like Iâve got myself an assistant for the remainder of her stay, havenât I, Mr. Black?â
A slow smile spreads across Regulusâ face before he hurries on the coat. âYes, Madam.â
Pomfrey talks you â and now, Regulus â through the new pain potion she is about to give you, giving brief background on the ingredients, application and effect when the door to the infirmary slams open, decidedly louder than when Regulus entered earlier. Her eyes squeeze shut, as if pained by the disrespect and incredulity of students, but finished giving you the potion.
âThat is no way to enter an infirmary, Mr. Crouch,â she says through half-gritted teeth as she works. She waves at Regulus to open the curtain to your bed, revealing Barty, Evan and Dorcas, all heaving as if they have been running too. âYou seem to be particularly loved, Miss L/N. Please never get injured again, it disturbs my workspace.â
Your friendsâ eyes are wide as they take in your form where you lay, still rather pathetically, in your bed.Â
âMerlinâs tits, what happened?â Dorcas asks.
At the same time Bartyâs gaze flits between you and Regulus. âWho?â he asks, while looking at you.
âIââ you start, but that was clearly the wrong answer because he then immediately turns to Regulus instead.
âWho?â
There is no hesitation in Regulusâ voice. âSnape.â
Bartyâs face morphs from shock and concern into pure determination. He stalks over to you in three wide steps, pressing a quick kiss to the safe side of your forehead, whispering a quiet take care, Treasure, before turning around and dragging Evan out of the infirmary. The other boyâs jaw was ticked shut and went more than willingly.
Even you felt a bit bad for Snape in that moment.
Madam Pomfrey, however, only breathed a sigh of relief that they left so quickly.
Dorcas comes up between you and Regulus, sitting on the very edge of your bed. Pomfrey, with Regulusâ assistance return to the work on your bedside station, though his eyes are on you almost the whole time. He has that furrow between his brows that shows up whenever he focuses intently, and you are torn between wanting to kiss it and draw it.
âWe met Marls and Lily in the hallway,â Dorcas explains. âThey got halfway through their story before Junior took off with us on leash behind us.â
âSounds like him,â you laugh, trying to hide how the rumble hurts you. âBut really, Iâm totally fine. Or, Iâm relatively good, and will soon be alright.â
âYeah, especially when youâve got two nurses to tend to you,â Dorcas teases, casting Regulus a knowing sideways glance.
âPardon you, Miss Meadows; I am a Healer.âÂ
You canât help the snort that escapes you. Despite never wanting to return to this infirmary, you had grown quite fond of the Madam.
âMy deepest apologies, Madam,â Dorcas offered with a gleam in her eyes. You could have sworn you saw Pomfrey smile ever so slightly.
âBut yeah, Dorc, Iâm well taken care of. Iâll be fine.â
âFirstly, just because youâre wounded does not mean you can get away with calling me that.â You laugh once more, happy to not be treated like a dying animal even in such a grave hour. âSecondly, Iâm glad. You deserve it, and it was about damn time.â
You pretend to not understand what the last part referred to, but you knew she got you all figured out. You squeeze her leg in a sign of admiration and, perhaps, defeat.
âThirdly,â Regulus interjects. âYou need to either not make her laugh or leave.â
Pomfrey nodded emphatically.Â
âNot my fault your girl just finds me absolutely hilarious, Black.â Dorcas winks at you.
âSpeaking of someoneâs girl,â you drawl, trying to even the playing field, which worked, if Dorcasâ light blush was anything to go off of. âPlease tell Marlene I say thank you. I donât think I got to in the whirl of everything and then everyone was thrown out.â
Dorcasâ smile softens. âI will, babe, but you donât have to thank her. Sheâs still a bit worried though, so Iâll tell everyone youâre doing fine.â
âThanks,â you whisper through a smile, accepting Dorcasâ half-hug before she slips out of the infirmary, which finally returns to its prior quietude.
âThatâs enough visitors for today!â Pomfrey explains, clapping her hands together as she is done. âOnly staff and patients for the rest of the night.â She shoots Regulus and his white coat a knowing glance.
âDoes that mean I can sleep?â You donât mean for your voice to sound so meek, but the pain potion is starting to work, and the more your body relaxes, the more exhausted you realise you are.
Regulus makes a soft cooing sign, coming back to sit on the side of your bed, taking your hand in his and drawing comforting circles on its back. âYes, amour. We have prepared the station for when we have to wake you in a few hours for reapplication.â
You groan a bit at the thought of being woken, and both your matron and her assistant laugh a bit at you.Â
âBetter that than affection, Miss L/N.â
âYes, of course,â you relent, letting out a heavy sigh. âThank you. For all of it.â
Pomfrey merely nods before gathering her things and exiting into the rest of the infirmary, pulling your curtain shut behind you. You expect that is the closest she usually gets to a youâre welcome and you accept it heartily.
Regulus shifts into a more comfortable position beside you, back against your headboard, ensuring you are as comfortable and pain-free as possible. He brings your intertwined fingers up to his lips to press delicate butterfly kisses to them. The softness of it all makes you almost want to cry again, but you bite it back, purely because you canât stand seeing Regulus cry again tonight, and you knew he would.
âCongratulations on your promotion.â Your tire does not hide the coyness of your tone and he smiles fondly at you.
âThank you. Think she figured it was easier that way â and I have always been a top student.â
âYeah, yeah, you and your OWLs.â You turn your head more towards him, smiling. âSuch a nerd.â
âI reckon you like that about me.â
âI reckon the same.â
You lean forward and he meets you halfway for a slow kiss. The casualness of it makes it feel all the more important, especially when the past few hours of your life has been anything but.
He leans his head onto yours, drawing you as close as he can with your current circumstances.
âIâm sorry,â Regulus whispers again and you shake your head beneath his. Before you can tell him no, he continues. âNot just for what happened to you or not being there. Just, I donât know. Being slow.â
âDidnât we just agree you were bright?â you tease, but when you turn to see the sincerity in his eyes, you soften. âItâs okay, Regulus. We were both slow.â
Neither of you feel compelled to delve into the details of it, and it makes you feel more at ease. Even with everything, this was just how it was supposed to be.
âIâm glad I have you.â It is the best way to summarise it; it was enough. He smiles warmly at you.
âAnd I you.âÂ
You ignore the strain of some of your bandages as you lean closer to kiss him again, where he meets you enthusiastically â it was worth it.
âGo to sleep now, amour. Iâll be here to ease you awake when the time comes. Iâll always be here.â
And he was.
#regulus black#regulus black x reader#regulus black x you#regulus black x y/n#regulus x reader#regulus x you#regulus x y/n#regulus arcturus black#regulus arcturus black x reader#regulus black reader insert#regulus black self insert#regulus black fanfic#slytherin skittles#the slytherin skittles#slytherin skittles x reader#slytherin skittles x you#slytherin skittles x y/n#marauders#marauders era fanfic#marauders era self insert#marauders era reader insert#marauders x reader#marauders x y/n#marauders x you#carinaâs writing
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i NEED anything with glasses reid or munch reid iâm literally frothing at the mouth đ
ty for ur request :D fem!reader
"Emily," you say weakly. "What is that?"Â
Emily looks up from her desk, clearly desperate for a distraction, the lip of her coffee mug against painted lips. "What's what?"Â
"That." You point. You feel sick to your stomach. "That right there."Â
"Oh," Emily says happily. "You finally noticed. Yeah, Spence forgot to renew his contact prescription. He has to wear glasses for two weeks."Â
Spencer stands by the photocopier with a perturbed frown, clicking a button, then another. His brow is furrowed and his hair is falling into his eyes. He has the stupidest, dorkiest, prettiest face, and practically every expression he makes has you weak in the knees.
"That long?" you ask.Â
Derek looks up in concern at your pained tone, following the line of your eyes. When he realises what it is that's hurt you so, he skirts around the desk to shake your shoulder. "You could always tell him how you feel. I'm sure he'd keep the lenses forever if he knew you liked them."Â
"I don't like them," you say. You sound faraway to your own ears. You hate them. They're gonna be your demise.Â
Spencer runs a fingertip across the photocopier's screen, in his own world as the machine finally begins to chug out whatever it is he'd been wanting a duplicate of. The frames of his glasses sit snug on his nose. You can tell from even this distance that the lenses make his eyes look a tiny bit smaller. You could probably point out a misplaced freckle if he asked you to.
"Don't be cruel, he looks cute," Emily teases.Â
Spencer collects his papers, shuffling them into a straight line as he makes his way back to the bullpen. You pretend to take interest in Emily's things. She sips her coffee too nonchalantly. Derek doesn't even bother pretending.Â
"What?" Spencer asks, swift to spot your suspicious behaviours. "Is it the glasses?"Â
You wince. "Of course not. You look⊠you look really nice, Spence."Â
"You know he used to wear 'em every day?" Derek asks.
You would've died. "Before I joined?"Â
"For a few years," Spencer says, looking you over. "You're unhappy. Is something wrong?"Â
He looks to Derek and Emily for confirmation. Emily stutters for an answer while Derek laughs in the background, "Sheâ you know. She justâ She missed breakfast!"Â
Spencer pushes his glasses up his nose by the leg and drops his copies onto the desk. "I have dried apricot in my bag. Two seconds."Â
He bends over his chair to retrieve his bag from under the desk. Your eyes blow wide at his position, the sudden demonstration of well-fitted pants. Derek's laugh echoes up to the eaves.Â
"And he has that twenty four seven," Emily says against the rim of her coffee.Â
You scrunch your eyes closed and tilt your head back. After a few seconds, a hand touches your elbow gently, a hesitance that comes with only one member of the BAU. "You okay?" Spencer asks.Â
"I'm okay. Headache," you lie.Â
Spencer presses the apricot into your hands. "Maybe you should see an optician. You know they can tell if you have a brain tumour from one photo of your sclera?" He smiles morbidly, his glasses slipping down his nose. "They measure the size of your optic disk. It takes less than a minute. I can give you the name of my doctor, if you want. She's nice. Not as nice as you."Â
Your throat is so dry you can't form words to answer him. He doesn't judge your rigid nodding.Â
"I'll write down the number for you. And, Y/N?"Â
"Yeah?" you choke out.Â
"You look really nice today, too."Â
Emily has to kick you in the leg to bring you back to earth. Stupid Spencer. Stupid lovely glasses.Â
#spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x you#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x fem!reader#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid oneshot#spencer reid scenario#spencer reid drabble#spencer reid fic#spencer reid fanfiction#criminal minds fanfiction#criminal minds#criminal minds fic#criminal minds x reader
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I want to take a moment to talk about Gale's "obsession" with Mystra, because I've had that thrown at me a lot when discussing his character with players who hate him.

First off, I'd like to emphasize a point that many people already know: Mystra groomed him. Though his exact age when she "slept" with him isn't known, a new document that's been supplied in the epilogue confirms he was merely "eight summers" old when she took him under her wing and sent Elminster to find him. Mystra, in fact, has a vast history of grooming little boys, to the point that many parents hide their sons from her gaze if they show an early aptitude for magic. Though Gale did have other lovers before her, Mystra was really all he knew throughout his childhood, and the power dynamic was not equal. It makes sense that he'd have trouble pulling away from her at first, especially since she convinced him that she/the Weave were his only value in life.
Second, I want to discuss something most players probably aren't aware of. In D&D lore, there's a place called the City of Judgement. This is essentially D&D limbo, where all mortal souls go to be judged after death. Bad news for atheists, if you don't believe in or worship any gods, you're known as a "faithless", and since no gods will grant a faithless entry into their domain, your soul becomes part of the Wall of the Faithless.

In short, a faithless' soul will be sucked into the wall, where it will guard the city and suffer endless torment for all eternity. This fate isn't only reserved for faithless, however; it's also a punishment for fallen Chosen or anyone who's been abandoned by their gods. Like Gale. He's absolutely terrified, and he tells you as much if you romance him. If you keep things platonic, he alludes to it during the "go to hell" scene. This is compounded by the fact that raiding demons sometimes attack the City of Judgement, tear souls from the wall, and drag them to the Abyss, where they're used to spawn new low-level demons or to feed their masters. There's no good ending, whether a soul remains trapped in the wall or not.
Gale doesn't explicitly say it, but he's contemplating his own death here, as he probably did the entire time he was locked away in his tower. This is why he's so quick to agree to kill himself for Mystra's forgiveness. It's not because he's "obsessed" with her or because he wants her back, it's because he'll literally go to hell if he can't convince her he's worthy of her twisted sense of forgiveness. By the time we meet Gale, he's honestly over Mystra in all romantic sense, and even more so by Act 2, whether you romance him or not. He's simply...

#bg3#baldur's gate 3#gale of waterdeep#gale dekarios#bg3 tav#tav#larian studios#elminster#all my homies hate mystra#dnd#d&d#astarion#lae'zel#wyll ravengard#shadowheart#karlach#mystra
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