#*fasten my belt and ready to die*

[alicerosejensen]

How would Leon react if he found out his girlfriend got into a serious accident? (Ex: car accident, injured at work, school, etc)

Leon would have a heart attack. End. 😅

But let's be a little serious. I love headcanons, but I write full-fledged texts only in my native language. So here are some more headcanons on this topic.

Perhaps some angst. The reader suffered greatly and did not regain consciousness for a long time.

I just listening to "I Monster - who is she?" on repeat in a slow version. Now I associate her with Leon and his girlfriend from college. I love the excessive suffering of characters in fanfiction, so as my friends say: We eat glass!

Enjoy.

- "Anything can happen to me! You can't always be ready for something! I can go outside and any accident can happen: a car accident, a maniac! Yandere, a stone will fall on my head... anything, Leon!"

Before the accident

Leon hates to think that something could happen to you. Sometimes he guards you too fiercely, trying to prevent any possible incident.

He asks you to be extremely careful, but you never take his words seriously because you did not see what he saw.

Do you like to tease him? "If I die, will I be the most beautiful dead person?" or "Will you sit on my grave when I die?"

If you tease him too much about this, he will raise his voice sharply and tell you to stop.

Leon will remind you to buckle up when you're sitting in the car. Even if you're sitting in the passenger seat! Just fasten the fucking seat belt and don't argue with him.

You don't take death seriously, considering that you are still too young to think about such things. Instead, you just enjoy life sometimes preferring the extreme. Bungee jumping? It would be better if Leon didn't know about it.

He had seen enough pain and death because of his work. Raccoon City has left a scar on him forever, so he wants you to spend your time safe and careful (no matter with people, transport or anything else)

Perhaps luck decided to turn away from you when a truck drove into you while you were sitting in the passenger seat of a car. You were turned over twice with the driver (he died).

Before you fell into the darkness, you were in pain. Very. It seems that a couple of moments before the accident, you wrote another stupid message to Leon, but now your phone is smashed to pieces, and blood flows from your head and runs down your face.

In the hospital (If reader survived)

Leon will be rant and rave to be allowed into your hospital room. This person will literally go crazy until they tell him about your condition, and God save the doctor if he tells him that there is little chance of survival.

If he saw you covered in blood and unconscious while the doctors were taking you to the operating table, then his heart will definitely stop for a couple of seconds. Leon will run after you until the paramedics stop him.

He'll remember all your fucking jokes about your death, which will put him on edge. He probably would have been sent home, but damn it, he won't leave until he sees you awake.

You can't die! You can't leave him alone in this world! He loves you so much and needs you.

Leon feels his arms and legs tremble with uncertainty. He is afraid that at any moment they will come to him and say that his beloved is gone.

Before his eyes, you are still in bloodstained clothes and a broken head.

He had deep bags under his eyes again.

Leon is ready to give anything just to keep you alive.

When a nurse comes up to him and says that you can be visited (have pity on him) Leon will jump out of his seat just to see and hear your voice.

Are you worried about your appearance after the accident? Bruises, stitches on the face, a split lower lip? Believe me, the last thing Leon will care about is your beauty and the condition of a broken manicure. He almost died when he found out about the accident, so he's only afraid that you're still in pain.

Don't even think about turning your back on him! Leon won't let you do it anyway. Kennedy does not know how to touch you properly so as not to harm you after all the injuries, but he will seek the help of a nurse so that she shows him how to take care of you properly.

He will take a leave of absence to take care of you while you are in the hospital.

Absolutely you will not be able to dissuade him from doing this. You hate feeling so weak in front of him, but Leon, on the contrary, does not understand your resistance. His loved one needs help and he will provide it!

If necessary, he will carry you to the toilet on his hands.

"There's nothing to be ashamed of!" - be embarrassed as much as you want, but your boyfriend will not leave you alone. You, like any living person, have the basic needs of the body, so Leon does not feel any disgust. Baby, I'm sure he'll wash you without a problem if you need help with this.

He will scold you if you don't rest enough or try to do something yourself despite injuries.

Leon S.Kennedy is not a hairdresser (but I'm sure he spends at least 30 minutes in the morning styling his hairstyle), however, he will try to put your hair in order. Make a ponytail or a bun? He really tries, in the end you can always turn on the video how to do it correctly and accurately.

Flowers and gifts are constantly lying by the hospital bed.

When you are finally discharged, then get ready for an hour-long safety lecture from Leon S. Kennedy, and no escape will not work. You will obediently sit and listen.

No more jokes about death!

Leon doesn't care about your scars. He will gently take your face in his palms and kiss each of them, but if you are very complex because of them, then after full recovery and rehabilitation, you can think about how to fix this matter with the help of cosmetology.

He will pay for everything, just smile again.

After the accident, this person will take even more care of you. He's had enough shocks! You almost left him alone in this fucking world, so he needs to know that his woman is okay and safe.

I think there will be at least one night when Leon will turn you around to face him when you are lying in bed trying to fall asleep and just hold you with all his strength to himself for a couple of moments forgetting about all the bruises. He will bury his nose in your neck, and it will last so long until you feel the moisture from his tears on your skin. Leon will cry, probably quietly, because he almost lost you and the worst thing is that nothing depended on him. Just let him do it. Tell him how much you love him and stroke his head while his fingers hold you tightly by the waist pressing you to the mattress.

Don't you dare leave me, angel! God, I thought I'd never be able to see you again… I love you so much if you would leave…I couldn't go on living. I need you so much.

Your his shirt was wet from his tears.

If the reader is dead

The first thing you need to know is that his world collapsed with your death.

Hannigan or one of your relatives could have called him to tell him about the accident.

If you were alive when you arrived at the hospital, then Leon would have rushed there to you right away. The scenario of his anxiety has not changed much.

However, if due to a traumatic brain injury you fell into a coma (from which you subsequently went straight to the next world), then some part of Leon was still hoping for a favorable outcome.

When he would have been allowed to see you, he would have looked at your scars and abrasions endlessly holding your hand. "God definitely hates me," he might have thought, quietly shedding tears knowing that you might not wake up.

While you were in a serious condition, he brought you fresh flowers, read your favorite novels, even if he thought they were really stupid, and put headphones on you with a quiet melody from your playlist. Leon hoped to the last that you would open your eyes.

But on the fifth day, you still died without regaining consciousness despite all the attempts of doctors to save your life.

Life is not a book or a movie. Leon didn't hear your last "I love you" or any of your words. He was left with only the messages that you wrote to him that night in the car before you were hit.

Which he didn't have time to answer.

A huge part of him is irretrievably dead. The loss of a loved one is not like everything he felt before. He really went to hell.

Why did this happen? He so protected you from any misfortune, but evil fate still overtook the one he loved.

Leon drowns his pain from loss in alcohol. The endless bottles all over the apartment would have made Claire stumble when she came to visit him.

For God's sake, he doesn't want to go to your funeral! He just can't stand it, because right now he wants to shoot himself, just not to live without your voice.

Claire noticed a loaded pistol on the table next to him.

It was a fucking accident. A drunk driver who crashed into a passenger car (taxi) in which you were sitting.

-"Why her? Out of a billion people, why her?!"

It is unknown how, but Leon was able to find the strength to come to your funeral after all. Your coffin is open to those who want to say goodbye to you one last time, but all Leon wants is to lie down there next to you. He just wants to hug you and kiss you with the hope that you will reciprocate, although he knows that this will never happen.

Tears run down his cheeks when he looks at you dead: really beautiful. Your relatives took care to hide the traces of a car accident. Leon touches your cold hand to remember for the last time what your skin feels like.

No, he doesn't have the strength to sit on your grave. However, Leon will regularly bring flowers there and brush away fallen leaves from the tombstone.

You 're gone forever.

"Is the little teaser happy with herself?" - He asks you, knowing he won't get an answer. He just stares blankly at the sky, hoping that you can hear him. - "I hope you have a good time there, because I miss you. You can't even imagine how much I miss you."

He won't be able to remove your things from his apartment for a long time.

You have to become an angel. Leon wants to think that's how you're still looking out for him. He is not a religious person and does not believe in God, but he loved you and continues to love you.

Sometimes he hears your voice, which puts him in a stupor. What if everything that happened before turns out to be just a long nightmare, and now he wakes up in the same bed with you? But he looks around and sees only an empty apartment that has been in need of cleaning for a long time.

When his longing becomes too strong, he takes out your things, trying to remember the scent of your body. He doesn't want to forget you so much.

Your picture is still on his bedside table. Even after many years.

Just know that your death means years of depression and alcohol for Leon. He hates himself that you died leaving him and he's alive.

"Just take me to your place, princess. I'm tired."

You are definitely a little scoundrel! Sometimes when Leon is too drunk, he thinks that you could have done it on purpose to hurt him. Just so those stupid jokes about death turn out to be true.

But he doesn't hate you. you will always remain his love.

However, now his desire to die is stronger than ever before, and he really hopes to see you alive, and not just in his drunken stupor

#leon scott kennedy #leon kennedy #leon kennedy x you #leon x reader #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #resident evil #resident evil x reader #dead and life #reader #resident evil fanfiction

[tomtenadia]

Detours to You - 23

Hello all,

here we are with another chapter. Rowan finally gets to go home. And then Maya is in grandchild heaven and schemes with her kanas...

Enjoy

MASTERLIST

Two weeks had passed and Rowan was finally leaving the hospital. His discharge had been planned a lot earlier, but when he had developed pneumonia the doctor had decided to keep him in. Due to his splenectomy he was a patient at risk so they had ruled on the side of caution. The worst of all was that the doctors had stopped all the visits. Aelin was allowed to bring clothes in a bag and drop them off with the nurses. It had been a hellish week and on top of that Aelin had to try and explain to her daughter why she was not allowed to se her dad. Maya had been heartbroken. They had video called and that somehow helped.

Now she was in the hospital in his room waiting with him for his discharge papers. 

He was still in a wheelchair but the hospital had given him also a pair of crutches, even if for the time being they were still being careful at putting too much pressure on his legs. They had started him on physio and he would have to go to the hospital every second day. Recovery was going to be lengthy but she had support and his mum had helped her organise their schedules.

“Are you ready to go home?”

He looked up at her and his hand grabbed hers, pulling Aelin down to him for a kiss “I love you.”

Aelin kissed him back and smiled “Oh yes, your glorified nurse.”

Wanton flared in his green eyes and Aelin kissed him again “Absolutely not. Put those thoughts aside.”

His hand slithered on her waist and pulled her closer. Aelin was about to kiss him again but the doctor arrived behind them.

“Mr. Whitethorn, here’s your discharge papers.”

Aelin took them for him.

“There’s your schedule for physio, prescription for meds to look after the burns on your body and we have arranged with your local pharmacy a repeat prescription for the antibiotics.” The doctor passed her the documents “we will see you in a month for the check-up.”

Aelin pushed his wheelchair to the car and once there she opened the door and tried to help him inside. He used his healthier arms to push himself up in the seat and Aelin pulled his legs inside the car. Wheelchair and crutches tucked away, she joined him in the driver’s seat. He was struggling to fasten his seat belt and she helped him.

“All safe, Chief.” A kiss on his cheek “we are going home.” Rowan turned his head and captured her lips with his and then leaned his forehead against hers “Finally.”

It was a good forty minutes later when they finally arrived home. Even with Rowan’s car, Aelin was still very careful driving to the house. The last part of the path was always the scariest.

As soon as they parked the car, Eiddwen appeared at the front door “look, your mum is very excited to have you back, I am expecting a feast waiting for us.”

Rowan chuckled “I hope so, after almost three weeks of hospital food I am ready for the real thing again.”

Aelin exited the car and got ready the chair for him once again and his mum joined them to help. With Aedion’s help they had placed a ramp to help him while he was still using the wheelchair.

“This is embarrassing.” He muttered while both helped him out of the car.

“Oh, this hurts his big male ego.”

Once inside the house, Aelin pushed him to the sofa which had been prepared for him to camp on.

“Maya and I prepared it this morning,” explained Eiddwen.

Rowan laughed when he spotted the elf with a sign reading Welcome home, dad.

With a powerful shuffle he transferred to the sofa and then groaned as his side hurt at the movement.

“Rowan, try not to be a mule and hurt yourself,” Aelin ran to him and helped him get settled comfortably, with a lot of pillows and a blanket.

“I will have a nice dinner ready for you tonight, that will make you feel so much better.”

Aelin laughed “I think I gained a few kilos since your mum moved in here, if we pair her with my mum we are going to die by overfeeding.” 

Eiddwen disappeared away and Aelin lay down at his side, tucked it at his chest “I need to enjoy you now that I got you all for myself because as soon as our daughter comes back from school she is going to request all of your attention.”

Rowan kissed her head “this feels good. I…” he paused “I want this more often, with you.”

Aelin turned gently and looked at him “I am here, I live here.”

He shook his head “In my arms.” Another kiss on her head “I don’t want to be alone at night anymore. Move in my bedroom, Aelin.”

Surprise cursed through Aelin’s face and then kissed him with passion “Yes. I hated sleeping on the other side of the corridor.” She snuggled closer “We took another step in our relationship.”

“I missed this so much, Rowan. I really missed you. No one could ever…” she kissed his shoulder and let a sob out and Rowan tried to pull her closer but struggled moving “I tried…” he whispered while trying to hold her “Back in Wendlyn I tried a few times, but I lost interest very quickly. All I did was to think of you, Ae.” Silence “You were always in my thoughts and I wanted so hard to try and call you but I was afraid, and I just let time pass.”

“Writing letters was all I could do. I could not find the courage to call you but writing was all it made me feel closer to you.” Her finger traced circles on his chest “I used to tell Maya stories about you when she was very little. I was so wrong, Rowan.”

“Ae, it’s ok. Look at us now, look at how far we have come. We are a family.”

“The family we always wanted?” She whispered.

“Yes, Ae.”

And slowly they fell asleep in each other arms.

*

It was much later on that day when they were woken up by the feeling of another person on them. Aelin opened her eyes and saw Maya, still in her school uniform on top of her “Hey you.”

“Mama, dada is back?”

Aelin smiled at the surprise in her daughter’s eyes “Yes, he is,” she moved her gently so she was not disturbing Rowan “Where’s nana?”

“Nana Lin is in the kitchen with nana Wen.”

Aelin laughed. The two women were probably planning something crazy. She could totally see them go along like a house on fire.

Slowly Rowan woke up and his face blossomed in a wide grin at seeing his daughter nestled on top of their parents “Hi munchkin.”

“Dad.” Maya threw her arms around his neck and he grimaced “easy baby.”

“I missed you.”

“I did too, how was school?”

Maya was about to sit up on his tummy but Aelin shifted her quickly.

“My teacher said I am good at reading.”

Rowan had no doubts, he an Aelin had been working a lot with their daughter and Maya was a quick learner and Aelin would bring her home a lot of books for her age to read.

In that instant the two grandmothers appeared at the door and Maya ran to her paternal grandmother all excited “Nana, the teacher says that I am good at reading.” Eiddwen crouched down and kissed her “I had no doubts, now let’s go and get changed.”

Maya compiled and both grandmothers took the very energetic girl upstairs.

Aelin’s sat up and stared at Rowan “Maya is in a kid’s heaven.”

“Oh yeah, and I am even more terrified of what those three are scheming.”

Aelin laughed “She is so happy,” she added softly “She was always a happy kid, but recently she is on another level and even the teacher and my mum says so. She is thriving, Rowan and I was wrong in thinking that all this could harm her.”

Rowan took Aelin’s hand “No. You were right.” A deep breath “I went to Vaughn to ask for legal advice after you kept shutting me out. I was so desperate to be her father that I was willing to do anything.” Another pause “and I would have been wrong, because if I had followed through with my plan I think the consequences would have been far different.”

Aelin closed her eyes for a second “I hated how pushy you were.” Then her face broke into a smile “Stop moping now. We both had our reasons and were just trying to do what we thought was best for her.”

Rowan extended his arm and with his hand he cupped her face and Aelin moved closer for a kiss “I love you.” He hummed and pulled her down at his side.

*

In the meantime upstairs Maya was enjoying being surrounded by her grandmothers whom absolutely doted on her.

“Nana Lin, I want my space pyjama.” The one Rowan had bought her one afternoon while he was shopping and found himself in a children’s shop “Dada bought it for me.”

Evalin went to the get item while Eiddwen sat on the bed ready with a brush.

“So, do you like having your dad around?” Asked Eiddwen with curiosity while Evalin changed the girls’ clothes.

“Yes, I love him and he is fun too. He likes the stars like me.”

Eiddwen opened her arms Maya walked to her once ready and the woman sat her granddaughter on her legs “His dad taught him about the stars.”

“Does he miss his dad?”

Eiddwen paused the brushing motions “Yes, my love. Your dad was really sad when he lost him.”

Evalin moved closer and sat at their side.

“I don’t want to loose dad.” She added quietly and both women stopped, aware of how much Maya had struggled while Rowan was in the hospital and she was not allowed to visit. The phone calls had not been enough, Maya wanted to be with him “I want him to be with me and mama, like in the stories where the prince marries the princess.”

She turned her head to the two women “Why mama and dad are not married? Was I bad?”

Eiddwen hugged her granddaughter tightly “No baby, you have no fault at all.” Her eyes locked on Evalin who nodded in assent “When Rowan lost his dad I was really unwell so he came back home to look after me. He did not know about you until he came back.”

Evalin took over “both of your parents love you very much and both wanted to be with you, but they had not seen each other in a long time.” Maya nodded while listening intently “adults works a bit slower than fairy tales and your parents had to get to know each other again.”

“Are they friends again?”

Evalin brushed the girl’s head “Much better…”

Maya grinned “Can they marry now? I asked it to the elves at the solstice.”

“I think they need a bit more time.” Added Eiddwen, but Maya folded her arms at her chest and pouted “Adults are so frustrating.”

Both women restrained a laughter. She was six but Maya was all fire like her mother and the pout of her father.

“Nana Wen and I want your parents to be happy too, to be a family and get married and have more grand-babies too.”

“What are grand-babies?”

Eiddwen smiled “Do you want a little brother or sister?”

Maya’s eyes lighted in joy “Yes, so I can be their big sister.”

Eiddwen finished to tie the braid “Now, Maya, this is our secret for now.”

The girl beamed and climbed off her grandma’s legs “yes, we can make mum and dad marry.”

Once the girl was ready the trio climbed down the stairs with a secret and a brand new plan to make that family happen once and for all.

taglist

@rowaelinismyotp @swankii-art-teacher @whimsicallyreading @elentiyawhitethorn @aelin-bitch-queen @bruiseonthefaceofhumanity  @mis-lil-red @thegreyj @sailorsassley @leiawritesstories @clairec79 @morganofthewildfire @sv0430 @heartless--aromantic @autumnbabylon @rowanaelinn  @susumaus98  @gracie-rosee @mybloodrunsblue @tanvee1231 @avenrebekah @whoever-you-choose-to-love  @theywillnotsingforme @universallytreepost @black-daisy-water @goddess-aelin @whispers-in-the-darkest-heart @lovely-dove-zee @athena127 @mariaofdoranelle

#rowaelin #rowan whitethorn #rowan x aelin #rowaelin fanfiction #rowaelin fanfic #aelin x rowan #rowanwhitethorn #throne of glass fanfiction #aelin galathynius #domestic fluff

[epiclamer]

WRITE AIRPLANE WHUMP FOR CATS BIRTHDAY!!!

^^^ this very draft has been sitting in my inbox since before I knew your name. I’ve been waiting a long time my love <3 enjoyyyyy

@save-the-villainous-cat

Plane Crash

When the plane tumbled down, so did Villains whole world. It had started with a bit of turbulence, something the pilot had assured them was just fine and completely normal—much to the villain’s suspicion—but now it had escalated.

The plane’s condition was that of car ride down a rocky mountain. The seatbelt light hadn’t turned off once.

Slowly the flight attendants disappeared behind curtained sections, taking with them any whispers of reassurance.

People left bouncing in their seats and fumbling through the halls as they clasped to anything for dear life. It was starting to seem less and less okay.

Villain’s fear of planes did not help ease their racing mind.

They were going to die here.

“You’re not going to die here. Everybody please remain calm and seated while we head through this turbulent spot.”

If they were being honest, not even the pilot sounded sure of themselves. A slight quiver of panic could be heard through the loudspeakers in the plane.

Fastening their belt tighter around their waist, the villain gripped at the two armrests until their knuckles went white. Still, their attempts could do nothing to stop the clacking of their teeth as the plane swooped down again for a moment, pulling itself back up before the screaming in the seats begun.

But it wouldn’t be long before it was unstoppable.

People were getting nervous. Nervous people in a box trapped in the sky sounded like hell on earth to the criminal. They would even admit to being nervous themselves.

Taking a deep breath, Villain decided to take this moment to distract themselves, eyes scanning through the crowd of people that surrounded them. Maybe someone else had a good strategy for staying collected.

First they noticed a couple of teenagers, too consumed with their tacky movie to notice the bustling around them. Then a mother, clearly pregnant and sweating in gross amounts. An elderly couple, holding hands with their heads leaned back to the sky as if they were praying.

They probably were. It wasn’t a bad idea right now.

However, no matter how many people Villain watched, they couldn’t get their mind off of one.

Hero.

A ridiculous thought to begin with. Villain would’ve slapped themselves in the face if they weren’t fearing for their imminent death.

But it was their only thought.

Their cocky smirk, their laugh, their nonchalantness, their dragging feet, their burden-heavy shoulders, their tired eyes, their slight accent.

Everything.

Including under their suit…

Villain shook their head, trying to clear their thoughts. Having such lustful desires for their nemesis was disgusting.

But hey, they were probably going to die in five minutes so what did it matter?

The villain stopped breathing again, they wanted to pretend like this didn’t affect them one bit. They were never good with pretend. They had always been told they were too logic oriented.

They cursed their luck now. They needed someone, anyone, to be optimistic. Optimistic like their hero.

Fuck, they needed to send a text.

Flipping open their phone in a second, they knew it was no good, their screen lighting up as they clicked on Hero’s number. Fingers ready to write and mind filled with words.

Yet, nothing came out.

What were they even supposed to say? Hello? Goodbye? How are you? Care to plan my funeral?

In this situation what was sociably acceptable to send to your greatest enemy? Anything? Nothing?

They were so frustrated. Why wasn’t this easy? The villain was practically pulling the covers over on their death bed and they didn’t have any final words for their biggest crush?

Stupid, stupid, stupid. This was all stupid.

Their fingers worked without their brain, typing a few words before hitting send and shutting off their phone. The villain slid it back into their pocket as they relaxed as best as they could. Squeezing their eyes closed to best escape their situation.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the storm has past and we are heading for a smooth landing now. Thank you for your cooperation.”

The occupants cheered louder than anything the villain had ever heard before. Causing their own mini turbulence from inside the plane with the ruckus as they screamed and jumped. Hugging and crying and Villain was in the arms of strangers and they didn’t even care.

They were just so relieved.

As the people settled down and the plane came in to land, Villain felt their phone buzz in their pocket. Seeing a new message from Hero as they opened it up just to feel their heart sink.

It was nothing but a simple, “what?”. But Villain would never be able to explain just why they had sent “I love you.”

#THIS WAS BASED OFF YOUR DREAM #FROM LIKE MARCH #ANYWAYSSSS #YOU PROBABLY DONT REMEMVER #BUT I HOPE YOU LIKE ITTTT #hero x villain #villain #villain x hero #hero #drabbles #imagines #fantasy #scenarios #oneshots #hero and villain #Villain and hero #heroes #villains #villains x heroes #heroes x villains #villains and heroes #heroes and villains #plane crash #turbulence #flustered villain #flirty hero

[distantlaughter]

Nico Rosberg: "In my daydreams, I'm sometimes a rock star"

by Jörg Böeckem for Die Zeit, 24 July 2014 (x)

In my dreams, I am always late. I've lost track of time. When I reach the race track, I see that all the other drivers are already buckled up in their cars. It's just before the race starts, I run up to my car and jump in, frantically trying to fasten my seat belts. If the six belts don't fit exactly, the race will be extremely uncomfortable. Before everything is in place and I'm ready, the lights change to green, giving the go-ahead for the start. When I can finally start, the others are already on the track. I am also the last one at the finish.

This nightmare has been with me for many years. I recently talked to my father about it. He said that, strangely enough, he used to dream exactly this dream over and over again.

Accidents never happen in my dreams, fortunately. I'm glad that my subconscious doesn't seem to be concerned with that. Negative thoughts can be dangerous. Nevertheless, fear plays an important role, of course. It can also have a positive effect by keeping me from going over my limit. Fear protects me.

One anxiety dream that has stuck in my memory comes from my early childhood. A fever dream that I dreamt again and again when I was sick: I am in an empty room of enormous dimensions. I am very small, and as the space around me gets bigger and bigger, I get smaller and smaller. I feel completely lost and panic. My parents told me that on nights like this, I sleepwalked and went through the closets in my bedroom.

In my childhood I was very good at tennis, I could have imagined a tennis career. Later, after graduating from high school, I enrolled in aeronautics studies in England. The combination of racing, mathematics and physics fascinated me. But then I focused entirely on a single dream.

My dream of becoming a race driver was born in 1995. I was ten years old and accompanied my father to a race in the German Touring Car Championship, it was his last as a professional. Back then, the race cars were still being pushed to the starting grid, I sat on the roof of my father's car, and we slowly rolled around the track¹. My father waved to the cheering crowd, I was too nervous and couldn't wave along. It was gigantic. At that moment I thought: I want to be a racing driver, too!

In my daydreams today, I am sometimes a rock star. I love to sing rock karaoke, at a Christmas party I once had a live band behind me, I sang a U2 song, in front of me 1,500 guests jumped up and down. An incredible thrill! For five minutes I actually felt like a rock star. Standing on stage, moving the masses, giving them a great moment - that's the dream!

¹videos of the parade 1, 2

#nicology #my post #nico rosberg

[drewbacca2]

Starkiller Saga

Prologue chapter four part three

44 BBY The Battle of Galidraan

It's been five years since my right of passage. I've been gifted with a lot of Beskar for my efforts during the battle of Korriban. My helmet, my right shoulder, and my entire abdomen. I also have my mother's gauntlets and knuckle plates that I painted red. My armor's accessories include a stun blaster in the left forearm, as well as a grappling hook that I can repel up and down in the same arm. I even have a hidden compartment that has my mother's life savings. I have no idea how music on there, I don't think it's a good idea to look will these people around. A flamethrower in the right forearm and a hidden blade in both hand plates. My helmet has a range finder, and night vision, colored green, black, and some red. My chest and back are also green and black. I have a dark red Kama and a utility belt. I have those westar 45s I took from that Death Watch bastard that killed my mother. I painted one black with a gold Mythosaur skull on both sides, I named it Justice. And I painted the other one gold with a black Mythosaur skull on both sides, I named it Vengeance.

I never did find out who was talking to me at the Korriban system. Was I going crazy?... Or is it something else? We're on the way to Galidraan, and it's my 18th birthday. My brother said he had a surprise for me, and that he was going to get it now. Speaking of which, he's here. "Hey." I said. "What's behind your back?" He replies: "it's something father made." I then say: "How? Was it from befo-" He cuts me off, saying: "Yes, he forged it while we were on Dantooine. Saying that you were good with a sword." He hands me the long box, and I open it. It's a curved sword that looks like those toy swords I used to play with.

"It's an ancient type of sword that the Wookiee Shaman told father about. He carved you wooden toys so you could practice while you were young." The intercom powers on: "We are thirty minutes away from Galidraan. Make sure you're ready." "Hear that brother? You have thirty minutes to practice." I fasten it to the left of my belt, right above Vengeance. I nod at Bendak, and I run to the hangar which also has the training area. I hear my brother say behind me: "I'll join you in a few minutes!" I get there and I don't hesitate to start training. I'm not paying attention to the time and the ship exits hyperspace. I turn around and Bendak gives me two thumbs up, then we jump in the shuttles.

We dealt with the rebels, and Jango went to the governor's office and to talk about payment I believe? Anyway, I say to my brother: "Wasn't that a bit too easy?" He goes: "You're right, I've got a bad feeling about this." Just as he says this, Jedi of all things show up. They start accusing us of killing innocent women and children, as well as politicians. A woman speaks up and says: "If you resist arrest we will be forced to kill you." Fighting breaks out, me and Bendak are back to back, moving around as we need to. We separate a few feet, I hear a lightsaber cut something, I get a chill down my spine, I turn 180° and I see… no… it can't be! It's Bendak! Decapitated! I calm myself. I could get very angry and kill as many Jedi as I can and die myself… But my discipline kicks in. I take a sharp intake of breath through my nose… I holster Justice, and I duck under the horizontal strike from the Amethyst blade. Then I holster Vengeance and stand up and side step the vertical upward strike. They prepare an overhead strike. Too bad I already know where it's going. I grab their hand and I headbutt the Jedi. Yes! They let go of the saber! I then try to stab them in the chest… but before it connects I go flying to my right… what? A cliff? So I'm to die anyway… hopefully the hundred or so True Mandalorians can finish things… and go home… me? I'm dead.

#grozchal #starkillersaga #the mandalorian #star wars

[kidgetrash]

Monsters and Mana 2 - Save The World, Get The Girl - Chapter Six

Character:  Keith Kogane, Pidge Gunderson/Katie Holt, Lance McClain, Hunk Garrett, Shirogane Takashi, Coran, Princess Allura, Matt Holt

Pairings:  Keith/Pidge

Warnings!:  This is going to be one looooonnnggg fic! I think? So far I'm barely into the plot and I have four chapters, so let's see how far we go! I'll add warnings as they come up!

Summary: Pidge makes her escape!

A/N: Okay, I am feeling much better! Even my toothache has settled! However, I am still testing positive, as is my youngest, Boo. What a way to spend the Easter school hols! And I've got a bit of my writing mojo back! I am up to chapter 11!!! I am calling that a win!

Chapter 6

Princess Pidge could hear the hooting of an owl somewhere, followed by the snarling of some large nocturnal creature.  The low lantern light cast shadows around the walls that would have scared a lesser princess, but she wasn’t one of them.  On the other side of the large wooden door she could hear voices, but some distance away.  Deep and joyous, obviously celebrating their little heist having come to fruition.  That worked for her just fine.  They were no doubt drinking and making enough noise to not even notice what she was doing.  First, she took the edge of her burgundy dress and tore it, ripping it up to her hip for ease of movement, revealing soft, tan leather armour imprinted with various leaves from her home country.  She unravelled the belt she wore around her leg, fastening into its proper place.  She had no weapons on her but that didn’t mean she was helpless. 

Picking up the chair she moved as far from the door as possible, and smashed it on the floor a few times until it lay in pieces.  She glanced around, listening carefully in case her captors were alerted, but nothing.  The windows were no use to her; they were merely slits for firing arrows through; so the door itself was the only way out.  She sorted through the debris she had created, collecting nails and small sharp shards of wood that looked like they would stand up to being used as a weapon.  Pockets full, she moved to the door to investigate.  The wood was thick, as you would want on a tower meant to be the last resort during an attack.  The hinges were, unfortunately, on the other side, but the lock, though large and deep, might not cause her too much of a problem, but there was another option.  It was a very risky option, but she was ready for it.  She moved the blankets, taking time tucking them where she needed them and then moved the table to the wall where the door opened.  Removing her dress she added it to the pile of material.  She opened the oil lantern carefully, separating the oil compartment from the wick and dousing the fabric before holding the flame to the patch nearest the door so the smoke would begin to billow through to the other side.  Once it caught hold, she hopped up onto the table, taking the largest piece of wood in her hands and holding it above her head, she took a breath and…

‘Wow, something is going on.’  Hunk remarked as Pidge started animatedly yelling at Coran who rolled a couple of dice before replying.

‘Help!  Fire!  ‘Oh please!  Help me!  I don’t want to die!’

She could hear a commotion from outside, shouting and footsteps approaching rapidly.  She set her feet into a balance position, and waited, fake coughing and choking to insinuate the flames and smoke were worse in the room.

‘Bring water!  We need her!’  A gruff voice sounded from beyond the door along with the jingling of keys, and she tightened her grip.  The door flew open hard enough to hit the wall behind it, and the first man burst into the room.  Tall and stocky, he would have outweighed her by at least double, his clothes and beard ragged with lack of attention.  Not that any of that mattered.  The board broke as it hit his head, proof perhaps his head was full of rocks and not brains, and he fell to the floor unconscious.  As water dowsed the flames from a bucket thrown outside the door, Pidge jumped, grabbed hold of the top of the door frame, and kicked the man backwards.  Surprise was on her side and he fell back, toppling over the balustrades and down the stairs to the floor below with barely time to grunt.

Pidge nimbly dropped down to a crouch and stayed low, listening for any other signs of life.  When none came, she snuck to the edge of the stairs and peered around the corner.  Her kick to the man had been precise enough to have his head crack on the flagstones, a trail of blood leading to his crumpled body at the bottom.  She climbed down the stairs still in a crouch, peering through the gaps as she went but she saw no movement.  A glance showed her that the man had a large sword and a knife on his belt.  She knew from experience, training with the guard, that a sword was far too big for her petite frame, but a large knife worked for her if no short sword was available.  She cut the sheath free and fastened it to her belt, keeping the knife in her hand as she scoured the large room.  It contained very little in the way of furniture, or proof it was lived in at all, which she suspected it wasn’t.  Broken and tossed crates littered the dusty floor, with rags and what she assumed were the droppings of some vermin.  Cluttered but empty, she crept towards the door, watching her step for anything that might make a noise underfoot.  She had almost made it to the door when voices came from beyond it, the latch moving before the door began to swing inwards.  Pidge dove behind it, staying low as two more men came in, laughing between them as one threw a brace of rabbits towards the fireplace.  The last through the door pushed it to close it, but Pidge scurried towards it and put her fingers in between it and the frame, allowing her to sneak through it and run off into the night.

‘Quite finished ruining my story now, have we?’  Coran asked as he frantically took notes.  ‘I don’t know how you did it, but you have somehow turned the dice to your side and rolled nothing but good numbers.’

Pidge shrugged.  ‘Honestly, just lucky, I guess.  I don’t expect it to last, but at least I’m out!’

‘Well, you just sit in your little bubble while I sort things out with your rescue party.’  Coran wiggled his fingers at her dismissively as she tapped on her wrist computer, changing the bubble to encompass only herself, and going back to her character sheet to see what else she should memorise.

Masterlist

#kidge #kidgetrash #voltron #monsters and mana 2 #keith kogane #pidge gunderson

[heksery]

@ofwaywardsunshine​ event continued

“All geared up and ready to go. You don’t have to worry about a thing, Jules.” Man, was Gordon beginning to get tired of this. Having to kill so many people just to get to the Winchesters. Over the past few days he had to kill more than focus on the boys even with him having them right where he wanted them. He’s quick to return the kiss before leading Juliana to the car. “I really hope you like the place that I’m gonna take you too. I’m told the view is to die for.”

Juliana gave Sam a curious look. That sounded far more like a Dean thing to say than a Sam thing. “You’ve been spending too much time with your brother,” she teased him as she got into the car, fastening her seat belt right away. The paper bag with the sandwiches was put between her legs on the floor.

“So where are we going? You are increasing my expectations to an almost unbearable level, Sam. The view must surely be killing,” she jested, shaking her head in an amused way at the word plays.

#ofwaywardsunshine #knit purl knit purl ~ juliana [thread]

[imayanderesimp]

Some of mha scariest yanderes (with some spice to make it nice)

MINORS PLEASE I'LL MAKE VERSION FOR Y'ALL JUST DON'T READ THIS ONE

1.hawks

I mean imagine this standing outside your window at 3 in the morning

Like no this two face son of a bitch would be so great and so terrifying as a yandere.

He would be so nice at first not giving a shit what you said

But if you go to far with the comebacks and the hate

Then it’s the outside hawks the hawks you don’t wanna see EVER

Ruts don’t matter your not walking for days after spring hits

And He will probably lock you up in a room

Until you love him

Like really really love him

Look the only reason he’s number one is because of how good he could pull this off

Like he’s got the fake death thing covered the police he can hide anything.

Because he’s a two faced person

2.Shigaraki

Prepare to die

What makes you think you have the chance to do jack shit with him

Look shigaraki will hesitate to kill you

But this man is an INCEL

and I’ve seen enough @tomurasprincess and @kazooli works to know shiggy don't give a fuck who you are you gonna get fucked

(R.i.P that 😺 or ass)

He will dress you up like a cosplayer though even during sex

That's right guys and gals + non binary pals get ready to be wearing characters from video games and twitch streamer cosplay

Now while he's may be good at kidnapping (the U. A summer camp incident) he also sucks at it

Like there's a 30% chance he's getting away with this

Or maybe he will

After all he would do anything for his gamer sex Buddy

3.dabi

Well this is a toxic relationship

Dabi has to have a bunch of one night stands

And your gonna be one of them so if he gets attached better run

Possibly run to the next state or the next continent possibly to outer space

No matter what when he finds you it's gonna be spicy 🤤

so first he fucks you for about...

2-5 hours straight

Then he breaks you and makes you his fuck toy

Yep that's it that's all dabi wants to do fuck you and break you

Seems like somebody has a corruption kink

4.enji todoroki

You may think he can't be that bad well this isn't redemption endeavor this is..

BEFORE REDEMPTION

Yep terrifying for a person ain't it

This man just buys you

Like not even a break in just buys you away

He treats you like a queen only to have kids

Man just fucks you on the second day of your relationship

That's when things go from normal to when todoroki got his quirk

Shit gets abusive and terrifying for you but im not going to far with this for out abused readers out there

I'm sorry for your pain 😞

the only reason he ranks below dabi is because he can still be redeemed and tries to make it up to you like his doing currently in the anime and manga

So yeah it's good but mostly bad

5. All might

Yep plot twist

He would Probably cave and let you go

Let's so talk about how easy he is to wrap around your finger

Also all might is a probably a very delusional yandere so he thinks by you playing him that you love him

LIES

when he finds out though it's gonna be scary he won't treat you the same as before

Not so easy but you can probably still fasten the belt in wrapping him around your finger

Sorry that it's only my top 5.

Remember this is MY OPINION

minors please wait for me to make your version

Can we also talk about how all might is 7ft in his buff and skinny form like goddamm how tall you gonna get

#yandere mha #yandere dabi #yandere hawks #yandere shigaraki #yandere endeavor #yandere all might #top 5 list

[hobidreams]

october 1865.

you never thought you would smile like this again, but here you are. and here he is, by your side.

pairing: joseon king!yoongi x reader genre: fluffy fluff words: 5k 😳 contains: historical au, chuseok date!, eunuch kim!, so much cuteness, guest appearances hehe

moonlit throne index. this is drabble 13. start from the beginning?

“How do I look, mom?”

Standing before the mirror, you nervously smooth the delicate sash of the pink hanbok for the hundredth time, careful not to lean down too much and dislocate the floral ornament carefully pinned in your hair. There have been doves fluttering in your stomach the entire afternoon; you don’t know if you tied this correctly or if your hair is braided right, and you can’t ask any of your nearby neighbours for fear of discovery that your plans are different than theirs tonight. Mother would know exactly what to do and what to say to make you feel at ease. But want you want most is for her to see you all grown up like this. Finally able to properly wear the outfit you coveted for so long, and hold your head high in it too. You think she’d be proud.

You manage a smile as you run your fingertips along the edge of the ornament, a gift from mother on your twelfth birthday. It’s almost been a year since her passing, and you still miss her more than anything. But you also know now that the best way to honor her is to be happy, and to carry on her work, her legacy. So far, you’ve begrudgingly won a few scraps of respect from the male physicians, and it’s a start.

“I hope you’re doing well up there,” you say, letting your gaze drift out the window to the beaming Chuseok moon, hoping the wind might take your words and your love all the way to her.

“Hey. Are you ready?”

You are grateful that the door is closed because the way you snap to attention is frankly embarrassing.

"Yes, just a moment, seja-jeonha!" you say in a nervous half-whisper, half-exclamation as you allow yourself one last glimpse at the mirror. This is going to be fine. You're going to be relaxed and have a good time, even if you are sneaking out of the palace with arguably the second most important person in the country.

Putting on a smile that hopefully looks effortless, you pull open the door and practically gasp out loud at the sight of him.

It's perhaps the first time you've seen the prince out of the traditional royal robes. It's an excellent disguise -- the clothes of a young yangban lord, done in a deep-dyed scarlet that contrasts his usual navy. A cinched belt fastens the coat deftly, juxtaposed against the dragging, silky sleeves beside it, making him seem somehow more elegant in the way he holds himself. Completing the look is the gat that sits atop his head, its wide-brim tilted low so it covers enough of his face that he wouldn't be recognized, at least not to anyone who spared him a passing glance (not that they would know his face to begin with). The gat strap hangs low in front of his chest, the intricate beading betraying just how truly expensive this hat is. He is, in short, unfairly, unfathomably handsome.

You are forever grateful that you chose to dress up; if nothing else, at least you will look suitable standing next to him, at least for a night.

If Yoongi thinks anything of your outfit, he covers it with a slight cough, his cheeks faintly reddened from the cold. “Good. Come on. We have to be quick.”

You nod, following him out into the night air.

With swift steps and strategic maneuvering, it doesn't take you long to reach one side of the imposing wall that separates palace from town. There, you find a familiar face waiting for you.

"Good evening," Eunuch Kim says with a bow. He’s wearing a different, muted set of green robes and donned a gat as well. “As you instructed, the select guards have been informed to keep quiet, and all else has been taken care of. Let us go."

He likely insisted on coming, as one of the caveats for your illicit excursion. You don't mind, since this isn't the first time he's had to do such a thing, always so worried about his rebellious, stubborn charge. You watch as he lets Yoongi go past first, then gestures for you.

“You look lovely tonight, uinyeo-nim,” Eunuch Kim says, and you share a small, furtive smile that feels like he’s cheering you on. Then you step past the official gates, feeling so acutely the pattering of your pulse because this is truly happening.

For the first handful of minutes, you remain both terrified and anticipatory that you'll be snatched back by the royal guard and accused of kidnapping the prince or something equally ridiculous as being on an actual outing with him. Beside you, Yoongi doesn't seem to have these worries as he walks by your side (though still a respectful, proper distance apart), letting his arms slightly swing while he kicks up dust with his slippers.

Just as you're wondering if you're being an awful companion and not making conversation, he says, "haven't been outside the palace in ages."

“Me too. It's… a little strange, having all this freedom to roam and do what I want. Even if it’s just for a night.”

“I'll say.” Yoongi makes an exasperated noise. “There are too many rules in that place. Can't do anything without being watched.” He gives a minor tilt of his head towards your chaperone, though it's more a tease rather than actually spiteful. Eunuch Kim, for his own sake, pretends not to see or hear the jab.

You smile. “It's for your safety, seja-jeonha.”

“So they say. But they'll regret it when I die of boredom first.”

He rolls his eyes and you laugh, and the palpitations in your stomach ease just like that.

As you draw ever closer to the town, the harmony of string and wind instruments crescendo and build with the jubilant chatter of the townspeople. It's getting to you in the best of ways; you're becoming so elated at the prospect of the festivities that you start to speed up, soon practically rushing towards the town square at a pace that forces Yoongi and Eunuch Kim to run to follow.

"…Wow!"

At the base of the square, your entire face brightens with the wondrous sight unfolding before you. There are people everywhere. Some down celebratory alcohol, others munch on sweet treats, and more still singing along to the traditional folk tunes with robust vibrato, regardless of whether they’re on key or not. You can’t find a single frown amidst all this mirth, and that’s just the way you like it. It’s overwhelming: the sights, the sounds, and the mouthwatering smell of something delicious and fried.

Yoongi eventually jogs up to you, forced to inhale a few quick breaths to refill his lungs. “Are you that hungry?” He asks, the corner of his lips curling up.

Oh god, you just made the prince run.

"No...! Not at all! I’m deeply sorry, seja-jeonha. I got too excited, didn’t I?”

“Not at all. Shall we get something to eat first then?”

You avert your eyes, though you really haven’t had dinner tonight. “No, please. Let us do what you would like.”

Yoongi grins as if it is of no consequence. “What I want? Well, then, I want to go this way.”

As is his habit, he begins to walk in the direction he chooses without notice, though this time he has to weave through the people that crowd the area. His disguise is working well; he is largely ignored as he passes, leading your little group all the way to an open alleyway where stalls line each side, lit up with lamps and vividly colored banners.

A twinge of sadness squeezes your heart as you look at the spread. You faintly remember a decade ago that there used to be a full row of assorted delicacies and sweets for purchase; now it’s mostly merchants with tables of books and hairpins, food becoming too scarce for most to sell with the grain shortage, even if they need the funds. Still, everyone seems to be doing their best with what they’ve got.

Sudden shouts ring out right beside you, nearly blowing your ears out with how loud they are.

“Jeon! Freshly fried shrimp and fish jeon for sale!”

“Hot, hot, hot nokdujeon over here!”

“Gaah!” you exclaim, eyes wide. You wouldn’t be surprised if the monks up the mountain heard about this jeon! When you turn to see who the hell is making all this commotion, you’re met with the scowling faces of two men, glaring furiously at each other in-between tending to their sizzling pans in adjacent stalls. The bearded one looks about seconds away from giving the other younger man a good smack with the fishing rod leaning on the wall behind him.

Said younger man gives a snicker. “No wonder my sales are beating yours. Why would anyone want your shrimp when they could have my delicious mung beans?”

“Say that again, if you dare.”

“Why would anyone want your gross shrimp when—”

“Yah, you can take your beans and shove them right up your nasty sokgot—”

“Excuse me,” Yoongi cuts in between them with a smirk. “I’ll take two orders of each. Preferably not ones shoved anywhere.” He drops coins on both counters, more than enough to cover the food.

“Ahem.” They levy two very similar glares at each other before beginning to package the orders for consumption, switching to polite honorifics in the process. “Yes, sir!”

“Right away, sir!”

They work deftly, obviously very practiced in the art. Neither of them drop so much as a crumb, even though they seem to be racing.

"My lord, here is your order," Fish Jeon says, only to be roughly shoved aside by Mung Bean in a rush to hand over the goods first.

"Please enjoy, sir!"

Yoongi takes the round and crispy nokdujeon, all wrapped in parchment paper. His amused chuckling makes you feel a little warmer, a bit fonder than you should. Especially when he then promptly passes the package to you.

"Seja--" You cut yourself off before you make the mistake. "Um. My lord, this is for me?" You ask, even though you're practically drooling at the scent.

"Did I give it to someone else? Eat."

He turns, hands off one of the assorted jeon plates to Eunuch Kim behind him, who accepts gratefully with a bow.

You, and your stomach, don’t need to be told twice. After blowing on the golden batter, you take a generous bite, accidentally smearing a bit of it on your cheek in the process but god, it tastes incredible. Mung Bean may be loud, but he clearly doesn’t tell lies. You have to hold yourself back from inhaling the pancake whole, instead savoring each nibble on your tongue.

“Come on. Keep going before the crowd grows,” Yoongi says, urging you forward with a jerk of his chin before biting into his own pancake. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him smile this much before, and it’s with slight regret that you tear your eyes away to look where you’re going.

From behind you as you start to walk, you hear, "Jungkook, you brat, shouldn't you be more respectful to your elders?!"

"Whatever, hyungnim. Nokdujeon! Better-than-his-fish nokdujeon!"

There is a very distinctive thwap as you move into the merchant area.

The first booth you come to belongs to a woman that you recognize, selling the latest romance novel by a rising author, Taehyun. She recognizes you too, waving you over with enthusiasm. “Oh, hello! We just received this last week. A tale of forbidden love between a yangban lady and a fisherman! Full of tension and…” she lowers her voice conspiratorially, “more than a few kisses!”

“Do people actually read things like this?” Yoongi mutters, staring at the covers.

“Huh? No! Well, hah, I certainly don’t!” You hope your face looks plausibly innocent. “But thank you,” you turn to say to the woman before hurriedly walking on before she can expose your ruse. The prince doesn’t need to know about the precious books you keep in a secret stash in your room. A lady can’t only study all day, right?

(You make a mental note to come back to town and pick up a copy later.)

Down the row you go, reluctantly finishing off the pancake on the way. Yoongi hands you the entire second plate of jeon not long after. “I don’t want it,” he says, watching you brighten at the prospect of more food. He does end up stealing a piece of shrimp from within your grasp later, throwing it casually into his mouth before you can even react.

The next display to really catch your attention is one laden with delicately handcrafted ornaments, pins, bracelets, and perfumes. “Wow!” You gush, leaning over the table as you try to calculate how much money you brought with you because you want it all, even though you rarely have the occasion to dress up. Still, you want at least something as a keepsake, to hold your memories of this precious day. Yoongi stops and waits for you; you forget it should be the other way around.

“Oh my, Eun-a-ssi? Is that you?”

What? You look up, breath hitched.

“Oh, my apologies.” The woman behind the booth is elderly, her hair grey, eyes wrinkling warmly as she smiles. “My mistake. My eyesight isn’t what it was. You… look a lot like a woman I know. I haven’t seen her in a long time now.”

“Eun-a… Eun-a was my mother,” you murmur. “She passed away last year.”

The woman’s eyes widen as she clutches her hands to her chest. “She did? Oh… Oh no… I’m so sorry, child. Then you must be—” She thinks for a moment, then says your name. You nod, and a small smile slips back on her lips, though now tinged with sadness. You know the feeling. “My name is Hong Sook-ja. I used to live right here in town with Eun-a-ssi, until all those years ago when she moved into the palace and I moved to the countryside. Your mother used to bring you into town for Chuseok and we got to know each other then. These days, I just come back every once in a while to see my granddaughter and great-grandson, so I must have missed the news.”

“It’s alright, Sook-ja-ssi. Mom lived well,” you say, ignoring the twinge in your chest. Any glimpse into mother’s life before she had you fills you with a certain homesickness, alongside the joy. “She was happy. And I’m sure she’d be happy to know that you are living well too.”

“Good. Good. She deserved happiness.” Sook-ja sighs, letting the information sink in. Only after one last kind smile does she finally seem to notice Yoongi standing beside you, trying his best not to intrude. “Now, is this handsome lord your companion? Perhaps your betrothed?”

“N-No!” You immediately cry, not wanting Yoongi to misunderstand, to think that his rank could be dragged so low as to match yours. Sook-ja should know that these class lines, even between yangban and cheonmin, are not so easily crossed. But the mischief in her gaze seems to suggest she doesn’t care much about that. “No, we’re just out. Together.”

“Yes. Out. Together,” Yoongi echoes, just as the door behind Sook-ja starts to open with a noisy creak.

A young woman dressed in a pretty hanbok steps out of the house with a smile. “Grandma, are you interrogating the customers again… Oh, hey! Kim-nim!”

All three of you turn your heads to look at Eunuch Kim, who couldn’t look more surprised at the woman’s appearance if Yoongi started growing a tail. He flusters, stepping back as if that could protect him. “Ahh, Chun-ja-ssi…! You’re, um, here! And you look, wow—” He almost drops the last piece of jeon altogether. “I was not expecting you to be here— I mean, not that I was thinking of you being elsewhere— Uh, not that I think about you that often—”

“This is my granddaughter,” Sook-ja explains, saving the poor man. “Chun-ja. She and her son, Han-jae, are the best parts of my life. She’s so clever, she can even read and write, you know!”

Chun-ja flushes under the praise. “My grandmother likes to exaggerate. But it’s very nice to meet you both,” she says, bowing in greeting as Sook-ja excuses herself, exiting through the same door.

Yoongi is once again smirking. “So, how do you know Kim-nim?”

“Mm, it was about two years ago? I was helping one of the merchants bring grain into the palace. Kim-nim saw me struggling with a particularly heavy pot, and so he helped me carry it. Since then, we chat for a bit every time he’s in town on an errand, and exchange the occasional letter! When he remembers to write me back, that is. Though his letters are often so lovely that I don’t mind the wait.” Chun-ja offers Eunuch Kim a grin that he can’t quite return with ease.

Yoongi has to work hard to keep his face relatively straight as he says, “hmm. So that is why he’s always disappearing from the palace with those weak excuses? And using all that ink? He always said it was for something important.”

“Seja— My lord! Please!” Spare me, Eunuch Kim’s wilted expression pleads. You have to hide your amusement behind a hand, lest you burst out with inappropriate laughter.

Once again, Sook-ja comes to the rescue as she shuffles out of the house, holding two familiar objects that make your eyes light up. “You’re both in luck. I knew we had a few extra this year, even after that rascal great-grandson of mine ruined a few with his roughhousing. He’d still be causing trouble if he weren’t off with his friends right now.” Sook-ja sighs. “I wish my grandson were still around to scold him. But anyway, I’d be happy if you’d take them!”

“Wish lanterns!” You exclaim, taking the lightly orange cloth contraption with glee. “Oh, I haven’t seen these up close in years.” The palace celebrations don’t usually include them, leaving you to try and catch the sight of the tiny, almost imperceptible lights floating into the sky from so far away. You’ve always loved the thought of the lamps surging towards that boundless sky, endlessly drifting, free to follow the wind.

“Do you know how to start it?” Chun-ja asks. You shake your head. “Let me show you.”

As Chun-ja explains the mechanisms behind the lantern to you, Yoongi reaches for his coin pouch. “We must give you something in exchange.” Yoongi produces several mun coins that are at least five times the lanterns’ actual worth, and tries to give them to her.

Sook-ja pushes his hand away. “No, no, it’s a present!”

“I insist.” Yoongi tries again, only to be rejected, again. He wonders if she would be so obstinate if she knew who he really was. (Probably yes.) “Alright… What if I take another item from the table to make it a fair trade?”

“Stubborn, aren’t you?” Sook-ja bursts into laughter, her belly shaking beneath her skirt. “Fine. Take your pick!”

Yoongi barely scans the accessories; he snatches up the bracelet you were looking at before and tucks it into his jeogori with a secret smile. “Thank you.”

“Thank you,” Sook-ja says warmly, before her smile dips down conspiratorially. “It’ll look good on her. Anyway, have fun! Enjoy the night.”

“I’m sure we will.” Yoongi shifts his attention to you. “All done? Then let’s keep going.”

“Yes, my lord,” you say, happily clutching the lanterns. “Thank you so much, Sook-ja-ssi. Chun-ja-ssi.”

Chun-ja beams. “Our pleasure. I hope we see each other in town again soon. And Kim-nim, don’t forget your letters!”

“Yes, of course, I will. I mean, I won’t. Forget, that is. Uh, I’ll write. G-Goodbye.” Eunuch Kim bows twice in quick succession before hurrying after you two, trying his best not to look back for one last glimpse of what he’s left behind.

You continue your wandering through the rest of the festival, marveling at the sheer strength of the wrestlers and then the elegance of the dancers. Absently, you wish this atmosphere could stay in place forever, and that everything else could just vanish into the smoke and ash of the burning campfires, but you know too well that life is a balance. And right now, with the prince’s silky sleeve pressed almost right against yours as you walk past a chorus of singers, the scales have temporarily tipped in your favor.

Eventually, all your wandering takes you to almost the outskirts of town, to an area you visited before with your mother. It takes some squinting but you eventually recognize the obscure path among the bushes, and immediately gesture towards it. The prince has shown you so much tonight; you want to return the favor, especially since his steps are beginning to slow. “This way! Please come with me.”

“Are you sure this is safe?” Eunuch Kim calls. “We cannot let anything happen to our lord!”

You start down the road. “Completely!”

It’s been so long since you last took these steps, but it all comes back to you effortlessly as you take the lead. It takes a few minutes, just a few, to reach the clearing you seek. And it is exactly as you remember it — the nature growing with a wild, greedy virility, the oddly shaped rocks studded in the dirt, and the reflecting pond, its water rippling from the drag of the autumn wind across its surface. There is no one here, which is exactly how you expected it to be.

“Here it is, seja-jeonha.”

“It’s quiet,” he marvels, and steps further in. He stops at the edge of the pond, staring not down but out, at the reflection of the full moon in its depths.

“I thought that you could use a change of environment. You look a little tired.” At this point, you know him well enough to tell that the neutrality of his expression shows subtle signs of weariness.

“The noise. It can be overwhelming at times. I’m not used to so much of it, usually. But I like the songs.”

You nod. “I understand perfectly! That’s why mom took me here in the first place. It used to be her secret spot when she was growing up.”

His arms shift, sleeves brushing the sides of his jacket. “She was a kind woman.”

“Very much so.”

You feel the breeze swiftly pick up, weaving through the strands of hair that have come loose from your up-do. The curling leaves around you rustle with welcome relief, bathing in the atmosphere, the rare tranquility of such a beautiful evening.

“Shall we float the lanterns?” You suggest after a spell.

“Sure.” Yoongi indicates for Eunuch Kim to bring the lanterns over. “Matches?”

Eunuch Kim fumbles in his robes for a few seconds before he realizes with a start that they’re just not there. “My apologies!” He bows. “I must have left the matches back at the booth!”

Yoongi sighs. “Too distracted by Chun-ja-ssi, hm?” Eunuch Kim flushes. “Go get them then.”

“But to leave you alone—”

“I’m not alone.”

Eunuch Kim looks between the prince and you a few times in rapid succession, his thoughts evidently as wavering as his eyes. He finally lands back on the prince.

“…Understood. I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

You both watch him go, the quick pace of his steps no doubt brought on by anticipation.

“I can’t believe he’s been involved with a woman without any of us knowing,” Yoongi says, his tone betraying his real fondness.

“It’s sweet.” You smile, wondering if Eunuch Kim will ever manage to stop the stuttering long enough to actually tell Chun-ja how much he appears to like her. He is a mature man with most aspects, but apparently you’ve happened upon his one sole weakness. “But… He’ll probably be gone for a while. We won’t be able to light the lanterns.”

“I thought as much when I told him to go.”

“Well, it’s nice to take a break.” You don’t mention that you’d probably go anywhere and do anything, even if it’s just sitting around waiting, if it was with him. Instead, you look down at the pond, the water stilling enough for there to be a slightly blurry reflection of yourself awaiting below. “Hm. The water’s gotten a bit murkier these years. It used to be clear enough to see perfectly in. But it’s not so bad! Come look!”

Yoongi does. His pale face, all dark eyes and that rough, obvious scar, appears beside yours.

You fully intended on saying something else but that thought falls clear out of your mind when you realize just how undone your hair has become in all the bustle of the celebrations. I look like a mess, you think in a panic, hurriedly feeling for the strands to tuck them back. You’ve only managed to get one side fixed when a rock comes flying out of nowhere, plunging into the water with a noisy thunk! It disturbs both your reflections and wrecks the temporary mirror as cold droplets splash back.

“Hey!” You cry, leaping back from the pond to Yoongi’s grin. “What was that for?”

He has the audacity to look innocent. “Nothing. Haven’t you ever skipped rocks?”

“That was more a throw than a skip,” you grumble, checking your skirt as you hope it didn’t take too much damage. Thankfully, only a few drops actually landed on the precious fabric. “But yes, I love skipping rocks. Properly.”

“Here then.” You open your palm at Yoongi’s behest and he drops a stone into it. “Show me how to do it properly.”

You accept the challenge and plant one foot behind you, staring down a point in the middle of the pond, angling your arm as you position the stone in your hand. You most definitely look the part of an expert as you let the thing go. It shoots towards the water at a rapid speed, whooshing right through the air like a tiny bullet as it hits the surface at the angle and then proceeds to instantly sink to the bottom like, well, a rock.

Yoongi’s raucous laugh is no less than a roar, his entire body wracked with the exertion as he practically doubles over. He only gets louder when he sees the embarrassment on your face, the absolute mortification.

“I never said I was good at it…” You mutter, deciding to try a second time. This rock plummets right down to the watery floor too, refusing to save you even a little bit of face.

Yoongi’s settled into an infuriatingly smug look. “So, you can’t actually skip a stone. But you still love doing it?”

“That’s right.”

“Why?” He effortlessly makes a single skip before his pebble capsizes.

“I have a theory.” His curiosity piques at that; a turn of his head. “That it’s not up to us if the rock skips or not. Even if we have all the technique in the world,” you pick up another stone, “if the wind just happens to blow a bit harder, or if a fish from beneath disturbs the rhythm, or even if the tides themselves decide to surge up… It’ll fail. Or only skip the once. But—” You clutch the rock tightly in your hand and feel the weight, the cold, steady shape. “But if we wish hard enough. If we just keep trying every time we have the opportunity again and again…” This time, your rock is truly flying as it smacks the rippling water and skips a miraculous four times before finally dropping into the deep. “The universe might just make it happen.”

“…Or you need more practice.”

You shrug. “I’d rather believe that there are some things in the world simply out of our control. But that we can still hope for those things to shift, to change for the better if we never give up.”

Yoongi falls silent, staring at the ground through his downcast, delicate eyelashes. Maybe you said too much, you think. You didn’t mean to ramble. It’s just something you’ve thought about often. For these past months, it’s been the only thing keeping you going on the hardest, loneliest days. But you’ve made it. You’re still here. And by some miracle, he’s right here with you.

(You think maybe this is happiness.)

“I like that.” His eyes flick up to meet yours with an intensity that says he’s listening. He’s contemplating your thoughts and taking you seriously. He rubs the back of his neck, scratching at an invisible mark. “It’s a good theory. I… I understand it.”

There’s a weight to those words that you feel in the pit of your heart. A pull that draws you to him like the reckless tides towards his moon – a gravitational longing to know what truth vibrates beneath. You wonder if he feels it too.

“Seja-jeonha, I’ve returned!”

Eunuch Kim comes rushing back into the clearing, wielding the packet of matches. You both turn to him, letting the moment be whisked away with the wind whipping past the emerald robes, though you keep it safe in your memories. The eunuch has brought ink and brushes too, for you to write your wishes on the fabric itself. Increases the chance of their coming true, or so the legend goes.

After a few swishes of the brush, it doesn’t take long to light the fires. Your darkly inked characters are lit up by the flame, flickering staunchly beneath the opening as you each clutch a lantern in your hands and look at each other.

“What are you wishing for?” Yoongi asks.

“For more jeon,” is your reply, followed by an easy laugh that he echoes.

Then you let the lantern go as he does — two firebirds soaring side by side into the twinkling night.

a/n: *cue Can You Feel the Love Tonight playing softly in the background even though it hasn’t been invented yet*. hope you’re all enjoying sweet Yoon 🥺

#ficswithluv #bts fluff #bts imagines #yoongi x reader #yoongi fluff #min yoongi #historical au #rain writes #moonlit throne #... this is still a drabble series i swear haha #can you spot the members? 🤭

[hotdamnhunnam]

Too Good for Grey

A/N: Sooo this is a fic that I’ve had in mind ever since I first posted my list of Imagine Ideas a while ago! Though I know Charlie’s decision not to play the role of Christian Grey is what was best for him, part of me will always be heartbroken that we all missed out on 50 Shades of Hunnam 😭💔 In this fic you’re his girlfriend; he’s considering the role and you let him... practice in the bedroom 😏

Pairing: Charlie Hunnam x F!Reader Warnings: smut, swearing, dirty talk, rough sex, dom!Charlie, blindfold, bondage, punishment, light flogging (just with his belt, nothing too intense) Request: No specific request, but there’s been demand for a Part 2 of Red Carpet Rogue and I decided to write this fic as a sequel to it!

Word Count: ~3.4k

[Please read Red Carpet Rogue first if you haven’t yet! Otherwise the second paragraph won’t make much sense without that reference...]

You love mornings like this one. Lazy weekends with your boyfriend, hottest man under the sun. Completely chill and easy and carefree, nowhere to be. No work, no plans. You’re seated in his lap feeding him pancakes from your fork, since that’s the only way to get your man to focus on his breakfast. Charlie’s hands are fully occupied, roving and reckless, moving all over your robe and deep inside. Clearly still riding high from such a scandalously sexy night.

You push another forkful past his lips, then playfully lean in to lick some syrup from his chin as it so sweetly drips. His stubble tickles, causing you to giggle, while he growls and tightens his grip on your hips. “Mmm...” he hums, digging into your skin with his thumbs. “You know I still can’t get over just how fucking awesome last night was, Y/N. Thinking we should invest in a stretch of red carpet to relive it over and over again.”

“Hmm, I like the way you’re thinking...” you respond, settling deeper in his lap and slowly sinking, till you feel your man’s enormous cock grind up against your cunt. Heat burning through your silk robe and his sweatpants. “God, you were so fucking dominant. More than you’ve ever been.”

“That a good thing?” the bastard asks you, as if he has to, bursting into laughter when you shoot him a glare of the fuck do you think?!? Your dom/sub dynamic is not a new thing. “Well, chalk it up to this new script that I’m considering. Came my way yesterday before we headed out for the evening.”

He gestures at the stack of papers on the counter behind him just now, which you hadn’t noticed all morning somehow. You blink at the title printed on the front page and cannot believe what you’re seeing. Basically stop breathing. “Oh, wow...”

Charlie flashes a cheeky grin as he gets off on your reaction. Can’t resist making a stupid dirty pun, ‘cause he’s the worst. Rubbing his crotch harder against yours as he says the words. “Yeah, who could’ve seen that coming.”

“Now if you’re gonna start talking dirty to me, Mr. Hunnam... you’d better be ready to act on it,” you warn him, well aware he’s been ready and raring to go all damn morning. “I know you’d slay this role but don’t know if you really want it, to be honest.”

He shrugs as he kisses stray drops of maple syrup from the corners of your mouth. “Yeah, I’ve got my doubts. But haven’t ruled it out. Think some part of me wants it. Luckily I’ve got the greatest girlfriend in the world to help me work through my decision-making process.”

“Well, should we call it work...” your lips curve into a seductive smirk, “...or play?”

At those words, Charlie’s cock fucking jerks. That’s your answer, of course. Better than anything he can say.

And you’re so fucking ready to meet Mr. Grey.

***************

“You sure about this, babe?” he asks as you hastily finish your pancakes. You’re hungry for something quite different, for fuck’s sake. Your pussy’s so wet that it practically aches. “It’s not like we have a red room...”

“But we do have a very nice bedroom,” you tell him. He’s trying to stall and you’re not gonna let him. You’re ready to go. “Plus we’ve got, you know—silk scarves and ties, a closet full of all kinds of hardware supplies. So I’m sure you can... improvise.”

Charlie’s still acting as if he has to think twice. Blinks twice, with an excited little twinkle in his eyes. “Somebody’s eager...”

“Somebody? Both of us, baby. You know you can’t wait for this either.”

“I just want to make sure you’re ready...”

“Charlie, I know you’ll take things slow and steady. I trust you completely,” you reassure him as you kiss his cheek softly and sweetly. “Besides, we’ll rely on the traffic lights code. Red for stop, yellow for ease it up. Green for go. They used those safewords in the books, right? Never read them so I don’t really know.”

“Then how do you know what—”

“Know what Fifty Shades even involves? Love, I’m not some kind of pop culture idiot,” you interrupt, taking his hand to guide him down the halls. You’re really not about to let him stand and stall. “And I may have looked up... a few things on Google. Being such a kinky bitch and all. Brainstorming new ways to play the role of your submissive little slut.”

“God, you’re so fucking hot,” he grunts as he finally gives in to what he wants, suddenly slipping into dom mode all at once. Changing his tone, making you moan, slamming you up against the wall. Towering over you so big and strong and tall. “Who would’ve thought... who knew that’s what my sweet little girl is up to when you’re clicking away on your laptop? Googling filthy ways for me to fuck you up?”

You groan in desire as his dirty words start a fire. “Ch-Charlie...”

He reacts just as you knew he would, and his dominance feels so damn good. Last night he scolded you just the same, when you called him by name. “What the fuck do you call me?”

“Sir,” you instantly answer. Obviously. Filled with the urge to say more, like a good proper whore, since you feel more submissive than ever before. Thirsty for fifty shades of Charlie. “Thank you for reminding me, sir. I’m so sorry.”

“You better be,” he chides, sliding his hands down your shivering sides, then swiftly untying your robe and letting it fall open wide. His touch upon your skin is hot as hell and fucking heavenly. “Your place in life is to obey. Do as I say. To serve and pleasure me.”

“Yes, sir,” you whimper, breathing heavily, as he cradles your face in his dominant fingers. “I promise I’ll always remember.”

You’ve known it to be true, since the day you first met him: Charlie Hunnam owns you, and you fucking let him. You’re fated to live for his pleasure and love him forever.

He reads all of the thoughts in your head as he slowly lets go of your face, slaying you with his blazing blue gaze. Though you moan at the loss of his fingers, the power and passion of his touch still lingers. You can feel it all over your sensitive skin. Fifty shades of pure sin.

And you love it. Want every damn shade of it. Already so addicted to the deep submissive state you’re in.

The next words that he speaks... make you so fucking weak. Mr. Grey has most certainly come out to play. And he is here to stay. To make you fifty shades of horny. “That’s a good little whore. Gonna give you the punishment you’ve been so desperately hoping for. Now run off to the bedroom and wait for me... facing away from the open door... naked and down on your knees.”

****************

Yes, sir. Yes, please. You’re pretty sure your cunt is leaking all over the floor as you obey your master’s orders, flinging your robe off your shoulders, stripping down and sitting back upon your heels.

It’s not the first time Charlie’s ordered you to kneel—but this right now... just hits different somehow. He’s so hot it’s unreal, too dominant for you to even deal. And you’re obsessed with how insanely good it feels.

You’ve already lost track of just how long you’ve waited. Heart racing, breath bated. How much time has passed? It may have been two minutes or two hundred. You just know that once your man arrives at last, he’ll be all set to give you everything you’ve wanted.

The moment when he finally comes... you feel his presence from across the room. Exuding vibes of absolute alpha male dom. And you’re so desperate to receive all of that energy from him. You can’t believe how blessed you are to be his woman. Here experiencing fifty shades of Hunnam.

Though you’re dying to turn behind you toward the door to see how good he surely looks right now, you stop yourself somehow. Keep both hands resting on your thighs, with lowered eyes, head bowed. Still and silent, though self-conscious that you are breathing incredibly loud. You’re so fucking aroused.

As Charlie takes a few deliberate steps toward you... rests his hand against your head, stroking your hair and tenderly twining his fingers through... you already feel dead. Can’t stop some smutty sound from slipping out your slutty little mouth.

He then reaches around, to trace his thumb across your bottom lip, shifting his grip before you can even attempt to kiss his fingertips. Needs you to know that you are not to make a sound, till he allows. That he owns you without a fucking doubt.

He’s owning you now with the tone of his voice and the touch of his hand. “Y/N. I need you to understand... that you are mine to command.”

“Yes, sir,” you breathlessly answer. And the slut in you compulsively reacts, tilting your head back, in an effort to make eye contact. Dying to look up at his gorgeous face, to meet his gaze, as you profess the shameless fact: that you belong to him, in every way and always...

And yet your man has other plans. Prevents you from catching a glimpse of him before you even can. He had arrived with something in his hands—a strip of cloth, some kind of tie or scarf, silken and soft. He masterfully fastens it around your eyes the moment that your head tilts back, and suddenly your vision fades to black.

“Now that’s no way for a good little slut to act,” Charlie scolds, as he tightens your blindfold. “Shifting from your position? Moving without my permission?”

Ugh God, he’s so hot you could die. “I...”

“Don’t tell me you’re sorry. I’m sick of your worthless apologies. High time I teach you a lesson in proper submission.”

“Ohh, sir—” you moan as he pulls you closer, till the back of your head rubs against the huge bulge in his crotch. The prize that you crave so fucking much. The object of your dreams. You can tell that he’s wearing your favorite jeans, and his cock is so hard it’s obscene, bursting out of the seams.

Then he effortlessly hoists you onto your feet, the bare skin of your back sliding up against his upper body—shirtless, naturally—so that you can feel every firm ridge of his muscles and all of his raw carnal heat. “Now I know what you want... but what’s much more important... I know what you need.”

Those words murder your cunt, and it feels like time stops. Then the next thing you know Charlie has you facedown on the bed, both arms over your head. And he’s tying you up. Binding both of your wrists to the bedposts, with some fucking serious rope.

This is everything your inner slut ever hoped. And you can’t even cope.

He’s just getting started and already this feels so damn perfect you just want to cry. Fucking magic. You’re fucking ecstatic. Tears of pure euphoria rise to your eyes, fighting at the blindfold he had tied, dampening the fabric.

Charlie picks up on all your unspoken emotions, as he always does. He can tell that you’re buzzed and just wants to make sure that this isn’t too much. Leaning in near, to whisper sweetly in your ear. “How’s the traffic?”

“Huh...?” you reply in a hazy sigh, taking a moment just to realize what he means. “Oh—green. So green.”

“Mmm, good to know,” he smirks against your cheek, as you revert to being too horny to speak. “But we can always take it slow. Just let me know if we’re approaching yellow—”

All of a sudden you’re able to speak again, just then. The words are somewhat muffled as your face is partly burrowed in the pillows; you make sure that Charlie hears you loud and clear, though. “Hell no. Green means fucking go.”

“If you say so...” he smirks once more, kissing your cheek before he lifts off of your back, all fucking ready to attack. You both can’t wait for what’s in store.

Charlie has spanked you countless times before. With you facedown in bed, you would’ve guessed that’s what he had in mind—to slap your slutty ass red, then to fuck you from behind. Remind you that you’ll always be his dirty little fucking whore.

Today you’re hoping for a little something more.

And that’s exactly what he’s giving. This time around... the punishment’s bound to hit different.

You can hear the faint rustle, telltale sound of metal and leather as Charlie undoes his belt buckle. Oh, shit—surprise, surprise—for some of these supplies, he didn’t even have to venture in the hardware closet.

Everything he needs to exert his total dominance, he’s fucking got it.

And it’s everything you’ve ever fucking wanted.

“Know just how much this pretty ass loves getting punished...” he teases, taking your bare naked cheeks in his hands with a few tender strokes and squeezes. 

If you had to guess—without being able to witness—he must’ve looped his undone belt around his neck to free both hands for just a minute. He must look so fucking hot right now. An absolute sex god like nobody’s business.

“This sweet ass will look even prettier in pink by the time we’re finished,” he says it like a promise, and you really hope he keeps it, to be honest. “You know I would say prettier in red, but...”

“Oh, no, that’s a bad word,” you murmur in playful laughter. Repeat the right color to make sure he feels reassured. “Green, sir. Want you to let loose and get fucking mean, sir.”

“Ugh fuck,” he murmurs, as you hear him smile while he slides the leather belt off of his shoulders. You can just imagine what the sight of you in such submission has done to his denim-clad cock. “You’re killing me, love...”

“But that’s your job. I’m the sub,” you remind him, well aware you’re coming close to topping from the bottom. Sort of. Whatever it takes, to get Mr. Grey to come out to play, to feel comfortable falling into his role as your absolute dom. “Now go crazy and get rough. I promise I want it, sir. Honest. I can’t get enough.”

“Such a good fucking slut,” Charlie rasps, slowly grazing the edge of the leather across the soft globes of your ass. “Once we’re done with your punishment... you know I’m gonna fucking wreck this perfect little cunt?”

“Yes, sir. Please punish me and use my pussy for your pleasure.”

“Motherfucker...” you hear him quietly mutter, scrambling to strip out of his jeans, because his cock is probably straining in pain against the denim, harder than it’s ever been. No surprise since your cunt’s also wetter than ever. It’s just so perfect that you two are getting off on this together. You love the way your dirty words have this effect on him, just as his do on you. You’re such a slut for Mr. Hunnam; the best thing is that he’s such a slut for you, too.

Once he’s finally naked and gets in position behind you, he takes a few seconds to soak in the view. Psyching up for what he is about to do: whip the shit out of you. Just as you want him to.

“Now with each lash that comes down, I want you to keep count. And need you to repeat the color. Loud. You understand?”

“Yes, sir,” you swear, yielding to his command, instinctively arching your ass up in the air, because you’re desperate for your punishment. “Yes, sir, I understand. Green means hit me as hard as you can.”

“You fucking greedy little cunt,” he taunts with a dominant sneer. “Who makes the rules here? I’m gonna go just as hard or as soft as I want.”

You realize you were stupid to think he would go so hard, right from the start. Charlie knows where your limits are, even when you don’t. He reads your body and your mind and sees into your heart. Knows just what you need even when you’re too focused on only what you want. That’s why you have no doubt that he’ll dish out the most perfect punishment.

And so he does.

From the very first lash on your ass... your breath halts with a heart-stopping gasp. You have never felt such a damn buzz. From the way the sensation bursts onto your skin, underneath the smooth leather, a blossom of sin, pain blurring into pleasure... you want this to just go on forever and ever.

Your master had given you orders, you somehow remember. “One...!” you scream, as you sink deeper into submission, so desperate for him it’s obscene. “Oh God, thank you, sir. Green.”

“Good girl,” he mutters, just before he treats you to another. Each hit makes your fucking toes curl. You are the luckiest bitch in the entire fucking world.

“Two! Fuck, thank you...” you wholeheartedly thank him again and again, with each serving of perfect pain, grateful to your dom for how fucking awesome it feels. It’s unreal. And you keep screaming green on repeat, to give him all the safety and comfort he needs.

He’s enjoying this, no doubt—his cock’s standing rock hard and proud—but this first time around, with each strike that comes down, Charlie is much more focused on reading your signals. Respecting your limits, especially when it’s so tempting to test them a little. You don’t really seem to have any with him, as far as he can tell. Which is epic on some level, but also scary as hell.

He decides when you’re finished, with getting punished, since you’re taking it too fucking well. All you want is more of it; you love it and can’t think of anything else. On your end it’s exquisite. Excruciating ecstasy fulfilling your every fantasy. All because it’s pain coming from him. Fifty shades of Hunnam. All because of how deeply you worship and love him.

If there’s one thing you love more than taking these whips from his belt, the sweetest sting you have ever felt... it’s getting ripped to pieces by his massive cock. Playing your lifelong role as a slut for Sir Hunnam to fuck. Taking him in your soaking wet cunt, letting him ravage you just as hard and as fast as he wants, rough and savage, dishing out some serious damage, till you both explode deep inside and all over each other at once.

Something about the hard passionate sex today, the way he wrecks today... feels even hotter after how you got to play.

Apparently he really likes it when you tap into his inner Mr. Grey.

You both come harder than you ever have, as his huge shaft unloads inside your hole and feeds your soul and breaks you right in half. Breathing in shallow gasps as you feel him fucking collapse, your naked back slick from the sweat off of his sculpted chest and his firm chiseled abs. His face is buried in your hair, and though you know how much he wants to unfasten your blindfold and unbind your wrists, so he can turn you over for a heartfelt kiss, and shower you with hours of loving aftercare... right now your man’s just laying there and praying for some air.

He’s just so perfect it’s not fair. You know he’ll spend the whole rest of the day talking through all your feelings, treating you to every form of healing. Endlessly obsessing over every mark upon your skin, like he committed some ungodly sin, compulsively asking you whether you’re really okay. And he’ll keep on asking no matter what you say. Although he also loves to play this way... deep down he’s doing it for you, because his love is pure and true.

And that was when you fucking knew: this man is way too good to take the role that he was offered yesterday. You’re here to help him though each step of his decision-making process, to respect him if he wants this, and support him either way—but you already feel quite sure after today that your man Charlie is quite honestly... too good for Grey.

***************

Hope you enjoyed this, and would love to hear if you did!! 🤗❤️

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[midnightsnace]

A Thousand Worlds

Summary: Fix it fic of sorts after the trauma that was episode 6 of the Loki series. Loki is in pain after discovering Mobius doesn’t remember him. He’s been living in apocalypses to avoid capture by this new TVA until he formulates a plan to get his Mobius back.

Rating: T for later chapters

Emotional angst.

Chapter One.

Chapter Two.

“And so that’s where I grew up, the ends of a thousand worlds.”

The ends of a thousand worlds. The words of his accomplice echoed through the god’s mind as he fiddled with the straps of his worn and tattered holster. The fluorescent above him flickered with every gust of wind that battled against the sides of the building that Loki was crouched down in. He slid his long legs out against the tiled floor in front of him and sat with his head propped against the wall. He sighed. Loki tapped his foot on the door of the space he was hiding in to close it, drowning out the cries of fear from the people outside in their final hours of life. There he sat waiting for the tempad to charge. Alone. Living in another world where every person he met would be dead by the end of the day. Another world where Mobius didn’t exist. His Mobius.

Was this what it was like? For her? To never be able to stay in one place for more than a day? To always see the same faces riddled with fear as they awaited their painful fate? To only know destruction, screaming, fires, earthquakes, the literal gates of hel? To be utterly alone with your only desire to live in the hope that one day your glorious purpose would be fulfilled?

Glorious purpose.

Loki scoffed. The god didn’t know what his purpose was anymore. Taking down the TVA was a complete failure. The chances for fixing the mess they started seemed impossible now as branches grew and new timelines erupted, with endless TVAs to monitor every universe. At least, that’s what Loki assumed. He knew next to nothing about what they had unleashed. It wasn’t the same TVA. Different hunters, different analysts, different ruler. Many he recognized, but they were still different people. They weren’t the same. She wasn’t the real B. He wasn’t his Mobius. And Loki was at a complete loss on how to find them again.

The first tempad he stole only brought him back to the place he snatched it from. The same Time Variance Authority where Mobius didn’t remember him and not a single file existed for Loki Laufeyson, God of Mischief, God of Outcasts, God of Lies. Even when he dragged the analyst through the timedoor into the roxxcart parking lot to access his memories, nothing existed of him. No laughter over silly metaphors, mischief at pompeii, not even the memory of their first encounter in the elevator. It was like they never met. This led to Loki wasting away their days hopping from one disaster to the next until his brain racked up a solution. The TVA never once did follow him. Why would they? No one remembered his brilliant discovery about the apocalypses. He could run free. But as the days whittled by, the hope Loki had began to fade into nothingness.

For awhile he kept track of the places he went and the time that had passed.

Day 1 - I finally stole a tempad and left that dreadful place. I came here first. Hoping I’d see you. But I guess that’s not how time travel works in apocalypses. No trace we were ever here. The storm reminded me of my brother. I hope to see him again one day. Now that I know we could have been friends. Everything was eventually going to be okay.

Day 24 - I’ve been sitting in a coffee shop awaiting the earthquake of 2098. Met a lovely redhead with the most peculiar of tattoos. But alas! Little does she know this friendship could never blossom in the wake of death!

Day 37 - I miss him. My brother. The pain that solitude brings makes me think of home more often. How ironic that the very place that caused me the most pain I miss. But anything is better than this. So today I visited home right before its destruction. I saw my brother. I saw Thor from afar. Oh how I wish I could have talked to him somehow and tell him i’m sorry for being such an ass.

Being there brought back memories of the silly metaphor he made using Mobius’ lunch. The corners of Loki’s mouth crept into a smile at the thought. But that smile faded away in the next second and was replaced with tears.

Day 56 - I went to Pompeii again. I stood in the shadows. I tried to picture your expressions of skepticism at my insane ideas. I tried to picture how your face lit up with pride and joy when you realized I was right. I wish I could have stayed longer but I never can anywhere I go.

He whistled like a bird before he exited through the time door.

By day 125 he had lost his will to live again. It was their fourth visit to Lamentis-1. Perhaps it was a mistake on his part to journey here once more and feel both the pains of betrayal and heartache at the prospect of never seeing Mobius again. The second time they had visited Lamentis, the god decided to stay until the very last second with the false hope that maybe him facing death would create a nexus event. His mobius would come find him and save him at the last second. But the time door never came. Maybe it was because he knew there was a chance to escape and he could take it. Or maybe it was because there were so many time branches no one would care to fix a world that was about to end.

“You were always meant to be alone.”

And so this time Loki threw the tempad to the ground and waited. He watched as the lethal disaster unfolded before his eyes once more, ready to die. Alone. Alone with no one to assure him everything will be alright in the face of death. Not a single soul would know he was gone. No one would care.

But at the last second they saw something on the tempad that made them change their mind. A glimmer of hope.

Any hope Loki had, a glorious purpose he had left to fulfill, it was in finding Mobius. It was the only desire left that fueled him to keep existing. He was all that mattered. His only friend. The only person left among the universes who trusted him and saw beyond his flaws. The only person left who hadn’t betrayed the fragile levels of trust the god could give. He was his hope that one day, he wouldn’t have to be alone.

And so he found himself walking the streets of New York in the summer of 2197, on the brink of some disaster he knew nothing about. Not a single idea when it would happen, where it would occur, and what he was doomed to witness. He saw something that could potentially lead him to his destination. The tempad had given him an alert for an aura match - two of the same people in one place. An oddity. Something that wasn’t supposed to exist.

They weren’t just any entity either. They were registered hunters in the TVA database. Which meant one had to be from another universe.

And he knew the TVA would be coming for them.

He had to get there first.

Loki speed walked down the sidewalk frantically scanning his surroundings for any clue as to what was happening. He couldn’t read any signs of fear or confusion on the faces of those who passed him. He didn’t know how much time he had.

Upon hearing shouts of anger, Loki broke out into a run across the street towards the source, dodging every dystopian vehicle that nearly collided with him in the process. It was coming from the roof of the parking tower. With a snap of his magic, Loki teleported himself to the top, hiding behind a parked vehicle to assess what he was working with.

There were two agents standing about 10 feet away who looked nearly identical, one waving her arms frantically while the other looked on stoically, possibly from shock, with a pruning stick in hand. Loki locked eyes on the tempad fastened to the belt of the frantic one. Then he glanced at the one in the other hunter’s hand.

Well shit.

Now he had to figure out which agent had jumped from the other timeline. He quickly flashed himself closer to the two, but not before one caught on that someone was there.

“I was given orders by a man to…what was that?” one of the hunters asked.

Loki crouched down farther on the other side of the wall. He reached for a dagger, ready to pounce once their suspicions subsided. They listened intently to the words from the first hunter for the first clue on who to attack.

“He sent me here to grab this,” the hunter pulled up someone on her tempad, “entity and leave. Those were the orders given to me. So if you’ll excuse me.”

The other hunter planted herself in front of her clone. “I can’t let you do that. Not until you’ve told me everything I want to know. How are you me? How is this possible?”

The first hunter was from an alternate timeline. Loki took that as his cue. But before he could sneak behind the hunter, he was shot backwards by a blast of energy from a ring of light.

Out from the ring stepped a peculiar man with graying hair who was wearing blue robes and an assymetrical cloak that sparked the curiosity of the confused hunter. Within a split second, the portal closed behind him. Loki laid very still on the concrete and held his breath in the hopes that the man would believe him to be dead.

“You know I can tell when someone is playing dead.”

Loki grimaced and winced as he heaved himself off the ground. He came face to face with the strange man, his hand lingering in the air where he placed the pocket for his dagger.

“You.” was all the man said.

“Am I supposed to know you?” the god questioned.

“You always manage to show up in New York again at the most in-opportune times.” The man raised his hands and Loki mimicked his movements, summoning his daggers in place.

“I’m gonna assume we’ve met before sir, perhaps in the future? I don’t know! And i’m terribly sorry about New York! Look let me explain…” they lowered their hands in their attempt to make peace with the angry man in front of him.

“Dr. Strange.” He kept his fist in the air, golden sparks flying from whatever spell he had in mind to attack the prince with. “And until you prove otherwise Im going to assume you are here for hostile reasons.”

Loki blinked. Well he’s kind of not wrong, they thought.

“Well I’m afraid I can’t prove anything else.” and with that the god blasted the sorcerer into the nearest column with their magic and teleported across the space.

Loki noticed that one of the hunters had disappeared. He assumed she had returned to the TVA. The other was charging towards him fast. He whipped out his daggers to face his attacker, but suddenly his feet were dragged out from under him and he hit the concrete hard. He was being dragged backwards, body scrapping against the concrete. So fast, that the god could barely think about what was happening to him.

When he came to his senses he cut the magic ropes with his powers and rolled across the ground. So he was dealing with another magic user, this “Dr. Strange.” Loki teleported again before he was up on his feet to where he was standing directly behind the hunter.

“D-11…” Dr. Strange said with a hint of caution in his tone.

So this was the man Hunter D-11 was working for. Before the hunter could turn around to face them, Loki snatched the tempad off her belt and snapped himself to the furthest side of the building. Dr. Strange reacted quickly and stood his ground in front of Loki, prepared to attack again.

“Loki, perhaps we can work out some type of deal. What is it that you want? Maybe I can help you. Maybe we can reach a compromise.”

Offer him a deal? Nah.

“I’m done trusting people I’ve just met. All they ever do is stab me in the back.” he conjured the time door behind him.

Strange titled his head. “You do realize we can follow you right straight back to the TVA?”

Loki turned to face him and D-11. “You’ll never find me. You won’t know the first place to look.” The time door closed with Loki inside of it, before the two even had a chance to reach their hands out to follow the god.

…….

And that’s how Loki had ended up here. At Roxxcart again, waiting for the new tempad to charge up before hopping through timelines again.

He breathed in deeply as he felt the bubble of excitement, relief, and happiness build in his chest for the first time in months at the prospect of achieving his goal. Being reunited with the only one who mattered: Mobius. His Mobius.

But as he released his breath in a sigh, his chest tightened again and worry clouded his mind. What if this didn’t work? What if this was just another dead end? What if this was just another one of the countless TVAs that might exist in the vast multiverse?

At first, all Loki felt was sadness and regret in the days following Sylvie’s betrayal. But now all he felt was anger boiling deep inside him. That same unwelcome feeling he experienced after discovering his father lied to him. The feeling that harbored in the abyss of Thanos’ chambers. The feeling that never left his soul until Mobius looked him in the eyes and assured him that he didn’t have to be the villain in his story.

She had taken everything from him and he was afraid he couldn’t wash away the resentment this time. He wanted desperately to feel anything besides the pain he had known for the past year.

He needed to feel love again.

“He cares about you.”

Loki couldn’t wait any longer. He picked up the tempad and tapped the time door request for the TVA home base. He drew in a shaky breath as he paused in front of the portal.

This was it.

He was either about to be reunited with his greatest source of happiness, or find himself hiding in apocalypses again for months as he searched for another plan.

And he would do it. He would search through a thousand worlds to find him.

#lokius #mobius and loki #loki and mobius #lokius fic #fix it fic #loki fic #mobius fic #mobius m mobius #loki mobius #time husbands #time frost #loki series #loki series fic #ao3 writer #ao3fic #loki fandom #loki laufeyson #loki 2021 #wowki #mobius x loki

[snelbz]

What Happens In Vegas... {1}

An A Court of Thorns and Roses, Feyre x Rhysand, Modern AU, fanfiction.

Summary: For Feyre’s twenty-first birthday, her best friend took her to Las Vegas for a weekend of fun she could never forget. She’s going home with a lot more than memories.

What Happens In Vegas Masterlist

Fanfiction Masterlist

I decided on divorce while I was in the shower, practically slamming the door in my new husband’s face. I went over what I would say to him over and over and when I’d washed my hair for the third time, I knew I was stalling. This wasn’t something I could just pretend hadn’t happened, this was real.

Except maybe I could.

I had plans and life goals. I was only twenty-one. Surely he couldn’t have been surprised by my desire to make this disaster of a marriage go away. You don’t just meet a random person and get married in Vegas. You bring someone to Las Vegas and then you get drunk and get married. But drunkenly marrying an absolute total stranger, who’s name I still didn’t know? Not high on my list of personal accomplishments. I definitely wouldn’t be adding it to my resume when all of this was over.

My parents could never find out, they would kill me. I had plans and priorities. I was going to finish my degree and join my father’s architectural firm. Hell, I had a five- and ten-year-plan, and neither of them included drunkenly marrying a handsome stranger in Vegas.

No, we’d get this thing taken care of and I’d be back in my home town, and back to the life changing internship I was supposed to start in two weeks.

That was it, we’d get divorced and then I’d take this secret to my grave. I was sure my husband was thinking the same thing outside the bathroom door.

I dragged a hand down my face as I stood under the spray of the water and looked at the rock on my left hand. This thing must have cost a fortune. Like a legitimate down payment in a house fortune.

I froze. What if he was into something illegal? His clothes certainly didn’t seem like that of someone who had this much disposable income.

Marrying a stranger was bad enough, but marrying a criminal?

I suddenly felt the need to puke again, but reigned it in. There was nothing left in me to hurl up, anyways.

Attempting to shake the criminal thought away, I tried to take other possible theories into consideration. Maybe he was one of those rich kids that still takes his mommy and daddy’s money, even though he tries to pass off as normal so that he doesn’t have to go to go to all the boring events, full of other rich, snooty people. Or, maybe he had won the lottery and was using his winnings on his trip to Vegas, where he buys obnoxiously large rings for strangers that he marries.

Somehow the criminal theory seemed the most realistic.

A knock on the door had me jumping. “Feyre?”

Well, at least he knew my name.

I hollered back, “Just a second,” and quickly turned off the shower and got out. Wrapping a towel around myself, I looked for something to dress in, but my options were limited. I could put on my white dress, but it was now covered in puke, or the white t-shirt I assumed belonged to the man outside my door, still wet, hanging over a towel rack. I could only assume I’d puked on it, too. Or I could wear the towel.

Towel, it was, it seemed.

I cracked open the door. “Hi.” He was right there leaning on the door frame. I hadn’t noticed when we were sitting down, but he was quite a bit taller than me, a full head, if not more. And he was still shirtless, in those jeans, with those tattoos on display and I was too hungover to process how someone could look like that after a night of drinking.

“Hey.” He wouldn’t look at me, didn’t even seem to notice I was wearing only a towel, thankfully. “Listen, I’m going to have this taken care of.”

I blinked. “Taken care of?”

“Yeah.” He wouldn’t meet my eyes and he was staring at the ground. A scuff on his boots was clearly more interesting than I was. “My lawyers will handle it.”

“You have lawyers?” Criminals had lawyers. Shit. I had to get myself divorced from this guy now. “Yeah, I have lawyers. You don’t need to worry about anything. They’ll send you the paperwork or whatever. However this works.” He finally looked up at me, an emotion I didn’t recognize in his violet eyes, and grabbed his leather jacket from where it was laying on the bed. He shrugged it on, apparently deciding the t-shirt was a lost cause. I wanted to crawl into a hole and die. If I were him, I’d divorce me and run as far away as I could. He probably thought I was going to puke on him again.

“This was a mistake,” he muttered, echoing my thoughts. Hearing him say it, though, hurt for some reason.

I breathed, “Oh.”

He looked up at me then. “What? You disagree?”

“No,” I said, far too quickly.

“Thought not. Wish we would have felt that way last night. Could have saved us a lot of trouble, yeah?” He headed for the door and said, “Bye, Feyre.”

“Wait!” I called and hurried to the door.

When he turned, I really wished I hadn’t seen the hope in his eyes. “Yeah?”

“Here,” I said, already tugging the ring off my finger. “This is yours.”

He looked down at my fingers, gripping the ring, holding it up to him. He blinked, then his eyes narrowed. “Keep it.”

I nearly gaped. “It must’ve cost a fortune. I can’t keep this.”

He shrugged. “I don’t want it back.”

“Please,” I said, following him as he took a step toward the door. “It’s yours and I have no need for it. Take it. Please.”

The second please came out much more desperate than the first.

“Look,” he said, rubbing his temples as he turned around. “Sell it, pawn it, I don’t care. Keep it.”

“No,” I said, without any hesitation. “It wouldn’t feel right. You have to take it.”

“No, I don’t,” he said, voice low.

He didn’t give me a chance to reply, storming outside and slamming the door behind him. The painting on the wall lifted and fell as the force reverberated through the walls. He never even told me his name.

I was left staring at the door, mouth hanging open, the ring still in my outstretched hand.

I had no doubt that whether or not he did have lawyers, he would make sure we were divorced now. I slowly walked over to the undisturbed double bed, the scratchy comforter still in place, and sat down. I sighed and said a prayer to the Cauldron that that really would be the end of this fiasco.

As I sat there, still wearing nothing but my towel, I noticed that my right butt cheek, strangely enough, was aching, throbbing for some reason. I shook my head, not surprised in the least that I’d somehow ended up causing myself bodily harm last night. I stood and walked back to the bathroom after tucking the ring away safely in my carryon bag. I made a mental note to call Joey, who was absent from our hotel room, but she’d come to Vegas with a goal in mind of her own.

It didn’t include getting married, but did include some other activities that go hand in hand with it.

The thought gave me pause and I froze, halfway to the open doorway.

My ass was currently the only thing aching, so I could only assume that me and my soon-to-be ex-husband hadn’t consummated our marriage. I tried to ignore the disappointment I felt at that fact.

I may not have wanted to be married to him, but that didn’t mean I wouldn’t enjoy doing other things with him. Things that didn’t end up in a legal and binding contract with the state of Nevada and the Man upstairs.

I knew this was a blessing in disguise. Thank god he didn’t want to keep this mess going, I don’t date bad boys. And that man was definitely a bad boy. I was more into the clean cut, college-educated, I have a 401K type of guy.

Had I ever dated that type of guy? No.

Had I even gone on a second date in the past three years? Also no, but that wasn’t the point.

I could already tell that man was nothing but trouble, and getting as far from him as possible was my best bet.

I sighed, walking into the harsh light of the fluorescent bulbs over the bathroom mirror, wanting to inspect the damage to my ass. I turned and stood on my tiptoes, looking backwards at myself in the mirror. I wondered if it would end up bringing a scrape or a bruise. I hadn’t felt anything while I was in the shower, nor did I remember falling last night — not that I would have anyways. I cringed, hoping my husband hadn’t-.

Black ink and hot pink skin. All the air left my body in a rush. There was a word on my left butt cheek, a name:

Rhysand

I spun and dry-heaved into the sink.

———————

“How, after nearly twenty years of friendship, is your music taste still this horrible?”

Joey was scrolling through my saved songs on Spotify, sharing one of my ear buds. She had, indeed, succeeded in completing her goal last night. She finally stumbled into our hotel room, still orgasm drunk a mere two hours before our flight was scheduled to take off. Thanks to my overwhelming anxiety, I had everything packed and ready to go, sitting by the door when she walked in looking like exactly like she’d spent her night in someone’s bed. Rather than waking up on a clammy bathroom floor.

I thought this was supposed to be my birthday trip. How did I end up with the shit end of the stick.

“If you wanted to listen to your own music, you should have remembered to charge your phone before you slept with our waiter from last night.” It came across with much less sarcasm as was intended, and anyone else would have thought I was being an absolute bitch, but as she watched me swallow the rest of the shitty, airplane coffee, she knew I’d had a rough night.

She went on, ignoring me. “Have I taught you nothing?”

I snorted. “Not to drink tequila.”

With a roll of her eyes, she opened her mouth to reply, but the dinging of the PA above their heads rang out and she paused. The seatbelt sign lit up and we both re-fastened the belts across our laps. She said, “I’m trying to help you and your horrific music taste. Here.” She scrolled through my saved artists and found a band I hadn’t even noticed was on the list. It had a singular song saved.

A screaming electric guitar and aggressive yelling filled my head and I yanked the earbud out. So much for my headache beginning to fade. I was convinced my brain was leaking out of my ear, she’d turned the volume up so loud.

“How do you even listen to that?” I asked, rubbing temples as I began to feel my heartbeat behind my eyeball.

“It’s Illyrian Leathers,” she said, as if that was explanation enough.

“And they're lovely,” I said, taking my phone and pausing the song before unplugging the headphones. We’d begun our descent and would off the plane in a matter of minutes. “But, you know, maybe another time, after you didn’t pour twenty tequila shots down my throat.”

She scoffed, “It was only four, you took the rest of your own accord.” I could vaguely remember Joey putting back to back shots to my lips and tipping them back before I could stop her. Twice.

That vague memory was on the short list of things I could remember.

All I knew now was that I couldn’t wait to get home, climb into my bed, and forget about everything that happened in Vegas. For the first time in my life, I finally understood the popular phrase, What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.

It would be easier to forget, though, if I hadn’t spent the entire flight trying to get comfortable in my seat with my throbbing asscheek.

I stared out the window, watching my hometown slowly fade into view as the plane descended in the sky. I made a vow then and there that I would never leave the comfort of Adriata again. I had proven to myself that nothing good happens when I leave the city limits.

“So what did you end up getting into last night?” Joey asked, gathering her dark hair and piling it on top of her head. “Aside from the toilet bowl.”

“That’s pretty much it.” The less said, the better. The less people that knew, the better. The sooner she was off this plane, the better.

“What a boring birthday weekend,” she scoffed.

We were quiet the rest of the short ride, my stomach mercifully survived the landing, though it did lurch once. After grabbing our bags from the overhead bin, we disembarked the plane, and I was very grateful that we had only brought carry ons.

In no time, I would be on my way home.

The thought had me almost smiling, but the nausea kept that smile at bay.

We exited the plane, past the smiling flight attendants, and exited into the tunnel that would lead us up into the terminal. Joey rambled on and on for the entirety of our walk, but I rarely made out a word she was saying. My head was back to throbbing, and I was counting down the distance that would lead us into the parking garage.

I could see the sign up ahead that pointed to baggage claim, and thankfully we wouldn’t have to wait for any bags, but what we did run into past that sign was much, much worse.

The second we stepped into view, flashes of light were blinding me.

“What’s going on?” I asked, lifting up on my toes, trying to catch a glimpse of the chaos ahead.

“Must be a celebrity on board or something,” she mused, glancing behind us, just like the people in front of us were. I followed suit, only to find the people behind us staring in front of us.

Then I heard it. My name. Being said by about twenty different people.

“Feyre, when’s the baby due?”

“Why didn’t Rhys fly with you to Adriata?”

“Is it true the band is breaking up?”

“What do you have to say about the allegations that you’re sleeping with the other members of the band?”

“Will you be having a second wedding?”

“When is Rhys coming to meet your parents?”

I was frozen, my heart had quit beating and I was pretty sure my stomach was in a puddle in my Vans.

An endless barrage of questions and flashes and my name and his over and over and over.

Joey gripped my hand and pulled my hood up my hair. “Keep your head down and don’t stop walking.”

She began forcing herself through the crowd, shoving one man and his camera out of his way as we hurried through the busy airport and jumped into a waiting taxi, cutting a line of nearly a dozen people. I couldn’t be bothered to care as the paparazzi descended on the cab.

“Drive!” Joey shouted at the man.

He blinked and said, “Where?”

“Anywhere!”

He stepped on the gas, just as I dropped my face into my hands and groaned. My mind was whirling. It made sense, but at the same time, I couldn’t comprehend it.

Rhysand.

The name tattooed on my ass.

My apparent husband.

He was...famous?

Not a criminal. Not some fake rich kid. Not a lottery-winner.

Famous.

Famous enough that paparazzi were greeting his new wife as she got off the plane, anyway.

“Feyre.”

By her tone, I assumed it wasn’t the first time Joey had said my name. My hands dragged down my face as I hesitantly met her gaze.

I blinked.

“What the hell was that?” she asked, her voice raising.

I looked out the window behind her head. We were exiting the airport, and I didn’t even bother to announce that my car was still in the parking garage.

“I…” I began, but my words fell short. I didn’t know. Yes, I did. But I didn’t want to, wanted to pretend that I didn’t, because this could not be my current reality.

“You didn’t happen to get…married while we were in Vegas, did you?”

“I… Yeah. I, uh, think I did.”

She blinked. “Wow.”

And then it just all blurted out of me. “God, Joey. I screwed up so badly and I barely even remember any of it. I just woke up and he was there and then he was so pissed at me and I don’t even blame him. I didn’t know how to tell you. I was just going to pretend it never happened.”

“I don’t think that’s going to work now.”

“No.”

“Okay. No big deal. So you’re married.” Lauren nodded, her face freakily calm. No anger, no blame. Meanwhile, I felt terrible that I hadn’t confided in her. We shared everything.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” I whispered. “I should have.”

“Yes, you should have,” she sighed. “But it’s okay. I know now. So,” she said, crossing her leg and looking at me. “Who did you marry?”

“Rhysand,” I said, and she blinked at me.

“It’s not Rhysand Lunasa, is it?”

I shrugged, I hadn’t even known his name until I found it branded on my asscheek. “Maybe? It sounds familiar.”

“Where exactly am I taking you ladies?” The cab driver asked, glancing at us in his rearview mirror.

Joey glanced at me and said, “Feyre?”

I turned around, seeing the cars still following us. “My parents,” I breathed. I really didn’t want to lead them right where I lived, but it wouldn’t have surprised me if they already know.

Joey nodded and said, “Good call, your dad has a gun.”

I rolled my eyes and shook my head as she rattled the address she’d had memorized for years off the driver.

She sat back against the cracked leather seat and took my hand. I looked over at her. “I’m so sorry I didn’t say something. I didn’t mean to get married. I don’t even remember getting married. I don’t even know how this happened. This is such a…”

“Clusterfuck?” She provided.

I snorted and said, “Yeah, that’s a good word to describe the situation.”

She squeezed my hand and said, “You’re right. You really shouldn’t drink tequila.” I could only nod, my head pounding. After a second, she asked, “Do me a favor?”

“Mm?”

“Please don’t break up my favorite band.”

My eyes widened as I realized all at once who my darling husband was. “Oh, my god. He’s the guitarist from that band.”

“Illyrian Leathers,” she said, smirking as she looked over at me. “And yes, he is. Guess you’re going to have to listen to his music after all.”

I didn’t bother to tell her the obvious: no, I would not. This nightmare of a marriage would hopefully be over before I’d have time to search and find one of his records.

I smacked my forehead. He’d been plastered on Joey’s bedroom wall since we were sixteen, when Illyrian Leathers had formed. How could I have not recognized him? “It makes sense how he could afford the ring.”

“What ring?”

I hesitated before fishing the giant rock out of my pocket. When I held it up, Joey’s eyes widened.

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah,” I muttered. “I know.”

“It’s massive!”

“I know,” I repeated, still amazed at the size of the diamond.

“I mean, it’s-.”

“I know,” I interrupted, exasperated. “You can’t freak out, alright? I’m already freaking out, and we both can’t freak out, because that won’t work.”

“Right,” she said, quietly, clearing her throat. “Sorry, I just…holy shit.” She took the ring into her fingers and examined it as if it was a long lost family treasure. “How much does something like this cost?”

I shrugged. “No idea. A fortune, I’m guessing. And I really don’t want to guess.”

She was looking at it and suddenly her eyes were on mine. “We should sell it and take a world wide cruise! Probably take a couple laps on the bad boy. I wonder how many carats it is?”

I took it back from her, tucking it safely away in my pocket again. “Five, and no, I need to get it back to him. There’s no way I can keep this thing.”

She sighed, letting her head fall back against the headrest. “I know, but you could have let me imagine it for a few minutes.”

I snorted but didn’t say much else.

“Congratulations,” she said as we got closer to my parents’ house. “You’re officially married to a rockstar.”

I dropped my head into my hands again. “What the hell am I going to do?”

She chuckled. “I have no idea, but I have to tell you, you exceeded my expectations.”

My eyes slid to her. “What do you mean?”

“When I told you I was taking you to Vegas for your birthday, I was hoping you’d let your hair down and let loose for once. Get a life and give mankind another chance. But this is a whole new level of crazy you’ve ascended to. Do you really have a tattoo?”

“Yes.”

“Of his name?”

I sighed and nodded.

“Where, might I inquire?”

I shut my eyes tight. “My left asscheek.”

Joey lost it, laughing so hard that tears were streaming down her face.

I’m glad one of us found my current situation funny.

Because as my childhood home came into view, already surrounded by paparazzi, I knew that my life as I knew it was over.

My father was going to kill me.

#snelbz whiv #snacmc #snelbz tacmc collab #what happens in vegas #feysand #feyre archeron #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas

[empiresmostwanted]

Hi!! From that quote prompts list, a few that stood out for me were “it’s a brutal world” and “what are you humming?” for Rex? Im imaging either a mechanic/civilian reader or a shiny new clone trooper is accompanying the 501st on an off-world mission and they are sitting by the campfire late at night, a little shaken by the battle earlier in the day. Rex notices and goes to comfort them, and perhaps there is a singing motif??

Also! I loved Sabacc Face and im making my way though your other works this weekend 💕

Thank you so much @maulpunk for the prompts 😘

I'm sorry it took me so long to write, work has done a number on me this last week or so. Grrr. But I was happy to get back to writing this, although I must apologise for straying a little from the parameters of the request (it turned out to be a little too angsty for a singing motif, oops). I hope you like it all the same!

(P.S. Thank you so so much, I'm thrilled you liked Sabacc Face. It was a lot of fun to write, I hope it was just as fun to read!)

posted on AO3 | the prompt list | my writing

Words: 1.5k | Warnings: Post-Umbara Arc, Grief/Mourning, Angst (and lots of it, sorry-not-sorry), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, a certain Besalisk's name is briefly mentioned (okay, I am sorry for this one)

GHOSTS IN THE UMBRA

20BBY

☾

CT-0292 couldn't sleep. When he closed his eyes, rounds of blue plasma bolts flashed through the darkness behind his lids. Hands, his own hands, held a DC-15 carbine aloft, and one single finger under his control pressed on the trigger, mowing down the Umbarans in their disguises.

But they hadn't been Umbarans. They'd been his brothers.

A strangled sound escaped him, somewhere between a gasp and a sob that he caught in his throat. His chest ached with the effort to hold it, the urge to release it. And it ached as if his brothers had occupied a place there, the loss of them leaving the muscles of his heart to constrict around empty space.

He blinked away sharp tears, then pushed off the weighted blanket – its presence more suffocating than soothing – and climbed out of his rack. He gathered up the armour stacked in a neat pile from the foot of the bunk's frame and applied it, piece by piece, from foot to neck.

If he couldn't sleep, he might as well be useful. He'd never been very good at keeping still.

Around him, his brothers lay in their cots; some slept, restless, while others remained painfully conscious. From his own squad, only himself, Wil (Private), and Ridge (Private) remained. The others, along with their sergeant, had fallen to General Krell's lightsaber.

All was quiet. And Ridge was nowhere to be seen.

0292 shook his head, lightheaded, the back of his neck prickling. After checking his blaster was fastened to his belt, he tucked his helmet under one arm and crept through the rows of bunks like a ghost, leaving the sterile barracks behind.

For a moment, he stopped outside the blast doors as they sshhed to a close behind him, and took a deep breath. Had he caught the scent of rain and salt water in the air, it might have grounded him; but this planet was as unfamiliar to his nose as it was to his eyes and ears. With the tang of metal in his nostrils and on the tip of his tongue, he set off across the floodlit compound.

Beyond the sensor wall, he spotted the warm glow of a natural fire flickering in the perpetual dusk, its light peeking through the mist and the dense formation of local flora. He frowned. Patrol taking a break, perhaps?

CT-0292 made his way to the airbase's entrance. As he approached the gate, he passed skeletons of Umbaran machinery looming out of the fog, and squads of troopers pacing as silent as wraiths.

The planet was reclaimed, but no one had come out of the campaign unscathed.

At the gate, two troopers bearing the colours of the 212th stood guard, blasters held across their bodies, and faced the darkness beyond. With the sight of their armour came a fresh wave of guilt, at once hot and cold, that settled in the pit of his stomach. He cleared his throat upon approach; one started as if he'd been shot, and the other patted him on the shoulder.

"Easy, trooper," said 0292, holding out a placating hand. "Just passing through, lending a hand to patrol. That them over there?"

They followed the direction of his pointer finger, to the small fire burning gold in the gloom. The one coiled as tightly as he himself nodded, and turned back to him. "They're taking it in turns to sweep the perimeter."

"Thanks." He inclined his head, and stepped over the threshold of the airbase.

As his footsteps tapped a muffled rhythm into the damp earth, the chill air cooled the sheen of sweat on his forehead, and pressed cold fingers to the nape of his neck. With a shiver, he donned his helmet and activated its spot-lamp, before succumbing to Umbara's gloaming.

*

CT-0292 walked through the forest of Zabrak Spines, their bioluminescent ridges reaching towards the sky and cutting through the umbra like angry wounds. The glow of giant red thorns shrouded the woodland in an unsettling pallor.

Every small noise was amplified in the stillness around him: the snapping of twigs beneath the feet of tiny creatures, the whooshing of spectral wings overhead, and what seemed like footsteps somewhere behind him, approaching – but when he looked over his shoulder, there was nothing there. Each sound sent a spike of cortisol through his body, and he tried not to hyperventilate to the beat of his pulse.

The immediate threat from the Umbarans had been neutralised. But he and his brothers had found out the hard way that this shadowy world kept its secrets close.

You're out of the woods when you're out of the woods, his instructor back on Kamino used to say. It had seemed redundant to him then.

"What's that you're humming, trooper?"

He nearly jumped out of his skin. He looked back and came face-to-face – or helmet-to-helmet – with Captain Rex materialising out of the fog, easy to identify by the jaig eyes and the modified armour.

The captain removed his bucket, brow furrowed in concern, and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Relax. I didn't mean to startle you," he said with a smile that did not reach his eyes. "It sounded familiar, the song you were humming."

"I didn't realise I was humming it aloud," the trooper admitted, face heating as Captain Rex fell into step beside him. "I was thinking of my instructor, back at the facility: she smuggled her own radio into Tipoca, and she'd play it for us during downtime. That one was her favourite, I think. I don't know the words, though. Just the tune."

"Ah."

They walked for a way in companionable silence, each lost to their own thoughts. Confronted once more with the familiar face of his brothers, CT-0292 replayed the moment of terrible realisation, and the skirmish with Krell. The Jedi – if one could even call him that – might have been dealt with on a permanent basis, but his reach would extend far beyond his death.

"Couldn't sleep, either?" asked the captain, dragging him out of his own memories.

He shook his head.

Rex sighed. "It's a brutal world out there."

CT-0292 couldn't be sure if he was referring to Umbara, or the entire galaxy. 

"I admit," he began, "I wasn't expecting to kill other people. I've been training to take down and disable battle droids for nearly ten years, and I thought I was ready, but this …"

It didn't even begin to cover the atrocity of slaughtering his own, knowingly or not.

They heard the voices of their brothers before they saw them, hushed and sombre. Upon stepping out of the forest, they found themselves in a small clearing, lit from above by towering plants, incandescent with pink and purple and blue light, and lit from within by a humble campfire. At least ten troopers were gathered around it, talking in lowered voices amongst themselves.

Rex came to a halt on the edge of the clearing, and stopped 0292 with a hand on his arm.

"If it's of any comfort," he said, "every one of us here is feeling the same right now. No campaign is easy, no life lost is worth less. But this mission has taken its toll more than any other. You say you're not ready, but I recognise the blue bird painted on your bucket. I saw you take charge of your squad when Sergeant Jax was killed, and you kept the rest of them alive. There might well be a promotion coming your way."

A promotion. He'd always harboured the hope of making his way up the ranks, proving his worth and ability along the way. Seeing the captain in action, the way he was respected and admired, had only solidified that desire. But he hadn't entered the GAR as a sergeant, or a captain. It had never really occurred to him before now that someone would have to die for him to take their place.

But he nodded, and said, "Thank you, Captain."

"What's your name, trooper?"

"CT-zero-two-ni—"

"Your name, trooper," Rex clarified. The smile on his lips belied the sadness in his eyes.

CT-0292 removed his helmet. "It's Vaughn, sir. My batchmates called me Vaughn."

"Then welcome to the five-oh-first, Private Vaughn. Over there are your brothers. It won't always be easy, but whatever happens, we look out for each other. And I know you barely got to see General Skywalker in action, but I can promise you that he – and Commander Tano – are nothing like Krell. You'll see."

"Thank you, sir."

Captain Rex clapped him on the arm, then strode off across the clearing, towards the campfire. Vaughn followed, kicking up the smell of damp earth and decaying foliage, sickly sweet in his nostrils. He was pleased to see his squadmate, Ridge, among the ranks of troopers around the flames, and another who'd introduced himself as Sterling just one rotation prior.

"Room for two more, boys?"

☽

Thank you so much for staying to the end! Even though I enjoy reading some good ol' angst, it's definitely tricky to write, so it was nice to stretch those muscles for this prompt. Hope you liked it 💜

#prompts #requests #the clone wars #the clone wars fic #captain rex #captain rex fic #star wars the clone wars #star wars #star wars fic #sw #fic #fanfic #my fic #my writing #captain vaughn

[houseofhurricane]

ACOTAR Fic: Bloom & Bone (20/28) | Elain x Tamlin, Lucien x Vassa

Summary: Elain lies about a vision and winds up as the Night Court’s emissary to the Spring Court, trying to prevent the Dread Trove from falling into the wrong hands and wrestling with the gifts the Cauldron imparted when she was Made. Lucien, asked to join her, must contend with secrets about his mating bond. Meanwhile, Tamlin struggles to lead the Spring Court in the aftermath of the war with Hybern. And Vassa, the human queen in their midst, wrestles with the enchantment that turns her into a firebird by day, robbing her of the power of speech and human thought. Looming over all of them is uniquet peace in Prythian and the threat of Koschei, the death-god with unimaginable power. With powers both magical and monstrous, the quartet at the Spring Court will have to wrestle with their own natures and the evil that surrounds them. Will the struggle save their world, or doom it?

A/N: The High Lords go to battle against the Autumn Court. You can find all previous chapters here, or read Bloom & Bone on AO3. Thank you for reading! ❤️ If you'd like to get an early preview on the next chapter, follow me on Instagram at @house.of.hurricane.

The army from the Spring Court is small but Tamlin makes sure to greet and thank each warrior lined up in front of his estate, the same enthusiasm for the lower faeries as he gives to the members of the nobility who have arrived from their country estates. Tomorrow, at the Autumn Court, any of them could die. He does not want to forget a single name or face, and he wants them to know he’s seen each of their faces.

He used to shield himself from most of his army as a guard against the inevitable loss. It was easier, his father always said, to craft a winning stratagem when the general thought more about the victory than the ensuing loss of life. But more and more, Tamlin is feeling his father’s perspective unravel inside of his mind. He feels unmoored but also, sometimes, unbound in an entirely new way.

Anyway, he cannot quite believe that anybody answered his summons. Even after the months spent visiting the villages throughout the Spring Court, listening and commiserating and offering solutions, the humbling visits to the estates of his nobility, Tamlin thought they hated him. Although Lucien and Elain and Vassa had all helped him with the wording of his pleading summons, he expected that a request for an army of volunteers would go unanswered, that the lands around his estate would be empty save for the flowers. When warriors, males and females and those who see themselves in other ways, began to arrive at the Spring Court, he could barely manage to keep his composure, to restrain the tears that threatened to spill alongside strangled shouts of relief and joy. All he’d known in his life was leading warriors, and he had fully expected to never have that sense of purpose again, that he would fight alone until some stronger enemy claimed him.

So he has made his plans and preparations in a state of urgency and gratefulness which seems both old and new to him, interrupted only by meals and Elain, pulling him into another world for an hour, food unlike any he’s tasted, languages he’s never heard, and kisses that quench and also leave him wanting her so deeply he practically gasps with need. She is helping Lucien with diplomatic work and with the understanding of Koschei’s magic and spells, but in other worlds, neither of them speaks much of their work. They share little secrets and amusements and compliments. He tells her everything he would want her to know if he were to die in this battle. For so long, Tamlin had never thought about the possibility of death, and when it finally occurred to him, he wanted it to claim him. Now, for the first time in all the long years of his life, he both acknowledges the possibility of death and wants dearly to avoid it.

Throughout the morning, the army completes its drills. First, they go through the physical motions: the basic weaponry and the formations which, thankfully, they have not forgotten since the war with Hybern, some from wars that took place centuries before. Then, there are the drills in magic, determining the gifts of the army and how they might be used.

Finally, as the sun falls toward the horizon, he shows his commanders the formations, and within minutes, he sees a small army lined up neatly behind him, each flank poised and ready, on horse and on foot, their weapons poised to strike.

They all look to him, in the front of their group, and Tamlin tries to meet the gaze of each person, even as he knows that’s impossible with even this small army, the thousand volunteer warriors from across the Spring Court.

Behind him, he hears the doors of the estate open, and even before her sweet scent reaches him, Tamlin knows Elain is watching. He clears his throat, focuses only on what he had planned to say, well before he knew she would hear.

“Tomorrow we will march on the Autumn Court,” he says, magic amplifying his voice to a confident boom, “and I suspect you may wonder why I have summoned you to this battle. You may think that the determination of a ruler in another court will not affect you. But in that, you will be wrong. The males who want to seize rule of the Autumn Court seek to ally with a powerful death-lord on the continent. That creature seeks to seize friends of our own court to fuel his own wicked ends. If captured, he will use them in order to rule this world and every other. Tomorrow, you do not only fight for Eris Vanserra to take the High Lord’s throne in the Autumn Court. You fight for the saving of our world, and I thank you for your courage.”

When he takes a breath, the rapt silence stretches on, and Tamlin realizes that this was when he used to feel most comfortable, leading his war band. When he knew every face and believed that he and all his company would gladly die in order that the others would survive. He’s not sure when he lost that perspective, but now he takes a moment and searches each face, engraving it in his mind.

“My cook and his staff have been working for days to prepare a feast for you, but before you go inside to eat, I want to thank you sincerely for your bravery and courage. For the kindness you are showing to the people of this world. I hope that your bravery will be remembered in legend and in song. As long as I live, I will celebrate you.”

The clapping begins near the doors of his estate, and sweeps across to his warriors, his army, who clap and shout their support until at last Tamlin cannot contain the tears that fall down his cheeks.

As their applause dies down, Elain’s voice sounds in his head, remind them that there is dessert in the gardens!

Tell them at dinner yourself, emissary, he tells her, by magic or pure will, before turning and drinking her in. She’s wearing a dress the color of new grass in the sunshine, fastened at her waist with a slim pink belt, her bare shoulders luminous as the moon in the twilight. When she meets his gaze, her brown eyes are warm and intoxicating as whisky, and the thought of the battle, the possibility of losing her, is enough to crush the air from his lungs.

“How was training?” she asks, as soon as he reaches the doors. Lucien has joined her, his eyes fixed on the horizon for Vassa, but Tamlin knows he’s listening.

“They’re ready,” he tells them both.

“And if Koschei is at the Autumn Court?” The question is familiar, one she’s asked him every day since a battle became inevitable.

“I’m prepared to hold the shield until they can all be winnowed away.”

“I’ll come for you,” Elain says, as she always does.

“You’ll be needed for the saving of this world,” he tells her, the answer that he means more every time he says it. He reaches out for her fingers, clutches them tightly in both his hands, brings them to his lips. “You’ll stay with Lucien and Vassa and ensure there is peace. That there will be some beauty after all this war.”

Her sigh is laced with tears, and beside her Lucien groans.

“Will you two be like this until he leaves? Because if so, I will need to change my seat at dinner.”

“You will be flirting outrageously with Vassa the minute any of the Spring Court commanders so much as looks at her appreciatively,” Elain says as she twines her fingers in Tamlin’s and walks into the estate, he and Lucien following in her footsteps.

No one, now or when she arrives at the feast an hour later, remarks on Vassa’s changed appearance. The Queen of Scythia has always been slender, but she has lost weight since Koschei captured her, and since her return, her golden brown skin has grown pale, deep purple hollows forming under her blue eyes. Lucien has tried to conceal his alarm, but Tamlin knows that these changes drive him to spend every daytime moment negotiating an alliance against Koschei, studying his magic and the makings of the curse that binds Vassa tighter than ever.

Still, she makes herself as merry as anybody, asking the nobles questions about wars known to her only in history and myth, trading stories about the battle with Hybern, explaining that yes, she was a firebird all day today, and no, she does not particularly recommend the experience, although she wishes that everyone could see Elain’s garden through the firebird’s eyes, because there is nothing more beautiful in this world.

When Tamlin looks to Elain, he sees the tears in her eyes, and grips her hand below the table.

“How early are you leaving?” she asks, her finger rising to the edge of his sleeve, dipping beneath the fabric.

“Hours before sunrise,” he says. If he could winnow his warriors, they could leave later, but they will ride hard to the Autumn Court in the hours before the battle, replenishing the horses with magic. “After touring your gardens, this army will sleep.”

“No detours?” Her thumb reaches the inside of his arm, the skin that, despite all his training, has remained relatively soft. He manages to contain the sound of all his wanting.

“When I return safe to you,” he says, “you can take me to whatever world you like.”

He knows there is still shame inside her at the notion of their pairing, which explains why she only kisses him in other worlds, why their exchanges in this one are furtive and laced with double entendres.

“You should talk to your warriors,” she tells him, though she still holds him, their hands hidden by the table linens.

“Come with me, emissary,” he says, knowing the invitation is a test.

Still, though Elain drops his hand, she follows him down the line of the table, repeating the name of each warrior and thanking them for their service, asking about their experience and talents, listening deeply to their answers, to Tamlin’s own questions and stories.

They work their way down the table, and then she circles back to Vassa and Lucien, hovering over the human queen but coaxing a smile to her lips, a laugh from Lucien. After a few seconds, Elain looks up and meets Tamlin’s eye, and he watches her smile widen, her eyes grow bright.

As he leads his army into the garden, to the cakes and sorbets that Cook insisted were perfect for a spring evening, Tamlin thinks about that tableau, the golden circle the three of them made. He’s always found himself outside such circles, separated from his brothers by the power he had to keep hidden, from the Spring Court nobles by his own unease, his people and the other High Lords and practically everyone in Prythian seeming far beyond his grip.

But Elain’s look was an open door into another world, unlike the one he’s always known.

Tamlin spends the next hour talking to the warriors, focusing on the beings of more humble origins. Lucien had made the recommendation, pointing out that Melis was a lesser faerie, the advantage the lowerborn have in numbers alone. As he speaks to the faeries of every height and skintone and magic, he’s surprised by how easily the conversations flow, how eager the other fae are to speak with him, especially when he begins asking questions, listening the way Elain does, nodding and chuckling and meeting dozens of unfamiliar eyes.

He’s just served himself a slice of chocolate cake when he meets a pair of eyes he’d never seen. Not because he does not know this male, but because he would never meet Tamlin’s gaze before.

“I didn’t think you would ever join the army, Ilya,” he says, clapping the village blacksmith on the back.

“There’s never been a volunteer army in this court,” Ilya responds, nodding his head. “At least not for the last thousand years. I want to be able to say I was part of the first that anyone can remember.”

“I’m grateful.”

“You’ve changed, High Lord.” Ilya darts a glance at Elain, who is listening intently to another villager who is explaining the medicinal properties of forest plants. “You’ll pardon my asking, but does it have anything to do with the lady at your side?”

“Elain Archeron is serving as emissary of this court,” he says, and then, because he is so grateful for the ways that this conversation is unlike their first, “and she, just as much as you, deserves for it to be a place where everyone is treated decently. I am sorry I have never provided you with such a home.”

“You’re the first person in my memory who has tried, at any rate.”

Tamlin presses his hand over his own heart and bows. There’s nothing he can say, not against the knot in his throat. Ilya gives him a smile and a nod and goes to join a knot of villagers, and Tamlin walks in the direction of the woods, intending to eat the cake and collect himself.

He’s barely made it to the trees before he detects Elain’s scent.

“You’re not going to prowl the forest all night, are you?” The question is light but somehow the words are not a jest. Though perhaps it is the conversation he just left, the weight of the day to come.

He takes a deep, shuddering breath, inhaling her fragrance of peonies and rose and berries, a perfect morning in the thick of spring.

“Do you believe I’ve changed?” he asks her. He does not look at her, only hears her footsteps against the fallen leaves, the sigh of her skirts.

“I want to believe that you are different now. That you’re better than the person who allied with Hybern and tormented my sister. But part of me wonders if I’m imagining everything because of what I feel towards you.”

As she speaks, the darkness of the evening seems to grow even dimmer. He has felt the world shift inside him, as if he sees everything with the eyes of Vassa’s firebird. And to be seen by her as more or less the same, capable of destroying her, is a blow graver than any he’s suffered in battle.

“You think the mating bond has blinded you.” He cannot bring himself to phrase it as a question.

“I wish I could have chosen you on my own,” she says, and she’s reached out to him, her fingers on his elbow, now on his chest, her skirts swishing against the tips of his boots. “I wish I could have known for certain that this is what I want, not some ancient magic that says our children would be powerful.”

He wants to draw her toward him, flush against his body, at the mention of children, the idea of a future with her, but instead he only presses his hand over hers, holds it against his thumping heart.

“I am so afraid that you will be hurt tomorrow,” she says, stepping closer to him, her body curled up against him, warm and sweet and soft. “I do not want you to think that -- that I feel nothing towards you. It’s only…”

“That I’ve been a monster.”

“And I’ve been a stupid child all my life. I think that you are different now, Tamlin. It’s only that I want you to be good so badly, because then I wouldn’t have to be guilty about my feelings. I could just...”

Once again she doesn’t complete the thought, only twines her fingers in his hair, strokes the back of his neck, and finally he crushes her in his arms so that her feet leave the ground entirely.

“I will come back to you tomorrow,” he says. “You don’t have to decide tonight.”

“I wish--” she starts, and this time he kisses her. Her lips taste like chocolate, and she opens her mouth to his with a little moan that unravels him. But tomorrow he will rise before the dawn and lead his army into battle, so Tamlin forces himself to set Elain on her own two feet, tries to tame the desire on his features to an acceptable facade.

“We’ll have time,” he says, and then, hand in hand, he walks with her, out of the forest and into the Spring Court.

&

&

&

When the sun rises over the Spring Court army, they’ve already ridden for hours in near silence. By midmorning, they are to meet the rest of Prythian’s armies at the Autumn Court, and the group is making better time than Tamlin had expected, riding swiftly enough that, at the borders of his lands, he allows them a short respite, during which he seeks out his most trusted commanders, who fought with him in the war bands, and reviews the battle plan.

He did not tell Elain the truth when she asked him for his strategy. He will not shield his court from the front lines of the battle.

The Summer Court has volunteered to shield the assembled army. Tamlin and Rhys had realized, on their mission against Koschei, that water magic would prevail the longest against the fire of the Autumn Court. Feyre has worked with Tarquin and Varian over the past week, according to the reports from the Night Court, and they have not only developed new shielding techniques but methods for attack, fearsome creatures animated by spellwork and will. The Spring Court commanders who can hold a shield will do so if the Autumn Court breaks through, but meanwhile Tamlin will be inside the keep itself with Helion, rescuing Cybele from the tyranny of her sons, or else fighting her until she yields. Helion has given no sign that he knows the Lady of Autumn’s allegiance, or even, since neither of them can winnow, how they will enter the keep, only winked and assured Tamlin he was on the winning team for once. The gesture made him think of Lucien, the swagger his friend sometimes allows to shine through. But entering the keep is riskier than remaining outside it. They have gathered no intelligence on what has happened at the Autumn Court since the day of Beron’s death, the last time anyone else in Prythian was able to get inside. If Koschei awaits, or High Fae from the continent, Tamlin knows that mere hours could separate him from his death.

Still, he rides onwards through the Autumn Court, the trees the color of earnest flames, and finally, Tamlin lets himself think of Elain, her warm gaze and the mind that whirls behind it, her sweet mouth and the way the words she speaks could form their own perfect world. The magic in her, bright as a new star. He wishes he could have left her being confident of her love, but at least he is certain of what she can create on her own.

As they draw near to the keep, Tamlin lays a thick glamour over the army, shielding them from the eyes and ears of the Vanserra brothers. The hoofs of the horses are muffled even to his own ears.

Nearly there?

The sound of Rhysand’s voice in his mind is like a thousand biting insects, but Tamlin does not push him out. Instead, he allows Rhys access to his vision.

You’ll be there in ten minutes. We’ll be ready. Drop the glamour as soon as you’re in range of the keep.

He waits until all trace of Rhysand is gone to feel, just for a moment, his frustration at being commanded. Then he surrenders himself to the killing calm.

When he reaches the wall of flames, he drops the glamour, and for a moment, the field of battle is empty aside from the Spring Court force.

He is sure, then, that he’s been abandoned by the rest of Prythian, is grateful when he feels the shield form behind him, that his people will be safe enough to begin their retreat. He’s glad that Elain is far, far away.

Then the wall of water springs up a few inches in front of his horse, and the great white bears of the Winter Court appear, and the sky is full of Illyrians, their siphons flashing.

You thought we’d leave you to die? Rhysand is laughing into his mind, and Tamlin cranes his neck, looking for the overgrown bat.

I probably deserve it, he thinks.

Now, now, Rhysand drawls, you still have work to do.

So do you, Tamlin fires back, now looking for Helion, who strides through the lines as if this is merely a training exercise. As soon as he spots Tamlin, the world dissolves and Tamlin stumbles into what looks like the interior passageways of the Autumn Court keep, dark stone hallways lit by torches. Helion is implacable as he was on the battlefield, calmly studying his surroundings, his armlet glinting even in the dim light.

“I didn’t think you could winnow,” Tamlin mutters as he reaches for his sword.

“There are always ways around any limitation if you’re creative enough,” Helion says, flashing a smile that leaves no doubt of his self-estimation. “I believe the lady is being kept in this corridor.”

“How have you been able to track this court?” he asks in his lowest tone as he follows, unable to contain his curiosity. In his beast form, he could scent Lady Cybele, but he and Helion had agreed to remain in their High Fae forms, for any subtler magic and diplomacy required. Yet Helion walks down the dark hallway without a sound, without so much as a sideways glance to confirm that he’s moving in the correct direction. Perhaps all these years later, he is still besotted with Cybele. Perhaps he thinks this will be a romantic rescue.

“They call me Spellcleaver with good reason.”

The door opens before Helion touches it, and at first Tamlin thinks that the High Lord of Day has opened it with his magic, one more flourish, but Helion whips his head toward him, his braids flying with the motion.

Inside the room, the Lady of Autumn sits on a plush armchair surrounded by a hundred threads of fire, caging her so that she cannot make the smallest movement.

“Come to find your lover?”

The voice is a cruel distortion of Lucien’s, and in a flash, Tamlin’s sword is at Ealars’ throat.

“I wish I was surprised to see you make your mother a prisoner in her own court,” he says, debating whether to take off Ealars’ head or merely incapacitate him. Meanwhile, Helion works frantically at the spells that control the cage.

The room fills with heat, diffusing from the flaming chains. The glow illuminates Ealars’ grin.

“I don’t understand why you won’t just give them up,” Ealars says, and then the magic surrounds Tamlin, that spiky potent power that does not belong in this world. Not wholly Autumn Court magic, but Koschei’s, too, multiplying Ealars’ power so that it rivals a High Lord’s.

Tamlin slams his shield in place, covering Helion and Cybele. His sword clangs to the ground, thrown by the force of his own magic. Tamlin reaches for the sword he’d strapped across his back, palms a dagger in his other hand.

“He was trying to bind you,” Helion says, his fingers working around the bindings as if he’s trying to assess their width and tension.

“And here I thought you would need to concentrate on your task.” Tamlin doesn’t want to think about the implications of being bound by Koschei’s magic.

“I’ve reached the level of brilliance which allows for multitasking.” And, perfectly timed with his self-praise, Helion reaches into the strings of fire and bends them. There’s no hint of pain on his face, no arrogance in his gaze that’s focused only on Cybele’s pale face, only a recognition, as if to say finally. Her russet eyes are bright as she looks up at him. Tamlin has always known the Lady of Autumn to be shy and retreating, but there’s no hesitation in her bold look, only certainty, a claiming.

Once the flames have parted enough to allow the movement, Helion rests his thumb on her cheek, studies her face as if he means to memorize each feature. Though the caging spell still partially binds her, neither of them makes the slightest motion apart from the other.

Tamlin is about to clear his throat, remind them that they are in the middle of a battle, when the room goes dark and a new power batters his shield.

“Trust Rhys to make a grand entrance,” Helion says without so much as raising his eyes, only lifting the chains of fire aside like a curtain and holding out his other hand for Cybele to step through.

The High Lord of Night had been tasked with offering the remaining Vanserra brothers the opportunity for retreat, or ending their lives. Apparently he’d made quick work of the rest of Lucien’s family.

Outside the shield, the mixture of fire and Koschei’s magic battle the dark expanse of Rhysand’s power and for once, Rhysand isn’t the clear victor. Koschei’s power seems to eat away at his magic, absorbing it to grow stronger.

“Can you get yourself out of here?” he asks Helion, who has joined in the analysis of the skirmish outside their shield, the Lady of Autumn tucked in to his side. “There’s something wrong with this magic.”

“This isn’t Ealars’ power,'' Cybele says, her voice hoarse from disuse or abuse or some awful combination. “It was the price of his allegiance.”

“Did all of your sons ally with Koschei?” Tamlin asks, watching Helion wince at the oversight but waiting, one eye on Rhys, for Cybele’s response.

“The three in this keep. The day after their father died. Koschei said it was more power than any of the High Lords possesses on their own.”

“Then we will need a stratagem to escape,” Helion says, eyeing Rhysand, whose tan face has gone pale, the darkness of his magic now translucent.

“I’m faster with a sword than Ealars.” Tamlin tries to summon belief in this statement, tries not to think of Vassa, the shell that remains of her every night. “I can hold him at bay until the rest of you escape.”

Because his mother is there, Tamlin does not say, until I kill your son, even though that is his plan. Still, Cybele goes from pale to ghostly as she realizes his unstated implications.

“And how will you get out?” Helion asks, reaching out his hand. Though Tamlin will refuse it, this offer for escape, he is grateful. That, if this is the end for him, it didn’t happen when he was useless and raging, alone in the forests of the Spring Court. That someone would want to rescue him.

He shakes his head, finds himself somehow grinning.

“People tend to run from the beast. Just get her out, Helion.”

Helion nods.

Tamlin drops the shield. Instantly, Cybele and Helion vanish, and Koschei’s power spears toward Tamlin.

He dodges the blow and runs with his sword instead of his magic, throwing up a small shield as he runs toward Ealars. Lately he has found success in a stealthy approach but now he roars out his battle cry, so that, for just a second, the fire mixed with otherworldly magic wanes, and Rhys’ magic rises in the room.

Within seconds, night is a slender cord around Ealars’ neck.

Tamlin vaults toward the gasping male, trying to dodge the bolts of spiky magic that Ealars flings around the room. He is so close, he needs only to take one more step.

He hardly has time to see or hear the magic, let alone react, when his left side explodes with pain, as if his own flesh is consuming itself.

Still, Tamlin digs in deep to all his warrior’s training. He reaches out with his sword, one heaving slash of the blade and then another, until there is a thump and the room descends into a ringing silence.

Strange, that he cannot see Ealars fall. That the head that fell from his body already seems a long-past memory, the blood trailing his neck, his face frozen in an expression of horror, Ealars’ last look at the world. It all goes gray and distant.

There is only the pain in his side, but even that pain has receded now, a scream in the distance.

He opens his eyes and Rhysand stands over him, and even in the haze of ringing gray ache, Tamlin knows that Rhys’ smile is forced.

“Elain is going to kill me if you don’t survive this,” he says, and then, for Tamlin at least, the world goes empty, dark, and roaring.

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #elain archeron #elain is my queen #tamlin #tamlin redemption arc #queen vassa #lucien vanserra #elain x tamlin #tamlin x elain #tamlain #lucien x vassa #vassa x lucien #band of exiles #vassien #vucien #vassien is goals #post acosf #acosf spoilers #acosf fanfiction #spring court #novel length acotar fanfiction #feysand #nessian #gwnriel #acosf #elain acotar #elain acosf #pro tamlain #pro vassien

[mosylufanfic]

The Game’s Afoot

Merry Christmas, @halflingmerry! I was your Secret Santa! You asked for a modern James Bond/Lara Croft AU, and I hope this delivers.

The Game's Afoot  

Report: Target arrived in town. She has been supplying herself for an excursion, indicating a local temple she wishes to investigate. The consensus is that she's just another bored, rich tourist who will probably die in the jungle.

Reply: Proceed as you see fit.

**

Jyn hired a guide in Merida. Tenoch spoke very little English, but Jyn's map and pesos communicated for her very well. He gave her a skeptical look when he saw the destination, but she added more pesos to the pile and he shrugged. 

They made good time the first day. She checked her GPS after they made camp for the night and did some calculations. If they kept this up, they were about two days out from the temple, which was what she'd planned for.

The satellite signal on her phone was a little shaky this far into the jungle but she could still get a video feed of her foster brother, Bodhi. "Oh good," he said when he saw her face. "You haven't been eaten by a jaguar."

"The night is young," she said. 

"You've got a good guide?"

She glanced at Tenoch, squatted down over the fire, stirring something in a little tin pot. "Seems to be. We're not doing a lot of talking. You know how crap my Spanish is."

Bodhi started to say something, then paused and changed it to, "As long as he stops you getting crushed to death by a - " He looked off into the distance. "Wait, what's that snake? The one that wraps around your throat and squeezes you to death?"

She rolled her eyes. "There are no boa constrictors in the Yucatan. I'm more concerned about falling down a cenote."

"What're those then?"

"Bloody great sinkhole with a lot of water in the bottom. If the fall doesn't kill you, the drowning will."

"Are you sure you're going to make it to that temple alive?"

"Probably not," she said cheerfully. "You'll inherit my millions."

"I'll be very sad about that," he promised solemnly. "I promise to wipe my eyes with thousand-pound notes at your memorial service."

"I only get a memorial service? Wanker."

"Yes, because your body is somewhere in the jungle, swollen to twice its size after being bitten by some hideously poisonous bug."

"Venomous," she corrected. "Poisonous is when you eat it." She thought. "Or touch it."

"Right," he said. "I stand corrected. I'm glad you called, anyway, and not just because it's proof of life. Saw Gerrera's been in touch."

She let out a heartfelt groan. "Come on, Bodes, none of that business stuff. It's so deadly dull."

Bodhi, who'd been neck and neck with her all throughout their MBA program, looked taken aback. She cut her eyes to his left, where his tall, dour new assistant was sorting out the day's mail.

He adjusted and sniffed, "Well, sor-ry, but it's your money, and you should know what's going on with it."

"No," she retorted, studying her nails, "your job is to know what's going on with it, Mister CEO. I'm the owner. I just have to sign the checks."

"And go gadding about the world."

"That too."

"As long as you're back for the founder's ball."

She sobered. "In twenty years, have I ever missed my mother's birthday?"

"No," he said, voice equally gentle. "Not even once."

They chatted a little more, Bodhi sharing some misadventure his youngest sister had got into over the weekend and Jyn telling him about her flight from London to Merida.

Just as Bodhi was asking her about her preparations for the excursion, his new assistant hove into view like an iceberg looming over the Titanic. "Mr. Rook," he said. "You have a meeting with the VP of finance in exactly seven and one-half minutes."

"Thank you, Kay," Bodhi said, giving Jyn a look through the video feed.

"I would end your call with Ms. Erso as soon as possible."

"Thank you, Kay," Bodhi said again. "Do you have the reports we'll be going over?"

"They are on your tablet."

"I'd like paper copies, please."

Somehow managing to impart that Bodhi was the most ridiculous and unreasonable boss in the world without changing his expression, Kay stalked away.

Jyn snickered. "Go on to your important and scintillating meeting," she said. "Me, I'm going to shovel down some rations and sleep like a log."

"Pace too rough for you?" he teased.

She flipped him off. "Jet lag, if you must know." She rolled her shoulders. "Love to your mum and the girls."

"Stay safe," Bodhi said, and signed off.

She shut her satphone down and leaned against a tree, thinking hard.

Bodhi's old assistant, Tivik, had left suddenly for a new job, and Kay had turned up as if by magic. They were neither of them stupid, and they knew Kyber Limited had its fair share of business rivals. Corporate espionage was to be expected. But she'd always felt it best to keep your enemies where you could see them.

Her satphone slipped from her hand and she made a grab for it.

There was a high-pitched whistle and a reverberating thud. 

Jyn's head jerked up. Her guide was a dark shape looming over her, both hands gripping a machete handle. The machete itself was stuck fast in the tree that she'd been standing under.

If she hadn't ducked her head to grab for the satphone, the blade would have gone through her neck.

Her heart hammered in her chest as she stared up into his shadowed face. Only a faint glint showed her where his eyes were. She had a knife in her boot and the machete was stuck fast. Could she reach her weapon before he could retrieve his?

A thump and a rustle by her feet caught her attention.

Half a snake flopped over the ground, still writhing, the mouth gaping open and fangs glittering evilly in the dusk. Instinctively, she kicked it hard with the steel toe of her boot, and the body soared into the campfire.

Tenoch watched it disappear into the flames with sizzling, popping noises, and then said, "Una vibora."

Viper.

She swallowed hard. "Si. Yo se." She nodded stiffly. "Gracias."

"De nada."

He wrenched his machete from the tree trunk, and the other half of the snake crashed to the ground. Put together with the front half, Jyn guessed it had been two feet long at least, and she swallowed bile.

Seemingly unaffected, he used the bloody machete to flick the second half of the snake into the darkness. "La comida está lista," he said, jerking his head toward the fire and the little tin pot he'd been stirring.

Thank god he'd covered it.

She followed him back to the campfire with shaky legs, cursing at herself. She'd been so deep in thought she hadn't stayed aware of her surroundings.

She of all people should know that the jungle would kill you to death given half a chance. It was what had happened to her mother. 

She and Bodhi might joke about it, but Lyra Erso had gone into this jungle and hadn't come out. Jyn was well aware she might not find a trace of her mother at the temple that had been her last, failed expedition, but she'd been planning this trip for years, and she wasn't about to let a snake or a bug or a jaguar or a cenote or even a taciturn guide stop her.

**

They agreed that he would take the first watch, and Tenoch settled himself cross-legged, with his back to the fire to preserve his night vision. From the corner of his eye, he could see Jyn Erso crawling into the tent.

He listened to the rustling and shuffling sounds of her getting ready for bed. The zip of the sleeping bag, the further shuffling of her getting comfortable and settled. He waited half an hour more, eyes tracking the jungle for animal or human intruders, ears cocked to the noises from the tent, patient as the grave. 

Then he rose soundlessly and made his way to the tent. He eased the zipper open silently, eyes and ears both attuned to the slow-breathing form in the sleeping bag. 

She lay curled on her side, one hand knotted up under her cheek like a child. The traces of light from the campfire behind him outlined her face. The line of her chin remained stubborn even in sleep, and her chapped Cupids-bow lips were ever-so-slightly parted . . . 

He shook himself. He was here to do a job, not moon over a pampered English heiress.

Although for a pampered English heiress, she'd done very well on the trail today.

Her pack was settled at her feet, right at the opening of the tent. He closed his hand around any buckles and metal pieces that would jingle and lifted it out of its place, letting the tent flap fall closed behind him.

He checked the outside pockets first. First aid kit, extra foldable canteen, iodine tablets, sunblock, insect repellent . . . All manner of small necessary items, but no top-of-the-line satphone.

He moved to the central compartments, pulling each item out and mentally noting the way it had been packed so he could replace it exactly the same way. Rice, dried meat, beans, carefully and thoroughly wrapped in plastic. Extra clothing. Soap, again wrapped in plastic. Rain gear. Toiletries, in more plastic.

No satphone.

His own, with its mirroring app pulled up and ready to do its job, waited in its pocket against his thigh.

She'd kept hers on her all day, gripped in her hand or locked into its case on her belt. He'd attempted to mirror it this morning as they set out, jostling up next to her on the trail, but the security on it was rather better than most. He needed more than mere proximity; he had to get his hands on it, possibly unlock it, in order for his own to do its job. 

Did she keep it on her body even as she slept? When did she charge it? The things sucked down power like a drunk swallowing rum.

Their trip would take at least a week more - two to the temple, one or two to explore, and three more back to Merida. He would surely have a chance to hack into it. 

But the longer he took, the more information his superiors could miss. 

Frowning to himself, he re-packed everything scrupulously back in its place and fastened it tightly closed. He lifted it off the ground and turned to go put it back in the tent -

And found the supposedly fast-asleep woman standing behind him, her heavy walking stick ready to swing at his head. In a deadly pleasant voice, she asked in perfect Spanish, "Find anything interesting?"

He went still, staring up at her, calculating which of several stories he could use.

“Don’t waste either of our time playing innocent,” she said. She switched to English. “And don’t pretend you don’t understand me, either. I know you were listening in on my call."

Some of the possible stories were discarded.

“Do you blame me?” he said. He layered his English with extra helpings of his accent. “I could sell this pack and all its contents for many pesos.”

“And what would you have done with me?” she asked silkily.

“You have experience, hiking the jungle. You might have made it back.” He shrugged, as if to say it was in the hands of a higher power. “Then again, you might not.”

She gave a little huff of amusement. “I might buy that if you hadn’t had a brilliant opportunity to let me die of snakebite earlier this evening.”

He wanted to scowl. He did not. 

"You're not just some con man out to make quick money. Not the way you ignored all my easily pocketed supplies and tools. You were looking for my satphone. You've been pointedly ignoring it all day, after you tried to mirror it this morning."

He felt the scowl almost emerge, in his forehead and the corners of his mouth, and purposely blanked his face. He was usually much better than this at controlling his expression. 

Her mouth quirked up smugly. "Who do you work for? Alderaan Corp? Mos Eisley and Company?" She narrowed her eyes at him. "Not the Hutt brothers?"    

Calculations churned. 

It was a common misconception that spies always lied. Sometimes, if it would get them what they wanted, they told the truth.

He let the pack fall and rose to his feet, not missing the way she resettled her grip and her stance in response. "Interpol,” he said. 

"Interpol," she said with deep and withering skepticism.

He shrugged. Believe it or don't, the shrug said.

She eyed him. "And what does Interpol want with Kyber Limited?"

"Perhaps Interpol wants you."

She snorted. "It comes to the same thing."

Damn. He should have known better than to believe her loudly proclaimed disinterest in business. Not after she'd done an MBA at Cambridge. But the woman flitted around the world while Rook stayed in London at the Kyber Limited offices.

He tested her out. ""What do you know about Imperial Industries?"

She shrugged. “Weapons manufacturers. We don’t have much to do with them.”

“An energy company could have a lot to do with a weapons manufacturer.”

“Yes, well, the company my mother started doesn’t.”

“And your father works for Imperial.”

She snorted. “This is about Galen Erso? You’re barking up the wrong tree, Interpol. I haven't spoken to him since he left for California, the day after my mother's funeral."

"That's a very long time to ignore your only child."

"I didn't say he hadn't tried. I haven't responded. Kyber Limited does very well without Galen Erso." She frowned at him. "What's he done?"

"Interpol has reason to believe Imperial Industries is building a device that contravenes international standards."

"Those naughty boys," she said.

"And by international standards, I mean the Geneva Convention."

"A super-weapon, " she said. "How delightful. I'm sure we'll all sleep cozy in our beds, knowing the Americans have that."

"It may not be the Americans. Not if they're not the highest bidder."

A moment. Then - "Ah." Her thumb rubbed over a knot in the wood, the only betrayal of restlessness. "And my father's building that, is he?"

"His research has applications."

"Well, as I said, Interpol - "

"Andor," he said.

"What?"

"My name is Cassian Andor."

She could run his name and get proof that he was who he said he was, and he had no doubt she would at the first opportunity.

"Cassian," she said, and his eyes narrowed. "As I said, I'm not in touch with my father, and I don't intend to change that." She narrowed her eyes back at him. "I think if I did, he might get suspicious."

Cassian thought otherwise, but he kept it to himself. 

"So," she finished. "You can traipse off back to your superiors if you like. Let them know I'm a dead end."

"You hired me to guide you to the temple," he said. "I prefer to finish a job I've started."

"Do you even know the way?"

"I grew up in Merida," he said. 

"Merida's the state capitol. Lots of people grew up there. That's not an answer."

"I know the way," he said. "And I have my own reasons for wanting to check it out."

"Do you now? Because as far as I know, my father's never been here."

"No," Cassian said. "But his boss has."

"His boss," Jyn echoed.

"Orson Krennic," Cassian said. "In fact, he went at the same time as your mother's last expedition."

Her face went to stone. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying nothing," he said. "I'd merely like to do some checking of my own at that location. See what there is to see."

Her thumb rubbed over the knot on her walking stick again.

Cassian tested the waters. "Or we could go back to Merida. You could hire some other guide."

"No," she said, and cleared her throat. "No," she said. "We're already a third of the way there and I don't feel like wasting the trip. As you say, we've both got reasons to go."

"True enough," he said. "And perhaps we could help each other."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Interpol." She scooped up her pack. "Just you keep your mitts off my satphone, and I'll do the same for you."

**

Once back in her tent, Jyn slid her satphone from her pocket and texted Bodhi. You were right, he's Interpol. Counter-terrorism. Apparently, Imperial is being very bad indeed. What’s Kay after?

Bodhi texted back right away. Either his meeting was done or it was a crashing bore. So far he’s been digging through most of R&D. Nice to know he’s not going to sell the false leads I’ve provided. Have you got your fellow hooked?

Oh, yes. He even brought up Krennic himself. Now let's see where our two fish lead us.

**

Back by the fire, Cassian sent a text of his own. I dangled Orson Krennic in front of her and whetted  her appetite. Continue to monitor her communications with Rook. If her father reaches out again, she'll tell him. Galen Erso is the weak spot, and his daughter is our way in.

FINIS

#Cassian Andor #Jyn Erso #rebelcaptain #rebelcaptainsecretsanta #mosylufanfic lives up to her damn name #fanfiction #halflingmerry #Spy AU #star wars

[hopesbarnes]

But... I am a good girl

Summary: Based on the song ‘But I am a good girl’ from the Burlesque soundtrack. A dinner date with former sugar daddy!Bucky

Warnings: 18+ Smut, Curse words

At first, it was a lot. The constant gifts and trips. You grew up poor and suddenly you had a closet of heels worth more than a nice car. It made no sense. You were just a girl, did nothing to deserve your new-found lifestyle. You just got lucky one day. James Barnes saw you dance, fell in love, and then you found yourself where you are now. 

  “Dinner in L.A. Wear the lingerie set I love. -James” The card on your table read. A long time ago the demanding nature of the note would have angered you. But now it made you smile. He didn’t tell you what to do and wear because he was controlling, but rather it was how he showed his love for you. And you loved to be taken care of. He never tried to get you to quit your job as a burlesque dancer. He admired your passion. He also never tried to dictate your life, besides occasionally requesting your presence for dinners, or asking you to wear the lingerie he liked. 

Before James, nobody took care of you. You were forced to earn every dime and make it on your own. Now you got to dance for fun and not worry about living paycheck to paycheck. If someone had told you when you were younger married life looked like this you’d never believe them. You would have laughed at the absurdity of that statement.

It was a few hours before you were to meet him at the helicopter, so you dressed in a tight little dress, did your makeup, and fixed your hair. You fastened on a pair of Webster earrings, a Cartier necklace, and a Tiffany tennis bracelet and give yourself a once over in the mirror. You liked to look good for your man and the way it made your heart race when he looked at you made it all the more rewarding. You put on your new Louboutins he got you, a sleek white pair, and headed to the car he ordered you. It didn’t take long to reach him and he’s already standing outside in a light blue Hugo Boss suit that you want to rip off him right there. 

“Fuck you look good,” he says rubbing his chin when you get out of the car. “Give me a twirl.” He reaches his hand out above your head and you hold it giggling as you spin.

“You’re one to talk, Mr. Barnes,” you say and lean in for a kiss. He smells amazing, and just being near him makes you dizzy. 

“How’d I ever get lucky enough to make you mine, Mrs. Barnes?” 

“We both know I’m the lucky one,” you remark.

“Now I will fight you for that title any day doll.” 

He helps you into the helicopter before sitting next to you. His hand finds its place on your thigh and yours falls on top of his. Your life is a fairy tale, and there’s no other way to describe it. It’s nearing sunset and the view is fantastic. 

“Made a reservation at the Polo. I know how much you love it there,” he says softly.

“Any specific reason you’re buttering me up, baby?”

“Can’t a guy treat his girl right?” he asks and you give him a look. 

“Fine. Steve needs me to go to the hotel in Bora Bora for a week and I know you got shows.” If Steve, his second in command, needs him then he needs him. Running a hotel empire is tough work, but it’s what lets you afford the lifestyle the two of you live. 

“I could use a vacation.” you think aloud.

“Really?” he asks.

“Unless you don’t want me to come?” you say shyly second-guessing what you said.

“No, god I never want you to leave my side. I worship you honey and would love for you to come to see the resort there.”

“Then it’s decided, let me text my boss,” you say and text that you’ll be out the following week. You hardly miss and have tons of vacation time stored so it shouldn’t be a problem. 

“Guess I should return that new Valentino bag I got you then,” he says smiling at you.

You gasp, “With the little studs?” He nods “Don’t you dare!” 

“I thought you’d be angrier, and I’d need to pad the blow.” 

“Now I get a vacation and the Rockstud bag? Amazing!” you say and kiss his cheek. 

“Remember when you didn’t know that Louis Vuitton and Louboutin were different brands? I’ve created a monster,” he says teasing and you kiss him again. 

“Your monster,” you say and lean your head on his shoulder.

The restaurant is packed like usual. Socialites gossiping at the bar, businessmen at the high tables negotiating deals, and various celebrities in the darker corners. They all eye the two of you when you enter. You’re one of the “it couples” and the magazines love pictures of the pair of you. James spies Tony Stark and his wife Pepper and the two of you greet them. James and Tony were working together to integrate Stark technology into the suites. 

The two men pull aside to discuss business and leave you and Pepper to chat. 

“Gosh! Look at that bracelet, it’s gorgeous. How did you get him to give you it?” the redhead asks.

“Good girls get rewarded,” you wink back and she smiles in agreement. “Got him wrapped around my finger, and to be honest I’m wrapped around his too.”

“Best thing in life is to have your man ready to kneel for you,” she says and the two of you laugh and gossip about the other upper-class people you know. Then men finish up their business talk and greet you and you kiss Pepper and Tony goodbyes on their cheeks.

“As much as I’m glad that deal is going through, I’m even more excited to spend some time with my gorgeous wife,” he says.

“Still buttering me up?” you tease.

“Just giving her the compliments she deserves.”

The meal is delicious, and the two of you catch up on your weeks and plan details for the trip to Bora Bora. As you leave James whispers that he got a reserved a suite in his nearby hotel. You kiss him on the cheek and get into the town car he arranged to pick the two of you up in. 

The car ride is full of contact, his fingers on your thighs, your arm raking through his hair. The two of you can’t keep your hands off each other. Your entire relationship was based on the magnetic pull between the two of you. Once you reach the hotel he’s quick to drag you to the elevator and pull you to the room he booked. 

“Such a pretty dress, but if you listened then I know there’s something even prettier underneath,” he says kissing below your ear and you let a soft moan fall from your lips. 

He unzips the dress and it falls to the floor to reveal your skin covered in a floral lace set, complete with a matching garter belt holding up stockings. He groans at you and you giggle. It never got old having him look at you with those hunger eyes, and you would wear whatever he wanted to continue seeing it. 

“Think I’m winning the lucky game now,” he whistles lowly and places kisses down your chest before removing the bra from your chest. You tug his hair and pull him to your lips and kiss him fiercely. He was yours, and kisses like that just cemented the idea. 

You pull his suit jacket off before undoing his tie and letting him remove his shirt for you. There was something about him in his expensive pants against your near-naked form. You push him against a chair in the living room of the suite and straddle one of his thighs. 

“You need these pants for something?” you ask nibbling on his ear.

“Nope,” he says grinning and holds your hips tightly giving you permission to grind against him. He pulls down your garter belt and panties and you’re completely bare atop his clothed thigh. God, you’d die for these thighs. 

“Make yourself feel good princess,” he says and tightens the muscles in his thigh and you let out a loud moan and grind your clit into him hard and thrust your hips back and forth using the grinding to give you pleasure. James leans forward and takes your neglected breasts into his mouth tugging on your nipple and it’s too much and not enough all at once and you whine loudly. You try and get up but he pushes you back down and moves your hips for you. You give in and rock back and forth letting the pleasure accumulate. He takes your other breast in his hand and tweaks the nipple and the simultaneous nipple play and friction accumulate and you let out a strangled moan and cum all over his suit pant.

“Fuck babygirl,” he says and pulls you into a kiss. 

“Your turn?” you ask as you unmount his thigh and kneel before him and he smiles. He was definitely the luckier of the two of you. 

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