#the emptiness they left behind echoes a weariness i can’t place

[reanimatedandmedicated]

Sometimes, I think of the special love we reserve for our terrors. The unique sort of affection that we hold for our horrors, our monsters, our bogeymen. I wonder if we care because of how innocent the nature of these devils are- Mindless, clawing things that speak of the naive sort of fear we had as children- Before our demons wore the skin of men, of wealth, of paper, they were beasts. Alien, eternal and unknown, and beneath fang and talon, a promise of the ethereal strange.

#cryptids #bogeymen #bogeyman #monsters #nightmares #folklore #terrors #horrors #the monsters under my bed were sometimes my only company #the emptiness they left behind echoes a weariness i can’t place #and a sort of grief that cannot ever belong to the absence of men

[pucksandpower]

Breaking Point

Charles Leclerc x Ferrari!Reader

Summary: Charles Leclerc finally reaches his breaking point after the disaster that was the United States Grand Prix. Something needs to change … and that’s where you come in

“Again, again!” Charles’ voice rings out, echoing through the debrief room, “How can we mess this up? I was on pole!”

Fred Vasseur looks down, sighing, but trying to maintain composure. “Charles, it was a miscalculation—”

“A miscalculation?” Charles retorts, eyes blazing, “This has been a trend all season, Fred. It’s not a one-time mistake. It’s systemic.”

Carlos, looking uncomfortable, tries to chime in, “It wasn’t just about strategy, you know the car—”

“Oh, I know the car,” Charles snaps, “And it was built against my driving preference. But it’s not just that. It’s everything. The poor race strategy, the unnecessary swap, and now being disqualified as if my day has not been bad enough!”

Enrico Cardile, the team’s technical director, steps forward, “Disqualification was not anticipated. We followed the regulations to the best—”

“Enough with the excuses!” Charles’ voice cracks with emotion. The weight of the season, the betrayal he feels, finally makes him see red. “Every time there’s an excuse. We’re a team and yet somehow it feels like I’m constantly battling not just our opponents but Ferrari as well.”

A deep silence settles.

The head strategist, Ravin Jain, finally speaks up hesitantly, “We thought the one-stop made sense. The data suggested—”

“Data,” Charles interrupts bitterly, “The same data that led to a decision that every other team on the grid laughed at! Did the data also suggest swapping me with Carlos? Or was I being punished for being able to manage my tires?”

Carlos, despite himself, looks hurt. “I didn’t ask for the swap,” he mutters.

Charles takes a breath, looking at his teammate, “I know. It’s not your fault, hermano. But I need to trust the team’s decisions. And right now, I don’t.”

Sporting Director Diego Ioverno tries to mediate, “It’s been a tough season, Charles. Everyone is understandably stressed. Let’s sit down, review everything together, and find a way forward.”

Charles shakes his head, “That’s what we said last time. And the time before that. And the twenty times before that! Empty promises, meetings, discussions, and then what? Nothing gets done and there is another disaster waiting to happen.”

Fred tries one more time, “We’re as frustrated as you are. We’re a family. We’ll figure this out.”

Charles scoffs, “I can’t keep being let down and used. Not like this.”

The room falls silent once more, a heavy cloud of disappointment and tension hanging in the air.

Carlos reaches out, placing a hand on Charles’ shoulder, “Things will get better.”

Charles meets Carlos’ gaze, nodding slightly. But the fire in his eyes has not dimmed, “I need to believe in this team again. But right now ...” He pauses, “I have a call to make.”

He turns, leaving the room filled with introspective silence. The team is left behind, grappling with their own emotions, knowing that actions will always speak louder than words.

***

Charles steps out into the warm evening air, taking a moment to compose himself before dialing a number he knows by heart but hasn’t touched in months.

“Hey,” Charles’ voice is a low rasp, every ounce of weariness evident.

Then a pause, as he listens to the voice on the other end.

“Yeah, it’s me ... look, I know what I said earlier this season. About handling it myself.” He takes a deep breath, letting the weight of it all settle.

A longer pause, broken by Charles’ intermittent nods and “Uh-huhs.”

“Every race feels like it’s been one disaster after another. And it’s not just the car, it’s everything. I can’t ... I can’t keep doing this to myself.”

He listens closely.

“I told them today, laid it all out. But it’s like talking to a brick wall. They listen, they nod, and then? The same mistakes. Over and over.”

He shifts his weight, the sound of his shoes scraping on the gravel echoing softly.

“I know, I know I told you not to get involved ... but maybe ... maybe that was a mistake.” He sounds defeated, a man at the end of his rope. “I need help. Real help. Maybe it’s time you step in.”

Charles is silent, absorbing whatever the person on the other end is saying.

“No, it’s not about leaving the team,” Charles’ voice is earnest, desperate even. “It’s about respect. Trust. It’s about feeling like I’m not constantly fighting against the tide, not just against other teams but within my own garage.”

A long pause.

“What I mean is, maybe some changes within the team would be good. Fresh perspectives. New faces, perhaps. Somewhere I can trust the decisions, the strategy ...”

He sighs.

“I just want to race, you know? Without all this drama. Without constantly wondering if I’m being set up to fail no matter what I do.”

Another pause as he listens, nodding, lost in the gravity of the decision he’s about to make.

“Thank you. Really. Let’s talk tomorrow? Lay out all our options?”

There’s a moment of quiet, only the sound of his breathing, the distant hum of the circuit, the world slowly dimming around him.

“Thanks. Goodnight, Y/N.”

***

“Emilia,” you call out, and before a moment passes, your ever-efficient personal assistant is by your side.

“Yes, Y/N?” Emilia asks, perfectly poised.

“I need the jet prepared. We’re heading to Mexico City,” you say, voice steady and determined though inside, the turmoil from the phone call with Charles still lingers.

Emilia raises an eyebrow slightly, a silent question in her eyes. “Any particular reason?”

You sigh, looking away for a moment, reflecting on the weight of the legacy you carry. “Scuderia Ferrari needs my direct attention. I trusted them to handle things, but ... it’s clear that has not been happening.”

Her eyes flash with understanding. “Of course. I’ll have the jet ready. When do you wish to depart?”

“Tomorrow morning, early.”

She’s already typing into her tablet. “I’ll book you the Presidential Suite at the Four Seasons. Will you be needing a meeting space there?”

“Absolutely,” you nod. “On Wednesday, before the Grand Prix. Organize for all team personnel to meet in the hotel conference room. And Emilia ... they are not to know the reason for the meeting or that I’m the one calling it.”

Her eyes gleam with a hint of mischief, “Mystery and surprise. I love it. Consider it done.”

A small, wry smile tugs at your lips. “Thank you. And can you make sure Charles knows about my arrival? But ask him to keep it quiet.”

“Of course. Anything else?”

You pause, taking a moment to consider. “Just one more thing. Make sure we have everything we need to review the team’s decisions and strategies for this season. Every little detail.”

Emilia nods. “Absolutely. Everything will be arranged as per your instructions.”

You take a deep breath, “Thanks, Emilia. This … it’s about preserving a legacy, and right now, that legacy is on shaky ground.”

She places a reassuring hand on your shoulder, “If anyone can steer this ship right, it’s you.”

***

The door to the conference room opens with a low creak, and the room immediately falls silent. Everyone turns to see you entering, your presence commanding every ounce of attention.

“Good afternoon,” you begin with ice-cold authority. “Thank you all for meeting on such short notice.”

There are murmurs of acknowledgment but no one dares speak up.

“I’ve reviewed our performance this season,” you continue, pacing the length of the conference room, letting each word sink in. “And to say I’m disappointed would be an understatement.”

Fred shifts uncomfortably in his seat, eyes darting around the room. You lock eyes with him, “Fred, you promised change. But the only change I’ve seen is our team’s steep decline.”

“I understand your frustration,” Fred stammers, “We’ve faced challenges—”

You cut him off sharply, “Challenges? Every team faces challenges. What matters is how you overcome them.”

Several team members look down, uncomfortably shuffling papers and avoiding eye contact.

You turn to the strategists, “Your decisions have cost us dearly, time and time again. Your inability to read a race situation, to adapt, to strategize effectively ... it’s quite frankly appalling.”

One of the strategists, a middle-aged man named Roberto, speaks up defensively, “We did our best with the information we had.”

Your eyes narrow, “Your best? Tell that to Charles, who has been left out in the cold race after race.”

Moving on, you address the engineers and designers, “Our car has issues that should have been rectified at the beginning of the season. Yet here we are, still struggling.”

An aerodynamicist named Lucia, clearly agitated, stands up. “We’ve been working tirelessly, trying to find solutions.”

You level her with a gaze, “Then maybe it’s time we look for people who can find those solutions more efficiently.”

Lucia’s face reddens, “You can’t just—”

“Actually I can,” you interrupt, “And I will.”

Your attention turns to Xavi, Charles’ race engineer, who has been noticeably silent. “Xavi, your dynamic with Charles has not been the slightest bit helpful. His feedback, his needs ... they’ve fallen on deaf ears.”

Xavi, trying to defend himself, says, “It’s a two-way street. Charles can be difficult.”

You shake your head, “Charles is a world-class driver. It’s your job to bridge any gaps, not widen them. I checked and it turns out that constantly repeating we are checking like a broken record is not beneficial for race performance!”

Taking a deep breath, you make your announcement, “Effective immediately, Roberto, Lucia, and several other strategists, engineers, and aerodynamicists that a personal audit revealed as detrimental to team performance relieved of their duties. Xavi, you too are let go.”

There are gasps around the room, the weight of your words sinking in. Roberto stands, fuming in anger, “You can’t just dismantle this team!”

You lock eyes with him, “I’m not dismantling. I’m rebuilding. And if that means letting go of every one of you who can’t uphold the standards of Scuderia Ferrari then so be it.”

Fred finally speaks up, “And what about me?”

You lean in, “Consider your position on very thin ice. I expect results. And fast.”

You straighten up, the room thick with tension, “Scuderia Ferrari is not just a team, it’s a legacy. My great-grandfather would be rolling in his grave to see what has been done to his beloved team. I will not stand by and watch it crumble.”

With a final, piercing gaze around the room, you pivot on your heel and exit with a flick of your hair.

***

You lean against the cool wall, taking a moment to gather yourself after the emotional intensity of the meeting. The hallway is quiet save for the distant hum of voices but soon familiar footsteps make their way around the corner.

“Charles,” you call out softly as spot the driver.

His green eyes, clouded with a mix of emotions, meet yours. “Y/N.”

“Are you okay?”

He hesitates, “I wasn’t expecting all of that.”

You nod, “It was long overdue. I should have intervened much sooner.”

Charles runs a hand through his hair, clearly trying to process everything. “It’s ... a lot. I didn’t think you would actually step in like this.”

You sigh, “I hoped I wouldn’t have to. But my bisnonno once said that aerodynamics are for people who can’t build engines, and right now, it sure seems like Ferrari can’t do either.”

Charles chuckles dryly, “You have a point. It’s been ... frustrating.”

You gently touch his arm, trying to reassure him, “Enzo also believed that dreams become bigger, much bigger, to build a car that doesn’t slow in the curves, that flies without leaving the ground. I want that dream for you. For us.”

He looks at you, “It’s all I’ve ever wanted. A car that allows me to race to my full potential.”

You nod, thinking of the iconic red car and its tremendous legacy, “I know. And we’ll get there. Remember, racing cars are neither beautiful nor ugly. They become beautiful when they win.”

A smile tugs at Charles’ lips, “I haven’t won in too long. I almost forget what it feels like.”

You step closer, “That is going to change. I’m here for the long haul. To rebuild, restructure, and reclaim the Ferrari legacy. Glory will be dressed in red once more.”

He nods and swallows thickly. “Thank you, Y/N. It means more than you know.”

You smile softly, “We’re a team. And I promise to do whatever it takes to see us on top again.”

***

Early that Friday at Autódromo Hermanos Rodríguez, you gather the team in the garage.

“Good morning, everyone,” you begin. “I know it has been a whirlwind these past few days but I want to set the tone for this weekend.”

Fred, still adjusting to the new dynamic, nods silently from the back.

“We haven’t had the time to implement any physical changes to the car,” you continue, “But they are coming. For now, the difference will be about being smart … being strategic.”

Charles listens intently, his gaze occasionally drifting to the newcomers in front of him.

Speaking of the new additions, you gesture to the two people standing on either side of you, “I’ve brought on Marit Nilsen as our Principal Strategy Engineer and Claudio Segreti as Charles’ new race engineer. Not only are they exceptional engineers but also global chess masters.”

There are murmurs of surprise and interest among the crew. The world of Formula 1 and professional chess has rarely, if ever, intersected.

Marit, a tall woman with striking blonde hair, steps forward, “Chess is all about strategy, foreseeing the opponent’s moves and countering them. That’s what we’re here to do but on the track.”

Claudio, with his dark hair and deep-set eyes, adds, “Every move and decision we make will be precise. We’ll anticipate, adapt, and overcome.”

Carlos clears his throat, “So what’s the plan for free practice?”

You smile, “Today, we observe. We learn. We see where the car stands, where our strengths and weaknesses lie.”

As free practice commences, there’s a different energy in the garage. Marit, with her sharp analytical mind, quickly picks up on patterns, working closely with Claudio and Carlos’ engineer to ensure both drivers get feedback they need.

There’s a visible shift throughout the weekend. The team, rejuvenated by fresh perspectives, operates with a renewed vigor. And while the car may not have upgrades yet, new strategy quickly begins to make a difference like anticipated.

Qualifying sees Charles securing P3, an unexpected but welcome result. The garage is full of cautious hope but Marit and Claudio remain focused, already planning for the race to come.

Race day dawns and the tension is thick. You pull Charles aside, “Remember, things have changed. Believe in the strategy and the moves we make.”

He nods, “I trust them. And I trust you.”

As the lights go out and the cars roar to life, Charles delivers a performance that’s both calculated and aggressive. Every pit stop and every overtake is orchestrated like a chess match.

The race sees Charles finishing in P2 and Carlos in P4, a significant improvement from recent races.

The garage is a mix of tentative elation and relief.

Marit thoroughly reviews the race data, “This is just the beginning. Once the car upgrades are in place, the board will be ours.”

The sun sets on the Mexico City Grand Prix, but for Scuderia Ferrari, a new dawn is on the horizon.

***

“Fabiano Turati,” you muse, looking at the impressive portfolio before you. “Aerospace engineer, a key player in the development of hypercars for Agnellotti Motors, a professor at Politecnico di Milano. But never in F1?”

Fabiano, with salt and pepper hair and an air of quiet confidence, smiles slightly. “It’s not for lack of offers. I have just always believed in pushing boundaries outside of traditional paths.”

You lean back, intrigued, “So why Ferrari now?”

His eyes scan around the garage, “A challenge. An opportunity. A legacy to uphold. And, to put it simply, I think I can make a difference.”

You nod, appreciative of his candor. “We have three races left this season: Brazil, Las Vegas, and Abu Dhabi. Realistically, how much can we improve?”

You can practically see the gears in his brain turning, “In terms of complete redesign? Not much. But in terms of optimization and efficiency? Quite a bit.”

By the Brazilian Grand Prix, Fabiano’s influence is evident. While not a complete transformation, the SF-23 sports streamlined wings and a refined rear diffuser, maximizing what the current design allows.

“Initial feedback is good,” Charles reports after the practice session. “There’s a notable difference in the corners.”

Carlos chimes in, “The balance feels better.”

The improvements are evident, with both Ferraris finishing just off the podium. But Las Vegas poses a new challenge: a circuit unfamiliar to all teams and drivers.

“This is anyone’s game,” Marit says, examining the track layout.

Fabiano nods, “This weekend will be all about adaptation.”

The Las Vegas Grand Prix is an exhilarating rollercoaster. Charles fights for a podium finish, narrowly missing out but showcasing the SF-23’s newfound prowess, while Carlos secures a solid sixth.

As the season finale in Abu Dhabi looms, anticipation runs high. The Yas Marina Circuit will end the year with a test of Ferrari’s mettle.

Post-race, with both Ferraris finishing on the podium after avoiding a pile up that took out multiple opponents, there’s a sense of satisfaction but also of hunger.

“We’ve made progress,” Fabiano says as the garage winds down. “But next season, we’ll aim for a car that is not just evolved but fully revolutionized.”

You smile, “With you on board, I truly believe we can. The future is bright for Scuderia Ferrari.”

***

“Look at her,” Fabiano muses, admiration clear as the blueprint for the SF-24 is spread out before you both in your Maranello office.

“She’s a beauty,” you agree, tracing your fingers over the schematics. “If she performs half as well as she looks ...”

“She will,” Fabiano leaves no room for doubt. “We’ve streamlined the aerodynamics, enhanced the power unit, and made significant weight reductions.”

Carlos walks in with a grin on his face, “Is this the beast we’re taming next season?”

“That’s the plan.”

Charles catches your eye from where he lingers by the door. “It’s a fresh start,” he murmurs, approaching the table almost reverently. “I feel it.”

Over the following weeks, you rarely leave the factory other than to sleep and shower. You immerse yourself with the team, observing wind tunnel tests, joining strategy sessions, and even trying your hand with pit stop drills.

One evening, after a particularly long meeting, Charles finds you in the lounge, sipping an espresso. “Mind if I join you?”

You gesture to the seat across, “Of course not.”

He sits and just looks at you until you get the urge to fidget. “I’ve been thinking,” Charles begins, “About the changes, the car, and ... us.”

You raise an eyebrow, “Us?”

Charles smiles slightly, “You and I. We’ve spent so much time together these past weeks. I’ve gotten to know you, not just as Y/N Ferrari but as ... Y/N.”

You flush and not just from the hot coffee, “I feel the same. It’s been ... refreshing. Getting to know the man behind the helmet.”

He leans forward, elbows on the table, “There’s this great little place just outside Maranello. Quiet, hidden. I was thinking, maybe, dinner?”

Your heart skips a beat but you maintain your composure, “I’d really like that.”

The winter in Maranello unfolds, and as the SF-24 takes shape, so does the bond between you and Charles.

Between brainstorming sessions and late-night discussions about optimal setups, there are stolen moments: shared glances, lingering touches, and dinners that stretch long into the night talking about anything and everything.

Carlos teases, “Seems like the new car isn’t the only thing igniting sparks.”

You roll your eyes but there’s no hiding the smile tugging at your lips. You don’t try to deny it. Why bother when you hope it might be true one day?

***

r/formula1

Posted by RaceRundown · 6 hours ago

First look at the SF-24! Thoughts?

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RedFever · 6 hours ago

This could be the machine that keeps Ferrari at the top. Just look at those lines!

⇧ 2.5k ⇩ | Reply | Give Award | Share | Report | Save | Follow

PitStopPundit · 5 hours ago

Getting major 2004 vibes from this. Could be a dominant year for the Scuderia!

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***

You step into the air-conditioned motorhome, grateful for an escape from the Bahraini heat. Charles and Carlos, race suits unzipped around their waists, are animatedly discussing their first day of preseason testing with the SF-24.

“Last year, we didn’t have to sandbag because the car was, well … genuinely that slow,” Charles laughs. “But this time around ...”

Carlos grins, finishing his sentence. “This time, we have an ace up our sleeves.”

You nod, “Just remember, it’s only testing. We still have to see where we truly stand.”

The race weekend finally kicks off and the paddock is full of speculation. After a deliberately unimpressive showing during testing, no one expects Ferrari to be a front-runner.

Yet, when the lights go out, the SF-24 does not just impress …. it dominates. Charles takes P1 with Carlos not far behind in P3. And the world takes notice.

The next few races see a rejuvenated Ferrari. In Saudi Arabia, Charles and Carlos deliver a nail-biting duel with Red Bull, securing a double podium. Australia is a tougher battle, with Mercedes coming to form, but Charles clinches a respectable P4.

The Asian leg of the season has its highs and lows. In Japan, despite a torrential downpour, Charles masterfully handles the wet track to clinch the top step. On the podium, he points up at the sky and then shapes his fingers — first into a one and then a seven — a silent tribute to his late godfather and mentor.

However, China proves challenging and sees the SF-24 struggling unusually with tire degradation. But as Miami approaches, the team regroups and Charles takes a commanding win under the Florida sun.

Then comes Imola, the first of Ferrari’s home races.

As the sun shines brightly over the circuit named after your great-grandfather and grand uncle, you find yourself walking the track alongside Charles. The weight of racing on home soil evident in his eyes.

“Everything okay?” You check, sensing his nervous energy.

He looks at you and taking a deep breath. “Racing in front of the Tifosi at home always feel different. I want to make them proud.”

“No matter what happens today, they will be proud of you. The whole team will be proud of you. We’ve come so far.”

He smiles, visibly lighter. “Then let’s give them a race to remember.”

And it is nothing short of spectacular. Charles starts P2, but with determination and brilliant strategy, he overtakes Max in the final lap and secures a victory for Ferrari on home soil.

The roar of the crowd, the sea of red flags, the tears in Charles’ eyes as he stands atop the podium — you make a promise to never forget this moment.

As the sun sets on Imola, the Scuderia Ferrari team comes together, basking in their victory.

As Charles, champagne-soaked and beaming, pulls you in for a damp hug, it is clearer than ever that this season is only the beginning of a beautiful journey ahead.

***

“Norris is approaching on a flying lap. Make sure not to impede,” Claudio’s voice comes through crisp and clear over the radio during the dying moments of Q3 for the Monaco Grand Prix.

You can practically feel Charles’ concentration from where you’re seated on the Ferrari pit wall. The narrow streets of Monaco leave no room for error … Charles knows this better than most.

“Copy,” Charles responds, adjusting his position on the track just enough to give Lando the space he needs to pass while keeping his own momentum.

The clock is ticking and Charles needs a perfect lap if he wants to clinch pole position.

“Tires are feeling good. Pushing now,” Charles says, rounding the first corner with precision. The SF-24 dances around the iconic circuit, the roar of its engine echoing through the streets.

From Casino Square to the hairpin and through the tunnel, Charles’ driving is flawless. Every apex hit and every corner nailed.

“Final sector, Charles. Make it count,” Claudio encourages.

And he does. Crossing the line and jumping to the top of the timing board.

The garage cheers but there’s no time to waste. Tomorrow’s race is what truly matters.

***

Race day in Monaco is always special, but today, with Charles starting from pole, there’s an electric tension in the air.

“Lights out in ten,” Marit announces over the intercom.

Charles, already in the zone, simply nods.

And then he’s lined up on the front row.

The lights illuminate one by one. Then, in a heartbeat, they go out.

The race is on.

Charles gets a strong start, holding off challengers through the initial turns. The streets of Monaco are notoriously difficult for overtaking, so track position is everything.

“Maintain the pace. Tire management is key,” Claudio advises as the laps progress.

As the race unfolds, strategy becomes crucial.

“Plan to box in two laps,” Marit instructs through Claudio. With with Verstappen close on his tail, everything must be executed perfectly.

The pit stop is lightning-fast, the crew working in synchrony. Charles emerges just ahead of Max, who had followed him into the pits.

Throughout the race, Charles’ skill shines. He manages his tires, navigates the backmarkers, and keeps a razor-sharp focus.

The final laps approach. The team, the spectators, the entire Principality holds its breath.

The chequered flag waves and Charles crosses the finish line to takes his first home win. The elation, the pride, the sheer emotion of the moment is overwhelming.

“Monaco, Charles! You’ve won Monaco!”

Tears in his eyes, Charles responds, voice choked, “We did it! This is for Monaco. This is for Ferrari. Grazie mille. Merci beaucoup.”

The team gathers beneath the podium, celebrating their victory and the hometown here. Charles quickly sprays the two drivers beside him before aiming the bottle at the sea of red cheering in front of him and soaking his team in champagne.

He thinks back to how this weekend ended last season and let’s his elation wash away the years of dejected he faced before.

Things are different now.

***

“I’ve never seen Monaco come alive like this after a win,” you shout over the pulsating music in one of the city’s many upscale clubs.

Charles grins, leaning in closer so you can hear him. “It’s the magic of a home race victory!”

As the night turns to early morning, alcohol flows freer and the laughter grows louder.

The Ferrari team loves any reason to celebrate and they’re certainly making the most of the location.

Charles pulls you to a quieter corner of the VIP section. “Have you ever danced with a Monaco Grand Prix winner?”

You roll your eyes at the attempt at flirting but laugh as you accept his outstretched hand. “There’s a first time for everything.”

The two of you dance, losing track of time.

The world blurs around you. All that matters is the magnetic pull between you two which has been simmering for so long that it is threatening to overflow.

Charles pulls you closer, his lips brushing your ear. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you.”

You relish in the warmth of his breath against your skin. “What’s that?”

“I’m drawn to you,” he admits, eyes searching yours. “Not just because of tonight but ... there’s something between us. I feel it. And I think you do too.”

You swallow hard. “I do.”

He hesitates before wrapping an arm around your waist, “Come with me.”

Without a word, you both exit the club, making your way to his apartment. The air between you is thick with anticipation but also vulnerability … openness.

Once inside, he gently pushes you against the wall, lips crashing onto yours. It’s passionate and intense, like a dam that has been waiting to break.

Charles pulls away slightly, “Are you sure about this?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” you whisper, eyes locked with his. “But ... Charles, not just for tonight. I don’t want this to be just a result of a victory high or the Monaco night air.”

He cups your face, thumb brushing your cheek. “I don’t want that either. This isn’t about the race or the party. It’s about us. I think it’s been about us for a while now.”

“Then why didn’t you say something sooner?”

He chuckles softly. “You think it’s easy, being around you every day, wanting to be close but maintaining a distance for the sake of professionalism? To spend every evening when we’re in Maranello sitting across from you at dinner and wishing that I could call it a date? But tonight,” he pauses, eyes searching yours, “Tonight felt different.”

You waste no time to draw him closer. “No more waiting then.”

***

Canada’s Circuit Gilles Villeneuve echoes with the roar of engines and the cheers of fans. Charles dominates the track, mastering the chicanes and the notorious Wall of Champions.

But the race isn’t straightforward. Mid-race, strategy suddenly changes when an unexpected rain shower soaks the track. However, the new strategy team you’ve brought in makes all the right calls and Charles takes the chequered flag.

In the Spanish sun, it’s a different story. The high-speed corners expose a slight flaw in the SF-24 which leaves Charles fighting valiantly but finishing third.

Despite the setback, you see determination in his eyes. “We’ll get them in Austria,” he promises.

True to his word, at the Red Bull Ring, he dominates. The SF-24 suits the straights and fast corners. Charles takes pole and leads every lap, building a gap that the competition can’t close. The victory feels even sweeter given the circuit’s name.

Silverstone proves challenging. There’s fierce competition, and while Charles doesn’t win, he’s involved in one of the most thrilling wheel-to-wheel battles of the season with Max Verstappen. They exchange positions multiple times, showing pure racing talent. In the end, Charles finishes a proud second after a photo finish.

The Hungarian Grand Prix tests the team. Tire strategy becomes paramount. The SF-24 shows vulnerabilities in the surprisingly sweltering conditions. Still, Charles’ impeccable driving and some cunning strategy calls earn him a place on the podium.

At the Circuit de Spa-Francorchamps, Charles shines brilliantly. He conquers Eau Rouge and Raidillon like few can, making it seem effortless. The SF-24 feels perfectly balanced and he takes another win, smiling at the Ferrari flags waving high in the crowd as the Monegasque and Italian anthems play.

Through it all, you see Charles grow not just as a driver but as a leader and beacon of hope for the team and global fanbase. He is not just driving for himself or for Ferrari, he drives for everyone who believes in him.

***

The warm Italian sun pours golden light onto the expansive villa overlooking Lake Como. The water below sparkles, mirroring the sky. For a brief moment, the hectic world of Formula 1 feels miles away.

You’re lounging under an oversized umbrella, Aperol Spritz in hand, while Charles emerges from the pool, beads of water cascading down his toned physique.

“That swim was perfect,” Charles grins as he flops down beside you.

“You were in there for ages! Trying to turn into a fish?”

He shakes his head like a wet puppy, making you squeal as you try to escape the splashes. “Just preparing for our yacht trip. Besides, I have to burn off all those pasta dinners we’ve been having or else I won’t fit in the car by the end of the month.”

“The troubles of a professional athlete,” you laugh, “I’ve been indulging and I’m not even sorry.”

That evening, the two of you share a quiet moment on the terrace. Soft jazz floats from inside and cicadas buzz rhythmically.

“Remember our first race together?” Charles starts. “It feels like a lifetime ago.”

“I never imagined we’d be here. But I am so glad that we are.”

He meets your gaze, his eyes reflecting the same heat you feel. “Me too. These moments, away from the track with you ... they’re special.”

The following week, you find yourselves on a luxurious yacht off the coast of Sardinia. Charles’ family and both of your friends are aboard. The sun decks echo with laughter, music, and the soft lapping of waves. There is never a quiet moment and you relish in the sounds of happiness.

As you stand by the railing, watching Charles and Joris race each other on jet-skis, Arthur slides up beside you. “So, how’s life with my big brother?”

You laugh, “It’s an adventure every day. But honestly, I wouldn’t change a thing. It’s wonderful. He’s wonderful.”

Arthur nods, “I’ve never seen him this happy, you know?”

You smile warmly, your gaze drifting to where Charles has somehow fallen into the water and is now splashing his friend. “He brings out the best in me, just as I hope I do for him.”

***

The gentle lapping of the Mediterranean waves seems like a distant memory as you find yourself in Zandvoort.

“Quite the change of scenery, isn’t it?” Charles chuckles, standing beside you as the sea breeze of the Dutch coast tousles his hair.

You laugh, “A bit but I’ve missed it. Nothing beats the excitement of a race weekend.”

And what a weekend it was. Charles, against all odds, comes out on top at Max Verstappen’s home race. The Dutch crowd offer begrudging respect as Charles takes the top step.

And then, Monza.

Monza is different. There’s an electricity in the air that cannot be replicated anywhere else. It’s the home race of Ferrari … the cathedral of speed.

“Do you know,” you tell Charles as you both walk through the paddock, “I used to come here with my grandfather as a child. This track ... it’s steeped in history. I’ve always loved it.”

“Winning here was like nothing else I have ever experience,” he reflects. “Let’s do it again. We’ll write our own chapter in history this weekend.”

Qualifying is a nail-biter. Charles pushes the SF-24 to its limits, dancing on the edge of control.

“How are we looking?” Charles checks in.

“You’re on provisional pole,” Claudio responds over the radio. “But push on the last sector. Max is close and getting closer.”

And push he does. Charles clinches pole with a margin that leaves no doubts about the capabilities of both the driver and the car.

Race day, the atmosphere is fever-pitched. The Tifosi, in their sea of red, wave their flags and banners, chanting Charles’ name like a prayer. As the lights go out, the battle rages. The strategy is aggressive, a one-stop that requires Charles to defend position in the latter stages of the race.

“Lap 45. Push now, we need widen this gap,” Claudio instructs.

The tires scream in protest as Charles further carves out a lead. But as the laps tick down, Verstappen and Piastri close in.

“Drive smart and hold them off. Four laps to go. You’ve got this,” Claudio urges him on.

Going wheel-to-wheel with Max through the Ascari chicane, Charles pulls ahead. The Tifosi roar, their energy and sheer will pushing him on.

“Last lap. Bring it home!”

And he does.

As Charles crosses the finish line, the crowd erupts. The track is soon packed with red as fans flood the track, surrounding the podium.

From the sea of faces, one voice stands out — yours, “You did it, Charles. Monza is yours.”

He lifts the trophy high, a tear in his eye, “We did it. This is for Ferrari … for the Tifosi … for us.”

***

The streets of Baku and the lights of Singapore both witness the magic that Charles and the SF-24 weave together. Two more wins, two more steps closer to the championship.

And then you find yourselves in Texas.

“Do you remember this time last year?” Charles asks.

“How could I forget? It was the phone call that changed everything.”

Charles laughs but there’s a weight to it, “For both of us. It was a disaster ... pole to sixth and then the disqualification. All because of...” He doesn’t finish the sentence, the mismanagement of the team a heavy shadow neither of you can forget.

“You’ve grown since then,” you point out gently, “The team has grown. Look at where we are now.”

He nods, taking a deep breath, “One year. So much has changed. From one of the worst days in my racing career to ... this.” Charles gestures around, to the revamped team, the transformed car, the very atmosphere of competence that permeates every corner of the Ferrari garage.

“I can’t believe we’re here,” he whispers, “The championship is within our grasp. Right back where it all went wrong.”

You take a moment to pull out your laptop and open a data sheet, “Here’s the breakdown. If Max gets P2 in both the sprint and the race, you need P1 in both. That’s how we seal the championship this weekend.”

Charles’ eyes scan the spreadsheet, “That’s ... a tall order.”

“But not impossible. Not for you and not for this team,” you assure him.

He chuckles again but it’s brighter now, “With you in my corner? I know anything is possible.”

***

The energy is electric when qualifying day arrives in Austin. You find Charles in his driver’s room, eyes closed in focus as he visualizes the track.

“You ready for this?”

His eyes pop open, determination burning in them. “Ready. Let’s show them what we can do.”

Qualifying unfolds in a blur of fast laps and bated breath. Charles pushes the limits, wrestling the SF-24 around the bumpy circuit.

“Time for one more lap. Give it your all here,” Claudio radioes through.

Jaw set, Charles squeezes all he can from the SF-24. Silence falls as he crosses the line … broken by cheers as his new lap time is set.

Pole position for the second season in a row.

Charles sheds his helmet and rips off his balaclava. “Yes! That’s how we start a weekend!”

The sprint shootout and race similarly see Charles launch cleanly from P1, building a gap early.

“Verstappen is matching your pace, don’t let him get within DRS range,” Claudio advises.

“Copy,” Charles responds, focused.

A late charge from Max raises tensions but Charles keeps him at bay, taking the chequered flag and the eight points.

“That’s the way to do it!” You shout as Charles enters the garage.

“Grand Slam in the sprint, now time for the main event,” he grins.

You rally the team Sunday morning. “Remember, the start is crucial. The car that lines up in P2 has led by the end of lap 1 for five years in a row. We need full focus.”

It seems like barely any time has passed before Charles takes his spot on the grid. Lights out, tires screeching, he holds the lead through the first lap madness.

“Nicely done,” Claudio praises. “Manage those tires now.”

The pit stop strategy is executed flawlessly. Charles takes his second stop, emerging ahead of a charging Verstappen.

“Ten laps remaining,” Claudio counts down.

Charles responds with measured confidence, “Let’s bring it home.”

In the closing laps, he is poetry in motion, hitting each apex and maximizing every straight. Max closes in but Charles is perfect to the millimeter.

“Charles Leclerc,” Claudio’s voice cracks with emotion, “you are the World Champion!”

Eyes wet, Charles radios in, “Yes! Yes! Yes! We did it! Thank you guys! This is unbelievable! Grazie, grazie mille, grazie a tutti! It’s been an incredible season with all of you. This is for the team, for Ferrari, for all the fans, and for everyone who has supported me. We brought it back to Maranello! I’m speechless ... grazie, thank you!”

In the garage, celebrations in full swing, you lean in with a laugh, “Don’t worry, I checked with the FIA — the plank is up to regulation this time.”

Grinning, Charles pulls you into a passionate kiss as the team hoots and hollers around you.

The World Champion smiles so bright he makes the Texan sun look dull in comparison.

You would do anything to make sure he feels like this every season. You will do anything to make sure he feels like this every season.

***

The winter sun casts a warm glow on Maranello as you walk beside Charles into the Ferrari factory. The off-season buzz of activity fills the air as the team prepares for next year’s challenges.

Charles looks at the sleek lines of the new SF-25 with anticipation. “She’s beautiful. I can’t wait to see what she can do.”

“This one’s special. She’ll be fighting for the championship again.”

“Yeah?”

“You heard me right,” you say with a smile. “I made you a promise. Last season was just the beginning.”

As Charles turns for a briefing, you spot Fred across the room. Your relationship has evolved and he now respects the authority you wield for the team’s benefit.

Approaching, you extend a hand. “I wanted to say, you’ve led the team well this past season.”

He grasps it firmly. “We share this success. Thank you for being the catalyst we needed”

You know there will still be challenges ahead. But Ferrari has been reinvigorated. Its racing spirit has been reignited.

That evening, Charles joins you on the terrace of the home you both share when in Maranello and wraps you both in a warm blanket to fight the chill. “Can you believe what a year it’s been?”

You shake your head. “It’s been a dream.”

He pulls you close. “The dream is just beginning and it’s a dream I hope we never wake up from.”

#f1 imagine #f1 #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction #f1 x reader #f1 x you #charles leclerc #cl16 #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc blurb #f1 fluff #f1 blurb #f1 one shot #f1 x y/n #f1 drabble #f1 fandom #f1blr #f1 x female reader #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x y/n #scuderia ferrari #charles leclerc one shot #charles leclerc drabble

[hope-to-hell]

A Fairytale in Silver and Glass: part three

To hold the sun. Adhemar x Reader. Dreams are the stories we tell ourselves.

This isn’t a fairy story; this is marble and oak and the echo of footsteps in the distance. This is misery with your hand tracing rain down the window while the city sleeps below. But despite the storm outside, all is silent within the tower behind its many inches of shatterproof glass. It is only in the greenhouse that the storm is thunderingly loud and alive. And though Adhemar is never there when you arrive, there is always, now, a book tucked beneath the cushion of his chair.

(Dream, my darling he says as hoofbeats hammer all around you; he leaves bruises with how harshly he pulls you up to ride before him. The appetites of men are more terrible than those of any beast.

He is wrapped in thick wool against the cold; his cloak flows about him and though the wind is cruel against your cheek, he holds you tightly and he is warm. I will keep this one he says, but to whom? It’s only you and him and the frozen ground.)

Something draws his gaze beyond the lamplight.

He doesn’t share what he sees but when he called you to him and said read to me there was broken stone in his throat.

(He says come no closer. There is something writhing in him; the words fall burning from his lips.

You were gone so long. I worried, I—

What, were you afraid? How I wish you hadn’t sought me out. His teeth are so sharp; he smiles like a razor opens: his lips curl back and when he speaks it cuts. Afraid for me, my sweet, or for yourself? Do you think anyone would come to collect your bones? Any kindness crawls back over itself and leaves only this biting cruelty. Here you are, you wretched thing. And he grips your jaw to make you open wide.)

Continue, please. The story is finished, the book laid in your lap. There is nothing left to read, and yet he asks.

(Will you tell me about all those far-off places, about oranges and dragons and your daring adventures?

You’ll be disappointed. He leans into your hand and sighs; sweat and filth drift from his curls as all his travels catch him up. He breathes war through lips peeled raw by the sun; there are threads of blood between his teeth. He is more than tired— he is weary.)

This is not a fairy story, but it’s still something of a fantasy. Once upon a time, when I was little, I wondered what it would be like to live in the sky. I thought if I could just fly high enough, I could stand on the clouds and hold out my arms to catch the sun.

Hn.

I know it’s silly, but

No.

Hm?

You were meant to dream beyond your means. It’s what makes you human. There is a tightness in his jaw that speaks to hard-learned lessons. Continue.

(He waits in silence while his father holds court. Adhemar watches, and he learns, and he remembers everything. Every bluff, every threat couched in polite concern, every fleeting alliance: all can be used and turned against these men.

They bow to your position and your wealth, not to you. He spits the words and doesn’t give a fig about the consequences. The bloody nose is worth it; he sees the stone crumbling beneath his father’s feet and tracks its fall. I will be better.)

I held the sun in my hands and it was somehow cold; when I sank into the stream I clutched it to my chest and watched the water freeze around me.

You were frightened?

No. Just tired

and

the air weighs heavy in these halls; the storm cannot be heard but it can be felt. This isn’t a story; it’s a fragment of a dream, a scrap of mood. And in the dream there is no catharsis, only spreading emptiness. It’s the feeling of reaching out a hand and finding nothing in return, of feeling frostbite and sunburn creeping in at once, of the moment after lightning strikes when all the world holds its breath. He doesn’t want to hear about the dream, he can’t want to. He is power and wealth and inscrutable design; he is above and yet.

And yet he asked. And when you raise your eyes to him, he is watching. And he sees.

#rufus sewell #adhemar #adhemar x you #adhemar x reader #a knights tale #a knights tale fic #my fic #a fairytale in silver and glass

[laurfilijames]

Hello. Absolute fan. Love your work. They are absolutely Supreme.

I always thought what it would be like to sneak around in Erebor? In all those dark dingy corners, that people cross but never pay attention to, you know?? How do you think that would turn out??

thank you for the incredibly kind compliment, nonnie 💗

OOOOH. This was a fun one. The thought of sneaking around and the risk of being caught is just *shivers*

I mean, look at all of the potential places to engage in raunchy behaviour with the Durin Princes!

Warnings: M/F unprotected intercourse in semi-public settings.

Here are my thoughts:

Fili:

Returning to your chambers after a long day in the forges Fili just so happens to stumble upon you, also making your way home, when he rounds the next corner.

You immediately notice your husband in your periphery and pause your stroll, smiling at him warmly.

“Well aren’t you a sight for weary eyes,” he beams at you, his dimples creasing in his soot-coated face.

He strides toward you proudly, taking your hand in his once he reaches you, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss.

The taste of him after a day of work always sparks your desire. He is salty and sweet and smells like the fire that heats his skin all day long.

You can already feel yourself melting into him as you continue your yearning kiss, as if you were a piece of metal he is moulding into creation.

There are a few people passing you by, but neither of you seem to care very much.

At least not until you card your fingers through Fili’s slightly tangled mane and elicit a moan from him.

Regretfully breaking your connection, Fili pulls away and eyes the various corridors around you.

“Come with me,” he says in a low voice, wiping his beard with his large hand, his other one interlocking with yours to get you to follow.

He pauses in a few darkened areas as you make your way down a hallway, what exactly it is he’s looking for you’re unsure.

The further you go, the darker and quieter the corridor becomes and finally he seems satisfied with your location.

Fili pulls you into a shadowed corner and leans against the wall, pulling you up against him.

His hands cup either side of your face and he kisses you again, not missing a beat on resuming the eagerness you shared earlier.

You moan into him as you start exploring his broad chest with your hands, your hand slipping inside his tunic, his skin warm and covered in a layer of sweat.

“Fili…” you breathe out slowly as his lips attack your neck. “I need you now, let’s go home…”

“You can have me now. Right here,” he replies, and you pull away to see a mischievous glint in his sapphire eyes.

“We can’t—”

But you’re cut off when he covers your mouth with his once more, his hands hurriedly gliding up your sides, your skirt following suit.

You bite down gently on Fili’s lower lip when you feel his thick fingers trail across your inner thigh and stop to run through your slippery folds.

Removing his mouth from yours, he moves to stand behind you, his fingers still teasing your readied core.

You can’t help but notice the lustful gaze that is locked on you as if you are his prey, your head turning to follow him.

Still pushing his fingers in and out of you, you can sense he's unfastening his trousers, and before you know it, Fili’s hard cock is between your cheeks as he guides it into you.

He continues to give you all the attention you need, now running his thumb over your swollen clit in circles, and you cry out as he fills you to the hilt.

Your hands brace against the cold stone wall for support as he begins thrusting against you, his hips slapping against your bottom with a practiced rhythm.

You can’t control the sounds that are leaving you as Fili assaults the most sensitive spot within you with every blow, your head dizzy with pleasure.

“Shhh, you can’t be so loud, amralime,” he softly scolds in your ear, his breath hot on your flushed skin in an attempt to prevent the odd passerby from hearing you.

You try your best to stifle your moans, but Fili is persistent and increases his pace, making you bite into your lip hard enough that you taste the metallicity of your own blood.

Fili knows you’re suffering, in the best way of course, and decides to make it harder for you to be quiet by darting his tongue out and licking alongside your neck.

You cry out again and slap the wall in frustration, and you hear him chuckle and groan behind you.

“You’re going to get us caught with all that noise you’re making,” he warns as he covers one side of your bottom with a firm smack.

“Maybe I want us to get caught…”

Your moment of audaciousness quickly vanishes when Fili rubs faster against your clit, pushing you closer to the edge.

He places a hand over your mouth in anticipation that you’re going to be louder in your climax and fucks you even harder, trying to stifle your moans that quickly increase with every thrust.

His hips spank your cheeks so vigorously your whole body is jolted from his force.

You strangle his throbbing length as your entire body tenses, causing him to empty himself within you at the same time.

His hand was barely enough to smother your noise, and in his own struggle to not roar out loud his teeth sink into the soft flesh on your neck.

His hips still roll against you as you both land from your high, but he doesn’t yet remove his hand from your panting mouth, not trusting you to not make any more noise.

Sure enough, he gives your overly sensitive bud more presses with his thumb as he slips out of you, the feeling of his hot seed spilling over your tingling folds making you wail into his hand again as your body succumbs to ecstasy one last time.

Finally, he takes his hand away and chuckles as he kisses the spots on your neck that he had bit during his blind passion, finding it all too amusing how well he can predict you.

“Now we can go home,” he winks at you when you manage to spin yourself around to face him, watching him tuck his leaking cock back into his trousers.

Kili:

After a night at the pub you and your One are making your way back to your chambers, laughing and carrying on in your merriment together.

Kili is continuing to bask in the effects of one too many ales, running up ahead of you, hiding behind pillars and in dark corners, occasionally popping out to scare you when you approach.

You roll your eyes at your husband who is far too old to be acting like such a young dwarf, but in your heart you hope he never changes.

Then he hides again.

You can hear him laughing but can’t find him, looking around every corner and pillar to locate him.

“Kili, come on! This isn’t funny anymore.”

Just then he grabs your hand and pulls you toward him into a dark corner.

You yelp from surprise and smack his chest as he continues laughing, “Were you scared you lost me forever?” he asks, searching your worried eyes with gleaming brown ones, his thumb holding your chin gently.

“Yes! Do not do such childish things, Kili!” you scold.

“Childish? Me? Never!” he feigns innocence and begins to lightly tickle his fingers over your waist.

You can’t help but giggle and smile again when he rubs his nose against yours affectionately.

“We should make the best use of this dark corner, don’t you think?”

“Kili! Anyone could stumble upon us!”

But he’s already kissing you, his lips and tongue quickly making you forget about your lack of privacy.

He moves to your chest, his tongue leaving wet streaks across the top of your breasts, his hands squeezing and pulling at your taught nipples.

You protest between moans, requesting to go to your chambers where you won’t have to worry about someone finding you.

“We won’t get caught if we keep quiet,” he assures you with a playful expression. “Plus, I can’t wait any longer to have you.”

You let out an exasperated sigh that turns into a sharp hiss as Kili sucks harshly on one of your nipples before rolling his tongue around it.

“I suppose the element of sneaking around and having to keep hidden is adding to the excitement…” you admit.

As soon as the words left your mouth, two dwarrow appeared at the end of the hallway, stopping to have a conversation.

Kili raised his eyebrows at you and gave you a cheeky grin, clearly appreciating the challenge.

He slid down your body until he was kneeling before you, his head disappearing up your skirts.

You clasped your hand over your mouth when you felt his tongue and lips start to explore your anticipating core, a shaky breath muffled only slightly.

Kili was keen on making you come apart quickly, his mouth and fingers working you to the brink in no time at all.

You writhed against him and the wall, doing your best to control the noises that were determined to escape you.

Out of the side of your eye you finally saw the dwarrow carrying on down the corridor, just in time for you to burst with pleasure, your orgasm tearing through you with power.

A strangled wail passed your lips, unable to hold it in through your mindless pleasure.

“Shhhh! Someone is going to hear us!” Kili reprimanded, but with a smile on his glistening face when he reappeared from between your legs.

You simply shook your head, unable to process thoughts or form words to defend yourself. He knew it wouldn’t be possible for you to stay silent with how good he made you feel.

As if it was all part of a devious plan, the first orgasm he provided you had you desperate for more.

Frantically working to unlace his trousers, your mouths collided with fervor, eager to kiss each other harder rather than stop for air.

He tastes of malty ale and now you, and it makes you even more frenzied in your actions.

A low growl rumbles through him as you grip onto his engorged member that is aching for release, pumping it a few times before he can no longer take it any more.

Kili grips onto one of your legs and lifts it to hook in the bend of his arm, opening you up to him.

Your combined laughter echoes in the dark hallway as he stumbles forward, losing his balance as he prepares to enter you.

“Amralime! Shhhh!!” he pleads, but the contact of his oozing head against your folds instantly quiets you.

He gives you a hungry look, like he’s ready to devour you and you allow yourself to whimper into his neck as he fills you.

His thrusts are slow but intense, and you worry he’s going to split you in two with how deep he penetrates, pulling out of you almost completely each time before pushing back into you.

His pace soon quickens, and you know he’s lost all control.

You can feel his full sack bouncing against you in his erratic movements and it sends your head spinning.

Neither of you are paying attention to the volume of your grunts and moans, completely lost in each other.

You claw at the back of his neck for something to ground you as you plummet into oblivion once again, Kili joining you as he pumps you full of his spendings.

You can hear someone not far off from where you are hidden as you try to catch your breaths, and you both start giggling bashfully when a voice calls out, “Is someone down there?”

Hurriedly, you work to fix your clothing and smooth your hair as if nothing at all had happened and appear out of the shadows.

Nori is standing in the moonlight that is shining in through a window and he smiles as soon as he sees it’s the two of you.

“And what exactly were the two of you doing?”

———

Everything: @guardianofrivendell @midearthwritings @cassiabaggins @lilith15000 @trishthedishofreis @linasofia @unbeatablecurlgirl @the-poldarkian @lathalea

Fili: @shethereadinghobbit

Kili: @valquiria3000 @fandomfaery

#fili #fili smut #kili #kili smut #smut asks #smut headcanons #the hobbit kili #the hobbit fili #naughty anon #erebor

[moeruhoshi]

I've been watching anime all day so here's a late nalu day gift

Lucy slammed her bedroom door and flopped down on her bed with a weary sigh, weeping into her pillow as her day finally came to an end.

The open door of her patio allowed her to hear the neighing of carriage horses taking away her most recent suitor, a man who barely knew what the meaning of personal space was.

Just how many princes and dukes had to waltz through their gates before the princess’ father realized that they had no interest in adequately courting her? It was painfully obvious how the lot of them were only interested in her well-displayed décolletage over her personality and spent more time schmoozing up to the king instead of trying to win her favor.

What hurt, even more, was knowing that she could never be with the one who was truly meant for her.

She stared at the red string tied to her pinky, the fiber ending far off in the distance where it connected to her destined partner. It calmed her in some ways, allowed her to feel a sense of clarity, knowing there was at least one more person out there who could give her the true love she craved.

She hoped every day, when Spetto called her down to meet another suitor, that it would be him, the one on the other end of her string, waiting to hold her as she wanted to hold him.

They could instead be a peasant, she thought as her hopes for him to visit one day were beginning to fade. Not that she cared about that kind of thing, but it meant that they didn't have the means to enter the castle easily. Or maybe they were somewhere in a neighboring country, too far away to find her. Maybe he hadn't been gifted the power to see the string and didn't know she was waiting for him but felt just as empty without her by his side.

She was sure if she voiced her knowledge of the red string to anyone else, they would call doctors from all over Earthland to analyze her cognitive function. 

But she desperately wanted to tell everyone that she had no intention of selecting a suitor through their gaudy traditions. She would instead venture out into the world to find her soulmate, the person at the end of her red string of fate. But knowing her father, he would only let her marry with the promise of the expanded wealth she would gain him from a political marriage.

"Miss? Are you still awake?" Spetto knocked lightly, the princess holding in her sniffles to hear what the maid had to say. "I'm sure you are…but I won't bother you. Your father wants you to know that he'll be inviting the Duke Cream from Veronica for another visit tomorrow. He's eager to correct his…insolent behavior from the last time he saw you."

The princess didn't bother answering and instead let out a frustrated sigh as the sound of her maid's footsteps echoed down the hall. The setting sun illuminated the crimson strand and her fingers loosely wrapped around it, her weak pout quivering as she tugged on the phantom satin.

"I'd rather have you, whoever you are..."

~000~

"The princess!" Spetto screamed as she ran into the King's throne room. Jude was sat upon his seat with the Duke at his side, their conversation halting at her interruption. "She's gone!"

"What in the world do you mean, woman? I'm sure that no good daughter of mine has just buried her nose in one of those god awful fairy tales again. Have the guards search the library for her," He gruffed, rolling his eyes as her demeanor became more hysterical and shaken.

"I have, your highness! The princess has run away, she's truly nowhere to be found!"

"And just when I was about to be introduced to my bride," The Duke frowned and tossed his bleached hair aside. "Send hounds after her, why don't you? I will not let this girl make a fool of me on this glorious day."

"Go on, then," The King glared at his guards standing nearby who quickly rushed out the door. "I should have known that girl would be trouble. Her mother had always filled her head with nothing but pure nonsense."

Lucy lifted her billowy skirt as she ran through the woods, deep within its darkness, trying her best to ignore the now wailing trumpets of distress audible in the distance. She knew it wouldn't have been long until someone noticed her absence, especially after having heard the reality behind Duke Cream’s visit.

It was by chance, an incident that occurred while she was passing her father's office the night before. Lucy heard the plans he made to arrange her marriage to the Duke, ensuring that their kingdom would absorb the principality. This meant her father would have an entire stronghold on the country of Fiore.

A life with that obnoxious and narcissistic Duke was not one she wanted, nor could even stand the thought of.

So, in a panic, she made plans to run away, leaving when the guards wouldn’t be around, going as far as she could go without any clear signs of which direction she'd taken off in. She persevered through her tiredness with the lone thought of her meeting her soulmate who was sure to greet her with a wide smile and open arms.

"This way! C'mon now, you'll never make it running without anywhere in mind!" A voice tinkled through the line of trees, halting the princess in her place as she breathed harshly and darted around scared eyes.

"Who's there! I-I'm not going back to the castle!" Lucy shouted as she turned about in circles, shrieking as a short blonde girl suddenly appearing from thin air

"Did I say I was trying to take you home? No! Now hurry it up! You'll never make it there if you make stops like this, follow me!" She instructed, turning toward the trees and beginning to run.

"Who are you?" Lucy asked between pants as she followed the shorter blonde, mesmerized by the trail of sparkles she left behind her, and the cute wings peeking out from beside her ears.

"A friend," She smiled as she continued maneuvering them through the woods. "And a guide! You’ll never get where you need to go without my help,"

"So you know where I'm going? You can see my string too?"

"Well, sure! I let you see it after all. Boy, was he worried when I told him you were stuck out here without your magic. Idiot almost killed himself trying to find his way through, but it can't be done by anyone but a spirit." She sighed and shook her head, rambling as they avoided a patch of bramble bushes 

"My soulmate...? He was looking for me too? Really?" Lucy felt her heart swell, beating stronger even as she ran, a dazzling smile taking its claim of her lips.

"Yup! You have a very loyal man waiting for you," She giggled. "He can't wait to meet you, said he'd get his house ready and everything while I was out looking for you. I apologize for taking so long, moving around in this realm isn't easy, there’s barely any magic in this land!”

"Magic? Like in books? Isn't that practice all made up?" The princess quirked a brow as the strange girl only giggled again and slowed her movements as they found purchase under the wide berth of a willow tree.

"It's quite amazing someone like you was born here when your home is with us, in the right Fiore. Now, come on! Everyone's waiting!" She grinned, ignoring Lucy's confusion as she pulled them through the hanging branches, the two suddenly falling into the void of the trunk.

"E-Eh?! W-Wha…!" Lucy fell to her knees as she suddenly felt queasy, holding a hand to her head and waited for her headache to subside. She looked up to see where the other blonde had gone, not finding her anywhere and instead met a new and sunny skyline. "Wasn't it…night just a moment ago?"

She stood to her shaky feet, finding her body no longer weighed down by exhaustion, tears, or dirt on her dress. Whatever was in the air made her feel light as, well, air. She'd never felt so amazing before! Just where had she gone when they fell through that tree?

Taking some small steps through the field in front of her, she looked down to her finger, the red string extending into the distance behind her.

"Oh wow…" When Lucy turned around, she was met with the image of a town she had never seen before, curiosity pulling her towards the bustling streets.

It was as she always imagined the streets of the village she ruled above looked; stalls serving food and selling fresh produce, children running and laughing, patrons bartering and making light conversation, happiness in everyone's eyes. Their smiles created her own, and she followed the string eagerly, feeling just right in the Fiore she’d been led to.

She worried this would all turn into a dream soon enough, there couldn't possibly be another Fiore…or the existence of magic at that. Her steps quickened as she feared Spetto would be in at any moment to wake her, feet carrying her towards a patch of woods that broke off from the town.

It would’ve made nice for a peaceful walk if she didn’t think the calm scenery before her would disappear.

“Oi, Gray, watch it!” A sharp voice boomed from the nearby distance. 

“Shut it! I know what I’m doing, it ain’t hard to paint a wall, flame brain!” 

“Don’t start a fight! We had to rebuild that side of the house five times because you two keep knocking it down!”

Lucy slowed down her pace as the volume of their argument increased but kept her eyes on the string that told her he was just ahead. 

Her eyes landed on a red-haired girl pointing a large sword at two boys who kneeled respectively in front of her, bowing their heads as she scolded them. 

Breaking through the line of trees, Lucy smoothed down her stray hairs and dusted off her dress, holding herself nervously as she continued forward.

Each step closer made her legs feel like jelly, flushed her cheeks, and made her heart beat a million times faster, her fingers twitching as she held her hands together. 

“U-Um...excuse me…?” Lucy’s voice was shaky as she approached the three, her eyes watery as she stared at the pink-haired boy who raised his head at the sound of her voice. The string fell into his lap; he was her soulmate.

The red-haired girl turned to face her first, eyes concerned as they fell on her disheveled appearance. “My goodness, are you okay? You’re not lost, are you?”

“N-No...I—“ 

"Oh, crap! It's you!" 

"Don't say that to a girl, idiot! You have no idea who that is!" The raven-haired boy threw a glare at the pink-haired one who quickly stood up.

“Mavis didn’t tell me when you’d get here, I would’ve come to pick you up if I knew you were...oh, hey, don’t cry, okay? Um, here,” He quickly took the end of his scarf to wipe her tears, feeling a knot in his throat as she gently fell against his chest. "It's gonna be okay."

"I just...I just can't believe…" She shook her head, not minding the stain she created on his shirt. "That you're real...that you were waiting for me."

"'Course I was! Having a new family member is always exciting, and my hearts been leapin' like crazy waitin' for you! You were stuck out there all alone and I couldn't come find you. I'm sorry it took so long." 

Erza forced herself and Gray to look away as the blonde hastily kissed their wild companion, his shock present in the stiffness of his back.

He was startled by the sudden action but felt himself melting into the touch, desperate as well to be close to his soulmate.

"I'm home," Lucy laughed with a bit of surprise, Natsu's eyes widening along with his grin. 

"Yeah! Welcome back!"

#nalu #fairy tail #natsu dragneel #lucy heartfilia #natsu and lucy #natsu x lucy #lucy and natsu #lucy x natsu #nalu day 2021 #nalu day

[sundaysundaes]

My Words, Your Thoughts (Teaser)

Lee Donghyuck/Haechan X Reader | Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Smut | Soulmate AU, Friends-to-Lovers AU

Part of the beautiful ‘Aubade’ collaboration hosted by @hyucksie​

Synopsis: As an introvert, you are familiar with the silence. Drowning yourself deep in your thoughts has been a habit you’ve become addicted to. Your life begins to change, however, ever since the day you turned twenty. Suddenly, there’s this song that’s stuck in your head, and no matter how much you yearn to hear your thoughts or be comforted by the silence, it keeps on playing. You only get to find the answer to your problem when a young, cute barista hands you a cup of coffee one day, with that song’s lyrics written on the side. And you realize that you’re not the only one who’s been hearing voices in your head.

Warnings: explicit sex, expletives, mentions of physical abuse and astraphobia (not for the main characters)

WC (Teaser): 4k

Release Date: June 27, 2021, 10 AM KST

It’s weird. It’s so weird.

It’s weird that you’ve been hearing this song replaying over and over again in your head when you’re sure you’ve never listened to it before. It’s also weird because sometimes the song sounds like the ones you often hear about on the radio—complete with instrumental accompaniment and everything—but most of the time, it just sounds like someone is humming to it. Sometimes quietly, but more often than not, vehemently like they’re having a concert in the shower, not caring if the neighbors might hear.

As someone who rarely listens to mainstream music, you don’t keep up with the trend these days but the tunes are catchy enough that you think, maybe, it’s one of those Justin Bieber’s songs people always talk about. You’re not fond of it, though, so even if you’ve heard it somewhere in a cafe or a mall, there’s very little chance you’ll be humming it in your head.

And yet, it keeps on playing.

It gets worse when it goes on for a whole day—a whole fucking day—that your brain feels like it’s seconds away from bursting into pieces. It doesn’t even sound like your voice. It seems like it belongs to a male, a bit light and a pitch higher than most. Though it sounds pleasant, the voice is unfamiliar to your ears and that’s what bothers you the most. 

Trying your best to escape, you plug in your AirPods to your earholes, choosing one of the most beloved tracks from your playlist—today, it’s Bloom by The Paper Kites—to help you relax as you lie down on your bed. But no matter how many times you turn up the volume—it’s practically turning you deaf, ironically—you can still hear that one goddamn song playing.

“Oh my God,” you groan, projecting a murderous glare at the ceiling of your room before you shriek all of your heart’s content to your pillow. “Make it stop!”

This has been going on ever since your twentieth birthday and it’s been three months since then—three months of suffering, to be exact. Fortunately for you, you haven’t been listening to the same song for those amount of time—God, you would’ve killed yourself if that was the case. The song changes without warning. It can change ten times within a day, or stay the same for ten days. You have never heard of these songs except for the popular ones, and even then, you only ever listened to snippets as they don’t suit your taste. 

So… It doesn’t make sense that you could recite the whole lyrics, does it? 

And yet, you can. 

Somehow, you already know every word, every tune, even every ad-lib in these songs and it both amazes and creeps you out. It’s as if somebody else is singing about it in their mind, and you, somehow, are mentally connected to them.

But that’s surely not the case, right?

With more days passing by, as your brain deteriorates little by little, you start to think that maybe that is the case.

Or maybe you’re just going crazy.

It’s nine in the morning and your eyes are bleary from how you involuntarily skipped sleep last night. With the loudest sigh and your half-charged MacBook sitting still in your backpack, you let your wobbly legs carry you to the nearest coffee shop. There’s a new Starbucks store opening just a couple of blocks away from your apartment and it’s perfect since you’re going to pass it every day on your way to college. 

You’re not excited though, not when you have Michael Jackson’s Man in The Mirror playing in your head for the, approximately, thirty-fifth time that day. And it’s only nine in the fucking morning.

When you enter the coffee shop, greeted by a cute Christmas tree and festive decorations spreading all over the place even when it’s still three weeks away from the holiday, you almost weep in joy when the song stops playing in your head. It does happen from time-to-time, sometimes it stops for a few hours before it starts again with the same song or an entirely different one. But in most cases, it only pauses for a few minutes which just doubles the torture whenever you’re trying to concentrate on your paperwork.

“Hi.” You display a timid smile at a female barista, slightly wincing when the song in your head starts blaring again, as expected. It’s still the same song this time—so that thirty-sixth by now, Jesus Christ—but instead of someone humming it, it’s the original version that plays. You’re having trouble focusing on her greeting when the sound of a synthesizer echoes through your ear, stridently so. “I would like a tall skinny latte with a double shot, please.”

“Would you like anything else to accompany your drink?”

Perhaps a gun to blow my head off? “No, thanks. That’d be all for me.”

“Is that for here or to go?”

You take a quick scan of your surroundings. You still have an hour before your first class starts and since the place isn’t that crowded, you figure you might as well just spend some time here. “For here.”

You tell her your name and slide down your card to complete the payment. “All right. We will call your name once your order is ready.”

“Fantastic. Thanks.” As the female barista takes an order from another customer, you drag yourself to an empty seat in the corner of the room, next to the glassy window where you can glance at passersby. You lay your head down on the table, cheek pressed against the wooden surface, lower lip jutting out in weariness. You’re drowsy and you want to think about the snow that’s probably gonna fall sometimes near Christmas’ Day and maybe the sight of a warm fireplace where you can cozy up with your imaginary boyfriend (also known as Jung Jaehyun—that one perfect boy who lives just across of your hallway), but no, unfortunately for you, you no longer have any space left in your brain since Michael Jackson is performing a damn concert and it doesn’t seem like he’s gonna stop anytime soon.

“I’m starting with the man in the mirror…” Great, now you’re singing it. “I’m asking him to change his ways…”

The music in your head abruptly stops again but before you can close your eyes to finally enjoy your silence, a familiar voice chimes in.

“It’s a great song, isn’t it?”

Shocked, you quickly lift your head to identify a male barista placing down a cup of your ordered latte on your table. You swear you recognize his voice but his face doesn’t ring a bell.

“Hi,” he greets, smiling a bit sheepishly. “I don’t usually bring orders directly to the table but I think I misheard your name so I couldn’t call you out from there.”

“That’s, umm, that’s okay…” You hide the bottom half of your face behind your scarf as you’re not used to talking to a stranger, especially one that looks overwhelmingly pretty. “What did you think my name was?”

“Umm…” He rubs the back of his nape awkwardly. “I don’t think you want to know. It was a bit… inappropriate.”

“R-right…” You glance at the cup. “It says ‘Michael.’”

He chuckles but with only a slight hint of amusement in it. “Yeah, sorry about that. I had to come up with something and it was the first thing that came to mind.”

“And it has…” Your eyes widen when you notice the words he’s written on the side of your cup. It’s not a greeting, it’s not a motivational sentence, it’s the fucking lyrics to Michael Jackson’s Man in The Mirror.

“Yeah, okay, so—” Noticing the appalled look on your face, he hurriedly tries to reason out. “I’ve had this song stuck in my head all day long—I just listened to it a minute ago while making your order—and the lyrics are just so inspirational so I decided to write that down. I hope that’s not too weird.” Then he laughs a little, a tad more genuinely this time. “But I heard you singing that song just now. What are the chances, right?”

You swallow hard. He’s been thinking about that song too? Listened to it a minute ago? What are the chances of this is happening? Is he the one whose voices I’ve been hearing in my head—

The male barista abruptly takes a step back, his tray nearly slipping out of his hold. He has a hand pressed against his ear, eyes blinking several times in disbelief. “Holy shit.”

“Excuse me?”

“You—” He splutters, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “I can’t believe it’s real.”

“What?” The way he seems like he’s looking at a ghost sends goosebumps all over your skin. “What is it?”

“Think about something.” 

“Umm—” What is he talking about?

This time he gapes, his jaw dropping low. “Holy shit, I can really hear you. Think about something else—think about me.”

“Look, I don’t know you and you’re being weird.” The sudden change of conversation baffles you but when his words sink in, you can’t stop yourself from thinking about him as he orders. He’s cute, his entire features are cute—you’ve noticed that from the first second you laid your eyes on him, but what catches your eyes the most is his lips—the way they’re shaped so beautifully, like a cupid’s bow—

“You’re thinking about my lips? Seriously?” He asks, but might as well splash cold water to your face. “If you said something about my eyes, sure, I mean, they are attractive. One might even say that God Himself took the stars from the sky and put them in my eyes—but my lips? Huh, that’s new.”

You loudly gasp when you’re finally aware of the situation, hands flying to your face to cover your gaping mouth. “You can hear my thoughts!”

“And you can hear mine too!” He points out, and as startled as you are from the previous realization, you instantly frown upon his words. 

“I don’t think so,” you reply. “I can only hear—”

“Donghyuck-ah!” Another barista comes to interrupt from the other side of the room. “We didn’t pay you to flirt, come back here!”

“I wasn’t flirting!” He shouts back, tips of his ears reddening. When he turns to you again, he has a prominent scowl on his face which makes you squirm on your feet. “We need to talk about this. My break is in an hour, do you think you can wait?”

It sounds more like an order than a request. “B-but I have a class in an hour.”

“Skip it.”

It takes all the strength in your body to be brave enough to retort back with, “Why don’t you skip your work?”

“I’m already half-done with my work, I can’t bail out now.” He rolls his eyes. Suddenly, his courteousness just vanishes without a trace. “Look, I’ve been hearing your thoughts for months now and I have a lot to complain to you about.”

You grimace. “It’s not like I can control my thoughts—”

“I know, I’m not blaming you.” He picks up the tray, his gaze softening but only slightly. “I just want to complain. You’ve been driving me crazy these past few months.”

You glance away, pouting. Wow, he surely knows how to befriend a stranger.

“I can hear you, you know.” He sighs as if talking to you is exhausting, when it should be the other way around. “Look, I’m sure you’ve been going through the same thing. Don’t you want this to stop?”

You’re not wasting any second. “Yes, please.”

“Then wait for me. We’ll talk this through.” He pivots on his heels, his tray glued to his side. When you can finally breathe properly, exhausted from the social interaction as you sink back to your seat, the barista—Donghyuck—adds, “Oh, as you wait. Can you please stop thinking about my lips? Or just how cute I am in general? It’s sweet but I gotta concentrate so I won’t write another Michael on my next order.”

You slam your forehead down the table, face aflame. “I-I’ll try.”

“Thanks.”

***

“You just can’t stop thinking about my lips, can you?” Is the first thing Donghyuck states out as soon as he’s approached your table. He runs a hand through his brown hair, which looks out-worldly fluffy that you begin to wonder what kind of hair product he’s been using. “Or my hair.”

Mortified, you mumble out, “I’m sorry,” with half of your face covered by your hands. The more I try not to think about his lips, the more I do—shit, is he hearing this too—

“Yes,” Donghyuck says, but this time with an amused smile. “Man, I didn’t know my lips were that appealing to ladies. You’re gonna make me blush.”

Well, he’s making you blush for sure. “Would it be too much to ask for you to stop listening to my thoughts?”

“Believe me, woman, I’ve tried.” He groans, taking his apron off before he sits in front of you. He loosens up his collar, unbuttoning two buttons of his white shirt—which is two more than necessary to your liking—and you have to gaze away before another thought forms inside your head about a certain part of his body. 

“Sorry if I came on too strong before. I’m Lee Donghyuck,” he introduces formally, offering you his hand. You reply with your name but you’re reluctant to shake his hand since you’re sure you’re breaking into a cold sweat, and an overly sweaty palm doesn’t really scream attractive—

“It’s literally just a handshake,” he says, stifling down a laugh. “I’m not gonna start judging you about it. You’re cute, sweaty palms or not.”

You nearly choke. “If I can’t ask you to stop listening to my thoughts, can you please be quiet about them?”

“That’s also impossible since talking is an integral part of my charm.” He leans back to his chair. “I’m pretty good with my mouth.”

That was… a poor choice of words, you think, as you stare at his lips and can’t help but wonder what can that mouth do other than talking. You take a bite of the bagel you just ordered, desperately trying to avert your attention.

“It wasn’t a poor choice of words.” He winks. “I did mean that in every way possible.”

This time, you really are choking.

“Okay, so what’s happening to us?” Donghyuck questions, after you manage to shed a tear or two during your attempt in relieving your throat. “Why have I been hearing your thoughts? I don’t even know you.”

“Same here.” You’re still going through a hard time keeping eye contact with him, but with more seconds passing by—and him pronouncing every bit of your thoughts out in the open—the knots inside your chest begin to loosen. “Ever since I turned twenty, I’ve been hearing these songs playing in my head that I’d never even heard of.”

“Never heard of?” Donghyuck snorts. “What, you never listen to Billboard’s top forty?”

You weakly shrug. “I prefer indie music better. Or instrumentals.”

“I would say that you have a soul of an old lady but the way you’ve been thinking about my lips reminds me of my sister who’s going through puberty.”

“Okay, this isn’t fair.” You shake your head, ashamed and tired of being humiliated over something you can’t fix. “Why can you hear my thoughts but I can’t hear yours?”

“Believe me, you’re much better off this way.” His face contorts in pain which makes you feel somewhat sorry if he’s not constantly being an ass about it. Hearing your insult, he notes, “Also, I’d prefer to be called with terms of endearment in the future, if that’s okay with you. Something like Babe or Darling.” The way he raises his eyebrow is just strictly illegal. “And in return, I’ll call you Sweetheart.” But before you can say anything—or run toward a running bus to put an end to this endless humiliation—he questions, “Wait, when you hear the songs I’ve been thinking in my head, does it sound like the original version of the song, or like me singing it?”

Finally, a proper conversation. “If you’re listening to the actual music, I can hear the original song as if I’m hearing it through my headphones. But when you’re just thinking about it, well, I‘ve never heard you sing, but,” you decide to tease him back—which startles you from how blatant you’re being. “From how amateur and pitchy this voice sounded in my head, I think I’ve been hearing yours.”

“Cute.” He scrunches up his nose. “Okay, let’s try again. Can you hear what song running through my head now?”

You stiffen, sitting in silence. After a few seconds pass by with only you exchanging stern stares at each other, your eyes gleam with a spark of hope. “Wait, I can’t hear you. Does this mean it stops? Because we’ve met in person?”

“Sadly no, because I was just thinking about how silly you looked when you choked over your food earlier.” He chuckles to himself and sends you another wink when you degrade him in your head. “Okay, let’s try again.”

“For real this time?”

“For real this time, Sweetheart.” He closes his eyes, holding back a smile when he catches how you flinch a little at his pet name for you. This time, you really do hear him humming inside your mind. “Don’t tell me by words,” he immediately adds, “Just think about them.”

Heaving a sigh, you close your eyes too. I’ve heard this song somewhere.

“If you’ve never heard about this song, I will literally cry and apologize to the world on your behalf.”

Be quiet, please, I’m trying to concentrate.

“Worried that you’d be thinking about my lips again?”

You almost fall from your seat. Almost. Okay, you’re singing to… You knit your eyebrows together as you provide your best effort to remember the tunes. You’re singing to Super Mario Bros theme song?

“Correct.” He taps his fingers to the table, simpering. “This is actually pretty cool. We can be, like, partners in crime or something.”

You shudder. “Please don’t tell me you’re an actual criminal.”

“If looking this handsome is a crime then I am, yes. Guilty as charged.” He makes a kissy face when you think about throwing the rest of your bagel to his head. “You look like someone who writes fan-fiction about their idols having sappy first kisses in your spare time but you’re actually pretty wild in your head, aren’t you?” He loves seeing your reactions, you know that, so you give your all in trying to act nonchalant. “Now, let’s try again. Did you bring your headphones with you?”

You check your coat’s pocket. “I got my AirPods.”

“Perfect. Put them on and play something from your phone.” As someone who’s pretty carefree, he can get serious at times. “Play as loud as you can until you feel like you’re going deaf.”

“I’ve tried that many times.” You nearly wail at the memory. “But it’s hard to drown your voice since it comes from inside my head.”

“Yeah, I know that. I’ve been hearing your thoughts too, remember? Don’t you think I would at least try something like that?” You narrow your eyes menacingly at him but he simply waves you off. “Anyway, that’s not what I’m trying to do. Put them on and you’ll see.”

He’s ordering you around. He just met you and he’s ordering you around. Socializing with people in general already zaps your energy pretty quickly, so socializing with a brat—

“I’ll grow on you, don’t worry.” He smirks and you take a mental note to really learn how to control your thoughts this time.

You follow his lead, as requested, connecting your AirPods to your phone and play something relaxing—because God knows how desperately you need it—as loudly as you can bear. Okay, go try… whatever it is that you want to try.

He smiles and shifts slightly on his seat, facing the window. His eyes glimmer under the light when he parts his lips, mouthing some words—no, singing something that you can’t hear.

Wait. I can’t hear?

Donghyuck glances at you, a grin breaking further on his lips upon hearing your thought. He gestures to you to take your AirPods away and you nod. Vacation Manor’s You promptly fades as his voice enters, and it’s weird because you’ve heard him sing in your head so many times yet it doesn’t do justice to how beautiful he sounds in real life.

It’s almost angelic, the sound he makes, which is kind of ironic for a little devil that he is. His honeyed voice is soothing, almost like the patter of rain on your window at dawn, lulling you back to sleep. You’re no expert in music but to you, he sounds impeccable that you run out of words to describe how pleasant his voice is to your ears. It’s so distinct, soulful—

Donghyuck giggles. “Thanks.”

—and annoying. “Okay, so what happened?” You try to divert the topic. “I can’t hear you when you’re singing out loud, but I can hear it when you’re thinking about a song?”

“I guess so.” He furrows his eyebrows, deep within his thoughts. “I figured it out when I couldn’t hear your thoughts whenever you spoke out loud. I think we can work from this?”

“So instead of thinking about what I have to say, I should focus more on saying what I want to say?” You shake in horror. “I don’t think I can do that.”

“What, you don’t like talking?”

“I’m…” You swallow your breath. “I’m not really good at that.”

“You’re talking to me just fine now, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, because you make it so easy.”

“Aaw,” he purrs, a lopsided smile painting his face. “Thanks, Sweetheart.”

“No.” You hold up a hand. “I mean, since you can hear my thoughts, I have no other choice but to speak. Also, you seem like you’re the type who just says whatever that comes to mind without worrying too much about my feelings—”

“Hey, now you’re just making me sound rude—”

“You are rude,” You emphasize. “But it works well with me because then I don’t have to hold myself back and pretend to be somebody else.”

“Why do you have to pretend?” He frowns. “Because you’re afraid people are gonna hate you? Judge you on your words?”

“It’s…” You look away, nibbling on your bottom lip. “I just… I’m trying to be a good person so people will like me—”

“I like you,” he says casually as if he was talking about having a cute Pomeranian as a pet, and there you are, almost fainting in your seat. “I mean, in the last forty minutes I’ve known you, I think you’re great the way you are. You don’t have to be good, you just have to be you.” He shifts closer, crossing his arms on the table, and lays his chin on them, gazing up at you with a soft smile that doesn’t match well with his previous attitude. “Don’t you think it’s great if people accept you the way you are?”

You hurriedly take a sip of your coffee, pretending to swallow even if it’s already empty. “You’re… not so bad yourself.”

“What was that?”

“Okay, well I think I should go.” There’s no way you’re gonna repeat that. Donghyuck titters, taking a hold of your wrist when you’re about to stand up from your seat.

“We still have loads to talk about.” You observe the way his fingers linger around your arm, his sun-kissed skin feels silky smooth against your own. “Why don’t we have lunch together? My treat?”

“D-don’t you have work to do?”

“I’ll make an excuse.” 

A barista with the word Jeno written on his name tag walks by and slaps Donghyuck on the back of his head as if it’s something he’s done on a daily basis—probably is. “You’re not going anywhere, asswipe, get back to work.”

When the brunette boy turns to you, he winces. “Or maybe you can give me your number so we can meet up later?”

***

A/N: I’m both nervous and excited for this as this is my first collaboration. Thank you so much, Denise, for having me on this wonderful collab!

#haechan smut #haechan fluff #haechan angst #haechan x reader #haechan collab #haechan scenarios #haechan imagines #nct smut #nct fluff #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct angst #nct 127 #nct dream #haechan drabbles

[gwynrielsupremacy]

Time to rest your weary head: The End!

FIRST AND FOREMOST; I KNOW it took me a DAMN LONG TIME to update this, but lemme explain: This was my first fanfiction ever written in english, my first Gwynriel long-fic and the first fanfic I ever published and I didn't want to finish it (although I knew it must come to an end)

I am so grateful for all the love, likes, kudos on AO3, comments and reblogs I've been getting since I first started posting it. You have NO IDEA how much it meant to me; I've always found myself a little insecure to post my own fiction work, but this one have payed off and it's all thanks to you guys!!!!

To @katiebellf the one who lovingly suggested WRITE A FANFICTION OUT OF THIS bday headcanon and i sure as hell did!!! To @madie2200 and @starbornsinger for being so supportive and always making sure I'd get feedback, and to @thecrispypotatochip for your constant reblogs with your opinions + to every kind soul out here in this crazy virtual space that made sure to make me feel loved! (i see you all, and i love you)

ANYWAY, that's it guys! <3 This chapter of my life is finally over (ik i'm being HELLA DRAMATIC but put up with me!!!!! i love gwynriel!!!!) and I can't wait for you to see what's to come :) (btw i know i'm technically LATE since here in my brazilian timezone it's 1AM but think on the bright side... I hope y'all have a great dinner/breakfast/lunch surprise :)

Chapter List here and my personal Gwynriel hymn that inspired the title of this fic RIGHT HERE

PART 15: FINAL.

Azriel knew what he had to do.

As he beheld the circle of people in front of him all gathered around the dining table, his family, he felt a sense of calmness and quietude he hadn’t for a long, long time. His eyes quickly landed on Gwyn, who was motioning for him to sit by her side.

It was dinner night at the River House, and he had it all planned out. His shadows bounced around his shoulders as he took the seat next to his mate. As she engaged in a conversation with Emerie and Feyre, Nesta and Cassian leaned on each other, Rhys played with Nyx while Mor and Amren discussed about something he couldn’t bring himself to care about, he felt at ease. Peaceful.

Gwyn held his hand under the table, and he let his shadows hung around her freely. It was almost as they belonged to her, and not him. They had started doing it a lot more often, so the Inner Circle was supposed to be more used to it by now. Still, Azriel ignored Amren’s inquisitive eyebrow and turned his gaze to his mate; those teal eyes were eyeing him, and she squeezed his hand, giving him an almost imperceptible nod; a go-ahead sign.

Just like they had previously talked.

“There’s something you should know” Azriel started, immediately earning the attention of almost everyone at the table, since it wasn’t every day he opened up like that. Only Gwyn kept staring at her lap, a faint blush on her cheeks.

“Is everything ok?” Nesta was the one who asked.

“We’re mates.” She blurted out, startling him – and everyone around, for that matter. He looked at her, amused, and then at the confusion that reigned across the table. In a second, a squealing Nesta and Emerie lunched forward and embraced his mate in a tight and equally loud hug, while Cassian spitted his drink, Mor clapped and Amren muttered a “tell me something new”, quietly smiling and raising her glass at Azriel anyway.

Only Rhys and Feyre stood in silence at their spots at the table, knowing smiles mirrored on their faces quickly noticed by Nesta, still with her arms around Gwyn.

“Why are you two so quiet?” Her eyes missed nothing, raising her chin at her sister and her mate. Rhys merely took a sip from his drink.

“They already knew.” Azriel found himself saying, and Nesta’s stare darted to him, and then to Gwyn, who was still flushed from all the fuss.

“And you knew they knew?” She furrowed her brows; he couldn’t identify if her tone was menacing or curious, but Gwyn wasn’t the one to feel intimidated by it, given the way she chuckled in response.

“It was all me.” Rhys raised his hands. “It was an accident; I didn’t mean to pry.”

“I need to train more on my mental shields, apparently.” It was all the priestess admitted, but kindly smiled at Rhysand and Feyre from across the table. “The High Lo- Rhysand, I mean- kept it safe for me. He found out earlier than Azriel did.”

“You were the one to realize first?” Nesta sat again at her spot besides Cassian, and turned to her friend surprised. Gwyn smiled smugly.

“By a short amount of time” Azriel couldn’t help but grunt out, unconsciously falling into their usual banter.

Her warm eyes landed on him, and she winked, still with that Cauldron-damned smile on, causing shivers all over him.

“Still” She shrugged irreverently and smirked playfully. “I knew it before you. Quite the Spymaster, huh?”

If everyone else at the table stilled slightly at her words, all but Cassian, who bellowed in laughter, Azriel couldn’t notice. Not when his mate’s stare was unfaltering, with that challenging look in her eyes she knew he loved. He immediately found himself joining his brother, again not caring if it was the first in a damn long time his family even heard him laugh like that.

Some time passed between casual conversation and sips of wine. In that time, Azriel was secretly arranging his next words in his mind. Just like Gwyn and he had previously discussed, the news went well; as deep down, he knew it would. His family had understood and cherished them both, and Azriel reveled in the peace it brought him, quietly admiring those people around him.

When his eyes landed at Gwyn, though, deeply immersed in conversation with Rhysand, he took in a deep breath, determined. There was still one more thing he had to do, one more thing she wasn’t yet aware. Something he knew, in his heart, was the right thing to do. Was the best thing he could do.

“Rhys” He called, and Gwyn immediately turned her head to him, eyes shining with pure curiosity. “There’s one more thing.”

He leaned in closer to his brother, resting his arm behind Gwyn’s chair. Rhysand’s expression was equally intrigued, but his voice was calm and collected when he answered: “Shoot, brother.”

“I need a break.”

“Oh?” Rhysand’s eyebrows shot up with surprise.

“Oh?” Gwyn echoed quietly.

Her burning gaze made him tear his eyes from Rhysand and stare back at her; something was glimmering in her teal ocean eyes. He couldn’t discern what it was. The rest of his family was still talking to each other, though the conversation had dimmed a bit.

“I have well trained spies all over the country; I could spend the rest of this week getting them ready to take my place for a little while. I’d be back in two weeks, if you’d let me.” Azriel continued.

Rhysand smiled broadly and promptly retorted: “What about two months?”

Gwyn gasped beside him. Something stirred within Azriel’s chest. Two whole months, with Prythian in the verge of a possible war, didn’t seem wise at all, and he was well aware of the fact.

But Cauldron-damn him, he wanted that. Needed that.

Suddenly, a vision of a shining blue lake under the afternoon sun came into his field of view. In his fingers, loose strands of a long copper hair, like burning fire under the sunlight. The only thing he could hear was the chirps of birds and the soft breathing of the young priestess who rested against his chest. For whatever reason, he could see it.

He felt his brother’s claws against his mental shield, bringing him back from his reverie:

You deserve it, brother. You two deserve this and more.

He had to blink away the tears that he felt coming up, swallowing the lump in his throat.

Then he looked at Gwyn, that smiling, powerful force of nature sitting next to him. He finally understood what that was in her eyes; the same thing Rhysand showed in his.

Pride.

And he knew his answer.

EPILOGUE

A few years later

Azriel woke up to soft humming. He squinted against the morning light, and frowned when he found the other side of the bed empty. His fae senses discerned the familiar voice coming from the bathroom, a voice he always seemed drawn to.

He lazily got up and followed the sweet melody that woke him up and lived in his dreams; leaning against the door frame, he watched as Gwyn slowly brushed her damp hair, the smell of lavender filling up the air:

"Hey, you"

Gwyn turned around, and smiled softly at him. That morning sight still made his heart flutter, even if it's been years now since they shared rooms in the House of Wind.

"Good morning, love" She neared him and placed a quick kiss on his lips. "What are you doing up? Thought you weren't tutoring today."

"I'm not" He hummed, embracing her. "But the bed was getting cold."

His arms felt perfect around her back as she placed her hands behind his neck.

"Ha-ha" She pouted, rolling her eyes at his little drama "My Ilyrian boy is missing me already? It's been less than fifteen minutes"

"What can I do? I love my mate and don't want her to leave me just yet."

She looked thoughtful, a playful smile on her lips: "Well, I suppose I still got time before I hit the library..."

In a second, Azriel was picking her up in his arms and carefully laying her on their bed as she laughed, and he admired just how flushed she got after a hot shower. Gods, he could never get tired of that view. He started peppering her face with kisses, trailing down her neck and smirking against her skin as he heard her sigh and claw her hands on his hair.

"Az..." She murmured after a few seconds.

There's something.

The fact that his shadows had to alert him that made his head shot up and stare into those deep eyes in front of him. She was still smiling, but faintly, and gently stroked his hair as if to soothe him.

He straightened up, leaning on an elbow to face her.

"What?"

"I think we should discuss something."

She seemed nervous, but her tone left nothing to the imagination. Whatever something that was, Gwyneth Berdara was already set on it.

He nodded, brows furrowed.

"You know I love you, and I'm so happy the way things are going. But lately, with you training Ren to one day replace you as Spymaster and me opening up the public library in Velaris, well..."

He swallowed, feeling his heartbeat fasten. But she only smiled further:

"I feel like we should do it now. Accept the bond."

Seconds passed and Azriel didn't know what to say, as he scanned her face for any kind of discomfort or insecurity. There was none. A jest, maybe? Could it be...

"I'm not joking, Shadowsinger. In case you're wondering."

She interrupted his thoughts, and brushed her hands against his hair once more, pulling him closer to her.

"Gwyn, you..." He was speechless, something in his chest glowing brighter and brighter he felt it could burst out of him any minute now.

"I want this, Azriel. And have been wanting it for a long, long time." She breathed in "Do you still..."

"Yes. Yes." He answered in a breathless laugh; the reality of it hitting him. They were doing it. Mates. Forever.

"Mating ceremony and all?" She joined him in laughter now, they both beaming. Azriel felt his cheeks hurt.

"Whatever you say, Gwyn. I'd love whatever you wish. I just want to be with you for the rest of my life." The words came rushing out, but he didn't care. Not when his mate closed the space between them and kissed him intently.

-----------------

Gwyn didn't go to the library that day, after all. They prefer focusing on other more... Urgent matters after their talk.

As they lay in bed together a few hours later, Azriel felt utter peace. He closed his eyes, savoring the feeling of Gwyn's body tightly embraced in him, her hair soft against his chin, her breathing even on his chest.

He suddenly remembered this ancient tune his mother used to sing to him when he was no more than a kid. It was a sweet, tender lullaby about peace and tranquility. The one song he always remembered to sing against the darkness. One that seemed to originate from every cell in his body, intrinsic to who he was.

Lately, that song's been bringing him comfort and solace for one more reason. And he was singing it to her now.

And if Gwyn didn't move, nor shift her position, he knew exactly why. Moments in which he sang were rare, since he much preferred to hear his mate's powerful voice. And that song, that one tune meant so much to him, he knew she could sense it. He could feel her smile against his chest.

His shadows expanded and retracted around them both, cocooning them in darkness and playing around the room; temporarily set free.

He felt himself slowly giving in to a peaceful slumber as he went on:

And you would say

"Time to rest your weary head

Take your wings and go to bed

I know you want to show it all, my darling"

And I'd say

"Set me down and rock me, rock me to sleep"

All he sensed before sleep took over him was one, single kiss against his cheek, and a soft whisper against his ear.

He loved her too.

#ok thats it #guck me im trying not to cry #WHAT A JOURNEY #gwynriel #gwynriel fanfiction #azriel singing #gwyneth berdara #i love this #I FINALLY USED THE FRIGGIN TITLE JACOB COLLIER I LOVE YOU #honestly this song screams gwynriel to mee

[bleufrost]

There's Just Time (A Loki x reader Fanfic)

Chapter One: We've Met Before

Summary: You were an explosion waiting to happen who found love in the arms of a hurricane. Loki saw you as an angel that calmed his demons. For you, he was a savior that taught you to trust your abilities, yourself, and others. When he died, you were broken. You clung to any hope possible and watched as it all fell away. With nothing left, stories from your youth flooded back of a mysterious force that controlled time and space, and you knew that you would do anything to see him again...even if that something meant teaming up with the Time Variance Authority to capture the man you love.

A series of murders catch Mobius' eye. A familiar face catches yours.

Words: 3,118

Warnings: grief, mentions of self harm, death

Prologue

If you'd searched the whole wide world

Would you dare to let it go?

The pews of this church were far less comfortable than you could have possibly imagined. You let your feet dangle for a moment before pushing them up on to the pew in front of you. A bored yawn echoes in the empty halls and your eyes fall closed as the workers around you continue to struggle to make sense of the scene. When you try to breathe, you notice that the air is far too still.

“It’s great to see you making yourself useful.” The soft sound of shoes stop steadily next to your seat. With an annoyed huff, you push your feet down and sit up, looking at Mobius.

“I could be far more useful if you’d let me use my goddamn powers.” He sighs and stares down at his watch. “You know I can’t do that. Now come on, you’re a smart kid. What does this all look like to you?”

Your eyes don’t leave him for a few seconds. There was a time where you would have tried to run off; take what you needed to jump from place to place and find Loki on your own. Not now though. You know these people are far more powerful than they let on. You know that you need them if you’re ever going to see him again.

With that in mind, you walk over to the candlelit section, Mobius following closely behind. The bodies are spread out on the floor, each with wounds in a pattern far too familiar. Gunshots were never your forte. Stab wounds on the other hand, you were taught well by the best on how to both treat and inflict.

“They were stabbed.” He nods and squats down to inspect the wounds of one body more closely.

“They’re all consistent with the others. Look at the position of the bodies.” Your eyes glance over each of them. Some look defensive, but in a sudden way. Almost as if…”They didn’t know something was coming to them until it was too late. It was a blindside.” Mobius rises and pats your shoulder. It makes you uncomfortable, he’s trying desperately to be your friend and you don’t really know why. You both knew you weren’t here because it was your first option.

“That makes six attacks this week.” Your fingers tingle with the need to feel something. If you could just tap into the energy here, it could make everything so much easier. There is endless knowledge in the atmosphere of a room, especially one where such horrific things occurred. It was infuriating that they you couldn’t use a part of yourself that you had learned to depend on.

“Those are just the ones we know of.” Mobius walks around the side of the room again, just in time for your frustration to bubble over. You stare him down and, even without your abilities, you know he can feel the anger that courses through you.

“I thought you guys were all knowing.” You step toward Mobius and one of the soldiers lifts his gun. Mobius quickly puts a hand up to order him to stand down. He walks closer to you, arms up in attempt to defuse the situation. His patience pisses you off even more.

“This is a variant we’re talking about. You know better than most that those aren’t so well regulated.” He watches you closely as your jaw clenches. He’s right and you know it. It’s just felt like an eternity since any sign of Loki has come up. You were on edge, without your powers, and working with people you didn’t fully trust. Playing it cool was the only way to keep your position as Mobius’ partner though, and you had to remember that.

“Right.” You nod and turn away right as the shuffle of feet sounds from down the hall. A small child runs by and Mobius follows, along with a few of the crew. You’re not so quick to see what’s going on though. Right now, you need to think. The bodies around you were alarming. The stab wounds even more so. There was no way that Mobius didn't recognize the same signs you did, but you weren't about to broadcast it with the small chance that he didn't already know.

You had been working with Mobius for a little while now. You weren’t exactly sure how long because time has a weird tendency to move differently at the TVA. It was long enough to establish that, while you weren’t the most fond of him, he held a certain faith in you that the others lacked. Still, something was off, you just didn’t know what yet.

That’s what made all of this even more concerning. If your suspicions were even close to correct about the recent murders…you knew where your loyalties were held, and it wasn’t with Mobius or the TVA. Loki was somewhere out there. For a brief moment, before you had your powers stripped from you, you could almost feel him. It was the connection to his energy that tethered you to him when you first met, and it was a similar one to what called you to him back at the revisit to New York. There was something that kept hope in you that he was still alive, and the feeling stayed with you until the moment you entered the TVA.

Every once in a while, out here in the field, you think you can still feel little shards of it.

Your mind stops wandering when you see Mobius take something from the child to be examined. It was a little blue package, but the glowing teeth on the child are what really catch your eye. You make it just in time to see the kid point out the stained-glass imagery of the devil. Horns protrude from his head like a crown. It all felt too familiar: the god-like being, horned crown, stab wounds, and tricky nature of a blind attack. The anger, the mistrust. Your eyes can’t seem to tear away for a second, but when they do, you can’t help but stare at this kid. Something was definitely not right. Why was he so calm?

Mobius watches you from his place by the doorway and takes it all in. You can see it when you look back at him; the knowing look he gives you. It’s unsettling to think that your thoughts are so easily deciphered when you don’t have your shield to hide behind. He doesn’t ask any questions though, and for that you’re almost grateful. He says something else to the kid, but you aren’t listening anymore.

“Alright, let’s head out.” Mobius takes your arm and guides you back to the main hall. Part of you thinks these little gestures are to establish trust. Mobius truly has given you no real reason to dislike him. As a person, he appears inherently good. Without your ability to read him though, you never know what to trust. The fact that they seem adamant to keep them from you, while not his decision, makes you weary of the whole organization.

“Any of that seem odd to you?” He looks between your face and the rest of the room quickly. You know he’s trying to make it seem like he’s not watching you that closely, even though he is. Keeping your face as steady as you can, you choose your words carefully. Focus on the gum, not the horns. Not the stab wounds.

“Yeah, the gum was weird as shit. Definitely not the usual candy for this time period.” You brush his arm off of you and move your body around to feign looking over the church in attempt to hide the action. “You never know though, they might be more modern than we think.” He watches you with a straight face that breaks out into a smile instantly. Mobius nods and grins at you.

“I agree. No time variance there.” His voice is sarcastic and playful in that moment, but his face falls serious again. “What about the devil?”

You do everything in your power to not flinch or make any indication of discomfort at the question. “What about the devil? I feel like it could be a clue, but it could also just be some kid who learned from a very early age that any evil is done by a creature with hooves who lives in hell.” He continues to watch you and you continue to be as nonchalant as possible.

Finally, he nods. “Maybe.” Mobius turns and you pause to breathe for a moment before following him back to the TVA.

Upon your arrival, things move incredibly fast. Thoughts of the case are abandoned in favor of a much more urgent matter.

A call came in immediately. Before you even had a moment to settle yourself back into the usually stale atmosphere of TVA headquarters, Mobius was rushing you into a room. You almost miss the fact that the air is not stale in the slightest; in fact, it almost felt as though it was crackling with electricity.

“I need to know that you won’t do anything stupid.” The words left his mouth with urgency. The constant glances over his shoulder to the awaiting hall a clear sign that he knew something you didn’t.

Your eyebrows scrunch in confusion, “What are you talking about?” He turns and paces the floor. Once. Twice. Three times before his movements halt.

“The Loki you know isn’t here. He never will be. You understand that, right?” His device flashes in his hand. You don’t know what the flashes mean, but you do know what he’s implying. Loki’s here. Somewhere in this building. In the same general place that you are. Loki is here.

Mobius continues to wait for a response. His foot taps with impatience. “When I took you in, we promised each other that our partnership wasn’t over when we found him. You can’t go rogue on me or this is all over for everyone, do you understand?”

Your breaths come out in rapid little puffs as your mind tries to wrap itself around the unspoken truth here. Mobius is right in theory. This isn’t the Loki you knew at the time you lost him originally. This Loki is still afraid. He’s angry, hurt, confused, and so far from trusting you. Where Mobius is wrong though, is in thinking you aren’t familiar with him at all. You know Loki in all forms, and if it takes a little extra time to make up for lost memories, that would be more than okay with you.

“Hey, I need an answer.” Mobius’ voice was barely registering with you, but you heard it. He’s on edge and you almost panic at the thought of potentially not seeing Loki as soon as possible if Mobius doesn’t think you can handle it.

“I understand and I’m not going to do anything stupid.” You can’t speak the words fast enough and as Mobius searches your eyes for any sign of deceit, you know all he sees is honest desperation. You would do anything to be with him again. That’s the truth.

With an affirming nod, Mobius leads the way to a section you recognize as the courtroom.

The air here is thick, almost unbreathable. The crackles turn to little sparks as you near the doors. How is it that in a place that banishes magic, Loki can still make the ghost of yours come to life? To say that you aren’t prepared to see him again would be an understatement. You traveled through time itself to be near him again, but the prospect of achieving that goal never actually felt like a fantasy you could fully entertain. How very like him to bring your wildest dreams to fruition in the most obscure of moments. Your thoughts all come to a sudden halt when you hear the faint sound of the most narcissistic angel to ever utter a word.

“…because they traveled through time. No doubt in a last ditch effort to stave off my ascent to god king,” Your mouth falls open in silent shock. Of course the first thing you hear from him in years is an accusation, you assume, to have you arrested instead of him.

Your gaze falls on him and you feel a weight lift off your shoulders as you see him, truly see him, moving, speaking, and having just as big a flair for the dramatics as usual. He’s here. He’s alive. He’s okay.

Mobius nudges you to follow him and you both attempt to silently take your seats in the rows lining the courtroom. Your heart pangs as Loki mentions Tony, but you sit and listen, nonetheless. He continues to argue with the judge, bringing up your old team and reminding you of just how much things have changed irreparably.

“Perhaps you can provide me with a task force and resources, and I can return and eliminate them for you.” His hands are spread confidently, but they immediately fall when you let out a short laugh. The comment caught you off guard and a part of you loved that he still thought he could squash your team so easily. Even after all that happened in New York, he never gave up and you loved that about him; even if his determination was a bit misplaced at the moment. Loki is nothing if not confident in his abilities to charm and disarm.

Your hands fly to your mouth immediately when you realize that the majority of the courtroom is staring at you.

That’s when it happens. His gaze pierces into you like a dagger, sharp and oh so welcome to do whatever damage it pleases. Your hand goes down, stopping at your chest where you can feel your heart pounding. Tears slowly well up in your eyes, but you blink them away as quickly as they came.

Loki tilts his head to the side subtly. You know he recognizes you and you know your lame attempt to hide your pain and love was seen right through. He doesn’t say anything though. Even though he was just offering to hunt your team down for sport and turn you in to gain his freedom, he says nothing to indicate you should be on trial. Instead, his eyebrows scrunch together, and he continues to stare at you. There seems to be a hint of sadness in his eyes, but you know you’re just imagining it.

The judge clears her throat, calling the attention of the room back to her. Loki’s eyes slowly move from yours. You continue to watch him though. It isn’t irrational to fear he might disappear at any moment. Not with him, and definitely not here.

You barely listen as he learns many of the same things you previously did about the Time-Keepers and his inability to use magic here. His attempts to conjure his daggers pulls your focus, but not in the same way a conversation would. No, you swear that you feel the frustration and utter helplessness that courses through him. You know the feeling, but this rushes over you just as fresh as the day you lost your powers. You can't be feeling it from him though, and that is reestablished in your mind as his magic fails to conjure.

What does call your attention is the sentencing that Loki receives and the sheer panic of potentially losing him again. You move to rise, ready to put up a fight because you know that being this close and failing is not something that you want to survive. In that moment, you don’t care if they kill you instantly. You just can’t live in a world without him. Not again. If you could find a way for him to escape, a way to feel him one more time and know that there is a chance that he could be okay, that he could live and learn to love again…well, death wouldn’t be so bad at all.

Before anything could happen though, Mobius pushes you back into place with a firm hand and rises. He runs over to the stand, speaking to the judge in whispers that you can’t decipher. Your lip trembles and you choose to scan the room for an escape route instead of focusing on Mobius, and Loki’s impending doom. When you find Loki again, his eyes are fearful and searching just like yours. You’re too preoccupied to notice when his worried gaze lands back on you. You don’t see when the fear slips from him and turns to calmness for a reason that he can barely understand.

The few seconds that Mobius spends by the stand feel like a lifetime, but his words are worth the wait.

“Alright, Loki you’re coming with us.” You have never felt more grateful for the man in your time here. Mobius takes hold of a collared Loki and guides him to the door. Loki shrugs his hand off and glares at him. “Who is us?” You take that as your cue and rise to fall into step on the opposite side of Loki.

Loki’s eyes find you the moment you’re next to him. The first time you met back in New York, you were young and still in training to fight. They had put you in the field out of desperation. When you came face to face with Loki then, you had felt small and insignificant. His confusion when he wasn’t able to control you had sparked a subtle interest in him, but you were still just an insignificant child in the eyes of a powerful god.

Now, standing next to him, you didn’t feel small in the slightest. You felt just as powerful as he had taught you to be. Even if he didn’t remember the endless time you spent together, the nights you cried over the torment your powers put you through and the days he could barely see himself through the monster he thought he was. Even if he had no memory of picnics in the park, dark nights spent teaching you to dance beneath the stars, movie nights, and laughing as you screamed lyrics at the top of your lungs in an effort to get your family to sing along (Tony, Wanda, and Thor often did); it was okay. All you needed was each other. The rest would fall into place.

“Hi. I think we’ve met before.” You give him a smile and continue walking beside them. Loki’s eyes don’t leave your face and you feel him staring as you all leave the courtroom behind. Finally, he shakes from his thoughts and offers you a soft nod.

“Yes. I believe we have.”

a/n: ahh first chapter done! I really hope you guys like this. please feel free to leave any feedback/suggestions you have to make my writing or story better. I appreciate any interaction so so much xx

Tags: @adefectivedetective @peachlobotomy666 @unfortunatelyymuggle @st6jimmyandtheidiots @cheydanoa @thenerdyniallgirl @jessalynjones1989 @00schasez @lunala-luvgood @floweaus @fangirltrash15 @bandsruinedmylife @mydelusionalworld-7 @uada-animus @randomfangirl7 @effmigentlywithachainsaw @drakesfiance @phantomr0se @payton-1-jones @letscici @strangemaximoff @hassbite @magi-no-aladdin @littlesouthernrebel @jessiejunebug @coppercorn-and-cauldron @orighami @wrappedinlokisarms @dark-night-sky-99 @unicornsandgliiitter @oatballsoffury @themusingsofmany @darkprincessloki92 @lokiedokiee @shegatsby @cherrygeek86 @beckymarvel

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#loki #tom hiddleston #loki x reader #loki fanfic #loki odinson x reader #loki imagine #loki imagines #marvel #mcu #marvel x reader #marvel fanfic #loki laufeyson #tva #loki spoilers

[m-aster-of-spinjitzu]

golden power; never wielded

my first work for @ninjago-angst-week! prompt - abandoned (16/08) Lloyd's never known what it's like to share his heart with another, linking two lives together as if one had found the melody to their chorus, now a song in perfect harmony. If he’d always felt like he was invisible; wondered if there was something fundamentally wrong with his inability to touch others’ hearts, then, well, that was no one’s business but his own. Of course, that was before he quite literally fell for someone - the first person, actually - who seemed to care. Of course she was too good to be true. Or, the S8 angst I've been wanting to write about 'game of masks' and the aftermath. trigger warnings - suicidal thoughts, brief mention of implied self-harm, not really a warning but it talks a lot about loneliness. "How did you know?"

"It's an Oni Temple. It's safe to assume that only an Oni could take it."

"No. How could you know that I was part Oni?"

How could you know that I was part Oni?

The question repeated itself in his mind, echoing into the blizzard.

Sometimes, he wondered what would've gone down at the temple if he hadn't been so observant.

Well, he thought bitterly, probably not the temple itself.

The walls collapsing, he'd caught a glimpse of his terrified face as the room filled with swirling inky blackness, freezing him to the bone.

But the real pain came from her words.

Ah. Your emotions. You can't get rid of them, can you?

No, he'd wanted to yell, staring listlessly at the shaking grey semblance of sky.

He'd always felt like he wielded the element of light; invisible, trapped behind a barrier that no one cared enough to break. Isolated; locked away from the world. Longing for - yearning for - a single soul to want to know his heart. Pain that almost felt tangible, bleeding into every motion, every day.

Everyone else seemed to find it so easy - so effortless - simple as breathing, taken for granted like it was ingrained into their bones. Everyone else seemed to have given away a little piece of their heart - to their parents, friends, or lovers.

The fact that his was, and had always been, entirely whole?

He was either cursed, the venom from the Great Devourer passed down to him, or there was something fundamentally unlikable coursing through his veins.

By this point, he assumed it was the latter.

Maybe, if anyone had ever cared - wanted to know him - he'd never have felt like it was pressing down on his chest like a casket; a useless block of ice that no one wanted, not even the unfortunate owner it'd been given.

If no one would know his heart, he'd thought, grabbing a forgotten map, he'd strike fear into theirs - until they knew what it was like to sob into invisible barriers, to gaze upon the world with a weary eyes and a heart heavy with the knowledge that if they vanished, no one would even notice.

He'd realized far too late that he had unleashed an evil that couldn't be controlled - or one that could only be controlled by his- by someone else that had sunk beneath the darkness until no light remained-

He'd escaped from the crumbling casket, energy and eyes blazing - only to find that Har- she'd already escaped with the mask.

The Oni Mask of Hatred.

As they had steered the boat through the river, her sweet smile hiding lie upon lie, he'd thought it was somewhat ironic - two lovers, seeking a literal manifestation of hatred.

He'd laughed bitterly; no mirth in the sound.

After his first crush had - well, literally tried to crush him, he didn't think that this day could get much worse.

Until she dropped him into a contraption that was the stuff of nightmares - leaving the others with a seemingly impossible choice.

He'd wanted to yell, scream, that they should save his mother - he'd hurt enough people over the course of his short life, as evidenced by the grief-stricken orphan yelling a foreign language right in front of him.

I'm the expendable one! Maybe she was right - it was my fault the Serpentine were able to release the Great Devourer. And it took thousands of lives - but never the life of the one who was to blame.

He'd grabbed the vengestone bars, the faint sense of numbness they brought a welcoming relief from the storm of emotions that- he honestly had no clue what to do with.

i could drown, he had thought briefly, fleetingly. what if i drowned and i never hurt anyone again-

you have  a responsibility, even though you've pretty much failed to uphold it so far

"Clotho venge! Clotho decer! Clotho haeed!"

Shoving the thought to the back of his mind, he'd gripped the bars tighter, ignoring the sting of the metal against skin.

If anything, he'd welcomed the sting.

Any pain was better than the agonizing reminder that his heart was, and had always been, entirely whole.

He didn't even realize he was trembling until he heard his father's voice echoing from the vortex.

His father hadn't asked to be bitten by an evil snake, the venom coursing through his veins for years upon years. He hadn't asked to be dumped at a boarding school for bad kids, spending what he had left of his childhood hiding in empty classrooms or yelling empty threats as his classmates snickered.

Against all odds, they'd been reunited. Evil snakes, Fangblades, even Jade Blades - none of it had stood between them.

Just when he thought they might have a future - he might have a- a family - the Cursed Realm decided to curse them all.

His father with imprisonment, him with a life devoid of a father he'd loved, at the end.

Now H- she wanted to resurrect him?

His father had been so much more than the Oni blood in his veins. So was he.

But if he was completely Oni-

Lloyd didn't like their odds. He kind of hated them.

"Clotho venge! Clotho decer! Clotho haeed!"

---

A few chaotic hours later... they'd won? They'd won.

The Sons of Garmadon (he'd always thought the name was kind of ironic - he, the only son of Garmadon, wasn't in their crazy biker gang) had been imprisoned by courageous, if a bit overzealous, taser-wielding policeman.

Ninjago was celebrating - everyone was; he should be, too.

Should he really revel in their victory, though? It was his fault that she'd been able to snatch the last mask, all the safeguards the Oni had put in place practically worthless because of his stupid feelings-

H- Harumi had been thrown in one of the police vans.

"You're right - this isn't me," she'd started, her meekness almost convincing him that she really was the girl he'd fallen for - the girl who'd been forced into a mask she never wanted to wear, but someone who still cared about the world... and- and about him.

"Stop."

He'd cut her off, the venom in his tone surprising both of them.

"Save it for someone who cares," he'd forced out, the hurt welling up his chest almost as painful as their unceremonious descent into the jungle, (the descent she'd orchestrated, he'd thought fleetingly, squeezing his eyes together) unable to believe that this- this liar was the same sweet girl he'd fallen for.

With that, he slammed the door of the van, locking her in - wishing that locking his memories away could be easy.

She'd never cared about him; simply needing to use him as if he was nothing more than the power he wielded.

He watched one of the policemen drive her away, the tired-but-enthusiastic cheers of his teammates nothing more than background noise; static.

Vaguely, he realized that his heart wasn't quite whole - he'd given a piece of it to someone whom he had thought would link theirs together in harmony, the melody to his chorus; what he'd been searching for ever since he'd woken up screaming in a 'boarding school' that seemed more like a prison.

She'd taken more than what he'd given - draining the light from his entire being as if she was the Overlord, stealing his golden power without a shred of remorse.

That failure was practically painless, compared to her-

An almost unfamiliar emotion slowly stated to replace the ache in his chest that he'd grown used to for all those years; it'd become comforting, even. Watching the world go by with a heart that seemed more like a curse, he briefly, fleetingly, wondered if he'd be better off without one.

If there was ever a problem that presented itself to Nya while she worked on the Bounty, she used to joke that it'd be easier to just dump their entire hard dive into the sea.

Destruction seemed to be easier than fixing, he conceded - the van now just a glimmer of bright light; one of the many that made up their vibrant city.

"How did you know?" he heard, yet again wondering how he felt so disconnected from his own role in the memory.

How had she known? 

The whisper of a voice long gone bled into his consciousness, his hands shaking at his sides even as the city celebrated.

Why had he even asked that?

Plastering a smile on his face as he walked over to his teammates, the question repeating itself in his mind, echoing into the blizzard.

FSM - she didn't need to be leader of a biker gang to know that.

Who could ever give their heart - the epitome of human connection; golden power all on its own, albeit of a different kind - to an Oni?

Maybe he wasn't the one trapped behind an invisible wall, built on tears and loneliness and yearning and heartache and a lone question - why? Why could no one seem to look past the cage he felt himself trapped in, observing the world rather than playing a part in it.

He hadn't been a- abandoned by everyone, he realized, a weary sense of clarity and shadowed eyes not sure to accept it or push it into the back of his mind like the hours he'd spent there, as if he'd ever want to have hurt his teammates like he did, the twisted ghost-

He trailed behind his teammates as they sang - horribly off key, his mind pointed out, forcing a small smile onto his face - lost in the figurative blizzard, despite the fact that the sun's rays had only vanished a few hours ago.

If no one would know his heart?

FSM - could he really blame them?

(if you read this far, thank you so much, you’ve made my day:D)

#lloyd garmadon #ninjago angst week #harumi #sons of garmadon #ninjago fic #ninjago #lloyd

[animereaderinsertwriter]

Cupbearer (Eren/Reader)

Part III

Part I

Part II

Part IV (in progress)

Warnings: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT (im watching you, if you see this, begone!), vampire!eren, hunter!reader, fem!reader, smut, some amount of predator/prey dynamics but only kinda?? there is also a significant age difference but only cos eren is immortal and all that jazz. we're all adults here. there will eventually be smut.... and do i really need to say that there's gonna be blood in a vampire fic?

Description: A story of falling in love in 4 parts.

Eren is a bad man (well, a bad Creature) who has done bad things. When he meets the great-great-great granddaughter of one of his former friends in his favorite blood bar, however, he thinks it might not matter so much what happened in the past, so long as he can make the future something worth living to see.

Ao3 link here

After that night, it became increasingly hard for (Y/N) to leave, and for Eren to let her do so.

Something between them had changed. There were moments— when Eren would press feather-light kisses against her forehead, when he would casually leave a cup of her favorite tea where she would find it— where (Y/N) felt as though her heart might burst. It was all the little things that baffled her, all the ways in which he seemed to understand exactly how she felt; it was as though he knew her more than she knew herself. On the mornings that she would wake in his bed, sleepy and sticky and wholly content, (Y/N) wondered what it would be like to have this life forever.

Other days— on days like today— she was reminded exactly why that could never be, and it broke her heart.

Today, they had planned a romantic dinner in the park, an evening under the stars. It was supposed to be something special, a little getaway just for the two of them; they had wanted to leave as soon as (Y/N) was relieved from her patrol, so Eren had moved her things to his place, hoping that they could leave together from there for their evening alone.

In and of itself, that was fine… but when (Y/N) came in, covered head-to-toe in viscous Creature blood, Eren was furious.

“And you call me a monster,” he growled, looking her up and down with hate in his eyes. “I can’t believe you.”

He stood from his seat on the sofa, and (Y/N) began to back away, still wary from the fight she had narrowly escaped from unscathed. Her every instinct told her that she should run, fire a round of silver bullets into his chest, but she steeled herself, doing neither.

“It’s not my fault— they were attacking a civilian,” she told him as he stalked towards her, his face twisted into a horrific scowl. “I tried to stop them— tried to find out what was going on— but then they came at me with their claws, and I was left with no choice.”

“There is always a choice,” he snarled, and it was then that anger filled (Y/N) from the soles of her feet to the crown of her head. "They were probably terrified of you— how could you possibly blame them for lashing out?"

(Y/N) grit her teeth.

“This, from the man who thought genocide was his only option to the same problem?”

Eren made a low, warning sound in the back of his throat, but (Y/N) pressed on.

“You would rather me have died?” she demanded, stepping into his space. “Would it have pleased you more for my body to bleed out on the pavement, ripped to shreds by an aggressive werewolf? Would you even care, or would you just find the next blood bag and move on with your life?”

“Maybe so,” he shot back, “Then I wouldn’t have to deal with your insufferable mouth.”

That stung— but if there was one thing (Y/N) knew how to do, it was to strike back twice as hard as she had been struck.

“Fine then,” she said, turning on her heel. “I won’t bother you any longer. I’ll go out and find someone who actually wants my company, someone who’ll fuck me good and proper over the counter at some hole-in-the-wall bar over on Easy Street, someone younger, with a nicer cock and less fucking baggage— ”

She didn’t get to finish the sentence, or even walk a single step further— Eren grabbed her by the hair and pulled her to him, his fist painfully tight against her scalp.

“Wanna say that again, to my face?” he asked, tilting her head back.

“I’ll go find someone else to fuck me,” she spat, struggling in vain against him. “I’ll spread my legs for the next available schmuck in the closest bar I can find, so you can hear me scream his name and not yours.”

It was a low blow, to threaten a vampire’s claim on something they had previously assumed had belonged to them, but (Y/N) didn’t care. She had almost died today, and she’d be damned if she was going to take shit from anyone about what she had to do to survive. If Eren wanted a fight, she would damn sure give him one.

“Like hell you will,” he told her, pulling her head back so that she had to strain to remain standing. “You’re mine. Flesh of my flesh, blood of my blood— you are my Companion.”

"I belong to no one!"

Those words ripped from her throat and echoed throughout the empty house, and it was then that Eren stopped, looking at her with calculation in his gaze.

"You're right," he said, releasing her hair. "No mortal can serve two masters, lest they love one and despise the other; an archaic religious concept, but an accurate one nonetheless. You've made it abundantly clear where your loyalty lies. I was a fool for thinking otherwise."

(Y/N) began to tremble. "Eren, what are you saying?"

"I release you from our pact," he replied coldly, his eyes so dull and lifeless that it sent a chill down her spine. "No longer are you bound to be my wine-press— I free you from me."

"Eren—"

"Go," he commanded, and (Y/N) felt terribly, horribly empty.

Once, he would have told her to come freely, go safely, and leave something of the happiness she brought him; now, he gave her a cold dismissal, and it frightened her more than she was willing to admit. Still, she went, feeling hollow and used, and she didn't bother to shut the door behind her as she turned to walk home, weary from the day and sick from fighting.

***

Armin had lived for a very long time, but even so, he had yet to meet anyone so foul of temper as Eren when the Hunger was on him.

"Eren, you have to feed."

The vampire, as ill in health as in temper, glared weakly at him. "I'm not hungry."

"But you are Hungry, and don't pretend like you don't know what I'm talking about. Look, if this is about that girl—"

"I told you not to speak of her!"

Ah, so it was about her. By the looks of him, it had been two weeks since Eren had fed; Armin would bet that he hadn't seen her in the same amount of time.

"If I need to, I'll drag her here to make up with you myself," said Armin testily, "I refuse to watch my best friend starve himself because he refuses to feed on anyone else."

"You will not touch her."

Armin rolled his eyes, but didn't say anything further. He just patted Eren's arm in farewell and set about finding the little lady who was the root cause of his current consternation.

It took longer than Armin had anticipated to find the young woman who had, for all intents and purposes, completely unraveled Eren's composure; her scent, while thick and memorable in Eren's apartment, was hard to track otherwise. Armin spent two hours just wandering the city while trying to catch a breath of it here or there, and when he finally did manage to catch a whiff of her scent and follow it to her, he understood exactly why it had been so hard to track her down.

The girl was a Hunter, of all things.

When Armin found her, she was knee-deep in sewage, her knife embedded to the hilt in the skull of what appeared to be some species of winged reptile. Armin, having been a tad desperate and not actually having been expecting to find anything when he lifted the lid to the man-hole on 32nd and Main, was surprised to say the least— and when (Y/N) ripped her knife free and readjusted her stance into a defensive one directed at him, his surprise turned to intrigue.

“Er, hello there,” he said, scratching the back of his head. “I don’t suppose you’ll take my word for it that I just want to chat, will you?”

Curiously, the words gave the woman pause. She relaxed her stance ever-so-slightly, and then her eyes lit up with recognition.

“Armin Arlert?” she queried, craning her neck up to see him. “Is that you?”

This one grows curiouser and curiouser, he thought, but responded affirmatively.

“Can you give me a bit, then?” she asked, kicking the corpse of the Creature she’d just killed. “I’m not exactly fit for company. Perhaps we could meet later for a discussion over tea?”

“I’m afraid it’s urgent,” he said as she knelt to decapitate her prey— likely for proof of victory. “I think you know why I’m here, so you understand that time is of the essence.”

She didn’t look up at him as she replied.

“If this is about Eren, then I don’t have time to talk.”

Her tone was hard, bitter, and matter-of-fact, and it reminded Armin so much of Jean that it hurt… but just like Jean, Armin would bet that she could be won over by appealing to her inherent sense of human decency

“He’s suffering (Y/N),” he said, awkwardly crouching above the manhole so that she could better see the truth written in his eyes. “He won’t feed.”

“That’s hardly my problem.”

And oh, how well Armin knew that state of mind. If there was one thing Eren Jaeger knew how to do, it was push away the people who loved him most. Armin had dealt with that particularly lovely quirk of his for centuries, and it never got easier to deal with no matter how much time passed. If anything, it got more difficult the older they both got.

“When you’re the solution to a problem, you become a part of it whether you like it or not,” Armin replied, patient and understanding. “He cares for you.”

(Y/N) looked up at him then, fury in her eyes.

“He hurt me.”

Armin shrugged. “He hurts everyone he cares about. It’s just who he is. Nothing comes for free— least of all the love and loyalty of someone as old and as powerful as Eren.”

“Your heart may be toughened to his meanness,” she told him, the head of the creature she’d slain in her hands, “But mine is not, and I don’t like him well enough to willfully remain for him to use as an emotional punching bag.”

At that, Armin couldn’t help but let loose a wry grin.

“No,” he said, “I should think not; but I do think you love him well enough to make sure he doesn’t starve himself to death because he can’t have you.”

(Y/N) was silent for a long moment, then she crossed her arms.

“I won’t come crawling to him. He’s going to have to come to me.”

Armin grimaced. He wasn’t looking forward to that conversation.

“Is that at all negotiable?”

(Y/N) shook her head. “Absolutely not.”

Well, there was nothing for it.

“And you will let him feed if he comes to you?”

(Y/N) thought, then nodded. “If he proves himself deserving.”

Armin couldn't help himself; he laughed. Eren might have met his match in this one.

"Very well. I'll work my magic, and you work yours."

She nodded and bade him farewell, but before Armin left, he paused.

"Hey, (Y/N)?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

With that, he left her, ready to take Eren by the ear and throw him at her if he had to.

***

(Y/N)'s heart was racing as she opened the door, knowing good and well who would be behind it.

After her little talk with Armin— and the near heart attack he had given her in the process— she had called in to Zeke and told him she needed to go home to deal with an emergency. A replacement for her patrols had been sent, and she had come home to wash the grim from her skin, making herself as presentable as possible with the time she had. (Y/N) was worried, so worried, that the filth she had been wading in earlier would have left a lingering stench, or even that it had affected the taste of her; she had scrubbed and scrubbed until her skin was raw, hoping to erase every last remnant of her day from her skin…but as it turned out, she needn't have bothered.

Two, three, four hours later, and Eren hadn't shown— it was only now, right at the six hour mark, that he had decided to come to her.

Needless to say, (Y/N) was… less than pleased, but when she opened the door to find Eren pale and drawn, with dark circles beneath his eyes, her heart softened ever-so-slightly. It seemed that Armin was right; he had been suffering.

"You look like shit," she told him quietly, opening her door widely to let him in.

"I assure you, I feel worse," Eren grumbled, but stepped in as she closed the door behind him.

For a long, awkward moment, they just looked at each other, silent and unsure. It was unsettling how unlike himself Eren seemed; he was almost soft when he looked at her, and (Y/N) didn't know how to feel about it. Eventually, though, like two opposite ends of a magnet, they were drawn together, and Eren brushed a piece of hair back from her face.

"Hi," he said, his voice low and rough. (Y/N) caught his hand in hers before it could fall from her hair, and she pressed it against her chest, keeping it trapped there, touching the skin above her beating heart.

"Hey."

They watched each other a moment more before the dam broke between them, and they both spoke at once.

"I'm sorry."

A shared grin, a shy laugh— and then (Y/N) said what they both were thinking.

"You need to feed first, and talk later," she told him, her hand still clasped in his. "You're not off the hook, but I doubt we can have any real conversation with you like this."

Eren nodded gratefully, tugging at her wrist— his usual biting spot— but (Y/N) shook her head, indicating her neck. The thickest, richest blood, she knew, would come from there; and if there was ever a time to be generous with the placement of Eren's bite, she figured that it would be now.

The worst of it was over quickly. There was a brief sting at the intrusion of razor-sharp fangs, and then the vaguely uncomfortable feeling of having something poking down into places that decidedly should not be poked at all, but then (Y/N) quickly eased into the rhythm of the act, focusing wholly on the way Eren's lips felt against her skin. In a few moments, she would become pleasantly light-headed, and then Eren would pull away and look at her like she'd hung the stars. Oh, how she'd missed that look! (Y/N) found herself longing for it even before she quite realized it.

And then, without warning, a vision came, and (Y/N) was swept into another world entirely.

The evening sky rolled endlessly out towards the horizon; it seemed to go on forever, sparkling with more stars than (Y/N) had ever seen before. The full moon was so bright that it cast the whole world in what seemed like silver sunlight, and (Y/N) wondered how anyone could sleep on a night such as this. It was far too beautiful an experience to miss.

Alongside her— alongside Eren, through whose eyes she saw the world— strode Armin and two older-looking cadets who she recognized from previous memories as Reiner and Berthold. Eren was feeling anxious over something, and Reiner and Berthold were… well, they were kind. Reiner especially seemed to be like an older brother, and Eren admired him.

"You'll do just fine tomorrow," said Reiner, placing a large, warm hand on Eren's shoulder. "I'm certain of it."

The memory ended, and (Y/N) came back to herself as Eren's tongue laved over the wounds his fangs had left in her neck, sealing them.

"See anything?" he asked, his breath warm against her skin, and (Y/N) nodded.

"You loved them, too," she said softly, remembering the fondness Eren had felt as though it had been her own. "You loved the Hunters that tried to take everything from you, and— and I think they loved you, too."

Eren pulled away from her, and it was then that she saw the tears shining in his eyes.

"Yes," he replied, his voice broken. "We were children. How could we not love each other as God intended? Hate was never in our nature; it was an inheritance that we couldn't escape."

He paused for a moment, then spoke again.

"I'm sorry I hurt you," he told her, cupping her cheek in his hand. "I lost my temper. I forget— I forget that you're not them."

And (Y/N) understood. She understood that no matter how many centuries passed, there would be wounds that just wouldn't heal for Eren. He would lash out at things that wouldn't make sense to anyone who hadn't experienced the horrors of war as he had. Suddenly, she felt petty for having lashed out as she had, and guilt threatened to rise up and choke her.

"You're forgiven," she replied, leaning into his touch. "It takes two to tango— I shouldn't have baited you like I did. I knew how badly that would hurt you, and that's exactly why I said it."

At that, Eren cracked a grin.

"I expect nothing less from a Kirschtein. Your grandfather would have punched me square in the jaw— and as big as that bastard got when we were older, he probably would have put me on my ass."

(Y/N) couldn't help but laugh, and Eren joined her, their combined joy swelling until there was nothing else in the world but their happiness.

How they started kissing, neither one of them would be able to say afterwards, but in the grand scheme of things, it hardly mattered. Their love was too large to contain, too much to hold back— and it was love, (Y/N) realized, though she hadn't quite put words to it yet. She loved Eren Jaeger, a Creature, a monster, as much as her grandfather before her had and more. She loved him with a desperation that felt like being knocked over by an ocean wave and plunged into depths where her feet no longer touched the sand. She loved him more than she had ever loved anyone before.

And, as he placed her gently on her bed that was barely big enough for two, divesting himself of his shirt above her, (Y/N) thought that maybe she didn't mind it so much as long as he loved her in return.

"I missed you," said Eren, dropping kisses by her ear as he unhooked her bra. "I missed this."

"Me too," she gasped as his mouth wandered to her nipple, her hands fisting in his hair. "Oh, God, I missed you too."

The time for words was soon gone, however; Eren's sinful, sinful mouth traveled lower and lower until he was kissing at the insides of her thighs, parting them to access what lay between, and (Y/N) threw her head back as he spread her open with his hands and sucked brazenly at her clit.

How long he spent there, worshipping her sex, (Y/N) had no idea; all she knew was that she came once from his mouth on her and a second time from his fingers inside her, and when he finally, mercifully withdrew, she was broken down to the simplest parts of herself; there was nothing left but an affection so deep that it threatened to overtake her if she didn't let it out, and she did the only thing she knew to do to release the overwhelming pressure that was building in her chest as Eren pushed his big, veiny cock into her.

She told him what she should have said a long time ago.

"Oh, Eren," she gasped as his cockhead shoved deep inside her. "I love you."

As soon as the words came out of her mouth, Eren went unnaturally still. He looked at her with pupils blown wide inside emerald eyes, and his fangs slightly distended; in any other situation, (Y/N) might have laughed at how surprised he seemed, but it seemed as though she were frozen in time, unable to do anything but stare earnestly up at them, hoping he understood how much she cared for him.

"You… what?"

"I love you," she repeated, her body moving without her permission to roll her hips up into him, moving his cock even further inside her. "Please, Eren, I need—"

He cut her off with a forceful, bruising kiss, and his hips started making slow, deep thrusts inside her, her legs hiked up over his shoulders.

"Again," he said against her lips."Say it again."

"I love you."

Another thrust or two, a hand circling her wounded throat.

"Again."

"I love you, Eren."

"Again."

This time, it was only a whisper.

"I love you," she said, and Eren began fucking her in earnest.

"You are so fucking beautiful," he told her as he thrust hard and deep inside her. "You're every man's dream, a nirvana the damned such as myself were never meant to reach. (Y/N), you are everything, and I—"

He seemed to choke on the words, and (Y/N) kissed him as he tried to regain his composure.

"I don't deserve you," he said, shaking with the force of their passion. "I don't deserve your love."

It's not about deserving, she wanted to say, It never was, but then she was coming again, her climax contracting her walls around her lover, and it was all she could do to remain conscious as Eren fucked her relentlessly through it all, chasing his own high.

It was only later, after a shower and something to eat that they finally spoke again. They were back in bed, and Eren's arm was wrapped around her, as though he were afraid to let her go for even a moment; truthfully, (Y/N) thought he was asleep, but then his breath tickled her ear as he said,

"I love you, angel."

And that, (Y/N) thought, had been worth it all, in the end.

#aot x y/n #aot x reader #aot #aot fanfiction #eren x reader #vampire!eren jaeger #aot smut

[whentommymetalfie]

Home to you -chapter 5

-Closer-

Prologue//1//2//3/4

Pairing: Tommy/Alfie

Summary: Tommy and Alfie both want to take things further. But it turns out, things might be more complicated than simply wanting. 

Warnings: mental instability, hallucinations, self harm, self-hatred, ptsd, panic attacks, disordered eating

Content note: sexual content

Wordcount: 3,7

Tommy wakes up with led in his veins, head too heavy to lift from the pillow and confused about his whereabouts. The warmth of a hand on top of his head tells him he’s not alone, at least. It prompts him to squeeze his eyes open just a fraction to observe the world through his lashes.  Alfie’s sat next to him, paper in his lap and with his glasses balancing low on his nose as he thumbs the pages with one hand, combing gently through Tommy’s hair with the other. Tommy stays completely still. Wants to stay in this moment, sink back into sleep and hide from the memories of the past night before they fully catch up with him. His right palm throbs dully and he clutches it against his chest, willing away the feeling of glass digging into fragile skin. He squeezes his eyes shut. Wants to stay in the warm safety of here and now, with Alfie, in bed, with Alfie’s fingers in his hair. Far away from the coppery smell of blood and the voices echoing between the tiles.

“It’s so easy, Tom, so easy, and then you’ll get to rest.”

“It’ll never be anything more than this. What do you have to offer him? Look at you.”

and he looks and looks until he can’t bear it anymore until it’s all too much and-

“Tommy?” Alfie scratches lightly at the nape of his neck. “You awake?”

He nods, because he needs Alfie to talk, bring him out of the darkness. Like last night.

Alfie keeps stroking his hair.

“You gonna open those pretty eyes and greet the day and your companion any time soon, eh? Nearly lunchtime innit.”

He can hear in his voice that he’s smiling. And he wants to see that, so he opens one eye to peer up at Alfie. Who is indeed smiling down at him. Tommy curls up impossibly closer, as if he could fully melt into him, face pressed into his soft side. Alfie flinches when his nose digs into a ticklish spot and lets out an indignant snort, but then continues petting him with a fond chuckle.

“Just a little kitten, aren’t you, petal? Yeah. Bet you’ll start purring one of these days.”

Tommy ignores the comment and drags in Alfie’s familiar scent into his nose.  

“How’re your hands feeling?” Alfie asks. “You in much pain”

“It’s not too bad,” he mutters into his shirt.

With an unconvinced hum, Alfie takes his hand gently and presses his lips against the back, just softly, continuing over his knuckles, up his fingers and down the inside of them, featherlight over his bandaged palm, until he can kiss the inside of his wrist. Which sends a thrill of pleasure up Tommy’s spine.

Then, Alfie leans down and kisses him. It brings out different memories altogether from last night. Alfie kissed him then too. Lifted him up onto a counter and kissed him until his head was swimming. He sinks into that feeling now, happily following where Alfie leads.

The steps approaching outside makes Tommy pull away, but Esther just passes. He looks towards the door, unable to relax. Esther has certainly seen him in more compromising positions. But still---

Taking his chin lightly in hand, Alfie turns him away from the door and smiles again before pressing another kiss against his lips.

When the steps approach a second time, this time accompanied by low humming, Alfie relents.

“How about we pick this up later tonight,” he whispers into the hot air between them. “When we know we won’t be disturbed. And I can take care of you good and proper.”

The words light a warm feeling in the pit of his stomach, his chest, and fluttering and fragile as it may be, it’s definitely real. So much so that Tommy finds his lips twitching into a smile as he whispers, “Is that a promise?”

Alfie chuckles, low and dark and the way his eyes light up makes Tommy wish he could find more enticing things to say, anything to keep that expression on his face always.

“Indeed it is, love.”

…

The day passes impossibly slowly. Alfie helps him stick to the usual routine, the firm schedule of eating, walking, resting, doing a crossword or two, followed by the usual afternoon nap. The one Tommy swears he doesn’t need but still always ends up taking sometime in the afternoon, cuddled up against Alfie’s chest in front of the fire as he reads, when the ever present weariness overcomes him.

It’s easy enough to fall into the familiar pattern, even if he can’t stop counting the hours until sundown, for once feeling something other than dread at the thought of going to bed. Everything makes him think of it: Alfie’s hands lingering after he’s helped him with his coat. The soft brushing of lips against his forehead as he dozes off in the afternoon. The firm warmth of an arm around his waist during the walk. Little things that remind him. He clings to those, to keep his head quiet. Tell the voices that no, Alfie doesn’t find him repulsive, Alfie likes touching him, Alfie doesn’t look at him and see something ugly and broken. It helps a little. Even if they’re not silent for long.

…

Despite what happened last night, Alfie lets Tommy take a bath on his own, that evening. Not without fussing first, and not with the door locked. And as Tommy reclines against the cool porcelain, all the anticipation that’s been building throughout the day seems to vibrate through him. Despite the heat of the water he trembles, and he tries to force himself to relax without much success. He glances towards the mirror. Where it used to hang, at least, the empty space above the sink. The bones inside of him seem to poke through his skin, bruising his insides and he can’t find a comfortable position. He wishes he could lay down completely, sink underneath the surface until the water makes him weightless and takes the pressure from his bones, but the mere thought of being under the surface makes his throat constrict in panic. Instead he sits up. Draws his legs towards his chest and stares at his bruised knees. Scratches hard over the place where the bone sits too close to the skin.

Alfie asked, last night, if he’d been trying to hurt himself. More than you already had, that’s what he said. Tommy doesn’t know. If Alfie hadn’t showed up when he did, to shield him from the ghosts and pry away the sharp piece of glass from his hand… he doesn’t know what would’ve happened.

The thought scares him enough to stop scratching at his knee and put his legs back down, hiding the thin trail of blood left by his nail.

Eventually he climbs out of the cooling bathwater. It’s a small mercy, not seeing his reflection. But it’s not enough. And they still remind him, even when he can’t see himself, they tell him, won’t let him forget-

He dries himself off and puts on the large flannel shirt, burying himself in the safe scent and the soft warm fabric. Pulls his underwear on and makes sure the long sleeves on the shirt cover his hands, cover as much of him as possible.

When he emerges from the bathroom on legs that still feel unsteady, Alfie is sat on the bed, glasses in place and with a book on his lap. The scene exudes safety and familiarity. He looks up when the door swings shut. Something dark and hungry seeps into his gaze, and it makes Tommy stop in his tracks, a shiver running down his spine under the intensity. He must be looking like a deer in headlights. Feels like one, at least, frozen and helpless.  

“Come here, love,” Alfie says, beckoning him over with an outstretched hand. The hand is unnecessary because the command in his voice is enough to physically pull Tommy towards him. The book lies forgotten on the bed and when he’s close enough, Alfie grabs him by the waist and pulls him down onto his lap and into a kiss. It’s surprisingly gentle at first, but Tommy eagerly parts his lips and soon it becomes deeper, hungrier. Alfie kisses him like no one’s ever kissed him before. So self-assured and firm, taking the lead and making him follow. And he gives into it completely, desperate for more.

In a swift movement, Alfie spins them around, leaving Tommy laid out under him on the mattress, legs around his waist. A surge of heat rushes into the pit of his stomach, making his hips buck up against Alfie’s solid frame. Already gasping and aching for it.

“If you want me to stop or slow down, you just let me know, alright, pet?” Alfie says, pulling away just enough to look him in the eye. “Yeah? Just say the word. Or give me a poke in the shoulder if that’s too difficult. But other than that all you need to do is relax. I’ll take care of you.”

Tommy nods and sinks into the feeling of relief. Alfie’s got this. Alfie knows what he’s doing, even if Tommy himself suddenly feels like a blushing virgin all over again. Alfie flashes him a grin and plants a quick kiss on his nose. “Alright then.”

And take care of him, he does. Begins by kissing him on every inch of bare skin he can reach, the sharp edge of his cheekbone, his temple, trailing his lips down his jaw, stopping right at where his pulse throbs to scratch his teeth gently against the skin. It sends a pleasant shiver down his spine and Alfie must be able to tell because he lingers on the spot, sucking a mark onto the skin before moving further, down to where his collarbones peak above the shirt. His hands meanwhile are stroking down his sides, his hips and thighs, leaving burning trails behind. Lighting a dizzying arousal that collects in the pit of his stomach, burning hot and all consuming.

Tommy’s own hands are buried in the back of Alfie’s shirt. Eventually he works up the courage to tug it up towards his shoulders. Alfie sits back between his legs. Pulls the shirt off and smiles down at Tommy when he reaches out to touch, running his hands down his hairy chest, solid muscle and the swell of his stomach. If he could, he would’ve told him, how beautiful he is, how much he wants him, how much he wants this. Instead he pulls him closer, tries to show him. Needs to have that powerful body fully pressed against him, needs all of him at once-

Alfie is so warm and heavy on top of him when he kisses him again, cock hard and straining against his boxers, pressing against Tommy’s hip. Tommy wraps his arms tight, tight around his chest and just clings to him while Alfie’s tongue laps against the roof of his mouth, entwining with his own, setting the pace. He drinks in the kisses eagerly, desperately wanting more, more- His hips buck, searching for friction any way they can.

When Alfie’s hand finally trails up the inside of his shirt, tension ripples through his muscles like icy water. The hand stops and Alfie raises both eyebrows in a silent question. One Tommy knew would come but still doesn’t know how to respond to.

Alfie’s seen him in less clothes before. But so many of those times he was too far gone to even reflect on it. Now he’s painfully aware of his own body again. And Alfie is right, he doesn’t believe him when he says he’s beautiful. Only thinks of that scrawny figure in the reflection. He hides his face against Alfie’s chest. Alfie strokes his side gently. Each time a finger dips into the hollow spots between the ribs he feels his stomach turns into knots.

How can he let Alfie see, when he knows what he’s become?

“How could anyone want you? Look at you-“

Look at you

Alfie wouldn’t

Look at you

“There must be something you can do?” Lizzie’s voice is sharp and demanding as she speaks to the shadows looming over his bed. “Look at him, he’s wasting away.”

Wasting away locked away forgotten in this room

“The only option is to feed him more often, but-“

They keep talking over him and he wonders if he’s really here at all

“-considering his aversion to it that might have a negative effect on his wellbeing overall, I’m afraid.”

In this room

Where the door is always closed

And no one touches him except the men in the white shirts with their tubes and their cold hands and all the dark figures who try to keep him still and he’s wasting away nothing but a black hole

Cold mud

Pushing the air from his chest filling all the empty crevices-

No one can stand touching him.

“Shh, treacle, ‘s okay.” Alfie’s voice emerges from the chorus of others, whispered against his ear. “You’re beautiful. Let me show you. Let me take care of you”

He desperately tries to ignore the snide remarks that follow Alfie’s softly spoken words, things that echo in his own head, that’s all, not real. This is real, Alfie’s voice, Alfie’s body against his-

Alfie kisses him but he can’t feel it, the scratch of his beard or the soft press of lips against his.

He tears himself away, presses his face into his chest again as he struggles to breathe. Coughs to get the mud out, has to get it out, out pushes harder into the firm surface to find an anchor, it’s cold against his forehead, cold wet dirt and the smell of earth and

blood splitting pain and wetness trickling slowly down his face

splutters and coughs and chokes as bits of mud hack up his throat.

“God, there’s nothing there Tommy! Will you just fucking listen to me?” Lizzie’s fingers can reach all the way around his wrists. “Frances, get in here!”

“Fuck-“ the weight on top of him shifts but he still can’t breathe- “Tommy?”

he struggles uselessly against the hands.  

Until they disappear and footsteps echo across the floor, doors slamming, new hands,  shushing, dark figures and faces he doesn’t recognize.

The room floods with warm light and Alfie’s face swims into view. He cradles his face, holds it still, but he can’t feel it, can’t feel the heat against his skin-  

“It’s alright, sweetheart, breathe with me, in and out- I’ve got you.”  

He’s moved, pulled closer, ear pressed against Alfie’s chest, he listens to his breaths, the steady beating of his heart. In and out. In and out, the familiar mantra.

“I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

Alfie’s got him, he’s safe. Alfie’s got him, and he’s safe, Alfie- he clings to the words with every stuttering in and exhale, until feeling slowly seeps back into his limbs again, he can feel the warmth of Alfie’s skin, the firm hold of his arms encircling his waist and cradling his head against his chest. He winces when he comes back to himself enough to remember why they’re in bed together.

“I’m s-sorry,” he chokes out. His teeth clatter together so hard that getting any words out at all is a struggle. “I don’t know why- why this is happening,”

“Shh, fuckin’ nonsense that is. Apologizing. Nothing but a bad habit. If you’re not ready, we’ll take it slower. Simple as that, eh?  

He grasps desperately at Alfie, shaking fingers against firm muscle.

“No, no, I want to- I-“  

“Shh, love, just you focus on breathing and leave the talking to me. Sometimes your head knows it’s wants something but the rest can’t quite keep up,” Alfie says and rocks him slowly in his arms. “The opposite ‘s true too, I reckon. But I’m nothing if not persistent, so I promise we’ll figure it out. Don’t you worry your pretty little head ‘bout it.”  

He presses his nose into the crook of Alfie’s neck and sinks into his embrace.

Alfie begins rubbing his back slowly. The hand moves up along his waist, outside of the shirt this time. He stays in one place. Rubbing warm circles into the skin. Tommy forgets to breathe.

“Relax, pet. ‘s nothing dangerous, this. I’m keeping it right here, see? Does that feel okay?”

The thin barrier the shirt provides helps somewhat. He nods. And as he gets used to the sensation the worst of the terror it caused before fades, at least enough for him to relax.

“There you go. Doing wonderfully, aren’t you?” Alfie moves his hand further down to his waist, caresses all the way to his hipbone and up again. Over and over. “Yeah, you’re doing so good, sweetheart. Just relax. It’s all fine.”

And as the adrenaline seeps out of his veins, his eyelids become heavy. Alfie keeps stroking him, lingering in each spot for a long time. And before he can even feel himself slipping, he’s asleep.

…

For once it’s not a nightmare that wakes him, but Alfie tossing and turning in bed next to him. By now Tommy’s instincts have him reaching for Alfie already in his sleep, so once he drags himself out of it he’s already firmly pressed against him, face buried in the crook of his neck and one arm wrapped around his bare chest. He drags his scent into his nose. Reassures himself that he’s safe. Not alone. Never alone again. And he’s already sinking back into sleep when Alfie lets out a grunt into his hair and presses closer. He’s hard, the outline of his cock pressing into Tommy’s thigh, thick and straining against his boxers. The feeling sends a sharp spike of arousal to the pit of his stomach. He lies frozen, barely daring to breathe. Alfie’s arm is tight around his waist, keeping him firmly pressed against him. His hips roll forward, making Tommy’s heart jump. Heat floods through him, pooling in his groin, and he presses his thigh harder against Alfie, can’t resist. Fuck, he’s so big. It’s a thing he never knew he’d find so arousing: the feeling of a big, hard cock pressing into him. Now, the reaction is so strong it almost frightens him.

Alfie’s arm tightens around his waist and another moan escapes him, hot and raspy against Tommy’s ear. His own cock quickly becomes achingly hard and he swallows down the urge to shove a hand down his shorts and touch himself. Or turn around. Rub himself against Alfie until- oh fuck-

Alfie suddenly jolts awake, unsuccessfully attempting to untangle himself from both the blankets and his own grip around Tommy all at once. He looks blearily around the room before setting his eyes on him, half closed and with a confused crease between his eyebrows.

“Fuck, sorry ‘bout that, love” he slurs. Gestures awkwardly downwards as he relaxes back against the pillows. “Don’t pay any attention to it-“

He clears his throat and once again shifts to pull away. Tommy kisses him. Surges forward and crashes his lips against Alfie’s, clumsy with need, tongues and teeth clashing as Alfie kisses him back with equal fervor. He tugs at the thick arm around his waist and Alfie rolls them over, settling his entire weight on top of him. Tommy spreads his legs, grinds up against him and whimpering at the feeling.

Alfie stills for only a second, but he squeezes his thighs tighter around his hips.

“Don’t stop,” he whispers against his lips and with a growl, Alfie thrusts forward, rubbing his stiff cock against Tommy’s. He moans, open mouthed and desperate against Alfie’s lips.

Then they’re moving frantically together, Alfie’s hands digging into his arse to push him closer, grinding down against him, hard and unforgiving. Pinning him against the mattress with his entire weight. Tommy rolls his hips, heels digging into the backs of Alfie’s thighs, desperately chasing friction and fuck, fuck, he’s so close already- it’s all too much, and not enough, Alfie’s cock, hard and thick under the thin fabric of his boxers, the soft ,heavy press of his stomach, he writhes against the heat and the firm pressure of muscle and flesh, close- so fucking close now-

“Oh, oh Alfie-“ he keens and the release washes over him in sharp waves of pleasure, quick and relentless and absolutely brutal, he’s crying out, voice cracking into sobs and Alfie doesn’t stop moving, chasing his own pleasure against his over sensitized cock.

“Fuck, Tommy-“ he groans into an open mouthed kiss. “Fuck, that’s so good, love. Fucking hell-“  his hips push harder and faster until they stutter. He pushes his face into the crock of Tommy’s neck, hands painfully tight around his arse as he comes, shuddering through his release. Then he collapses on top of him, breath hot against his neck.      

A warm stillness settles in the room, where only their breaths are heard. Tommy’s head is full of cotton, muffling all the noise, softening it. Eventually Alfie raises himself up on his elbows and lets out a chuckle.

“Fucking hell, love. Not exactly how I’d pictured it, bedding you for the first time. Thought’ I’d be more of a gentleman about it.” He brushes away a sweaty lock of hair from Tommy’s brow and smiles. “But I’ve always believed in doing what comes naturally. I promise to take better care of you in the future. Do it properly.”

Tommy knows he’s blushing and the cotton makes it impossible to come up with any words. Alfie rolls over onto his side to tuck him against his chest. He’s shivering for some reason.

“But perhaps some drowsy, half-asleep rutting was just what we needed, eh? Just to blow off some steam. And can I just say that you make for quite a sight when you- Fuck, sweetheart, you’re shaking.”

Alfie rubs his back and pulls the blankets up higher around him, tucking them around his face and wherever he can reach.

“You alright, love?”

Tommy hums, even if his teeth clatter together and every breath hacks its way up his throat. Because Alfie is here and Alfie holds him and keeps him safe.

And he’s alright. At least in that moment.

#tommy x alfie #breathe again verse #home to you #peaky blinders fanfiction #disordered eating tw #panic attacks tw #hallucinations tw #ptsd tw #self harm tw #I don't even know what to say it's here it's posted #it is what it is

[hope-to-hell]

A Fairytale in Silver and Glass, part three: to hold the sun

This isn’t a fairy story; this is marble and oak and the echo of footsteps in the distance. This is misery with your hand tracing rain down the window while the city sleeps below. But despite the storm outside, all is silent within the tower behind its many inches of shatterproof glass. It is only in the greenhouse that the storm is thunderingly loud and alive. And though Adhemar is never there when you arrive, there is always, now, a book tucked beneath the cushion of his chair.

(Dream, my darling he says as hoofbeats hammer all around you; he leaves bruises with how harshly he pulls you up to ride before him. The appetites of men are more terrible than those of any beast.

He is wrapped in thick wool against the cold; his cloak flows about him and though the wind is cruel against your cheek, he holds you tightly and he is warm. I will keep this one he says, but to whom? It’s only you and him and the frozen ground.)

Something draws his gaze beyond the lamplight.

He doesn’t share what he sees but when he called you to him and said read to me there was broken stone in his throat.

(He says come no closer. There is something writhing in him; the words fall burning from his lips.

You were gone so long. I worried, I—

What, were you afraid? How I wish you hadn’t sought me out. His teeth are so sharp; he smiles like a razor opens: his lips curl back and when he speaks it cuts. Afraid for me, my sweet, or for yourself? Do you think anyone would come to collect your bones? Any kindness crawls back over itself and leaves only this biting cruelty. Here you are, you wretched thing. And he grips your jaw to make you open wide.)

Continue, please. The story is finished, the book laid in your lap. There is nothing left to read, and yet he asks.

(Will you tell me about all those far-off places, about oranges and dragons and your daring adventures?

You’ll be disappointed. He leans into your hand and sighs; sweat and filth drift from his curls as all his travels catch him up. He breathes war through lips peeled raw by the sun; there are threads of blood between his teeth. He is more than tired— he is weary.)

This is not a fairy story, but it’s still something of a fantasy. Once upon a time, when I was little, I wondered what it would be like to live in the sky. I thought if I could just fly high enough, I could stand on the clouds and hold out my arms to catch the sun.

Hn.

I know it’s silly, but

No.

Hm?

You were meant to dream beyond your means. It’s what makes you human. There is a tightness in his jaw that speaks to hard-learned lessons. Continue.

(He waits in silence while his father holds court. Adhemar watches, and he learns, and he remembers everything. Every bluff, every threat couched in polite concern, every fleeting alliance: all can be used and turned against these men.

They bow to your position and your wealth, not to you. He spits the words and doesn’t give a fig about the consequences. The bloody nose is worth it; he sees the stone crumbling beneath his father’s feet and tracks its fall. I will be better.)

I held the sun in my hands and it was somehow cold; when I sank into the stream I clutched it to my chest and watched the water freeze around me.

You were frightened?

No. Just tired

and

the air weighs heavy in these halls; the storm cannot be heard but it can be felt. This isn’t a story; it’s a fragment of a dream, a scrap of mood. And in the dream there is no catharsis, only spreading emptiness. It’s the feeling of reaching out a hand and finding nothing in return, of feeling frostbite and sunburn creeping in at once, of the moment after lightning strikes when all the world holds its breath. He doesn’t want to hear about the dream, he can’t want to. He is power and wealth and inscrutable design; he is above and yet.

And yet he asked. And when you raise your eyes to him, he is watching. And he sees.

#rufus sewell #adhemar #adhemar fic #adhemar x reader #adhemar x you #a knights tale #a knights tale fic #my fic #a fairytale in silver and glass

[bluejayblueskies]

For the kiss prompt thing, could you do 34 and/or 66 with Jontim, please?

kiss prompt list!

34 - Returned from the dead kiss | 66 - Staring At The Other’s Lips, Trying Not To Kiss Them, Before Giving In 

i did both! set in an au where tim survives the unknowing. additionally, in this au jon and tim were together in research and season one but then broke it off in season two for canon-typical reasons

cw for mentions of injury and grief, mentions of death, suicidal ideation (mild), mentions of hospitalization, mentions of paranoia and stalking, and swearing

Ao3 link in source!

.

Jon’s been awake for two weeks and three days when Tim finally works up the nerve to see him.

 (He’s not nervous, he tells himself. It’s not nerves twisting his stomach and leaving a bitter taste in his mouth and making his hands shake ever so slightly where they grasp the doorknob on Jon’s office door. It might be guilt, but he dislikes the thought and discards it immediately. Hatred? That doesn’t feel right either. He’d shed that anger a few months prior, body still aching from being crushed underneath a building’s worth of brick and mortar and holding Martin while he cried at Jon’s bedside, hiccupping into the fabric of Tim’s shirt, He’s not waking up, Tim. He's never waking up.)

 He opens the door and sees Jon sitting at his desk, hair pinned up in a haphazard topknot and a jumper that’s much too large swallowing his body whole. Jon looks up at him, his eyes widening a bit, and oh.

 It’s relief.

 Tim lets the door swing shut behind him and leans against the wall next to the doorframe, hands coming up to grip his elbows as he hugs his arms close to his chest. One arm is still mottled with angry red scars, spiraling patterns of shrapnel laced along his skin. He rubs a thumb over one of the larger scars near the crook of his elbow absently as he says, “Hey. I… I heard you’d woken up.”

 Jon just stares at him for a moment, like he’s not quite sure what he’s looking at. Just as it’s bordering on the edge of annoying, Jon finally says, “Yes, I… I have. A- a few weeks ago.”

 “Right.”

 There’s another long moment of silence between them, this one tenser than the first. Jon’s avoiding Tim’s eyes, his face pinched and unhappy. His hands are fiddling with the cuffs of his jumper nervously, and something within Tim knocks loose at the sight. “I’m not here to yell at you, okay?”

 Jon startles, his eyes finding Tim’s for a moment before darting away again. He’s never liked direct eye contact, Tim remembers, but this is something else. Tim gets the distinct feeling that it’s at least partially his fault. Maybe a bit more than partially. Then, quietly, Jon says, “Why not?”

 Great. With a weary sigh, Tim steps away from the wall and drops himself into the ratty armchair that faces Jon’s desk. “Because it’s been six months, Jon. A lot has changed.” He makes a humorless noise. “I mean, it’s all the same shit—spooky monsters and fucked-up situations and a job I can’t get rid of. But, you know.” He rubs his thumb over the scar, shrugs his shoulders. “The Circus is gone. Thought I’d be gone with it, but I’m not. And you were gone, which made things easier for a while. Less complicated, because I didn’t have to look at you and feel—”

 Tim makes a sharp, irritated noise. He doesn’t know how he felt. “But you were just… there. Dead or- or asleep or whatever, it didn’t really matter. You were there, and I was here, and we both know it was meant to be the other way around.”

 “Tim—” Jon starts, the pity in his voice palpable.

 “No,” Tim says, giving Jon a firm look. “I don’t want an apology or- or pity or whatever. That’s not the point of this.” He sits back in the chair, takes a deep breath, and says, “I don’t remember when I stopped feeling angry. I didn’t visit you at first, in the hospital, but when I did, I… I don’t know.” Tim shrugs and looks at the floor. “I guess I just decided that you wouldn’t have chosen that. To- to be half-dead and dreaming while the rest of us lived.”

 Jon’s quiet for a long moment. Then, he makes a sound that might be a laugh if it weren’t so bitter. “No,” he says, voice rough around the edges. “I didn’t. But I did choose to wake up. I made a choice, and I- I think it was the wrong one.”

 “What,” Tim says, “because you chose to live rather than to die?”

 Jon shakes his head, just once. “Because I chose to be this.” He gestures at the desk, at the room around him. “The… the Archivist.”

 Tim takes a moment to consider. Then, he says bluntly, “Fine. Let’s say you did. You chose to go full monster, give up the mantle of humanity entirely, and then—what?”

 Jon blinks at him. “What?”

 “What are you going to do now?”

 Jon opens and closes his mouth a few times before finally saying, “I- I suppose I’ll just… work?”

 Tim can’t help letting out a short, clipped laugh. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

 Jon makes an indignant noise. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

 “Nothing. I just—” Tim pauses, looks at his hands. There’s a worm scar between his middle and ring finger on his left hand that never healed quite right, that’s now a twisted knot of scar tissue. He focuses on it as he says, “You’re still you, you know? Even before, with all the shit you pulled—the stalking and the murder accusations and the questions—it was… it was still just you. And whether or not you’re still human, you’re still Jon.”

 “Oh,” Jon says, the word empty and hollow. “Is… is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

 Tim doesn’t know yet, not really. The relationship between them is still flayed open and raw, ripped apart by months of poor choices and hurtful words. But he meets Jon’s eyes, sees that familiar brown that he used to wake up to in the mornings, takes note of the small cluster of circular scars just beneath Jon’s temple, and decides that if it’s not good, it’s certainly on the way there. The thought leaves him feeling a bit weightless, and he realizes with an aching in his chest that he’s missed Jon. Not in the physical sense, because Jon’s always been here, conscious or not, and his presence has been burned into the back of Tim’s mind like a brand, an itch he can’t quite scratch. But still, there had been an empty space within him that he hadn’t been able to cover or fill, shaped like warm sunlit mornings and shared bottles of wine and kisses on foreheads and noses and lips. And it had ached, as much as Tim wished it hadn’t. That that Jon was gone and this Jon had taken his place. The resentment Tim felt at the fact was bitter and heavy and painful.

 It’s still not the same Jon, sitting in front of him now and worrying his ring between his fingers in a familiar nervous tic. But he’s not the same Tim either. Affection doesn’t come easy for him anymore and everything hurts and there are so, so many things he can’t forgive Jon for. That he doesn’t know how to. But at some point, the blanket of revenge-fueled anger had melted away and he’d just been tired.

 “I don’t know,” Tim says, because it’s true. But it’s also true when he continues, “But I want it to be good. It might take some time, and I- I can’t just forget about what’s happened between us, but…” Tim’s chest tightens, and his next words come out choked and a bit forced. “I missed you. And I’m glad you’re not dead, okay? I don’t know if you’ve convinced yourself that I wouldn’t be, but I am.” Quieter: “God knows I’ve already lost enough.”

 “Oh,” Jon says again, barely more than a whisper. Then, hesitantly: “I… thank you, Tim. I’m also glad that you… that you’re still here. For what it’s worth.”

 “You don’t have to…” Tim pinches the bridge of his nose, closes his eyes, lets out a long breath. “Never mind.”

 “I know,” Jon says, something terribly vulnerable in his voice. When Tim opens his eyes, Jon’s looking at him, a faint ghost of a smile on his lips. Tim can’t stop looking at it. “But I want to. I… I still care about you, Tim. I always have, even if I- I didn’t always show it.”

 The Tim of six months ago would probably have laughed at that. Would have said that it didn’t matter if he cared or not, or that if he really cared he wouldn’t have spent half a year tracking his every move and thinking that Tim was even remotely capable of killing him. (That bit had hit particularly hard. Tim had gone home afterward and scrubbed every reminder of Jon from his house, every picture and favorite mug and lingering jumper and that one souvenir from his trip to Spain that Jon had once rambled about for two hours. It had hurt, and when he was done, he’d felt hollowed out and empty. Enough room for the anger to begin to creep in, he supposes.)

 Instead, Tim sighs and says, “You know, that was the worst part. The fact that after everything, even when I hated you, I still couldn’t stop myself from caring.” He digs his fingernails into the soft skin of the inside of his wrist. “It hurt to care, so I pretended like I didn’t. But all the shit that happened to you—Christ, Jon, I’m not so much of an asshole to think that you deserved to be tortured and kidnapped every other week. I don’t know if anyone ever told you that you didn’t deserve it, so there it is.”

 Jon’s looking at him with wide eyes and lips slightly parted, and Tim feels something in his chest ache at the sight. “Don’t look at me like that.”

 “Like- like what?”

 “Like I’ve—” Like I’ve hung the fucking moon. “Look, that’s just basic human decency, okay?”

 “Okay,” Jon echoes quietly. He’s still looking at Tim and his lips are still slightly parted and the ache in Tim’s chest amplifies until he can barely stand it. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he’s reminded of the first time he asked Jon, standing halfway inside the doorframe of his house after their third date, if he could kiss him. How Jon had looked startled, all wide eyes and parted lips, and after a moment had nodded wordlessly. How Jon’s hair had been soft beneath his fingers as he’d cupped Jon’s cheek and how Jon’s lips had been warm against his and how Jon had inhaled slightly at the contact, like even though Tim had asked, he was still surprised that he’d followed through.

 Tim looks at Jon, at the still-familiar shape of his lips save for a small circular scar near the left corner, and tries to convince himself, just for a moment, that he doesn’t want to kiss him.

 He’s never been very good at self-control.

 So he stands, braces one hand on Jon’s desk, and reaches forward with the other, stopping just shy of Jon’s face. When Jon doesn’t move away, he rests his palm lightly against Jon’s cheek, his thumb coming to rest just underneath Jon’s eye. “This doesn’t fix things,” Tim says quietly. “But I’d still like to kiss you. If you’re okay with that.”

 Jon hesitates. Then, barely more than a whisper, he says, “Okay.”

 “Okay.” Tim pauses a moment more before tilting Jon’s head slightly up, leaning forward, and kissing him.

 It’s still as easy as breathing.

#tma #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #tim stoker #jontim #my writing #my fic

[mi6-cafe]

WEEK 3 DRABBLES ARE HERE!

Now, let’s refresh your memory about the prompt

We have asked our writers to write between 100 and 150 words of an acrostic drabble for NO TIME. (We wanted each paragraph to start with the given letters.)

THEY DID SUCH AN AWESOME JOB!

Now, how to vote?

Yup, that’s pretty much the method, although the writing of the individual feedback full of love is very much optional. (And yes, we’re reusing this meme from last week.)

Read the drabbles below the line (or on wordpress) and GO VOTE when you’re done!

#1

Title: Little Prick Author: sorion Warnings: none Summary: Just some bondy banter.

Now, that was just rude, Q thought, sipping his tea with his eyes on the computer screen and giving a weak attempt at not looking amused.

Other than the potted plant in the corner, nobody was convinced of said attempt, and neither was Bond at the other end of the satellite connection, and he couldn't even see Q.

The hand gesture Bond waved at the hidden camera was still rude, though less original.

"I can hear you laugh into your tea; don't think I can't," Bond's crystal-clear voice echoed through Q-Branch.

"Mmm," Q hummed in agreement. "I have to get my kicks from somewhere, Bond, and you're usually a reliable source."

Ever the gentleman, Bond conceded with grace. "Alright, you win," he said. "Provided, of course, that you stop laughing for long enough to get me out of here, so I can come home."

#2

Title: White Knight Author: sunaddicted Warnings: none Summary: bratty agents really do get on Bill’s nerves

"No."

"Oh, come on!"

Tanner arched an eyebrow at the raised tone of voice 009 was directing at him: he definitely didn't appreciate being talked to in such manner by a bratty agent - how the man was Q's favorite (besides Bond, of course), Bill would never know.

 "I'm not messing around with the line-up just because you want to go to Malaysia." 

M cleared his throat from the entrance of Tanner's office, looking coldly at 009. "Of course you're not. You should go get kitted for your own mission, 009: I believe R is waiting for you in Q-Branch."

Exhaling loudly, 009 pursed his lips and left with a stiff and parting nod - it was absolutely satisfying to watch. "You didn't have to come and save me," Bill pointed out, smiling up at the other  even as M bent down to kiss him. "Thank you, though."

#3

Title: Another Door Opens Author: soufflegirl91 Warnings: None Summary: Eve contemplates a door, and what led her to it

Now or never.

One way or another, things were about to change forever. In a way, everything from the moment she had shot James Bond off that bridge in Turkey had been leading to this.

The door loomed ahead, waiting for her to take the next step. There had been a time when she thought that with that one shot, she had ruined things forever. That any opportunity she had to prove herself in the field, any chance of a career, had crashed into the water with Bond’s body.

Instead, it had merely opened another door for her. Given her a chance to learn things she never would have in the field. The people, the politics. All the little games the field agents never saw.

“M,” her secretary greeted.

Eve nodded back at her, and walked through the door to her new office.

#4

Title: Inside Information Author: starrboned / MrKsan Warnings: content warning: alcohol Summary: Bond is back again and bets are placed.

“No,” Q said over his glass of gin, finishing it off in one swig. “Not doing this again.”

“Or you could stop being such a wet blanket and place your bet already,” Moneypenny said, poking him in the ribs. He swatted at her, scooting closer to Tanner. “We all know Bond will ‘retire’ soon enough.”

“That’s all everyone’s talking about,” Q huffed, staring at his empty glass. “He’s back, he’s off again - it’s a never-ending cycle.” Almost wish he'd stay gone, he didn't say.

“It is,” Tanner sighs, nudging his half-full pint towards Q. “But even Mallory wagered a full six months."

“Mallory did?” Q almost choked on Tanner’s beer. “That’s - that’s unusual of him.”

“Eh, said something about how ‘Bond has something to prove' this time around.“ Tanner grinned. Q felt his cheeks warm under his knowing gaze. "Maybe he has some inside information, huh?"

#5

Title: No Time Like The Present Author: storm_of_sharp_things Warnings: none Summary: Felix had been wondering if it was ever going to happen

“Not that you need to answer, but did you ever sleep with him?” Felix looked up from his glass as MI6’s Chief of Staff dropped into the chair next to him at the bar and quirked an eyebrow. It wasn’t how Felix would’ve started this conversation, but...

“Once,” he admitted. He tossed back the rest of his drink. “You?”

Tanner nodded, his gaze distant. “Once,” he said with a faint smile. “Seemed a good idea at the time.”

“I don’t regret it,” Felix said. Then he shrugged and smirked. “I think we’d have shot each other if we’d really tried to make it work. But I do miss him.”

“Me too.” Tanner paused long enough that Felix wondered if he’d follow through. “Listen, I’ve got some good bourbon back at mine. Want a drink where it’s quieter?”

“Easy answer,” Felix grinned. “Hell yes, thought you’d never ask, let’s go.”

#6

Title: Entanglement Author: Nana-chan Warnings: Summary: In which 007 and Q trade places...

“Now take your clothes off slowly,” said Bond softly. “Goddammit, Q, I said slowly.”

“Oh, do piss off, Bond,” Q hissed, dropping his shirt to the floor while Bond continued to watch him through the CCTV live feed. “Now, help me with the leathers.”

“That actually sounds very sexy, coming from you,” Bond said conversationally, his eyes drifting all over Q’s bare midriff before focusing on the contraption strapped to him.

“I suppose it does, yeah,” replied Q archly. “Never mind my predicament.”

“Mm-hmm,” said Bond, unfazed. “Not enough time. The straps will have to stay for now. I’ll start, then.”

Entanglements such as this were usually Bond’s lot, not his, but what was he to do when someone had attached an IED to his person? At least he’d dispatched his would-be kidnapper. He sighed, relieved, as Bond typed in the code he’d devised to remotely disable the ticking bomb.

#7

Title: Time Well Spent Author: IrishWitch58 / captain-magicalkitty Warnings: None Summary: A conversation over coms.

“Nine bloody days and the target hasn't moved at all.” Q could almost see the exasperated expression. Bond hated the need for surveillance and made his displeasure known.

“Once he does, I'm sure the resulting excitement will more than make up for your current boredom,” Q soothed. He managed to hide his smile from the rest of the branch late shift.

There was a disgusted snort from the coms. “You'll have to do better than that to make this up to me.” The tone was suggestive but only in the general Bond default setting. Q wasn't concerned about anyone overhearing.

“If you're still angling after an exploding pen, dream on.”

“Miser,” Bond accused, fond tone at odds with the statement.

Eventually the target would move and Bond would get the job done. Until then, they enjoyed time spent together, even far apart.

#8

Title: N O T I M E Author: hexiva Warnings: Character death Summary: Bond confronts Blofeld.

No time to think as James rounds the corner, gun in hand, and comes face to face with Blofeld, with Franz. 

Only hatred in Franz’s eyes, he reaches for his gun.

Trigger burning against James’ finger, all he has to do is pull it, end this, end this, but - 

Ivy leaves underfoot, the sky blue above them, and they’re bickering but they’re just children still, not the killers they will become, and Franz laughs as James trips, and he reaches down to offer him a hand - 

Many years ago, they were brothers. Franz knew him before he was 007. He’s the last man left who did. Everyone else is gone, and James is tired of being alone and tired of being a killer.

Every muscle in his body aches with weariness as he lets his gun drop. And he looks Franz in the eyes as Franz pulls the trigger.

#9

Title: A Change of The Story Author: scarytheory Warnings: (a little bit of) sci-fi Summary: She has seen the future. What she’ll do with it is up to her.

No time to waste when she’s got a glimpse of the future. She had seen Bond devastated by loss and full of rage. She had seen Q who was absorbed in his job, bitter and sad. And herself – composed and nice and so, so lonely. Or was it possible to change it? She decided to go to that beach instead of Bond. But before she left, she whispered to him: “You’ve got a secret admirer in the Q branch.” Will it be enough? And the girl on the beach… will she manage to save her? “Tracy!” she screamed as she was trying to get her out of the water.

“I don’t know you.” Not yet.

“Moneypenny, Eve Moneypenny.”

Eve decided that this time she wasn't going to let them be burned by the inevitability. This time, Tracy would live.

#10

Title: Let the Record Show Author: anyawen Warnings: None Summary: They've read the same reports, but have arrived at differing conclusions.

"No, I don't think so," Q disagrees with forced lightness. "Not this time."

"Oh, honey," Eve sighs, not fooled in the least. She reaches across the table to squeeze his hand. "Every time. He always comes back."

"There's no reason for him to come back, not anymore," Q insists. "M is dead, and he's finished the last mission she ever gave him. He can retire now. Live a peaceful life with a beautiful woman. And a beautiful car."

"If you think he'll be happy with a peaceful life, you don't understand him as well as you think," Eve laughs.

"Maybe he doesn't want peaceful," Q allows, "but we've read his file. He doesn't want m— this either, or he wouldn't keep trying to leave."

"Eventually, he will come home. And when he does," Eve says, sitting back and angling to speak to someone over Q's shoulder, "you should tell him."

#11

Title: TO DIE Author: Merc / moon_of_mercury Warnings: This one is depressing. Sorry! Summary: The End.

Never again...

Observing from behind his screen, Q takes in the smoking, crumbling scene of destruction. Police cars with flashing lights and blaring sirens swarm the streets. A familiar silhouette blends in with the by-passers, slipping out of his view around the corner.

This is the last time James Bond holsters his gun, dusts off his suit, and heads for the airport to catch a flight Moneypenny arranged for him.

“It’s done,” Q says into the expectant stillness of the room. It hurts a little, even though he’s relieved. The showdown could have gone so much worse, but this is just as final.

Memories of this mission will haunt him for different reasons than usual. Their blazing victory is a bittersweet consolation.

Everything ends here; even those things that never began.

#12

Title: Mission Goal: Ideas Author: Venstar /1amvengeance Warnings: none Summary: well someone had to think of something.

“Now you're just showing off.” James’s voice drawled against Q’s ear.

“Oh, I'm showing off. Did you have any other ideas? No. Spies should have faster reflexes than asking me to 'Quick hide us!' My time and equipment are very expensive.” Q hissed quietly. They were still on a mission after all.

“That kiss was a far better idea than anything I had in mind. I'm happy to pay your asking price. Are you okay Q, your face has gone all red.”

“I will murder you in your sleep. I will end you. I will scatter your body parts to the farthest corners of the globe as a warning to those that think about blaming me for coming up with all the ideas!”

“Maybe instead of murder, you should think about our target. He’s escaping.”

“Escaping my arse. Someone is going to pay for your lack of ideas.”

#13

Title: Losing and Having Author: solarmorrigan Warnings: None. Summary: Bond reflects and knows he can't have it any other way.

Never in all his life had Bond felt quite this level of terror.

Or – well, no. That wasn’t quite true.

There had been one other time.

In the murky water, watching everything he’d allowed himself to love and depend on slip away into oblivion. The fear had clutched him then, shaken him and wrecked him.

Maybe he should have listened to his own damn self when he’d designated the heart as nothing but a target.

Even so, even knowing this, Bond clutched Q’s hand, eyes locked on his bruised and battered quartermaster who had only just returned to him, and knew it was worth it. The fear of loss was nothing against the euphoria of having.

#14

Title: Dreisamkeit (Or: Bliss comes in threes) Author: Misha / artsytarts / jelly-mish Warnings: Sickly sweet fluff, watch out for cavities Summary: Della, Felix and James are toying with the idea of having a lazy day in.

Nestled between the warm bodies of her boys, Della felt content.

“Occasionally, I’d like to just... stay here. All day.”, she said, letting her fingers brush through their hair in lazy strokes. James tightened his grip around her and made an approving noise.

Then the beeping started. Felix moved, banging his fist on the alarm clock. “Gosh darn it,” he growled. Della pouted in response, until a thought struck her. What if they took a sick day? Food poisoning? Good enough story. She suggested it out loud.

“If you take the blame,” James mumbled sleepily.

“Me? If anyone, it’d be Felix,” Della grinned at her husband's dirty look and carried on: “Remember when you forgot to add water to the pasta? The fumes were noxious.”

Eventually, reluctantly, they broke up their haven of safety and rolled out of bed. Della sighed. There never seemed to be enough time.

#15

Title: Augment Author: oldestcharm Warnings: n/a Summary: Every week Q argues his case and wins. "No," M says, squinting and displeased. "Absolutely not."

"One million," Q attempts with a half-hearted smile, but he knows well enough that it wouldn't work in any other situation. He's not even trying that hard at this point, because he knows he'll win this argument every single time. "It's not that much. I should probably ask ten times that with the amount of shit Bond breaks. Remember last week? I deserve a better budget."

"Then stop supplying him with expensive equipment," M suggests, unsympathetic at best.

"I'll have you know he'll get his hands on it whether I supply it or not," Q says crossly.

"Maybe you aren't doing a good enough job at security."

"Exactly, I need a better budget!" Q insists, eyeing M with a bit of a manic expression as he sets down the tablet in front of him. "Now sign it or deal with the consequences."

Go Vote!

#00Q #00Q fic #drabbles #james bond fanfiction #james bond #LDWS #ldws 2021 #ldws2021

[the-mighty-jellybean]

Crown of Thorns

“What will I be when I grow up, Lady Mother?” Y/N asked, the bed sheets wrapped high under her chin, arms clutching her knees.          

“You will be Queen, my darling,” she cupped her face, and she leaned into her touch, “and a warrior.”

Series Summary: After the need for their alliance during the Battle of Titan, King Stephen asked in return for his services, that King Anthony of the Iron Islands’, first born daughter would be given in marriage, to his sons, Prince Steven and Prince James of the Kingdom of Kamar-Taj. Despite King Anthony’s other offers, King Stephen would only agree to one, or there would be war between their two Kingdoms. Leaving King Anthony with no choice, he sacrificed his first born daughter, in hopes of sparing his people of anymore suffering. Anthony prayed that the men would care for his daughter, and love her as he did, but a sparkly crown can hide a thousand secrets.  

Pairing: Prince!Steve x Princess!Reader x Prince!Bucky

Series Warnings: Strong Language, Violence, Angst, Fluff (There will be some fluffy stuff I promise, I can't resist), Smut: This series will include some aspects of Dub-con/Non-con: Steve and Bucky aren't going to be Prince Charmings. More Warnings will be posted on Chapters.

Masterlist

Part Fourteen: Truth Prevails 

Chapter Warnings: Bad Language

Word Count: 3.2k

Y/N blew on her hands, as she slowly lost feeling in the tips of her fingers, she worried that they might freeze to the leather of Zeus’ bridle, if she didn’t keep flexing them. The wind had whipped up, into a swirling twist of cold and ice, as the sun had disappeared over the horizon. Night had fallen; and so, had the temperature. Y/N was just grateful that it had not started raining yet, as Zeus began to sag, as he too, grew weary and tired.

She didn’t know where she was going, but the thick black forest was now surrounding her, she had lost sight of the castle within a few minutes of entering the wood. The sound of men calling for her, had died down and became muffled by the thick layer of leaves.

Pushing on, she finally found a dip in the ground, a small cave hidden beneath the surface level. She nudged Zeus in that direction, the horse exhausted, does as he is told. Then once Y/N dismounts, Zeus’ legs fold as he collapses on the floor, letting out a sigh of relief.

“Sorry about that.” Y/N apologised, scratching behind Zeus’ ears, before she settled against his side, using each other for warmth, “I would start a fire, but going by the wetness of this mud, there isn’t going to be any dry wood. Looks like it’s just going to be me and you.”

~~~~~~

“We need men to head north and south, my brother and I will go southeast, Sam move your men northeast, we don’t know what direction she has gone in, our best bet is to guard the ports and harbours, and keep our men moving.” Bucky demanded, as he pointed at random spots on a map of Kamar-Taj. He was surrounded by a hoard of Generals and Colonels, including Samuel and a few other foot soldiers.

Steve was passing back and forth as he pinched the bridge of his temple, his eyes screwed shut as his breaths were ragged and unsettled.

“Sir, we’ve news from the west, they’ve had word from some villagers that a woman has passed them on a black horse. She was dressed in a brown cloak and didn’t appear to be carrying any luggage.” A messenger breathed heavily, as he seemed dishevelled, his cloak was twisted up around his neck, and his boot laces had become untied and wrapped around his ankles.

Bucky froze when the message was finished, his heart hammering in his chest, as he caught eyes with Steve briefly, who’s own face had dropped, his eyes wide.

“Send men to follow that lead-“

“No.” Steve barked, stopping in his pacing.

The room fell silent, as Steve’s voice had echoed around the hectic room.

“Steve-“

“No, this is our mess, we need to go and find her and bring her home.” Steve growled, his voice wavered slightly, as he chewed on his tongue. His chest was puffed out, his face was drained of colour, his lips chapped and slightly split where he had chewed on any loose skin.

Bucky whispered to his men to carry on with his plan, before he walked to Steve’s side, grabbing his arm and pulling him into a corner.

“You need to keep your shit together. If we break now, then it will only add to the rumours that have already started,” Bucky whispered harshly, “We can’t be seen to be weak. Especially not now.”

“I don’t care what people see me as. We fucked up, Bucky, we should have just told her. She could have handle it, we both know that, she’s stronger than we give her credit for, and now she’s about to land right in the middle of our fucking mess.” Steve huffed, keeping his eyes locked on his brother.

Bucky looked to the floor, sighing loudly, before placing his hands on his hip. Shaking his head lightly, then looking back to the men.

“Get my brother and I a horse, we will leave immediately for the west,” Bucky commanded, there was immediate movement again, as men began to shout to each other, obeying Bucky’s demands, “Sam, come with us, and bring a squad to follow with us.”

“Yes, sir.” Sam nods, before rushing to follow the men, who had gone to get Bucky and Steve’s horses.

“We’ll get her back, Steve, I promise you.” Bucky slapped his hand on his shoulder, and Steve only glared.

“You just better pray we get to her, before they do.”

~~~

Y/N’s teeth chattered angrily against each other, as she curled tighter into Zeus’ side, pulling the thin cloth around her shoulder to try and conserve some kind of warmth.

Zeus had turned his head, so Y/N would be as protected as she could be, from the bite of the cold. Y/N listened contently to the sound of Zeus’ heart, thudding softly in his chest.

“D-do you th-think they-are l-looking f-for me?” Y/N asked the horse, who sighed in response, “I-I doubt i-it. If-f they lo-ved m-me they w-would-nt have d-done i-it.”

Zeus just chuffed softly, and Y/N breathed heavily.

~~~~

“Sires, may I suggest-“

“No, you may not.” Steve chides sharply, before climbing onto the horse, that startled forward, slightly, at the sudden weight, waiting for Bucky to do the same.

“But Sir, if the messenger speaks the truth, her highness may not be far from the border, there might be trouble.” The steward stuttered.

“So what?” Steve’s head whipped to stare at the young-looking army officer, “You suggest that we leave her to die at the hand of those bastards?”

“N-no, no Sir.” The man stuttered, holding his hands up in defence.

“Boy, stop talking, before you say something truly treasonous, get on your horse and then follow your commanders.” Bucky yelled, before digging his heels in, stirring the horse into a sprint, immediately followed by Steve and the rest of the company.

Steve drew level with Bucky, and soon the Princes were galloping into the thick trees in search of their brides.

“What do we do if he finds her first?” Steve panics, Bucky only just hearing what he said through the rush of air that was beating into their faces.

“He won’t.” Bucky denies, not taking his eyes off the path.

“You don’t know that Buck, the scouts said they were closing in on the border. Y/N doesn’t know where she is, and she definitely doesn’t know where she is going.” Steve rambled, his mind racing with different thoughts and scenarios.

“We’ll get to her, Steve. We’ll get there.” Bucky whispered the last part more to himself, as his own kind of reassurance.

~~~~

Y/N jolted awake, as she felt the ground beneath her begin to vibrate, twigs and leaves that lay dying on the floor, jumped to the beat of the soft thuds. It took Y/N a split second to realise what was happening.

The way Zeus began to stress, as he stumbled to his feet, knocking Y/N off balance briefly. Eventually grasping what was going on, she grabbed hold of Zeus’ reins and heaved herself onto his back, kicking her heels in desperately.

“Go Zeus, go!” she yelled, Zeus reared up at the sudden fright and yell, but soon broke into a bolt, as he churned the mud below him, trees whizzing past, as he ploughed through the forest.

“Over there!”

Yelling could be heard from behind her, as Y/N looked over her shoulder, she could see small circles of orange light, that glowed in the gloom of the woods.

Y/N turned back to her path ahead, from what she could make out through the darkness of the trees, it appeared she was approaching a clearing. Spurring Zeus on, she headed for the gap.

Once through, Y/N looked ahead as she realised, she was climbing over a big green hill, Zeus was lagging, as the stallion was running on an empty stomach. Poor thing needed some water, needed some food, but he kept going. He kept going as his mistress commanded.

The shouting was growing louder, as the pack of horses and men appeared to be gaining on her. Y/N recognised the horses leading the charge, and her heart clenched in her chest, as she envisioned the riders on their backs. The feeling of betrayal coursing through her veins.

Zeus was stamping his feet into the ground as he got to the top of the hill, just as the other side was growing visible, Y/N’s blood froze in her veins, her feeling of uncertainty being picked up by Zeus, as he began to waver in his course.

“Y/N! Stop!”

Y/N could hear Bucky’s voice carrying over the air, but she didn’t know what to think or do, as Zeus came to a careering stop, as Y/N heaved the reins, when the other side of the hill was fully visible.

She had ended up in a valley, it made sense to the sudden climb she had to do once she left the forest. In front of her lay an enormous stone wall. Spikes decorated the tops of the turrets; the Kamar-Taj crest branded on the walls.

However, the wall hadn’t been the only reason for why Y/N had stopped. The hills laying over the wall, were speckled with small dots of light. The lights were surrounded by darker objects, and white squares broke up the dark green.

Y/N’s heart was hammering in her head, as her eyes scanned over the mass gathering of people. Y/N may have been in the dark about what was going on, but after all these years, she certainly knew what a military camp was.

Her heavy breathing and fast pulse had made her momentarily deaf, as she didn’t hear as Bucky and Steve trotted up the hill to meet her.

“Y/N-“

“Stop.” Y/N snapped, turning her head quickly to the men, “Stop right there.”

“We can explain.”

“Oh damn right you’re going to explain,” Y/N turns Zeus, so that she can face the two men, “You’re going to explain everything, no bullshit.”

~~~

Y/N sat in front of the open fire, Steve knelt at her feet as he rubbed up and down her calves, trying to warm Y/N’s legs up.

“Stop, just stop.” Y/N kicked her feet slightly, Steve leant back on his haunches as he looked up at Y/N, a puppy dog pout making his lips droop. “You told me, you were going to talk to me, you said you would tell me everything.”          

“We will, we just need to get the blood flowing back in your toes and fingers.” Steve explained softly, tucking another blanket around her.

“I can sit and do that, whilst you talk. It’s very simple.” Y/N clutched the blanket, happy that her teeth had finally settled, as her jaw ached from all of the chattering. “Who were the men on the hill?”

Steve looked to Bucky, who had been nursing the jug of wine that the servants had bought Y/N to warm her up, he drew the chair back, before dragging it closer to her, so that he could sit in front of her. Steve went to grab another chair, before long both Princes had sat themselves in front of Y/N. Bucky was resting heavily on his closed fist, whilst Steve was bouncing his leg, as he chewed on his thumbnail.

“They are the reason we have been recruiting.” Bucky mumbled, taking another hefty swig of his cup, his Adams apple bobbing aggressively, as his eyes glared at the flames burning angrily to the side of him.

“Did you hear the bit where I said no bullshit, that right there, what you just said, is bullshit.” Y/N growled, tilting her head to the side, as she plucked at the threads of the blanket and covers the men had laid over her.

Steve sighed heavily before sitting forward, resting his forearms on his knees, as he wiped his face with his hands.

“All we’ve ever wanted to do, is protect you.” Steve mumble, trying to reach forward to touch Y/N’s hands, but she moved them out of his reach, her eyes watching him intensely.

“I’m sorry that we’ve abused your trust in ways that are…unforgivable,” Y/N scoffed at him, “But we did it because we love you, we love you more than you could realise.”

“Is that why it took you less than a minute to crawl back into bed with your whores, going back on the one thing that I asked you not to do. Because you love me?” Y/N spat, her fingernails digging into the wood of the chair, as her eyes continued to flick back and forth between the two of them.

The air in Bucky’s throat got briefly trapped, as he tried to dislodge it, he spluttered, some wine splattering onto his lips. He wiped it off with the back of his hand, as he eyes Y/N nervously.

“How did you-“

“I saw you. Both of you.” Y/N cut Steve off, making him drop his head, as he rubbed at the back of his neck.

“We’re sorry about that too.” Bucky muttered, “We were weak, when you needed strength.”

“Fine. You’re forgiven,” Y/N speaks quickly and bitterly, “Now for gods sakes tell me who those people were.”

“The people on the hill were Baron Zemo’s army.” Y/N could only hear the cracking of the wood in the fire, as she stared at Bucky and Steve emotionless.

“Baron Zemo? As in the leader of the Masters of Evil?” Y/N swallowed hard as her throat felt dry, when Bucky and Steve nodded. “What are they doing here?”

“They are here to invade.” Bucky speaks bluntly.

“But I thought the Masters of Evil had been dismantled, that the members had been scattered across the realms and continents in various high security prisons?” Y/N frowned, as she tried to think about what her father had told her.

“Zemo broke free from the dimension that he was placed in by Prince Thor, quickly freeing his son, the two of them have been breaking into the high security prisons that were holding the other members.” Steve seemed unable to stop himself, as he revealed everything to Y/N feeling relieved he didn’t have to lie anymore.

“If they’ve been performing this continent-wide prison break, why has my father not been informing me of what is happening, I assume that you have not intercepted every hawk that flies to the Islands?” Y/N stands from her chair in front of the fire, the Princes follow her with their eyes, as they watch her pace backwards and forwards.

“No, we’ve not touched any letters to or from your father, apart from the one we showed you, I swear to you.” Bucky promised, placing the wine next to his feet, before standing to meet Y/N half pace, “He was trying to protect you, like we are.”

“Don’t touch me, I may have forgiven you for your lies and betrayal, but I’ve not forgotten.” Y/N snarled, as she pulled away from Bucky’s arms as he tries to hold her gently. He looks at her like a wounded animal but takes a step back.

“How long has Zemo been in Kamar-Taj?” Y/N ignored Bucky, as she looked to Steve, who was sitting back in his chair now, but was gripping the arms, as his chest rose and fell unevenly.

“We had word that his ships would be docking two weeks ago, we knew that he would go to the west of the country, because we have less defence there, as it is miles from the castle. Zemo’s men have been camped there for three days.”

“Three days!” Y/N gasped, “Why haven’t you done anything, they’ve been there for three days, that’s more than enough time to launch an ambush or raid, they would have no chance to prepare.”

“Do not lecture us on the ways of war.” Bucky hissed, “Those bits of metal that we strap to our chest aren’t for decoration like your expensive jewels.”

Y/N’s nostrils twitched as she narrowed her eyes at Bucky, rolling her eyes, as he bared his teeth slightly.

“Very well, you are good warriors, but why have you let him get so close?” Y/N questioned, shrugging the blanket off of her shoulders, she no longer felt cold, as she had gone back to pacing.

“Zemo has more men, more people have joined him compared to last time, our army had been dwindled down to the smallest it had ever been, after the Five Year War, we needed time to build our armies, but Zemo didn’t give us any.” Steve exhaled, it was his turn to stare into the flames, as his fingernails picked at the feeble wood underneath them.

“If you had only told me,” Y/N sighed, “I could have spoken to father, could have gathered you some more men.” Y/N’s eyes moved to Bucky, who’s expression had grown glum, as he leant against the bed post, Y/N felt her heart ache, as she saw the defeated expression on his face, she wandered towards him, tentatively; she reached a hand out to cup his face.

“I could have comforted you.”

Bucky leaned heavily into Y/N’s palm, he pressed his lips to the pulse point on her wrist, before lifting his own hand up to squeeze hers tightly.

“I’m sorry, that I went back on my word, I was just so frustrated and angry, I didn’t want to take it out on you, I didn’t want to hurt you.” Bucky admitted, his eyes were hooded as they watched the floor, he was afraid to lift his head to meet Y/N’s eyes.

“You should have come to me.” Y/N whispered, taking her other hand to cup his other cheek, “You could never hurt me, not really.”

Y/N was surprised when her thumb was pricked with cold, but soon she realised that it was a tear, as another dropped onto his hand. Another and another, and soon Y/N could hear the sob that retched through Bucky’s chest, as he fell in her arms.

“I’m sorry that we’ve let you down. We’ve not done our duty, not really, not to you.” Bucky cried, he clutched at Y/N’s dress, as he blubbered into the fabric.

“You’ve done your duty, for your kingdom, Buck.” Y/N stroked back Bucky’s hair, and he leant back to look up at her face, his own cheeks red and puffy, as he sniffled.

“You are our kingdom.”

Y/N had to stop her own tears from falling, as she looked over to Steve, who had stood up and wandered to her and Bucky. Once he reached them both, he placed his hand on Bucky’s shoulder, catching his attention, before giving the man a look.

Detaching himself from Y/N’s arms, she worried that they were about to leave her, but she was shocked to see Steve and Bucky begin to kneel on the floor at her feet. Each of them took one of her hands.

“We swear to treat our vows to you with the upmost respect and dignity, you will be our priority now and forever, like we promised you, when we made our oaths to you.” Steve kissed your hand, and Bucky did the same.

“Thank you.” Y/N smiled, before kneeling in front of the men, “I admire you, and I adore you. But if you lie to me again, then I will cut your balls off and feed them to the dragons.”

The two Princes bit back a smile, before they both placed a kiss on your cheeks. Each of them rested their foreheads against each other.

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

Taglist

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#Steve Rogers #Steve smut #masterlist #steve rogers x reader #Bucky Barnes #james bucky barnes #Bucky angst #bucky barnes x reader #Dark Fic #dark marvel #darksteve #dark bucky x reader #darkbucky #stucky #stucky x reader #Prince!Steve #princess!reader #prince!bucky #prince!stucky #ROYAL AU #medieval marvel #Marvel Movies #marvel smut #marvel fanfiction #reader insert #steve x reader #reader angst

[tamagochiie]

late night escapades with hq boys + a song that goes along with it

genre: fluff! oneshots! character roster: bokuto koutaro, atsumu miya, sugawara koushi, kuroo tetsuro, oikawa toru a/n: i haven't been able to write in a while, and i'm really happy with these one shots. i kinda started this because i miss my friends and all the dumb things we used to do pre-quarantine.  anyway, i hope you enjoy! oh, and happy kuroo day! 😌✨

— bokuto koutaro [the way you remember me by st. lucia]

Without a doubt he's always been your number one go-to for a pick-me-up.

So, when you call him in the middle of night, without needing to finish your thought, he'll tell you he's on his way and hangs up the phone; and he'd be there in less than an hour.

You've got a lot of pent up emotions waiting to burst, so where does Bokuto take you? He'll drive you through the tunnels.

Bokuto glances over to you, one hand on the wheel and the other on the stick shift; his back relaxing against the cool leather of his seat. He coyly smirks at you as your weary eyes meets his; mischief twinkling in his golden irises. You hear a whirling above your head, and you look up to see the sunroof sliding open.

You raise a brow, tilting your head. "Koutaro, what are you—"

"In about 2 minutes we'll be in the tunnels," He cuts you off, his attention flickering from the road ahead to you ever so often, "and when we get there, you're gonna poke yourself through that sunroof, and you're gonna let everything out."

"I—I don't understand—"

He sighs,"Look dude, you've taken a lot of L's this month, and I love that you call me whenever you're about to bust, but I just don't think it's enough for you anymore. So, I'm just tellin' you to scream it all out."

You pout, still looking at him quizzically.Though odd in nature, Bokuto usually means well...most of the time he means well.

You shrug your shoulders and give to it, unbuckling your seat belt as you draw nearer to the tunnels. You rise from your seat and try to balance your weight on the cushion as you poke your head out the sunroof.

"You ready?!" Bokuto yells to you, tugging on the cuff of your sweats. "Yeah!" You reply as you start to pull yourself up.

The cool wind meets your cheeks and sends a euphoric feeling down your spine. There's a persistent white noise ringing in your ear as your heart begins to float away form your chest. Even if you don't scream, you already feel lighter than you had earlier.

Bokuto rolls down his window, sticking his head out like a dog as he continues to drive. "Raise your arms!" He shouts, the sound of his voice pulling you out of your daze.

You do as he says, but you close your eyes to let the feeling wash over you. You scream, you shout, and you even sing a little as the excitement thrums in your chest.

Bokuto closes his eyes for just a moment, shouting along with you as he smiles to himself; the wind rushing against his face.

Your voices echo, intertwining with each other's as you continue with your "woo-ing" and "cooing". You ride your high to its fullest, screaming to the top of your lungs as the weight that's made a home on your shoulders disappears.

Even when you're free from the bright lights of the tunnels and engulfed by the darkness of the night, you don't come down from your high. With your arms still raised and the wind in your face, you let yourself get lost in the moment, hoping to stretch it a little longer.

--atsumu miya [as we ran by the national parks]

Signing up to be Atsumu's friend was basically signing up for nothing but life long surprises.

He's unpredictable, coming and going into your life through a revolving door full of stories. He'll disappear for a little while, and when he feels like it, he'll resurface.

He's kind of like confetti; he'll go out with a bang, but he'll make sure to leave glimmering traces of himself behind for you to remember him by until he comes back;

And when he does, he'll immediately coming running to you like a boat towards a lighthouse.

He won't tell you he's on his way to pick you up, he'll already be there and call you out of your house to drag you somewhere while you're half asleep, still processing what's going on.

But no matter how much of an inconvenience it is for you, you can't help but give in anyway.

The winter air is thick; your knees begin to shake and your breaths grow ragged. You groan in pain, images of you shoving your foot up Atsumu's ass flash across your mind. If it wasn't for your lack of athletic abilities, you would've thrown your shoe at the back of his head by now.

"We're almost there!" He calls out to you, twisting his head to find you hunched over, finding support in your knees as you catch whatever oxygen that's still in you. "C'mon, don't give up on me now." His tone is playful, not a single sign of struggling from the twenty minute jog uphill you've just made.

The fallen leaves crunch beneath his feet as he walks back to you.

"You know, 'Tsumu," You gasp, trying set your pulse back to its resting rate, "I'm so close to killing you...I really am."

He takes your words lightly, disregarding the resentment laced in your words as he laughs heartily. "Ya don't mean that! Ya'd miss me too much, I know that for a fact."

There's a ringing in your ears that cuts Atsumu off mid-sentence; it dangerously nears to a C sharp. Your vision blurry ever so often as you train your eyes down to your bunny slippers.

The asshat didn't even let you change out of your shoes, let alone your clothes. He just showed up unannounced (as per usual), and dragged you out of the house because he had "something cool to show you".

"I—I don't think I can keep running." You huff.

"S'okay," He replies, "we can walk the rest of the way since we're close anyway...Here, gimme yer hand; I'll pull ya the rest of the way."

You raise your head; though he's sweating profusely, there isn't a single trace to tell you he's had a hard time as much as you have, or at least a little.

You narrow your eyes, glaring at him for his lax disposition. He's smiling down at you, eyes glimmering beneath the florescent light post as he waits for you to take your hand in his. You want to swat it away, but against your better judgement and sheer desperation, you take it anyway.

"Atta girl!" Atsumu cheers, still holding that damn smile.

You grumble the whole way through, whining about your feet aching and how dizzy you feel. Though it should've annoyed him or at least got a small rise out of him, but he only draws circles over your hand with his thumb, humming in response every now and then to let you know he's still listening.

Luckily for you, it only takes you both five minutes to reach...the very deserted destination.

"Oh my God, 'Tsumu," You groaned, throwing your head back as you try to pull yourself out of Atsumu's hold, but he only tightens his grip, "you pulled me out of bed for dirt?"

"I—What? No!" He rolls his eyes and pulls you close so you're standing next to him. "Why ya gotta be like that? I dragged yer ass outta bed for this!"

Your gaze follows to where he points, and the moment you see the view of the city before you, your eyes widen and your breath hitches in your throat.

The city lights twinkling, outshining the stars. You can hear the echoes of life from where you both stand, and all you can manage to say is, "Wow."

In all of your five years living in here, you never thought a sight like this was only a twenty-five minute walk away.

"Told ya it was worth it..." Atsumu slings he's arm around your neck and pecks a kiss on the crown of your head. "Ain't it cool havin' a friend like me?"

You shift beneath his arm, finding a more comfortable position in his hold as you pat his chest. "Yeah, you're alright..."

He squints at you, furrowing his brows at your poor choice of words and lack of excitment. You laugh at him, his crinkled nose and the deep frown lines on his forehead make him look like a child.

"Whatever," He sighs, pulling you close. "I know ya love me, ya don't even gotta say it."

"Shut up, 'Tsumu." You tease, burying your head into the dip of his neck. "All your talking's ruining the view."

—sugawara koushi [like real people do by hozier]

Just like Bokuto, Sugawara's your number one go-to except instead of having you screech into a tunnel, he'll be your soundboard.

Though he doesn't have a specific place he'll bring you to, Sugawara will definitely drive you around for hours and hours on end—anything that'll help calm your nerves or help you fall asleep.

He'll listen to your laughs, your cries, and even the quiet hum of your snores. He wants to be there for you in every moment you need him, hoping that one day you'll see him in a different kind of light.

But on the one night it rains, he thinks of something better for you to do to relieve your stress.

"You can't be serious..." A nervous laugh escapes you when Suga parks the car on the side of the empty highway, unbuckling his seatbelt before switching off the engine. "Ko-Koushi you can't be serious?"

"Live a little," Your name falls off the tip of his tongue so effortlessly, it completely escapes you that he's already getting out the car; and within seconds, he's completely drenched by the rain. He calls to you, motioning you to join him.

"You're crazy!" You shout through the glass, shaking you head as you laugh at him. "We'll get hit by a car!"

"No one's out here but us!" He argues. Suga begins to jump and down, dancing beneath the rain regardless of the lack of music playing in the background.

This is so stupid, you think to yourself, slumping into your seat. You sit there and watch as your best friend continues to dance in rain, smiling to himself as he spreads his arms open as if he's waiting for the sky to hug him back.

When he notices you still glued to your seat, he marches over to you with a devious grin painting across his lips. You rush to try and lock your door, but you're left betrayed by his car when he swings it open.

"Get out of the car," He sing-songs. "Get out of the car while I'm still asking nicely."

You widen your eyes, lips falling into an 'o'.

You think its best not to get out, fearing you might get hit by a car or something worse like catching a cold. But when Suga looks at you with a warm, comforting smile, holding his hand out to you, how could you possibly resist?

Kicking off your shoes, you slip your hand in his and step out of the car.

Slamming the door behind you, he slips one arm around your waist before bending down to swing the other beneath your knees, carrying you back to where he stood.

He spins you around, and you snake your arms around his neck tightly as you scream. Even in his recklessness he's careful with you, making sure his grip is tight on you. But when he feels you slipping from his hold, he carefully sets you down.

Your arms still around his neck. Suga cranes his neck just a little to meet your eyes; his smile charms you and you can't help but smile as well.

"Are you having fun?!" He shouts over the rai to make sure you can hear him. You nod your head as you wipe away the hair sticking to his face. "Yes I am!"

"Do you still feel like crying?!" He asks, still shouting.

"Not at all!" You reply. "I'm too busy worrying over the fact we might get run over! This is still crazy, Koushi!"

"Well, then you're just as crazy for joining me!"

"It's not like I had a choice, you jerk!"

Suga dismisses your last words as he flutters his eyes shut, pressing his forehead against yours . You stiffen at the sudden closeness, but oddly enough you don't mind it. You try not to choke on your own breaths, swallowing down a cough to keep you in this intimate moment you didn't know you were longing for.

Through your glossy vision, you take notice of his eyelashes. Was it always this long? Was he always this pretty?

You study his face; his clear skin, thick browns, cute little dimples in the corners of his mouth. He's so beautiful, you think. Was he always this beautiful?

You shut your eyes when you notice him blinking away the raindrops from his lashes.

"I like you," The rain is loud and thunderous, yet you can hear Suga's faint confession between the howling of the wind and the rhythm of the rainfall. Its as if for a moment, the rain died down just enough so you could hear his words as well as his nervous heart.

You bite your lips, keeping your eyes shut as you smile at his words; and he can see it. He can see your eyes moving beneath your eyelids; he cans see your lips quivering to smile, and he can feel you shaking between his arms.

It could be because you're cold, or it could be the because since the start of the year, you've had it rough and this was the first time in a long while you had something to be genuinely happy about without having to doubt it or worry that just like the storm, it'll eventually pass.

The moment you open your eyes, Suga's looking right at you, peering into your gaze as he waits for your response.

"How cheesy of you," You tease, "confessing to me in the rain."

"I thought you'd like it."

"Well, I like you, so I guess that's enough, isn't it?"

—tetsuro kuroo [real estate by adam melchor]

A bit random, but I'm a firm believer that Kuroo definitely likes to buy food from anywhere and park the car in an empty parking lot in the middle of the night to talk about whatever with you.

He'll call this adventurous, but you'll call it lazy.

It became a thing when you were both in high school; he'd come over in the middle of the night after you called and told him you weren't feeling your best.

he'd get you out of the house, not minding the time because he is a firm believer in physically getting out of the negative energy.

he'd bring you to convenience store because it was the only place open in your village, and share a meal with you that he bought as you both sit on the edge of the sidewalk and talked.

"How's my girl doing now?" The car circles around the parking lot once more before it comes to a slow stop. Kuroo rests his arm behind the headrest of your chair, looking at you intently as you wipe away a stray tear. "Still not-so great, huh?"

You shake your head as it hangs low. You don't want to meet his eyes, too embarrassed of yourself, but you must've forgotten that he's seen worse.

One of the many plastic bags Kuroo's got settled on his lap rustles as he digs a hand through the many snacks he bought at the convenience store. He pulls out an onigiri from the bag and sets it in one of the cupholders that's sitting just below the heater.

Turning the air up he says, "Food's just cookin', it'll be ready when you are." You can only mutter a soft 'thank you' in between your sniffling.

He sits in the silence with you, nudging your arm and patting your head ever so often, waiting till you ride out your crying to the fullest. He'll even wipe away the river of tears pooling at the tip of your chin.

You didn't feel like crying when you had first called Kuroo; you just wanted to use him as a soundboard to let all your pent up stress you've been trying to anchor through the week. But the moment you found yourself in his presence, you couldn't help but break. Its as if Kuroo was the comfort you were looking for in the pillow fort you made at home, or the warmth you were missing when you made yourself into a burrito blanket.

"I'm just tired," Your voice croaks as you whine to him. You lift your head to lean it against the headrest, flickering your eyes to Kuroo who looks at you intently, leaning in closely as if nothing else mattered but you."I'm so tired, and I don't know what to do...I-I feel so pathetic! Like, everything that I do doesn't measure up to how I want things to be—like—does that even make sense?"

"Plenty of sense," He hums. A soft smirk plays across his lips and you can already feel yourself healing.

You wipe away the stray tears. "You probably think I'm silly...I've cried over so many things so many times, you'd think I'd go dry by now, huh?"

He shakes his head, reaching out to you to cup your cheek. He softly grazes his thumb against your skin, and you can help but sink into his touch. "I think you're just perfect."

A laugh escapes you, but you don't tear your eyes away from him. "Thanks, Kuroo...You're always listening to me go on and on—you're a great friend."

His gaze lingers a little longer than usual, and you swallow the panic hitched in your throat when you notice him inching towards you. You close your eyes as the space between you lessens; you feel him hovering over you lips, his breath fanning against your skin.

"I also think I might be in love with you..." He whispers, his eyes flicking from your lips to your eyelids.

Your breath stays hitched in your throat and it takes all the energy you have left to quietly say, "Well, kiss me so you can find out."

—oikawa tooru [tell me by jonny jewel ft. saorise ronan]

oikawa's extraordinary efforts to make his life reflect in the same manner was one of many reasons you fell in love with him.

he was a bit dramatic in nature, so just like atsumu, he'd show up at your doorstep without a single warning to whisk you away at the dead of night.

in every visit, he'd always take you somewhere new. This always left you looking forward to the next time he'd come knocking on your door.

You giggle as he peppers kisses over your hand, intertwining your fingers together so effortlessly like the many times he's done before. With his eyes etched onto the softly lit road ahead, the florescent lights twinkle past you as Oikawa continues to drive.

You coil your hold around his toned arm, pulling the bed sheet you clung with you when he whisked you away. His lips curve into a soft smile just as he's about to kiss the top of your head.

"How much longer you?" You asked, your voice taut as its strained, fresh from slumber. He hums in response, cooing your name as he tells you its not much longer till you're there.

You wonder where he'll bring you next. At the top of a hill overlooking the city? A weird shop that had an underground bar? Though you aren't really dressed for the occasion, so maybe not.

You didn't mean to drift away so easily, but the sudden yet smooth halt jolts you back to your senses. Oikawa cups your face and draws circles over your skin, waiting for you to completely wake up.

When your eyes flutter open, a rather large neon sign greets you, reflecting onto the windshield, "The Neon Graveyard".

You squint your eyes before craning your neck back to look at Oikawa. "Toru, where are we?"

He does nothing but smile, leaving your question unanswered as he gently steps on the gas and begins to drive forward. He cranks the volume of the radio a little higher, setting the mood.

The place is canvased in old bright signs in different shapes and sizes, twinkling fairy lights, and everything other glowing thing you can possibly think of. Signs from buildings long forgotten and a string of lights that no longer gleamed for anyone.

The car once again comes to a halt and you feel Oikawa peeling away from you, making you frown. He only smiles, cupping your face to leave a kiss on your forehead before to tell you to get out of the car. You're reluctant, but you do so anyway.

Wrapped like a California Maki, you step out of the car and take in the sight before you. It isn't long till you feel a familiar pair of arms caging you in, swaying you back and forth to the beat of the radio faintly playing in the background.

"D'you like it?" Oikawa asks, his breath fanning across your ear. It sends a hot flash across you cheeks and all you can manage to do is nod. "I knew you would...A friend told me about it and I knew I just had to bring you here."

You rest against his back, leaning your head on his shoulder as he continues to sway you back and forth. Only until you manage to twist yourself around to come face to face with his eyes—eyes sparkling beneath the colorful lights.

"Tell me that you'll never leave me," He presses his forehead onto yours, his sigh warms your cheeks. His hands fall to your waist, weaving his fingers into a tight hold to pull your closer."I love you so much..."

You lean in to kiss him; the warmth of his cheeks meets the coolness of the palm of your hands. "I'll love you forever, Toru."

#tetsuro kuroo #oikawa tooru #bokuto koutaro #sugawara koushi #Miya Atsumu #haikyuu imagines #bokuto fluff #oikawa fluff #atsumu fluff #kuroo fluff #haikyuu!! #hq!! #mine #bokuto x reader #kuroo x reader #sugawara x reader #astsumu x reader #oikawa x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu headcannons #kuroo imagines #oikawa imagines #bokuto imagines #sugawara imagines #haikyuu oneshots #i cant believe i spent so much time on this someone pls read this