#((I HOPE NEITHER OF YOU MIND ME DRAWING THESE TWO

[little-diable]

Bleeding Sky - Dean Winchester (smut)

Dean and Jensen keep occupying my mind lately, so I wrote this yesterday evening. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. Xxx

Summary: Dean and the reader celebrate a successful hunt, finally drawing the two friends closer; pretty much pwp

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, handjob, outdoor, friends to lovers, some possessive Dean

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!reader (1.5k words)

Her back was pressed against Baby, legs stretched out, eyes focused on the horizon. It was an overly beautiful view, way too fucking beautiful for their line of work, but at that moment she couldn’t care about any of that. Dean was sitting next to her, an empty pizza box between them while both were nursing their beer to celebrate yet another successful hunt.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” (Y/n) could feel Dean’s eyes on her face, but she couldn’t rip her gaze off the horizon which looked like it was bleeding, drenched in a red so intense it made her feel unspeakable things.

“I don’t know.” She took a sip from the beer before letting her head rest against Baby. For a moment, (y/n) allowed herself to look at him - to properly look at the numerous freckles that seemed to alight his face like a canvas filled with stars, at the green eyes that have seen so much pain and sorrow and yet hadn’t lost any of their colour. “I guess I’m just happy.”

“Happy? Because of that demon we got rid of?” The smirk tugging on Dean’s lips made her roll her eyes. She gave him a slight push with her elbow pressed against his ribs, forcing a chuckle out of Dean. He wrapped his arm around (y/n) to pull her against him, allowing her to rest her head on his chest while the scent of his cologne engulfed her.

She could hear the beat of his heart, soothing her racing mind as she tried to ignore the pull between them. Something had been brewing between them, something that made her ache for him, something that had spiralled into something other than just a strong friendship.

“I think I am just grateful for these moments, when we make it out of a hunt without being hurt, when we drink some beer together and are fortunate enough to see something like this. Makes me feel normal.” (Y/n) pointed towards the bleeding sky as she sank further into Dean‘s tight embrace. With his chin resting on top of her head, he didn’t give her a chance to pull away as if he was hoping that this very touch could communicate what he was feeling for her.

“It’s probably fucking selfish of me, but I like it when it’s just us two sometimes.” His raspy whispers made her grow warm, unable to stop a smile from tugging on her slightly parted lips. Slowly she began to shift around, hand placed on his chest while her eyes found his green ones.

“I always knew you liked me better than your brother.” Dean’s big hand squeezed her side, drawing a loud laugh out of (y/n). Neither of them moved away, eyes holding contact while he kept smiling at her as if time had stopped racing by, allowing them to get lost in this very moment.

“Well, it would be fucking weird if I were into my brother.” The words made her freeze for a second, needing to process what he had just murmured. Her body moved before her mind could, lips meeting Dean’s for a soft kiss. His hand tightened its grip on her waist, beer bottles long forgotten as she straddled his waist. She couldn’t help but be grateful for the grassy ground, working like a cushion beneath her aching knees.

Her hands were pressed to his chest, addicted to the feeling of his racing heartbeat, all too aware that she was the reason for it. Pride simmered deep inside of her, buzzing through her as if she had just been hit by a spell. Something about this moment felt all too real, like they had been destined to find themselves out here together, just the two of them to finally give in.

“I knew you wouldn’t be able to keep your hands off of me for long, sweetheart.” His teasing words made her scoff. But as Dean ran his thumb over her slightly swollen lips, (y/n) couldn’t help but kiss him again, tongues meeting while their lungs were aching for some more air.

“We both know you’re the one being all handsy.” Dean’s hands found her ass, letting his hands rest against the rough fabric of her jeans. He looked at her for a few seconds as if he was debating his next move, wondering how far she’d allow him to take it out here. But (y/n) didn’t move away, didn’t dare to even think about putting an end to their moment together.

“Careful, sweetheart, I don’t have a problem with showing you what being handsy truly means.” Her tongue kissed her teeth as her hands began to tug on his shirt, needing to feel more of him. Dean seemed to understand what she wanted from him, he let go of her for a second to shuffle out of his jacket before pulling his dark shirt over his head. She had seen him without a shirt on a few times before, but this felt different, much realer, more intense than ever before. (Y/n) kissed his tattoo before letting her lips explore more of his skin, already high on this new sensation.

“Perhaps I want you to be all handsy with me, Dean.” For a second, neither of them moved, staring at one another. But then something seemed to give them a push, getting lost in another kiss that made her roll her hips against his. She felt him press against her, hardening in his jeans as if her mere touch had set fire to his system. (Y/n) let go of him without saying another word, she rose to her feet with trembling movements, eyes staring down at Dean as she stepped out of her jeans.

She almost overheard the raspy “Fuck” leaving him, filling the afternoon like a prayer slipping from his lips. Dean’s greedy hands pulled (y/n) back into his lap, he let go of a groan as she rolled her hips again. With shaking fingers she managed to free him, slightly distracted whenever he chased her lips for a kiss.

“Are you sure about this, sweetheart? Do you really want me to fuck you out here?” Her eyes flickered from her hands to his eyes, holding contact as she spat onto his tip to use her saliva as lubricant. Dean’s groans clawed out of him over and over again, ringing in her ears like a song she swore to never forget again, all because of the way her hands pumped him.

“Well, who said you were the one doing all the work?” The glint in her eyes made his breath hitch in his chest. Her hand picked up its speed while he reached for a condom to roll it down his cock. She pushed her damp panties aside, and without needing any more guidance, (y/n) shifted her position to slowly sink down on him.

With their foreheads pressed together, they held still to relish in the new sensation. Her walls fluttered around him, drawing Dean closer to wordlessly communicate what was buzzing through her system. Strong hands supported her movements, allowing her to fuck him with her knees firmly pressed to the ground and her fingernails clawing at his shoulders.

Dean’s head rolled back against Baby, exposing his neck to her wandering lips. She loved to feel him beneath her, buried so deep inside of her she swore he was moulding her to his shape. To both of them sex had always been an outlet, something to distract themselves with, but today it was anything but that. Today it was a silent confession of longing and love, today it was the perfect ending to a successful hunt drawing them even closer.

“Sweetheart,” the word was pressed past his teeth, tightly clenched together. ��You feel so fucking good, just look at you, so perfect.”

His praises made heat simmer inside of her, a sensation that only grew more intense as his cock nudged a spot inside of her that made (y/n) see stars. Lips found back together like a moth drawn to a flame, like magnets unable to part.

“Fuck, I hope you know I won’t ever share you with anybody else ever again.” The possessiveness dripping from Dean’s words only pushed her closer to the edge. She tightened her grip on his shoulders, walls clenching his cock to tell him how ready she was to let go.

With a strong arm wrapped around her back and a hand placed on her neck, Dean drew her against him to hold her close as she came. (Y/n) trembled while her orgasm clashed through her, stealing the air right from her lungs, the strength from her racing heart. Dean fucked into her a few more times before he came with a groan, holding her without giving her the chance to push him away.

“What a way to end a hunt.” (Y/n)’s mumbled words made him chuckle, letting his body vibrate against hers. Slowly, she pulled away to redress, while Dean mimicked her movements, only to tug her back into his lap moments later.

“I mean it, sweetheart, you’re mine now.” The smile she shot him seemed to tell Dean everything he needed to know, slowly accepting that she had always been his.

[cece693]

Hannigram x Male!reader who is constantly staring into mirrors, arguing with themself even if others are around?

Sorry if its a weird ask but just a random thought i had 😣

Okay, so this took quite some time to write since this sounds more like a mental illness and I want to give the subject my full respect. Hope you don't mind me changing some aspects of your request.

My Reflection

pairing: hannigram x male reader tags: mental health matters, not making light of a dark state of mind, hannigram cares, no mentions of murder, you guys can be dating or not, didn't know how to end it so....

You catch your reflection in the mirror for the fifth time that evening. Despite the hum of conversation filling the room, your own reflection is infinitely more captivating—and infinitely more frustrating. You don’t even notice Will pause across the way, the expression on his face flickering to concern. Hannibal notices, too, though his placid demeanor never wavers. Slowly, he sets his wine glass on the table, its dark contents still swirling from a final swirl. He leaves Will’s side, crossing the distance to stand behind you, gazing over your shoulder.

“You again,” you mutter under your breath, your reflection returning the accusation. “Why the hell are you always here?”

“Because you are,” you answer yourself, your lips parted in tense confusion.

Other partygoers shift away, unnerved by your quiet argument with the mirror, but Hannibal’s presence doesn’t falter. Will sidles closer, still somewhat hesitant. He understands damaged psyches intimately—yet you’re not quite like him. Sometimes, it’s easier to stay near Hannibal, whose unwavering calm serves as a reassuring anchor in a sea of unraveling thoughts.

“You’re doing it again,” Will says carefully. His voice has that slight tremor it gets when he’s not sure if stepping in will cause more harm than good.

You startle. You hadn’t realized he was so close. For a moment, a spike of embarrassment grips you. How many saw you having that fight in the mirror? Instinctually, you look for Hannibal. He’s right at your back, so close that the gentle brush of his suit sleeve against your arm gives you the smallest jolt of comfort—and maybe a warning, too.

“I’m sorry,” you reply, voice low. “Sometimes I…I just can’t help it.”

Hannibal’s gaze meets yours in the reflection, and he smiles in that composed, almost paternal way he has when coaxing secrets into the open. “What do you see when you speak to yourself?” he asks softly, voice smooth as satin. “Is it an argument—or an interrogation?”

He frames the question with polite curiosity, though Will can sense Hannibal’s psychological gears turning. You swallow, uncertain how to begin. You shake your head at your own reflection. Long seconds pass, and you realize the silence is thick with tension. Across the way, someone’s eyes flick in your direction before they hurriedly turn away, as if they’ve seen something too personal. But Hannibal doesn’t look away. Neither does Will.

“It’s more like a scolding,” you admit at last. “Sometimes I see blame. Guilt.”

"And you speak it aloud to banish it?” Will murmurs, searching your face.

You shake your head. “Sometimes I just get stuck on the thought. I try to push it back—tell it it’s wrong. But it never feels like it listens.”

Slowly, Hannibal’s hand rests lightly on your shoulder—a practiced, intimately precise gesture that makes you feel as if you’re the only person in the room. “Thoughts that take shape as your reflection,” he says, leaning closer, “can be powerful. Perhaps it’s worth listening to what it’s truly trying to say.”

Hannibal is not saying stop, he’s saying understand.

Will nods in measured agreement. His empathy draws him closer to your side, and you realize you’re physically sandwiched between the two men—warm on either side, as though you’re the center of gravity, and they’re there to keep you upright.

The three of you move to a quieter corner, away from prying eyes. If Hannibal is aware of the awkward stares, he certainly doesn’t show it. Will gently leads you by the elbow, perhaps more mindful of your vulnerability. Hannibal, still poised and confident, keeps pace effortlessly. “This compulsion to talk to your reflection, has it always been with you?” Will asks once you’re settled.

Nodding slowly, you glance at the glimmer of a silver tray on a nearby table, your eyes darting to its polished surface. It reflects back your own troubled expression. Once again, you start: “Why can’t you just go away—?”

Will places his hand lightly on top of yours. The contact halts your words, but you don’t pull away. There’s something in his gaze that resonates with empathy. He’s told you before about his own intrusive thoughts and empathy-driven nightmares; you take quiet solace that you aren’t alone in grappling with an internal battle made manifest. “That voice…it’s from inside,” Will says gently. “Sometimes ignoring it makes it worse.”

Hannibal, standing beside you, leans in slightly, dark eyes flicking between you and your reflection on the tray, as though measuring your every breath: “Would you be willing to show me how the conversation goes?” he asks, infinitely patient.

You hesitate, but find yourself nodding. Because, in a strange, disquieting way, you trust him—both of them. You can’t quite articulate why. Perhaps it’s the quiet acceptance you find in Will, or the consuming fascination in Hannibal’s eyes, which never judges you in front of others. In that moment, you let them stand witness as you speak to your reflection again.

Your voice trembles as you open your mouth. “It’s your fault,” you say to the reflection. “Everything you do, it just breaks things. Hurts people. Can’t you stop?" And softly, you respond back to yourself, allowing the words to slip out. “No. I—I don’t know how.”

It’s not exactly two separate people talking, but the mirrored conversation—your reflection’s expression changing in your mind’s eye—feels real enough to make you shiver. Will sucks in a breath, tension writ into the set of his shoulders. You sense his empathy hooking onto your anguish, wanting to ease it. Meanwhile, Hannibal’s voice drifts over you:

“Listen to the second voice,” he suggests. “The one pleading that it doesn’t know how to stop. Perhaps that is the side that requires the most kindness.”

He reaches out, fingertips just barely grazing the underside of your chin, guiding your gaze away from the mirror and onto him. Will presses closer, the heat of him anchoring you. “We can help,” Will murmurs.

You look from Will’s earnest eyes to Hannibal’s calm, studious expression. Though their approaches differ, there’s equal intensity in the way they observe your every move. You realize with a small flutter in your chest that the two of them might be more than just onlookers to your suffering—they want to understand you, to envelop you in their own strange way.

[good-beanswrites]

Hello!! If you're still taking requests for that drabble game, might I request either Strength with Kotoko + Mikoto or Weak with Amane + Futa? It's fine if you aren't doing it anymore, of course

I've been in this fanbase since trial one and out of all the things I've read, your writing is probably amongst my favorite! (Even if I haven't finished going through it all yet...) I hope you have a splendid day! <3

!!!!! You are so kind waaahh this completely made my day, thank you ;---; I'm so glad you're enjoying omg ✨And thanks for these, they were really cool and fitting combos!! I tried to do a dual-perspective of Kotoko and Mikoto's pre-T2 fight, and I posted the one for Weak below.

Strength can manifest in a variety of ways, not just physically. Kotoko had a strong determination, for example. Mikoto had a powerful way with people. She showed solid self control and willpower. He held to strict deadlines and routines. She maintained a sharp intelligence. He upheld an unshakeable resolve.

Also, they were both ridiculously physically strong.

The pair came to this realization around the same time. They’d gotten a taste of the others’ power when clashing in the interrogation room, but it had begun suddenly and ended just as quickly. This time was different. They stood in the center of the panopticon, with the echoing space to themselves. As Kotoko swung a punch toward Mikoto, and he caught her against his forearms, they had a moment to gauge the other’s muscle. 

Kotoko stared into his eyes, which had a different sort of awareness to them now. He’s more coordinated, she thought, he must not be the same one I faced before. He’s leaning on the strength in his arms -- he’s not using his legs to their fullest potential. It doesn’t matter, given the raw force of his blows. Has he trained for fights, or just built his muscles in general? 

Mikoto stared into her eyes, returning her fiery gaze. Fuck, this lady’s strong.

She wound up again. He retaliated quickly. She shoved his back into the guard’s tower. He sidestepped her next attack. 

He didn’t really care why his fellow prisoner had come charging at him swinging, but she made sure he knew.

“The warden may not be able to administer punishments,” she said in between timed breaths, “so they entrusted me with that responsibility. This is justice, for the lives you’ve taken. You won’t be able to hurt anyone else.”

He broke into harsh laughter. “You’re one crazy motherfucker! You’re the only person hurting anyone.” He tried to grab her, but she slipped from his arms. His eyes narrowed, laughter dying away with unsettling speed. “But there’s no way in hell I’m letting you hurt me.”

Kotoko was struck by the way he said it. Her voice had shaken with the very same determination when putting herself between an innocent citizen and some creep. It was how she felt now, trying to keep his violent hands away from the other prisoners. There were children here, weak and scared. Es themself was just a child, and had already suffered his violence. She refused to let this villain cause any more pain. “I’m doing what needs to be done. You’re nothing but a murderous monster.” She swung her fist.

Mikoto caught her by the wrist, forcing her to look at the blood caked in her hand. He didn’t know whose it was, but it wasn't either of theirs. “You’re the fucking monster!” He shoved her backwards. “And I’m gonna kill you for it…!”

He didn’t know how she could think she was the hero in this whole situation. He was the one protecting someone else. 

Neither held back. Mikoto wheezed as her boots connected. Kotoko cringed as Mikoto landed a solid hit on her face. There was some shouting from the hallway. Their resolves hardened. Mikoto wasn’t going to let anyone else threaten him. Kotoko wasn’t going to let him threaten anyone else. They were strong, they reminded themselves. They had to end this now.

The two charged at one another. A moment before they were set to collide, they both cried out in pain. Blinding white light flooded the dark panopticon. They clutched their eyes, stumbling away from one another. A figure shoved through, planting himself between them.

“Stop this, both of you!” It was Kazui.

“Get outta my way,” Mikoto growled.

“This is not your concern,” Kotoko said, blinking in the light. 

The spotlight in the guard’s tower had been switched on, pointed directly at them. Kazui remained in place. “That’s enough. Look at yourselves, for god’s sake!”

Under the harsh light, they now saw the sort of state they were in. Mikoto’s uniform had torn in new places, blood seeping through. He could taste some in his mouth, too. Kotoko’s face was cut. Her leg ached. They stood covered in bruises, panting. 

“Go back to your cells,” Kazui commanded. “We’ll sort this out in the morning.”

Kotoko squared her shoulders. “There’s nothing to sort out. He’s a murderer. I won’t lose to him.”

“This bitch tried to kill me. I’m not letting her get away with it.”

“I don’t care.” Kazui said simply. “Call it a draw. You’ll both tear yourselves apart if you keep going.”

They continued staring at one another as if their gaze alone could take them to the ground, but neither moved to fight. 

Mikoto felt a pang of guilt. Lost in adrenaline, he didn’t realize how banged up he was. He thought of how much pain he’d experience in the upcoming days. The whole point was to save himself from harm. 

Kotoko cursed Kazui for interrupting her. As one of the forgiven, he was supposed to be on her side. Even if he wasn’t honorable enough to see her as an ally, she’d have to be the bigger person. She wouldn’t threaten him. 

Neither was happy about conceding, but couldn't think of a better option given their end goals.

Kazui remained between them as they stalked off to their respective cells.

“A temporary draw,” Kotoko muttered to Mikoto. She flashed a grin that felt more like an animal baring its teeth.

He returned the smile. “You won't be so lucky next time.”

[purplereina11]

The Perfect Shot Series You get a second date with Alexia

Word count: 6K

Your thoughts had been solely dancing around that blind date with Alexia mere days ago, the spark of her laughter still echoing in your mind , your heart raced at the thought of the kiss. You could still feel the warmth of her lips lingering on your own, a very sweet reminder of the evening together. Your nerves peaked at the thought of seeing her again, you doubted you would ever see her again, neither of you offered up contact information.

Carla hadn’t asked for any details about your night nor had you decided to offer any up to her, it made you wonder if Alexia had told her all about it and that’s why she didn’t ask you. You found yourself outside the Barcelona training ground in your car waiting to pick Carla up, your stomach was doing back flips. You weren’t sure whether it was nerves or excitement at the prospect of catching a glimpse of Alexia.

You were sat looking out the opposite window waiting for Carla to appear when a slow, a soft rhythmic tap on your drivers window made you jump you turned and there stood Alexia a little smile on her lips. You put your window down, “Hola” she said, it took everything in you to not bite your lip when both of her forearms rested on the roof above your window, “Stalking me?”

You expressed air from your nose in amusement, “I’m picking Carla up” Your eyes were bright as they looked up to Alexia at your window, your lips spread into a smile as she was holding eye contact.

Her lips matched yours which made your stomach flutter like you had a family of butterflies in there, “I had really great time Friday”

You turned your body to her, “Me to” you were hopeful she’d maybe suggest doing it again, however as her mouth opened the passenger door opened and a wave of disappointment washed over her face and body language.

“Hi, sorry the girls training ran over got out as soon as I could” Carla got into the car, as she turned to put her seat belt on, she froze seeing Alexia at the window, “Should i go?” She whispered making you laugh gently

“Go where exactly?” You asked eyeing her.

“I forgot my phone” she unbuckled herself, “I am so sorry, I won’t be two minutes” you reached over plucking the phone from her lap, she snatched it from you, “Not that one” the door flew open and closed again just as quickly.

As Carla hurried away, the world around you seemed to blur, leaving only you and Alexia in that moment, the air thick with unspoken words. You could feel the warmth radiating from her presence, her smile lingering like a sweet melody, echoing in the silence between you.

“Looks like it’s just us for a moment,” she said, her voice a soft murmur, laced with a hint of mischief. Her gaze was magnetic, drawing you in deeper, and for a heartbeat, it felt as if the universe had conspired to create this intimate bubble where time stood still. “I don’t mean to interrupt you,” she continued, her tone playful yet sincere, her forearms still resting elegantly on the roof of your car. “But maybe it’s a sign?”

“A sign?” you echoed, curiosity piqued, as you leaned slightly closer, entranced by the spark in her eyes.

“Yeah,” she said, a teasing lilt in her voice. “Carla said her friend was picking her up, Patri asked if it was the one who always does, tell me how you seem to be here a lot and today is the only day i’ve spotted you after our date Friday?” You stayed quiet unsure how to respond to that clearly rhetorical question, “It’s a sign that we should spend more time together.”

Your heart raced at the thought, a flutter of hope igniting in your chest. “I’d like that,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper, as if saying it too loudly might shatter the fragile magic of the moment.

Just then, Carla returned, her presence breaking the spell but not extinguishing the warmth that lingered between you and Alexia. As she settled back into the car, you stole a glance at Alexia, who flashed you a knowing smile, and in that fleeting exchange, a promise seemed to linger—a promise of more moments, more laughter, and perhaps even more magic. Carla was speaking obnoxiously loud on her phone, Alexia let a hand rest in the gap the window should have been so tantalising close for you to reach out and feel her touch again. “You free tomorrow?” She asked

You swallowed, she wanted to see you so soon, you had an argument with yourself should you be busy? Not be so accessible but then you questioned why you would play games when you quite obviously enjoyed spending time in each others company. “I’m at work til four”

Alexia looked past you ever so briefly as Carlas conversation seemed to of come to a complete stop but conveniently started up again soon as Alexia looked at her. Subtitly wasn’t Carlas strong suit. “Can you get to work if you don’t drive there?” You simply nodded, “Good, then don’t, i’ll pick you up” she gave you a little smile and without another word she walked away.

“What the fuck?” Carla exclaimed, you saw in your wing mirror Alexia turn back to look.

“Will you at least wait until i’ve shut my window!” You said as the window went up smiling seeing Alexia laugh to herself. “You’re so embarrassing sometimes” you spoke with a smile on your face watching Alexia.

“Spill! Now!” Carla looked over her shoulder to look at Alexia, then back to you as you pulled away.

You wanted to play coy you wanted to keep some information to yourself keep those moments between you and Alexia private. But the girl in you just had to talk about it, you exuded excitement you could not take the smile off your face, “We had a nice time”

“Oh my god” Carla laughed shaking her head looking out the window

“What?” You smiled, “What did you expect Carla? You’re the one that bloody set us up!”

Carla turned her head to you she watched you for a moment as you navigated through the city traffic to get to the beach for the afternoon. “I never imagined she’d want to see you again”

“Charming!” You laughed, “You're my friend you know that right?” You looked to Carla when it occurred to you, “What exactly were you trying then when you set us up?”

“I didn’t think either of you would actually say yes”

“I didn’t get much choice”

“No but she did and she seemed pretty keen to meet you” You blushed looking away as the car in-front you began moving again, Carla narrowed her eyes at you, “But i feel you already knew that” The smile you held was infectious to Carla who couldn’t stem her own as she watched you intently

“It was my eyes apparently” you picked your drink from its cup holder to wet your dry mouth, “She just had to see them in person”

“She said that?” Carla sat forward to get a better look at your face her mouth hung open, leaving you a giggling mess moving your eyes to her. “I knew Alexia was charming but fucking hell girls got rizz”

“Really?” You laughed, “Your saying rizz now?”

“I felt uncomfortable soon as i said it” You both laughed as you continued to drive, you were thankful Carla didn’t continue to question. You didn’t want to lie to your only friend in Spain but it was private. Whatever was happening, if Carla didn’t know her or have a hand in the meeting you wouldn’t have even told her you’d gone on a date.

You had a whole 24 hours to over think everything, what Alexia was going to do with you once she picked you up. Did she have a plan? Was she going to see what you wanted to do? Was she going to wing it? All these questions and emotions swirled around you the whole day at work, one longer than normal as it was media day, your first in charge. The players all said how much they enjoyed it, you’d thought of inventive ways for them to interact with each other for content that you’d post over the coming weeks.

You were at one point cry laughing when you were watching them do a TikTok trend so you were using the mirror in the locker room to sort your face out before Alexia was due to pick you up. You collected your work bag and you came out the exit bang on four o’clock and as she promised there was Alexia. You couldn’t help the smile as she was leaning back on the bonnet of her car waiting for you, she had yet to spot you as she was having a good ol’ look around at the facility. As you neared you caught her by surprise when you suddenly spoke into the relative quiet. “Scoping out the competition?”

Her hard expression softened as soon as her eyes landed on you, she put her hand out, “I’ll take your bag, put it in the back” You dutifully handed over the bag, she gave you a smile moving around to the back of the car, you eyed the expensive looking car before you. A cupra. Nice. Your eyes moved back to her when she opened the passenger side door. “Your carriage awaits” You sucked your teeth as you smiled at her corniness.

“Where are you taking me exactly?” You asked slotting into the space between the car and her holding the door open

"Somewhere special," Alexia says with a mischievous glint in her eye, makes your heart skip a beat "But that's for me to know and you to find out."

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued by her mysterious demeanour. As you slide into the passenger seat, the leather cool against your skin, you catch a whiff of her perfume – a light, floral scent that makes your heart skip a beat.

Alexia closes your door and walks around to the driver's side, hoping into the driver's side with a graceful flourish, her perfume wafting through the car. She settles in beside you, her presence filling the car with an electric energy.

"Ready for an adventure?" she asks, turning the key in the ignition. The engine purrs to life, her fingers drumming excitedly on the steering wheel.

You nod, a mix of anticipation and curiosity bubbling in your chest. "As ready as I'll ever be," you reply, your voice a mix of excitement and nervous energy, unable to keep the smile from your face.

Alexia flashes you a radiant smile her eyes sparkling that makes your heart race. She pulls out into traffic, weaving through the narrow streets of Barcelona with practiced ease. The city of Barcelona unfolds before you as Alexia navigates through the bustling streets. The city is alive with energy around you, a vibrant tapestry of sights and sounds. Street vendors hawk their wares, the aroma of fresh paella wafting through the air. Tourists snapping photos, locals chatting animatedly at sidewalk cafes, the aroma of fresh Paella being over taken by bread and coffee. The warm late afternoon sun casts a golden glow over the colourful buildings, and you find yourself stealing glances at her profile as she drives.

You lean back in your seat, drinking in the scenery. "So, no hints at all about where we're going?"

Alexia laughs, a melodious sound that fills the car. "Patience, mi amor. Good things come to those who wait." As you drive, Alexia points out landmarks, her voice filled with enthusiasm. "Look, there's La Sagrada Família!" she exclaims, gesturing towards the towering spires of Gaudí's masterpiece.

You're captivated by her excitement, drinking in every word and gesture and little tidbit of information she offered you about the city she clearly knew extremely well. The way her hand moves as she speaks, the curve of her smile, the warmth in her eyes - it all makes your heart swell.

As you drive, the bustling city center gives way to winding coastal roads. The Mediterranean stretches out before you, a dazzling expanse of blue.

"Ah, we're heading to the coast?" you ask, unable to contain your curiosity any longer.

Alexia's eyes twinkle with mischief. "Maybe, maybe not. You'll just have to wait and see."

The car winds its way along the coastal road, the sea breeze ruffling your hair through the open window. Alexia watches you with a smile snapping pictures of the sea the passion visible to see of your love of capturing landscapes. You breathe in deeply, savouring the salty air and the faint scent of Alexia's perfume. The tension of the city melts away, replaced by a sense of peaceful anticipation.

You laughed as Alexia filled the comfortable silence with the radio both happily singing along, Alexia showing her goofy side by doing what only could be described as the boy band hand air grab as she sung, badly, along to a power ballad. You of course joined in, it was no secret you were a Whitney Houston fan, it was a secret you could half kind of sing, Alexia’s eye brows raising in shock. “You sing good” You pulled a face. You hadn’t realised you’d driven nearly half an hour with Alexia by the time the car was slowing from the faster roads you took the time to look around.

“Where are we?”

“Mollet del Vallès,” Alexia spoke softer turning the radio down to barely a whisper, “I grew up here” your head turned to Alexia, “When we were having drinks, you asked me what was one of my passions I had outside of football”

You nodded, “I remember”

“And I said I didn’t know, well-i wanted to show you instead of tell you about it” You smiled ever so softly, you looked as she parked her car.

“You’re passionate about a pizzeria?” You smiled seeing the quant little building before you, you looked back to Alexia when you heard her door pop.

“No. Wait here, I’ll be back, I’m picking up dinner” You nodded sitting back against the cool leather and watched her be greeted with great warmth when she got inside the smallest pizza shop you’d ever seen. Alexia was all smiles as she held a conversation having fits of laugher, your stomach churned as it always did when her eyes landed on you. You watched the older gentlemen look in your direction, he smiled and waved at you, you returned the gesture giggling to yourself at how sweet he appeared even from here.

You watched as Alexia came back to the car, she handed you the pizzas she had collected she’d pre-ordered and paid for to be ready for when she got here, put her seatbelt back on and reversed out her parking space and headed off down the road. She pointed out all the places she thought would have been of interest to you about her, her primary school, her high school, the school her sister teaches in. You were really starting to build a picture of the early life of Alexia and you were loving every second, you pictured little Alexia on the children’s park you drove past. Running, playing living so carefree.

You leant forward in your seat as you came upon a white building, curiosity peaked 11 Foundation: Alexia Putellas Academy, Alexia parked the car plucked keys from her pocket and flicked her head, “Come on” You got yourself and the pizzas safely out the car your brows furrowing at the cooler Alexia got from the boot.

“What’s in there?”

“Secret” she smiled and began walking, “Come on Elsa, keep up” You shook your head at the glint she had in her eye when she checked you were indeed actually following. “You first” she held the door open you dipping under her arm to go through the gate taking tentative steps forward to what was essentially two football pitches side by side, it wasn’t all dissimilar to Badalondas training ground. Alexia leads you out into the middle of the pitch and brings out a blanket you hadn’t even seen her carrying, "I thought we could have a little picnic," she says, her voice soft and inviting. "And I could tell you about this place maybe do a little tour"

Together, you spread the blanket on the grass. Alexia begins unpacking the cooler, revealing an array of local delicacies - jamón ibérico, manchego cheese, olives, and a bottle of Estrella, you placed the two pizza boxes on the blanket as she made you smile when she popped you open a beer. She remembered. “Pizza and beer” You smiled as she clinked her alcohol free one into yours. “So what is this place then? I can obviously see its an academy”

You could see the passion coming from Alexia as she spoke of her project, you had many questions she was more than happy to answer-she spoke of the future and what she hoped to achieve with it and where she wanted to take it and it was inspiring. You looked around as she spoke taking in every little inch of her passion project she was gracious to share with you in person.

“Do you manage to get here much?”

"Not as much as I'd like," Alexia admits with a rueful smile, her eyes still sparkling with enthusiasm. "Between work and, well, life, I usually only make it here on a coupe of weekends a month if that."

You nod, understanding the struggle of balancing passion projects with daily responsibilities. As you begin tucking into the food before you, the early evening sun streams through the large space, casting a warm glow on the occasion.

"But," she continues, her voice picking up, "every moment I spend here feels like pure magic. It's like time stops, you know?"

You do know. You can feel it now - that sense of being suspended in a perfect bubble of creativity and possibility. Your fingers itch to pick up a paintbrush, to add your own mark to this inspiring space. You pointed, “Is that like a mural?” You asked seeing one wall full of graffiti, “Do the girls do that?”

Alexia nodded, “Any new girl that comes in, we ask them to write a word or a sentence on that wall,” she bit into her slice of pizza as your head was turned away from her admiring the creativity within it clearly someone taking time to draw around the inspiring words. “If you’re good, later I’ll let you write something”

You rose your eyebrows as your head turned back around her, “Good in behaviour or are you going to be putting me through my paces?”

Alexia’s head went back slightly as she laughed, “I like the sound of both” Alexia watched you continue to look around, you really were in awe with what Alexia had built and wanted to achieve here.

“My Neice would love this place” Alexia simply hummed, she didn’t want to ask questions not since you said you didn’t like speaking about your family, you nodded, “Yeah, she’s 9 and football mad”

“Do you have many siblings?”

You looked back to Alexia, “I’m the youngest of three girls” you smiled softly, “I’m the disappointment” you found yourself being oddly honest, which was a change for you, “My oldest sister, she’s a doctor, and my other sister is a lawyer, then I came along and wanted to take my silly little pictures”

Alexia's eyes soften as she listens to you, her pizza forgotten on the lid of its box. "Hey, don't say that. Your pictures aren't silly at all" she says gently, reaching across to touch your hand. "There's nothing silly about your pictures. You're an artist, and that's something to be proud of."

You feel a warmth spreading through your chest at her words, and you can't help but smile. "Thanks," you murmur, looking down at where her fingers rest on yours feeling suddenly shy. “Thanks. It's just… sometimes it's hard not to compare myself to them, sometimes it’s hard to feel like I measure up, you know?"

Alexia nods, her thumb tracing small circles on your skin. "I get it. But you're not them, you're you. You know what? The world needs artists just as much as it needs doctors and lawyers. Maybe even more." There was a slight pause before Alexia added more, “And from what I've seen of you, you're pretty amazing”

You look up, meeting her gaze. There's a spark of something in her eyes – understanding, maybe, or admiration. It makes your heart skip a beat. It’s being doing that a lot lately. You feel a blush creeping up your neck, and you clear your throat, trying to change the subject. "So, um,” You say eager to change the subject, looking back to the mural to break the eye contact sending you in a daze, “What kind of things have been written on the wall?”

“Come on” she said grabbing her half eaten pizza slice and beer, “I’ll show you” Alexia pointed to each word and translated it for you as you slowly moved along the wall you stopped walking to admire the painting someone had done of Alexia amongst the words, she took a step expecting you to move in time like you had been doing but you didn’t. She was stood incredibly close her face came closer to yours as she pointed past you, “That’s my uncle Ricards he wrote, nothing is impossible” she was whispering due to the close proximity, it was sending shivers down your spine you hoped you were hiding well, “The world itself says I’m possible”

“I like that” you speak with a genuine smile, you looked to the pen Alexia held in front of you, your eyes followed its holders arm up to her eyes.

“What you going to write?”

“I can’t write Spanish”

“You don’t have to write it in Spanish, Ricard didn't he just has awful hand writing” You took the pen pressing it to your chin as you looked for a spot and contemplated what you wanted to write, when you finished writing you heard, “What did you write?”

“I wrote” You glanced to Alexia, as you read it out loud, “Always do your best, everybody’s best is different, you can’t always be the best, but you can always do your best and that’s good enough”

Alexia's eyes light up as she heard your words, a soft smile playing on her lips. "That's beautiful," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "I think that's exactly what this wall needed."

You feel a warmth spreading through your chest at her approval. For a moment, you both stand there, admiring your contribution to the colourful tapestry of thoughts and dreams on the wall. The distant sounds of the town fade away, and all you can focus on is Alexia's presence beside you, the scent of her perfume mingling with the aroma of pizza and spray paint.

Suddenly, Alexia turns to you, her eyes dancing with excitement, “Time to put you through your paces now” she flicked her eyebrows at you. She laughed shaking her head at your face finishing her pizza walking away to a locked door unlocking it and coming out with a couple of balls in her arms one at her feet, she shut the door behind her, “You look terrified” she laughed

“You’ve won two ballon d’ors! Even if i was half average, which i’m not, i would look like an idiot around you”

Alexia was walking away, “There’s no difference then” she joked

You can't help but laugh at her playful jab, feeling a mix of nervousness and excitement as you follow her onto the small practice pitch. The sun is starting to dip lower in the sky, casting a golden glow across the field. Alexia drops the balls at her feet and turns to face you, a mischievous glint in her eye.

"Okay," she says, placing her hands on her hips. "Show me what you've got."

You take a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves. "Alright, but go easy on me."

Alexia grins, "No promises."

She passes you the ball, and you trap it under your foot, surprised at how natural it feels. "Not bad," she nods approvingly. "Let's see what else you've got." You start to dribble, hesitantly at first, but then with growing confidence. Alexia moves to defend, her movements strong and fluid.

For the next hour, you find yourself caught up in a whirlwind. Alexia's infectious energy pushes you to try harder, to reach further. Her laughter rings out each time you stumble, but it's never mocking – always encouraging, drawing you back in. Often you wonder if she was trying to get the ball at all her arms always seemed to end up around you her feet making no attempt to get the ball right in front of her in reach..

As she chases the ball across the pitch, you can't help but marvel at her grace and skill. She seems amused that you changed your tac and just booted the ball away.

“Show off” you smirk watching her flick the ball around as she moved back towards you that ever present smile plastered on her face.

“Let’s play a game” she spoke, “You take a penalty” she put the ball down, “if i save it i get a kiss, if you make it, you get a kiss”

You smiled, “So either way, we’re kissing?” Alexia nodded almost proud with her plan, “Do you want to just cut out the middle man skip the foreplay and get down to business?”

You watch her come out the goal giggle when she can’t but help herself putting the ball in the net as she moved past it, as she neared your smiles grew. She pulls you closer your bodies crashing together her hand moving along your jaw to guide your face to hers, “I do want to as you say get down to business”

Your heart races as her lips meet yours, soft and eager. The bustling sounds of the town fade away, leaving only the warmth of her embrace and the faint scent of jasmine in her hair. You lose yourself in the kiss, savoring every sensation - the gentle pressure of her fingers on your skin, the curve of her waist beneath your hands, the way she sighs contentedly against your lips as your mouths move in perfect synchronicity. Your fingers gripped the clothes beneath your touch when her tongue flicked over yours, your groin instinctively pushing into hers begging for her hands to wander if only slightly.

When you part, breathless and dizzy, you find yourself gazing into her sparkling eyes. A playful smile tugs at the corners of her lips as you whisper, "Next time if you want to kiss me, just ask”

She nodded her face coming closer again, she brushed her lips tantalisingly over yours before quickly touching them together, “Ok” your lip went between your teeth as you smiled, Alexia’s eyes were firmly on your lips, she guided your lip back from between your teeth with her thumb, with a satisfying snap before pressing her lips back against yours. “Don’t do that”

“Why?” You whispered your faces still painfully close

“I don’t feel comfortable sharing why on just our second date” Alexia was thankful you seemed to understand as your smile grew.

You both looked as you heard the gate go, you watched an older woman work through the gate and pause when she saw the pair of you.

“Mami?” Alexia questioned confusion laced in her voice, she moved by you leaving you to fold your arms over yourself suddenly feeling cold. You heard them speaking Spanish as you busied yourself looking anywhere but to the mother daughter duo. “What are you doing here? It’s late”

“You set the alarm off” her mother spoke she pointed to the equipment cupboard door slightly ajar her eyes moving to you, “Who’s that?” She asked

Alexia swallowed looking to you to, “Um, a girl from works friend” Alexia’s mother knew her well enough to know she was just a friend, her swollen lips were a bit of a give away to. For Alexia's mother it was a complete shock Alexia was even entertaining a woman, Alexia to her mothers ears said how she's resigned herself to the fact with her acclaim and busy schedule she'd never get to meet someone. Alexia was always dead set against the idea of dating.

“She looks nice”

Alexia nodded looking back to her mother, “She is”

Eli smiled softly touching her daughters forearm, “Secret is safe with me amor” she nodded gently

“It’s quite new” Alexia offered, “I don’t know if” her mother cut in,

“You don’t need to explain, just next time, put in the damn code in if you're leaving the door open, you would never of heard the end of it if i let your sister come like she wanted to” they both shared a laugh before Alexia became serious you unable to hear what they were saying even if you could understand, you hoped she wasn’t telling her mother off.

“You shouldn’t be coming here alone what if someone really had broken in?”

“I saw your car, I wouldn’t of gotten out if i hadn’t recognised a car or someone” Alexia nodded following her mother as she took slow steps to leave, “i’ll withhold judgment” Eli spoke glancing in your direction, “Night amor”

“Goodnight Mami” they kissed cheeks before Alexia watched through the gate that her mother got back into her car ok.

You turned when you felt Alexia hand suddenly touch your waist after you failed yet again at getting past 4 kick ups, “Everything ok?”

Alexia nodded, “I set a security alarm off, Mami was coming to check it out and saw my car” your eyes moved as you heard a car leaving.

“Well i bet you feel guilty dragging her out”

“I always forget the damn code” Alexia laughed softly

“Does your mum come here a-lot?”

Alexia nodded “My mami is here everyday, she’s a god send without her this place wouldn’t run its her project just as much as it is mine.” You smiled sweetly as Alexia’s hand was yet to be withdrawn, you swallowed as it felt quiet as your eyes stayed locked with one another’s. “Should probably think about making a move? It’s getting late”

You hummed, “I hadn’t noticed”

Alexia smiled as she leaned back in, her hand got lost in your hair as you finished where you left off, you smiled as Alexia’s hand moved lower and seemed to stutter unsure if it should carry on to your hip. You reached to take her wrist in your hand and guided it to where you both wanted it, the kissing stopped briefly her grin infectious.

“Again” you whispered, “Just do it”

“I didn’t want to over step a line, i’m aware this is only our second date”

You let your arms come around her neck pulling your bodies as close as your faces, your lips brushing hers as you spoke, “You said that already .. Don’t worry, If you do, i’ll tell you” your lips pressed passionately together as both her hands now sat on your hips pulled your groin tight to hers leaning you back slightly. The kissing was a breathless passionate one, but no tongue, it felt like you kissed for an eternity but that still wasn’t long enough when you broke apart.

“Not to sound cheesy” Alexia spoke, “But i feel scarily comfortable around you considering we have just met” You hummed, “You hadn’t told Carla about the date?” She suddenly asked.

You swallowed as a slight distance was created, “No, she never asked”

“What did you say when she did?”

“Um, just that i had a nice time and then we went onto how she was shocked you’d want to see me again, and how offended I was after that”

“I’ll be having words with her” Alexia narrowed her eyes jokingly, “She clearly needs to borrow your glasses”

Your time at the academy soon came to an end you helped her pack up and head back into the car, you stopped following her with a smile she turned back looking confused. You pointed to the keys in the gates lock, “You not taking these keys with you?” You shook your head in amusement as you took them out checked she’d actually locked up, which she hadn’t, “Alexia!” You said in mock disappointment, as you moved to the car you tossed them to her. “Really?”

As you settled into the passenger seat, you couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at Alexia. The way she looked at you, a mix of contemplation and admiration, made your heart skip a beat. “You’re distracting,” you said, a teasing smile playing on your lips.

She held your gaze for a moment, her expression thoughtful. The night air was thick with unspoken words, and the atmosphere felt charged, as if the world outside had faded away. You watched her stay outside for a few beats, the glow of the streetlights casting a soft halo around her. Then, the door swung open, and she slipped into the car beside you, not starting the engine just yet.

“It’s weird,” she began, her voice low and earnest. “I find myself when I’m with you like the whole world just stops, but time seems to double in speed.”

Her words hung in the air, and you could feel the weight of their meaning pressing down on you. You turned to face her fully, intrigued by the vulnerability in her tone. “What do you mean?” you asked gently, wanting her to elaborate.

Alexia leaned back in her seat, her gaze drifting to the windshield as if searching for the right words among the stars above. “It’s like… when we’re together, everything else fades away. The noise, the chaos, even my worries. But at the same time, it feels like the moments we share slip by so quickly, almost too quickly.”

You nodded, understanding the essence of what she was saying. You felt it too — those moments filled with laughter, deep conversations, and the blissful silence that only two people in sync could share. “I get it,” you replied, your voice softening. “It’s like we’re in our own little universe.”

She turned to you, her eyes sparkling with a mixture of excitement and something deeper. “Exactly! It’s like… nothing else is happening when I’m with you.”

A comfortable silence settled between you, the weight of her words lingering like a sweet melody. You could feel the connection between you deepening, a thread of understanding weaving its way through your hearts. In that moment, the outside world ceased to exist. Just like Alexia said happened for her. Your heart began racing as she reached for your hand. You intertwined your fingers, feeling the warmth radiate between you.

Alexia smiled, a soft blush creeping onto her cheeks.

A rush of affection surged through you, and you squeezed her hand gently, Alexia finally turned the ignition, the car humming to life. “Let’s get you home, we have work tomorrow” she said, a soft glint in her eye.

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

[musicallisto]

hello beloved I hope your shoulder surgery goes well!!! as a little distraction can I please ask for a franco colapinto x driver!reader, enemies to lovers? love u and thinking of u always xoxo

· · · · ♡ BOOM, CRASH! (fc43)

… starring franco colapinto x f!driver!reader ... 2.4k words ... in which you get into a nasty crash, and the first person to visit you in the hospital is the last guy you'd ever imagined being worried about you. ... warnings for crash, hospital, injuries, blood, nothing too graphic i think! reader is a bit of a bully tbhh but it is a cutthroat sport 😌 ... if you haven't noticed already, these are all very self-indulgent for me, and this is no exception.

Ironically, the last words you remember telling Franco Colapinto before you barrel into the wall at turn 12 were “Don't crash it.”

“What?”

“Don't crash it,” you repeat pointedly. “Logan wasn't exactly irreproachable in that regard. Budget cap's drawing closer.”

Your smile is wide but dulcet, not quite reaching your eyes, and your teeth are sharp and gritted. To any inopportune cameras that would be pointed at you right now, you only look like a well-meaning driver giving your rookie teammate advice before his second-ever F1 race... but neither you nor Franco miss the electricity crackling in the hallway outside the driver rooms.

“What makes you think I'm gonna crash it?" the Argentinian bites back, all fluttering eyelashes and wolfish smile. Unfazed, as always. Grinds your gears like little else can. "If anything, you be careful to not crash into me. Since I'm starting ahead on the grid and all.”

“Right, I forget it's your first time in Baku. You'll see what I mean soon enough, anyway.”

Your steps lead you down the hallway and to the garages mechanically, a path you've taken dozens of times, wearing different colored suits, following behind different teammates in stride. And this year's Williams blue would've suited you perfectly... if it didn't come attached with the pretentious goofball traipsing behind you.

You don't even bother looking back when you speak again. You raise your chin and brace yourself for the artificial lights of the pitlane.

“Good luck, or whatever.”

“It wouldn't kill you to be nice, you know?”

“Wouldn't kill you to know your place.”

The door handle creaks beneath your gloved hand, drowning out whatever it is Franco mutters in Spanish on the other end of the hall—”re amargada la piba esta” he mumbles to no one but himself—, and at last you are safe, at peace in the nervous bustle of a garage entirely devoted to you.

Sure, getting a new teammate midseason is a tough predicament to find oneself in: a whole new dynamic to establish, a whole routine to fall into. And newbies always get the chance to make good first impressions; not the girl who’s been sitting in the car for two years. You’d told yourself you wouldn’t mind it—Carlos Sainz will be snatching your first driver privileges next year anyway—but it would be easier to comply if the aforementioned new teammate wasn’t an annoying pain in the ass, flirting and laughing his way through the paddock with that detached nonchalance that believes everyone must be wrapped around his finger, and then having the gall to outqualify you on one of your favorite circuits. On his first-ever time there!

So yes, maybe it’s your ego taking up too much space in the tight cockpit of your Williams, obscuring your vision. Maybe it’s the disastrous grip you’ve reported twice now on the radio—Okay, Y/N, we heard that and we’ll get back to you.

Whatever it is, somewhere around lap 20, your car oversteers into a wide spin right as you enter the rapid turn. The steering wheel snaps out of your hands, and it’s like a giant strangles you with all its might for a blink of an eye, barely even a second.

You only know you’ve hit the wall—hard—from the ringing in your ears and soreness of your jaw. What used to be your front right tire lies in front of your smashed wing, rubber and carbon scattered pitifully. Your finger shakes when you lift it and press the radio button.

“I’m OK… I think.”

A flash of red catches the corner of your eye. You’re not sure if it’s from the flag being waved outside of track limits, a Haas zooming past in the corner, or… it’s hot, and viscous on your eyebrow, dripping into your eyes. You bring your hand to your forehead, where your helmet is crushed inward, just above your left eye. Smashed into your forehead.

Then everything kind of blurs together. You vaguely feel someone helping you out of the wreckage, their distant yapping about concussion symptoms not helping your light-headedness at all. You think you slip out of consciousness for the first time then, on the track still, because your next memory is of an ambulance—or what you assume to be an ambulance, you’ve never ridden in one before, and you even think to yourself this new procedure is pretty excessive from the FIA, the medical car was quite sufficient—and then it’s back to nothingness until you wake up for good on a stretcher, hooked to some sort of medical tube—perfusion?—as you’re being ushered into a quiet hospital room.

The nurse who visits you is sweet, filling in the blanks in slow, accented English. The gash to your forehead is pretty deep, but nothing the surgeon doesn’t see at least once a week! (At that, you lift a groggy hand above your brow bone, where you feel a thick bandage.) A few stitches later and you’re good as new, though the blood loss and concussion combined left you pretty weak, and justify keeping you in observation for the night. It’s just protocol, you’re probably used to hospital visits in that line of work of yours, she jokes—and you know you’ve recovered almost all your mental acuity because you get offended at that. No, you don’t usually crash. In fact, you haven’t all season…

And it had to be today of all days, in Baku… after you told Franco to not crash it.

When the nurse leaves the room with the promise she’ll be back in an hour, you let out a long, dreary sigh. Fernando Alonso’s grainy voice over the radio comes to mind. ¡Karma!

Night falls quickly outside your window with nothing to kill time but your phone. After catching up on the race results—somehow you’re too exhausted to feel irritated at Colapinto’s points finish—and posting a reassuring Instagram story for your followers, you’re left to the mercy of your ruminating thoughts. Sleep is impossible to catch; the adrenaline of the race hasn’t worn off yet, and you’ve been knocked out so long now you’re desperate to leave this stretcher.

You’ve just about decided to call the nurse for an early discharge when a shadow appears behind the door’s little windowpane, hesitates for a second, and then knocks. Medical personnel wouldn’t bother; it’s probably your family, or maybe even Vowles, or…

“Hey, how… che, estás hecha mierda.”

You tense immediately when you catch the brown waves of hair and unmistakable accent as Franco walks into your hospital room. He looks genuinely stumped, like he hadn’t expected to see you in such bad condition, so much so he forgets to shut the door behind him.

For some reason, the sight endears you. Makes you want to take him in your arms, feel his realness in this hallucinatory evening. What a ridiculous thought!

“Stop it with the Spanish,” you protest, devoid of your usual fire however. “Maybe it works on your fangirls, but not on me.”

“I said you look like shit.”

“Oh.” You look him straight in the eye, the silliness of the situation dawning on you, and against all odds you start to laugh. A real laugh, more than a chuckle, one that sends phantom pains stabbing through your sore abdomen. “Well if that’s all you’re gonna say, you can stick to Spanish! I don’t want to hear it.”

What did the nurse say about the anesthesia’s side effects? Do they include feeling a little glad and relieved to see your detested teammate? To know he’s the first person to check up on you?

Whatever the reason, you’re laughing, absurdly, and so is Franco, chuckling to himself as he closes the door and drags a chair closer to your bed. His eyes crinkle like a little kid’s, and that’s when you notice his disheveled appearance. Cheeks a little flushed, hair tousled like he’s just run a marathon, he’s wearing a crumpled-up Williams shirt, no doubt the first thing he could get his hands on after the race. It hits you then that he’s probably just off media duties, and the fact he’s alone, with no team delegation in tow, indicates he left early. Just to get to you. To make sure you were alright.

You are a competitor, but you aren’t a monster. The idea Franco couldn’t be bothered to wait for James, or anyone else, tugs at your heartstrings.

“Thank God you told me not to crash it, huh?” he teases between chuckles.

“Shut up.”

“Careful, Y/N, the budget cap is coming for you,” he wiggles his fingers over your face like a looming ghost.

You turn your head away to face the wall, huffing in exasperation, but a throbbing pain traverses your skull, and you wince. Franco’s eyes darken, smile fading into a grave expression.

You rarely see him like this outside of the helmet. It’s novel, but it’s welcome. Almost attractive, in a way.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I… My helmet smashed into my forehead. I was bleeding pretty bad, apparently, they had to stitch me up. I got concussed too. Aren’t helmets supposed to absorb these hits?”

“Concussed?” he repeats, and holds out his hand in a peace sign. “How many fingers?”

You stick out your tongue at the Argentinian, flipping him the bird.

“And now?”

“Ah, come on, don’t be so mean,” Franco chuckles, scooting a little closer to your stretcher with his chair. Unfazed, as always. But this time it doesn’t peeve you; you’re rather thankful for his cheeky banter, actually. For a moment, in the blur of cold white lights and carbon fiber debris, you’d started to fear you could lose it for good. “We were just starting to become friends!”

“That’s because I’m concussed. I don’t want to be friends with you, we’re rivals.”

“Well the whole rivals thing isn’t working very well for you lately. Maybe you’re better off being friends with me.”

You roll your eyes, but the gnawing anxiety that roars in your stomach whenever someone pits you against the rookie stays quiet for once. Perhaps you’re still under the influence of the tranquilizers… or perhaps those brown eyes holding you in their light, tender in a way you’ve never seen them before, make it harder to get mad at him.

“I’ll consider it.”

And you don’t mean it just yet, but you don’t don’t mean it. What do you even hate Franco Colapinto for? Stealing the spotlight from you just two weeks into his career? Flirting with every living being on the paddock except you? Or forcing you to up your game and face your fears?

A stabbing pain crushes your skull all of a sudden, and you shut your eyes, teeth gritted and muscles taut, to try and breathe it out… to no avail. When you open your eyes, Franco is staring at you, brows furrowed in that same serious, concerned expression that sends a wholly different type of pins and needles through your body.

“Everything alright?”

“No… The painkillers. I need another ketoprofen,” you whine, squinting your eyes against the harsh hospital lightning.

“Should I call the nurse?”

“No, they’re on the table over there,” you gesture blindly. “There’s a glass too.”

Only sounds inform you of what’s going on once you close your eyes, faint lights and colors barely piercing through your eyelids. The rustling of fabric, then someone fumbling with cardboard and pills, your sink opening, and then cautious footsteps stopping at the edge of your bed.

“Here.”

You take the pill between weak fingers and fight with all your might to sit up straight in the bed without moving your head… but the soreness and exhaustion from the race and surgery overpower you. So much for neck strength.

“I can’t,” you huff out in defeat. “I can’t tilt my head.”

“It’s okay. Take the pill,” Franco orders softly, and you put the drug on your tongue, too tired to raise the outrage of him bossing you around.

Slowly, carefully, Franco brings the rim of the glass to your lips, and you drink all that you can, training your attention on the medication going down your throat—and not on your teammate’s intense gaze fixed on your mouth, nor the proximity of your bodies or his slightly ragged breath.

“Thank you,” you exhale when you’re done.

Luckily for him, he has his back turned to you when you speak, setting the empty glass down on the table, so you don’t notice his bashful smile. He’s never heard you so docile, affable, even, and though he likes it when you bite back… it feels great, too, to know there is a way to pierce that armor of yours.

“Franco,” you call out to him, neither of you missing how this is one of the first times you’ve called him by his first name. “Do you mind… staying? Just until James or someone else gets here. It gets so boring.”

He spins on his heels in disbelief, scrutinizing you in search of mockery, or irony, or your usual callousness… but all he reads is earnest and the slightest hint of embarrassment, all he sees is your outstretched hand. So he brushes it with his, not daring to hold it purposefully just yet. Like he doesn’t want to overstay his welcome into your bubble.

“Yeah, sure. But only so you won’t get bored.”

“Of course,” you smile faintly as he sits back down on his chair. Your eyes meet in newfound amusement, maybe even temporary fondness. “Don’t go around thinking I like you.”

“Me? I would never. We’re rivals.”

You give a small appreciative nod, and after some instants of silence, clear your throat and ask him to recount the end of the race. Just as you expected, his storytelling is dramatic and entertaining, interspersed with words he doesn’t remember how to say in English and the unmissable zest of grid gossip Franco always brings to his tales. You chuckle, gasp, and pester even, as much as you can with your aching skull and limbs… and barely notice the minutes ticking by, or how you wish the rest of your team would never show up, your distaste for Franco slaking.

Maybe you can be persuaded into liking his presence, after all. So long as he stays out of the car, though… and remains your personal nurse.

… f1 taglist; @retvenkos @giuseppe-yuki (want to be added? send me an ask!)

[just-trying-to-fangirl-in-peace]

The Two (Sauron x fem!Elf!reader)

-> in which Galadriel fights to withhold Nenya and the Nine, but in the end she fails to stop your husband placing yet another ring upon your finger

Warnings: evil!reader, killing (sorry Adar), allusions to smut, injuries suffered by reader (bad ones but not very graphically described), blood drinking for healing purposes

Note: another one in the evil!reader collection. Shout out to this lovely anon for the inspiration behind a certain bit of dialogue.

This is not exactly where you had imagined you would be on this day—shackles around your wrists and blood marring your brow, being escorted through the woods in a filthy and tattered dress by a band of Orcs. You admit it isn’t the best look on you, but circumstances change, and so you must adapt.

So far, you’d say you’re managing quite well.

Adar is not alone as you reach him in the clearing. Facing him is a blonde-haired Elf with whom you have been itching to meet again, now that she has found out the truth of your identity. Galadriel turns towards the approaching Orcs, her eyes widening slightly when she sees you. She may not have known you all that well, but neither could she have imagined that one of Celebrimbor’s unassuming aids was the one being held dearest of all by the very darkness Galadriel had sworn to destroy.

Adar, on the other hand, had never known you as anything else.

“What an unexpected honor,” he says when he sees you. “To what is it owed?”

You stare him down—the Uruk who had been your husband’s near destruction, leaving you to await his return for what had felt like an agonizing eternity. If looks could kill, he would be in bloody pieces.

It’s Glug, one of the Orcs at your side, that answers him. “We found Sauron. He tried to make us betray you, but we resisted. We lost many,” he shoves you into stumbling forward, “but we got our hands on this one. His Queen, he said,” Glug mocks, and the group of Orcs breaks into a cacophony of snorted laughter. Your face remains impassive as Adar approaches you.

“Indeed, Sauron’s bride herself.” Adar stands before you, meeting your gaze head on. “After all this time, you are still at his side.”

“I am at his side once again,” you correct him coldly, “after you took him from me. For centuries.”

“So long ago, yet your hatred of me has not waned,” Adar muses. “I always wondered how deeply this great love he claimed to feel for you truly ran. Whether you were another of his victims, or some unnatural exception. I can only hope he values you as much as you do him.” He turns to Galadriel. “With any luck, she will be enough to draw him out—”

His words are cut off abruptly, and Galadriel gasps—for the tip of a sword had emerged from Adar’s stomach, then withdrew as swiftly as it had cut through him. He falls to the ground, clutching at his wound, looking up only to see you as you truly are.

Without the illusion, there is not a speck of dirt on you, never mind blood or shackles. You stand clad in elegant battle armour, your bloodied sword held in your hand with the ease and practice of centuries.

Realization dawns on Adar’s face, as you had seen it on those of so many others before, a little too late. “My children!” he calls out, visibly astonished that he even has to. Yet not one of the Orcs move.

“For years, I’ve wondered,” you mock his musing tone from before, crouching to his level and slowly putting your blade to his neck, “would it please me more to kill you myself, or to watch my husband do it? But then, I realized—and he agreed—what end could be more terrible to you than to be killed by that which you love most?”

You stand back up to your full height. To Adar’s credit, he struggles to his feet as well. Even if what happens next is plain to see, before you even speak the words.

“Uruks,” you command, a sinister smile tugging at your lips. “Finish him.”

Your new servants surge from behind you, surrounding Adar and plunging their swords into their former master. It’s poetic, really—an inverted mirror of what your beloved suffered all those years ago, whilst your husband himself walks into the clearing, no longer hiding in the shadows, and recovers the crown that should have been his in the first place from the boulder on which it had been placed. Galadriel doesn’t see him, her eyes fixed on you in anger. It’s a delight to watch it be replaced with dread when she hears your husband’s voice call her name.

By now, Adar has fallen to the ground once more, yet the Orcs are slow to cease their blows. Galadriel is frozen in place as your husband joins you at your side, both of you looking down at the Uruk who has tasted your vengeance.

“My... children...” he croaks out, pitifully.

“They have found new parents,” your husband says, pitiless.

You exchange a look with Glug, and if there was any trace of hesitancy left in him, it vanishes under your demanding gaze. With a roar, he plunges his sword into Adar’s heart, putting an end to him and the killing frenzy of his brethren.

“What orders,” he asks then, his irritatingly pitched voice downright fanatical, “Lord Sauron? My Queen?”

“Raze Eregion,” your husband says evenly. “Leave no Elf alive. But bring me their leaders.”

“Be sure to destroy every single record of Celebrimbor’s works,” you add. “We would not want the secrets of the Rings’ craft revealed.”

The Orcs bow their heads, so wonderfully obedient as they begin to chant, “Hail Sauron, the Dark Lord! Hail our Dark Queen!” They repeat it as if in a craze, still muterring the words in their speech as they scurry away to carry out your orders. Glug, however, lingers by your side.

“Forgive me, my Queen!” He drops to his knees, all but touching his head to your boots. “For the offence I brought you. I only meant to convince Adar of our lie.”

You tilt your head, such an indulgent expression on your face, one might think it was genuine if they knew no better. You put a finger beneath Glug’s chin and lift his head, his bulbous eyes widening in awe as he meets your gaze.

“Earn my forgiveness,” you say sweetly, “by carrying out the task you have been given.”

“Yes, my Queen!” he exclaims, shooting to his feet the moment you release him. “My Lord!” he bows to your husband as well, then rushes after his companions as you watch, deeply satisfied. So this is what it feels like to be worshipped as a goddess. For now, by Orcs—later, by every being in Middle-Earth. The mere thought of it feels like a sip of the most exquisite and intoxicating wine, the elation second only to that sharing in this glory with your husband. You would love nothing more than to bask in the moment, mark it with a kiss, but there is still a pressing matter to attend to beforehand.

And, at once, she demands your attention.

“All this,” Galadriel says, voice thin with held-back terror, “was your design from the beginning!”

“Not all of it,” your husband tells her with eerie humility. “When my beloved came to find me,” he glances to you, letting his knuckles graze a gentle line down your shoulder, “having sensed my presence as I strived to regain my form, we believed we would never be parted again. It was hardly by our design that we were separated in that shipwreck. Once the sea brought you to me, however—”

“—an opportunity arose,” you continue seamlessly, smiling up at your husband, “too tantalizing to pass up.” You turn to Galadriel with a self-assured gaze. “You see, my love and I may be apart in body, but never in mind. And though not even we knew where our paths would lead, we trusted that we would be reunited at the end, and be all the better for it. So, I made my way back to Eregion, where my false life still awaited me—”

“—and I let you take Halbrand there yourself,” your husband finishes. “With a Númenórean army to fight against my enemy, and your trust to help me earn Celebrimbor’s. So, in the end...” A devious smirk tugs at his lips. “One could say it was your design.”

Galadriel purses her lips, keeping them firmly shut. She knows better than to take that bait of self-blame, you can tell. Instead, her eyes dart to her sword, discarded on the ground—betraying her intentions.

In an instant, you both bolt for her sword—and it’s only by a fraction of a second that you stomp your foot on the blade before she can lift it, leaving her to pull helplessly at the handle whilst you put your own sword to her throat. She glares up at you, her words spit out like venom, “You are a traitor to your people!”

A short, sweet laugh escapes you. “I am a traitor to all peoples.” You knit your brow, feigning bashfulness. “How kind of you to notice.”

Galadriel blinks at you, a trace of pity mingling with the disgust in her eyes. “Your mind has left you.”

You open your mouth, prepared to let her know you completely agree, and are rather pleased with yourself—when your attention lands on her hand, drawn there by a glimmer of light reflected off the gem on her finger. Nenya, the Ring of Water, shines before your eyes in all its devastating perfection.

You almost forget to keep your blade at Galadriel’s throat as you crouch down and grab her hand. She flinches, but your grip is relentless as you hold her hand still, admiring the Ring.

“Oh, this is simply...” you murmur, almost tearfully, “exquisite.”

In your long life, the only sight to grace your gaze which held similar beauty was your husband, in any form of his. And perhaps, only perhaps, from a purely aesthetic point of view, the Ring might just surpass him.

The thought, even just in passing, leaves you disoriented. And Galadriel takes full advantage of it.

She moves swiftly. Whilst you are distracted, she yanks her sword from underneath you and you lose your balance, finding yourself face up on the ground, barely parring the immediate blow she aims at your throat. Unsurprisingly, she is strong, making it a real challenge for you to keep her sword at bay with your own, but your mind is now fully present once more and you hold your own as fiercely as ever.

You don’t have to do it for long, however. Your husband’s sword intercedes between yours and Galadriel’s, breaking them apart and forcing her to fall backwards. She scrambles back to her feet, but now she is being attacked by a doubly armed foe, and it is her on the defence, struggling to match your husband’s skillful blows. You’ve stood back up, ready to fight again, but you can’t help taking a moment to behold the glorious sight of your husband fighting. It’s a rather short dance between them, brought to a halt as their blades clash and your husband swings Morgoth’s crown at the place where they meet, trapping both within its iron spikes.

Both of Galadriel’s hands hold the hilt of her sword in a white-knuckled grip, giving your husband a full view of the Ring as well. It tempts his gaze as quickly as it did yours.

“Even more beautiful than Celebrimbor led us to believe,” he says, bemused. “It would compliment your wedding band beautifully.” He glances at you. “Don’t you think, my love?”

As you meet his gaze, you are left breathless with how ardently you want to say yes. To have him place that wondrous Ring upon your finger, just as he did your wedding band all those years ago, and to admire the jewel on your hand as it touches every single inch of your husband’s skin whilst you make love for days and nights on end. You would begin right there, in the clearing, if not for the unwanted company.

Galadriel grunts, breaking away from your husband. Their withering stares remain locked as he circles her widely, coming to stand at your side. Can she not grasp that she is at a disadvantage?

“This is hardly fair. Two against one” you say, trying to sound reasonable. “It would be much wiser to simply give me that Ring, and him the Nine.”

“We do not wish to harm you,” your husband says, in that falsely reassuring tone that has worked wonders on so many others. Galadriel is having none of it.

“Do you wish to heal me?” she asks, defiantly. You would admire her determination, if it wasn’t so inconvenient to you personally.

Your husband proves more patient than you feel in his answer. “We would heal... all Middle-Earth.”

“As you have Eregion?” she growls, face twisting in rage as she readies her sword.

“Well, then,” you sigh shortly and do the same with yours, glancing at your husband, “ladies first, I suppose.”

And so you are the first to meet Galadriel in her attack. For a little while, you are evenly matched, but once your husband joins you shortly after, well—that is a different story.

You have to admit, Galadriel lives up to her reputation as Commander of the Northern Armies and then some. And yet, the fight would have been much shorter if it weren’t for a silent agreement between you and your husband, for the sadistic streak you share that makes you want to draw this out, let her believe she might prevail before you prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that she never stood a chance.

You had almost forgotten the utter pleasure that it was to fight at your husband’s side. It’s no less harmonious or fierce than when you are making love, how fluidly you complement each other’s movements, acting as though you are simply an extension of the other. In that way, you suppose, the fight is fair—Galadriel’s opponent is as one alone, in all but flesh.

The Ring, however, and the Nine whose presence your husband must feel as keenly as you do, prove a distraction. Your blades draw Galadriel’s blood, but the wounds are relatively minor, and she manages to nick your skin as well in moments where your eyes stray to the Ring on her finger, your mind clouded with thoughts of it becoming yours.

You can’t explain how else she manages to gain the upper hand as she eventually does, catching your husband sufficiently off-guard to kick him down from a small height. Your battle had taken you to the ruins of an old stone structure at the edge of a cliff, your husband landing gracelessly in the midst of it. You’re more concerned for his pride rather than his body, however. Panting from exertion, you and Galadriel lock gazes.

“You say you let him use me,” she challenges, taking her chances at riling you up now that you are alone. “Do you know what he offered me?”

“What he pretended to offer you was mine already,” you say, unwavering. “Had been for a long, long time.”

“He seemed rather convincing,” Galadriel taunts, “when he called me his Queen.”

You huff out a chuckle. “How could you not be convinced,” you retort, “when you so badly wanted to believe him?”

You charge at her again. Perhaps she has managed to make your blood boil after all, but it only works against her, because your attacks are all the more vicious as you force her backwards, down a set of stone steps leading to where your husband had fallen.

“I don’t blame you, you know,” you taunt her between strikes, “for desiring him.”

“I did not desire—!”

“Liar,” you hiss, narrowly parrying a particularly rageful swing of her sword. “I quite liked that form myself. Had a certain roguish... charm to it.” The word becomes a grunt as you kick her back into the stone wall, your swords and gazes locked together in a battle of unrelenting wills. “That stubble of his... felt especially pleasant on my skin.” You smile wickedly, voice laden with sinful implications. “Did you never imagine it on yours?”

She must have—otherwise, her eyes would not betray the sliver of shame that they do as she cries out and pushes you off her with renewed strength. You stumble to the bottom of the stairs with a deranged chuckle, putting your fingers to the stinging spot on your cheek and finding it wet with blood. She had managed to cut you.

And she seemed intent on trying to do worse to you, if not for your husband distracting her with something yet more disorienting than your words.

She freezes in place when she sees him standing before her—not as Annatar, but as Halbrand.

“Fighting at your side,” he says, as if from a distant dream, “I felt if I could just hold on to that feeling...”

Words that had once tugged at her heart, no doubt. They are not enough to deter her from attacking him now, but the internal conflict painted on her face is a delight to watch as they cross blades. Your husband changes the guise of Halbrand into that of Galadriel herself, then that of Celebrimbor. Each of them taunting her with the words he knows would cut the deepest, driving her into one attack after the other.

Until the old structure on which they are fighting crumbles, and they fall along with the boulders back to the ground. Your husband is the first to rise, back to the form he had taken as Annatar, and as you meet his gaze, alight with wrath, you both know—it’s time to put an end to this.

Galadriel gathers her sword from where it has fallen, staggers back to her feet, stubborn and determined as ever as the fighting resumes. But there are two of you, and she is more tired. Before long, you have her backed into a corner—or rather, with the very edge of the cliff at her back, with nowhere to go but into a deadly fall to the ground below. She fights valiantly, but in the end the inevitable happens. Half-distracted by you, she is not quick enough to stop your husband from plunging one of the crown’s iron spikes deep into her shoulder. He backs her into a pillar of the stone arch at the cliff’s edge, and in that position it’s too easy for you to knock the sword from her hand, once and for all.

It’s almost sad, seeing such a mighty warrior reduced to cries of pain, sagging helplessly against the stone. When your husband pulls the crown from her, she falls limp to the ground, the satchel containing the Nine slipping from an inner pocket at her chest. Leaning down, your husband finally reclaims his creations, then slips the Ring of Water off Galadriel’s trembling finger. She is too weak to do anything but groan, her eyes fluttering shut in defeat.

“The Rings are ours,” he says proudly. With his opponent utterly defeated, he lays down his sword and the crown on a nearby boulder, then tucks the satchel away within his own robes. The Elven Ring, however, he keeps in the palm of his hand as he leaves Galadriel lying there and turns to you. His steps are slow and measured as he comes to stand before you, close enough to take your hand in his if he so wishes to. But he withholds, his eyes boring into yours.

“My love,” he says, and it feels like a vow. “My Queen.” He holds out his hand, reverently. “Allow me.”

Your chest swells as you place your hand in his. You hold each other’s gaze a moment longer before you both look down and watch as he, with utmost delicacy, slips Nenya onto your finger, right next to the one that wears your wedding band. Your sword clatters to the ground, unwittingly loosed from your grip, but you don’t even hear it. The sight before you is almost too beautiful to behold, making you weep with joy.

“With this, I vow my life to be yours,” your husband says then, voice strained with emotion. “In life and in death—”

“—and for all eternity,” you finish breathlessly, raising your tearful gaze to meet his. The vows you had spoken to each other on the night you had bound your souls together, repeated with equal devotion after all this time.

His brow furrows in awe, and he beholds your face as though he cannot believe you are real. Your Ring-bearing hand trembles in his as he raises his other one to your cheek, thumb gently brushing the skin beneath the cut left there by Galadriel. He leans in and kisses the wound, his warm tongue soothing the pain and relishing the taste of you. You feel it too, sweetly coppery, as he then seals his mouth to yours with soul-wrenching tenderness. And you already know, but it still sweeps the floor from underneath your feet each time you are reminded of the full might of your adoration for him. You would crumble to the ground with the force of it, if not for your husband holding you close.

“Wed again,” you murmur as your lips part, lightheaded with bliss. His smile is soft, his knuckles grazing your temple reverently.

“I never imagined you could be even more beautiful than you already were,” he all but whispers, glancing down at the Ring of Power upon your finger. “Yet as my Queen, your radiance is nearly too great to look upon, even for my eyes. All of Middle-Earth shall bow to worship at my beloved’s feet. All shall love you and despair.”

And you shall love to be adored, yet his adoration would forever be the one you cherish most. You are leaning in to taste his lips once more, when the voice of your all-but-forgotten-about foe rudely interrupts.

“The free peoples of Middle-Earth,” Galadriel declares, “will always resist you.”

With a small sigh, you turn to her. She has managed enough strength to sit up sideways, her glare as defiant as ever even as the poisoned wound left by Morgoth’s—by your husband’s crown slowly consumes her. She’s resilient, fearsome and beautiful. Like you.

Now that she is no longer a real threat, you allow yourself a spark of admiration. Sensing your wish, your husband leaves to break away from him and go to her, lowering yourself to one knee so you meet her at her level.

“I could yet help you heal,” you offer mercifully, knuckles grazing her jawline as she flinches away. “You could yet pledge your allegiance to your King and Queen.”

“Not while I still breathe,” she spits the words obstinately. Predictably.

It seems you’ll still have need of your sword after all.

“This is a waste, truly,” you say, and mean it. “You would have made a great ally.”

Galadriel frowns, as if contemplating your words. “Perhaps,” she admits. “You, on the other hand...” She leans close to you, and hisses in your face, “...would have made a dreadful Queen.”

‘Would have’? You’re about to tell her you already are Queen, and always will be. A taunting smirk is already tugging at your lips—

—quickly snuffed out by a sharp pain, deep in your chest. Jaw slack, eyes wide, you look down to find Galadriel’s hand there, gripping the hilt of the dagger she has plunged into your heart. Nothing but a small blade, most likely conjured from some hidden pocket in her garments whilst you and your husband had been absorbed in each other, and which she had concealed within her sleeve since—it hardly matters. It all happens too quickly for your husband to reach you, and it’s distraction enough that all you can do is gasp as Galadriel grabs you by the shoulders and, with the last of her strength, pulls you over the edge of the cliff along with herself.

Your name, roared out by your beloved, is the last thing you hear as you fall.

*****

You’re alive.

Barely.

You exist somewhere between wakefulness and oblivion, the sounds around you distant and pain threatening to greet you once you have returned to your full senses—if you ever will. But a touch of your husband’s godly nature has resided within you ever since you bound yourself to one another in marriage, and so your form endures, your mind alert enough to serve you even as you lie broken on the ground.

“She should be healed,” a voice says, and you recognize it—king Gil-galad, no doubt come to recover Galadriel from where she must be lying close to you. “And made to face judgement for her treachery.”

There is another presence, yet closer to you. As a hand touches your neck, fingers pressing to your pulse point, you grasp at every last sliver of your power to conjure one small, but vital illusion.

The hand leaves you.

“I agree,” you hear Elrond say. “But she is dead already.”

Relieved and utterly spent, before long you are lost to the world once more.

*****

Your name, whispered softly by your beloved, is the first thing you hear as you wake up.

The next is your own weak moan, pain spreading through your body as feeling returns to you. The room to which you open your eyes is, thankfully, low-lit—you doubt they could handle anything else. But all that truly matters is that you are met with your husband’s gaze, relieved and endlessly caring as he sits at your side, leaning over you.

“Shh,” he cooes, caressing the crown of your head as a tear slides down your temple. “This too shall pass, for I will look after you as you did me in my time of need. I’m here, my love,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to your forehead. “I’m here.”

The pain mercifully dulls once again, most likely your husband’s doing. This time, you are at peace as you drift away.

*****

It isn’t pain, but warmth and comfort that greets you when you next wake. Your limbs are still weak, your body made heavy with a dull ache all over, but the familiar feeling of being cradled in your husband’s arms overshadows the lingering discomfort. Your head is resting on his chest, and, in natural reflex, you nuzzle into him, lips searching for his skin and pressing to his neck.

“My love,” he greets softly, his pulse a pleasant thrum beneath your mouth. “You are awake at last.”

You lift your head, wincing at the stiffness in your neck, and look into your husband’s eyes. “Did I keep you waiting terribly long?” you ask, finding the strength to work a trace of playfulness into your tired voice. Something in his gaze breaks in the face of it.

“Unbearably so,” he replies in earnest.

There’s no response you find within you other than to press a light kiss to his lips, reassuring yourself that this is real. After, you allow him to carefully maneuver you so that you are both sitting up against the headboard, with you still tucked into his side.

“You are nearly recovered, my love,” he says as you grimace and shift, looking for a comfortable position for your aching joints, “but your strength will return with time. Until then...”

He offers you his hand, his black blood already spilled from a cut in the palm of it. It’s fresh, different from the one he had used to provide the false mithril for the Nine. This sacrifice he has made for you alone, to mend his beloved piece by piece. You don’t need him to explain all of this—you simply offer him a grateful smile as you cradle his hand in yours and bring it to your lips, kissing it almost as you would his mouth as you gather his blood with your tongue.

“There,” he says hoarsely, eyes fluttering shut with the great pleasure of feeling you consume him, any part of him. “Take my strength,” he urges, cradling your head as you drink from him. “Make it yours, my love.”

The effect may be temporary, but the relief is instant. You pull away, sighing pleasantly as you wipe your thumb over any lingering droplets of blood on your lips, and lick those off your finger as well. You feel almost as new, as if you had never even taken a blade to the heart and a shattering fall.

The memory sends a jolt through your chest. Instinctively, you bring your hand to it, looking down at the place where Galadriel had managed to stab you. The wound has been healed, but the spark of rage is kindled within you once more. And it grows into a wildfire when you notice your horribly bare finger.

“Where’s Nenya?” You scramble from your husband’s arms and off the bed, gripped by a sudden, blind panic. “Where’s my Ring?” you demand, nearly a growl. His gaze becomes grim.

“The Elves took it back,” he says darkly, standing to face you. You huff out a furious breath. So, Galadriel succeeded, then. She recovered the Ring, even if it meant taking all of you along with it. Even if she was risking her own death.

You sincerely hope she survived the fall and the wound inflicted by your husband’s crown. Otherwise, you would have no revenge to look forward to.

“And Eregion?” you ask, scrambling for some victory to which to cling in your rage. “Our army? What of it?”

“We are in Eregion,” your husband tells you, adding proudly, “what is left of it. As for our armies... nearly all Middle-Earth is ours for the taking.”

“Nearly?” you frown.

“The Elves have used the Three to create a sanctuary beyond my reach.” His voice drips bitterness. But as he steps to you, taking your hand in his, he seems more disturbed than vengeful. “Had I found that they had taken you there... where I could not follow...”

You soften, then, your anger tamed by the torment in his gaze as he trails off. You wonder if, within this sanctuary of the Elves protected by the light of the Three, you could still feel your husband’s dark soul caressing yours even from afar. The thought that you might not, that you had been at risk of suffering such an appalling emptiness, is sickening.

“It is well, then,” you say, chasing away the dread of what might have been, “that I led Elrond to believe I was dead. That is why they took only Galadriel.”

“My love.” Your husband smiles, pride swelling in his eyes as he cups your cheek. “Clever and fierce, even as you lay broken.”

“I knew you would find me,” you say simply, as if nothing more had been needed. But then you sigh, and take hold of his wrist, lowering his hand from your face. “But our victory is not yet complete,” you say sullenly. “The Three are free of your influence and beyond our reach.”

“Do not despair, my love,” he is quick to reassure. “The Seven have known my touch. We have the Nine. And very soon...” Something sparks in his eyes, cunning and mysterious. “...we shall have more.”

You raise a brow, intrigued. “More?”

He nods, brow knitting slightly as he begins to explain. “You told me it did not sit well with you that I had used only my blood in the making of the Nine. You were right, my love,” he admits. His gaze drops to your hands, his thumb brushing over the empty spot where Nenya had been. “And so,” he says, locking his gaze with yours, “it shall be with your blood and mine combined that we will forge the Two.”

The words linger in the air, ominous and captivating even before you fully grasp their meaning.

“Two Rings,” your husband continues, wrapping your hands in his and bringing them to his chest, where you feel his heart beat as furiously as yours as he speaks. “Born of our flesh and love, inextricably intertwined with one another. Whose power shall be as fierce and eternal as the devotion between you and I, greater than that of all the other Rings. Great enough to bind them in the darkness we share, and to rule them all. One for their King...”

“One for their Queen,” you whisper, the words falling from your lips as if they had always been there. Always locked behind your tongue, written in your fate, meant to be spoken in this very moment. This feeling, the things of which he speaks—it is all so intoxicating, a design too perfect in its terrible splendour to imagine it being brought into existence.

“Is that possible?” you ask, cautiously.

“If it is not... then we shall make it.”

And when he says it like that, gazing so deeply and so fiercely into your eyes, you believe him.

“Will you join me in this act of creation, my love?” your husband beseeches, so desperately hopeful. “Will you stand at my side?”

There is only one answer that could ever leave your lips. But first, you lean in and capture his in a deep, ravenous kiss, the taste of him both remedy and fuel to the delirium surging within you.

Creation. Not meant for Elves, or Dwarves, or Men. Not crafted through the deception of Celebrimbor, or even so much as with another’s aid. The very embodiment of your entwined souls, brought into being and meant to be worn by you and your beloved only.

The fruit of your union.

You break apart, opening your eyes to find the same all-consuming desire reflected in your husband’s. And once again, you speak the vow that shall very soon become inscribed upon the gold of the Two.

“For all eternity.”

Previous fic with same reader -> Defied

[lemon-lime-behavior]

Do you have any tips for drawing noses? Sorry this is out of nowhere but I'm wanting to improve on my art, specifically the faces, and it's always the nose I find myself struggling most with.

I really struggle w making it fit the face if that makes sense? Every time I try to add it it just throws the whole face off, especially the eyes, not to mention how to make different nose types and the angles </33

I love your art style so bad, it's so smooth and satisfying to look at and the way you draw noses like it's nbd (and anatomy in general like damn) baffles me so I was just wondering if you maybe had any tricks or not, Ty either way for sharing your art in the first place <33

@extravagav Well I can try! First off thank you very much, I often feel like I still have a very long way to go in regards to proportions and anatomy so I really appreciate your kind words <3

Hokay, so, noses. I do love noses. To start off when it comes to drawing noses I'm afraid I'm going to have to give you the most annoying advice in the world which is just to practice a lot. Find a lot of pictures of noses in a bunch of different shapes from a bunch of different angles and just draw them until your brain melts out of your ears. Pay particular attention though to the nose as a 3D object!

It's of course trickier to do than I'm making it out to be but the more you practice at imagining the nose as a 3d physical form the easier it becomes to make a nose model in your mind that you can rotate like a microwave.

This is my personal very very basic understanding of the nose's construction:

it's like three circles and a taco shell.

Okay so now that you've got a basic understanding of the nose's construction, how to put it in the middle of the god-dang face??

So the funky thing about noses is that they tend to change shape the least out of all our facial features when we're making expressions. Our eyes change shape, our mouths move, our eyebrows, our cheeks, our jaws, they all go all over the place. the nose, however, tends to be pretty stationary and doesn't deform much (save in one important way I'll get to later). So because of all this, and here's my biggest piece of advice when it comes to making the nose fit in the face, I like to draw the nose first! I do a very loose head construction, draw the nose, and then sort of "hang" the rest of the features off of it:

Two very different expressions, same nose!

Now when it comes to noses interacting specifically with the eyes the greatest thing to remember is that the part of the nose that sits between the eyes sticks out farther than you might think, and will likely be obscuring one of them, the extent of which depending a lot on the angle and how pronounced the nose bridge is.

for someone with a pretty flat nose bridge you'll be able to see most of the eye except in a more extreme angle, while someone with a protruding ridge might obscure the eye entirely. but the nose will likely be interacting with at least one eye if we're not facing the character head on. Really making your brain think in 3d is gonna most helpful here.

Finally! The nose being expressive! So the main way the nose plays in to expression is by wrinkling. the muscles that pull up your top lip and the muscles that pull down the middle of your forehead are almost all connected to the nose, so the nose tends to develop a lot of wrinkles whenever brows are furrowed or teeth are bared.

Adding those wrinkles can add a lot of impact in the expression! And not just angry ones neither:

Sooooooooooooooo yeah! noses! They're weird and they come in all sorts of shapes and sizes and they can do a lot to add character to a face and they can also make you want to tear your hair out in big clumps! I'm still learning myself when it comes to noses (and most other things) and I'm faaaar from a master at it, but I hope I've been able to provide at least a little bit of help. If you do use my advice going forward please let me know! Good luck!!!!! (And here's all my nose "headcanons" for the strawhats. The ones who actually have human noses, anyway):

[tangyneon]

skew lines

A pair of lines which neither intersect nor run parallel to each other.

pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader tags: reincarnation au; soulmates au; multiple lives; fluff and angst; drama; angst with a hopeful (happy) ending; word count–3927. warnings: character death, non-graphic suicide, brief mention of infidelity, implied domestic violence, panic attack, indirect reference to the Holocaust of WWII. notes (1): please accept my sincerest apologies for any inadvertent inaccuracy. i intend no disrespect towards anyone, least of all towards those who had to face gruesome events in their lives. also, this is a repost. this isn't my best writing but it's my favourite writing, which is why i brought this here from my old blog. also, credits for the header are given in the footnotes.

ONE: KAMAKURA; 1262.

"A lady must never dream," your mother says as she places the wataboshi atop your head, "She must only ever fulfill her duties to her family, silently and obediently."

An errant tear rolls past your cheek, washing away the make-up and hours of your maids’ efforts with it. Your mother, however, pays that no mind and raising you from your seat, leads you out of your quarters. 

As you walk beside her, you wonder... Were you from a humbler origin... Were you not from one of the Big Three Clans, would life have been different? Would you have been freer? Happier? Or would you still have to walk into a union, knowing full well widowhood awaits you by the next sunrise? 

A mangled sob falls past your lips, and you turn to your mother with a pleading gaze. 

“Please, Mother, I can’t do this,” you clasp her hands in yours, entreating her in a broken whisper, “I can’t do what you asked me to do. Ask me to not marry him, ask me to retire from all this to a nunnery—I shall do so in a heartbeat. I will never question you. But please, Mother, I—Brother!?” 

Yanking you away from your mother, your brother drags you by the arm across the courtyard, then stops a foot away from the shrine, his eyes narrowed into slits as he glowers down at you.

“Listen, girl,” he seethes, and you wince from the painful grip he has on your arm, “You’re a Zen’in. You’ve been fed, dressed and kept alive by us, Zen’ins, for the last two decades. Not by that sick idiot inside, you fell in love with, like the disloyal bastard you’re. So, you better shut up and pay us your thanks, yeah?” 

You nod, wiping the tears away with the back of your hand.  

If your family wants you to pay them your thanks, you will do so—you decide, while your brother barks at the maids to reapply your make-up before you enter the shrine—just not the way they expect you to.  

Hours later, a small smile lines your lips as your husband enters the room. In a black haori and hakama, the daimyo resembles a deity amongst a sea of mortals—which he probably is, you muse, if the whispers on his prowess in war and court are anything to go by.  

“You’re staring, wife,” An amused chuckle draws you from your thoughts.  

You give a timid smile back, “You’re too handsome to not be stared at, husband.”  

Surprise flitters across your husband’s features, soon followed by an understanding grin.  

You realize he must have seen the empty cups behind your back.  

“Did you finish the sake your brother gifted us, all by yourself, darling? Thought you weren’t a big fan of alcohol?” 

“’m not,” you answer meekly, averting your gaze from his crystalline blue, “Still, I drank.” 

“And may I know why, darling?” Chuckling, the daimyo pulls you into his lap and nuzzles into the crook of your neck—then pulls away when a harsh cough racks through your body. Blood at the corner of your lips, you run a trembling hand through his soft white locks, the fondness in your dying eyes contrasting the shock in his. 

“I want you to live, that’s why.” 

TWO: HOKKAIDO; 1966.

“I want you to live, that’s why.” 

A tired yawn leaves your lips as you throw the blankets off and pad over to the open window, that singular statement still pestering you from your dreams—or, should you say, nightmares. 

Tormenting you for three months now, they have always ended the same—you whispering those words, time and time again, a grim relief settling in your bones as your eyes finally shut, prey to an eternal slumber—until they open again, onto the blood-red digits of your alarm clock. 

Initially, you had ignored them, treating them as figments of your imagination—a side-effect, you had supposed then, of watching sad historical romances. However, when the dreams began to recur and blur into a single overarching theme—love, death, love, death—it was then that you finally decided to consult a professional. 

“A long vacation to Hokkaido is what you need, you workaholic idiot,” you recollect your psychiatrist friend insisting last Friday at your weekly dinner together. “A relaxing bath in the hot springs, a thrilling ski down the steep snowy slopes—and who knows, you might even find a cute man who can keep those dreams away,” she had trailed off with a suggestive eyebrow wiggle, which had earned her a pillow in the face. 

Another tired yawn escapes into the chilling night air and you realize how utterly, totally wrong she was.  

Sure, the hot springs are relaxing enough, the snowy slopes are steep enough, the men too are cute enough, still… your dreams seem to have worsened since your arrival here. In fact—Bang! 

Startled, you turn around at the sound—when, out of nowhere, a slender hand pushes you into the wall—and the scream in your throat withers away at the sight before.  

Hair as white as the snow falling outside, eyes as blue as the ocean you’ve grown beside, features eerily translucent yet eerily familiar...  

“Who are you?” Disregarding the warning bells chiming in your brain, the question tumbles past your lips in a soft whisper. 

A long second passes before you receive a reply. 

“No one nice,” The figure finally whispers back, and you bite back a gasp when their frigid fingers dance across your bare arms, “But tonight I can be yours, darling, if you want.” 

You let your fingers tangle in their messy white hair and pull them in for a kiss.  

(Years later, you’ll agree with a laugh, you had indeed acted like a moron in the face of a (definitely paranormal) intruder in your room.) 

(Years later, you’ll also share a quiet look with your friend after such discussions—for she and you alone, will know how much your lover from that night resembled your lover from that dream.)

THREE: NEW ORLEANS; 1884.

“What do you mean by ‘No,’ girl?” 

Your brother huddles closer to you—out of cold or fear, you’re not quite sure. Pushing him behind, you attempt reason another time, “Exactly what you understood, Sir. You see, I’m not that kind of woman. I—” 

“Nonsense! You are all sluts,” The man roars and lunges forwards at you—only to drop dead an instant later. A frown twists your painted lips as you return the gun to your purse—which deepens when you catch the toddler’s dumbstruck gaze alternate between you and behind you.   

Of fucking course, there had to be a witness. 

“To be fair, he was the one who attacked first,” you state, whirling around with your gun raised, “And to be safe, I don’t really mind having another’s blood on my hands.”  

An amused snicker rings through the stale evening air and you feel your muscles tauten in dread. Years of fending for the two of you have taught you to know a predator when you hear one.  

“Or, you could join me, y’know?” 

That doesn’t mean you’ll scamper away like a meek doe at its first growl, though. 

“As what? Some side-hoe?” A mirthless laughter bubbles up your throat and you shake your head lightly, “No, thanks. I’ll pass.” 

A beat passes in tense silence, before the man steps forward into the lamp’s dim light—and you drag your brother closer to yourself, covering his eyes with a palm, whilst your own widen in recognition.  

Silky white hair, crystalline blue eyes, ridiculously tall and handsome—the Boss returns your stunned expression with an even smirk, “And if I ask you to be my partner, what’ll you say? Will you still pass it?” 

“I…” you glance at the child beside you—his skinny figure, ratty clothes, unkempt pink hair, guileless features—and back at the man who stares at you expectantly. A tendril of disgust unfurls in you as you imagine the crimes the sleazy scoundrel before you might have committed. 

“Yes, I’ll pass it,” you answer with an indignant glint in your gaze, “I don’t want my brother to grow in a horrible world like yours.” 

“Not even if you get enough money to raise the kid into a proper gentleman?” 

“Are you trying to fucking buy me!?!?” you snarl at him, taking a menacing step forward—then stop when you feel a little tug on your dress. 

Your hand removed from his eyes, you find your brother peering up at you worriedly.  

Taking a deep breath in, you give the toddler a reassuring smile, and lifting him into your arms, turn to the man with a sharp grin.  

“He doesn’t need your foul money to grow into a proper gentleman. He’ll anyway be one.” 

“As you wish, darling,” The Boss hums with a faint smile at your words, and casting you one last long look, recedes into the shadows he appeared from.  

A month later, you hear the man drove his car off the edge of a cliff.  

“He drank himself to death after being rejected,” your co-worker tells you on the way to the bar. You only frown in response.  

Feeling oddly bereft, you cancel your shows and head home early that evening.

FOUR: NEW LONDON; 2628.

“Get out. Now.” 

Reducing your auditory levels to a bare minimum, you continue folding the clothes.  

You know you shouldn’t be bothered.   

You are a mere housekeeping robot Mistress bought online a year ago.  

Your only purpose is keeping the house clean and going on the odd errand or two—not worrying your circuits off for Mistress, every time voices are raised or things are thrown to the ground.  

Still… your wired heart can’t help but twist when you hear the front door slam shut and a pair of bruised arms wrap around you. “I was right,” your receptors detect a choked whisper, “Twelve years of marriage and he has another woman in his life. Guess I’m that unlovable, huh?” 

Desperately wanting to deny, you emit a rapid series of beeps, nudging your Mistress to look at the wall opposite—and project your first picture with her there. 

In the picture, Mistress is crouched beside you, blue eyes crinkled in a grin while her long white hair flutters in the breeze. On her other side is her friend, a blond man, a polite smile on his face as he looks at the camera. 

(The day it was captured is still as green as the neo-grass you water every morning in the lawns.  

It was your Mistress’ thirtieth birthday that day—although no indication of the same could be found anywhere in the house. Master had left for work at sharp 7 in the morning, Mistress had secluded herself in her home office an hour later and you were tidying the house—as usual.  

With the breakfast over, you were in the middle of returning the dishes to the drawers when the front bell rang. More than a little peeved at being interrupted during your chores, you let the door open after the second ring—to Mistress’ friend waiting with a huge box and balloons in his hands.  

It was only when he hugged your mistress and wished her ‘Happy Birthday,’ that the metaphorical bulb lit up in your processing unit – and you let out a chitter in fear—FOR HOW COULD A TOP-CLASS HOUSEKEEPING ROBOT FORGET AN IMPORTANT OCCASION AS THIS!?!?—only to earn a hearty laugh from Mistress in return. At a loss at her reaction, you quietly beeped at her.   

Grinning, Mistress crouched before you and placed a hand over your dome head. “Don’t sweat it, silly,” she said with a knock to your head, and you let out an annoyed little beep, “I won’t return you to the factory for this tiny mistake. I don’t know what shitty instructions they fed your system but I'm not like that. I’m way too fond of you and your weird little quirks to do that.” 

A relieved beep left you—and you realized, quite contrary to the shitty instructions you had indeed received long ago, you too had grown fond of your Mistress.) 

Happiness worms into your heart when you find Mistress looking at it fondly—then, fills your entire body, from the audio-receptors atop your head to your tiny wheels, when she directs that gaze at you.  

“Thank you,” she whispers, wiping her tears away, then rises, extending a hand to you. “Now, let’s go pick me a killer outfit before we go kick that cheating ass, shall we?” 

An excited chitter escapes you and you zoom past towards the closet—totally ignoring her sudden stillness behind you. 

“Hey, did you just smile?” 

FIVE: WARSAW; 1941.

“Has anyone ever told you, your smile’s really pretty?” 

“Has anyone ever told you, you are really pretty?”

The boy breaks into an abashed grin at your question, and you beam back. 

A comfortable silence befalling the two of you, you return to your book—though your thoughts stray far from the tale unfurling within it.  

The fates must be cruel—you think, dragging your gaze from the tiny letters to a loose thread in your skirt—to give you a life so lonely and quiet, sans family, sans close friends; then bring it close to an end just when you’ve found a person you might want to live it with. 

A tired exhale leaves you as you close your book and flop backwards on the cot. A beat passes before a pair of arms wrap loosely around your midsection. Humming softly, you snuggle into a firm chest, relishing in its warmth—both literal and metaphorical.  

“Anything worrying you, princess?” A soft voice asks, a while later.  

“Not when you’re holding me like this,” you wish to say... yet you eventually decide against it. 

Uncertainty already plagues your mind if you’ll live to see the next morning or not—leaving behind a loved one, or worse, being left behind can only add to the woes.  

Ready with a barefaced lie, you send him a sweet smile—then freeze when a siren tears through the biting night air. A terrified shiver crawls up your spine and you squeeze your eyes shut. Another siren soon follows, then another—and you realize why they are called ‘the siren of death’.  

Dread—the cursed, doomed, endless kind—courses through you like a poison.  

Searing. Suffocating. An awful lot like dying.  

Before you can register it, a wail claws its way out through your throat, and you wrap your arms around the boy. “I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die,” Clutching his sweater, you say, a silent terror in your wide eyes as you peer at him, “I want to live. Here, with you. Please don’t let me die.”

Concerned gaze sweeping over your features, the boy places a warm hand on your cheek—and smiles when you grow minutely calm at the contact. “I won’t,” He whispers to you, quiet and earnest—and you feel your heart stutter, albeit from a reason different to before, “I too want to live, with you. But preferably somewhere else, yeah? This place is cramped as hell.” 

A quiet chuckle escapes you. Brushing his white bangs away, you gaze tenderly into the crystalline blue depths of his eyes. “But do we have the money to afford a bigger place?” 

The boy grins at you.  

“Once we’re out of here, darling, we’ll have all the time in the world to earn the money we need.” 

The enemy forces find your hiding place that night. 

SIX: UENO; 2017.

“They say time’s the greatest healer of all.” 

Gojo’s blank façade shows no cracks, and you grin—though it instantly gives way to a sharp hiss!. Wincing, you press a palm on the gash across your abdomen.

Fuck! That damned sorcerer must have cut you deeper than you thought, huh... still, no biggie! Tis but a tiny scratch and you had, in turn, made him and his associates die choking on their blood. Ha! 

“I never thought I’d find you here,” A quiet voice snaps your self-gloating in half and you peer at the man leaning against the opposite wall. 

Even in the minimal light the dawn has to offer, you reckon he looks an Adonis incarnate—tall with chiselled features, shiny white hair and fitting clothes—add to those, a wealthy background and a flirty persona and you find it's not surprising, really, why Gojo turned out to be the playboy he is. 

“Why are you here?” you ask him, a tilt to your head, “Isn’t there a mission calling you now?” 

If Gojo detects the scorn in your voice, he makes no comment on it. Instead, he crouches before you and removes his sunglasses, revealing his crystalline blue gaze and the stormy allure they carry. 

You frown back at him, unimpressed.  

“The fuck are you removing your shades for, idiot? Wanna get a headache later?” 

A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips, you can see, yet it disappears within a fraction of a second—and your frown deepens. He’s so unlike the way he usually is... 

“Hey, what’s wrong, Gojo?” you ask, concerned, when a sharp pain tears across your flesh and you swear you black out for an instant. It is then you realize what is wrong—and betraying the fear percolating in your chest, like a fucking leaden weight—you let out a barking laughter.  

“Of fucking course, the blade was poisoned,” you shake your head, a sarcastic smile on your lips, “And here I was wondering why my injuries weren’t going poof! like they do. I wonder how they...”  Trailing off, you let yourself look at your injury another time, when another realization hits you like a freight train—and the smile slips off your lips.  

“You told them, didn’t you?” you whisper, less as an accusation and more as a fact. Gojo averts his keen gaze from you.

Twenty years ago, had anyone told you the arrogant Gojo kid your parents introduced you to at your birthday would one day be your best friend, then your lover, then your ex and finally, the reason behind your death—you would’ve certainly decked them in the face.  

Yet now, as you stare at the man before you, drowning in a sea of guilt, shame and regrets, you reckon life can be a fucking rollercoaster ride sometimes.  

“I don’t blame you, Gojo,” you admit after a while. Gojo makes no response. 

You continue, unperturbed, “You know, it was our fourth year at school when I decided to visit my clan again. They and I were not on good terms then—the absolute worst, in fact... still I decided to visit them. They were my family, after all. But you know what I saw when I went there?”  

Gojo looks at you, a faint furrow between his eyebrows. You drag your gaze skywards, “The entire estate still and silent, my parents, my siblings, the servants lying with a slit throat or a stabbed chest in their beds.”  Smiling despondently, you return your gaze to his shocked features. 

“It wasn’t a landslide which killed them, Gojo. It was those sick higher-ups who killed them—a punishment, they had told me, for my failure at catching Geto.” 

A tense silence falls over the two of you, as you finish speaking, a little breathless—and remains so—until the man breaks it with a silent question. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

You send him a sardonic smile. “And what would you have done then? Killed them? You and I both know, how risky it would have been. And I was unwilling to lose another loved one to the system.”  

A pained groan leaves your lips, and you slowly shift your posture a little, in hopes it will relieve the pain. It doesn’t. You continue, still, “Don’t blame yourself, Gojo. I would have joined Geto, even if you weren’t so distant then. Of course, I could see his mission being a failure from miles away—still, I couldn’t keep serving people I lost my family to, and I didn’t want you to create an animosity against them. And as for now...”  

A sympathetic smile creeping onto your lips, you ask, “They threatened you with the students, didn’t they?”  

You receive no words in return. Instead, a rough palm comes to cover your smaller one. His sparkling eyes now tear-filled, Gojo slowly pulls you into his lap, reminding you of the way he used to do this to you in days long gone—and then used to tickle you mercilessly, like the annoying yet dear bastard he was. 

A quiet chuckle falls past your lips and the sorcerer gives you a faint smile—though you don’t miss the wobble in his lower lip as he does so. “Anything funny you find in this?” 

“No, nothing,” you bite your lip to hold back a chuckle and reach out a hand to touch the tips of his hair—wondering if they still are as soft as they were; they sure do look very soft—only for it to fall to the ground midway. You let out a mirthless laughter.  

“The poison they used was really good, huh,” you muse aloud, then squint up at him, loathing the darkness overtaking your view of him, your time with him.  

“Hey,” Calling softly, you huddle closer to the man, an attempt to gain respite from the chill rapidly enveloping you. The grip on you tightens and you let out a soft whisper, "I want to meet you again. Think we can?” 

Gojo’s forced grin is the last thing you register before your vision blackens entirely and your eyes fall shut.  

“I know we will, darling.” 

SEVEN: ????

“Would this classify as a meet-cute or a meet-ugly?” 

You’re not sure if you want to laugh or cry.  

Your classes will be starting in another minute, in a building a good six hundred metres from here. 

Your seminar papers—the ones you prepared till three in the morning on nothing but ten cups of coffee and sheer will power—are flying away merrily with the breeze; a few even rolling, pitching and yawing (whoa!) as they flee from you.  

Your crisp white shirt—the only white your wardrobe houses and the only colour the seminar allows—is now sporting an ugly shade of coffee-brown—though, you note absently, it seems to be a pretty lighter shade than your usual’s. 

And oh! Last but not the least, you are also nursing a bruised (and perhaps, broken too, if the pain you’re in is anything to go by) ankle on the ground. 

And despite all this, this asshole is having the audacity to fucking flirt right now.  

You decide, you don’t want to laugh nor cry.  

You want to yell.  

Maybe drop in a punch too, to knock some sense into the bastard. 

Sleep-deprived features thrown into a furious scowl, you look up from your injured ankle—a swear, the likes of which will make sailors cover their ears, at the tip of your tongue—and look into a pair of crystalline blue eyes, partly covered by short white bangs.  

The world around you stills.  

And you stare and stare and—yeah, you guessed it right—stare at the man crouched before you.  

A person you know you have loved countless lifetimes before.  

A person you know you will love countless lifetimes later. 

A beat passes before the world resumes; you keep gawping at him still—totally oblivious to (or uncaring of) the cobblestone path you’re sitting on, the weird looks being directed your way, your friends calling you and rushing towards you. 

Gazing at you lovingly in return, you hear the man whisper, “Meet-cute, it is, darling.” 

You lose your balance a second time that day. 

notes (2): MANNN, I MISSED MY OLD WRITING STYLE SO MUCH. also, shifting from blog 1 to 2 was definitely a mistake; here's to hoping my shift to blog 3 won't be counted as one!! �� tangyneon 2025 || please don't plagiarise, translate or repost this || characters used here aren't mine || header is by @/3-aem.

[prosypepper]

you walk around the corner to see gojo’s girlfriend sitting on top of his desk and him talking to her sitting on his chair between her legs. so much for surprising him with your early coming home from your work trip. even tho he’s your husband you don’t dare take a step further keeping your shock to a silent gasp, worried you’ll get caught. your marriage had been arranged, and even though you loved him and he was a good caring husband, he was never in love with you. while you figured this was happening it still hurt seeing him so happy and full of life when he’s engaging in just simple conversation with her.

almost immediately after he notices you avoiding him and keeping to yourself even more than normal. when he brings it up, you tell him you know about his girlfriend after having listen to them talking for a long time before they started to “make out.” while Gojo isn’t mean or smug about it, he doesn’t deny it leaving you an absolute emotional wreck.

hi honey! thank u for this request, u get me so well :'). i hope i delivered what u were looking for! much love hun!

word count: 1.9k

warnings: hurt/no comfort, angst, cheating, mentions of divorce, manipulation if u look hard enough, a couple mentions of sex but no active descriptions. (18+ mdni!)

notes: so i haven't written about gojo yet but i absolutely love this man. let me know what u think! also i did not proofread this, very sorry, i wrote half of it on my lunch break @ work.

you can find part two here

masterlist

“satoruuu!” you chirp your husband’s name as you enter the home, the ending syllables of his name echoing throughout the massive entryway, and you’re met with silence. you drop your bags in front of the door, you can’t help but be enthusiastic about seeing your husband – you’ve been on that stupid business trip that took way too long, and you feel lucky you were able to come back home a few days earlier.

a boisterous laugh comes from upstairs in the empty house, signaling your husband is somewhere around your office – maybe he’s on the phone with a friend and didn’t hear you from all the way downstairs. you smile to yourself and run up the stairs, staying quiet as possible so you can surprise satoru – tiptoeing closer and closer, you see your office door wide open. when you peek around the doorframe into the room, you see your husband, dressed in one of those expensive shirts you bought for your last anniversary –

and there’s a girl, a girl you’ve never seen, perched atop your desk, smiling widely and proud from a joke she cracked to make satoru laugh so loudly.

you draw your head back quickly, praying neither one of them saw you, because you had no idea how to approach the situation at hand. that girl was more than a friend, for sure, with the way satoru was feeling up and down her thighs from sitting in between them. for a second, you feel as if your whole marriage was a lie. 5 years, down the drain, and how many of those years were spent with other women, too?

satoru gojo was the son to your parent’s closest counterparts – you grew up around him, not too close, but enough to know enough about one another by the time you became adults. after college, neither one of you held a long-term partner, so your parents and his decided to arrange a marriage for the both of you. you willingly accepted – satoru was a sweet, caring boy for the most part – yet unbeknownst to you, a cheater who never really had any intentions of staying loyal to his wife. in his mind, the marriage was nothing more than a benefit for the both of you; he agreed to get his parents off his back and live a comfortable life because of the successful jobs you both obtained. you were content taking the man’s last name, having gradually fallen in love with him over time, even planning to have kids with him one day.

all your future dreams and past feelings come to a halt when you see the man with another woman.

you creep back down the stairs, quietly so no one catches on, and you grab your bags and leave again. you don’t go too far at all; you stay down the street in your car so you can see whenever your husband leaves. once he’s on his way to go drop his mistress off, you scurry back to the house and take all your things inside. satoru returns hours later, well past after dark, greeted with you in the kitchen finishing up dinner.

“oh- honey,” satoru perks up upon walking through the door, “i didn’t think you’d be back so early.” he walks up and wraps his arms around your waist from behind, giving you a tight squeeze and kissing your neck. your first instinct is to relax into his touch, as you had always done for years before, but the hurt inside of you causes you to stiffen up at the hug.

“hi, satoru,” you faintly reply, eyes diverting from everything else to the saucepan simmering in front of you on the stove. satoru always had a knack to be able to tell when something was off with you, even from the smallest bit of action. this was no different.

satoru unravels his arms from around you and leans onto the counter adjacent to the stove, giving you a quick peck on the cheek. “everything okay, sweetie?” the pet name he most commonly used made your stomach hurt and your chest tighten.

“mmhm,” you bluff, “just a rough trip, i’m really exhausted,” you tell him, gaining a bit of strength to look him in the eyes with a tired expression and a weak smile.

“aww, you should’ve told me, honey. i would’ve got us something while i was out,” satoru says, his sickeningly sweet voice causing a bout of anger inside you.

“i was going to surprise you, but you weren’t here when i got home,” you lie to him, gazing back down to the saucepan and turning the eye off, “where were you so late?” you ask, although you already knew the answer. the question was just a meaningless test.

“ah, i was out with kento. he wanted to treat me to drinks since he got a new promotion,” satoru lies right back, but you see right through it.

“really? good for him,” you compliment his friend, able to work yourself up a little more to keep a straight face in front of your husband.

satoru couldn’t tell yet, but your heart cracked each time you looked at him. you wanted to slap the man to the ground and interrogate him as to why he’s sleeping around – but you only had evidence you saw with your own eyes. you figured he would most likely try to flip things around if you accused him of cheating and pin the blame on actions of your own that didn’t exist.

so, you make the noble decision to keep quiet about your knowledge for now.

days pass, the scene of your husband and the other woman slowly ate away at you, it chipped at the loving wife persona you displayed for satoru, more and more with each hour that came and went. your husband’s usual upbeat personality remained the same, and you tried your hardest to match it, continuing to kiss and be intimate with the man as much as he wanted.

but as time grew, your feelings slowly started to show. you couldn’t help it – who could help it? – being cheated on tears away someone’s entire confidence and demeanor. for years, satoru had feigned innocence and loyalty, he was a perfect husband to you, but maybe he was too perfect for someone like you.

he was his family’s most prized heir, and you were just some girl that got lucky enough to marry him, by some chance of fate. you hated the fact that you realized all you were to him was some … possession, someone there for convenience and convenience alone.

“what’s got you down in the dumps, hmm?” satoru teases as he pokes at your shoulder. you’re laid with your back facing him, trying to fall asleep after a long, emotionally painful night of sex.

you don’t reply at first, you just roll over a little more so he can’t see your sad face, curling into yourself at his touch. there was never going to be a perfect time for you to confront the man. but all the painful feelings you’d been holding on to for weeks at this point get the best of you, and a tear makes its way out of your eye and onto the silk sheets below.

“satoru,” you peep, barely audible as you continue to face away from your husband.

“hmm, honey?” he hums, so effortlessly faking a kind tone.

“who’s that girl?” you question, “i saw her here when i came home.”

“oh,” satoru replies, and you can feel his weight shift next to you so he’s laying on his back.

silence falls over the room, you wait on a reply that satoru refuses to give you for multiple minutes. he lays there, contemplating a lie, or whether or not he should come clean.

it’s not like you’d leave him, anyway.

“i’ve been dating her for a few months now,” satoru tells you, his voice no longer sweet or caring, just plainly spitting out the words you didn’t want to hear from him, ever. the tone in his voice upsets you even greater, he doesn’t even try to deny it, which causes an even greater pain to expand inside of you.

satoru’s new indifference to your feelings hurts a lot more than you’d ever imagined. you tried to psych yourself up, telling yourself that it was okay, you’d be happy if he just lied to you about the whole situation and you’d never bring it up again. his honesty is excruciating, it causes your heart to finally shatter into a million pieces when he confesses everything so guilt-free.

“why…?” you whimper, still unable to gain any of the forged confidence you had for weeks before to look him in the eyes again. you couldn’t stand to look at those beautiful blue eyes you’d fallen so deeply in love with over time, because you knew all they’d do is glare back at you unimpressed.

“well,” satoru starts, “what did you expect? this whole marriage was a fluke, anyway,” he mutters, still too honest for you to be able to feel any comfort in his words.

satoru doesn’t care, though, he never really cared, it’s all so agonizingly obvious to you now.

what did you expect?

you knew what you expected from this marriage, you treated satoru with the utmost care, even if it was a situation you were both forced into. you expected him to stay true to his vows, to be there in all the rough patches, and he was, only until it comes to your attention he wasn’t.

the sweet, considerate, thoughtful husband you once knew disappeared in the matter of a few minutes. all that remained of him now was a hard shell of what he was.

you decide to not reply to satoru anymore, to save yourself from anymore heartbreak – as if you had any left for him to smash into a billion pieces. the only actions you take are to curl up into an even smaller ball and allow the flood gates to open – you begin to coat the soft sheets in your salty tears. satoru only groans at your crying, like it was such a burden he broke your heart, as if he’s not the one to blame for everything going downhill.

the bed sinks in as satoru stands up, sighing. his footsteps shuffle behind you, you hear his keys jingle and his shoes scuff against the floor as he puts them on. you see him walk over to your dresser – the one he made for you with a huge mirror years ago – and check his reflection to fix his hair. soon after, he walks over to you and plants a meaningless kiss to your temple.

“i’m going to go see my girlfriend now,” the utterance of the word “girlfriend” makes you squeeze your eyes shut, “if you want a divorce, let me know so i can get a lawyer.”

satoru walks away and grabs his coat on the dresser, giving himself another good look in the mirror before walking over to the bedroom door.

“bye, honey.”

he leaves behind a broken wife, who’s too beautiful inside and out for her own good. he knows you won’t really leave him; the suggestion of a divorce was to only get a reaction out of you, he was bored the instant you had no rebuttal.

you only continue to cry into the night, falling asleep alone, the only thing to accompany you is the fact your marriage was a lie. satoru will come back, but things will never be the same.

[targaryenluvs]

— photograph

pairings: luke castellan x hades!daughter!reader

summary: as much as you loved luke, you were beginning to believe he’d rather keep you a secret than love you in the open.

warnings: angst babyyy, arguments, jealousy, selfishness, insecurity, manipulation, violence, fights, makeups, makeouts, tension

a/n: based on this request - you guys i’m currently reading the books bc i’ve never and i only grew up on the movies lol i will be more accurate soon i hope! i’m not the best an angst bare with me. this can also fit photograph!! hope you liked it anon!!!

your relationship with luke was amazing.

you’d never dated anyone before, but you weren’t sure how you could ever move on from him. he was nothing short of a gentleman as well as your bestfriend. he confided in you, as you did him, you held eachother and loved eachother. the only problem was that it wasn’t open. being two of the most well-known people at the camp, luke expressed his desire to you to have something to himself, you, to himself.

and at first you didn’t mind.

you loved sneaking away with him late at night, longing stares from across the room, and stolen moments whenever available. no one found out, and he wanted to keep it that way.

of course there were moments where the two of you messed up. accidentally wearing his shirt, the longer length drawing some stares but you’d brush them off, no one exactly was going to call out the daughter of hades. where your hair didn’t exactly cover all of the marks he’d left the night before, his hands were in your hair, his clothes were in your sheets.

and the two of you were always able to keep it hidden.

until you didn’t want to anymore.

you wanted to love him in the open, show everyone just how much you loved luke castellan. you’d bring it up to him when you spent time together, the idea of letting everyone know was foreign and unnecessary in his eyes, but it was all you wanted. just to be able to show how happy you are with him and so neither of you will get asked out anymore. but his kisses on your neck and trailing hands seemed to draw you away from the thought.

you kept telling yourself you were fine with it.

but a girl can only hold on so long, you were done with it, with him. it broke your heart, even thinking of not being with him anymore but you’d rather be free and sad then unknown and happy. the two of you were sat together, stargazing in the forest, your own hide out, deep in the woods, a clearing for the two of you.

he seemed so happy, with you. the whole night he chatted away with you, holding your hand, kissing you, hugging you. you loved him so much, he was your other half, your luke. you felt as if you’d implode. your heart clenched at the idea of being away from him. you knew you couldn’t live like this, “luke?” he turned your way, still smiling, “what’s up babe?” his smile dropped at the sight of your teary eyes and trembling lips, “hey, hey what’s wrong?”

you swallowed, “i— i can’t do this anymore, i can’t be a secret. i hate having your nights and being ignored in your mornings, i hate looking at all the girls fawn over you, knowing your mine. i hate not being able to tell you how i feel during the day, not being able to walk up to you and hug or kiss you. i hate it, and i hate myself for hating it. i just want to be with you.” luke’s eyes were glistening, his hand resting on your cheek, “don’t do this, please. you agreed to this, to our relationship. please don’t ask for more, isn’t this enough? am i not enough?”

he held your hand, pressing it to his chest. you could feel his heartbeat, the rhythm you listened to most nights, lulling you to sleep. you could see the gorgeous face you adored, and listened to the heavy breathing of the man you loved. your smile ignited a flicker of hope in his heart, “no, it’s not. i don’t want to be a secret. i want to be able to tell everyone how much you mean to me, i want you to tell everyone what i mean to you. to be able to talk about our future and our life, plan out the biggest of adventures and our wildest dreams. i can’t do that with someone who’d rather love me in the dark of night than the light of day.”

and with that, luke’s heart was beating faster, a tear falling down and his relationship with you in pieces. all he could do was watch you walk away, a part of him with you. he wanted to get up and chase you, tell you how much he truly loved you, but he sat and stared.

the next few weeks were miserable for both of you. sleepless nights, missing the other, no one to stare at anymore, no one to pass love notes to, no one.

luke had the attention of the entire camp, everyone but the person he wanted.

you had the love of everyone but him.

you tried your best to hide it, the pain in your chest, the tears you’d rid your body of at night, the bracelets and necklaces you hid at the bottom of your jewellery box. trying to eradicate any memory of luke castellan from your eye and life.

whereas luke found himself seeking you out. the horrible drawing youd made of him, the beaded bracelet with your nickname for him on it, the chapstick you left behind and your favourite shirt of his. it still smelled like your own perfume. his favourite photograph of the two of you, a polaroid, you kissing his cheek, with both of your matching necklaces on display.

luke seemed fine to everyone else, of course he did. why would he be any different? whereas you were less chatty, energy drained, and happiness gone. no one seemed to ask, too scared of the reply.

three months, without him.

it still hurt, seeing him. but day after day, it tended to get easier to get up. your friends were your saviours, and strength. they could infer the reason behind your sadness, but they didn’t push you. everyday became a routine, get up, get ready, eat, get through the day and relax at night. you thought you were doing better, until you saw him. happy and uncaring.

and all of a sudden you were back where you started. you were so tired of feeling unwanted, always getting frustrated when you cried, you were crying over someone who couldn’t care less.

so when one of the hermes boys approached you with a smile and a drink offering at a secret party in the woods, you were more than willing to take it. he was nice, and funny, and into you. whilst you laughed away with him, occasionally drinking and eating, luke was across the campfire from you, grip tightening on his cup. all the voices around him were muffled, he couldn’t care about their conversations when the girl he loved was right there.

it was one thing for someone to approach you but from his own cabin? it felt as if the guy was trying to piss him off, and he couldn’t stand for that. luke was trying his hardest to hold himself back, but then the guys hand was on your waist and the cup in his hand was crushed within an inch of its life.

suddenly, luke appeared out of nowhere, his eyes burning with jealousy. unable to control his emotions, he confronted the guy. “what the hell do you think you’re doing?” luke sneered as the boy, derek, looked at him confused, “what’re you talking about luke?” luke scoffed, his patience was wearing thin, and the stupid look on derek’s face looked so punchable, so that’s what he did.

the situation escalated quickly, and before you knew it, a full-blown fight broke out between luke and the derek. as chaos erupted around you, you began to realize the depth of luke's feelings. you knew him better than anyone around, you saw the pain in his eyes, hiding behind the rage. luke wasn’t overtly violent in his daily life, let alone starting a fight, all for you.

derek was holding on for sure, a few hits in but again, no one was really a match for luke. the crowd around you had grown, chanting and cheering mixed in with laughter. “luke! luke let him go.” you shouted at him, but it wasn’t really any use, you implored his cabin mates to pull him away, and after a few seconds of contemplating they agreed. derek scrambled away, running with a few friends, whether to chiron or the cabins, as long as it wasn’t near you, luke was happy.

you stormed over to luke, clutching him by his shirt, “let’s. talk.” a plethora of ‘ooh’s’ rung out as luke shrugged off all the hands holding him back.

you’d found a quiet spot to talk, and with tears streaming down your faces, you talked. for the first time in three months, you held a conversation. it obviously wasn’t breezy, yelling and shouting, shoves from you, a slap or two. “you ignore me for three months, and then you beat the shit out of a guy just because he talked to me? what the hell is wrong with you? you were completely fine after we broke up, why did you do that?”

luke took a step closer, “you thought i was fine? i was anything but, every single night, all i wanted was you. you drive me insane, do you get that? not having you, not being able to hold you, to be with you.” his hand held your waist tightly, pulling you into him.

you were looking up at him, nose to nose, heaving chests and an unbelievable amount of tension in the air. “to kiss you.” he whispered, before kissing your neck. your hand tangled itself in his curls as his hand tightened around your waist, the other holding the back of your neck. the two of you ended up pushed against a tree, roaming hands and messy kisses.

“does this mean you’ll take me back?” luke whispered, forehead against yours, “are you willing to go public?”

he smiled, “for you? anything.”

[little-diable]

Forever Mine – Harvey Specter (smut)

Y'all voted on reading my Harvey stuff, so here we go! I am so in love with this man, it's insane. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Harvey and the reader are best friends, but on the night when she asks him to pick her up from yet another horrible date, neither of them manages to hide their feelings any longer.

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, jealousy, possessiveness, lots of feelings, friends to lovers

Pairing: Harvey Specter x fem!reader (2.4k words)

“Harvey?” Her voice rang in his ear, drawing his tired eyes towards the clock on his nightstand. It was far past midnight, and even though it wasn’t unusual for Harvey to be awake late into the night, it had been one of those nights where he had passed out the second he had found shelter in his bed, hours ago. 

“(Y/n)? What’s going on?” It took her a moment to reply, to let go of a sigh before finding her voice to answer her best friend’s question. 

“Could you pick me up from somewhere?” Harvey had already set into motion to put on his clothes with the phone balanced between his ear and shoulder. Heavy breaths left her, filled with a sadness that made his heart clench in his chest. 

“What happened, baby?” The nickname left him all too easily, even though it was something he hadn’t called his best friend in years. The sharp intake of air he heard urged him on to move even quicker to find his way out of his apartment.

“Do you remember the bar we went to last month with Mike?” Harvey gripped his car keys tighter, clenching them in his fist. A hum left him as he stepped out of the elevator, letting his shoes meet the cold ground while jogging towards his car. 

“I’m waiting there.” And without another word, (y/n) had ended the call. 

……

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, with her coat tightly wrapped around her frame, and her hands buried in the pockets of said coat. It had been a stupid idea, a fucking stupid idea, she shouldn’t have listened to her friends and how they had urged her to go on that date to finally get over her best friend – Harvey fucking Specter. 

It had been an awful date, nothing but a waste of her time, but deep down she had hoped it’d finally manage to take her mind off her best friend, the man (y/n) longed for with every rising of the sun. The man who’d never be hers. The man who looked at her with a love only family members shared, and nothing more. 

A cry wanted to break out of (y/n) at the familiar pain in her chest, squeezing her heart with its all too familiar grasp. Shaky breaths left her as she saw his car approach, needing to prepare herself for an uncomfortable conversation where Harvey would scold her for meeting up with a man like this, while being all too oblivious about her reasons for that date. 

“Thank you for picking me up.” She pressed a kiss to his cheek before properly sinking into the comfortable leather seat. Harvey’s hand found its rest on her knee, and with his thumb running over the exposed parts of her skin, due to her dress, he began driving. 

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” (Y/n) could tell that he was driving her back to his place, taking the all too familiar route she could probably walk blindfolded. Her heart was racing in her chest as it whispered to her, begging (y/n) to finally tell Harvey about the emotional chaos growing deep inside of her, while her mind forced her to stay quiet, to not risk a friendship she couldn’t live without. 

“Just a horrible date, nothing special.” The hand resting on her knee stopped moving, frozen to the spot as his eyes flickered to meet hers. For a moment, an uncomfortable silence began to fill the car, it clung to her like a second layer of skin, crawling up its limbs like a parasite. Dates had always been a struggling topic between the two, uncomfortable conversations they both tried to avoid. 

“Do I know the guy?” His voice was husky, growing lower with every further word he spoke. His fingers no longer stroked her skin, they had a tight grasp on her knee as if he was making sure she wouldn’t leave his side, not daring to let go as if he was scared to be alone.

“No, the girls introduced me to him.” Nothing but a hum left Harvey as a reply, letting the sound buzz through (y/n). Only as they arrived at his apartment complex to park the car did they find their voices again, sharing a small “Thank you” while Harvey helped her out of the car and led her to the elevator, with his hand placed on her lower back and his jacket wrapped around her frame. 

“Why do you always go on dates with these men? By now we both know your friends don’t have the best taste.” The question hung in the air, it forced a shudder down her spine while her heart slowly began to win the upper hand to silence her mind. Harvey was intently staring down at her, while keeping close to (y/n) with his hand moving from her lower back to her waist. 

“Don’t ask me this, please, Harvey.” Sadness dripped from her voice, followed by something he couldn’t pinpoint. But something inside of Harvey began to shift, it was whispering to him as if he could tell that whatever he’d force out of her, would change the outcome of this very night, a turning point neither could run from.

“You know I’m not one to back down, sweetheart.” Her tongue kissed her teeth while (y/n) pondered over her choices. She was grateful for the few seconds of silence they were offered as they stepped out of the elevator and entered the apartment she knew like the back of her hand. 

“Talk to me, (y/n), what’s going on?” Harvey was towering over her, even as she kicked off her heels and shrugged out of his jacket to expose the dress he loved seeing on her. His hands held onto her to guide her towards the couch, and even as they sat down next to one another, his hands held contact with her body. 

“Harvey, please, don’t make me do this.” She could tell that whatever he was waiting for her to say was different to what she was about to confess. Harvey was too oblivious, he wouldn’t ever pick up on the love she fostered for him, a secret that would turn their friendship into something (y/n) would curse herself for. Uneasy waters that would swallow them both without giving them a chance to swim. 

“It can’t be that bad, sweetheart. Is there something I don’t know? Did somebody hurt you?” Her glassy eyes got lost in his. She allowed herself to study her handsome best friend for a moment before slowly rising to her feet, desperately searching the now growing distance between the. If she was about to lay this on him, she needed some space, enough room to prepare herself to walk out of his door any moment now. 

Harvey’s jaw muscles ticked, he was growing impatient, angry even – about something he had awfully mixed up. He would burn down the earth for (y/n), would hurt anybody who dared to come too close to her. And yet he still didn't know that he was causing her this pain, a biting sensation that made bile rise in her throat.

“You wouldn’t get it, Harvey. Let it go.” Her eyes found the city below their feet, allowing her to study the numerous lights filling the darkness, the high buildings growing nearby and far away. It was a beautiful sight, a sight that tried to calm her aching heart, though without any luck. She heard Harvey move, could watch in the reflection of his big windows how he rose to his feet and walked up to her. 

“Talk to me, baby.” His muscular front was pressed against back, and for a moment (y/n) allowed herself to imagine being held by him like a lover would cling to their significant other. A thought that guided her next movements as she slowly turned in his grasp to stare up at her handsome best friend. 

With her breath hitched in her chest, (y/n) shifted her weight to press her lips against his. It was a quick kiss, a simple kiss, and yet it carried more meaning than any other kiss (y/n) had ever given. She felt him freeze at the touch, seemingly not expecting his best friend to cross that invisible line. 

“This is why I don’t want to talk about it with you, Harvey.” A tear dripped from her eye as the words rolled off her tongue. Harvey stared down at her with something so intense, (y/n) couldn’t help but peel herself out of his grasp, set on leaving his apartment and the man she had been in love with for years behind. 

“How dare you!” His angry words made her halt in her steps. Slowly, (y/n) turned back towards Harvey who wore an expression filled with hurt and anger. (Y/n) could only imagine how his opponents in court must feel whenever he directed his anger at them, forcing them to back down from any fight they couldn’t win – not against Harvey Specter.

“How dare you act as if I have no say in this. Have you ever wondered for just a second if I feel the same? If I was forced to carry the same heartbreak for years whenever you called me to pick you up from shitty dates with men who weren’t me?” Even though her heart began to race once again, begging (y/n) to realise what he had just confessed, her anger managed to guide her, letting her voice grow louder just like Harvey’s. 

“Then why didn’t you say something?” He stalked towards her, with eyes so fiery, (y/n) feared he’d burn her on the spot. Almost no space was left between them, with his chest pressed against hers to push her against the door, and his hand pressed to the spot next to her head. 

“Because I’d rather suffer from this heartbreak for years than risk losing you.” She got no time to reply as his lips came down on hers in a stormy kiss. (Y/n) instantly allowed her lips to move with his, letting their tongues tangle while her arms found their way around his neck. Moans rumbled through the both of them, sounds that rang in their ears like a song solemnly composed for this night only. Harvey’s hands found their way down her frame to pick her up without breaking the kiss, guiding them towards the kitchen where he placed her down on his kitchen island. 

“Promise I’ll take my time with you later, but fuck I need to be inside of you now.” Her excited chuckles left Harvey smirking as he shuffled her dress up to her waist, groaning at the sight of her drenched panties. She was mesmerised by the sight of Harvey lingering between her thighs, something (y/n) had only dared to dream of. 

“I bet your date thought he could have you like this tonight, spread out and ready to be fucked. But let me promise you something, sweetheart,” without breaking eye contact, Harvey ripped her panties apart to expose her aching heat to the colder temperatures now stroking her limbs. “No other man but me will ever get to see you like this again, from now on, you’re mine, you belong to me, and I will never share you.” 

“I only want to be yours, Harvey, like you will always be mine.” (Y/n) pulled him down for a kiss while he freed his cock from his dark trousers and reached for a condom. The seconds kept blurring by until Harvey finally pushed into her, letting his cock stretch her walls as his thumb circled her pulsing bundle.

Both moaned at the new sensation, having to adjust to something they had longed for all these years. With her back arched off the kitchen island, she let Harvey fuck her, letting their bodies meet with every thrust as if they were magnets finding together. A storm was rocking through them both, binding them together to forge another bond so strong, neither of them would ever be able to shake it off again.

Harvey’s name rolled off her tongue like a prayer, filling the apartment that would forever keep their deepest secrets. Both clung to the other as if they were scared that this was nothing but a dream, about to evaporate into a bitter nothingness as they’d be ripped from their sleep. 

Wandering hands kept searching the other’s closeness, clinging to the reminder that this was real, that this was not a trick of their brains but something they could forever cling to.

“I love you, fuck, I love you so goddamn much, (y/n).” Harvey’s moaned words left her heart somersaulting, forcing her upper body off the cold top of the kitchen island to meet his lips for a kiss. They were a tangled mess, and yet a mess so sweet, both were high on all the different sensations. 

“I love you too, Harvey.” Her walls fluttered around his cock as he met her swollen spot, pushing her closer to the edge. (Y/n) trembled beneath him, wordlessly begging his thumb to move faster, to circle her bundle with more pressure to push her closer towards her orgasm.

“Cum for me, baby, show me how pretty you look when you cum on my cock.” Harvey’s gritty voice gave her the needed push to cum beneath him. Her moans rang in his ears, filling every part of his body with an unfamiliar kind of pride he hadn't ever felt with another woman. His eyes didn’t stray from her pleasure-drunken features while fucking her through her high, a high he chased with ferocious thrusts.

Harvey came moments later with curses rumbling through him. She clung to him while his cock twitched inside of her, filling the condom with his release. Neither spoke a word as they stayed connected in the most intimate way, clinging to each other while the hazy fog of lust slowly began to lift. 

“Did this really just happen, Harvey?” Her whispered question left Harvey laughing. Slowly, he pulled out of her to toss away the condom before cupping (y/n)'s cheeks with his warm hands. His eyes studied her for a moment before pressing his forehead against hers to let go of a deep, relieved sigh. 

“It did, and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you with me forever, sweetheart.”

[kalinysu]

Muzan with wife reader who failed a mission and is trying to avoid him after he yelled at her? extra fluff pls

𝐒𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐘. - Muzan x F!Reader

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: None/Small angst. (?)

𝐍𝗼𝐭𝐞𝐬: LAST thing i’ll write Muzan for a while. 😭

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You had been avoiding Muzan for days. At first, he didn’t take the time to realize as he had been far too busy with other things to pay your obvious distancing any mind. He also never thought of you being upset with him for something that he did so often. Yelling? He’s yelled at practically everyone.

But you, you were his wife. That was the first time he had yelled at you, and you thought that he would treat you differently because you were his wife. But he yelled and got really angry with you, just like every other demon. It hurt you, more than he realized. And the fact that the two of you hadn’t talked in days and he didn’t notice, or rather didn’t care that something was up hurt even more.

You had been cooped up in your room for a while, and nobody had ever checked up on you or anything at all, not even your own husband.

Not that you expected it, everyone had been busy with the demon slayers and such. But still, he was your husband, and he had to have even a little free time at some point. You were sulking in bed, losing track of time, until finally, someone had opened your door.

“Get up, do something productive, like finding me that flower.”

Your husbands deep voice rang out as he rummaged through your drawing and took something before leaving without another word. The fact that he was now telling you only to find the flower stung. He most likely thought you were incapable of doing anything else.

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Days had gone by now, you had nothing, and it seemed Muzan was only growing more and more irritated as time went by. You had lost all hope of him ever coming to see you for even a split second of affection.

You were outside, somewhere. An unknown location, simply sitting on a hill in the moonlight. The flowers were pretty, but you couldn’t take the time to admire them. You were far too lost in your thoughts. You didn’t care for the flowers if they weren’t the one Muzan wanted.

Suddenly, you noticed someone sit down beside you.

Your husband.

Neither of you spoke, even though you really wanted to. It wasn’t an awkward silence, the two of you just knew it wasn’t the right time to talk. Well, you knew. Muzan didn’t talk because he didn’t want to or feel like it. He’s always been like that. He rarely showed affection through his words, but you didn’t mind to much, especially not anymore. You had grown used to the small gestures of affection from a while ago, but now you were convinced they had stopped.

“.. My lord if.. If i’ve done something to offend you—“ You started, not looking at him as you spoke.

“You’ve been distant.”

You looked up at him. He wasn’t looking at you, not avoiding, but simply looking across the hills. “You haven’t spoke to me in so long.. You have only uttered few words but those were orders, and weren’t frequent either.” You said, hugging your knees.

“Am I supposed to come to you? What happened to you coming to me?”

Your husband said. It sounded cold, but you knew that wasn’t his intention. You usually always came to him, showing affection and in return receiving affection back. He was right, you never went to him anymore. But..

“It seems you’ve been mad at me..”

“I was mad, but that’s no reason not to come to me. I’ve been irritable lately with all these nuisances.”

“But if your irritated.. you don’t have to take your anger out o..” You trailed off, going silent before you could even finish your sentence as you noticed him glaring at you. Looking away uncomfortably you mumbled slightly. “..Nevermind— I.. It’s fine but—“

“Sorry.”

You blinked a few times, wondering if you were hearing things. You looked back at him. “Hu—“

“I don’t like repeating myself.”

You went quiet.

“Your supposed to say you forgive me.”

“Right!!— I forgive you.” You said, still a little shocked he had actually apologized. You’d never heard that word come out of his mouth before, unless he was mocking someone but that was different.

“—‘My lord’?”

“—My lord.” You added, a small smile playing on your lips at the reminder. You leaned against his shoulder slightly, and in return, he placed a hand on your waist.

“Don’t avoid me like that again.”

His hand came up to your shoulder, pulling you closer to him, before he leaned down and placed a kiss on your head. When was the last time you had kissed him. You looked up at him.

“No.”

“No? No to what?” You said, with a fake innocence, before quickly giving him a peck on the lips before he could speak.

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[cemeteryspider]

Rooted in Love

Gambit! Remy LeBeau x Poison Ivy! Reader

Summary: During the attack on Genosha you took the hit that would have killed Remy, luckily all he had to do was put his trust in Kurt to keep you safe.

Trigger Warnings: Violence, Near Death Experience, Emotional Distress

Word Count: 1127

I allowed myself a breath. My plants surrounded me in my small greenhouse at the X-Mansion. The feeling of vines, stems, roots and lush flowers against my face and arms kept me grounded.

'Just keep breathing'

The pollen tickled the inside of my nose and I breathed it in like my teammates would breathe air.

'Her heart's beating faster, that is a good thing right?'

Your team. Where were you? Where were they?

~~~

Meanwhile, a mind away Remy looked down at your almost lifeless body. Madelyne Pryor projecting positive thoughts into your head to help draw your focus away from the painful injuries inflicted on your body by the sentinels. Magneto was badly injured and Rogue was looking worse for wear.

Neither were in any condition to fly, but still, they focused and aimed to get you to the mainland of Africa. Still, the burn marks on Magneto and Rogue's head wounds were not making good progress in their abilities.

Gambit was losing hope that he would get to see you again. To hear your pretty laughter, see your dazzling eyes, and feel your warm touch.

That's when Kurt appeared next to you, and looked at him. His eyebrows creased, Kurt would not be able to make it to the mainland. He would tire until he sent the two of you into the ocean, but there was something in his eyes.

He was physically hurt, "Trust me, mein Freund", but Kurt's determination was palpable.

"Gambit trusts you", If he said no you would die, if he said yes there was a chance you wouldn't. It wasn't a hard decision.

"Come back to me, cher," He placed a quick kiss on your forehead.

Kurt carried you in his arms and started running. He gained momentum, and he was gone. Quickly, the two of you became a dot in his field of vision, all he could do was pray.

~~~

Salty air entered my nostrils but I could've sworn I was just home, in my greenhouse. I peeled my eyelids open suddenly aware of my location. I was in Nightcrawler's arms crossing the ocean. Kurt looked worse for wear, but as the sleep leaves my eyes I understand that I must look worse.

Stabbing pain started entering my mind as what I could only assume was a telepath's attempt to block the pain wear off. I sucked air in through my teeth sharply, and Kurt looked down at me briefly.

The dark circles and half-lidded eyes gave away the utter exhaustion that must be in his bones. I forced my head to the side to see the sandy coastline of Africa. The trees, flowers, and grass seemed to reach out to you, and again your eyes closed.

~~~

The two of you were so close. Kurt used the last of his strength, but this last push didn't quite make it. You both fell through the air into the cold ocean. The two of you floated just below the surface, and Kurt tried to move his limbs but they just wouldn't seem to move, limbs like lead.

He closed his eyes, understanding that this could be the end. He let two of his friends down, he would let his sister down.

His mind stewed for a moment until he felt a light touch. Algae brushed him up to the surface and the seaweed below him pulled him by his arms to the shore.

When he was close enough he started to army crawl further onto the shore. The local flora pulls your body across the sandy beach, leaves wrapping around your whole body, and soft pink flowers cushioning your head.

When he stopped feeling the waves lap at his feet, he allowed the side of his face to drop into the sand. Exhaustion finally overcame his ability to stay awake.

~~~

When Gambit and Rogue were finally able to get the jet off the ground and to the shore there was a stillness in him. Gambit was never still, and the lack of movement or incessant talking made Rouge twitch with nerves.

Before the plane was even on the ground, Gambit looked about ready to jump out and begin his search. His eyes scan the sandy surface trying to find any sign of you or his fuzzy friend.

"We'll find them, Sugar" Rogue put a gloved hand on his shoulder, and a year ago he would have melted into the touch. Now it just made him want your comfort even more.

"There!," Rogue was pointing to a blue blob on the shore which could only be one person, "Kurt!"

She began to quickly fly over to him, and Gambit was forced to run which was considerably slower than her flight.

"Kurt? Are you okay? Oh my gosh sugar, I can feel your temperature through my gloves," Her hands cupped his face, and he slowly started to come back to the present.

"Rogue? Where's Y/n?," He tried to push himself off the ground but his sister quickly brought him into her arms.

"Don't worry about that right now sugar, we'll find them, I'm gonna get you to the jet first so you can cool down"

With a weak nod, Rogue picked him up in her arms and gently flew them over to the jet.

Gambit scanned the surroundings anxiously. "Where are you, cher? Come on, give Gambit a sign, s'il vous plaît" Almost like magic a trail of pretty pink flowers appeared in front of him, "Well, I'll be damned,” he murmured under his breath.

He followed the trail a little ways into the trees where it was considerably cooler and definitely more green. It wasn't long before the flowers stopped before a giant blooming pink flower. Carefully, he pulled one petal down to take a look inside, and low and behold there you were.

Glistening with morning dew, and the cuts and bruises were nearly gone. The rest of the petals peeled back, allowing him to hold you close in his arms, "God, cher, I thought I lost you."

He placed his face in the crook of your neck allowing himself to just hold you and feel you when he felt your hand gently caress his face.

"Hey, baby," You whispered in a hushed voice, "I'm okay, I promise."

In every retelling of this story, Gambit would never say he cried, but you know he did. Telling the story to the kids at the academy and eventually your own kids, you would mime exaggerated sobs behind the man telling the story. 

And in every single battle you ever fought together, he made sure that you were always by his side. Though he made you promise you wouldn't sacrifice yourself for him again, you knew you would do it again in a heartbeat.

[borathae]

"You wake up in Jungkook's bed after a passionate night together."

Pairing: Vampire!Jungkook x f.Reader

Genre: established relationship!AU, domestic Fluff, hinted Smut

Warnings: casual nudity, Kookie shows off his muscles, he is a giggly cutie who just wants to be praised, they talk about last night's sex, she kisses his abs, he is so in love with her :(

Wordcount: 2k

a/n: i wanna give him the world. he is my babyboy :( also, i don't gotta mention by which live this was inspired. y'all KNOW fjadjfa. enjoy besties, i fucking love him 🤍

Something is tickling your face. Gently. Nicely. Warm. It feels warm. Fingers. You can make out the paths they draw. Over your forehead, tracing your brows, down your temples, along your cheeks and up your nose until the faintest touch feels up your closed eyelids. 

You know where you are. Jungkook’s wing. You stayed with him after the two of you went on a lovely movie date in town, followed by karaoke in his living room till late into the night. 

You had sex too. It was good sex. Amazing sex even. He made you see not only stars, but the entire galaxy. And in return you made him arch his back and whimper your name. It was amazing. It really, really was.

You still feel the afterglow of it. It became stronger again now that you are awake and actively take him in.

His soft scent lingers on the sheets and the warmth of his touch feels heavenly. You can’t stop your lips from curling into a sleepy smile. Quite frankly, you didn’t even try to stop them. Perhaps you even encouraged them to do so. 

“Mhm good morning. That feels amazing”, you mumble. 

“Good morning, my honey”, he answers you and cups your cheek to run his thumb along the tender skin under your eye. Once. Twice. 

Then you open your eyes to look at him. 

His face scrunches up into a giddy smile instantly. It starts off with his eyes before the rest of his face follows. You love the way he smiles. It is so precious and adorable that he always starts off with his eyes before anything else shows his happiness. It fits him so well. 

You retort his smile, feeling it grow when he scoots closer to press a kiss to your forehead. 

“I hope I didn’t wake you. I’ve been awake for a little and I tried not to touch you, but you’re so pretty when you sleep”, he says, making your heart flutter. 

He scoots back again and touches your ear to massage it softly. 

“You didn’t wake me”, you assure him, tingling at the touch. 

“That’s good to hear. I hope you don’t mind that I looked at you”, he says and giggles, “I’m sorry, I just think that you’re so pretty.”

“I don’t mind”, you say and reach out to caress his naked chest, “you’re so cute, my honey.”

“Thank you, yeah”, he says and giggles. He is so cute when he is so happy. You hope that he never stops giggling. He shimmies back just enough that you can look at him comfortably. He gathers a bundle of his blanket and uses it to rest his chin on it. Like this, you have perfect view of his sculpted arms and tattoos. He didn’t bother to put on clothes last night and neither did you. He kept snuggling up to you throughout the night and whenever you noticed it, you felt yourself tingle. His skin felt like paradise against yours. It really did.

His eyes gaze at you with sparkles in them. 

“How did you sleep?” he asks. 

“Really well. Your bed’s so comfy.”

“Yeah? That’s good to hear”, he says and giggles once again. 

“And you?”

“I slept well too, yeah. I dreamed of you.”

“You did?” 

“Mh-hm. I dreamed of last night. It’s because I can’t stop thinking about it”, he giggles again, giving you the prettiest eye smile ever, “I think we had a really amazing date. I loved it a lot.”

“I loved it too”, you answer him and touch his arm to squeeze it lovingly, “you’re so cute.”

“Heh”, he lets out and blushes, “and I think that the sex was amazing”, he sounds shy all of a sudden, “I can’t stop thinking about it.”

You smile and agree with a nod of your head, “I can’t stop thinking about it either.”

“Do your knees still hurt?” he makes sure. You finished him off by riding him and you went at it with such passion that your knees ached afterwards.

“No, they don’t. I told you, they were just tired.”

“You did it so hard”, he says and giggles with his nose scrunching up. He snuggles the blanket, even going so far as to rub his cheek against it, “I couldn’t stop moaning.”

“I couldn’t tell at all”, you joke and snicker.

He snickers as well, nodding his head, “I know, I was so loud. I can’t help it because you’re so, so good.”

“Don’t apologise. I’m the same when you touch me.”

“Yeah, I know”, he says, glancing down at your body just once, “you sounded really sexy. I think.”

“Thank you, baby. You sounded really sexy too.”

“Yeah, I liked it”, he says, “I’ve been able to make love to you without danger for such a long time already, but I still feel so excited by it. So it always feels epic and, and”, he stops himself, glancing at you shyly, “I hope I’m not annoying you with this already.”

“Kookie, come on”, you say sternly and nudge his chest, “don’t you dare say that. I feel as excited as you do, sweets. You deserve to feel this way.”

“Thank you. It means a lot that you share those feelings with me.”

“Of course, baby. I mean it.”

He smiles and reaches out to touch your face. Your cheek, your brow and temple until he ends it with a soft brush over your lips. And as he makes sure that your face is actually as beautiful as he thinks it is, his sparkly eyes race over your features without wanting to stop. They finally land on your lips and the way they look so pretty in the morning lights.

“I uhm”, he begins and lets out a shy giggle, meeting your gaze. You retort the chuckle, caressing the inside of his wrist.

“Mhm?”

“I think you’re beautiful”, he says, making your heart flutter.

“Thank you so much”, you whisper giddily, “you’re beautiful too.”

“Thank you”, he says and sits up just a little, “hey ___? I was thinking”, he begins.

“What were you thinking?” you ask him, expecting the most profound revelation ever.

“My arms look really strong today. What do you think?” he says, showing off by flexing his arm. His muscles tense and bulge, capturing your attention. 

You stifle a snicker. You did not expect for the conversation to go this way. He is such a wonderful person.

“Look at this”, he points at the most sculpted parts, “can you see the lines there and, and how big it looks there?”

“I can”, you tell him, melting in fondness. He is so adorable when he shows off because you know for a fact that he believes that this is the most impressive thing he could do. Not being loving and gentle, neither being the best listener and sweetest person ever. No, in his eyes showing off his muscles is the most impressive thing about him. Which, don’t misunderstand, is very impressive, but it is still very adorable as well because of how randomly he decided to do it. 

“Can you see how strong I am?” he asks, flexing even harder. 

“I can”, you reach out and touch his arm. It is rockhard, “wow, Kookie your muscles are so hard.”

“Right? It’s because I’m so strong”, he says.

“Mhm, of course you are. You’re such a strong man, this is so impressive”, you praise him, squeezing his arm gently, “wow, so strong.”

“Yeah, right?” he agrees and then sticks his head under the blanket for a second. You watch him with fondness bubbling in your tummy, “and check this out”, he says, reappearing again and tugging the blanket down his torso just enough that the first hint of his pubes gets revealed. He is resting on his back, propped up on his elbow and with his abs flexed. He runs his fingers down the lines of them, “look.”

You roll to your tummy and prop yourself up on your elbows. Like this, you could easily rest your chin on his stomach if you wanted to.

“Wow Kookie, your abs looks so strong”, you gasp.

“Right? It’s because I used them so much last night”, he says, making your chest flutter. He wasn’t lying. He did use them a lot as he was making you see galaxies.

“Mhm of course you did”, you say, “can I touch?”

“Of course.”

You reach out and trace his muscles with your fingertips. Jungkook watches you with his breathing just a little quickened. Goosebumps cover his skin wherever you touch. You finish your explorations by shimmying closer and draping your arm over his lap just so you can lower your lips to his stomach and kiss it.

Jungkook gasps when that happens, shivering like crazy. You nuzzle your nose into his faint happy trail and inhale his scent. He smells like warm nights, good sex and clean skin. It’s addictive, really, and for just a short moment you play with the desire to lick him until he shivers.

You lift your head, meeting his droopy gaze.

“My strong man”, you say, flashing him a loving grin.

Jungkook breaks into a fit of happy giggles, picking you up in his strong arms to hug you against his chest. 

“Thank you ___, I’m your strong man”, he says, wiggling you from side to side. 

“Yes you are”, you tell him, snaking your arm around his waist, “I feel very safe in your arms.”

“Wow really?” he gasps and giggles, “wow, thank you. This means so much to me.”

He lies down with you in his arms, which results in your finding your new resting spot sprawled halfway on top of him and with your face buried in the crook of his neck. You grunt at the impact, before a fond chuckle shakes your shoulders.

“Careful”, you tell him.

“I’m sorry”, he slips his arms from you, “did I hurt you?”

“No, you just surprised me. That’s all”, you say, climbing on top of him and sitting down on his lap. Just below his dick and with your hands feeling up his pecs. Like this, the blanket covers you until your hips while the rest of your body was exposed to the cool air. Goosebumps cover your skin instantly, but Jungkook touches don’t allow your body to feel cold. He runs his hands all over your body, leaving out the most intimate spots for respect reasons and massaging the parts which he thinks are so incredibly soft.

“My strong man, mhm?” you say.

He nods his head vigorously, pressing out a shaky, “yeah.” He is just so excited to be with you and to be your strong man! He is your man! That’s awesome!

You run your hands to his shoulders before placing them in the pillow beside his head. Like this, you can look down at his pretty face while Jungkook feels up your back and the beginning of your buttocks.

“Should we check out this café we passed last night?”

You drove by a café on your way to the cinema yesterday. Back then, it had already closed for the day, but it promised fresh breakfast everyday in the café window. You talked about going there one day and trying out the menu.

“I love this idea”, he says, “I’m really hungry already”, he tells you and adds a quick, “not that kind of hungry though, don’t worry.”

You laugh, “I wasn’t thinking that”, you assure him, pecking his lips. 

Jungkook hums and hooks his arms behind your head. With one expert movement, he has your positions flipped, kissing your lips as happy purrs rumble in his chest.

“Kookie, wait”, you giggle, fighting him off with minimal effort, “the breakfast.”

“You shouldn’t have kissed me then”, he mumbles, chasing your kiss.

“It was a peck, you’re the one deepening it”, you complain with a racing heart.

“Mhm no”, he answers you, making you laugh.

“Come on, baby”, you snicker, turning your head so he is kissing your cheek instead.

“Hmpf fine”, he huffs out air, rubbing his nose against you slowly, “first shower, then breakfast, then I’ll buy you flowers and then I’ll show you what kissing me all naked gets you.”

“Sounds like a deal”, you say, feeling oh so giddy that you could burst.

[pellucid-constellations]

If It All Fell (8)

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: If it all fell apart—if you forgot who you were—would you love him again? Would the bond guide you back? Azriel doesn't know if that uncertainty is one he can bear.

Word count: 3.6k

Warnings: Angst, pining, injury

a/n: I appreciate thoughts and reactions more than you know!!! <333 Italics indicate flashbacks.

Series Masterlist (all parts ♡)

~~

The next two weeks were interesting. 

In the first few days after the accident—the ones filled with confusion and incorrect suspicions—you had spent most of your time alone or sleeping. Mor visited your bedroom every morning to share limited information about your past, but there was no routine beyond that. Everyone tiptoed around you, too afraid to set off the timebomb they assumed was your mind.

But Helion had disputed that assumption. 

You were allowed to know who you were, to become the person you had been. 

So, a routine began to form. 

Breakfast early in the morning, usually with a random assortment of the inner circle. Mor was always present, keeping up with her responsibility of telling you about yourself. Cassian joined more often than not—an early riser, he deemed himself. Azriel made it when he could. He was always busy in the morning. Doing… something, everyone told you.

Rhysand would join you after the meal, whisking you away for an hour or two to work on the powers you still could not call upon. He would have a different objective in mind every day and it was your job to parse out what it was. 

You failed. 

Obviously. 

He started bringing in random Velaris citizens instead, but you still felt nothing. It was nice to see the smiling strangers; they were all kind to you, all apparently knowing who you were. The vagueness surrounding them leveled the playing field more. They didn’t know your whole life story and you weren’t supposed to know theirs. 

“You’ve explained it to me before,” Rhysand had said. “It’s a vibration, sometimes a light or a color. You see it around them, feel it. You understand a deep part within them that they don’t even know they’re revealing.” 

Well, there was never any light or vibration or color. You could never tell that the fae were lying or that Rhysand was planning something big for his anniversary with his mate. None of this otherworldly intuition that the Night Court seemed to value so highly. It was all just stagnant. 

After spending some time failing with Rhys, you got to explore Velaris. You had insisted that you didn’t need a chaperone, and your family believed you—for a time. You had three whole days of walking around the city alone before that privilege was revoked.

Granted, it was your fault that it was revoked, but that was neither here nor there. 

It hadn’t been your plan to get lost, just as it hadn’t been your plan to get caught up in a street brawl over a cart of potatoes. But when you weren’t at the designated meeting spot for Cassian to bring you back up the house, and when he found you with a bleeding nose an hour later, what you meant to do didn’t matter. 

“Y/n?” you heard a voice shout, heavy footsteps shaking the ground beneath you. “Shit—y/n, look at me, you okay?” 

Warm hands enveloped your shaking ones, drawing them back and catching sight of the red staining your fingerprints. It was Cassian, you realized, with his broad wings cloaking you in their shadow. The General’s expression hardened when he took in your face.

“What happened?” he asked, voice low, comfort combatting fury. “Where have you been? We have about 10 people looking for you, sweetheart.” 

You grimaced—both at the pain in your nose and the notion of your family scouring the streets of Velaris. “I’m so, so sorry, Cassian. I got turned around and then I was in this alley and there was a boy—” 

“Hey!” Defeat washed through you at the sound of another voice in the alley, all hopes for a peaceful return home washed away. “Is your girlfriend over there gonna pay for the product I lost?” 

The Illyrian before you paused, body going still at the accusatory tone. Cassian’s jaw clenched and he turned, keeping you well behind him. You still caught a glimpse of the scene from between his legs, and the merchant—to his credit—had the mind to stop his taunting. 

And to look afraid. 

Really, truly afraid. 

“You did this to her?” Cassian growled, fists clenching at his sides. 

The merchant swallowed. “You’re—and she’s…” 

“Did you. Do this. To her?” Cassian asked again, words broken up by malice. 

A beat of pressing silence, only whispers of the street meeting your ears. The merchant took several, shaky steps back, but the movement damned him. His hands swayed with his backtracking feet, and red glistened on his knuckles. 

Cassian’s wings flared at the sight. It only took a small uptick of his brow for the smaller man to fall to the floor in a plea. 

“Please, please don’t kill me! I didn’t know who she was. Don’t turn me over to the Shadowsinger, I won’t make it! I have a family to care for—a wife! I was only trying to protect my crops and she butted in. I didn’t want to hurt her!”

The General hooked his chin over his shoulder and sent you a questioning gaze, one you were sheepish to answer. With a harrowing breath, you revealed, “There was a little boy stealing potatoes. He was going to hit him. I stepped in the way.” 

A tug at your chest had you gasping as Cassian turned back around. The feeling had been persistent the moment you got lost, increasing after you’d been implicated in the merchant’s conflict. It pulled and pulled, a desperate winding around your ribs that you didn’t know how to relieve. 

It had to have been fear. Or stress. 

Cassian eyed the man crumpled to the floor. “Is the boy okay?” he asked, the question meant for you but directed across the alley. 

“Yes,” you confirmed, pressing your hand to the blood running down your chin. “He ran away.” 

Cassian grunted, sent a harsh warning to the man, and then crouched back down to your place on the ground, shaking his head in frustration. “Let’s get you home.” And then he grumbled, “I might get my ass kicked but…” 

Cassian had not gotten his ass kicked when you got home, but many other things happened. Mor just about cried in relief, her arms thrown around your neck followed by a string of commands to never do such a thing again. Rhys rubbed at his jaw as tension lifted from the House. He also had a command—that you wouldn’t be traveling alone anymore. 

And Azriel… Azriel looked like he would vomit, his shadows flitting angrily around him before bridging a path to you. He had cleaned the blood from your face, eyes haunted by misplaced grief, and pure guilt replaced all else in your myriad of emotions. 

You agreed an escort would be better. 

Azriel volunteered. Every day. 

And so you got to know Azriel. 

Mor had described him as reserved, not one to offer the intimacy of touch or personal information so readily. That was not your experience with the Shadowsinger. 

Fleeting touches had become commonplace between the two of you, whether it was his hands or his wings or the brush of his thigh as you sat by the Sidra. You weren’t sure if he was doing it consciously, but you welcomed the familiarity. You found he did it most when he wasn’t paying attention—when he was deep into a story about your past or listening to your opinions intently. 

He was open, sharing pieces of himself you didn’t have to pry to receive. He told you about his mother, about his scars, about how he overcame them. He shared with you how important you were to him many, many times, slipping it into conversations so causally. A thread connected the pieces of his life, and you, it appeared, made up the spool. 

He did not speak of his mate, despite being prompted. 

A sadness came over him at any mention of her, one so achingly melancholy that you told yourself you wouldn’t ask again. 

He loved her deeply, but something had happened there.

You tried not to get too close. This was friendship, a deep familial love that he relied on. That you seemed to have relied on for so many years.

And Azriel was hurt. Even if he and his mate were no longer intertwined by their bond, he didn’t need the onslaught of emotions his amnesiac friend was suddenly overcome with. 

Because you were—overcome by emotions for him. 

It was wrong. 

You wished you had the context to separate those feelings. If you understood your history—if you had memories beyond the few weeks of sweet stories and brushes of his fingers along your hair—maybe you wouldn't be feeling this way. Maybe your heart wouldn’t beat painfully against your ribs each time he entered the room… each time his eyes met yours as if he could feel your admiration for him within his own chest. 

You wouldn’t be feeling this way, surely. Because no one had told you that you should be. 

You only had the recounts of your friends, and the three of them had made no insinuations about you and Azriel. 

You wished you could meet the rest of the inner circle. 

There had been plans to, but then you came home with blood on your face and a disorientation in your eyes and that was suddenly off the table. 

After your time exploring Velaris, you read. 

Mor would pile your favorite books beside you in the small reading room you had come to love and rave about how great of an opportunity this was for you.

“You would kill to be able to read these for the first time again,” she’d laugh. “So have at it!” 

Reading felt easy. 

Books did not pressure you to remember things you weren’t able to. 

You could see it all in their eyes, the way your family clung to each of your words for even a hint of reminiscence. They’d make a joke and hold their breath, desperate for the laugh that should be bubbling out of you. But you never got it, never making the connections that they did. 

Azriel was the only one who’d catch the shame you felt at your lack of deliverance. Although he was the one with the most torture in his expression, he was also the one with the most understanding. He’d lean his head down and whisper what you needed to know in your ear, and then you’d giggle—for show—and hope would return to the room. 

But nothing had returned to you. 

You were still a shell.

~~

“What do you think?” 

Cassian’s question blanketed the table, forks halting their movements atop plates. Breakfast had just begun and you were dressed for a morning in Velaris at the theater, this time with Cassian. 

“Are you sure that’s the best idea?” Mor questioned, eyeing the General beneath a raised brow. 

“Were you there last week when I brought her home all bloody? I think it’s a great idea. Rhys agrees.” 

“And Az?” 

Cassian continued his breakfast, reaching for his drink. “Cassian—”

And so you found yourself steps away from the roof of the House of Wind—no longer in the comfortable daywear you’d been sporting—squinting into the morning sun. Leathers fitted for your body were laced up at your back and waist, stretching with a groan as you reached up to block the light from your eyes. Although the pain in your head had subsided to practically nonexistence, it often flared up in brightness or in times of stress. 

Like when you stood atop a mountain and stared into the sun. Or got punched in the nose by a potato merchant. 

“This is where I go while you go galavanting around the city,” Cassian chimed in, a grin evident in his words. 

“Charming,” you muttered, still adjusting to the jarring assault of the sun.

The sound of grunts and clashing metal oriented you quicker, and as your eyesight settled you were met with the image of Azriel. He was bare-chested, leathers donning his legs as he pressed further and further forward, the knife you always saw at his hips hacking away at the metal dummy before him. 

He moved so quickly that it was difficult to track him, one swipe after another, so carefully skilled and practiced. Sweat beaded down his tattooed skin. His wings rippled and spread in time with his footwork. 

He was mesmerizing, a force of nature only halting as his shadows wound around his ear, whispering. Azriel whipped around, sheathing his knife at his side and staring out beyond the training ring with a narrowed gaze. He spotted you instantly, without looking near or around—a magnetic force. 

Until he wasn’t looking at you, instead glowering in Cassian’s direction. “What are you doing, brother?” he bit out. The back of his hand made a quick pass along his forehead. 

Cassian didn’t look the slightest bit sheepish, ushering you to the outskirts of the ring. “She’s going to train. Now that we know she won’t break at the slightest thing.” 

Hazel eyes slid back to you, a softness overcoming them as you quickly averted your gaze from the broadness of his chest. You were not ogling him. 

You bit into your cheek to stave off the embarrassment. 

“I thought we agreed—” 

“Az, come on. It’s been a couple of weeks now. We need to get her back in the swing of things.” 

A crack of defeat edged its way onto the Shadowsinger’s face. 

What had they agreed on? To wait it out? To treat you like glass until you were their version of yourself again? Something ugly licked up into your chest, something raw. 

For a moment—just one—you stood on the sidelines and felt pathetic. While the two Illyrians stared at each other, a silent conversation between eyes, you let yourself feel like an outsider. They had had discussions about you, but not really about you. About the you that they loved—the one with memories and reciprocation. 

“Will you be careful?” Azriel’s even voice snapped you out of the spiral you had initiated. His expression was uneasy, a hand pressed to his chest. “And tell us if you need to stop? If your head—” 

“My head has been completely fine for a while now,” you assured, hands coming up to grasp the rungs of the training ring. “Promise.” 

Azriel pressed his lips into a line but motioned you in with a nod of his head. 

Despite the conflict still raging within your mind, you smiled at Cassian, the two of you letting out a small cheer and high-fiving before the General lifted you by your hips and past the rungs. You regained your footing and stood before the spymaster, meeting his level gaze with your own. 

“Alright, sweetheart,” Cassian began, a loud clap resonating behind you. “Muscle memory is going to play a big role here, but I don’t want to risk you getting hurt, so you’re just with this guy for now.” He patted the shoulder of the dummy Azriel had been practicing with. 

You scoffed, dropping your hands to hang by your thighs. “What? I still have the same muscle tone from before and last I checked my face was beaten in by a real person, not a chunk of metal.” 

“And that will not happen again,” Azriel cut it. “Ever. But especially not when you’re… in this state.”

You ignored the unsettling remark. “Okay, well I think sparring one of you would be more effective in the prevention of that, don’t you?” 

“Cassian and I could hurt you.” 

“You wouldn’t.” 

“We can’t guarantee—” 

“I trust you,” you interrupted, your view of Azriel partially obstructed by the shadows that wound up your body. “I know you wouldn’t hurt me. Let me do this, Az.” 

The male before you faltered, his eyes darting quickly between yours. His chest, gleaming in the sunlight, rose and fell with strenuous effort. A clench of his jaw. Another pass of silence. 

“Okay,” he nodded, gaze roving over your features. “Okay, y/n. Get warmed up and we can spar.” 

You warmed up with Cassian, stretching and relishing in the feel of your body moving. He went over a few basic maneuvers with you, and you tried your hardest to pay close attention to how his feet slid around the ring. 

It was a rather hard task, seeing as Azriel had continued his blade work on the dummy. Still shirtless. 

After the General was satisfied with your progress, he passed you off to his brother. The Shadowsinger’s posture had softened a hair from when you first entered the ring, his wings coiled back and his shadows creating uneven shapes along the floor. He kept his hands by his sides, his feet relaxed—not a fighting stance in the slightest. 

“Come on,” you teased, cocking your head to the side. “You have to at least try, Az.” 

“I did not spar with you often before your memories were lost,” he admitted. “I do not enjoy the thought of hurting you.” 

Guilt immediately flooded you. You hadn’t even thought about what this would be like for him, too caught up in your own strife. Your stance dropped, the fists at your chin loosening and falling. 

“Oh, Azriel, I’m sorry. I can have Cassian—” 

“No.” He dragged his left foot back. A ghost of a fighting position. “Only me.” 

You took a painful breath in. 

He didn’t move, allowing you to lead. 

You shook your hands out and then your body moved of its own accord. 

You swiped at his legs first, unsurprised when he leaped back with practiced grace. The two of you fell into a dance of drawn arms and calculated shifts and you were almost unnerved by how your body moved without you willing it to. 

Cassian had said that muscle memory would play a role. 

It seemed to be the only thing driving you.  

You went for his knees, but in a way that maneuvered past his wings. 

You used his shadows as cover, taking advantage of their familiarity with you and cloaking yourself in their mist. 

Azriel swung a halfhearted punch at your shoulder and you bypassed the motion, grabbing his wrist and twisting at his back. 

It felt right. Your actions were not your own but they were ingrained in your being. 

This was your body. 

Something that remained unchanged. 

In your newfound joy, you missed the open palm Azriel carefully directed at your chest. The impact caught you off guard, stealing your breath from your lungs as you were pushed to the ground. As your back hit the floor, another shocking burst of air was ripped from you. 

You laid frozen for a moment before a shadow cast over your body, the sun no longer beating down on your skin. Through the ringing in your ears, Azriel’s voice flowed through. 

“I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have—y/n, take a breath.” A scarred hand rubbed along your clavicle. “Breathe. You’re okay. Breathe.” 

A startling gasp of oxygen entered your lungs. You were fine, completely unharmed, only shocked and disoriented. Azriel bowed his head as you continued to circulate the air into your body, and it was then that you saw it. 

A chain hung between you, dangling from his neck and brushing against your chin. It swayed back and forth, a grounding point as you blinked back the tears lining your eyes. The ring glinted in the sun, rubbing against the golden chain, looking as if it did not belong there. 

Azriel tracked your gaze as he raised his head, looking down at the object of your attention. He sat back on his ankles and the diamond followed him, resting close to his chest. 

You raised yourself to your elbows. “Who’s—” You coughed. Azriel winced. “Is that yours?”  

A stupid question, but you couldn’t stop yourself from asking. A guarded look passed over the Shadowsinger’s face and you regretted it instantly. He reached up and clutched the necklace in a closed fist.  

“No,” he responded. “Are you okay?” 

He didn’t release the ring. 

“I’m okay,” you confirmed. “I’m not hurt. It just knocked the wind out of me.” 

Azriel nodded. A grim line formed between his brows. 

“Hey! She alright?” Cassian called. He had moved clear across the roof when you began to spar with Azriel, mentioning something about inventory or knives or something you hadn’t paid attention to. You had been too focused on the warmth you felt from being so close to Azriel’s skin. 

The sound of Cassian’s voice did nothing to break the hold Azriel’s eyes had on you. 

Another beat of silence passed. 

The wind blew a strand of his hair across his forehead. 

“I—” 

“I have a mission. I was supposed to meet with Rhys before midday.” He spoke the words apologetically but his hand shook when it lowered to his knee. 

The sun was already past the high point in the sky. It was no longer midday. 

“Okay,” you whispered. “I want to thank you for—” 

“Don’t thank me. Please, just—Be careful. I have to go.” 

A quiet collection of parting words fell from your lips and Aziel twitched, looking as if he would move forward but thinking better of it. 

But you had thoughts too, and they worked against Azriel’s

You raised to your knees and brushed the hair on his forehead back, a small smile gracing your face, trying so hard to melt some of the tension that had grown between you. Azriel’s breath caught as you moved, but you only doubled down, softly dragging your nails along his scalp. 

He shuddered, eyes falling shut for a brief, unguarded moment. 

His shadows consumed him. 

Azriel was gone. 

[u3pxx]

After an accident at the crime scene of their newest case, Klavier and Apollo find themselves in a situation neither of them ever imagined they would go through. Between a murder at an antique store, reopened wounds of the heart, and two incredibly observant girls, Klavier and Apollo will have to navigate their new circumstances together. Along the way, affection that had been buried deep in their souls threatens to overtake both of them. The last thing Apollo needs now is a smack to the head with a low door.

finally posting the piece i drew up for @klapollo-minibang 2023 in collaboration with the wonderful artist @taxkha and our wonderful fic writer @strawberricakeandpie!! ♥️💜 READ THE FIC HERE!!

i hope you enjoy the fic strawb has concocted and written up bc i sure do!!!! (her original prompt has been described as "den-bait" WHEEZES) and!!! the awesome art katha will be sharing once the following chapters get posted! :^] (WHICH YOU ARE ALSO NOT READY FOR!!! THEY ARE VERY DELICIOUS.)

extra stuff under read more ;^P | like what i do? support me on ko-fi!

can you believe i've joined the minibang for three years straight now?! and it's been such a dang joy every time! i just love when creatives get together and create something so filled with love for the media they both love, collaboration's fun, man!

also don't mind the fact that i haven't posted the drawings i did for the '21 and '22 minibangs here ok i just made a tumbly in november of last year ok ill get to it someday ASKSKSK

and also very delighted that i get to draw about one of my favorite silly tropes to happen ASKSK which, might not be obvious by the first chapter yet but oh, you'll see it. and maybe come yell at me about the trope after you leave a nice comment on strawb's fic, neow!!!!

if you managed to read this far and still have not read the fic, what're you doing man!!!