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undercoverbastard · 1 year ago

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Judging a Derek by His Cover

“Seriously? You have to ask?” Stiles asked, in a bit of a disbelieving tone. “I mean I-... have you seen you? Resisting you sounds impossible, Derek, I mean seriously. I don’t think anyone in their right mind would tell you no if you gave them even a second look that’s- that’s impossible, you’re-”

Derek had already begun to tune out, a sick feeling crawling from the pit of his stomach upwards. He had grabbed for his shoes, fumbling slightly as he slid them on, in the middle of Stiles’ rambling. Before the other could continue, Derek waved away the rest with a nod.

“Right, right - you’re not… blind,” Derek interrupted. Stiles seemed a bit stunned at the overly neutral tone. Moving past Stiles without looking him properly in the eye, Derek mumbled about needing to get ready. Stiles attempted to stop him, his voice going low once the door opened, but it was of no use.

+.+.+

OR: a fic from the vaults, inspired by modern-day royalty au, derek’s penchant for being sought after just for his looks, and im not sure what else was going on in my brain at the time tbh

Word Count: 4387

———

“I have to get ready,” Derek said, pushing himself up and out of the bed. He sighed, sitting on the edge, staring at his hands a bit blankly. He wished he could freeze time - stay in moments like these. These moments are stolen in between chores and tasks, family and staff. He didn’t want to have to leave.

“Oh?” Stiles asked, stretching out lazily, tucking his hands behind his head. “What’s on the agenda today, sir prince?”

The tone was teasing but it made Derek cringe. Another reminder. He didn’t hate his position or his family or his people or any of it - he loved Beacon and his family was amazing and he adored being able to be a part of what made all of it. But, his position - his title - came with limitations. Expectations.

“Some gathering,” Derek mumbled, ducking his head a bit lower, “my mom says it’s in celebration of the peace treaties - ten years this week. But…”

“But…?” Stiles prompted, moving to curl behind Derek, his chin resting on a pillow as he gazed up at the other’s face. Derek cut his eyes to the side, letting the slightest of smiles curve across his lips before it fell off again. That was another one of Stiles’ talents - his ability to make Derek laugh and smile, no matter the day or its events.

“But,” Derek gathered a deep breath, “she’s been hinting at… socializing, at dating. She keeps bringing up names and countries and heirs and… I don’t know. She keeps mentioning Braeden and just…”

Stiles moved away, crawling up to a sitting position himself. Derek cast a look back at the other, waiting for some sort of response. It took a minute, Stiles facing away from him and seemingly fiddling with his shirt and hair. When he turned back he had a wide grin, cheeky and teasing.

“Oh you’ll do fine, Der, who could ever resist you? Huh?” Stiles said, giving him a nod of appreciation. It made Derek’s throat dry up, a reminder creeping in.

“Resist me…” Derek repeated a bit dumbly, staring now to the side of Stiles’ head, looking unseeingly out the window on the opposite side of the room. He heard Stiles give a huff of laughter, saw the shaking of his head from his peripheral.

“Obviously,” Stiles scoffed, “they’d have to be blind!” And that’s when Derek’s blood ran a bit cold, color draining from his face ever so slightly. “Anyways, I should - uh- get going. Let you get ready for the party and all that.”

Stiles stood up, fingers carding through his hair before tugging at and smoothing down his shirt. They’d laid lazily in the spare room for hours, taking turns carding fingers through one another’s hair, biting lingering kisses into one another’s lips, straddling each other’s laps as they got lost in the quietness disturbed only by soft groans and gasps. It had been bliss, those couple hours together. It was one of the only times Derek didn’t feel like he was on display or out of place to some degree. It felt right. Comfortable.

Staying quiet, Derek watched as Stiles stood up, slipping his shoes back on and fretting over his clothes again. He was always busy, mind and body in constant motion even if it didn’t make sense. It used to infuriate Derek when Stiles first began working in the library - he could never focus with the other’s mumbles and murmurs and humming and moving. It was chaotic in the smallest of ways. Now, though, he felt restless if Stiles didn’t move - his skin felt prickled if the younger man stayed still too long, a wrongness about it.

Before Stiles could open the door and sneak a look outside before he darted out, Derek asked, “Why didn’t you?”

Stiles paused, looking at the other in confusion and a half tilt of his head. “Why… why didn’t you resist me or - turn me down? Why?” Derek elaborated. His voice held steady and sounded normal but his heart was lodged in his throat and the tips of his fingers felt numb.

The question at least gave Stiles pause. He stepped back closer in the room, an incredulous look on his face once his mind seemed to catch up. He began waving, hands exaggeratedly emphasizing the length of Derek’s form still sitting on the bed before he gave an answering huff.

“Right, right - you’re not… blind,” Derek interrupted. Stiles seemed a bit stunned at the overly neutral tone. Derek always spoke in an even manner, known for being a bit brasher in his tone than others but fairly neutral and even overall - it was a mark of the Hale family, after all. To be balanced in all ways. He couldn’t risk being too nice or too rude. He may toe the line of overly curt and brash but he was never outright cold with his words. But even he could hear it - the change in his voice. It was exceptionally vague - not a hint of brashness. He was as even as his mother in her political discussions - unreadable.

Moving past Stiles without looking him properly in the eye, Derek mumbled about needing to get ready. Stiles attempted to stop him, his voice going low once the door opened, but it was of no use. Even the soft touch to Derek’s shoulder as he stepped out slid off with just a single step, allowing the steadily growing wall between them to commence.

Derek tried not to think about it. Shoved the thoughts out of his mind as he left the mostly empty hall and trailed back to his own room. He shouldn’t have thought Stiles would be interested in anything else besides his looks. It was, after all, his saving grace. After Kate’s stunt years back, most people averted their eyes - unable to meet Derek’s. It lingered with some, but it only took a year or two at most before he was once more a display.

Giggling visitors from other countries bashfully complimented him on how handsome he was, eyes raking up and down his body at parties and celebrations. Tabloids posted dozens of photos whenever he left the palace - endless remarks of his looks and how well clothes fit him and how others were sure the good looks didn’t stop at just his face pouring from every media outlet in the country and even in others.

He was used to it. He smiled his practiced smile, knew when to bow his head and murmur thanks. He was used to the squeezes to his bicep when being requested to dance and the lingering eyes of his partners. But that was it. Even Kate had said so when she still played the part of smitten girlfriend.

She’d tease him for his quiet nature and his lack of ability to feed into normal conversations. He could talk policy as needed and he had a plethora of books surrounding philosophers, history, and even art at his disposal - but they were drab topics outside of negotiations and proper business. And even if the analysis of Picasso’s The Old Guitarist was one Derek found interesting and showed the necessity of the arts and their value to civilizations old and new, Kate didn’t want to hear about it. Besides, even with his most impassioned topics on the table he still was a man of few words. Part of that came from being the son of the reigning Queen of Beacon, another part came from Kate’s backhanded nature.

Either way, it didn’t matter. Derek earned his keep with his looks. He was a nice face to look at and a figure that harnessed desire. Either no one cared what else he might be able to offer or his lack of personality drove them back to their distanced gazes. Just because Stiles could quote at least one line from every book Derek has ever picked up since he started working in the library and just because Stiles had enough words for five people let alone a conversation of two didn’t mean he wouldn’t be the same.

It was to be expected.

+.+.+

Several hours later found Derek in one of his more casual attires but one fit for a prince nonetheless. The party and celebration were not one for hosting political affairs - they were for rejoicing. Sure, it was shared amongst several other visiting countries, and the sprawling room and subsequent halls were filled with faces far and wide, but none of them came to talk about further negotiations, treaties, or trade options. They all came to eat, dance, and laugh - embracing the decade’s worth of peace since King Christopher took his father’s place in Silvenia and ended the wars and trade blocks.

Derek stood off to the side, doing his best to obscure himself as much as possible in the throng of people. He’d eaten, he’d talked to his family, and he’d even danced with several people. He had done his share, he thought. This was meant to be enjoyed, and he enjoyed being alone.

He couldn’t, however, forever hide from Braeden. He’d seen his mother walking with her, laughing. His mother’s eyes seemed to search the crowd, trying to find him, and he did his best to slink away before she caught a whiff of his location. He’d done a good job so far, but he knew it was a fruitless endeavor to try and avoid her all night. It had only been two hours and the celebration would more than likely go well into the night. His mother would find him eventually.

Musing the odds of success if he were to try and slink away to his room or possibly to the gardens for a couple of hours to avoid detection a bit longer, Derek zoned out momentarily - unaware of his surroundings. He acknowledged the movement of others, the change in music, but it was all background noise in his mind. Which is why it was the perfect time for him to be found.

Just not by his mother, it seemed.

“Derek?” Stiles asked, gently laying a hand on his arm, eyebrows scrunched up in concern. “You okay?”

Shaking himself out of his clouded thoughts, Derek nodded and went to pull away from Stiles’ touch - planning to test out his garden escape. He should’ve been looking out for the man. After all, Stiles has been a regular attendee of nearly all the Hale family’s gatherings and parties for over 10 years. His father was now the Head of Palace Guards and his mother had once overseen the library he now worked in. Stiles’ presence was all but guaranteed between his two parents both working in the palace on a daily basis. Derek had just distantly hoped he wouldn’t approach him here - similar to all previous events.

“Then you wouldn’t mind me asking for a dance, would you?” Stiles asked, his eyebrows now unscrunched, one raised in question as he held out his hand. Derek stared for a moment, bewildered.

In all the years Stiles had attended these gatherings, he’d never once asked to dance with Derek - he rarely spoke to him. He’d danced with Cora once or twice, the two having been closer as kids since they were the same age and Cora deciding Stiles was the perfect partner for her scheming ploys. But even now in recent times, since Derek and Stiles had begun their… whatever it was between them, he had never asked. It had been nearly a year of sneaking into hidden library corners, empty guest rooms, and ducking into stable stalls - stealing kisses, fingers unbuttoning shirts, hands roaming skin. In that same time over a handful of parties, political events, and other such gatherings had come to pass of all different magnitudes and Stiles had all but avoided Derek.

Cautiously, Derek put down the drink in his hand and laid the other in Stiles’ open palm. He let the other pull him seamlessly into the throng of moving bodies. The music wasn’t slow enough for proper dance steps but it wasn’t fast enough to deter other couples from swaying and moving across the floor together. Blessedly, Stiles moved into the crowd and guided one of Derek’s hands to his waist, clasping the other in his hand while Stiles laid his second hand on Derek’s shoulder.

No one really led in this dance, but Stiles letting him control the speed and direction was a godsend as he was sure to stumble if he had to follow. Derek was sure he had Cora to thank for that, as he recalled his younger sister demanding to be the lead and making a young, 11-year-old Stiles learn to follow in all their dance numbers. He recalls hiding smirks and laughs behind his hand and drinks, watching the two kids stumble about when Stiles accidentally went to lead them and Cora stubbornly refused to follow.

He pushed those memories aside, trying to remove the fond film he’s learned to lay over all the memories with Stiles in them. He doesn’t know when he’d begun to do it, but it was harder than he’d expected to try and stop it.

“You left kinda fast earlier,” Stiles finally murmured, voice low as his eyes danced around the room. They got a couple of second glances, those who knew of Stiles’ position a bit surprised to find the two dancing together. Sure, he danced with Cora over the years, but that was largely when they were kids and it was cute - something for the adults to coo over and take pictures of.

“Yes,” Derek answered simply. He didn’t know what Stiles wanted and he preferred to keep his cards close to his chest. Stiles huffed at the minimal response, a fond eye roll following it shortly after.

“Okay, thanks for that,” Stiles teased, “what I meant is why? Did- did I say something to upset you? Did something happen - are you okay?”

Even in shorter sentences, Stiles still somehow rambled. His tempo was a bit too fast, his tone of voice wavering and pitching in odd places, teeth biting at his lips as he came up with a dozen more thoughts - his face mirroring his reaction to each one in live action. Derek quelled the amusement he found in the mannerisms.

“Just wanted to leave.”

At this, Stiles seemed to stutter in movement, feet delayed and causing the two to stumble momentarily. Both of Derek’s hands moved to hold him at the waist, righting him before he could fall while Stiles’ hands both gripped Derek’s shoulders to help anchor himself. They found themselves closer together, the stance becoming a bit more personal and intimate than before.

“Leave… me?” Stiles whispered quietly, looking over Derek’s shoulder. Derek stayed quiet, unsure how to answer without giving too much away. “Is it because of what I said? That I’m attracted to you? Did that upset you?” It was Derek’s turn to bring a stutter to their movements, going rigid. He thankfully composed himself much quicker, only setting them off by a step at most that was easily regained.

“I don’t have an issue with you finding me attractive, Stiles,” Derek sighed, “like you said, who isn’t.”

It wasn’t a question. But he couldn’t control the bite that came out with the last two words, a bit of a sarcastic drawl underlining his words. At this, Stiles snapped his eyes to the side, looking questioningly at his dance partner. Derek didn’t explain any further, instead avoiding direct eye contact as best he could while still dancing.

“Is that…” Stiles’ words faltered, dying off. Even without looking at his face, Derek could see his thoughts play out. He swear he could hear the gears grinding in his head as he raced through all possible questions, answers, scenarios, and each of their meanings in a span of a few seconds. It would never cease to impress and exasperate Derek how Stiles thought just as quickly as he spoke - often one blending into the other without filter or regard for how his words came out.

“Der,” Stiles said, his voice suddenly a bit louder and demanding. Derek just raised his eyebrows in response, gaze still not meeting Stiles’. The younger boy huffed, hides sliding up from Derek’s shoulders to grip either side of his face and force Derek to look at him before he continued speaking. “What I said was true. I don’t know any sane person who would turn you down, but - that’s not the only reason I’m attracted to you. You know that, right? You have to know that.”

Derek swallowed the lump in his throat, giving a partial shrug to try and show his indifference on the matter. It seemed to be the wrong response, however, when Stiles growled out low in frustration, his fingers digging in a bit more into Derek’s skin and demanding his attention.

“You have to know,” he said, incredulous. “You think - what? All this time I just wanted some casual… fling? That I just saw a pretty face and that was all it took? A pretty face and I spend hours sneaking away from my work, hiding from my dad, skirting around guards?”

Stiles paused, but not long enough for Derek to actually respond. He shook his head as if in disbelief before continuing, “Is that it? You thought I just wanted to fuck around with you? Jesus Christ, how shallow do you think I am? Better yet! How stupid?! If I just wanted someone for their looks why would I go after a prince? A prince, Derek. I know we’re evolved and all but I’m sure your mom would still approve a hanging or beheading or some other medieval offing of me, fuck.”

Derek couldn’t help but crack a wry grin at Stiles’ vomit of words, head ducking down slightly as he tamped down on his laughter. The idea of his mother not only approving but requesting a beheading seemed comical - the woman was terse and poised, levelheaded beyond compare, but she was also the same woman who cried over Animal Planet at 9 PM on a Tuesday after seeing a crocodile eat a baby zebra. She blubbered about ‘the poor baby’ for half an hour, squeezing Cora into a smushed hug against her chest and all but breaking Derek’s bones as she held his hand. It was a hilarious thought, all things considered.

Stiles’ noise of exasperation broke him from his daddling thoughts, surprising Derek. Another thing Stiles was good at; even without trying, he got Derek lost in his own rambling thoughts - Stiles’ jabber and ranting offering endless avenues of thought and consideration, even if absurd. It was a nice change of pace, having something to ponder and get lost in. Something that was entertaining and not all too important that demanded his full focus or response all at once.

“Derek, I am about to make a damn fool of myself and if someone overhears this and then sees you walk away from me I think I’ll be forced to exile myself but, Jesus fuck , here it goes,” Stiles let out a long breath, eyes closing briefly before reopening and settling on Derek as if he were a target. “I am in-fucking-love with you. I love how you speak with your eyebrows and eye rolls better than any person can with words. I love how you obsessively read fucking historical books and pour over goddamn poetry and art journals. I love how you get spaced out when we talk about centuries-old plays and hundred-year-old paintings as if you can’t comprehend what they mean and are stunned by their mere existence. I love how you talk and sound like you’re thinking of murdering me and then just- laugh! And god, your laugh - I still can’t figure out if it’s your smile or your laugh that’s my favorite. And, fuck- I just… I can’t think of a single thing I don’t obsessively think about when it comes to you. And of course, of course, you’re fucking beautiful - work of art, walking god, all the usuals - but I… I just love being with you.”

They stopped dancing, coming to a halt in the middle of the mass of people. Derek is sure the song changed, people who still lingered a bit further away now going through similar steps and movements he couldn’t be bothered to recall or put a name to. He also knew they were being watched - hell, he’s sure half a dozen people caught at least half of that spiel, with Stiles’ voice raising in tone and pitch and volume like crazy throughout as if he couldn’t control it.

He felt a bit punch drunk, in a way. He didn’t know if he should be embarrassed that Stiles caught him wistfully zoning out over paintings or if he should laugh at the fact that Stiles has somehow done what not even his family has by being able to read and understand his responses just by facial expressions alone. It felt like a weight had been removed from his shoulders but his stomach felt heavy, stirring with nerves.

“You love me?” he finally asked. Stiles groaned, smacking his head against the curve of his own arm that rested against Derek’s shoulder. He was muttering and cursing quietly.

“I only repeated it about a hundred times but, yes. Yes - I love you. I am in love with you, I will figure out all the euphemisms to say it and learn it in as many languages as I can. Hell, I’ll do it old school - find a fucking boombox and sta-”

Stiles’ remaining rant cut off as Derek pulled his chin up, pressing a harsh kiss against the other’s lips. It wasn’t soft or biting, just… hard. Solid. Reassuring. Stiles helped quell the bruising press of lips by softly dragging a thumb over Derek’s cheek, the gesture making the kiss soften until they both were pulling away. Stiles looked awestruck, eyes dancing and sliding side to side to take in the room before ultimately landing once more on Derek’s face, a pleased grin taking over his face as their eyes met.

“I’ve been stupidly in love with you ever since you began singing that awful song when I tried to explain what a Blue Period was and then I kept humming it all week because it was stuck in my head,” Derek offered as an explanation for his actions. Stiles paused, eyebrows pulled together in consideration for a second before he broke out into loud laughter, probably remembering the exact scene from two years prior. If no one saw them before they surely had garnered enough people’s attention by now.

“I think I’ve been in love with you since you told Harris off for making me cry during the Polka,” Stiles grinned. It was Derek’s turn to bark out a laugh, louder than he had laughed in a while. He remembered that, it was 8 years ago - when Stiles and Cora were still learning various dances. Cora had to learn for the sake of her title and appearance, Stiles was just the poor culprit she wrangled into the mess and who could barely keep time with the three-step beat, leading to lots of stumbling and Harris berating him before Derek growled out a retort about being so pathetic to bully a child.

Derek remembered it as a scarring experience, Stiles refusing to dance for two weeks after. Stiles, however, decided it was the moment in which he’d fall in love with a then-angry, overly private 16-year-old that barely even spoke to him. Derek wasn’t sure which moment of realization was more absurd between them.

“You were thirteen !”

“And I was in love!”

It got quiet between the two, both of them just grinning at the other. Neither bothered to realize just how quiet it had gotten, or how much space had been carved out around them during their conversation. They were lost in their own world, ignorant to the rest of the room around them.

It wasn’t until a minute or two passed when a cleared throat caught their attention, making them realize the quieter atmosphere and their center stage set up among the crowd. Talia - Queen Talia - stood beside them, a knowing smirk on her face as she regarded them with a raised eyebrow, hands clasped in front of her.

Stiles gave a half-choked squawk in realization while Derek bowed his head, his cheeks heating in embarrassment. They separated abruptly, standing side by side to face Talia head-on.

“So,” Talia broke the silence, “I don’t think I’ll be introducing you to Braeden anytime soon. Seeing as you already have a boyfriend, hm?”

Stiles choked again, some mangled word dying in his throat, while Derek simply looked up at his mom with a deer-in-the-headlights look. When she gave a pointed tilt of her head, eyes shooting to Stiles as the younger man seemed paralyzed on the spot, Derek knew she was encouraging him to confirm. To say something .

“Yes,” he finally managed to pull out, his hand reaching out to grasp Stiles’ and squeezing it in question. When he got an immediate squeeze in response, he gave his mother a wide, genuine smile. “I’m dating Stiles.”

With that, Talia seemed pleased. She clapped her hands, announced that further celebration was to commence, and then left them as they were. It was oddly anti-climatic, the room returning to its usual activity and volume as before - only sneaky side glances were thrown their way in curiosity. It was easy for Derek to pull Stiles back to the outskirts of the room, however, the two of them were unable to stop glancing at each other and sharing smiles.

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scrollonso · 3 months ago

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Pastries — Pedroscar

Pedro doesn't know when he crossed the line from staying the night to practically living in Oscar’s loft. It happened sometime around stolen kisses and whispered ‘I love you’s, and in his blissful ignorance, half of his closet ended up here. It works out well for him — there's an amazing little coffee shop right around the corner with the best coffee he can easily grab in the mornings on his way to the airport before either going to fulfill his wag duties or taking Oscar to fulfill his.

It's much more convenient, and that's why he's here so often. Obviously.

It has nothing to do with the fact that being around Oscar feels like being complete. When Oscar looks at him or touches him, his heart jumps into his throat, and he loses all hope of sanity. This was supposed to just be fun, and he doesn’t know when it turned into something so beautifully serious, something that occupies his every waking thought like the haze of a wonderful dream.

It’s Saturday morning. Pedro spent his Friday night FaceTiming with Aleix and Jorge, watching movies together on different coasts but pressing play at the same time, laughing and joking and chatting like they were in the same room despite the true distance between them. Of course, they’d given him hell for being in Oscar’s apartment when he was half way across the world and hadn’t let him live down the fact that he was down bad for that man, and they could see right through his flimsy excuses.

“Really, Pedro? He needs you to water his plants? We don’t see any plants!”

He’d helped himself to the craft beers in Oscar’s fridge and had nowhere to be today, so maybe he’d had one more than he should have, and maybe now he’s paying for it with a headache and a late morning in bed. If he were feeling a little better, he’d maybe crawl out from under the duvet and have a meal prepped for Oscar when he gets back, but before he could even complete the thought, he’d fallen back asleep, unbothered and unworried. There will be plenty more Mondays he can make them breakfast.

Oscar loves knowing that Pedro will be waiting for him back at the loft when he gets back. It’s just so much more convenient, knowing that Pedro will be right where he needs him, especially after a race like last night’s. Another fucked up race strategy, little to no sleep, not much time to get any food down either. He’s exhausted and ready to be in his bed with his soft boyfriend wrapped up in his arms. The fact that he doesn’t have to call Pedro and explain why today he needs a little bit more physical affection is just one of the pluses of Pedro practically living with him.

They haven’t had the talk yet, but maybe they should. Maybe it’s time, and maybe it isn’t too soon, and maybe, just maybe, this is the natural progression and the way things are supposed to go. Oscar knows he always tends to care too much too quickly, but with Pedro, things feel real. Like this isn’t just an infatuation, this isn’t just someone to warm his bed. He’s in this for the right reasons, and he trusts that Pedro is too because he thinks this one will really break his heart if he finds out that’s not the case.

After parking his Mclaren in his usual spot, — Pedro's bike parked in the spot next to it — Oscar uses the fumes he’s running on to hurry down to the Spaniard's favourite spot and grab Pedro a coffee and an assortment of pastries, already preparing himself for the joke the younger boy will make about his last name. He’s too tired to think about pumping himself with caffeine right now, so for himself, Oscar orders an herbal tea. Oscar makes small talk with the baristas while they get his order together, gives them tired smiles, and laughs when they ask how Pedro is doing. It feels right, domestic even, chatting with these women, thanking them for the coffee and profusely insisting they only need a few pastries, that a few extra are unnecessary because it’s just the two of them, but he appreciates their generosity. He’s backing out of the door, calling goodbyes, lips upturned in a permanent smile that seems plastered onto his face these days.

The walk back to the apartment takes him only a minute, and Oscar takes a sip of his tea but wrinkles his nose, unimpressed. He’s never been much of a tea drinker, and this is just a reminder of why. Oscar’s keys jingle as he unlocks the loft and hurries inside, trying to be as silent as possible. Pedro hasn’t responded to his texts this morning, which probably means he’s still sleeping, and Oscar doesn’t want to spoil that. He toes his shoes off at the foot of the stairs, then creeps up, coffee in one hand, box of pastries in the other, silent but deadly as he approaches his sleeping boyfriend.

The pastries and coffee are dropped on the bedside table. Oscar hurries out of his jeans and t-shirt and practically dives under the covers as quickly as he can, laughing as Pedro startles and lets out a surprised sound that’s muffled by his pillow. “Sweetheart,” the word is groggy as Pedro fights the covers to sit up, his eyes squinting against the morning light. Oscar takes the opportunity to wrap his arms around Pedro’s torso and drag him back down into bed, his face buried into the juncture of Pedro’s neck and shoulder, breathing in the smell of clean sheets and a rich musk that’s all Pedro. They fall back into Oscar’s bed, legs tangling together, arms tightening around each other, fingers grasping for any purchase they can get. Oscar’s hand runs up Pedro’s spine, and his fingers tangle into Pedro’s hair at the base of his neck, and he just holds him there, their breathing falling into sync, the sheets tangled around them.

For a few seconds, they just lay there, silent and motionless. Oscar’s eyelids grow heavy, and he's on the verge of sleep when Pedro’s husky voice breaks through the haze.

“ ‘S that coffee?” His head pops up from the pillows, curls a beautiful array of bedhead. Pedro in the morning is gloriously unkempt, a true sight that Oscar loves to behold.

“Mmm, it is. Just how you like it.” Pedro reaches across them and paws at the bedside table, nearly knocking over the box of pastries in the process, and manages to wrap his fingers around the warm to-go cup with a small sound of relief. He pushes himself up on an elbow and takes a long sip, and Oscar watches while he savors the flavor and inhales the steam rising through the lid. “Good?”

He just gets a grunt of affirmation as Pedro takes another deep drink. He’s limned in morning light, his olive skin shining golden and his silhouette shadowed against the loft’s wall, and Oscar thinks he might be the luckiest guy around, to get to come home to this.

After another sip, Pedro sets the cup aside and huffs as he flops back down onto the pillows. He’s facing Oscar now, eyes hooded as he looks up at him through thick lashes. There’s an old hickey on Pedro’s collarbone that’s fading into a blushing lavender, and Oscar’s thumb finds it as he remembers making the mark the other night, which sends a shiver down his spine. His thumb traces downward, and he places a gentle kiss on Pedro’s bed-warmed skin and savors the feeling of satin beneath his lips.

Pedro’s fingers rake through his hair, and one of his legs hooks over Oscar’s waist, entangling them further. The bed is a mess of sheets and pillows and duvet, and this, Oscar knows, is what absolute bliss feels like. He buries his face in Pedro’s chest, pressing an abundance of kisses to Pedro’s sternum as Pedro’s leg curls around his waist and locks them together. Oscar’s arms move to wrap around his torso, and Pedro returns the movement, interlocking them completely. Slowly, tenderly, Oscar’s fingers trickle down Pedro’s spine, then back up, and Pedro huffs out a noise of contentment as his head falls back into the pillows once more.

“We should just never get out of bed,” Pedro muses, eyes closed against the light, lashes fanned against his cheek, Oscar’s golden boy.

“The good news is… I have nowhere to be for the next, ehh, eightish hours?”

“Eight hours, huh?” Oscar feels Pedro’s fingers against his shoulder, the other hand tracing through his hair in a way that makes him hum deep in his chest, like a cat purring out its pleasure.

“Eight hours. Mclaren want me to go down to the tech centre to talk, so theres that.” Each word he says into Pedro’s chest, still too comfortable to move, and while his lips are smashed against Pedro’s skin and the words come out a bit muffled, he doesn’t care. This closeness, this beautiful contact, is exactly what he’s been craving the past 96 hours.

Oscar used to miss the car when he was back home. Being in the garage was like being with his family. He got to come home to an empty loft and a tired life that felt like a rinse-repeat most days. The excitement was for work, and his passion was in his job. Maybe it wasn’t the healthiest lifestyle, but it did get him through a lot.

Now, the loft is never empty. It echoes with Pedro’s laughter and is brightened by his ever-present light that shines when Pedro walks into the room. Pedro is the breath of fresh air he was longing for; he’s the rays of sunshine at the end of a rainstorm, beckoning him home. Home isn’t always a place. Sometimes it’s a person, or people, and Oscar is so lucky to be surrounded by so many people who feel like home. Pedro included.

Pedro hums out a chuckle and nods into the pillows before leaning down to press a kiss to the top of Oscar’s head. “That sounds nice. I have no plans today either. Though I was thinking maybe we should hit up that farmer’s market in Birmingham today. Remember that lady selling ham croquetas? I need more of those in my life, like, yesterday.”

“But that would require getting out of bed.”

“They're are worth getting out of bed for,” Pedro says solemnly. It pulls a laugh from Oscar, and he nods.

“Croquetas it is, then. When does the market start?”

Pedro’s arms tighten around Oscar, and he shrugs, eyes still closed, face blissfully calm. “Noon, maybe? We have time.”

Oscar leans his head back to stare up at Pedro, taking him in and really appreciating this moment. The silence stretches, and Pedro cracks open one eye, nose wrinkling when he catches Oscar staring at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” Oscar shrugs and kisses Pedro’s shoulder, then down his collarbone, nipping at his favorite spot right above Pedro’s heart where that mark already pools like a sunset. “I just love you, is that alright?”

Love is a big word between them, one they’ve never taken for granted. Pedro grew up knowing that love could be weaponized and used against him, and Oscar grew up wondering if love was really worth much, if he'd ever love a person how he loves cars. Between the two of them, their laundry list of problems is long, but somehow they’ve found and created a beautiful love out of it.

“I guess that’s alright,” Pedro agrees, shrugging slightly. But his smile is radiant, all white teeth and pink gums, stretching at the corners of his lips like he might burst. That smile says more than words ever could, and Oscar feels his chest swell with pride that he could be the one to put it there.

One of Oscar’s hands cups Pedro’s cheek, and he shifts, pushing himself up the bed so they’re at eye level now. He meets Pedro’s dark gaze head-on and doesn’t back off or look away, as if to prove his point. “Alright? Just… just alright?” His tone is lightly teasing, and his fingers skate along Pedro’s stubbled jawline before he presses a kiss against his neck. His teeth nip again, and Pedro sucks in a breath.

“Just alright,” Pedro agrees nonchalantly, his smile replaced by a smirk, his leg that’s wrapped around Oscar tightening, pulling their hips together deliciously. Oscar trails his lips down the column of Pedro’s neck, his tongue teasing at Pedro’s pulse point, soothing after the soft sting of teeth. It draws another small noise from Pedro’s lips, and his head falls back, exposing more skin to Oscar’s ministrations. There’s a beat of silence as Oscar’s lips continue back up Pedro’s neck, and then his lips are on Pedro’s, a soft, yearning kiss that conveys just about everything Oscar is feeling.

They kiss lazily, like this morning. It’s a bright, sunny thing, a feeling of warmth that starts in Oscar’s chest and spreads into his fingertips and toes, lighting him up from the inside out. Kissing Pedro is like laying in the sun, basking in its warmth and hoping not to get burnt. His lips move against Pedro’s, and one hand comes up to curl through Pedro’s hair, tugging him impossibly closer, closing all of the distance between them. They make out for a minute, lips working against each other, tongues tangling together.

Oscar pulls back, head falling onto the pillows as he looks at Pedro again. “I love you, too, you know.” Hearing those words from Pedro’s mouth is like the sweetest melody.

“I kinda figured,” he jokes, his hands going under the covers to poke at Pedro’s side lightly. Pedro wriggles, giggling as he moves away. Oscar takes the opportunity to sit himself up and roll on top of Pedro, knees bracketing hips, hands on each side of his head. He presses sweet kisses to Pedro’s cheeks and forehead, down his jaw to his neck, his lips tracing constellations along Pedro’s skin. Pedro presses one hand to Oscar’s chest, still laughing, head falling back as he meets Oscar’s gaze and smiles tenderly up at him.

“Eres un gilipollas. Get off of me so I can enjoy my coffee,” Pedro teases as he gently pushes at Oscar’s chest again and sits up on his elbows.

With a pout, Oscar falls back over to his side of the bed. Pedro adjusts his pillows so he’s sitting up and leaning against the headboard, then reaches for his coffee. “What are my pastry options?” he asks as he sips, letting out a contented sigh before looking over at Oscar. "Besides you, of course."

There it is. Oscar passes him the box, then wraps his arms back around Pedro’s middle and buries his face into his side. Pedro selects a croissant and takes a few bites, carefully eating over the box so as not to get crumbs on Oscar or in the bed. They sit in the blissful morning silence for a minute, Pedro enjoying his breakfast and Oscar just breathing in and out, relaxing after the rough shift he had. There’s a beauty to this moment, a kind of peace that isn’t easy to find amidst the stressful days, long work hours, and tragedies he sees. But for as much sadness as there can be, he’s also found joy right here, a little pocket of calm and serenity to come home to.

They have places to get to, things to do today, but for now, Oscar is content to just exist in this space with Pedro, to soak in these moments full of warmth and be. It doesn’t take long before his eyes droop and his breathing evens out, lulled by Pedro’s fingers carding through his curls. They'll get out of bed eventually, but for now Oscar is going to let himself enjoy this moment of peace.

#i'm rarepair royalty #as me and sage decided #kats chattin shit #f1 #formula 1 #op81 #pa31 #oscar piastri #pedro acosta #motogp #fanfic #kats motogp blurbs!#mclaren #quadlock #fic #rpf #ao3 #domestic fluff

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scifrey · 3 months ago

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FANFICTION MASTERPOST

Hob Adherent Series

(The Sandman, extended Gaiman-verse)

Hob Gadling is a clingy bastard, and he’s not ashamed to admit it. He clings to life. He clings to hope. He clings to his love of humanity. He clings to his Stranger. He also, unfortunately, has a habit of clinging to his name.

Which means that when the BBC is looking for a new pet history expert to appear in their educational docudrama series “Elizabethan Manor,” they’re overjoyed to find a professor who (according to their meticulous research) is actually descended from the Master of the National Trust building they’re filming in - Gadlen House.

Only Hob knows how right they are.

Cling Fast

Carpe Diem

Hold Tight

Keepsakes

The F-Words Series (the Rovai-verse)

(Loki, MCU; based on the art of @alicerovai)

Loki has fallen for false promises, fallen for Odin's lies, fallen off of a bridge, fallen into the wrong hands... can he let himself fall into the arms of a potential rescuer? Or will he just end up falling for another trick?

Fall

Fold

Fight

Flirt

Forgive

To A Stranger

(Sherlock, Performance in a Leading Role by @madlori)

Here - for the first time - is the screenplay for the unexpected and sizzling hit which swept awards shows; was lauded in Time, Variety, and major publications the world over; snagged a Best Actor Oscar for first-time nominee John Watson; heralded a revolution in LQBTQA+ cinema; and was the catalyst for the incredible romantic journey of two of the greatest actors of our generation.

The Heart of the TARDIS

Rose: Feels to me like a temper tantrum because it can't get it's own way.

The Doctor: It's scared. Come on, you were a kid once.

Rose: Yes, and I know what kids can be like. Right little terrors. I've got cousins. Kids can't have it all their own way. That's part of being a family.

The Doctor: What about trying to understand them?

Rose: Easy for you to say. You don't have kids.

The Doctor: I was a Dad once.

Rose: What did you say?

--"Fear Her"

Respected

(Stargate: Atlantis, Torchwood)

Ianto Jones only wanted a nice, quiet beer. And maybe some damned respect, already.

Tobogganing Series

(Stargate: Atlantis, Casper)

When Johnny Sheppard was ten years old, he begged his father for a toboggan for Christmas.

He Kissed Me First

(Stargate: Atlantis, The Farm in Iowa-verse by @sheafrotherdon)

"Rodnies? Rodneys? Rodni? How do you conjugate the plural?" John wondered.

The Once And Future Kingdom

(Stargate: Atlantis, Merlin)

"I am Prince Arthur of Camelot!" the boy in the chainmail said. For a small, infinitesimal moment, Rodney considered losing it.

"Right, Prince Arthur, the Prince Arthur," Rodney scoffed instead. "And I'm Merlin."

The dark haired boy that stood a few paces behind his golden Prince cleared his throat. "Uh, no," he said, shifting uneasily from foot to foot, "Actually, I am."

Right, of course. Because this totally was Rodney's LIFE.

The Driver

(Agent Carter, Captain America, British Royalty RPF)

“What?” Dum Dum asked, prodding his seatmate in the ribs with his meaty elbow for the umpteenth time. “Seriously, Falsy, what?”

“Squirfle,” the Brit said, or something like it. His face, under the mustache, had turned an amusing shade of puce that was rapidly verging on the alarming.

“Yeah, buddy, I know she’s pretty, but she’s just a dame, ain’t she?” Dum Dum said. He jerked his head at their driver. She was just a short brown-blonde coif from the back, though from his position against the side of the transportation jeep, Dum Dum could make out a smooth, pale cheek, an archly-painted eyebrow, and impeccable red lips.

The Nihongo Series

(Stargate: Atlantis)

In Japan, it is not too much to say that a great deal is about appearances. It is a habit cultivated over a life-time, and not one easy to break.

This is just a partial list of my most popular fics. Please visit my A03 and FF.NET profiles for the full list of fics.

You can also find a master post of my original fiction here.

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gothgril69 · 1 year ago

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Levi Ackerman/Fem!Reader Royalty!AU

Summary: You dream of another life, a simpler one under the rays of the warm sun, where you find love and your brothers live happily.

But you're destined to serve, to be the black sheep of the family and married off to whoever your father pleases because your parents can't seem to harbor any love for you. Your brothers will serve in the war, side by side with their Chevaliers, and you'll be left to pick up the pieces or die trying.

And the one you thought always hated you, will be right by your side to catch you when you fall.

Overall Warnings: themes of sexism, minor character death, angst, depression, minor character death, smut (please check ao3 for all tags)

Chapter warnings: smut MDNI

Chapter Length: 7.7k

ao3 link

Historia and Ymir stop dead in their tracks, turning to you with wide eyes. Historia looks concerned, while Ymir stares at you as if she’s already been betrayed – you understand what it looks like.

“We are not allies,” you blurt, facing them to explain yourself. “I can assure you they are our enemies, the same as you.”

“You better explain yourself,” Ymir sneers at you, stomping forward through the open doors of their castle. You watch her short dark hair, tied loosely at the nape of her neck, sway slightly along with her hips accentuated by the trousers she wears.

“You must understand our hesitancy,” Historia tells you softly when Ymir disappears around a corner. “Things are changing.”

Her blonde hair is braided, two sides pulled to the back, to allow you to see her features clearly. She’s beautiful, truly, and you can see how Ymir could fall for someone like her – they balance each other well. Although, you know Historia would not hesitate to do what’s best for her own country.

“I want to work together,” you tell her honestly. “If you’re willing, but I understand if you’re not and we’ll simply move on.”

“Let’s get you inside,” she tells you with a gentle hand placed on your arm.

She leads you inside the modest castle, Levi taking place behind you along with Erwin, Hange, and Miche. Navarre does not flaunt their wealth like Mirlenas does; dark stone brick walls lining even the interior of the castle, simple torch sconces lighting the way with minimal windows providing extra light. The floors are stone as well, but it still feels clean and wide open.

Historia leads you down a hallway. “We can discuss things in our meeting hall,” she gestures to an open doorway, a guard standing by with a blank face and cropped blonde hair. “Thank you, Nanaba.” The guard nods.

The meeting hall has wood floors, but they’re nothing like the patterned parquet flooring at home. A grand, round table is centered in the room, twelve chairs surrounding the mahogany surface, and you take a seat facing the doorway, but not quite directly across. Levi takes a seat next to you and you’re grateful, followed by Erwin and Hange sitting next to him. Miche stands guard by the door as Historia addresses you.

“Give me a moment with Ymir.” She gives you a sad smile. “She’ll come around.” You nod, and she takes her leave with Nanaba closing the door behind her.

You know very little of Navarre’s customs, your father only ever talking down about them and their “debauched” ways of living. They were more progressive than Mirlenas by far, sexuality and gender being something that was looked at far more loosely than Mirlenas. You admire them for living so freely, apart from the standards your society typically upholds. You wonder if Auguste would have felt more at home here, if Erwin feels as though he could have lived a life with him. You frown.

“If she even thinks about laying a hand on you,” Levi grumbles angrily next to you, a scowl evident on his face.

You sigh softly, appreciating his protection, but also anticipating a conversation later. You place a hand on his that rests on his thigh, rubbing your thumb back and forth across his fingers, and the tension in his shoulders seems to dissipate slightly. You understand, he’s worried about everything – so are you.

The doors open shortly after, a seemingly less irate Ymir striding through the doorway with Historia by her side – although her features are still in their natural state of annoyance. She takes a seat directly across from you while Historia takes hers across from Levi. “From the beginning,” she snaps, gesturing with her hand loosely before crossing her arms over her chest.

You tell her everything; how Zeke ambushed your brothers – you don’t miss the tension returning to Levi – the letter he sent you, every detail about the journey intended for Zaramund to negotiate until a storm caused your ship to crash on their shores. Historia lets out small gasps through the whole thing, and you notice how her eyes tear up when you mention your brothers’ deaths. Ymir’s eyebrows are slightly less furrowed by the time you finish explaining your side of things, her anger turning into reluctant understanding.

“I am so sorry about your brothers,” Historia mutters, wiping away tears from the corners of her eyes. “I am glad you landed on our shores before you arrived at Zaramund.”

“Thank you. I am as well,” you tell her gratefully.

Ymir speaks before you can continue. “You must know the state of Kaslogon before you start your journey again.” She sighs, and for the first time she looks tired, a hand placed on her forehead as she supports herself on the table. “You’re going to hate this.”

“We have a plan,” Erwin speaks up.

“Yeah?” Ymir lifts her head. “You can probably forego following that.” She hesitates, looking over at Historia for approval – Historia nods. “Grisha and Carla Jaeger are dead.”

Your lips part in shock, the hand resting gently on Levi’s now squeezing tightly as you try not to panic.

You’re too late. Zeke has enacted his plan and already killed his parents.

“What about Eren Jaeger?” Hange asks, their face curious as you process.

“Survived, but his location is unknown,” Historia says softly. “Apparently it was an assassination– killed by poison.”

“It was Zeke,” you tell them. You emphasize his point in his letter that made it known he would do anything to have you and stolen land.

“I’m going to kill that man,” Levi says on your right, still holding your hand but using the other one to press a fist into the table.

“Well,” Ymir hums. “Seems we actually have something in common. He’s a tyrant, and once he’s secured you he’s going to come for Navarre with full force.”

“He won’t be securing anything,” Levi growls. Erwin raises a hand to him, gesturing for him to relax. You can tell it makes him more angry, but he obeys regardless and sits with his lips pressed into a thin line, jaw clenched.

“Our plan involved your help once we found ourselves in your territory,” Erwin starts. “I believe it’s in both of our best interests to work together in this war to stop Zeke.”

Historia looks over at Ymir, sighing softly before she looks back at Erwin. “We agree,” she says. “I wish no harm against Mirlenas despite our differences, and I do not wish for Aeron to suffer such a fate from the hands of Zeke Jaeger.”

“We’re willing to provide you supplies,” Ymir continues on for Historia. “Whatever you need to end this war before it goes further into our territory. I hope whatever you have planned will end with peaceful negotiations, but Zeke is a mad man.”

You look over at Erwin – he’s smiling. “Zeke himself can be handled, but I fear it will end with bloodshed.”

—

Your guest bedroom is smaller than the ones you have in Mirlenas, with just enough room for a full size bed and a vanity. Levi stands guard outside your door, and you didn’t miss the look of longing he gave you when the door was closed and Miche gestured to show him his own room. You’ve been spoiled recently, able to share a bed with him throughout your travels and to constantly be with him.

You’re pacing the room, fidgeting with the plain cotton skirts Mrs. MacLerie had given you. Should you bother him in the hallway, request that he stay the night with you? You fear being too attached, too reliant on him, when you should be able to handle sleeping alone for one night before your journey resumes. Your sleep is just so uninterrupted with him, nightmare-less – dreamless. His arms wrapped around you is what makes you feel safe alongside his promises of always protecting you. You’re his now, and he yours.

You sigh, and swing open the door with a roll of your eyes at your behavior. Levi immediately straightens up off the wall, looking at you with furrowed eyebrows and concern. You don’t have to say a word for him to understand, and you can see in his eyes that he’s grateful you want him inside. He steps through the doorway as you step aside, and your nerves are back again when he doesn’t say anything.

“We should talk,” you say, your voice sounding small. You cringe at your words, knowing if they were said to you that you would immediately panic. “Everything’s fine,” you blurt out when you see his mouth open – it snaps shut.

He ponders for a moment. “Okay.”

You frown, and begin pacing the room again. He sits down on the edge of your bed, waiting patiently for you to begin.

“We are equals,” you state. You cast a side glance over at him, seeing him staring at you with a blank face – you look down again. “If we’re going to do this… If we’re going to negotiate with Zeke, I’m going to need you by my side regardless of the decision I make. I’m an inexperienced Queen, I know, but you’ll make me look like a fool if you question my authority.”

You keep pacing, nerves getting the best of you as you continue to fidget with the fabric of your skirts. You desperately want to break the habit, and you force your hands by your sides as they end up in fists instead.

Levi stares at you as you pace back and forth, fists now clenched by your sides instead of incessantly pulling at the threads in your skirts. He hates hearing that man’s name, the same man that killed your brothers and Furlan, the same man that killed his own parents. Levi feels this urge to protect you fiercely as soon as the name is mentioned – he’d do anything for you.

But he heard what you said, and he fears that he’s overstepped your boundaries when he didn’t mean to. He doesn’t know how to balance it, the unquenchable desire to be your protector, to love you, and the side of him that is still your loyal Chevalier. You’re right, and he knows that.

You’re startled by Levi grasping your hands, unfurling your fingers so you’re no longer pressing your nails into your palms, your head jerking up to meet his eyes. “You’re right,” he says softly. You stare into his eyes, those beautiful pools of grey that look at you so softly now. “You are my lover, but you are also my Queen. I trust you, and I will push down my instincts to protect you when you are fully capable.” His hand comes up to hold the side of your face, his thumb brushing the soft skin under your eye. “I fear there is going to be a moment where I can’t be there for you when you need me.” He lets go of your face, taking a step back as he frowns at the ground.

You stare at him for a moment, the overwhelming pressure in your heart making you speechless. You can see the frustration and sadness in his features as he stares down at the ground, jaw clenched. Memories of Auguste, Theo, and Furlan’s deaths no doubt passing behind his eyes, the hopeless feeling of despair overwhelming him.

You step forward and reach out, a gentle finger under Levi’s chin tilting his head back up. “I am here now,” you tell him softly. “We are here now, and until we join the stars as well then we will both do what we can.” You press your lips against his in a soft kiss, gentle enough to feel the way he exhales in relief. “I cannot live without enjoying your presence fully now, Levi. We have bickered for far too long, and as long as we live I will take your protection as long as you will allow me to protect you,” you whisper against his lips.

His eyes are closed as you look at him with half-lidded eyes, his lips slightly parted as he awaits more of your lips against his. His hands find your waist, and he gently tugs the laces of your corset free. “I’ll do anything you tell me to,” he whispers, eyes still closed as he removes your garment. They open just slightly. “I’m yours.”

You kiss him, firmly molding your lips against his as they move languidly together. Your hands find the cravat tied around his neck, fingers nimbly untying the fabric to cast it aside as Levi’s hands bunch up the fabric of your skirts to lift over your head. You only part for a moment to help him rid the fabric from your body, his fingers untying the flimsy skirt support around your waist as your own begin unbuttoning his blouse. Your lips come in contact again. He shivers under your touch, casting aside the skirt support and assisting you by lifting his blouse over his head by the collar once you’ve unbuttoned it enough.

You don’t immediately connect again, taking your time to relish in the view of Levi in just a pair of trousers before you. You’ve never seen him shirtless before, only a peek at his abdomen when he would wipe his brow free of sweat during a rigorous training session, but you had never paid much attention to the man. Now you openly ogle at him, staring shamelessly at the curves of his muscles, the way they flex slightly under your watchful eye, the way coarse dark hair trails down from his naval and disappears under his trousers. His hair is slightly tousled from his shirt being swept over his head, dark bangs barely hiding the lustful gaze he looks at you with. He’s always been remarkably handsome, piercing grey eyes, sharp, but soft, features, and you’re so grateful you’re the one that gets to see him so closely.

Levi does the same to you, openly staring at the way your nipples pebble under the thin cotton chemise provided to you. He’s never seen you like this before, not even when his hands grazed your sides in the countryside of Navarre, your back being turned to him and body being hidden under the sheets. Your hair is still down, it’s natural texture brushing over your collarbones and the nape of your neck – it’s grown longer since the start of your journey. Your curves are slightly silhouetted by your chemise, the short sleeves cupping your arms so your shoulders are free. The way your décolletage is revealed to him makes his heart palpitate, your skin sloping down to your breasts that are only hidden by thin, white cotton. You are such a beautiful woman – Levi curses himself for waiting so long to admit it.

You bravely step forward again, fingers beginning to undo the buttons of Levi’s trousers. He brushes your hair behind your ear. “What are you doing?” he mumbles, grabbing your hands to stop your process.

“I owe you,” you smile at him and lean in to kiss him again, freeing your hands from his to continue.

“You owe me nothing,” he whispers against your lips, his hands coming up to cup both sides of your face.

“Please– let me please you,” you breathe, begging for just a small taste of him, anything. You walk him back to the bed when he doesn’t openly oppose, guiding him to take a seat when the back of his knees press against the edge of the mattress. Your fingers finally finish unbuttoning his trousers as you kneel on the ground, gently pulling them, along with his undergarments, down as he lifts his hips to assist you and kicks them off to the side with his shoes.

You openly gape when his cock springs free, already hard and inflamed at the tip as it leaks a small amount of clear fluid. You look up at him, eyes doe eyed and innocent, and Levi bites back a groan at the sight. “You don’t have to,” he tells you honestly, because he can tell you might be overwhelmed by the pressure of performing well for your first time.

“I want to,” you insist.

Your lips are barely parted as Levi brushes his thumb against your bottom lip, pushing past and watching as you immediately close your lips around it to suck on it. You pull your mouth off with a pop, your cheeks flushing at the sound as you keep looking up at him. He looks patient, blank features staring down at you with only the kind look in his eyes telling you that it’s okay if you back out now, that he’ll still hold you tonight while you sleep.

You keep your eyes locked on his as you take him in your mouth, lips wrapped around the head of his cock with hollowed cheeks. The gasp Levi let’s out is unexpected, and you savor the sound of his unabashed moan that escapes him when you take him further. His skin is slightly salty as you wrap your tongue around him, coaxing another soft moan from him as he gathers your hair to hold it back for you in one hand, establishing a grip against your scalp. You’ve never done this before, but you try your best based on instinct.

“Fuck,” Levi moans, his chest heaving up and down as you bob your head. “How–” Levi let’s out a small whine when you push down further, determined to take him fully as you close your eyes and feel the dark hairs on his skin brush against your nose. “Christ, Aeron– shit– you’re gonna make me cum.” You gag slightly and pull back, swirling your tongue around the head of his cock as you use your hand to slide up and down the rest you can’t quite fit.

You open your eyes to look up at him, tears forming on your waterline and drool spilling from the corners of your mouth. God, you’re a sight to behold, and Levi pulls back on your hair to lift you off of him when he feels his climax approaching fast, your hand still pumping him to completion. He can’t remember the last time he finished this quickly even by his own hand.

His cum spurts in white hot ropes against his abdomen, coating his skin as you watch his eyebrows furrow with pleasure, eyes closed and mouth agape in silent ecstasy. His breathing is labored when he comes down from his high, cheeks flushed as he opens his eyes to look down at you staring up at him in awe. He’s beautiful, strikingly so, and being the source of his pleasure has your own stomach twisting in knots as your clit throbs.

“Come ‘ere,” he says, assisting you as you stand up, wobbly from being on your knees on the hard wooden flooring. You sit down next to him, grabbing at the skirts on the ground to wipe him clean. “I guess Mrs. MacLerie doesn’t need those back,” he mumbles, taking the fabric from your hands to wipe his abdomen.

You laugh lightly, feeling as though you’re walking in the clouds now. “No, I don’t think so,” you mutter, leaning into his side to kiss him softly. It’s slow, gentle, as he relaxes under your touch and you move to straddle him, hands cupping his face as you swing your leg over his. You can’t get enough of him, desperate to feel all of him against you, desperate to feel his cock throb inside you and coat your walls instead of his abdomen.

“Aeron,” he breathes against your lips, hands grabbing your hips as your chemise rides up and exposes your ass and cunt. You lower yourself down, gasping at the feeling of your wet pussy coming into contact with Levi’s soft cock. “What are you doing?” he gasps as you start rocking your hips back and forth, feeling his cock rub through your folds and into your clit, hardening as you continue.

“Feeling you,” you moan. “Oh.”

“I can’t claim you here,” he groans, but his hands do nothing but move to your ass as you continue to grind yourself against him.

“Stop being such a gentleman,” you mutter, tilting your head back and closing your eyes, wishing he would just fuck you right here and now as your arms drape over his shoulders.

“I am to a fault,” he mumbles, leaning forward to press kisses onto your neck. “I want to savor you, take my time with you.”

“Please, Levi,” you whimper. Every time you feel the tip of his cock rub your clit you feel breathless, stimulated, but not quite enough to make you feel euphoric.

His hand makes it’s way to your throat, establishing a gentle grip on the sides to just barely cut off the blood flow to your head and making you feel all the more inebriated off of him. “Then you can do it, my sweet girl,” he hums against your collarbones, lips trailing down to your chest above your breasts. “Make yourself cum all over my cock.” His voice is barely a whisper, and the lewd sound of your wet folds gliding over him make you blush.

Your head is tilted back, relishing in the feeling of your bodies pressed so closely together as you let out a gasp. “Help me,” you whimper, needing just a little more stimulation than grinding against him provides. He doesn’t hesitate, the hand guiding you forward and back by your ass instantly coming in between your bodies to apply circles to your clit.

“That’s it,” he mumbles, pulling you back to him by your throat and kissing you as you whine against his lips. You pant through your open mouth kisses, eyes scrunched shut in concentration as he gets you off. You’re so close, desperation lacing it’s way into the sound of your breaths and moans as you reach the cusp of your climax. “Cum for me, amour– Fuck you’re drenching me filthy girl,” Levi groans, your breath mingling together as you both get lost in the feeling of each other. Nothing matters but him.

You cum hard all over him, eyes rolling back as he lets go of your throat to help you through it by grabbing your hip, his thumb still making circles over your clit. You practically black out, vision blanking as you feel nothing but bliss pulse through you. Levi guides you through it until you’re panting, head falling forward into the crook of his neck while his arms wrap around you to support you. His hands glide under your chemise, rubbing soothing circles into your lower back as it rides up your waist.

God, he can feel you clenching, drooling all over his cock that’s hardened again and he resists the urge to fuck you into the mattress. He can feel the mess of your cream dribbling onto his thighs, creating a sticky concoction of sweat and your cum to clean up in a moment, but he bares it for you despite his urge to immediately get clean. You’re ruining him, absolutely taking all of his willpower away when it comes to serving you – the woman he never thought he’d bend over backwards for, but he can’t imagine it any other way now.

You feel drained, and you’re not sure how long it’s been when Levi finally pushes your shoulders gently and a hand comes up to hold the side of your face. “You alright?” he asks softly. You nod, only a mumble coming out in response. A deep rumble of a laugh comes from him, a satisfied smirk on his lips. “So pretty when you’re fucked out like this,” he hums, his thumb gently swiping against your bottom lip. You give him a delirious smile in response.

“You stay?” you ask him softly, voice sweetened in hopes of him holding you as you fall asleep.

“Of course,” he murmurs, swiping leftover tears from your cheeks.

“You don’t care what the others might think?” you ask, head tilted as you lean into his touch.

“As if they don’t already know,” he mumbles. “Come ‘ere.”

He easily lifts you with him as he stands up, your legs instinctively wrapping around him as he supports you with his hands on your ass. He carries you to the side of the bed, using one hand to pull back the covers as he supports you effortlessly, and lays you down under the sheets. “Stay here,” he whispers to you, and bends down to kiss your forehead.

Levi picks up his clothes that are scattered on the ground, buttoning up his trousers and throwing on his blouse – he doesn’t bother tucking it in or fixing his hair. He looks over at you and can’t help but smile softly at the way you’ve seemed to instantly fall asleep, the travels of the day finally catching up with you. He makes his way to the door, putting on his boots and shutting it as softly as he can behind him as he exits your temporary bedroom in search of warm water and cloth to clean you, and himself, up before he joins you in bed.

He wanders the halls, the dark stone contrasting the white painted wood he’s accustomed to in Mirlenas. He makes it down one hall on his way to the kitchen Miche had shown him earlier when he runs into Ymir herself, stopping as soon as he rounds the corner and she comes into view.

“Ah, guard dog,” she hums, smirking – the nickname makes the hair on his neck rise. “I see you had some fun tonight. Bedding an unmarried woman– a Queen at that? That’s quite brave for a Mirlenas knight.”

Levi isn’t sure if he’s gotten more bold because of where he stands with you now, but he has to bite back his curses at the woman before him. “It’s Levi.”

She laughs. “Alright fine, Levi,” she scoffs. “How’d you end up lucky enough to bed a woman like Aeron?”

He doesn’t bother correcting her, telling her that he hasn’t technically bedded you. “I was her brother’s Chevalier,” he tells her honestly, crossing his arms as he looks at her. “Hers in the last three years of his life.”

“Ah,” she says, gesturing for him to follow her – he hesitantly moves. “And you were there for their deaths? Witnessed them?”

Levi stills, footsteps pausing on the cold stone floor. She turns around to face him, a split second of shock displaying on her features before she controls them again. He can feel the amount of fury showing on his face as he spits out through clenched teeth, “Do not–”

“Right,” she says and turns back around. “Sensitive subject.” Her footsteps continue forward and Levi reluctantly follows. She leads him through the corridors, long hallways that don’t turn too much to the point where he’ll get lost, and soon she’s opening a door and holding it behind her for him. The small room has linens on the shelves, and Ymir takes a few cloths down and throws them at him – he catches them easily with a scowl on his face. “You know, Aeron seems like a special woman, much better than her father,” Ymir continues while she walks out, clearly expecting him to follow. “She’s fiesty, and Miche tells me you got upset with her for revealing who she was at the gates.”

“I wasn’t–”

“She has courage,” Ymir interrupts, looking back at him over her shoulder. “And honestly, she’s the only one capable of taking down Zeke in the end whether she makes it or not.”

Levi scoffs. “As if she wouldn’t make it.”

She whirls on him. “Well then you better be there. Every step of the goddamn way,” she sneers. “Historia might have faith in Mirlenas, but the only person that’s shown me they can handle it is Aeron. Even Commander Smith himself seems like he’s acting on a hunch and me and Historia can’t afford a fucking gut feeling. If Zeke makes it here we’re done for.”

Levi’s fists clench around the white cotton cloths Ymir had given him and steps forward to meet her challenge. “You act like you know everything, but you have no idea what I’d do for her.”

“Would you die for her?” Ymir questions viciously.

“I would do anything for her. I would die the worst death if it meant she would be freed from whatever threatens her,” he vehemently tells her. “You know nothing. You know absolutely nothing about us, or the bond we share–”

“You’re mated?” Ymir takes a step back, bewildered.

“No–”

“How can you be bonded if you’re not mated?”

“We will–”

“Pray it’s not too late when you decide to,” she huffs and spins around, pushing a swinging door open to the kitchen as Levi follows her.

“She’s mine, and I hers,” Levi says, quieter this time. “Zeke won’t lay a hand on her even if it means my own death to protect her, and Kaslogon will have no rein over any more land. We’re fighting him ourselves and you should be grateful for the protection your country is being provided.”

Ymir grips the counter, her back facing Levi as he stands by the entryway. “We are,” Ymir mutters. “You’ve been gone too long.” She grabs a kettle of water and pours it into a small craft, shoving the already warm water into Levi’s grip. “Go.”

Levi wordlessly takes it from her and steps out, leaving Ymir to sit quietly in the kitchen.

She’s scared, Levi thinks as he makes his way back to you, and he can’t blame her. The only thing he fears is losing you, and he can sense that Ymir is only scared of losing Historia to a war they can’t win. He’s already tired and selfishly wants to live in the moments where it’s just you and him, when he’s holding you so close your heartbeats practically melt into one.

He exhales softly, looking down at the ground before he slowly enters the room to take care of you.

—

“Are you prepared for this?” Erwin’s voice cuts into your thoughts.

You’ve gotten yourself together, disregarding Historia’s attempts at sending in a handmaiden and opting to get yourself ready. You’ve braided your hair and styled it in an updo, something that will last the journey to Zaramund. Ymir had delivered fresh clothing for you and you’ve changed into the woolen skirts and cotton blouse, a thin chemise that was made out of quality cotton underneath, and a woolen cloak for your shoulders. You didn’t miss the look her and Levi shared as she stepped into your room and spotted him – you didn’t ask about it, only glad they’ve come to some understanding it seems.

Your temporary horse whinnies under you, a dark mare that made you miss Saxson deeply, made you wonder if he was happily grazing next to Arwen on the coast of Mirlenas. Historia and Ymir provided supplies for you in a small wagon led by two smaller horses, and the rest of your soldiers were provided their own. You expressed your gratitude to both Historia and Ymir, earning a kind smile accompanied by a hug from Historia and a reluctant nod from the latter telling you to “not mess this one up.”

You’re almost positive you caught the upturn of her lip when you smiled back at her.

Erwin sat proudly on his own stallion by your side, regarding you with such care he rivaled Levi now in the way he wordlessly vowed to protect you. “Yes,” you simply answer him. There’s no need to elaborate on how your stomach twists into knots whenever you think about stepping foot inside the castle home to the Jaeger family. How could you ever be truly ready?

The easiest way to reach Zaramund would be to cross the bay between Navarre and Kaslogon territory, but it would leave you vulnerable to Zeke’s soldiers on the coastline – you’re not quite fond of water yet anyway. Instead you would be crossing through the valley of the mountain range that separated the two countries, a small path between towering mountains that would be covered in snow this time of year. From there it would be an easy trek into the capital city, but your nerves still threatened to overcome you.

And it started off simple enough, with two days passing by easily as you trekked across Navarre’s hillsides, rolling green making it easy to navigate and allowing horses to graze. Plenty of streams intertwined throughout the land, providing drinking water for your traveling squad. It was peaceful, nice even, while you appreciated the landscapes around you as your horses made their way through, or while you knelt down next to streams to fill the leather canteen provided to you.

It wasn’t until you reached the start of the valley that your group came to a full stop. The map given to Erwin was clearly deceiving, showing more rolling green hills in between tall mountains, streams flowing down from the mountainside. Granted, it was winter, but the sight before you was not at all how you imagined or were told about.

The earth was brown, no longer covered in grass and resembling a desert instead with visible drought lines along the side of the mountains and clear signs of dried up streams. You couldn’t blame the Queens, they warned you they haven’t had anyone travel these areas since the war began, and with a harsh winter already making it’s presence known far worse in Navarre than Southern Mirlenas, a drought before the snow melted was inevitable.

The air was dry and chilled you to the bone as it swept in between the mountains, blowing the stray hairs that have managed to escape your tied up hair back. One hundred kilometers of this would have to be crossed to reach the other side where you had no idea about the terrain of Kaslogon. You’ve heard your father talk about how sparse it normally is, and you can only hope that in a twist of luck that the land spares you from it’s usual standing.

“We’ll stock up on water half a kilometer back and then make our way through,” Erwin announces to your soldiers. You give him a nod, tugging on the reins of your horse to turn her around and earning a disgruntled huff in return.

—

Any gods that may exist have never been on your side.

The sight was startlingly contrasted; white peaked mountains sloping down to dusty cliff sides. You were surrounded by snow you couldn’t reach, and dirt that had no life to it. You’re almost there – roughly seventy five kilometers have been trekked, and you’re just starting to grow weary as the sun sets. Shadows grow longer, the sky darkening and revealing the stars above your heads with some getting shadowed by the mountain tops.

“We should rest,” Levi speaks up, addressing Erwin. You’ve slumped down a bit on top of your horse, posture weak and limbs growing tired of riding all day. You’ll be on the outskirts of Zaramund tomorrow evening, but Erwin wants to camp just out of reach of the capital city so you can all gather the needed strength.

I fear it will end with bloodshed.

You hope that’s not the case.

All of the horses come to a stop, with Petra and Eld directing the horses towing the wagon to stop and allow access to supplies. You weren’t as prepared as you were in Mirlenas, settling for rucksacks instead of tents and hoping it wouldn’t rain on you despite the needed water. You hopped off your horse, beating Levi’s attempted assistance, and began helping set up camp. You didn’t know much, but you could at least help Petra gather supplies for cooking tonight's meal over the fire being prepared.

“We can take care of things,” Levi tells you, reaching into the back of the wagon for a crate – Petra glances over at you with slightly raised brows, taking that as her signal to leave your side to give you privacy.

“What kind of leader would I be if I let everyone do this for me?” you ask him, turning your body to face him with a hand on your hip.

He looks at you for a moment and then glances around to see everyone else busy with a task as the two of you are partially hidden behind the wagon. “Right,” he mutters and kisses your forehead. “I’m only letting you know that you can take a break if you need it.”

He walks away with a crate in his hands, a knowing look on his face. You frown in his direction before gathering more supplies for Petra.

“Thank you, Aeron,” Petra smiles at you when you hand her a pot and cooking utensils. It’s just the two of you as you both kneel down by the fire, settling in to hang the pot and get dinner situated for the rest of the group. You look up and spot Levi, discussing with Erwin and Hange, although you’re not sure what and can’t tell by the animated look on Hange’s face and the bored expression on Levi’s – Erwin is simply listening.

You hear it before you see it.

A gunshot rings out, the sound of a rifle piercing through the laughter and calm sounds of your soldiers setting up camp. Petra tackles you to the ground hastily, using her body to shield yours as she urges you to crawl with her under the wagon of supplies to take cover. Your eyes are wide, heart rate soaring with the adrenaline pumping through your veins as you hold onto her and she does the same to you.

Then you see it – them. Eld and Gunther are lying down in the dirt, blood pooling around their bodies as everyone frantically takes cover and grabs their weapons. You gag, choking back your tears and the fear that’s consuming you as you look onto the chaos unfolding. You miss the eye contact Petra makes with Levi before she’s pulling you out from under the wagon despite your protests, kicking up dirt as both of you scuffle towards him.

“Go!” Petra pushes you towards him, causing you to stumble forward and barely catch yourself before Levi is pulling you up with one strong arm. Your legs straddle the front of the saddle, your back pressed so tightly to his chest you can feel his frantic heartbeat.

He positions you in front of him on his stallion, using both hands on the reins with arms that cage you in as you frantically look around and the horse sprints forward. Mikasa is hidden behind part of the wagon, using it as cover as she aims a rifle up into the mountains, a determined look set on her features. Armin is next to her, crouched down and holding a musket as he watches her back.

Your eyes find Oluo next, lying on the ground with Petra leaning over him as she frantically shakes him. You gasp, and turn your head down when you see his knee cap blown out and blood leaking from his thigh like a geyser.

“Eyes forward Aeron,” Levi’s deep, comforting voice intercepts your dark thoughts. “I’ve got you.”

You feel obligated to listen to the smooth intonation of his voice, his words trying to pull you back from spiraling as your mind wanders to thoughts of your brothers and the way they probably suffered in death. You keep your eyes focused on the horn of the saddle, your hands holding it so tight your knuckles become lighter in colour. You have to trust Levi to get you two out of this, trust that Erwin, Hange, and your soldiers will make it out alive – you know you’re their priority and you hate it.

—

Levi rides throughout the night, your body nestled against his chest and in between his arms as his borrowed stallion carries him forward. You’re sleeping now after hours of traveling and worn off adrenaline. Your body is turned just enough for you to rest your head on his shoulder while one arm holds your waist tightly to make sure you’re okay, his arm remaining flexed to keep you secure.

He’s angry, scared, and desperate to feel safe again. He caught glimpses of the Kaslogon emblems on the men that attacked them, and he wonders why the hell you’re even going to negotiate instead of declaring an all out war with them. But he knows how you are, how desperate for peace you are without bloodshed.

He holds you tighter. You’re okay. You’re alive.

He didn’t check to see if anyone was okay, didn’t bother stopping the sprint of his horse just to see if any of his comrades were following him out of the mess. The decided campsite for the next evening is his destination, a marked spot on the map that’s in Erwin’s possession and Levi can only hope he makes it to the right spot.

He rides for a few more hours until he sees the lake that looks to be the same size as the one on the map, the sun making it’s way over the horizon and casting a soft glow onto your cheeks. He’s glad you got some sleep, and he’s glad you’ll have a whole day and night to rest and get your bearings before Erwin inevitably forces you to move into the capital city of Zaramund.

Levi pulls on the reins with one hand to have the horse gently come to a stop, a small huff coming from the animal that deserves to rest as long as it can before he drags it into hell again. You stir, a small mumble that Levi manages to smile at as he looks down at your pretty face resting against him. He lifts his hand from the reins, using a thumb to caress your cheek and wake you up further from your sleep.

“We’re here, mon cœur,” Levi mutters to you. You open your eyes and stare up at him, the swirling of your irises that are warmed by the sun taking his breath away. “You’re okay,” he whispers, to reassure you that he’s got you, that he’s taken care of you and protected you from harm, in your sleepy state.

You remain quiet and tilt your head up, the soft press of your lips making him melt into you as your lips move gently against his own. He sighs when you break apart, soft breaths mingling with his as he leans his forehead against yours.

You’re okay. You’re alive.

—

It’s well into the next evening by the time you hear the distinct sound of hooves running against the soft grassy earth around the lake. Levi keeps you and the horse hidden well, letting you rest after he’s woken up from a nap and feeding you with a rabbit he managed to catch with a simple trap. Your eyes are frantic as he pulls you against a tree with him, holding you close as he peers around the bark and out into the open plains of rolling hills.

You can feel the tension leaving his body as he let’s out a sigh of relief, his hold loosening on you ever so slightly and signaling to you that it’s not the enemy. You allow him to help you up, his hand firmly grasping yours to guide you out from cover.

Your eyes tear up immediately when you see Erwin riding strong on top of his white stallion, Hange next to him on their own horse. You feel the tears fall when you see their head wrapped in bandages, one eye covered with a small blotch of blood soaked into the fabric.

The rest of your soldiers follow suit, and your heart feels like it’s in your throat when Petra rides at the back of the group on top of your dark mare, her face covered in grief. You let Levi’s hand go and run to meet your soldiers, your friends. Erwin is the first to get off his horse, practically leaping off and handing the reins over to Armin next to him, and then he’s waiting for you with open arms as you hurl yourself into him.

He crouches down to hug you, large arms wrapping around your frame and engulfing you tightly as you cry into his dirtied no-longer-white blouse. He let’s go of you to check if you’re hurt, calloused hands swiping your hair off your face and holding your cheeks to get a good look at you. His touch reminds you of Auguste, and your hands come up to hold the back of his as you give him a small, sad smile.

Hange walks up next to you, and you don’t miss the look of shock when you abandon Erwin’s touch to give them a hug. “I’m okay,” they mutter softly, and you make a mental note to ask them about their eye later.

The rest of your soldiers say their hellos, sorrow permeating the air with so much thickness you could choke on it as the tears never leave your eyes. They find their spots on the grass, sitting down with exhaustion leaking out of their bones after tying their horses up to rest and graze on the long grass.

Your eyes find Petra again once Erwin and Hange leave your side to talk to Levi, and your already broken heart aches when you see her sitting atop your mare, her dejected spirit idle. You wipe the tears from your cheeks and walk up to her quietly, carefully, as if she was a hunted wounded animal seconds away from startling.

“Petra, mon amour,” you mutter. She startles, big golden brown eyes looking down at you from her spot on top of your horse. Her hands are covered in blood, the front of her uniform stained red from holding her loved ones close as they die. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You hold her in your arms as she breaks.

#levi ackerman #levi x reader #aot fanfiction #levi ackerman x reader #aot levi #levi attack on titan #fanfic #levi smut #levi ackerman x female reader #fic update #levi x you #levi ackerman x reader smut #royalty au #historical au #finally updated #reccommend reading on ao3 thank you <3

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iamred-iamyellow · 6 months ago

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⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ Did My Heart Love Till Now? - [Part 1]

♥ Chapter 1 of Deny thy Father, Refuse thy Name

♥ pairing: charles leclerc x max verstappen - romeo and juliet au - royalty au - red/blue dynamic

♥ none of the pictures are mine, all were found on pinterest :)

♥ a/n: I finally wrote the Romeo and Juliet fic I promised lol and yes I'm working on good luck babe part 3

AO3 Link | masterlist

snippet:

“I’ve never seen you around here,” a man’s voice said, snapping Charles out of his thoughts. Charles eyed the man, taking note of the beautiful clothes he was wearing. His formal jacket was navy blue, a red cape draped off of one of his shoulders, and the gold accents tied the outfit together perfectly. “My brother and his-” he paused, clearing his throat. “Friend. My brother and his friend dragged me along to this party.” “So you do not wish to be here?” “Would it offend you if I said yes?” “It wouldn’t,” the man sighed. “I do not wish to be here either.”

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joverflowers · 1 month ago

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Ultimate Jinmin Fic Recommendation pt 1

Detective/Crime

how i find my way home by cosmiicashes

summary: Jimin has spent years trying not to look at Seokjin, terrified that his feelings will be written on his face, that by looking Jimin will be the one revealed. When their most recent case leads them to an artifact that binds them together, he and Seokjin are forced to confront their feelings and find the artifact before its side effects leave them dead or worse.

Don't Want a Drive by junmoney

summary: Kim Seokjin is part of Seoul's best street racing team. He's comfortable being only second-best to others in his team, until Park Jimin comes to Seoul and puts a dent in their ego.

Eyes on the Prize by burnerphone

summary: It's not that he needs Jimin to be his moral compass or anything like that, it's that Seokjin was about to collapse from trying to keep all the parts of his life separate from one another. Jimin, delicate, pretty, capable Jimin, was more than willing to help.

Of Crystals and Pearls by vminjoongie

summary: As one of the S ranked hunters tasked with killing King, Seoul's most notorious vampire, there is very little Park Jimin doesn’t know, but after having his son Soobin lead him to his boyfriend's boba shop to celebrate the finalization of his adoption, he’s not quite sure what to make of the blood red pearls.

honeypot by twinklearium

summary: Park Jimin pouts, and Seokjin has never killed a target who pouts before. It’s insulting.

Apocalypse/Dystopian

Maybe Today Is The Day My Life Has Meaning by DaydreamNoona

summary: Jimin and Seokjin both have dark secrets that eat away at them, and they have to learn to trust one another to forgive themselves and begin healing.

Strike At Seven by Cxrflow

summary: What can something as minute as love be worth to someone who already owns the world?

the other side of the earth by stickyrum

summary: Jimin believed he was a typical pawn in the bureaucracy of the First Order but found himself trapped in the Minister's office with an insurgent, willingly forfeiting state secrets.

Superhero/ Vigilante

you reel me in by wegonchange

summary: Nurse Jimin has a crush on his neighbor, Jin, but then he finds a masked, injured superhero in his living room and finds himself torn between two men.

nights with you by muhammie

summary: Jimin wishes he didn’t have to face his past.

But being a hero makes you do terrible things, and this is just one of those troublesome things. so he wraps his hoodie tighter around him, some semblance of protection against the harsh cold, and wishes that he had ridden till here in a cab instead.

Space/Sci-Fi

(verb) know; to know by 55cancrie

summary: Do lost memories matter, when it comes to human desire?Park Jimin can run in all the circles he wants—Kim Seokjin will always chase him. When drunken nights become drunken regrets, paid vacations turn into aliens storming your house and, of course, revealing your big fucking secret to your pining ex-husband.

thieves in the night sky, stealing the light by ellievolia

summary: Seokjin & crew get themselves a new job - a jewel heist, one they can only perform on the big gala night where said jewels will be showcased to the aristocratic cream of the crop of the system. The kind of heist that could mean retirement for the crew of the Persona, and lots of nice drinks with little umbrellas in them. The most important job of their lives.

But are those jewels really the loveliest things on display, the night of the heist?

to infinity & beyond by haejungg

summary: Seokjin controls time, and Jimin is just along for the ride.

of black holes & black magic by strawberryvmins

summary: “you’re so fucking dead.”

“me?!” seokjin gasps and jimin shushes him. his voice is quieter when he continues, “this was your idea, for the record. you were the one who insisted we pretend to date!”

“i didn’t think they’d proposition us for sex!”

Guide Me Through Your Galaxy. by symphonic_army

summary: The world ends and Jimin finds out that he only has half a soul, and his boyfriend is not exactly from earth.

Canon Divergence

vitamin sea by orphan_account

summary: now, jimin isn’t a gold digger, but if the gold mine looks like that, then he might reconsider.

Part of Your Slice of Life by starcasticallyyours

summary: Travelling businessman Jin becomes a regular at the diner Jimin works at, developing an impressive reputation amongst the staff for the sheer amount of food he can put away in one go - which includes the pies Jimin bakes himself each morning. With each new flavor Jin samples, the more they get drawn into each other's hearts and lives.

tracksuit hot by mintea

summary: "What if this is my fate now?" Seokjin laments. "Cursed to have a handsome face and a blue tongue?”

Jimin gives him a wry smile. “Honestly, I think you’re even more handsome like this.”

I live (to be close to you) by Screaming_Void

summary: Having survived a life-threatening car accident, Seokjin decides to take the reigns of his life and do what it takes to pursue real happiness.

Taking the leap sure is frightening, but everything is possible with Jimin by his side.

nighttime loving by seokjininheaven

summary: Seokjin and Jimin sleep the days away. Jimin's schedule is backwards. Seokjin is just a vampire.

World Alone by ultjinmin

summary: Jimin has never been in love before, and no one has ever been in love with Jimin. No one can blame him for being just a little bit curious. So when an equally curious stranger wearing a pink cowboy hat and boots shows up at his house in the dead of night, asking him to fall in love in just a week, how could Jimin say no?

Circus/Pirates

madhouse by handseom (jingko)

summary: a lifetime investment in acrobatics has taught seokjin how to land on his feet after a particularly tricky backflip, not how to land a place in one of cirque du soleil’s circus shows.

so here he is, given a chance to hop on board a local low-budget circus with a killer clown, a baby-faced strongman, a dead-eyed ringmaster, a sex-crazed contortionist, a farm animal tamer and quite possibly the love of his life. where the fuck does he sign up?

Green on the Horizon by hobimo

summary: “The rumours don’t do you justice, Kim Seokjin-ssi,” Jimin purrs, "You’re far more than the man they make you out to be.”

Seokjin feels frozen, barely managing to bite out, “Throw him in the brig."

The rest of the room snaps into action, Yoongi jumping up and roughly kicking Jimin away with a boot to the shoulder, and the two pirates gathering Jimin between them and roughly pulling him out of the room.

And still Park Jimin is smirking at him.

Established Relationship

My Dear by IndiraIshra

summary: Seokjin is a married man now. It'll take more than day for it to sink in - but that first day is still so beautiful.

sending my love up at night by hobijaye

summary: Jimin watches Seokjin turn away from him to look beyond his window, beyond the dark of the evening and up to the moon. Following Seokjin's gaze, Jimin's tears finally fall at the sight of what's keeping Seokjin from being entirely his.

The moon- Seokjin's moon- winks down at him.

A Little More Sweetness (with Cherries on Top) by xiujaemin

summary: A peek in the life of a mukbang star.

The Wedding Guests by goodmorningeveryone

summary: “You did! You cheated!” Jin screams. Jimin is trying to shush him, but Jin no longer cares about propriety. He lunges at his husband.

Jimin’s eyes go wide and he rolls backward out from under the tablecloth. Jin gets himself tangled in the fabric, pursuing his husband in a blind rage. When he gets his head out in the open, on his hands and knees, he sees Jimin giggling and weaving his way between tables and chairs.

Only a Small Comma in Our Story by Koofishy

summary: Seokjin is in the military. Jimin misses him tremendously.

All the Zest by uhnxtgood

summary: “I know you Park Jimin, and I know you’re not thinking holy thoughts right now.”

Jimin scowls up at Seokjin on the top rung of the farm ladder, squinting in the sun, “Come down and I’ll show you what I’m thinking.”

so many smiles (begin with you) by stickyrum

summary: Jimin's lease is finally up.

sand-witch by caprikoya

summary: “It’s not what it looks like,” Jimin blurts.

“Well it can’t be what it looks like,” Seokjin responds. “It looks like you’re doing magic.”

“Okay,” Jimin laughs, high and slightly hysterical. “It might be what it looks like!”

my love, my life by asteriafics (orphan_account)

summary: Jimin thinks he and Seokjin are made from the same star. Seokjin just thinks they’re soulmates.

truly, madly, deeply (i love you) by kraj

summary: Seokjin wants his words to be the last, but then he notices something. Jimin's cheeks became pink, and oh, isn't that interesting and wonderful.

"You're so cute," he mutters, kissing Jimin's cheek.

bloom with me by galaxiesjin

summary: Seokjin and Jimin start the day by planting blooming flowers in thier garden and end it by Jimin placing blooming marks on Seokjin's thighs

My Husband's Lunch by loquaciousEscapist

summary: “Boss, Jimin’s smiling at his lunch again!” Taehyung calls across the office.

“For the last time, you don’t need to call me ‘Boss’,” Yoongi says tiredly, pulling up one of his headphones and letting it slap roughly against the side of his head. “And if Jimin-ah wants to smile at his sappy husband lunches, well, that’s his business.”

I'll Be Home Soon by mellzmallow

summary: Seokjin is away for five months for a film shoot in Europe and Jimin misses him terribly. (ft. Jin's adorable Sugar Gliders)

Alt Fictional World

Middling Auspices: The Objectively Horrifying and Often Misleading Prophecies of Kang Seul-gi, Witch by raviolijouster

Summary: “Oh, so now you have a sense of propriety?” Jimin says, tart as he wrestles himself out of Seokjin’s grip and places himself in an aisle seat. Seokjin sprawls out opposite him.

“What? No, I just don’t think we should be using the ‘a-word’ around the…” Seokjin lowers his voice and winks broadly, “‘h-words, if you catch my drift.”

후늬시티, city of otherworldly dreams by monbon

summary: Jimin hits a roadblock in his League Challenge in the form of Kim Seokjin, Laverre City gym leader.

The Waiter by alluric

summary: Park Jimin's life doesn't lack theatrics, especially after he meets Kim Seokjin.

hell and high water by slytherminie (Restricted)

summary: There’s magic in the air, the prickling sensation ever present since Jimin put his feet inside Seokjin’s small cottage, since he appeared at his doorstep with those enchanting blue eyes and a smile over his plump lips, and Seokjin never ignores the signs when they are so blatantly clear. Help is what he will give to Jimin, even if his future doesn’t look promising.

earth and sky, it's you and i. by orphan_account

summary: “I know so. You and I are going to last for a long time.”

not spring, love, or cherry blossoms by jinminrising (xiujaemin)

summary: On the spring of 1988, Jimin feels the giddiness of first love. But happiness isn’t all there is to falling in love, and Jimin realize that maybe the heartache isn’t all that worth it.

building up walls, breaking them down by jnkkgay

summary: two strangers meet in a liminal space, in a liminal time, but sometime during the one night they are allowed together, they stop being strangers. will they find their way back to each other?

Horns, Guppies, Pudding, and Other World Ending Things by glitzenhobi

summary: Suddenly called into Upper Management, Jin is assigned to an extremely classified and dangerous case: The Parks.

The reason?

To stop three children from possibly ending the world. The children being: a tween half demon, a very odd alien, and the most mousy demigod he's ever met.

Maybe the world won't burn?

the beginning of everything by superdairytuna

summary: jimin is charmed by the stranger who offers to take him on an adventure on his tardis.

Royalty/Nobility

opened my heart (found you there) by burlesque

summary: Seokjin was supposed to heal Jimin's heart, not steal it away and make it his own.

Tea & Paper by graciouskoo (moonymiel)

summary: Jimin and Seokjin find 50 year old love letters written between two princes in their boss's belongings. As they read them, they start wondering about his past, about who he might really be, and maybe- just maybe- they start to feel differently about each other as they try to unravel the secrets hidden in the old paper.

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alwaysmidnight99 · 15 days ago

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I adore royal Tony Stark, don’t care if is Prince or King, When he is a prince on modern society or in medieval times. Love even more Royal Tony and normal Steve who doesn’t know about him.

#artists on tumblr #fanart #lgbtq #marvel #stony fanart #fanfic #stuckony #tony stark #ao3 fanfic #fanfic ideas #fanfic inspo #stony #stony fic #iron man #royalty au #gay love

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rayan12sworld · 5 months ago

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💚A Blade By Your Side

By:athena_crikey

Summary:

In the end, it had been the Yiling Patriarch’s stratagems and his fierce fighting, which had turned the tide of the war. He had killed both Wen Ruohan’s sons, and floored the traitor so that Meng Yao could strike the final blow. His status as the strongest warrior on the field had been undeniable.

Thus, the offer extended to him by the Lan court. Take his place as the Emperor’s consort, the only one permitted to lay hands upon the Emperor, the only one to share his bed with him while he sleeps, unaware and vulnerable. His last, best line of defense.

Or: Forced by his court to accept a consort, Lan Wangji is certain he has seen enough of the so-called Yiling Patriarch to know what he's getting: an uncouth ruffian. Slowly, he begins to realise that even an emperor's assumptions can be misplaced.

Chapter:18/18

Words:77,413

Status:completed

Wei Wuxian leans forward and presses his forehead to Lan Wangji’s. The dark curtain of his hair falls forward, surrounding them. “Aiya, don’t mind it. I’m here now – that’s what matters. If I’ve learned tact, at least it may benefit you. When I lost my sword, I made my body a blade. Who would have thought it was my mind Bixia wanted, after all?” “I want everything,” says Lan Wangji, honestly. “There is no part of Wei Ying I do not crave.”

“Bixia gave you a sword, and you returned the favour with betrayal,” he says, lying on the ground beside Jin Guangyao, pinning him down with the weight of his body. “But he gave me his trust, and I gave him my body in return, to serve as a blade for him alone.”

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daeluin · 2 months ago

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anyways. since it's topical. funniest thing to me that period of time around 2013ish when people where all into patrick/brendon. only for patrick to hate that man's guts 😂😂😂😂

#like girl...... please #Last week i was in the middle of the cesspool (2013-2015 p2 fics on ao3) and was so surprised at how many were tagged as patrick/brendon too #like I've managed to erase that from my mind #and then i remembered that tweet of patrick where someone asked him if he hanged out with patd and he said 'no'#funniest thing in the world to me #he doesn't even think about that ugly man. he's just there to get the royalties payments through the label #king shit

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midnightfire830 · 6 months ago

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Sooooooooo i made my first AO3 post.

It’s for royalty. It’s that one oneshot i made a while back. I added a few things. Edited stuff. Fixed things and yeah. Im gonna try writing little excerpts from that AU to post. We’ll see how this goes. Aaaannnd yeah. Enjoy I guess.

#babtqftim #bendy and boris in the inky mystery #babitim #bendy and boris the quest for the ink machine #cuphead #babtqftim au #inky mystery #the inky mystery #inky mystery au #royalty au #royalty #ao3 fanfic #ao3 #my first fic #one shot #au idea #idk what else to tag so yeah

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salvager-beyblade-fanfiction · 3 months ago

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The same characters, but from two different fics (Salvager and The Invincible King)!

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scrollonso · 8 months ago

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Crazy In Love²

A Strollonso AU where Fernando succeeds the Spanish throne and makes it his goal as king to make the Prince of France his groom. (1.9k words, dark!nando, murder (duh), fluff too) [@catboysracing @mercyreg] {This took so long but first kiss race 14 is taking longer so 🔥}

last part - masterlist - next part (coming soon)

As people began to disappear into the guest rooms Fernando excused him and Lance once again, his hand settling on the small of the boys back as he showed the Prince to the room he'd be sleeping in for the night.

The shorter one was practically beaming, unable to wipe the smile off his face since his father and Fernando began discussing the terms of the marriage.

"Will my son be able to continue his studies if he was to begin living here with you?"

"Of course. I'll be sure he learns the same if not more."

"Will my son be involved in battles if Spain was to find itsself in conflict while he's ruling by your side?"

"No, I'll do everything in my power to ensure he's as far from conflict as possible."

They'd continued asking and answering questions like that for ages, Chloe and Lance drifting to the side to talk about the younger boys plans as the soon to be King Consort

Lance was excited once Fernando whisked him away, eyes glued to the man as they walked, almost tripping over his own feet because of how lost in thought he'd gotten

"Careful, mi rey" Fernando spoke, quick to pull Lance into his arms, pulling one hand away to point at the two doors closest to them, the rooms across the hall from one another "This one is yours for the night, I'll be a few steps away if you need anything."

"Can I stay in your room?" Lance asked, hands grabbing onto the Spaniards biceps as he spoke

"With me?"

"Just until I get tired, I don't want to be alone" Lance said quietly, praying the man wouldn't find it weird

"What, are you scared of the dark?" Fernando raised a brow, just teasing the Frenchman

"Mhm" He nodded, bottom lip jutting out slightly at the thought of sitting in the new dark room alone.

The King laughed under his breath, not expecting the boy to really be afraid of the dark. Without hesitating he unlocked his door and pulled Lance in, letting go of him in order to light the lantern besides the door

"It's not funny!" Lance protested, covering his face in embarrassment as he stood in the chilled room

"I know, I'm sorry, mi rey" Fernando cooed, pulling Lance closer to him again to litter his exposed skin in kisses, pleased with the giggles that came as a result.

They spent the next hours just talking and getting to know eachother. Lance had practically told Fernando everything about him and Fernando had told the boy everything he needed to know.

Just as the boy began getting tired there was a knock at the door, it wad weird and had a certain pattern to it that caused Fernando to get up instantly, planting a kiss on his grooms temple before excusing himself to deal with whatever was waiting outside for him.

Lance heard the yelling from through the door, he wasn't sure what was going on since the conversation was happening in Spanish and he was far from fluent.

All he understood were scattered cuss words and the obviously tense tone. He heard Fernando's voice above all the others, the king's sentences practically overflowing with swears as his fist slammed into the closest wall, Lance unable to hide his fear as he heard the situation escelate.

He had no idea what had happened but when the door opened and the now rugged looking King came back in a part of him was scared. Scared of what he might be capable of.

Fernando noticed.

He always noticed.

"What's wrong, darling?" He asked, reaching out to cup the Frenchmans face, reddened knuckles further contrasting their skin tones

"Did something happen?" Lance asked, eyebrows knitting together as he gazed up at the man towering over him

"Nothing important, mi rey." The man insisted, craning his neck in order to peck the boys lips, taking a seat on the mattress besides him as soon as he pulled away "Don't worry about anything, it's all under control"

Lance believed him, of course he did. What reasons did he have not to?

Not long after Fernando came in Lance had fallen asleep, head on the Spaniards shoulder as his breath steadied.

The man knew he had stuff to do and if he didn't move the boy soom he'd never get to work so he slowly lifted Lance, laying him on the mattress and covering him up. The boy slept as if he'd never faced any misfortune in his life, he hadn't. Not yet.

Fernando krept out of the room, looking back to make sure his groom was still asleep under his covers before closing and locking him in.

"Padre" A voice called, Fernando turning to see his oldest son and military commander just steps away

"Carlos, when did you return?" Fernando asked, little to no emotions in his voice as he spoke

"Just now." He confirmed, coming closer to his father so he could lower his voice "I've almost finished escorting Jesuits out of the kingdom but some have barricaded themselves in their homes. What should we do?"

"I'll handle it. Lead me to them, Carlito."

It was towards town square, one house in particular had a handfull of Jesuits in escondites throughout the large building.

Fernando wasn't stupid. He practically broke the door down, snapping the wooden plank holding it shut in two, Carlos following close behind because he knew many men were in the home but he also knew his father had a tendency of getting out of control once he started.

The king listened, lanza gripped hard in his left hand. He'd had it modified, shortened so he could use it easily even when he wasnt on horseback. It was ironic, his weapon of choice had always been a lanza but something felt different today. The name felt different. Lanza. Lance.

His fingers flexed around the wooden rod, knuckles white as he began searching the first floor, Carlos staying further back to watch. His father liked what he did and he liked doing it alone.

He could hear breathing, it was shakey, it was muffled, but it was near. He stopped walking, realizing the person was behind the bookshelf to his right. Fernando turned back to Carlos, nodding over to where he suspected the Jesuit to be hiding.

Fernando didn't want to move the shelf, figuring there was somewhere else they could run off to in the mean time so he positioned his lanza against the wood and shoved it forward, hearing the way skin tore under his blade. He knew it wasn't a serious injury because only seconds later the bastard began to pray

"St. Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle. Be our defense against the wickedness and snares of the Devil."

He scoffed. Ridiculous. There was no St. Michael. No Archangel. No God. No Devil. But if there was, Fernando would be the closest thing to it.

He pulled his blade out harshly, shoving the now broken wood out of his way so he could reach the man easier, seeing him clutching his shoulder as he continued

"May God rebuke him, we humbly pray, and do thou, O Prince of the heavenly hosts, by the power of God,"

It was embarrassing, the King thought, how the man was still praying to his god after being put in this situation.

He reached out his hand to grab the frightened mans cappa. He shook under Fernando, practically falling to his knees as he began to sob. Not stopping his prayer. Fernando was going to let him finish.

"Thrust into hell Satan, and all the evil spirits, who prowl about the world seeking the ruin of souls. Amen."

As soon as he heard the mans voice fade he slammed him against the caved in wall behind him, lanza positioned against his larynx. Fernando knelt down, the Jesuit too afraid to move

"There is no god." He spat, watching as the mans sobs became harder before he pierced his throat, the life leaving his eyes as he was propped up with the Spaniards blade.

It took time but eventually Fernando had managed to rid Madrid of the rest of the Jesuits. Anyone else would feel some sort of emotion, regret, fear, jealousy, Fernando just felt content. Knowing the Popes biggest supporters were either dead or exiled brought a smile to his face.

The walk back was nice, Carlos telling him the things he'd gotten into that day. His oldest truly was a mini-him. The other two mainly took after their mother but Carlos was the spitting image of Fernando and he couldn't wait for his boy to be king.

As they reached the palace Carlos told his father goodnight, going to see what food was left over from the ball while Fernando returned to Lance.

The Spanish king unlocked his door, eyes scanning the hall around him before he stepped in, making sure to re-lock it before finding his way back to his groom.

He was still asleep, eyelashes laying against his pale cheeks as he slept, soft smile on his face. He was beautiful, to Fernando, to everyone. The man still had his blade in his hand, his lanza, he hadn't bothered to wipe the blood off, simply stashing it in his wardrobe before finding his way to bed with the Frenchman.

It wad odd, sleeping in the same bed as someone you were just engaged to, but killing someone with your blade then laying with someone with the same name was stranger so Fernando couldn't be bothered to do anything differently.

Lance awoke hours later, registering the arms around his waist straight away, it was nice, foreign, but nice.

His hands found their way to the Spaniards, fingers lightly brushing over his rough knuckles, scabs forming over the cuts he'd made the night before. He was rugged, far more rugged than Lawrence.

Fernando was the first King, besides his father, that Lance had truly been in the presence of since he was very young, since the signing of the Treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle when he was only six.

He felt safe, for whatever reason, in the mans arms. He was so much larger than the boy, so much stronger, so much more powerful. Lance felt as though he could lay in Fernandos arms forever and never have to worry of anything bad happening to either of them.

"How'd you sleep, mi rey?" Fernando spoke softly, lips pressing against the nape of Lance's neck

"I slept good" Lance smiled, turning to face Fernando, checking to make sure he was as handsome as he remembered. "Did you sleep well?"

"How could I not" The king smiled back, hand leaving the princes waist to brush the hair from his face "Sleeping next to you was perfect, can not wait to do it every night."

Before Lance could respond there was a knock at the door, a man saying something in Spanish that caused Fernando to get up, petting the boys head as he left the mattress

"Let's get dressed, your father wants the wedding to happen as soon as possible."

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