#I know you like rare pairing and I know you like these two so i hope you like it 🥺♥️

[catchastarorten]

—Sleep well.

Pairing: Kang Dae-ho x fem!reader

Summary: Gi-hun suggested that the group took turns staying on watch in case the other players attacked, him and Jung-bae stayed up while you and the others napped, Dae-ho took his place beside you to rest with you.

Content: fluff, cuddling(?), you head-butting him in your sleep lol, English isn’t my first language, mistakes should be present, not really proofread, sorry!

Word count: 808

You were tucked into the corner with your group—Gi-hun, Jung-bae, Young-il, Dae-ho, and Jun-hee. Trust was a rare thing in the games, but the six of you managed to stick together, watching each other’s backs through the brutal rounds.

The weight of exhaustion clung to you, but Gi-hun’s paranoia kept your eyes open longer than you would have liked. He wasn’t wrong, though. The fear was palpable.

Your group pulled a couple of mattresses off of the bunks, arranging them as best as possible. One was dragged and laid flat against the wall, the others shoved under bunk frames for some semblance of protection.

“Is this really necessary? I don’t like sleeping under there.” Jung-bae asked, sliding a mattress to Gi-hun, who shoved it under a bunk frame.

“Once the lights go out, somebody might attack us.” Gi-hun said, his eyes focused and his voice steady. “The prize money still goes up if we kill each other. It’s a part of the game they designed.”

You exchanged a look with Dae-ho, who sat cross-legged beside you, holding onto some blankets and pillows. He had been your shadow ever since Red light, Green light. Always sticking close, insisting on protecting you in this place after seeing the way you froze during the first game—when he told you to stay behind him closely so you could use him as a human shield.

“We need to take turns keeping watch after the lights go out.” Gi-hun muttered, sitting down at the foot of the bunk beds, his sharp eyes scanning the room. “I’ll take the first watch.”

The lights flickered out not long after, leaving the only source being the giant piggy-bank hung on the ceiling that was glowing dimly.

It was after a while when Jung-bae rolled out lazily from under a bunk and plopped down beside Gi-hun, the two of them speaking in hushed voices.

You laid down on one of the mattresses, wrapping the thin blanket around yourself. Dae-ho settled beside you not long after, and though you weren’t expecting it, his hand brushed against yours as he shifted to get comfortable, and you were sure you saw his face flush before he hid it, which barely worked, to be honest.

“Don’t worry,” he mumbled, his voice low and soothing. “I’ll keep you safe. I’ll fight them off if they try to come over here.”

The sincerity in his words made your heart ache in the best way. Dae-ho had a knack for looking out for you since you met him in the games, even in the little ways—giving you his portion of food, stepping in when someone got too close. You hadn’t known him long, but there was this easy warmth between the two of you.

Within minutes, you were sound asleep.

Dae-ho’s soft snores filled the small space you both shared. Exhaustion had gotten the better of him, just like it did to you. His arm had draped protectively over your side in his sleep, his presence a cocoon of safety.

Gi-hun and Jung-bae sat near the bunks, their attention now drawn to the sound of soft snoring. Both sets of eyes landed on you and Dae-ho, curled up together on the mattress.

“They’re out like a light,” Jung-bae remarked, a hint of amusement in his voice. “You know, seeing them like that... it reminds me of when we went on strike. We were occupying the factory, and management told us to come out. They said anyone who came out voluntarily would be let off the hook and receive more severance pay.”

Gi-hun stared into the distance, as if recalling what happened.

“You were sleeping beside me and you were talking in your sleep. ‘Mom, I’m hungry, give me some food.’” Jung-bae made an exaggerated crying face, and Gi-hun gave him a glare as Jung-bae nudged him with his elbow, smirking.

Their voices echoed, and soon enough, soft laughs filled the quietness.

Jung-bae chuckled again, louder this time. He clapped a hand over his mouth, but it was too late. The noise had reached you, and you stirred slightly. Dae-ho, still asleep, curled closer to you instinctively, his arm tightening around your side. His movement caused your head to shift slightly, and without warning, you head-butted him in your half-asleep state of grogginess.

Dae-ho furrowed his brows, a soft noise escaping his lips as he shifted again, burying his face into the crook of his arm. You tugged the blanket over your shoulders, muttering something incoherent before nestling deeper into the mattress, falling right back asleep.

Jung-bae stifled another laugh, his shoulders shaking with the effort. Gi-hun gave him a glare, but a faint smile was already tugging at the corners of his mouth too.

“They’re like kids,” Jung-bae whispered, his tone fond.

“Let them sleep. They’ll need it.” Gi-hun shook his head and sighed softly.

[isaadore]

JACKED AND KIND NICO HISCHIER

‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ pairing nico hischier x reader

SUMMARY you convince nico to do a tiktok trend, even if it’s a little out of his comfort zone. word count 0.7k

warnings pure fluff, fem!reader, use of y/n

note i hope you guys know what trend i'm referring too 😇

MAIN MASTERLIST NH13 MASTERLIST

IT STARTED WITH a lazy morning and the familiar routine of scrolling through TikTok. One particular trend kept popping up: boyfriends effortlessly lifting their girlfriends while Sabrina Carpenter’s “Slim Pickings” played at the line, “Jacked and kind.” It was sweet and oddly endearing.

You couldn’t stop thinking about how perfect that would be with Nico.

It wasn’t like the world didn’t already know about your relationship. Between games, post-practice dates, and subtle Instagram posts, it was all out there. A quick, harmless TikTok would be a fun way to keep things interesting.

You walked into the kitchen, still in your pyjamas. You were immediately hit with the smell of coffee and pancakes. Nico was standing at the counter in his sweats, carefully stirring sugar into his mug. His hair was messy from sleep, and his movements were slow and relaxed.

“Morning, liebe (love),” he greeted, glancing over his shoulder with a soft smile.

“Morning,” you replied, leaning against the doorframe. For a moment, you debated whether to bring up your idea. Nico was still half-asleep and probably enjoying the peace of a rare day off. Did you really want to disrupt that?

Then again, Nico always had a hard time saying no to you.

“So,” you started, dragging out the word as you stepped closer.

He turned, raising an eyebrow at you with a knowing look already on his face. “What’s that tone?”

“There’s this TikTok trend,” you explained, trying to sound casual.

He groaned softly, though his smile didn’t waver. “Of course, there is.”

“You’d just have to pick me up. Literally for two seconds,” you added quickly, holding up your hands like you were presenting a deal. “No weird costumes or anything. Just you being, you know, jacked and kind.”

Nico paused, crossing his arms as he leaned back against the counter. “And why do I feel like this will end with me looking like an idiot?”

“Because you’re dramatic,” you said playfully. “Come on, it’ll be cute!”

He sighed, shaking his head. “You have an answer for everything, don’t you?”

“Pretty much.” You grinned, batting your eyelashes for good measure.

“Fine,” he relented, setting his mug down with a resigned laugh. “But only because I know you’ll keep bugging me until I say yes.”

“Thank you!” you exclaimed, already setting up your phone on the counter.

After breakfast, Nico followed through with the plan, though he grumbled a bit.

“You’ve really thought this through, haven’t you?” he asked, running a hand through his hair as you positioned him in front of the camera.

“Obviously,” you replied, stepping back to check the angle. “Okay, so when I point, you just pick me up. Nice and smooth, like it’s nothing.”

“I’m a professional athlete, Y/N,” he said, smirking. “I think I can handle lifting my girlfriend.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the warmth spreading across your cheeks. “Alright, Captain Confidence. Let’s see if you can back that up.”

The music started and the familiar beat of Sabrina Carpenter’s “Slim Pickings” filled the kitchen. You pointed right on cue, and before you could blink, Nico’s arms were around you. With a single motion, he lifted you off the ground like it was the easiest thing in the world, holding you securely on his shoulder.

“Jacked and kind,” you whispered, half-laughing as you wrapped an arm around his shoulder.

“Was that it?” he asked, his grin smug but soft. “That’s all you needed?”

You nodded, laughing. “Yup! Perfect! Put me down before I ruin it.”

He lowered you carefully, his hands lingering. “That’s it?” he repeated, tilting his head. “You were stressing about that?”

“It’s not about me. It’s about the aesthetic,” you shot back, picking up your phone to check the video.

The result was flawless. Nico looked effortlessly strong, the timing was perfect, and your quiet laugh at the end made it even better.

“See?” you said, holding the phone up for him to see. “Jacked and kind. TikTok is going to lose it.”

He shook his head, his cheeks faintly pink, but he was smiling. “As long as you’re happy, that’s what matters.”

“Always,” you teased, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

Though Nico pretended to roll his eyes, you knew he’d secretly check the comments later to see what fans were saying.

‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ MAIN MASTERLIST ✷ NH13 MASTERLIST

[nonotnolan]

Guess Who - College Edition

The week after the holidays was always a stressful time for Tyler. It had a lot going for it, of course— school hadn’t started yet, the parties would soon be picking up in full swing— but the Greek Life Traditions had the potential to be hell for a closeted gay man such as himself. Sigma Epsilon Chi had a tradition that when school wasn't in session, a handful of guys would swap bodies in pairs for the week. Everyone would try to guess who had swapped with who, and though it was only for bragging rights, some guys took it very seriously.

Once he knew that he would only be guessing, he had to admit it was actually kind of fun trying to tell who was themselves and who was pretending to be someone else. The anxiety happened when the participants were still being decided. Some of his fellow frat brothers were legacy members whose bodies were just as average as his own, but just as many of them were attractive, athletic men who rushed for the sake of the social status. The thought of having to spend time in a body far better than his own… sure, it was exciting, but how could he possibly abstain from the temptation for that long?

Well, he was about to find out. Ethan had tapped him out to be one of the swapped, and he was about to find out whose body he would be taking for the week. It wasn’t the first time that Tyler was walking down to the basement where the spell circle was carved into the concrete floor, but somehow it never got any easier. Last time he swapped with Devin, an engineering student whose body wasn’t too much of a change from his own, but he had a feeling that his luck was about to run out.

“I’m swapping with Tyler? Hell yeah, we’re gonna fool everybody!”

He was swapping with Blaine. Of course he was swapping with Blaine. The man was one of the hottest guys in the fraternity, and the unknowing recipient of Tyler’s biggest crush. He exuded confidence without even trying, and the way that the muscle definition of his arms bulged out of his sleeves never failed to get Tyler excited. Not that Blaine usually wore shirts around the house— it was rare to see him wearing anything that covered his chest unless he was having to go to class. His shoulders were impossibly wide, and his body was a temple of muscle. Worse still, he was so friendly and easygoing that he had no idea how embarrassed Tyler felt whenever he was near him. There was no way he would be able to spend time in that body without wanking himself senseless. “Fuck me, I’m going to have to swap bodies with Blaine.”

Blaine looked at him with a bit of a hurt expression on his face. “What, you don’t want to swap bodies with me? Come on, Tyler, this body is great!”

Shit, had he said that out loud? “No, I didn’t mean… of course it’s great! It’s just that, your body is so good it’s kind of intimidating. It makes me feel like if I eat junk food in your body, I’ll ruin it,” Tyler said, rushing to tell him a white lie. "It's good, it's just... it's a lot."

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” Blaine said, patting him on the shoulder. “We’re just two guys swapping bodies. I can go a few days without working out at the gym. And hey, it’s not like I’m new to this whole body swapping thing. If you wanna get laid while you’re in my body-- honestly, I take it as a compliment.” He gave Tyler a playful push on the shoulder. “You know I’m gonna try to do the same, right? You’re a good looking guy! I’m taking you out to the bars to get drunk, and I bet I’ll score while I’m there. It’s still a vacation week, everyone is looking to get laid.”

Tyler just stood there, blinking, as he tried to comprehend what Blaine had just said. Empty compliments aside, had he really granted him permission to do anything he wanted? He barely registered Ethan guiding him over to the spell circle and uttering the incantation. Blaine had just given him permission to get laid inside of his body.

Tyler rummaged through Blaine’s closet, playing dress-up with his new muscular frame. Most of the man’s wardrobe consisted of sweatpants, gym shorts, and free t-shirts. It wasn’t surprising, but it was disappointing. He was planning to dropbox some photos of Blaine’s body to his own personal account for later usage, and he was hoping for a few sophisticated outfits to contrast Blaine’s gym bro vibes. He was also planning to take Blaine up on his offer to get laid, just… perhaps in a way that he hadn’t intended when he gave Tyler blank permission. He pulled up the Google Play store on Blaine’s phone, and searched for Grindr only to discover it had already been downloaded. His heart started to race faster— he hadn’t seen the app on any of the main screens, did that mean Blaine had hidden it away in a folder somewhere? Surely it was more likely that someone else had downloaded it during a prior swap? Well, there was only one way to find out. He took a deep break and clicked ‘open’.

He couldn’t believe his luck— it was an active profile. Bi_greekguy_Est_02. No profile photo, and a description that just read “discreet, message for pics”. This changed everything. He absolutely had to fuck his own body. But how could he pull Blaine into a private discussion without being suspicious? The two of them never really crossed paths, so anything direct would be incredibly suspicious. He could pretend to ask for help, but it would have to be something Tyler could actually help with. He had fixed Jacob’s computer once, and Blaine didn’t have a reputation for being tech savvy… that could work? It was worth the risk. Tyler walked downstairs to his body’s room, enjoying the heft of his shoulders as he walked. “Is Tyler in there?” he said, casually knocking on the doorframe. “I’ve got an issue with my laptop, and Jacob said you might be able to fix it.”

Blaine emerged from the room, glaring at him in concern but otherwise playing along. “I… yeah, Blaine I can take a look at it,” he said. “Lead the way, I guess.” He followed Tyler back to his body’s room, and made sure that the door was shut before beginning to yell at him. “What in the hell are you thinking, dude! I never come down to the basement! What in the hell could be so important that you— ohh.” Tyler responded by showing him the Grindr profile he’d found. He crossed his arms, scowling defensively. “I… yeah, okay. So what, I’m bisexual. What’s the big deal?”

“The big deal is that I’m a gay man,” Tyler said. “If I had known I wasn’t the only non-straight guy here, I would have tried my luck ages ago. I know you want to win this weekend, but some things are more fun than trying to fool the rest of the guys. I don’t care if we get identified immediately, as long as we have fun. I thought you were out of my league. I still think you’re out of my league. But now that I’m inside of you? You can bet your ass I’ll be taking advantage of every minute.” He flexed for emphasis, watching the definition on Blaine’s arm.

Blaine laughed. “Well, if we’re being honest… I’ve always thought you looked like a cute bottom, but I didn’t know if you were gonna get offended if I asked. I didn’t want to risk my reputation as the macho gym bro to ask you if you were gay. You want to know why I was excited to swap with you? I was excited to end up in your body so that I could take it out to all the gay bars. I’m gonna get your ass railed so hard that it’ll still be sore after we swap back.”

Tyler couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “I… you thought I was cute?”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Blaine said, as he started to blush. “You don’t have to be aggressively masculine to be desirable. We are absolutely becoming fuck buddies once this is over. You can be my tutor if you want to keep it discreet.”

Tyler pressed down on Blaine’s shoulders, taking advantage of his body’s light stature to lower him to his knees. “Who said anything about waiting until this is over?” Tyler started to slowly untie his sweatpants, letting the unspoken tension build as he adjusted the waistband of his boxers. “Do you really expect me to believe you haven’t fantasized about getting fucked by your own cock?”

Blaine looked at the eight inches of erect cock positioned a few inches in front of his face, and then looked up into the eyes of his body. He couldn’t help but laugh. “We’re not going to make it out to the bars this weekend, are we?”

[sirxlla]

Laying Hoes Hose 😉

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

Warnings: NSFW, fluff

Prompt: getting interrupted while having sex with Buck

Notes: female reader, italics are actions and thoughts.

-With that said it's all under the cut-

When it came to Buck his entire apartment was up for grabs when he had sex with you. The shower, the kitchen table, the couch, the hallway. You get it, the whole lot was up for grabs. No one could see in due to the tint on the windows so in his mind there was no reason to not push your face against the window and screw you from behind.

You'd never be upset for anyone cause of their body count, you knew his was high but holy fuck did it give him experience. This man could rearrange your insides multiple times over for what felt like hours before even thinking about finishing. His stamina was unreal, of course that came from the fire department but also his experience, he knew how to pace himself.

You threw your head back with a moan as you panted, him expertly hitting right where you needed him to over and over. Buck's hips clapped against your ass causing the sound echoed across the apartment. He smirked as you whined and reached behind you for him.

Buck's apartment was like a goddamn merry go round and people came and went as they pleased so getting alone time like this was rare but when it happened? God, was he good at this.

He grabbed a handfull of you hair with a small tug to bring your head back and your lips to his so you both could share a very sloppy/steamy kiss as you panted in his mouth.

You were so fucking close and it felt like cloud nine when there was a knock on the door. He ignored it and kept his pace against you, bringing you both to a climax was more important to him right than whatever was at the door. His lips kissed and bit at your neck and shoulders.

"Baby, I'm gonna-" You whined before the door was banged on again and again.

"We know you're in there, Evan!" Chimney yelled.

"Open the door, we brought refreshments!" Eddie added before they kept knocking over and over. Buck was annoyed and groan as he pulled away slowly which caused you to make the same noise.

"Baby, I-" He started and apology as he quickly pulled his sweatpants back on to answer the door.

"I know." You panted out, a complete mess for him and he'd've know than more than he already did if his friends weren't so annoyingly persistant.

"Give me a minute, Guys. It's a mess, I-" He gave you a moment as he stalled his friends.

"We don't care about what it looks like!" Eddie responed with a laugh almost on hos tongue.

"Come on, the beers getting cold!" Chimney yelled after, Buck looked back at you as you cleaned up the pair of your clothes before getting some clothes to go shower. Once you were in the shower, he let them in.

"Finally, my Grandma moves faster than you...and she's dead." Chimney joked before hearing the shower.

"Oh, you got company?" Eddie smirked as he spoke but it falls as he sees Chimney's face.

"Oh- Oh, Dude, I'm so sorry. Maddie told me to not come over, I didn't think it was cause you were spending time with your girl, should we go?" Chimney asked feeling a bit shitty.

"No, it's fine. You're already here. We were just wrapping up anyways." Buck added with a kind and reassuring smile, of course he would've liked to continue with you but he knew that ship had sailed and he knew you knew that too. You two had been interrupted countless times via emergencies and such.

"Did we interrupt anything?" Eddie asks a bit teasing but a bit guilty.

"Yeah but it's nothing." Buck tried to reassure his friends more.

"Nah, thats not nothing. I knew when Maddie and I get interrupted-"

"I don't really wanna hear about you banging my sister." Buck replied to make them laugh and tease the tension with tge very true statement.

You cleaned yourself up, showered and every other thing you needed to do. It was hard to get out of the shower once you were in there sometimes, like it was just so calming and serene but all good thing come to an end.

Once you had got dressed in one of Buck's graphic tees that he usually only wore at home. You hadn't bothered to look at the shirt when you hastily grabbed it earlier to get into the shower. You had pulled it on before reading it and now you had to stiffle a laugh.

"Laying hoes hose." It says with a pinup female firefighter winking on it, the word hoes crossed out to spell hose like a fire hose.

"Oh, my god." You laughed, you didn't even know he had this in his dresser. There was only that shirt and it wasnt like Chimney and Eddie didnt know you or your humor and in their minds they'd probably think it was yours or something you bought for Evan.

You came out and sat next to Buck, you know that Buck would make it up to you later so it sucked but it was what it was.

"Evening, N/N. We're sorry if we-" Chimney still felt the need to apologize.

"It's okay, I'm used to it." Acting like it was nothing because at this point you had started to try to accept it.

"No, you shouldnt have to. I kinda feel really bad. I know you and Buck are super busy with work and babysitting Jee..." Chimney continues.

"It's alright, Buck'll make it up to me later, Right?"

"Right." Buck blushed a bit and smiled and squeezed your thigh, he looks down and sees your shirt before laughing, he'd forgot about that shirt. The other guys look at it as well and start laughing, the tension was once again evaporated into thin air.

-> Masterlist <-

[nightsandrewrites]

Cabin in the Woods

Pairing: Azriel x Eris Vanserra

Summary: Eris is now High Lord of Autumn and his greatest secret has just been revealed.

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings: None, Angst, Fluff

a/n: It's been a minute since I drafted something up but Azris has been living in my head rent free...

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

Eris dusted the snow from his shoulders and hair as he took shelter under the awning of the small cabin hidden along the Autumn and Winter court border. He rarely ventured this far North to avoid the cooler climate, even though technically the land was half his now that he was High Lord.

The worn door only needed a small shove to send it creaking open, but there was no greater warmth waiting to welcome him inside. He felt like the temperature may have even dropped a couple of degrees. Snow skittered away from his boots as he crossed the threshold. He didn’t need to scan the small space to find what he came looking for.

Staring out one of the small windows there was no mistaking the form of the Night Court’s Spymaster. His rigid frame would have blocked out the entire view if he didn't have his wings pulled so tightly to his body. His scarred hands rested on the chipped windowsill and Eris wouldn’t have even known if he was breathing if it wasn’t for the fog of his breath on the icy glass. Though Azriel didn’t move an inch his shadows swirled around him in a flurry. They wove around his arms, slid along his shoulders and curled around his ear. He wondered what secrets they whispered to him. Eris could just make out the mountains of Winter over the Illyrian’s shoulder. Of course Azriel would be peering out towards the North, as if even facing the Autumn Court was a stain on his existence.

“How long have you known?” Azriel asked quietly. He could have even missed the words if there was any other sound for miles. But there was no mistaking the gravely tones of the shadow singer and Eris knew Azriel rarely had the patience to ask a question twice.

“Somewhere over 500 years.” He replied with complete honesty. Eris watched as Azriel flinched. Eris had never seen him lose an ounce of composure; not when he found himself at the wrong end of a blade, not under the scornful eye of a foreign High Lord, not even at the anger of his own High Lord, one of the most powerful fae in Prythian. But now, at his words, he flinched. Eris wanted nothing more than to winnow away. To open a rip in the world and slip between the folds of space and time and disappear forever. But he didn’t. He swallowed the lump in his throat the same way he would swallow whatever Azriel had to say to him, because he deserved whatever was coming.

“So that day with Mor..” Azriel’s voice was punctuated by the sound of his head falling to the glass. His shoulders slumped forward and his wings hung looser around him. He looked beyond broken. Shattered. Eris would have taken Azriel’s anger over this. He wished he would have met Azriel’s wrath, maybe even ran a blade through him instead. He would have taken anything over this.

“I didn’t know what else to do.” Eris dropped his eyes to the dusty floor. He couldn’t bare to see the wounds his words could leave. “I couldn’t walk away and let her die. I couldn’t touch her or call my men for help without laying claim to her. In that moment it was the only thing I could think to do.”

Azriel shoved away from the window and strode across to the small table near the door, where Eris had failed to notice a small silver bottle and two matching glasses. Azriel snatched up the bottle, pulled out the cork and tossed it over his shoulder without a second thought.

“This will take care of it.” He quickly filled the glasses and slid one in Eris’s direction without so much as a glance.

“That’s all you want to know?” Eris stepped forward and gingerly picked up the glass. He realised that it wasn’t the bottle that was silver but the liquid inside it.

“You let me believe a lie for 500 years.” Azriel snarled. “You let me believe that a mate bond had called me to her. What else is there to know?" He picked up his own glass and swirled the liquid around like he was about to taste a fine wine.

“I had no choice!” Eris confessed. “I had to protect you.” It made no difference now, he could finally share everything.

“Protect me?” He scoffed. As if Azriel needing protection was the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard.

“If Beron found out," Eris took a step forward forcing Azriel to look at him for the first time since he’d arrived. “He wouldn’t have stopped until one of us was dead. He would have sent men to try to kill you.”

Azriel straightened as if he was about to argue the point, but Eris held up a hand and shook his head before he had the chance.

“I said try.” Eris conceded and Azriel simply nodded in response.

“He would have bet on Rhysand stepping in on your behalf, starting some sort of intercourt conflict he could blame on the Night Court all while ensuring your demise” Azriel’s eyes narrowed, more at the mention of his brother's involvement than at his own fate.

“When that failed he would have taken me prisoner.” Eris' teeth clenched at the thought. “Tortured me in Cauldron knows what ways in an attempt to lure you to Autumn. And when that inevitably failed he would have had me killed.” Eris felt somewhat lighter now that he had given Azriel his reasons. He’d said his piece and now he could accept his fate.

“He’d have his own son and heir killed?” Azriel’s eyes darted between Eris’, looking for any signs of a lie.

Eris couldn’t help that his own eyes darted down to Azriel’s scarred hands and then back. “What’s a son to a father?” He glanced down at his drink. “What’s a son to a High Lord?”

He took a half step closer and knocked the top of his glass against the one tight in Azriel’s grip.

“Cheers.” He raised the liquid that looked like molten starlight to his lips when suddenly Azriel’s free hand formed a vice around his wrist. For only a split second the High Lord’s power inside Eris swelled, it recognised a challenge in Azriel’s own.

“You wouldn’t have died at the hands of Beron.” Azriel’s grip loosened a little. “If you had trusted me, maybe things would have been different.”

“Please.” Eris scoffed as Azriel allowed him to lower his arm. “I saw the way you looked at me. When Beron’s power ripped through me and I lost control of the bond. I saw that look of disappointment on your face, the way your sword fell and your wings drooped when you realised it was me.” Eris ripped his arm from the last of Azriel’s grasp and lifted Azriel’s burn-scarred hand instead. “After all, how are you supposed to love something that tried to destroy you?”

Azriel shoved Eris away with his raised forearm and Eris stumbled back.

“I wasn’t disappointed it was you!” Azriel was yelling now. And yelling was good. Eris could do yelling. “When it snapped I could see you weren’t surprised and that meant you knew. You knew and you said nothing!”

“I couldn’t..” Eris began but Azriel cut him off.

“I winnowed out of there because I thought maybe you had known for awhile. That you concealed it because you wanted to reject it and I could be fine with that. But 500 years?” Azriel chuckled darkly. “You must have had a great fucking time laughing behind my back. Knowing I’d never find my mate because I already had one.” Azriel exhaled. He pulled out a chair and slumped into it. Letting his hands fall unceremoniously to the table. “These last two weeks I’ve had to relive every interaction in my mind, every piece of information, the rumours of your numerous conquests, all while knowing what you knew.” 

“And they were just that.” Eris muttered mostly to himself.

“What?” Azriel looked up in confusion.

“The rumours.” Eris folded his arms across his chest, glass resting on one forearm, suddenly unsure what to do with his hands. “That’s exactly what they were.”

“You don’t mean… in the hundreds of years you never..” Azriel began to slowly stand from his seat.

“You can feel that golden thread now, wrapped around that intangible place in your chest.” It was at his own chest that Eris gestured to though. “Now imagine taking someone else to bed.” Eris willed his cheeks not to dust with pink as he explained.

He watched as Azriel’s eyes focused on the middle distance between them, lost in thought for only a moment before his face began to contort in disgust.

“Exactly.” Eris chuckled softly. “It’s like all your favourite meals turn to ash in your mouth, and sure, you could swallow ash, but why would you want to?”

Azriel’s head tilted slightly as he considered Eris’ words. He slowly took a step forward, as if Eris might disappear if he moved too quickly. He gently reached up and pulled the glass from Eris’ grip.

“It’s like that always?” Azriel barely whispered.

“For me.” Eris nodded slightly. “Always.”

“You just wanted to protect me?” Azriel slid the glass back onto the table.

“That’s all I ever wanted.” Eris swallowed dryly under his hazel gaze.

Azriel watched his own hand as he lifted it to Eris’ face, he hesitated for a moment giving Eris a chance to protest or shove him away, before his fingertips brushed against Eris’ cheek.

Eris inhaled sharply, it felt like he hadn’t taken a breath in hours. Azriel’s eyes met his once again.

“Eris?” There were a thousand questions in the one word passing through Azriel’s lips. Eris answered every single one of them. “Yes.”

[requiemforthepoets]

first encounter ⟢ CL16

⟢ part two of you’re the closest to heaven that i’ll ever be

𖤓 series masterlist ⟢ playlist ⟢ part three ☽

PAIRINGS: charles leclerc x celestial!reader

SUMMARY: all thanks to leo, charles finally got the chance to meet you—the celestial being who has consumed his every waking thoughts, and managed to find out new things.

REMINDERS: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.

WARNINGS: bible angel names references, some people may find this fic offensive, concept of divine beings and heaven & life and death, no use of y/n, angels and devils, mentions of papa leclerc (beginning is set in 2017) and jules bianchi, fluff, falling (literally & figuratively) in love, named side characters, angst but with a happy ending, purely written fic, a little bit of world building (concepts), mentions of death, bad/evil people, cursing, not proofread, and typos.

WORD COUNT: 5k

AUTHOR’S NOTE: this fic may not be some people’s cup of tea, if you don’t like it, don’t read it. sorry it took me a LONG time to post the part 2 of this series, i already have this on my drafts but never got the time to check on it bc i’ve been working on my other series (fa14 series), but finally, here it is! the part 3 may take a long time to be posted again 🥲 but you don’t have to worry bc i intend on finishing this series. taglist is open for this series, so just comment or message me if you want to be tagged. your comment/reblog is highly appreciated, and i hope you’ll enjoy this second part of the series!

It was a warm late afternoon in Monaco, and Charles had finally pulled himself out of his apartment, hoping that some fresh air and Leo’s cheerful company might turn off the constant thoughts running through his mind. Since that night in Singapore, you had been all Charles could think about—the image of you standing before him, looking at him as though you knew the secrets he hadn’t even dared to ask himself. Charles had barely gotten a word in before you disappeared, leaving him with nothing but more questions.

The park was mostly empty, allowing him and Leo to stroll without the usual flood of cameras or people hoping to get a quick word with him. Charles enjoyed these rare quiet moments, watching Leo run through the grass, capturing photos of him mid-leap, his ears flapping, and his tail wagging in pure delight. For a while, it was peaceful—that is until Leo began barking persistently, his gaze fixed on something in the distance.

“Leo, calme-toi.” Charles called, trying to soothe his normally docile dachshund.

Leo rarely barked at nothing, and Charles couldn’t see what had him all stirred up. As he looked past Leo, his heart skipped. There you were, standing at the edge of the park, just as he had remembered you, dressed in black, untouched by the brightness of the world around you, as if you had stepped from a different realm entirely. Slowly, Charles walked over, kneeling beside Leo, who was still barking.

“Can you see her too, buddy?” Charles asked softly, but Leo only turned his head back towards you.

His barks began shifting into a delighted whine, tail wagging as though greeting an old friend. To Charles’ amazement, Leo took off towards you, bounding across the grass with uncharacteristic excitement. You bent down on one knee as Leo reached you, his small body pressing happily against your touch. Charles just stood there and watched, captivated by the whole sight, how your hand moved over Leo’s fur, and how the dog responded, oblivious to the fact that what he felt was something beyond the ordinary. You then looked up at Charles and smiled, a gentle, knowing expression on your face.

“Hello, little one,” you murmured to Leo, reaching out to stroke him. Your gaze followed Leo’s figure as he trotted back toward Charles. “He’s a beautiful soul. It’s clear how well you take good care of him, he is very happy with this life.”

Charles swallowed, taken aback by the warmth of your words. He felt a huge wave of relief washing over him, and somehow, you were not a figment of his imagination. You were in front of him, speaking to him, your voice soft but firm, grounding him in the reality of your presence.

Noticing a bench nearby, you gestured, “shall we sit?” Charles nodded.

He followed you as you walked, though he kept glancing around as if worried that someone might catch him talking to thin air. The two of you sat side by side, your gaze focused on Leo as he scampered around, while Charles couldn’t seem to look anywhere but at you. The silence between you felt almost sacred, deafening, thick with all the unspoken questions he longed to ask.

“I know you have many questions,” finally, you broke the silence. Your voice was gentle. “Especially as to why you can see me, when others could not.”

Charles let out a shaky breath, nodding. “I—I don’t understand. I’ve seen you before, but you keep on disappearing, and no one else…they never see you.” his voice was a soft murmur, filled with confusion and wonder.

“Our kind, like myself, we’re not meant to be seen by human eyes. We’re here to watch and guide, but only from afar. Most humans only sense us as a passing feeling, a presence.” you softly said, as you studied him with a faint smile. “But in your case, you see me. Truly see me.”

“Why, though? Why am I able to see you?” Charles’ brows furrowed, his gaze intent on yours.

You turned to look at Leo, who was now sitting a short distance away, watching the two of you with a curious tilt of his head, and you couldn’t help but smile at the sight of Leo.

“It’s rare, Charles. But sometimes, there is a connection between our kind to your kind that goes beyond the veil. I’ve thought about it myself, and though I don’t have all the answers, it’s clear that there’s a reason you and I keep crossing paths.”

Charles’ heart raced. The way you spoke, as though fate had woven an invisible thread between you had left him reeling. He glanced around the park, reminded of how strange this conversation must look to anyone passing by, but he did not care at all. The need to understand, to know you, outweighed any risk of prying eyes.

“Maybe…maybe we should go somewhere less public?” Charles suggested, his voice low.

He did not want this moment to end, he couldn’t let you disappear on him again before he had the chance to understand this kind of connection. You looked at him for a long contemplative moment, then nodded.

“All right, lead the way.”

Charles led you quietly through the streets of Monaco and up to his apartment. He hadn’t said much on the way, clearly lost in thought, yet there was an unspoken understanding between the two of you. When you entered his apartment, you immediately noticed how it held an essence of him. Warm, understated, and filled with memories. The walls were decorated with framed photographs spanning his life from childhood karting days to podium celebrations in F1. Trophies were all lined up on the shelf, and each piece seemed to carry a story of its own.

You were drawn to the photos, especially those capturing his relationships, the warm smiles he shared with his family, playful moments with his friends, and candid shots of him and his brothers. Then your gaze settled on one particular photograph, and a bittersweet feeling bloomed within you. It was a younger version of Charles, perhaps in his teens, standing alongside a man whose face you recognize. Jules Bianchi.

Charles noticed the direction of your attention as he finished filling up Leo’s dog bowl, and he stepped over to join you, his expression softening as he saw the photograph. Jules had been so much more than just a mentor to him. The man in that photo had shaped parts of his soul and his dreams. You could feel the weight of Charles’ emotions lingering in the air, a tender ache mixed with recognition.

“You knew him?” Charles’ voice was quiet as he stood beside you.

You nodded softly, your own voice taking on a gentle tone. “I was there in his final moments. I was the one who guided him when he was ready to go, helping him crossover.”

Charles’ face was a mix of expression, caught between surprise and disbelief. For a second, he seemed unable to respond, the information settling slowly. You watched him intently as he took a deep breath, grounding himself.

“You…you spoke to him?” he managed, his voice strained with a mix of sorrow and longing.

“Yes,” you said, your voice steady but tender. “I spoke with his soul as he lingered between here and the afterlife. It was…peaceful. He was calm when I arrived, almost as if he knew he was not going to stay.”

You paused, “I then asked him about his life, what his favorite thing about life was.”

”He told me that his family meant everything to him. He then mentioned being a godfather, and his dreams for his protégé, a young man named Charles.” you added.

“He said that?” he whispered, breath hitched as he instinctively reached up to touch the frame, his fingers resting just over the image of Jules’ face.

“He spoke of you with such pride, with hope that you would go on to achieve everything he had dreamed for you. Jules saw himself in you, Charles. His last thoughts were with his family and you.” you looked at him softly. A quiet rage simmered in Charles’ eyes as he turned to look at you, his voice tinged with frustration.

“But why? Why couldn’t you let his family speak to him, too? They waited for so long, hoping he’d wake up, to say goodbye properly.” the raw pain and anger in his voice were unmistakable.

Charles had not meant to question your intentions, but the loss of Jules had carved a wound that had never fully healed, and in his grief, he momentarily forgot you were not human. You looked at him with a soft, understanding smile, letting the weight of his sorrow wash over you. You had witnessed this kind of reaction before, how those who are grief-stricken often felt deprived of closure.

“I understand, Charles. If I could have done differently, I would have,” you replied, your voice gentle but firm. “But it wasn’t his body I spoke to, it was his soul. Jules was already watching from the other side, beyond the reach of the physical world. In those moments, he wasn’t in his body anymore, he was seeing all of you from a place where time no longer held sway.”

Charles looked down, processing your words, the anger fading slowly as he tried to keep his emotions steady. He tried to reconcile his emotions with the reality of what you had just shared. He ran a hand through his hair, gaze fixed on the floor as he took in a shaky breath.

“So he…he was watching us all along?” he whispered.

“Yes,” you assured him. “He was with you. Every tear, every moment spent beside his hospital bed, he saw it all, even if he himself couldn’t respond in a way you wished for it to be.”

“Souls don’t always leave the way we want them to. They transition gently, often lingering just to be close to the people they love.” you added. Charles’ shoulder slumped slightly, and he let out a shaky sigh, nodding as if finally accepting what had once seemed unimaginable.

“It…it makes sense,” he murmured. “Jules was always calm, even in the most difficult moments. Maybe he knew it would be easier this way.”

There was a peaceful silence that settled between the both of you, the only sound being Leo’s soft footsteps as he padded over to sit by Charles’ feet. Charles looked at you again, the sorrow in his eyes tinted by a glimmer of gratitude.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, a sincerity in his words that touched you deeply. “For…for being there with him, and for telling me.”

You gave him a reassuring nod, feeling the depth of his appreciation. “He is proud of you, Charles. More than you know. You are honoring his legacy every time you step onto the track.”

Charles closed his eyes briefly, absorbing your words, a new sense of peace settling over him. He knew that the ache would remain, but perhaps now, with you there to share this part of Jules’ journey, it would be a little easier to carry.

Eventually, you found yourself seated on the barstool, observing how Charles moved around the kitchen, gathering ingredients as he prepared a dish called pasta, and noting the way he moved with a quiet confidence. He seemed at ease, but you could tell by the occasional glance he cast your way that he was still processing everything. The strange connection he had with you, a Celestial he could see but others could not. As he stirred the sauce on the stove, he broke the silence, glancing over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow.

“So…what exactly are you?” Charles asked, attempting to sound casual, though his curiosity was clear. “Are you like an angel of death or something?” his brows furrowed slightly as he added.

“No, Charles. I’m not here to take you away,” you assured him, tone gentle, and couldn’t help but smile at his suspicion. “Think of me as a guide and a protector. My duty is to help souls cross the afterlife, to make sure that they are not alone and lonely when they cross the other side.”

“So, you’re…you’re not here for me?” he asked, his voice tentative. You could see the worry in his eyes, as if he had been half afraid that he might be speaking with the very spirit that would one day guide him out of this life.

“Not at all,” you replied. “I’m here because, somehow, we have this connection. I was there in the hospital room, with your father, when you saw me for the first time. It was a natural part of my duty, I was waiting to guide him. Just as I was there for Jules.”

“So you only appear when…someone’s close to death?” Charles’ gaze dropped to the countertop, and he nodded slowly, as if piercing it all together.

“Typically, yes,” you replied. “Humans are not meant to see me. They may sense it, a presence, calmness, or even a cool warmth when I’m near, but that’s usually all. So, I could not quite understand why you could see me. It isn’t common.”

“But I can see you.” he said, almost to himself, as if still trying to grasp this phenomenon.

“Exactly.” you looked at him thoughtfully. “Over time, as I have watched over you, you’ve somehow become aware of me. It’s as if the bond between us allowed you to see me when others can’t.”

You let the words hang, hoping it answered the mystery that had puzzled him for so long. Charles turned back to the stove, his movements slower, as if he were allowing himself time to absorb what you had just said. After a moment, he turned to look at you again.

“Back in Singapore…I kept thinking of you, wondering if you were real or just in my head.” he hesitated, then continued. “And you appeared, it was like you sensed me or something.”

“That’s precisely what happened,” a gentle smile crossed your face as you saw the gears turning inside his head. “I could feel your thoughts, your longing to see me, and so I came to you. Your thoughts, they called to me.”

“But why do you always disappear?” he asked, his tone a mix of curiosity and exasperation. “Every time I think I already have you here, you’re gone the second I look away.”

“It’s not by choice, Charles.” you met his gaze, understanding his frustration. “My presence here beside you is not permanent. I have duties beyond just watching over you, it is my duty to guide other people as well. My duty is to help those souls cross peacefully into the afterlife, which means I’m often called away. That’s why I can’t always be here, even if you want me to be.”

“I understand,” he said softly as he looked down, absorbing your words. “It’s…strange, but it does make sense.”

A comfortable silence fell between you and Charles as he took out a plate and transferred the pasta dish on it. You could still feel the wheels turning in his mind as he processed everything. After a moment, you spoke again.

“If you want me to be with you, well, there is a way.” you said.

He looked up at you, now intrigued. “A way?”

You nodded. “Yes. If you light a match or a lighter and call for me, then blow it out, I’ll hear it, and I’ll come to you.”

“Why a match?” Charles’ brows furrowed as he considered it.

“Fire.” you explained. “It is a symbol of transition. It’s an ancient element that is used to connect realms, to call forth spirits, and to bridge the distance between worlds. When you light a match or a lighter, you are creating a momentary flame that connects you to my realm, and when you blow the fire out, it becomes a message—a summons. I’ll hear it, wherever I am.”

“So, I just…call out to you, light a flame, and you’ll come?” Charles’ lips curved into a small smile.

“Yes.” you returned his smile, feeling the warmth in his gaze. “As long as you need me, Charles. Wherever you are, I’ll always find a way to be there.”

Charles looked at you with a mix of gratitude and something deeper, a newfound comfort that seemed to settle over him. In that quiet moment, Charles reached for his fork, but his gaze lingered on you, a newfound clarity softening his features.

“Thank you.” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

He then placed a plate of pasta right in front of you, and you tilted your head, looking at the dish with sheer curiosity and slight confusion. Charles noticed your expression, stopping mid-motion as he raised his own fork.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice gentle but genuinely concerned.

“I don’t…eat,” you explained softly, gaze flickering between him and the plate, offering him a small, apologetic smile. “Celestials don’t have the need for food, so I don’t know what it’s like to taste something, let alone pasta.” you could see a flicker of surprise and something that almost looked like offense pass over his face.

“What? You’ve never tasted pasta?” he asked, shocked, as he looked down at his beloved dish, looking genuinely horrified. “Pasta is…it’s comforting, it’s warmth and tradition. It’s something everyone has to try.”

“Okay, imagine this—it’s soft and a little chewy, warm and…kind of like a hug, but for your mouth.” he added, grinning at you with his eyes lighting up. “And with this tomato sauce, its got this balance of sweet and tangy, a bit salty too, it just…makes everything feel better.” his expression softened.

You watched Charles as he spoke, entranced and touched by his earnest attempt to describe something so familiar to him yet so foreign to you. Spending this time with him, watching his animated expression, hearing his heartfelt explanations, you begin to understand why his father and Jules had spoken of him so warmly in their final moments. Charles was not only passionate, but genuinely kind and unpretentiously funny. There was a gentleness to him that touched your heart, even if it couldn’t beat the way a human’s did.

Hours slipped by so fast, and you both found yourselves seated on his living room couch, talking quietly, the evening light fading around you. Charles asked questions after questions, fascinated by your world and by what you do. You answered each one as best as you could, and with each answer, his awe seemed to deepen. You shared stories of guiding other souls, moments of peace and love you had witnessed. He listened, hanging onto each word, and you could see a newfound calmness in his eyes.

While you were in the middle of telling him a story about guiding an elderly woman who had waited until all her children were by her side before letting go, you heard a soft sound. Glancing to your right, you found Charles with his head tipped back against the couch cushion, his breathing steady and calm. He had drifted off, exhaustion settling over him like a soft blanket. For a moment, you just watched him, studying his peaceful face. Charles’ long lashes rested against his cheeks, and a gentle warmth seemed to radiate from him, a stark contrast to the chill you carried with you.

A quiet yearning tugged at you as you lifted a hand, your fingers hovering near his face. You wanted, just once, to feel the warmth of human skin, to know what it was like to truly touch, but you know better. If you let your fingers graze him, he would only feel a cold wisp of air, a reminder that you didn’t belong to this world in the same way as Charles did. So, reluctantly, you lowered your hand and simply looked at him, memorizing the moment.

You had spent nearly the entire day with Charles, and though part of you longed to stay, you knew it was time to leave. Quietly, you stood up from the couch and made your way to where Leo was resting nearby. You knelt down beside the little dachshund, who lifted his head to watch you with those soulful eyes, tail giving a soft wag, and you reached out, your fingers ghosting over his fur.

“Leo, I know that your past life was not kind to you and had been cut short, but you’re safe now. In this life, you’re well taken care of and so loved.” you spoke softly, as Leo seemed to tilt his head, like he understood every word you say. “Charles is a good man, he will love and take care of you, always.”

As you straightened up, Leo continued to watch you, his eyes filled with a sense of understanding. You turned to take one last look at Charles, still asleep on the couch, chest rising and falling in steady rhythm. A soft smile crept over your face as you watched him, there was a wave of warmth washing over you, even without a heartbeat to drive it.

With a final, quiet glance at Leo, who looked back at you with trusting eyes, you let yourself disappear, and slipped back into the unseen world that had always separated you from the people you guided. Yet, for a short moment, you knew you had left a part of yourself with Charles and Leo in that Monaco apartment.

Charles woke up with a dull ache running through his neck, reminding him of the night he had spent sleeping on the couch. He rubbed the sore spot, groaning slightly as he tried to stretch out the stiffness. For a moment, he just sat there, gathering his thoughts, until the memories of last night’s memory surfaced. The conversation, quiet moments, and then the emptiness when he realized you had left. He sat back on the couch, staring at the ceiling as a sense of longing settled over him, a quiet ache that wasn’t so easily stretched away.

A small bark drew his attention to Leo, who was sitting nearby, watching him with an endearing tilt of his head, and noticing Charles’ contemplative state. He smiled and reached out, calling Leo over.

“What do you think, Leo? It was one strange night, huh?” Leo padded over gently, wagging his tail as Charles scooped him up, holding him close.

For a few minutes, Charles simply enjoyed and basked in the warmth of Leo in his arms, the familiar comfort that Leo offered in the midst of all the strange, unexplainable things that he was feeling. Last night had been a fever dream for him, but he knew that it was real, that it happened.

“Do you think it’s strange? Wanting to see her again?” he added. Leo just responded with a quiet, comforting look and nestled close to Charles.

After a while, curiosity began to gnaw at him. Charles could not shake the desire to know more about you, as to why he felt this pull, this connection that seemed impossible and yet so real. He padded into his bedroom, grabbed his laptop and settled in, typing Celestial Angels into the search bar. Countless articles, myths, and even fiction flooded his screen. Charles sifted through several pages, skipping over anything that seemed overly romanticized or far-fetched, until one article caught his eye.

The article spoke of Celestial Angels who formed deep bonds with their humans, describing how they acted as protectors, watchers, and guides. It mentioned the rare connection that could occur, a phenomenon where an angel might become so deeply intertwined with a human soul that they developed a sense of longing or even love, something that was both a blessing and a curse for the Celestial. As he read further, Charles could not help but wonder if this was what he had experienced, if this was the reason he kept seeing you, why he felt such a pull toward you.

Charles then stumbled upon a book: The Celestials by an author named Celestine Williams. The cover featured a faint, ethereal image of a figure wrapped in light, the silhouette barely discernible, much like he imagined you, and the description noted that it explored the stories and folklore surrounding Celestials and their interactions with humans, a deep dive book. The reviews were glowing, a few feedbacks talking about how the book shed light on the mysteries of these beings and the unique connections they could form. Without a second thought, Charles clicked buy, hoping the book would give him a glimpse into your world, something that might help him understand you much better.

Charles then returned his attention back to the article. But his focus kept drifting, thoughts of you had surfaced in his mind unbidden, wondering where you were right now, what you might be doing, if you were watching over someone else or wandering through some hidden place unknown to humans. The pull to see you, to call you, was growing stronger by the second, becoming a quiet ache that settled deep in his chest.

He set the laptop aside, exhaling as he mulled over the idea. Charles remembered what you had told him when he needed you—that he could call you by lighting a match or a lighter, a summon that would draw you to him. He doesn't know if it would even work, or if you would even come, but the need to see you was already overriding any doubts that he has. So he then grabbed a small lighter that he kept somewhere hidden in his kitchen and went to his living room, sitting down on the couch with Leo curled up beside him.

Charles knew it was kind of absurd, like it was something straight out of a fairy tale of a late-night ghost story, but last night, you had told him that if he wanted to see you, all he had to do was light a flame and call out to you. A part of him, the rational side, wanted to shrug it off as nonsense. But then the other part of him had witnessed things that were impossible and felt that strange connection to you, urging him to at least give it a try.

“Am I really fucking doing this?” he murmured, looking down at Leo for approval. But Leo just looked at him, with a face that said ‘what’s the harm in trying?’ “Ah, fuck it.”

Finally, with a deep breath, he flicked the lighter on, watching the tiny flame flame dance as he whispered out to you, a barely audible plea for you to return. The flame flickered as he called out to you, then he blew it out gently, his eyes lingering on the wisp of smoke that rose and faded. His heart was pounding, unsure if should expect an immediate response or if he had simply made a wish to the empty air.

A hush settled over the quiet living room, and for a moment, nothing really happened. Charles felt a pang of disappointment, even a touch of embarrassment at how eager he was and had hoped. He let out a disheartening chuckle, letting out a quiet sight right after, and lowering the lighter, thinking that maybe he had been mistaken or that the depth of the bond he felt was just his pure imagination.

Just as he stood up, about to return the lighter back into the kitchen, Charles felt a shift in the air, a delicate, almost undetectable shimmer, like a faint breeze brushing across his skin. He looked up, and there you were, standing in the soft morning light, an almost imperceptible glow framing your presence. The world seemed to pause, the weight of the day fading away as he took in the sight of you. You stood there, a soft, otherworldly light around you, the faintest hint of warmth in your eyes as you looked at him. Charles felt his breath hitching, he had not realized how much he missed seeing you until now. He began feeling a strange mix of relief and happiness.

“You called for me?” you asked softly, your voice like a distant melody.

Charles nodded, suddenly feeling a little bit embarrassed, but unable to look away at you. “I…I did, I hope it’s okay. I just…” he paused, fumbling over his words. “I wanted to see if it works, and to see you again. I don’t know why, but I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

“You’re allowed to call for me, Charles. That’s why I told you how you can reach for me.” you smiled gently, a warmth in your expression that seemed to reach him despite your distance.

“I’ve been reading about Celestial Angels, trying to understand.” he let out a soft chuckle, placing his hands inside of his pockets, feeling uncharacteristically vulnerable. “I came across all these stories about angels who…form connections with their humans.” Charles looked down, collecting his thoughts.

“I guess I just wanted to understand what we have. Why do you keep on appearing, and why does it feel like I know you, even though I don’t really.” he added.

“The connection between an angel and their human isn’t something that happens every day. It’s rare, something beyond explanation.” your expression softened, and took a slow step forward, closing the gap between you. “We’re not supposed to form attachments, but sometimes, it’s as if the universe allows it, just for a moment.”

“So…it’s real, then? I’m not imagining it at all?” his gaze never leaving you, but filled with curiosity.

“No, Charles,” you shook your head. “You’re not imagining it. It’s real. You were always different, even from the first time I saw you.”

“I don’t know what this all means, but I want to understand.” he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, voice quiet, and a raw honesty was lacing his tone as he held your gaze.

“Sometimes, understanding isn’t possible, not in a way humans desire. Some things simply are.” you said quietly.

You then placed a hand near his, close enough that Charles could almost feel your presence, but not quite touching. The silence stretched, rich and weighty, filled with words left unsaid. Finally, he managed a faint smile.

“Thank you. For you know, for coming.” Charles said softly.

“For you, I always will.” you replied, smiling at him.

taglist : @charlesgirl16 , @chloes-book-corner , @wierdflowerpower

[magical-reid]

A Twist of Fate

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader (Uses Y/N a couple times)

Word count: 900

Prompts: 5: “Did you just tell the person I was gonna go out with that we’re dating?” 

36: “Take my jacket, I don’t want you catching a cold.”

Summary: Fred Weasley interrupts your evening by claiming you're dating, revealing his jealousy and affection for you in a moment of unexpected vulnerability. Despite his misguided approach, you admit you care for him too, and the two of you begin to navigate the complexities of your feelings, with Fred's genuine love making the world feel warmer.

The snow outside the Great Hall was falling fast, painting the grounds of Hogwarts in a pristine white blanket. The cold air seeped into the castle, clinging to your skin even as you stood near the roaring torches in the corridor. Yet, none of that compared to the simmering heat of irritation building in your chest.

Fred Weasley was the reason for it.

You spotted him strolling toward you down the hallway, looking far too pleased with himself for someone who had just completely upended your evening. His red hair glinted in the firelight, messy as always, and his tall frame moved with the casual confidence that infuriated you even more.

“Fred,” you snapped as he approached.

“(Y/N),” he greeted cheerfully, a mischievous glint in his warm brown eyes.

“Did you just tell the person I was gonna go out with that we’re dating?” you demanded, your voice rising slightly.

Fred stopped in front of you, tilting his head as if deep in thought. Then, he grinned. “Oh, that’s what he thought I meant? That’s odd.”

“Don’t play dumb,” you shot back, folding your arms across your chest. “Why on earth would you say something like that?”

He shrugged, entirely too nonchalant. “Just thought he should know you’re spoken for.”

“Spoken for?” you repeated, incredulous. “I’m not spoken for! And even if I were, it wouldn’t be you speaking for me.”

Fred leaned casually against the wall, still infuriatingly calm in the face of your anger. “Well, someone had to do it. That bloke didn’t deserve your time.”

Your glare intensified. “Oh, and you think you get to decide who does?”

For a moment, Fred’s ever-present grin faltered. He looked away, scratching the back of his neck—a telltale sign he was nervous, though you rarely saw it. “It’s not about him, alright?”

“Then what is it about, Fred?” you demanded, taking a step closer. “Why do you care so much about who I go out with?”

He hesitated, his eyes flickering back to yours. And then, finally, he sighed, the lighthearted mask slipping away.

“Because the thought of you going out with someone else drives me mad,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “And, Merlin help me, I didn’t know what else to do.”

Your breath caught, the weight of his words settling between you. Fred Weasley, the boy who never seemed to take anything seriously, was suddenly completely earnest.

“You—you can’t just say things like that,” you stammered, your anger replaced by an entirely different kind of flustered feeling.

“Why not?” he asked, his lips quirking into a faint smile. “It’s true. I like you, (Y/N). I have for ages. And maybe I went about it the wrong way, but I couldn’t stand there and let someone else get to be with you while I stood around like a coward.”

Your heart raced as you stared at him, his words sinking in. Fred Weasley, with his endless jokes and charming grin, had just laid his heart bare in front of you.

“That’s… not exactly fair,” you said finally, though your voice was softer now.

“I know,” Fred said, straightening up. “But I wasn’t trying to be fair. I was trying to be honest. And maybe a little selfish.”

The snow outside continued to fall, the soft sound of it filling the silence that hung between you.

Then, without warning, Fred shrugged off his jacket. Before you could react, he stepped forward and draped it over your shoulders.

“What are you doing?” you asked, startled.

“Take my jacket,” he said, his hands lingering on the fabric for a moment. “I don’t want you catching a cold.”

You stared up at him, your cheeks warming despite the icy chill of the corridor. His jacket smelled like him—fireworks, cinnamon, and something faintly sweet. It was warm and comforting, just like the boy in front of you, even if he drove you mad sometimes.

“I don’t need your jacket,” you mumbled, though you didn’t move to take it off.

Fred grinned, his usual confidence returning. “Yeah, well, I’m not taking it back, so you’re stuck with it.”

You looked at him, the weight of everything that had just happened pressing down on you. Fred Weasley liked you. He wasn’t joking, wasn’t playing one of his pranks—he was serious.

“Fred,” you said softly, stepping closer. His grin faltered again, replaced by something nervous and hopeful.

“Yeah?” he asked, his voice unusually quiet.

“You’re an idiot,” you said, though there was no heat in your words.

He laughed, his eyes lighting up with relief. “I hear that a lot. Doesn’t make it any less true.”

“But,” you continued, your voice gentler now, “I guess I’m okay with it. If it means you’re my idiot.”

Fred’s eyes widened, and for a moment, he looked completely stunned. Then, a grin broke across his face, wide and genuine. “You mean that?”

You nodded, smiling despite yourself. “I mean that. But next time, maybe let me decide who I’m going out with?”

Fred chuckled, stepping closer until he was right in front of you. His hand reached out to brush a stray strand of hair from your face, his touch light and careful. “Deal. But for the record, I’ll always think I’m the best choice.”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up. “Of course you do.”

Fred’s grin softened into something warmer as he looked at you. The snow continued to fall outside, but you hardly noticed the cold anymore. Wrapped in his jacket, with his bright, steady presence by your side, the world suddenly felt a little warmer.

[antinousletmehit]

hi hiiiii

submittin an ask since idk if anyone asked for him yet

*inhales* ANTINOUS DATING HEADCANONS WITH SOME SUGGESTIVE STUFF GO GO GO (/nf take ur time also i love aphrodite’s gambit so far keep up the great work!! ^^)

୨୧┇pairing: Antinous x fem!reader

୨୧┇note: AHHHHH ANTINOUS MENTIONED. ILY for this, finally a antinous ask in my inbox I love that man. Grammar might be off on this one too.

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ───

🍷- congratulations on getting this deadbeat as a lover!! We don’t know how you did it, but we also really don’t wanna know!!!🎉🎉🎊🎊

🍷-I feel like in the beginning of the relationship he’d really only care about sex most of the time and flaunt you off to the other suitors.

“LOOK AT THIS BADDIE I BAGGED!!”

The crowd turned away and groaned.

🍷- He’d also be a bit of an asshole in the beginning too. For example, if he ever got jealous you’ve been hanging out with a suitor for too long he straight up slaps your ass and walks away smirking with no regard for your embarrassment.

🍷- but as the relationship progresses he gets somewhat worse better. He basically just starts acting as your own horny guard dog.

🍷- In terms of affection, I feel like he’d be very hesitant at first but then kinda gets used to it in private, but now you have a clingy antinous who refuses to sleep if his head isn’t buried in your tits chest. Oh and PDA is a big no for him UNLESS he’s jealous, then his hands are ALLLL over you until he feels like letting go.

🍷- For some reason I’d like to think antinous isn’t very good at reading, nor can he write AT ALL, and so whenever he writes you a letter once in a blue moon, this is what it would look like

“I lvoe yuo sou muf, yuor tats aer bij teo”

Translation: I love you so much, your tits are big too.

🍷- He would also flex his muscles to impress you and tells you the “heroic” story of each scar on his body.

🍷- since the fandom pretty much agrees antinous has a huge scar on one of his eyes, making him half blind 90% of the time. I’d like to think he LOVESSS it when you kiss around that eye, like it drives him insane.

🍷- He likes kissing you around your neck and shoulder area. Likes receiving kisses near his injured eye and his scars.

🍷- If you hate how he treats Telemachus he’ll stop messing with him frequently and just makes the suitors mess with him instead without you knowing. But if you like to hate on Telemachus too he’d do it much more often to entertain you and himself.

🍷- This man’s temper and jealousy issues are beyond comprehension so expect an argument to happen ever so often. Most of the time it gets resolved by freaky time in bed, but if you have a especially bad one do NOT expect this man to apologize first. Whether or not he was right or wrong that man is way too prideful to apologize for shit. In fact he is waiting for an apology from YOU.

🍷- after a bad argument what he’ll usually do is ghost you and avoid you until you apologize. But in the rare instances that he does apologize first it’s “yea my fault ig….can we make out-“ a slap to the face.

🍷- If he ever sees a suitor harass you, they’re gone the next day. Don’t ask how.

🍷- There was definitely a moment where Telemachus caught you two making out and anitnous ran after him, threading to wring his neck if he interrupted them again. Let me write this out

🍷- His lips captured yours before you could say another word, the kiss deep and consuming. He pulled you flush against him, one hand tangled in your hair while the other rested firmly at your waist. The world seemed to disappear as his intensity drew you in, every thought and worry melting away. That is, until—

“Y/N?”

The voice was sharp and startled, and you both froze. Antinous broke the kiss, turning his head just in time to see Telemachus standing in the doorway, his eyes wide with shock and tremendous disgust.

“What the—?” Telemachus began, but Antinous was already moving.

“Telemachus!” Antinous barked, his tone exasperated as he straightened up. “Do you not know how to knock?”

“This is a public hall!” Telemachus shot back, his face turning red as he pointed accusingly. “Where the hell could I possibly knock!?”

Antinous groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Stay here,” he muttered to you, his tone softening just slightly. “I’ll handle this.”

Before you could respond, he was already stalking after Telemachus, who already began running away down the hall.

🍷- he can’t control his 𝓕𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴

[themioka]

I hope yall bulletproof for this about to hurt

(Also warning this is kinda long)

So we all know that during Gabe's passing and i guess during the whole aftermath of it, Milo and David subconsciously drifted away from one another, at the same time Asher's relationship stayed ultimately the same with them until obtaining the title beta, and I guess became even closer to David than before not to mention he was now his second in command and so he was working more frequently with David.

Milo even knew from a young age (aka from when the three met) that David and Asher would always be closer and tighter pair within their group. As we know, Milo was I believe introduced to them when the two were already friends.

Do you think Milo began to feel a bit jealous of Asher's and David's relationship but held not against them because remember he always understood that they would be closer due to them knowing each other longer and their positions within the pack.

But at the same time, Milo just wanted the relationship he had with David as a kid/teen back. David as well, but both ignored it or never really did anything to restore it because both were so keen on trying to preserve what they already had going on. So whenever they hung out (thanks to Asher probably) it was a bit awkward.

To where their relationship wasn't on the road of recovery until Milo had gone to David about the teasing after being encouraged by Sweetheart.

In the update, Milo says something shifted in David, aside from David slowly getting into his newly profound role as Alpha. Though Milo fully shrugs this off later as he doesn’t think of it. Did feel like a sort of relief, and comfort to David that Milo hadn't fully put like an end to their friendship and after past months or I guess nearly a year with the whole profound of Gabe's passing. Milo had turned to him about something rather than turning to Asher for help.

I think at some point Milo was slowly starting to see David as an acquaintance/friend, which only semi worsened to David obtaining the title Alpha. And i guess, out of respect/how drifted apart they became, began solely referring to him as Alpha.

And i say this because I think in Asher's list, Asher, I think, refers to David as Alpha whenever he's explaining something to Babe about their whole werewolf dynamic, etc. But calls David, buddy/pal. To where for the most part of the beginning of Milo's list until the whole solstice to inversion part. Milo only refers to him as Alpha and rarely by his name. (I think Milo is also the only one who doesn't give an indication at the beginning of his list that he has some kind of friendship with David, I believe we learn it through either David or Asher list that the two are indeed friends. The only thing we learn at the time is that he's friends with Asher from his teaming up with a feisty werewolf vid)

Inversion happens trauma around every corner. Nobody is safe. Then their summer vacation happens, and we get this heartfelt scene between Milo and David. (Can we seriously get more vids with just the two of them)

Anyways, before the heartfelt scene, Milo brings up Sam and is obviously struggling to understand the whole vamp thing. Where David assures him that they'll accommodate to Sam as much as they can as David doesn't want him feeling like they odd one out anymore than he does already.

And i wonder if David says this in a way to make up for past mistakes of Darlin and Milo, where it's known Darlin felt like the odd one out during their teen years within the pack and that really nobody did really anything about it which led to them falling in with the wrong crowd. And Milo, where his and David friendship got severely strained and at the time both just respected the distance until now.

From Milo's shift video and their vacation video, i think we can make the safe assumption that from the three boys, Milo is the one who is, i guess, very prideful of his kind. It may be due to something related to his background or how he was raised.

David goes on to apologize to milo that he's sorry if at some point he's ever made milo feel like they were no longer friends. It only makes me believe that at some point, Milo was ready to just accept the fact his friendship with David was over.

And they proceed to have this absolutely heartfelt scene mostly of David going on how frustration he is milo isn't getting the recognition he deserves, and how he'll basically defend Milo's honor and that he's family to David and will be one of his best friends and of course this sends Milo over the edge because little man ends up in tears.

Oh on cherry on top, Milo did absolutely feel jealous of the relationship Asher and David had with their own fathers, and that Milo and his father had to put a mask around the others that their relationship couldn't be compared to what the others had with their father but that they had some kind of good relationship between them. When in reality, whenever they got home, it was like the gates of hell opened once against, and it just constantly fighting, etc, between them, which led to Milo's mother becoming the peacekeeper between her husband and son.

[piratesfromspace]

Shell-Shocked (Price x Reader)

Pairing: Reader x Price Rated: Explicit Word count: 4.8k Summary: Price and his unit have been tasked with retrieving an important asset: you. (Lots of self-indulgent hurt/comfort) Note: It's been almost a year since I posted a real fic, 2024 ended quite awfully for me with the passing of two family members and me losing my job for economic reasons. So I'm back with a classic hurt/comfort fic because that's how I cope.

Content: fem!reader, kidnapping, violence, physical torture (light), threat of noncon, hurt/comfort, sexual tensions, description of caring for wounds and burns

MASTERLIST

“Bloody hell, Kate, what is this about?” Price’s voice is even rougher than usual.

Price can’t believe what he’s hearing. He had been summoned inside Laswell’s office in the middle of the night, and it sounded important. But he wasn’t ready for the news that Graves and his Shadows had betrayed them and stormed the Los Vaqueros base. He was even less prepared to learn that the mission Laswell was tasking him with was not to capture Graves but rather to retrieve an agent.

“You heard me, there was a girl stationed with Los Vaqueros, she’s an asset of mine. Graves must have captured her when he took over the base. You need to retrieve her and bring her back to me. Unharmed.” Kate is trying her best to control the waver in her tone, but John knows her enough to understand something is wrong - terribly wrong - worse than the treason of Graves.

“Are you even sure your agent is still alive?” he asks, trying to make sense of the situation.

“I’m not sure of anything right now, but you must do everything you can to find her.” Laswell sighs and then she says something Price has only heard her say a couple times in the decade he’s known her “ Please , John”.

“Must be really important if you’re saying please ” “It’s… it’s personal.” she admits, lighting a cigarette.

John pauses for a bit, a concerned frown on his face “Wait, is it who I think it is?”

“ Please John”, she begs again, “you’re the only one I trust for this mission.” Laswell sounds so unlike her usual self, it’s unsettling to him. “What about Graves?” John inquires, anger lacing his voice when he says the name of the traitor. “I don’t give a fuck about Graves anymore. Kill him for all I care. Just bring her back.”  “Whatever the cost?” He asks, making sure Laswell understands what she’s asking of him and his team. Kate blows the smoke of her cigarette upwards before answering. “I know you’ll make the right choices.” and her words have a finality in them John doesn’t dare to challenge.

A few hours before, on Los Vaqueros base

You’re getting ready to crash in your cot after a day of training. Your hair is still damp from your shower, and you can’t wait to shed your clothes and boots for something more comfy.

The training had been rough, but as a young CIA agent, it was a rare opportunity to be able to train here with Los Vaqueros. Actually, you wouldn’t even have heard of this opportunity, if not for your aunt Kate Laswell. Your presence here was a favor to your aunt and everyday you try your best to not disappoint her or Alejandro and his men. Even if the pressure doesn’t make it easy.

You’re just about to get in your pj, when you hear clear gunshots outside. Nothing like the dulled and regular sound from the shooting range, no, it was way too loud and chaotic. There are shouts, alarms - something is wrong. When you open your door to peak into the corridor, you understand the base is under attack. You’re used to gunshots, to police swipes of drug or weapon labs, but the chaos in front of you - it immediately sends you into a state of high alert, senses overwhelmed by the bright neon lights, the overlapping sound of fighting and siren, the distant smell of smoke and tear gas, the acidic taste of stress on your tongue. 

You have to think quick, because the sound of heavy boots and gunfire is coming at you real fast. You don’t want to hide under your bed risking getting caught in the dead end of your room, and for a lack of a better option, you decide to flee. You’re glad you still have your combat boots on, pushing your already-exhausted body through the long corridor. You run for your life, until you take a hard turn and just end up face to face with a bunch of soldiers, all clad in black, clearly not Vaqueros - but rather your assailants.

You’re stunned for a few seconds, stuck in place, just as they are. One of them doesn't have a mask on - white male, dark blond hair, and an insufferable air - Philipp Graves himself. You’ve seen him already in briefing video calls, you know his reputation, and it takes you a couple seconds to understand that he’s betraying what are supposed to be his allies. His eyes grow big with the surprise of recognizing you as well. 

“Grab the girl, I want her alive!” he barks at his soldiers.

You don’t linger, start running back from where you came. Bullets are coming from everywhere and windows on your right are breaking into myriads of glass shards as you dash through the corridor. You try to focus, to conjure up the map of the building in your mind to plan an escape, but the stress of the situation is sinking its fangs into your nape, an icy feeling turning your thoughts into useless panic.

You’re a fast runner, but it’s not enough. One shadow crashes into you from behind and topples you to the floor. The shock steals the air from your lungs, and it’s a small miracle you don’t bash open your skull on the hard floor. But you’re not gonna yield just now. You squirm in his grasp, try to fight him off, aiming for the tender parts of his face, just like you learned in your self-defense classes. You manage to draw blood with a mean scratch of your nails near his eyes, but his fellow soldiers are on you before you can do more damage. Two more Shadows seize your limbs, lean their weight on you, glass shards slashing your bare skin in dozens of cuts when they force your arm and the side of your face flat against the floor. You scream - more so in anger than in pain - and the inhumane cry coming out of your mouth scares you. You didn’t know you could sound like this. 

The acrid smell of tobacco is what wakes you up. You’re fully awake in an instant, adrenaline spiking in your system the second you open your eyes and remember your situation. You must have dozed off after your capture, but now you’re faced with one of the guards blowing off the smoke of his cigarette right into your face. You cough and it’s like all your nerves have a misfire, your whole body hurts like hell. From sleeping on the hard floor with your hands bound behind your back and from the cuts all over your arms and the left side of your face. Cigarette in mouth, his colleague laughs at your pained reaction, cruel bastard . 

“Fuck you” you manage to utter out between two coughing fits. The first guard is unimpressed, he just laughs, but his colleague makes a crude joke about teaching you a lesson or two while he grabs his crotch in an unambiguous threat, punctuating his sentence by a few kicks in your legs. It’s far from the first time a man has made this type of comment, and in a rageful reaction, you retaliate by trying to kick him back. You know you made a mistake when he easily grabs your ankle, pushes your pants back up your leg, removes the cigarette from his lips and brings the glowing head right to the fragile skin of your shin. The burn fucking hurts. You scream, and trash against his hold. It’s no use and he has the time to inflict a second burn, before the whole commotion attracts the attention of the rest of the room - including Graves himself.

He’s visibly not very happy to stop the fight and to remind his guards that he needs you untouched for now. He also orders them to allow you a trip to the bathroom and to give you some water. What a gentleman - you want to taunt him and be all cynical, but you’re also scared he will withdraw his little crumb of a peace offering. 

You’d be so easy to break, you realize bluntly. If Graves decided he wanted to ask a few questions about your aunt, you’d be fucked. A dash of torture, the promise of a glass of water, and you would spill the beans. You don’t know much about Laswell’s missions, but you know where she lives, the name of her wife, you know one alias or two. You could probably guess a few of her passwords. Fuck , you think you’re all tough and shit, promising CIA agent sent to train with some badass men, ready to take on the bad guys all over the world - that’s bullshit . Nothing can prepare you for the real deal.

You could keep wallowing about how bad you’d be at resisting interrogation, but you settle for trying to understand whatever the fuck Graves thinks he’s doing here.

“Why are you doing this Graves?” you ask, voice raw and on edge. “That’s none of your business darling” he answers, insufferable swaggers on, no matter that it's probably 5am by now. “Then release me. You must know who I am, otherwise I’d be dead by now, so you also know it can’t end well for you to keep me here like this.” you plead. “I’ll take my chances” he concludes with a smirk, leaving you to the surveillance of the two cruel Shadows.

After this, you can’t fall asleep again. No matter how exhausted you still feel, your anxiety is through the roof, and your whole body is vibrating with it - the pain not helping. It’s still dark outside, even though dawn is just minutes away.That’s when you start hearing gunshots all over again. Everything is turning into chaos, but it seems this chaos is the result of someone coming to take the base back.

Graves is yelling orders to his shadows, the sound of grenades coming off is getting closer and closer, and you try to think of a plan. The sudden shot of adrenaline at the prospect of a rescue mission on the way makes you bold. Maybe you can turn this diversion into the opportunity to flee? Your train of thoughts is cut short when one of the Shadows grabs you by the arm, massive gloved hand yanking you up, leaving mean bruises in its wake. You scream to let you go, but the giant is deaf to your protests and he drags you across the room, following Graves and a couple more soldiers into the stairs.

You quickly understand their plan is to reach the roof so they can fly away from this clusterfuck safely tucked into their helicopter. And apparently you’re supposed to come with them. As a literal human shield and as a guarantee the assailants won’t shoot their heli down and risk your life. And who knows what they’ll do to you once they successfully leave this place. No matter what you can think of, one thing is for sure: it’s not gonna be pretty and whatever it takes, you can’t board this helicopter.

Floor after floor, your little group is closing on their exfil point way too quickly. You keep screaming, trashing with all your strength against the grip of the Shadow holding you. With one vicious kick, you almost got free, but the Shadow has enough of your fighting. With nothing more than an exasperated grunt, he hauls you up on his large shoulder like you were a naughty child, tightly securing your legs against him, holding you with so much pressure, you’re afraid he’s gonna break a bone. You see black spots for a few seconds, head dizzy with the sudden move and all your blood rushing to your skull.

All your screams and squirming are not stopping your captor in its track, and you reach the final floor. You remember its layout: a few desks and shelves are scattered through the open plan. And on the other side of it: a flight of narrow stairs going to the roof. Graves yells to the group to hurry up and starts sprinting through the floor. The man carrying you follows, his shoulder digging painfully into your stomach with each of his heavy steps. It’s only a matter of minutes before you all will finally board this helicopter. If you can’t escape right now, it’s gonna be too late. But you won’t go down without a fight. It’s frantic and probably a little pathetic the way you fight back against the grip of steel on your legs. You throw everything you got into it. The last scraps of your energy burning in your desperate attempt to break free - to no avail. 

You’re halfway through the floor when the terrifying whizz of bullets come from behind you. Shadows drop dead around you.You raise your head up at the best of your ability, and spot a few soldiers coming after you. Their gear looks familiar. American-issued helmets. Boots you recognize. Allies. Allies are here, but for now, they are also shooting at enemies dangerously close to you.

The guard holding you doesn’t falter, heading even more rapidly towards the stairs to the roof. More bullets are grazing you both and some Shadows are returning fire. You feel more helpless than ever, not a single inch of protective gear on your body, just your thin skin, already slashed and bloody. Gunshots and screams fill the air. The soldier holding you turns to face the opponents. You momentarily lose sight of your saviors, your hearing now the only way of knowing what is happening behind you. That’s when the sound of a shot is perfectly timed with the recoil of your captor, who falls to his knees with a grunt of pain. 

Hit . He’s been hit . 

His grasp on you grows weak, his balance undermined by your dead weight. And now that you’re closer to the ground, you don’t hesitate, roll yourself violently on the side, and fall hard on the floor. Free, at last . Not for long though, because after a moment of pause, another round echoes in the air and the giant Shadow falls down for good, his limp body crushing you under him, pushing the air out of your lungs. Everything goes fuzzy around you for a moment as statics fill your ears.

Are you dead? That’s what you think until you hear the noise of the room again, the screams of Graves and his men as they flee to the roof and leave you there. You can hear the low rumble from the heli starting up, and then the hurried steps of the men who shot your captor growing louder as they got closer to you.

Panic grows when you realize you’re now trapped under the heavy dead body of the guard, your wrists still tied, his warm blood drenching your clothes, in a disgusting tepid embrace. You gasp for air, breathing made difficult by the weight pressing you down. Until someone carefully lifts the body of the dead guard from you. That’s when you finally see your savior. Striking blue eyes, straight nose, and a thick beard covering a square jaw. You… know him somehow?  

“John?!” you whisper, too stunned to address him by his rank or family name like you’re supposed to - you’re not even sure it’s him and you’re not just being delirious.  “Careful, dear.” he crouches next to you, promptly cutting the zip ties with his knife. You can’t believe it, but in front of you is John Price. You spent a couple months with him a few years ago when you shared a training facility. He taught you a few tricks back then, became your sparring partner and a friendly face you were always happy to see. Well, now even more than ever. “Are you hurt? Can you stand?” he asks as he helps you sit up, eyes scanning your body, methodical, efficient, just like he used to be. You don’t understand why he’s losing time helping you, the traitor is fleeing just a few stairs away, you’re definitely not a priority.

“Graves, he’s gonna to escape, you need to go after him…” you wheeze between two coughs. Your protest is cut short by his answer. “I’m not here for Graves.” “Then, what are you…” the question dies on your lips when the realization sinks in. There are 3 other men with him you notice, taking defensive positions around you. Price is already getting body armor out of his backpack, and starts securing it on your chest. Orders are being given to his men, his voice soft but assured, confident. You understand now. He’s not here for Graves. He’s here for you .

You let him work the straps without any fuss, still light-headed from it all: the bullets that grazed at you, the pain from your numerous cuts and bruises, the tiredness, the lack of food, the sticky blood from the dead guard coating your clothes. The rest of it is a bit of a blur. You’re slowly feeling yourself getting into some sort of shock. You only register the sound of Graves’ heli flying away, and then being escorted out of the building, Price holding you upright while the rest of his squad opens the way for you. You’re finally hauled into a jeep, and you’re on the road just as the sun rises, sky bathed in oranges and pinks, peaceful and oblivious to the massacre you just escaped.

You can’t say how long the ride was before you parked in front of a random farm - a safehouse John provides. The place looks old but clean enough, the kitchen you’re ushered into definitely more inviting than the room you spent the night in.

You want to ask a million questions to John, but you settle for a very simple what is the plan now? His familiar low voice is a blessing after all the noise of the battlefield, but you can sense the worry in his tone.

“We have an exfil plan for you, but right now we need to focus on keeping you alive, yeah? Can’t have you die from septic shock or Laswell will have my head.” 

You wince when he removes the body armor from your chest, revealing your blood-drenched tank top. Price orders you to sit on a wooden chair, as he carefully cleans his hands in the kitchen sink. He drags a stool to sit next to you, and gives a glance to the rest of his team that conveys in a silent request that they leave you both alone. You’re oddly grateful for that, because you could sense your growing unease at being under the watchful gazes of the 3 other unknown soldiers. Especially the black-clad giant with a literal skull mask who looks a little bit too much like a Death allegory for your peace of mind.

“Let me see” Price finally asks and he takes hold of your wrist to turn your arm a little bit, trying his best to assess the damage under the grime and the caked blood - yours and the one from your captor. His touch is firm but gentle, his fingers dry and warm against your sticky skin. You’re mesmerized for a second by the sheer size of his hands, closing so easily around your whole wrists, dwarfing your own, holding your whole head when he checks you for concussion  - you had forgotten how much space his body is taking. 

He takes some time prodding at your skull before he hums, satisfied by your encouraging answers, and turns his attention to your injured arm. He pours the contents of his water bottle on your upper arm, and the feeling of the cold water is soothing until it awakens the numerous cuts from the broken glass, making some of the tiny wounds bleed again. Bright red streaks mixing with the dark crimson in a gory painting. Price tries his best to clean them with a pad of cotton dipped in antiseptic, the sting of it making you hiss between gritted teeth.

“It’s not as bad as it looks, but I can see a couple of glass shards still in your arm.” the captain states clinically “I’m sorry, darling, it’s gonna hurt a bit.” he adds more softly, apologetic.  You flinch when he brings the thin tweezers he fished out of his medkit near one of the most painful cuts. “Easy, girl, stay still.” He commands although there is no anger in his words. “I’ll be gentle.”

You’re pretty sure you’ve already known worse pain - but it was different. Minor medical issues or training injuries that had nothing to do with being thrown on the ground in a sea of broken glass by real enemies before being tied down for a whole night and thrown over a shoulder like a vulgar sack. It’s… a lot. And now that you’re somewhat safe, with the release of the pressure comes the release of all the fear and pain that were dulled by the adrenaline and the stress. 

You’re shaking by the time Price has disinfected every wound and removed all the shards from your arm - almost a dozen of them, tiny cristales leaving red drops on the white porcelain of the plate he drops them on.

“Good, you’re doing good, breathe for me love.” he encourages, his voice low and soothing. “I just need to bandage your arm now”. 

He wraps gauze around your arm in small sections, careful not to tighten it too much, before taping it in place. He presses the final bit of tape on the top of your hand, and gives your palm the gentlest squeeze. You respond to it immediately, and your uninjured hand settles on top of his, silently asking him to keep it on your bandaged skin. His warmth seeps through the gauze, helping less with the pain and more with the bubbling cocktail of awful emotions clawing its way through your initial defense mechanism. It reminds you of the time you spent together a couple years ago - the firm hand that brings you up from the training mattress, your fingers touching when he hands you a bottle of water, the light touches against your elbow or your hips to correct your fighting stance, never lingering more than necessary, professional and respectful, that made you crave him even more.

It reminds you of the drinks you shared on a few occasions in that lively pub next to the base. How you were dancing on the line between regular camaraderie and coy flirting when tucked against his side on those too small benches. But nothing ever happened. It’s not like he openly turned you down, more so you both did not know how to take the final step, too afraid to break something that would be impossible to mend. So you had to settle for late night reveries, your fingers between your feverish legs under your thin sheets, pretending it were his. You knew your attempt would feel nothing like his capable hands, but you still came the hardest when thinking about him.

Pain brings you back to the here and now, and your eyes find his, the light of the morning sun catching in the baby blue of his gaze. He looks older than the last time you saw him. He used to shave clean but now a thick beard styled in mutton chops covers the lower half of his face. When he smiles gently at you, the corners of his eyes wrinkle. The grizzled look talks of experience and wisdom, and he’s even more handsome than before , you think to your own surprise - the crush you hardboarded for him had been long locked away in your memory as an unrequited and hopeless thing, frivolous and naive. But here, in the shambles of your life, covered in dry blood and antiseptic, shell-shocked in this unknown kitchen, his kind hand laying on top of yours is enough to reignite the amber of your dormant love.

“Let me look at your face, dove”.

The captain is thorough, cleaning the superficial wounds there, shushing you with gentle mouth sounds when you whimper because it bloody stings, he even promises morphine once he’s done examining you. He puts a strand of hair back from your face to have a better view of your bloodied brow bone and he smooths his palm absent-mindedly over your hair, just once or twice. A reflexive attempt at comforting you like you were a frightened kitten and the intimacy of the gesture makes your heart flutter.

You thank him once he’s done with your face. He keeps busy, cleaning and putting his tools away, feigning detachment when he asks you with careful words if you’re wounded anywhere else. When you answer a weak no, he can’t help himself to finally look at you, concern written all over his face. 

“I’m good” you whisper. He wants to believe you, really, so he doesn’t push for now. Instead he stands up and calls for one of the boys - callsign Gaz - to bring some fresh clothes and some warm water for you, grumbles something about how it’s not possible to let you in those blood-drenched pants. The younger soldier sets a plastic bucket filled with steaming water, a towel and a pile of black clothing on the table next to you, and quickly leaves the room when Price gives him a glance and a nod that clearly says you can leave the lady alone now . 

John takes a few steps himself, ready to leave you to clean and change yourself, but you stop him. The fabric of your top is way too tight, stiff from the dried blood, and you’re pretty sure you’re gonna rip off half your bandages if you try to remove it on your own. Plus, the pain from your ribs and legs is starting to seriously hinder your move range.

“Okay this is embarrassing but… I think you’ll need to cut off my top” you confess, feeling the warmth of shame heat your cheeks.

The metal of the trauma shears is cold against your skin, making your breath catch in your throat - how close Price is from your body as he’s cutting open the front of your tank top is definitely not helping. He’s going slowly, concentrating on not hurting you in the process. The fabric finally parts, and reveals large bruises that extend across your ribs. More bruises appear when you shyly remove your pants to expose the skin for his examination. His eyes zero in on your shin. Amongst scratches and smaller bruises that Price recognizes for “grab mark” contusions, there are two circular wounds from the cigarette burns, their clearly defined shape unmistakable. His gaze flicks to your gray panty, also stained with blood, and suddenly he’s not so sure it’s not your own.

“What have they done to you?” his voice stays calm but you can hear the tinge of anger behind it. “I need you to tell me exactly what” he continues, the commanding tone of Captain Price replacing the soft voice of John - it’s enough to spook you. You must have flinched too visibly, because he immediately adjusts his request “It’s not an order. I- I just need to understand so I can help you, dove.” 

The word of endearment is what breaks your resistance, and you tell him what happened. How Graves’ guards found it fun to torture you for a minute - not even asking questions, just for their cruel amusement. You don’t shed a tear, you just feel a bit sick and tired - so fucking tired - and you’re shaking and everything hurt. He listens, cerulean eyes focused on your face, not straying for a single moment until you’re done. 

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” his voice is low, wants to be reassuring, but you can hear the underlying guilt, the part he leaves out, that he’s sorry for coming in too late, sorry for not being more aware of Graves’ allegiance .

You swallow gratefully the mix of painkillers and anxiety meds he places into your hand, before he kneels in front of you to carefully tend to the burn wounds. The meds kick in almost immediately, sticky heat dropping heavy and soothing on your limbs. You’re grateful for it, because you’re pretty sure you wouldn’t have let him touch your ankle otherwise. 

“Torture. Can’t say I’m surprised.” Ghost comments dryly, while inspecting his gun, getting ready to leave the safehouse for exfil.  “Bastard” Soap provides, his accent thick on the word, betraying his anger. “What did they ask her?” Gaz inquires, serious and focused. “Nothing. Was for the sake of it.” Price answers, and his boys are quick to pick the unusual sadness in his tone. 

They finish gearing up in silence, until they are ready to escort you to the car, where Price takes the wheel. The exfil point is a short ride away, and the moment you hear the familiar sound of a Black Hawk filling the sky, something lifts from your chest.

(please let me know what you liked, comments and reblogs are very important for writers and the community overall! Also let me know if you want a part 2?)

[synvil]

someone else // rafe cameron x reader ft. jj maybank

synopsis : you overhear someone else confessing to rafe and run off, just to run into someone else, who saves your life.

“i love you, rafe.”

You turn away from room before you could eavesdrop any further, your heart sinking. your back presses against the wall and you flutter your eyes shut, exhaling softly.

In your hands was a small homemade lunch, filled with rafe’s lunch of his favorite thing to eat, like always. it was often you’d make him food, despite him being rich because he’s grown to love your cooking, ever since the two of you met.

this time, however, was special. you had a hand written letter slipped under the wrap for him. it was cliché, but you thought it was romantic and were planning on confessing to him through it, professing your crush on him since the days you’ve become good friends in the last few years.

But, the sound of someone else confessing to your first love shatters your heart into pieces.

‘guess I was too late.’

the empty smile your lips held slowly fades as you look down at your wrapped box, the cloth being a baby blue color, one you’ve come to know was his favorite.

setting it down by the doorway for rafe anyways, you forget to take out the letter and just walk away without seeing him, unable to confront him after hearing the confession he was getting.

maybe another time, you thought. people rarely get with their first loves anyway, and it was only a matter of time before you’d find someone else, right?

if only you stayed.

“i’m sorry. I have feelings for someone else.”

exchanging a couple more words, rafe watches the person leave, until his eyes briefly glance to a box on the floor by the door.

recognizing the familiar wrapping, he goes over and picks it up carefully and looks around for a particular someone but found no one.

“[name]?”

no answer came. rafe brings the box in and closes the door, assuming you were off in a hurry.

going over to a table, the kook sets the box down on the surface and begins to unwrap it, the corner of his lips twitching upwards at the color before he furrows his brows at the unnamed letter.

tearing it open without thought, he pulls out the letter from the envelope and begins reading.

nonchalantly, he reads through the whole thing, unknown to his heart warming up and his tightening grip on the paper.

‘that’s all I wanted to say. i love you, rafe, since we first met.’

rafe sets down the letter and sighs, smiling a little to himself as he pulls out his phone, hoping you’d answer his call.

however, no answer came and he’s a little confused. you would always pick up the phone.

calling once more, he gets no answer so rafe resorts to messaging you, asking where you were and if you could talk, before setting down his phone and waiting patiently.

walking out from the yacht club, you began heading down the street mindlessly, checking your bag for everything and made it to the road without issues.

however, distracted and lost in thought, you didn’t notice the blinking walking sign flash and turn into a red light, continuing to move.

“hey, look out!”

roughly pulled back, you fall, your belongings dropping to the side while you lay in the arms of your savior.

“dumbass, that was close. you nearly got hit.” you just blink, looking up to see driving cars and your stuff scattered on the ground. your heart was racing from the sudden situation.

“hey, you alright?” the same voice continues to reach your ears and you look beside you to see a pair of blue eyes and shaggy blonde hair. “you almost got hit, y’know.”

“Oh..”

your things forgotten, you ignore your cracked cellphone on the ground, unable to hear the various messages and calls from a particular man, as you stare at your savior with the blonde hair.

“hey, what’s your name?” you immediately ask, startling him. he gives you a questioningly look before answering reluctantly.

“i’m JJ. You?”

your heart swells with warmth, and your lips curl into a soft smile. maybe there was someone else for you.

“[Name].. thanks for saving my life, JJ.”

a/n: a bit angsty but how is it? :3

synvil™️

[getobitchs]

Stupid Remark - T. F.

✧.* content warning : work buddies to lovers, kissing, fluff prob

✧.* w/c : 1.01k

✧.* n/a : forgive me, it’s been so long since my last upload 💔 help this is horrible

✧.* tagline : @sugurus-thoughts ; (hmu to be part of the next tagline)

₊ ⊹🪻 ✧ ˚i

The moon hung high, its silver light cutting through the dense trees as you crouched low, gripping the hilt of your blade. Beside you, Toji Fushiguro lounged against a rock, chewing lazily on a piece of dried meat as though this were just another mundane day.

“It’s quiet,” you muttered, scanning the shadowy forest.

“It’s boring,” Toji replied, not bothering to lower his voice. “What kind of handler sends two of their best after one scrawny curse?”

You shot him a look. “A cautious one. Shiu said this one’s been terrorizing villages for weeks. The locals think it’s feeding on people’s nightmares.”

Toji raised a brow, unconcerned. “Nightmares, huh? Sounds like something you’d enjoy.”

“Excuse me?” you snapped, your glare meeting his smug grin.

“Don’t act innocent. You’ve got that quiet, broody thing going on. Bet you’d love to trade tragic backstories with a nightmare curse. Well I don’ care, I get paid either way.”

You huffed, refusing to take the bait. Toji always knew how to get under your skin, but you’d learned that ignoring him was the only way to keep your sanity intact.

Unfortunately, ignoring Toji was harder than it sounded. He had a way of commanding attention, his tall frame exuding a casual confidence that bordered on arrogance. His sharp green eyes missed nothing, and his sly smirks could unnerve even the most hardened warriors.

Not that you’d ever admit it, but working with him was… tolerable. Even enjoyable, sometimes.

“Focus,” you said, your tone sharper than intended. “This curse might be more dangerous than it looks.”

Toji sighed but straightened, his cursed blade resting loosely in his hand. “Fine, boss. Lead the way.”

The battle was over in minutes.

The curse — a spindly, shadowy thing with too many limbs — lunged at you with surprising speed. But you and Toji moved like a well-oiled machine. His cursed blade sliced through its defenses, and your technique sealed its energy before it could regenerate.

As the creature dissolved into smoke, you collapsed to one knee, catching your breath.

“Sloppy,” Toji commented, leaning against a tree. “What happened to all that focus you were talking about?”

“I handled it, didn’t I?” you shot back, standing and dusting yourself off.

“Barely.” He smirked, twirling his blade before sheathing it. “Good thing I was here to carry the team.”

You rolled your eyes. “Remind me again why Shiu paired me with you?”

“Because I’m the best,” he said, grinning as he walked past you.

“And the most insufferable,” you muttered under your breath, following him back to the village.

The inn was small but warm, its flickering lanterns casting a soft glow over the wooden walls. After reporting back to Shiu, the two of you were granted a rare night off — a luxury neither of you was used to.

You sat by the fire, nursing a cup of warm sake, while Toji sprawled on a nearby bench, his shirt hanging open to reveal the scarred muscles of his chest.

“You know,” he said, breaking the silence, “you’re not half bad at this.”

You raised a brow. “Was that… a compliment?”

“Don’t get used to it,” he replied, smirking.

You couldn’t help but smile, shaking your head.

“You’re uptight,” he shot back, his tone teasing. “Relax a little. We don’t get nights like this often.”

You hesitated but took another sip of sake, letting its warmth spread through you. The crackling fire and the quiet hum of the inn made it easy to forget, just for a moment, the blood and chaos that usually defined your lives.

“You’ve changed,” Toji said suddenly, his voice softer.

You looked at him, surprised. “What do you mean?”

“When we first started working together, you were all business,” he said, his green eyes meeting yours. “Didn’t talk, didn’t joke. You’ve loosened up.”

“Maybe you’ve just grown on me,” you said, trying to keep your tone light.

He chuckled. “That’s what I’m saying. I’m irresistible.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue.

There was the night you stayed up tending to his wounds after a particularly brutal fight, your hands steady despite the blood. “You don’t have to do this,” he’d said, but his voice was uncharacteristically soft.

And there was the day you finally snapped, yelling at him for risking his life unnecessarily. “Why do you always act like you don’t care if you live or die?” you’d demanded.

He’d looked at you, something unreadable in his gaze. “Maybe I didn’t. Until recently.”

It wasn’t until a quiet evening weeks later that everything changed.

You were sitting by the fire again, sharpening your blade while Toji cleaned his. The air was heavy with the unspoken, the weight of everything that had passed between you.

“Toji,” you said hesitantly, breaking the silence.

“Hmm?” He didn’t look up.

“Why do you do this?”

He paused, his blade stilling in his hands. “Do what?”

“Fight. Kill. Risk your life every day.”

He leaned back, his expression thoughtful. “It’s what I’m good at. And it pays.”

“But that’s not all,” you pressed, your voice quiet. “There’s more to you than that.”

He looked at you then, his green eyes searching yours. For once, there was no smirk, no teasing remark. Just raw honesty.

“You,” he said simply.

Your breath caught, your heart pounding in your chest. “What?”

“You make this hellhole of a life tolerable,” he said, his voice low. “You keep me grounded. Make me feel like maybe there’s something worth fighting for.”

The fire crackled between you, its warmth nothing compared to the heat rising in your chest.

“Toji—”

Before you could finish, he leaned forward, his lips brushing against yours. The kiss was slow, tentative at first, but it deepened as you melted into him, your hands tangling in his shirt.

When you finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin.

“Don’t make me say it again,” he murmured, a hint of his usual smirk returning.

You smiled, your fingers brushing against his cheek. “You don’t have to.”

For once, the world outside could wait.

[a-stars-art-blog]

Doodles of ideas that’ve been stuck in my head for a while now ☺️

Flat colors below bc I’m just super happy with how these turned out!!!!

I LOVE RENDERING

[tennis-kittens]

Andrey: ❝[Carlos] knows everything. He run like crazy, he hits back and forth, dropshots, volley, serve, mental part. He fights. He's a completely complete player. To have a chance against him you need to play a very good level.❞

Q: ❝Who is the funniest guy in your group?❞

Carlos: ❝It's Andrey, as you can see. The funniest one.❞

Q: ❝And in the other group ?❞

Carlos: ❝No. It's Andrey. In the whole ATP Tour, it's Andrey.❞

Carlos: ❝[Andrey] is power. He's unbelievable the way he hits the ball, you know. [...] It's unbelievable the power he has. His forehand is on another planet. He's really powerful.❞

Boomin Beaver collection • Andrey Rublev & Carlos Alcaraz

Merry Christmas @kingfisherprince 🎄🥰♥️

[ad1thi]

i'm not saying that Criminal Minds is like a revolutionary show like i am fully aware of its flaws but the show does Found Family so well. The show takes the time not just to develop each of the characters individually to give them a rich and varied backstory and character arc but also takes the time to build individual bonds between each them in unique and distinct ways, which is extremely rare for an ensemble show.

They have such real and tangible bonds not just as a cohesive group but also with each in a way that doesn't feel forced or scripted but deep-rooted and dug into your heart. It's an ensemble show in the purest sense, and every single character is meaningful and noteworthy and i just - i am in no way pretending that there isn't something off-kilter about finding a show centred around a FBI Team hunting serial killers to be comforting, but goddamnit Criminal Minds is a comforting show.

[ropes3amthoughts]

This is such a mess but do you guys get my vision