#i have 3 days left and after that I need to head to storage to grab my things

[aerifim]

imagine having a secret relationship with iwaizumi as the karasuno manager. like, the amount of thrill and excitement that would run through your veins the moment you lock eyes with him during a match is uncanny. the way his sharp gaze would linger for just a second too long before he snaps his attention back to the game—it's enough to send your heart racing.

the desperation of wanting to be near each other—knowing that the other is just right there—and resisting the urge to walk over to your boyfriend is a different level of risk. there's a magnetic pull between you, one that you both have to fight against to keep your relationship under wraps. 

though, despite the odds of being on opposing sides—and having to deal with the rivalry between your team and his—iwaizumi manages to find subtle ways to communicate with you between matches. a slight tug at his jersey means i miss you, a quick tap on his water bottle signals to meet you later, and a slight smirk across the court drives you absolutely nuts.

he even tries to sneak little notes into your bag, ones that say things like “you looked cute today. try not to stress too much over the crows.” 

but the struggle of not getting caught is real. kageyama and hinata always seem suspicious—especially since they seem to have a sixth sense when something feels “off”—but luckily they're too dense to put the pieces together.

but oikawa? he's a completely different story. he knows something is up. every time karasuno and aoba johsai are in the same vicinity, he teases iwaizumi mercilessly. 

“iwa-chan, you keep looking at karasuno’s manager. don't tell me you’ve got a crush.” he coos, only to get smacked upside the head.

there are so many close calls that almost revealed your relationship to the whole team. like the time you accidentally just called him “hajime” in front of your team, making tanaka and nishinoya immediately latch onto it. or when you and iwaizumi almost left a convenience store together after practice—laughing, completely forgetting that your teams were also inside. 

but then, it finally slips. the two of you got caught making out with each other in the storage room after a long, intense, and competitive practice match against aoba johsai. neither of you saw the door swing open in time and the two most noisiest team members had caught you two in the act. 

to say that tanaka and nishinoya were shocked to see the sight of you and an aoba johsai teammate making out in the storage room would be an understatement. and soon enough, everyone else knew. 

it started small. once sugawara and daichi caught wind of it, they immediately sat you down and spoke to you about it. 

with the rest of the team. 

luckily, it wasn't that big of a deal on your end—if you ignore tanaka and noya’s dramatic commentary. but for iwaizumi? he had to deal with oikawa being a drama queen. 

but, after all the teasing, the fake outrage, and oikawa dramatically claiming he needed “emotional recovery time” (which was just an excuse to bother iwaizumi more), both teams accepted it. 

that didn't mean they'd stop messing with you two, though. 

any time karasuno and aoba johsai were in the same gym, oikawa would send exaggerated kisses in your direction for the sole purpose of pissing iwaizumi off. nishinoya and tanaka started calling him “brother-in-law” to see how long it would take to get him to snap. 

sugawara even joined in on it, casually mentioning things like, “wow, iwaizumi-san, you're so polite for someone who made out in our storage room.” 

and, despite all the teasing, the sneaky comments, and the endless smirks from both teams, you and iwaizumi wouldn’t change a thing.

because at the end of the day, it was worth it.

♡ happy valentines day! this is for @reiyaus :3 & for the 3 people alive in the haikyuu fandom rn.

[rin-a-dingding]

Oughhh I want this fuckass job to be over with

I just want to be at home relax and draw my blorbos in peace

[clockwayswrites]

The Haunting of Danny Fenton, p4

Masterpost late, tired, still emotional and physically fragile. please no editing <3

“—ir? Sir?”

Danny mumbled something incoherent that was supposed to be a response to that, or befuddlement about being called ‘sir’, or at least something better than ‘wadamehaaftz’. The bite of a tightening blood pressure cuff around his arm helped bring him a little be back to the world. He opened his eyes right into too bright light and winced back in reaction.

“Sir? Do you need us to call an ambulance?” the panicked looking barista asked. She was crouched down next to him where he lay on the floor.

Great, now he could never come back to this coffee shop. That was a damn shame, they had really good bagels.

“No,” Danny managed to make his mouth say. “Seizure. Newish thing for me. I’m fine—will be fine. Sorry.”

“Maybe you should stay laying down for a moment longer?” The barista suggested.

Danny hummed. “Don’t want to be a bother.”

“Dude,” someone said off to Danny’s right. He didn’t think it was worth the effort to turn his head and look, “you just had a seizure. You were screaming. Like, I think we’re all okay if you lay there. We can step around you.”

There were murmurers of agreement.

“Okay, yeah, you know what, great,” Danny said and summoned the willpower to lift his hand and give there room a thumbs up. He let it drop listlessly back down onto his chest.

At least the floor was cool against his back. And he did feel a bit better not trying to get up immediately. When he finally pulled himself back up into his chair, the nice barista brought him a glass of ice water with a straw. Danny drank every drop of the first glass and a refill until the paper of the stupid straw started to turn to mush between his lips.

Knowing that he wouldn’t be up for doing much especially that day, Danny got a bagel sandwich to go, left a generous tip, and fled the cafe with his proverbial tail between his legs.

Penny was was at the apartment. She shoved a still warm load of banana bread at Danny as she bitched about her latest failed relationship. Apparently her girlfriend had been hooking up with the bouncer at their favorite bar. Not that Penny would have minded if they had talked through it before hand and Penny was allowed to join every now and again.

Which, fair, the bouncer did have amazing arms.

When Penny’s phone rang, blaring a dated pop song, Danny was able to make his escape with the added load of his two liter water bottle and bag of little oranges. Or not oranges—clementines? Tangelos? Whatever, little oranges.

He set everything down on the end of his bed before flinging himself onto it.

Another seizure. A worse one.

But a clearer vision of the ghost than he’d ever had before.

Groaning, Danny dragged himself to hang over the edge of his bed so he could pull out one of the storage cubes from under it. After a bit of shuffling, he got the one he wanted out from the back: a long ignored stack of art supplies. Danny rummaged around in it for a pencil and eraser before he pulled the sketchbook out from the bottom. He flipped past old game ides and idle doodles to find a blank page and started to work.

There was so much of the ghost that he still couldn’t define, but the more he worked at the sketch of the ghost’s face, the more he started to narrow it down.

Danny stared down at the page.

Overworked eyes stared back.

Feeling frustrated at how close it was, Danny grabbed a blue marker from the page and filled in the eyes carefully. Then, with almost irritated strokes, Danny roughly messed in the strikingly orange hair.

Now his ghost started back.

“Hello there…"

[serxa]

THE PRINCE HAS TO LEARN THE HARD WAY—PART 3—THIRTEEN

PART 1 PART 2

Word count: 2.8k

Summary: It's Telemachus' last day with Y/n. Yet he absolutely failed making his time with her worth.

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Telemachus

Sorry if this took SOOO long to post, Wattpad has been bugging recently, and yes, I write in wattpad but post it here. Thank you for all the support:)

𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐀 𝐅𝐄𝐖 𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐊𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄 Telemachus had been working for Y/n's family business. When Y/n's father started to notice that he was finally getting good at pottery, even learning the clay animals thanks to Y/n, he decided he'll let him work for one more day until he sends him off.

But Telemachus doesn't know that today was his last day of work. He happily walked towards the market, with his bag of scrolls and parchment that had all of the sales he had made the past few weeks he has been working for Y/n's family business.

When he met up with Y/n, oh God's how he thought she was absolutely drop dead gorgeous. But Y/n doesn't know anything about Telemachus' feelings. Hell, not even Telemachus knows for himself. He denies it, saying she's just a work colleague... She's a lot oblivious than she really is. "Morning, Tel." Y/n waved at him while he walked over.

He felt a weight on his shoulder suddenly disappear and waved back. "Morning Y/n." He smiled softly and they started walking to the shop to open up. Telemachus choice to work early and to get off the same time Y/n does too, which did make Penelope and Y/n's parents cock an eyebrow at him, but they just agreed.

"Could you open the shutters for me?" Y/n sighed, stretching a bit. She's different from the normal girls here in Ithica. Almost every woman is wearing chitons and doesn't help in shops, yet, Y/n is an amazing person with pottery and sculpting, working at her parents shop, and wearing a tunic and their long sleeve uniforms.

"Yeah, of course." Telemachus murmured before opening the draped and shutters. They started unpacking the stuff, putting them back onto the shelves, tracking what's the hottest deals, counting how many left are in stock and if they need to sculpt. "I'm so.. Tired." Y/n murmured, yawning as she stretched back once again.

"What time did you sleep?" Telemachus asked as he carefully unpacked the glass swan he was holding. "A bit late than usual.." She answered as she rubbed her eyes with the back of her palm. Telemachus smiled softly at the look of her sleepy state. "Need, I don't know, coffee? After unpacking we could get a cup and go back here.." Telemachus offered as he put the storage box away. Y/n thought about the offer and smiled, nodding. "Yeah, sure.." She agreed, as she started to help unpack.

As the two did their own business, Y/n's father appeared and started to have a bit of small talk with them, before he looked over at Telemachus. "Boy, it's your last day, me and your mother agreed on it. We saw that you have been a good help here in the shop, and I think you've paid much more than enough for your debt here." He smiled at Telemachus.

When Telemachus heard her father's statement, he suddenly felt a weight of his shoulders add, his shoulder sagging a bit. When he was finally getting attached to the shop, loving pottery, enjoying waking up early, and being her, oh especially being with her. He glanced over at Y/n who was also staring at him. "O-Oh, uh.." He turned his eyes back to Y/n's father. "Yeah, thank you for letting me know." Telemachus forced a smile.

Once Y/n's father left, ne continued to unpack. "Is there anymore boxes?" He asked Y/n, who was starting to open the drums of clay. "Uhh.." She turned her head to see nothing but empty storage boxes. "None, so.. About that coffee." She smiled at Telemachus, that practically made him weak to the knees and toes.

"Oh, still want to grab a cup?" He smiled, and she immediately nodded, taking her small pouch of money. As they walked through the market, since the coffee grounds and coffee shops were at the very end, Telemachus noticed how weary Y/n was today.

She was limply walking as she counted her money. "Everything alright?" Telemachus asked, putting his hands in his pocket as they walked with a small distance between them. "Yeah, just tired.." She murmured, which Telemachus still didn't believe, but didn't want to push her too much.

He started to lean closer as they continued walking, and Y/n catched on. She hooked her arm around his and rested her head on his shoulder, which made Telemachus feel a sort of giddy inside him, but he quickly shoved it away. 'This is just to help her..' He reminded himself as they reach the small coffee and tea shop.

Y/n took her arm away from Telemachus' and ordered two cups of coffee for them. As they waited Telemachus was whistling, a new skill he actually learned a day ago. "Didn't know you could whistle." Y/n suddenly commented, which made him stop and smile sheepishly. "Yeaaah just.. Learned a new trick."

"New trick? Are you a dog? It's skill." Y/n corrected him. Telemachus was used to Y/n correcting him like this, but there are times where they both act dumb which they ask her parents for help then. "Right, skill." Telemachus nodded and they got their cup of coffee.

They sat on the small tables outside of the standee and started to drink their coffee. "I love their coffee, it a different flavor." Y/n admired the cup of coffee while she kicked her legs from under the table. "It has a zest to it." Telemachus stated as he blew the coffee to cool it down. "I know! That's why I love it." Y/n said happily, her charismatic and energetic side showing again.

"There's that energy." Telemachus raised his eyebrows, smiling at Y/n as he watched Y/n get her energy back. "Well, a good cup of coffee is what a simple person like me needs to get the day started." She said proudly. "Woah woah, too many syllables." Telemachus teased as he raised his hands playfully, making Y/n scoff and chuckle. "I'm sorry that your teeny tiny brain can't comprehend more than 16 syllables in one statement." She retorted with a teasing smirk.

Telemachus sipped his coffee and rolled his eyes playfully. "Hey, I can comprehend! I can comprehend good." He laughed and Y/n couldn't help but laugh also. Once they finishes their cup of coffee, and started walking back to the shop, they saw the other standee's and shops start to open also, restocking, opening shutters, all of that.

When they were back in the shop, up and running, Telemachus was practicing how to mold clay animals as Y/n read a book, both of them waiting for rush hour, where all of the sales pile in. Y/n looked up at Telemachus, watching as his eyebrows knit together as he carefully sculpted the play, wearing their uniforms and his hair tousled. He kept a serious expression, really all his attention on the sculpting clay in his hands, carefully holding it, not squeezing it or anything, just carefully holding it so it would turn out good.

Y/n turned her attention back to her book, shaking her head a bit as to remind herself about what she was reading. After a while, the customers started to pile in, and the two worked diligently with their tasks. Meanwhile, in Telemachus' head, was just one thing. Today was his last day of work. He won't be able to see Y/n unless he goes to the market, but he doesn't want to be obvious also!

He served one customer and once they left, he started to turn a plan in his head, the years turning with a crinking sound with each turn, trying to form a plan on how to spend time with her. It's already twelve in the afternoon, Y/n's parents giving the two food and as they ate, Telemachus was trying to find a reason to continue working here. It's hardest to explain to his mother, Penelope, especially that he doesn't want his mother to know or at least expect he likes someone now.

Does he even like her? He was in a spiral, not even getting his own feelings, how is Y/n able going to comprehend them? He sighed before taking a big bite of food before looking up at Y/n, who was starting to talk about her book. Telemachus smiled softly, humming after every statement, indicating that she was listening to her yapping. "But the author only made this book! It's annoying, only this? Their writing is ethereal!" She rambled, making Telemachus chuckle softly as he watched her grumble over the book.

"Maybe I could read it also once your done.." He murmured. "I mean, sure, you can. Only if I'm done." She smiled and Telemachus nodded in agreement. "Deal?" He raised his hand for a hand shake, which she gladly took. Telemachus couldn't help but think about how soft her hands were, like you just put ten pounds of lotion on their hands, and how warm her hands were.

Y/n on the other hand, couldn't help but think how soft his hand were also. And how bigger they were compared to hers. His hand was skinny and lean also, just like him, but his fingers were long and could easily clasp around her entire hand. Once they pulled away and continued eating, Telemachus could feel his cheeks burn a bit, indicating he was blushing. He quickly got rid of it before Y/n could notice his blush.

"The delas set, you're reading the book after I do and you're going to talk to me all about it!" She giggled, making Telemachus smile, knowing that Y/n also wants to continue talking to him even though he wouldn't be working there anymore. "Mhm." He took another spoonful of food, bringing it up to his mouth and ate it, watching as Y/n did that same. The two were finally starting to warm up to eachother..

Once the clock ticked three in the afternoon, Telemachus knew it was time for his out from work. He hadn't formulated a decent plan that wouldn't get him into too much trouble, so he just decided to let go and stop working, his contract was off and he wasn't sure if they we're even finding a new employee. And gosh, how shy he was to go back here everyday just to spend time with Y/n, its a stupid thing, really. He's just making it look like he likes her...

As he took the boxes from the storage room to unpack all of the vases and animals, he looked over at Y/n. "So how's your last day? Feeling happy that you're finally out of this hell hole?" She smirked as she leaned on the table, watching as he unpacked, placing the work of arts in the boxes for future sellings.

"Actually, I might miss it." He shrugged. "I know I don't get paid, nor I haven't even stayed here for more than 2 months, but I gotten used to how we do stuff around here. And our morning coffees. Lunches with you.. Free time with you. Y'know?" He chuckled awkwardly after realizing that he was rambling about you, wishing you don't catch on and think that he likes you, cause even he wasn't sure if he did. "Huh, really?" She said, propping herself on her palms, her tone dripping with tease.

"Hey, don't tease me now." He chuckled, making her grin. "I apologize, Prince of Ithica." She said softly, knowing she would have to start using that title once again. "Pssh, hearing that from you is a new thing." He chuckled, waving his hand dismissively. "What? It's true though." She giggled as Telemachus put the boxes back in the storage room.

"But hearing it form you is new.." He hummed, taking his bag, knowing that this might be their last conversation before he hides himself in his room, too scared to even look at her, knowing his feelings would just drive him into the biggest spiral mess he has ever been in before. Simply just by looking at her, makes him think that he likes you. But he also knows that he doesn't. But knowing that he likes you, also makes him remember he doesn't like you. It's really confusing, for him also.

He just wanted to nestle inside of his room and never look at her ever again. How is he going to ever explain this to her is he decided to confess? Does he need to get his shit and thoughts straight? He doesn't want to hurt her with false hope.. Suddenly, a snap made him shake his head, coming back to reality. "Huh?" He blinked, as he saw a confused Y/n in front of him, still leaning on the table she was leaning to earlier.

"You going home now?" She asked, tapping the table as she had a soft frown on her face. "Oh.. Uh-.. Yeah, I do. I-I am, sorry." He turned pink as he stumbled on his words. Y/n smiled softly and nodded. "Alright, so.. Let's go and close." She said softly taking the keys and her bag. As they closed the shutters and put back the drapes, Y/n suddenly felt a sense of longing. She didn't want to see Telemachus leave yet. Everything was so confusing.

"Uh.. I'll see you... Whenever I see you?" Telemachus said awkwardly, making Y/n's shoulders sag a bit as she realized that Telemachus wasn't planning on seeing her tomorrow. "Ah.. Uh, yeah.. Yeah, see you whenever I see you." She repeated, forcing a soft smile he normally gives him. Telemachus nodded and looked around before his eyes travelled back to you. "Bye.." He murmured.

"Bye."

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

After a few days after Telemachus' last day, it was all so boring, no one to hang out with any more, and no more reason to wake up early again.

"It's been a while since you and Y/n have talked. You aren't going out of the house much again." Penelope said as Telemachus was hanging out in his parents room, as Penelope weaved a shroud. Telemachus suddenly froze at the mention of her name.

Y/n, the girl who was messing with his head. He never knew what love felt like. Is it supposed to make your her at ache or make you confused? Is it supposed to be annoyingly stubborn and never leave your head? How he feels about Y/n, gosh he just admits it, he likes her. He likes Y/n. How he misses his mornings, noons and nights with her, how the two talk about their interests and later on find out that you two both like that one topic. He loves how her eyes lights up when she see's him walking towards the market, how she leans on a nearby wall, table or chair as she watches Telemachus work...

How... Pretty she is.

Telemachus cleared his throat and started. "... I just... I just w. Have something in my head about Y/n." He started off, making Penelope curious. "That is..?" She waited as she continued weaving. "... I may or may not be developing big feelings for her, like big big, like big that I want to he with her. As a.. Partner.." He rambled. Making Penelope raise her eyebrows. Seeing Telemachus in love is not normal, he had always been busy protecting his mother from the suitors, being by her side as they longed for Odysseus to get home, so seeing him Inlove, is a crazy scenario.

"It's just.. She's so diligent. So hard working, she could serve up to 10 customers at once and could do pottery and sculpting. Gosh, in a span of short weeks, she managed to teach me how to do pottery... And how pretty she is, her eyes soften when she looks at me, her smile is so perfect with every crease and dimple forming on her cheeks and chin, even the side of her eyes creases when she smiled, her nose scrunching up when she's focused,she's like a rabbit, I swear, she's adorable." He rambled to his mother, covering his face as he groaned in his hands.

Penelope chuckled softly and hummed, looking at his now, lovesick son. "... You know... You could take the risk to be with her.. See if she likes you back." Penelope reassured her son as she counted the strings and skeins of yarn for her shroud. "I just.. I need time. I can turn my face towards her just yet, I need to let my feelings straight. Thanks mother." He sighed, standing up. "It's a good idea for making sure first." She hummed. When she saw Telemachus stand up, she cleared her throat. "Bye now, Telemachus." She smiled softly and he just waved goodbye. "Bye mother."

Fun fact, I wrote the last paragraph half asleep, so I apologize if it sounds nonsense

[thisonehere]

Please make a second part of the fic "Sleeping Beauty" I want to please my boy Smoke 👀

Finish Him

A/n: Me too, I need him in ways that haven't been scientifically discovered yet.

Tags: Request, Mk1 fanfic, Mk smut, NSFW

C/w: Blue Balls, more teasing, sexually frustrated, masturbation, oral sex (blow job), mention of bodily fluids

Last part

The rest of the day wasn't a good one for Tomas, not at all. Not after you left him to deal with that beast.

He started the morning late. Many thoughts that he just slept in late, but in actually trying his best to pleasure himself. There he was at the side of the bed stroking and rubbing himself as best he could. The room echoed with his moaning and whimpering as he chased the high of a climax.

After nearly an hour of agonizing work, he managed to reach it...but it just wasn't the same.

With a defeated sigh, he cleaned himself up and got ready to meet Honzo at the Dojo. The young man had been waiting there for a while, he had arrived an hour early to the great hall in hopes of practicing his technique before training with Tomas.

By the time Tomas arrived the boy was busy practicing his backside kick. Honzo stopped as he turned to face his mentor as he entered. "Apologies about my lateness. I was...I was busy and fell behind." He cleared his throat. "Let us begin."

---

"Correct your stance." Tomas nearly barked, Honzo had attempted a crescent kick against the punching dummy. He could deny that his poor stance caused him to balance, but it was getting harder to train with the way Tomas looked him. A harsh scowl on his face, as if he was upset about something.

"Again, harder!" These were the words Tomas would usually say to Honzo during Training, but he couldn't help but notice...venom in his words. Tomas seemed more irate than usual, not as bad as Bi-Han, he was still fairly kind to Honzo. But he seemed annoyed by something, it's like he literally woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. He wondered what could've happened this morning to agitate him so.

"That was perfect, Honzo, you've improved greatly." Tomas said after 3 hours of training. He gave Honzo a warm smile as he wiped the sweat from his brow. He seemed to have calmed down now, perhaps the training blew off some steam, calming him down a great deal. "Take a break," he huffed. "We'll meet again in 2."

He walked over to the bench to take a swing of water, until he catches something at the corner of his eye. He sees a very familiar figure pass the doorway to the training ground. You. Immediately follows after you, not giving Honzo a single look, not taking a single sip of water.

"Y/n!" He calls to you as he quickly trails behind you. A tinge of desperation can be sensed in his voice. You stop and turn to face him. Your smile is innocent, your eyes are demure, this morning didn't happen. "Um, hey." He shifts his pose, trying to look more chill and nonchalant as if he wasn't basically chasing after you a few moments ago. "Hey." You smile back at him. "So...what are you up to?"

"I'm heading to the storage room, Kuai needs a shin guards and hand wraps for a new initiate." Tomas's eyes perked up at the sound of this, as if he had an idea. "What a coincidence, I'm on my way there too." Your arch you brow in surprise, "Really?" You could've sworn you just saw him training Honzo. "Really." he assured you. With a sigh, you flash Tomas knowing smile and lead him to the storage room.

The storage room was the largest room in the entire complex. It was filled to the brim with supplies and uniforms for new recruits, it also worked as a place to hold weapons until they found an armory to put it all in. Boxes lined to 6 feet towers in rows creating entire walls. You quickly get to work finding the shin guards and wraps. Meanwhile Tomas awkwardly leans against doorframe, trying to be sexy. "Um, so, Y/n about this morning."

Your ears immediately purk up at this, you know where this is heading. Yet you play dumb. "Oh, yeah. You were telling me about how you had to train Honzo. How's that going?"

"Wonderful!" Tomas quickly jumps off the doorframe excitedly. "He's improved so much! Just a few more months and he'll be a full fledged Shirai Ryu. Actually, he'll even be the youngest-" he suddenly remembers what he was trying to do, clears his throat, and gets back to leaning against the doorframe, hoping to be sexy. "Fine. He's doing fine." He series to make his voice deeper, softer. "But I was talking about the other thing."

"Oh, is that so?" You finally find the Shin guard and wraps. You also get softer, turn to him, a sultry look finds its way onto your face. This took Tomas by surprise that he once again drops his attempts at trying to be sexy and just stand there awkwardly as you slowly advance up to him, your hips swaying here and there.

"Y-Yes, I couldn't stop thinking about it." He felt his heart skip a beat as you lay a hand to his chest. "I see. You want me to finish?" He frantically nods, his face becomes red with blush. "Yes, I would."

Your hands go from his chest, trails down his torso, and it begins to undo his pants. Tomas began to breathe more heavily as he watched.

His pants drop to the floor, and his eager member recoils upward, bouncing up and down excited at being free. You admire it for a moment, it's more than 8.5 inches long and 3.6 inches in width. You nearly lost your composure at the sight of it, he looks bigger and harder than he's ever been. His top is dripping with pre-cum. Maybe your teasing was more effective than you thought.

"I'm guessing you want me to give it a kiss?" You slowly get on your knees, licking your lips to moisten them. Tomas frankly nods, "Yes! Yes, please!" He begs, he's so desperate, it's kinda cute. "Alright." You grab his pen, both hands are required to grip. You wait and stare at it for a second, you have torture him for a little longer.

Finally, you plant a tender kiss at the tip. You even lick, the sweat from training mixed with cum gives it a nice and salty taste. Tomas's head falls back as he moans as relief is felt all over his body.

You then quickly get back up to your feet. "I better go, I have to get this to Kuai." Tomas eyes stretch open as he becomes horrified. "W-What!?! No, you can't, you have to-"

"I said I'd give it a kiss. I even went a step further with that licked." You say as you race out the door. "Y/n, please. Do you want me to beg? I'll beg! Please, just come back."

He looks down at the new problem you left him with. "Please come back." He whines to himself. Looks like he's going to be in the Storage room longer than he thought.

A/n: Aren't I just a tease? *Laughs maniacally*

Anyway, do y'all think I should do a part 3 where Y/n actually does it?

[gor3-hound]

WRITTEN ALL OVER YOUR FACE - NAOYA ZENIN

ft. naoya zenin x puppy!reader

a/n: commission for the very lovely @nexysworld !! naoya is so very pretty and i was scared to write him BUT !! he was actually very fun to write. i love my asshole nepo baby :3 hope you guys enjoy, fb and reblogs are always appreciated <3

cw: 18+ content, dead dove-ish, pussy inspection, mistreatment of hybrids, forced cosmetic procedures, dub-con bcs power dynamics, praise, degradation, use of shock collars, caging, mentions of filing teeth, ear cropping, touching unhealed wounds, tail play, misogyny, spit, mean naoya, dehumanisation, orgasm denial, forced spaying, p in v, creampie, dacryphilia, neglect

word count: 3.2k words

Naoya’s bored.

It might’ve made you feel better if he had a secret soft spot - that the pressures of his clan have left him lonely and desperate for companionship, but that’s simply not the case. There’s no profound self-realization that comes with his actions, no sense of guilt when he pays one of the maids to suck him off before he kicks her to the curb.

He’s just bored. He’s always found the best cure for his boredom was to find a pretty little plaything that was willing to put up with him. But there’s only so much you can do to a human girl before she’s skittering off. Women value their life more than their job these days, a thought that has him scowling and breaking the shit in his room as soon as his latest slut cuts him off.

He needed something more permanent. A pretty thing that he can use to get his dick wet. One that isn’t crying for a relationship or money when he’s finished. He’s always found those hybrids pretty cute, and it seemed like the perfect thing to keep him entertained. A girl that knew she was lesser than him. A pet he could play with that would forgive him after a couple of head scratches and a new toy.

It’s that thought that has him dragging his ass to the nearest adoption center, his eyes scanning the kennels until he spots you.

You seem like a shy little thing, but he doesn’t see an issue with that. He’s always had more fun breaking girls in, and you’d be no exception. He hums thoughtfully for a moment, his head cocking to the side as he looks you over. He doesn’t address you or ask you any questions, but he doesn’t need to. You were cute, and that’s all he really cared about, anyway. He calls a worker over, asking to get some time alone with you.

“Well, we don't really have any private rooms for you to-”

“How much?” Naoya cuts him off without even gazing his way, his eyes locked onto your form. No point buying the goods if he doesn’t get a trial run, first.

“I'm sorry?” The worker stutters out. Naoya hates that shit. Pisses him off more than anything, acting like he doesn’t want the Zen’in’s money. Naoya knows better.

“You heard me. How much? Doesn't need to be a fancy room. Shit, I'll take a storage room. I gotta check she's worth the money, y'know?” He says with a sigh, his brows twitching slightly as he fights back a scowl.

Seems to work well enough, because the worker leads him to a staff room, telling him to wait right there. He crosses his arms over his chest, making him sigh in annoyance. He waits impatiently, but he lights up when you come padding into the room, looking all nervous.

”No need to be scared, girl.” He tells you, but his words come out in a grunt. He doesn’t really care if you’re scared of him or not, as long as you let him get a good look at you. He moves towards you when you don’t budge, gripping your chin between his fingers.

His gaze is sharp, his dark brown eyes narrowed as he looks over your features. He reaches a free hand up to your floppy ears, giving them a flick. A frown crosses over his features as he gives you an appraising gaze , clicking his tongue. “They’ll have to get done. Don’t like ‘em.”

His fingers and thumb dig into your cheeks, forcing a gap between your teeth so you open your mouth. He shoves his fingers down your throat, sighing when you gag and splutter. “Gonna have to train that outta ya. Those canines are gonna have to get fixed, too. Bet they’d fuckin’ hurt if they caught my dick.”

He pulls his fingers out of your mouth and wipes your spit off on your cheek, smirking when your nose wrinkles. He reaches down, tugging on your fluffy tail with a thoughtful expression. “That can stay, though. Cute.”

”Bend over the table, pup. Spread your legs, lemme see your cunt.” He orders, releasing your tail and taking a step back. Your hesitance irritates him, and his hand comes out to smack you across your face so hard that your head snaps to the side, your ears ringing. “Don’t make me say it again. I fuckin’ hate repeating myself.”

Your tail is tucked between your legs as you shift to lean over the table, those fluffy ears pressed down firmly against your head. Doesn’t bother Naoya. He kicks your feet apart, pulling your pants and underwear down in one tug. The tail is a little bit of an obstacle still, so he sighs and scratches behind your ears.

”C’mon now, baby. I didn’t mean it.” He coos, making sure he finds the spot behind your ear that has you pushing back against his hand. His tone is condescending, but that dumb puppy brain of yours can’t register that. He grins as your tail perks up and wags, showing you off to him. “That’s better. Lemme get a look at that pretty pussy.”

He kneels behind you, spreading your folds with two fingers, humming in satisfaction as strings of slick spread and break at his actions. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t pick out a puppy for that exact reason - a few words of praise, and you were soaked. He slips a finger deep into your cunt, adding another one and scissoring them open before groaning at the tightness. You felt like a virgin, too. Perfect.

He pulls his fingers out and licks them clean, wiping his spit off on your clothes before he pulls them back on. He gives your ass a few pats as he stands up, turning around to bang a few times on the door.

”Hey! I’ll take her.”

˗ˏˋ ☆ ˎˊ˗

Naoya’s unpredictable.

It’s hard to settle into a routine with him. He can be easy to handle one moment, only to switch up at the next second. He’s never kind - that’s not the right word for him - but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have his moments. If you’re good, he’ll let you curl up at the foot of his bed. Sometimes he’ll even let you sit at his feet when he’s relaxing, petting your head absentmindedly.

Those moments are few and far between. For the most part, he’s cold. He doesn’t pay much attention to you unless he’s feeding you or if it’s play time.

He shows you the most attention when he wants to play. He’ll praise you, scratch behind those freshly cropped ears standing tall on your head and run his fingertips through the fur of your tail until it’s wagging fast enough that he knows you’ll be pliant and eager for anything he wants to do to you. You’d tried whining, begging, pleading… Anything just to get him to look at you and show you some affection, but you quickly learned that the only way you could guarantee something from him was to paw at the front of his pants until he’s twitching against your hand.

His choice of affection has a bit of a side effect, and you’re unlucky enough that Naoya notices it. All it takes is one little ‘good girl’ or a scratch on your head for you to be soaked, whining and rutting against any part of him you could reach. He loves feeling you wrapped around him, but he loves teasing you even more. So, naturally, as soon as realizes how desperate his touch makes you, he decides it would be a fun little game for him to see just how needy you could get.

He’s leaning back against the couch when he spots you padding over, that fluffy tail slowly picking up speed the closer he gets to you. He can’t help but chuckle when he spots you settling on the floor by his feet, a smirk spreading across his face when you rest your chin on his thigh. Your gaze flicks up to his face, a longing expression on your features. His hand comes down to pet your head, fingers scratching your scalp gently.

”You need something, girl?” He coos, tugging on one of your bandaged ears until you whimper, biting back a laugh when you lean into the touch regardless of the pain that comes with it. You’re always so eager to please, it drives him crazy.

“Need you, please.” You whine, your ears tilting back slightly, unable to press flat against your head due to the wrapping keeping them up so they heal pointed. He grins wolfishly at your words, yanking you by the collar until you’re straddling his thigh, a mischievous going in his eyes.

”Go on then, pup. I’m too tired to deal with you myself. You can handle it, can’t you?” He hums, giving your head a pat before crossing his arms behind his head as he leans back on the couch. You give him a curious little head tilt, confusion twisting your cute little face. He loves it when you give him that look - you’re just a dumb puppy, nothing more than entertainment for him. He can’t help but feel amused, shifting his leg so he can press his thigh more firmly against your core.

”You’re a big girl, aren’t you? I’m sure you can figure it out, puppy.” You seem to get the picture, a soft, needy sound rising in your throat as the hard muscle of his thigh presses against your cunt through the fabric of your shorts. Your hips start shifting on their own, rutting against him desperately. Your mouth falls open, artificially rounded canines digging into the flesh of your bottom lip.

Your hands come down to rest on your own thighs - you know better than to touch Naoya without asking, and you don’t want this to end so soon. Your nails press into your flesh, leaving indents on the surface of the skin. Naoya’s face is a mask of indifference. There’s no sign of enjoyment from him, the only hint that he isn’t completely unaffected by your actions is the tent forming beneath the fabric of his pants. You whine when you realize he isn’t even looking at you, staring over your shoulder to look over one of the paintings on the wall.

You want him inside of you, want his strong hands to grasp your thighs as he fucks into you. The thought alone has you panting, your head hanging as your tail starts to wag again, steady behind you as you grind against his thigh more harshly. Your breaths come out heavier, your cunt soaking through the fabric of your shorts to coat his own pants.

You’re so overwhelmed with your rapidly approaching orgasm, how good it feels to finally be this close to your owner that you don’t see his hand reaching for his phone until it’s too late. You yelp as your collar zaps you, the fur on your tail standing on end as the shock makes you spasm, your hips quickly pulling away from his thigh.

”I didn’t say you could cum, did I? Bad girl.” He hisses, grabbing you by the hair and dragging you across the floor, forcing you into your crate with a swift kick. He slams the door behind you, locking it before stepping back. “You can stay there for the rest of the night. If I hear you so much as fuckin’ squeak, you’re not getting let out for the rest of the week. Got it?”

You nod quickly, but that’s clearly not good enough for him. He taps at the screen of his phone a few times before pressing his thumb down for a longer period. The voltage is higher, and he doesn’t let up on shocking you until you drop against the blanket in your crate, your fingers twitching. He scoffs at the sight, letting go of the button.

”Pathetic. If I’m talking to you, I expect an answer. Surely you’re not so stupid you’ve forgotten how to use your words?”

”N-no. I’m sorry. I’ll… I’ll be quiet.” You whisper, your voice shaking slightly with the effort it takes you to hold back tears.

”Stupid mutt.” He grunts, fiddling with his trousers until he can free his cock. His jaw tenses in slight annoyance at how quickly that has you perking up, your eyes wide with interest like he’s holding a damn treat up for you. He steps closer to your crate, pressing his length down against the bars above your head. Naoya can’t help but laugh as you try to crane your head to get a taste of him, his eyes shining with amusement as your tongue laps between the gaps to catch his skin.

”Look at you. You were crying a second ago, and now you’re drooling like a bitch in heat? You are the single most pitiful creature I have ever laid my eyes on.” He muses, letting out another chuckle at the whine that spills from your lips when he pulls away from the crate.

”Go to sleep.” He grunts as he tucks himself back into his trousers, his eyes trained on your as he takes a step back. “If you’re good enough, I might let you out for breakfast.”

˗ˏˋ ☆ ˎˊ˗

The next morning, Naoya is wordless as he approaches your cage.You can tell from his narrowed, fox-like gaze that he hasn’t forgiven you from last night, his jaw set tight as if you hadn’t just made a small mistake. Naoya expected nothing but perfection from his pet, and it was something he made abundantly clear. He opens the door, his eyes narrowed in on your slumped over figure.

”Out.” The words are short and clipped, but firm, leaving no room to argue. It wasn’t a request, but a command. You weren’t stupid enough to ignore it.

He watches you crawl out of the cage, kneeling at his feet on the cold floor. You keep your gaze trained downwards, unable to meet his eyes. You look so pathetic it almost angers him, a crease forming between his brows as looks down at you. He slowly strips his clothes, his eyes locked onto you the entire time.

“Strip.” You listen, pulling your clothes off and adding them to his own pile on the floor. There’s no praise now, no attempts to get you wet enough to take him. He just pushes you down onto all fours before spitting directly onto your cunt as he forces his cock into your tight heat. It’s meant to be a punishment, but all it takes for you to get wet is the feeling of him stretching you out, your tail swaying side to side as his tip presses up against your cervix.

”Such a slut… Dripping as soon as you see cock. Bet it doesn’t even have to be mine, hmm? Could pass you around the whole clan and you’d gladly let each and every one of ‘em mount you until you were sore and dripping cum.” He spat, his hips rocking forward harshly. He builds up a steady pace, pounding into you brutally.

”Wouldn’t…” You manage to force out, brows furrowing as you try to rock back against his hips, your walls pulsing around his length. “Just you… want your pups.”

”Aww, that’s cute. You want me to breed you, girl? Is that it?” He lets out a cruel laugh, tugging on your tail to pull you back against him with each thrust, his cock brutally pounding into your tight cunt. “You think I’d let you carry my seed? That your bastard children could be sufficient heirs for the Zen’in clan? I’d never let you have puppies. Stupid fuckin’ bitch. Didn’t even realize I got you spayed? You just believe every little thing I tell you, huh?”

Fuck, he really likes the look of your tears. Nearly has him cumming from the way you look sobbing on his dick, the way you clench around him like you're trying to milk him dry despite how upset you are. It doesn't matter what he does to you, not when you're so forgiving. He knows he can say whatever he pleases and you'd still come running back to him, tail tucked between your legs like you were the one in the wrong.

He presses down between your shoulder blades, forcing your chest flat against the hard-wood floor as he keeps your ass in the air with his grip on your tail. With your back arched, the new angle allows him to fuck into you deeper, bullying himself into you without any regard for your pleasure. You were nothing more than something to use to him - a glorified fleshlight, at best. He only let you cum because of how tight you squeezed him when you did, how hot it was to see your dripping down his length.

This wasn’t about you right now - it was meant to be a punishment. You'd be lucky if he decided to let you cum in the following weeks, let alone today when he's still pissed off at you for almost breaking one of his rules.

His hips smack the fat of your ass with every thrust, low grunts spilling past his lips as he wraps your tail around his hand, smacking your thigh in frustration when you yelp at the discomfort that comes with it. He's increasingly glad with every pained whimper as his grip tightens that he decided not to dock your tail. It's so much better than a leash could ever be, forcing you back onto his imposing length everytime it gets too much for you and you try to crawl away.

“M'gonna cum.” He groans, harshly forcing your upper body further against the floor as he leans his weight on the hand pushing you down, slick sounds filling the room as he thrusts himself brutally in and out of your twitching pussy. He yanks on your tail, pulling you back against him as he cums with a grunt, his cock twitching inside of your abused cunt. He ruts his hips into you shallowly as he rides out his high before pulling out, smacking your ass once before standing up, ignoring your pleas to let you cum.

“Stupid mutt.” He spits out, rolling you onto your back with his foot, pressing it down against your stomach to hold you down. He spits on your face, a huff of laughter leaving him as your nose wrinkles. “I've been too good to you. Made you think you have a say.”

“You are a toy.” He continues, pulling his foot away with you before moving to gather his clothes. He pulls them on, leaving you panting and leaking his cum on the floor. “Something for me to use when I get bored.”

He makes his way to the door, shooting one last glance at you over his shoulder. “The quicker you learn that, the better.”

[estrellex]

racing hearts - dr3

summary: a rekindle with daniel and y/n that started with a simple pre-season gathering by carlos, who happened to be a close friend of y/n. did carlos secretly become cupid for the night in hopes that they would find something in one another? maybe, but only time would tell how their journey went face claim: nailea devora (i love her sm)

em speaks: omg first post! I did have this storage in my google docs (before daniel left vcarb lols) that I loved so I thought this was the first post. this is a learning post so feel free to lmk how it goes 😭.

part 1 🌱 part 2 🌱 part 3 🌱

thrusday evening..

"come on, mi hermana, just this once," carlos’s voice was almost pleading over the phone. you sighed, pacing your room. "carlos, isn’t this gathering just for drivers? I’d feel out of place."

"por favor! one time, and I’ll never ask you to come to one of these things again," he promised dramatically.

you hesitated, weighing your options. carlos had been pestering you about this for weeks, and, truthfully, you didn’t have anything better planned. "fine," you relented, your tone teasing. "but if this turns into a disaster, I’m blaming you."

"blame me all you want!" carlos exclaimed, triumphing in his voice. "it’s my last year with Ferrari, y/n. you’ve been there since the beginning. it wouldn’t feel right without you."

that last part hit home. you had been by his side since his karting days, through every high and low, and it broke your heart to think about his uncertain future after Ferrari.

"alright," you said softly. "send me the details. I’ll see you then." "gracias, mi hermana. see you saturday," he said before ending the call.

saturday evening..

you pulled up to carlos’s place, nerves prickling. crowds weren’t your scene, even if they were made up of familiar faces. spotting lando among the guests, you made a beeline for him.

"thank god you’re here already," you blurted, startling him. "you scared me, you muppet!" lando shot back, making you chuckle. "sorry," you said, still grinning. "so, how’s the gathering so far?"

"eh, boring as usual," he shrugged. "are you coming to any races this season?" "maybe, if carlos ever bothers to invite me," you teased, just as carlos appeared.

"what’s this about me?" carlos asked, his eyebrow raised. "that you never invite me to races," you retorted. carlos pointed accusingly at you. "what do you mean? I always invite you, but you’re always ‘too busy.’"

"photography stuff," you defended, crossing your arms. as Lando tactfully excused himself, carlos sighed. "hermana, I get that you’re busy, but you need to take a break. explore. have some fun."

"is this your way of setting me up with someone?" you asked, suspicious. carlos laughed. "well, the last time I tried, you didn’t exactly make it easy." "to be fair," you countered, "the guy was nothing like me."

"fair point," he conceded, laughing. "whatever. i’m going to find rebecca. she actually understands me," you said, walking off as carlos’s laughter echoed behind you.

yourinstagram posted a story

later that night, you stood by the balcony, admiring the view. you couldn’t help but think you should’ve brought your camera to capture the moment. meanwhile, carlos nudged daniel. "mate, remember my best friend y/n?"

daniel raised an eyebrow. "barely. just glimpses at races." carlos grinned. "she’s one of the most creative people I know. trust me, you’ll like her." "where is she?" daniel asked, intrigued.

carlos pointed toward the balcony. "go say hi." daniel approached, his voice breaking your thoughts. "pretty night, isn’t it?" startled, you turned. "yeah. only if I had my camera." 

"you know phones exist, right?" he teased, his signature smile disarming you. you laughed, shaking your head. "it’s not the same. it’s instinctual for me to want my real camera."

"figured as much. carlos’s been talking about you all night," he admitted. "all good things, I hope," you replied, studying him. "mostly," daniel joked. "but maybe you should take a picture of me. It’d last longer."

you rolled your eyes, chuckling. "very funny, ricciardo." "I was starting to think you didn’t recognize me," he feigned offense. "oh, please," you shot back. "who doesn’t recognize the ‘honey badger?’"

the conversation flowed effortlessly. daniel’s humor was infectious, and for the first time in a while, you felt at ease in someone’s presence. "you really love photography, don’t you?" daniel asked, his tone soft.

"yeah," you said, looking at the stars. "it’s how I see the world. a way to freeze moments." "maybe you’ll freeze one of me sometime," he teased, but there was sincerity in his eyes.

"maybe I will," you replied, smiling. carlos watched from afar, a knowing smile on his face. he didn’t say it, but this was exactly what he’d hoped for—a spark between two of the people he cared about most.

em speaks (again): while editing this, didn't realize that this needs more than one part. so I hope you enjoyed this first part. again feel free to msg me with your opinions it would benefit me with my writing journey here. 🙏

[vin-taege]

hii am i doing this right?🫠 i hope so lol i saw you saying your requests were open and wanted to ask for chishiya x reader who is really shy or has social anxiety and something like niragi bothering them? i want all the angst and all the fluff lmao

if you aren’t comfortable or just don’t want to do it that’s totally fine of course!:) i hope you have a great day :3

I'll Handle It

Summary: Niragi has been fucking with you mainly to get on Chishiya's nerves—but this time, he's gone too far.

Genre: fluff, a smidge of angst (Niragi being inappropriate)

Pairing: reader x chishiya

Words: 1.4k

Note: This is set before Arisu and Usagi came to the Beach! I've been caught up in school, so I apologize for being absent for so long :((

You tried to steady your grip on the glass, despite the condensation making your hold on it slippery. The poolside was significantly more difficult to weave around after Hatter's return from his game. Bodies were slick with sweat and adorned with glowstick necklaces, bumping and grinding all over the tiles. The air was thick with the scent of chlorine and alcohol, and the night wasn't dwindling to an end yet.

You normally would be as far away from here as possible, but your willingness to help a friend trumped your despise for large crowds. Earlier in the evening, Tatta had asked you if you spotted Ann anywhere, with him saying that he needed supplies from the locked storage closet in her office. You had shaken your head then, and you could've left the conversation at that. But you thought that he already had a lot on his plate, especially after being the Beach's errand boy. So, here you were, trying to find An in this beer-fuelled rave area.

The earphones Chishiya gave you helped to block the loud bass from the speakers. You had "swiped"—technically, borrowed, but the man thrived off teasing you—them from him during the morning. It helped calm you down and prevented the feeling of being overwhelmed. When Chishiya figured out this habit of yours, earphone pairs started to mysteriously pop up on your bedside table. When you confronted him about it, he only said that it was for you to stop getting his own pair.

Typical.

Unbeknownst to you, Kuina and Chishiya were presently on the other end of the party, trudging through the thick crowd as well.

"Are you sure you spotted them here?" He glanced back towards her, raising his voice a little so Kuina could hear him above the music.

"Yeah, I saw them just leave the bar a couple of minutes ago," she shouldered past a particularly rowdy guy. "Why'd she come here?"

"Knowing them, it's probably a favor," he sighed.

It was when they got into the middle of the crowd that he saw you standing anxiously near the beach chairs. Your back was towards them, an oversized jacket covering the majority of your body. You usually didn't care about showing skin, but you didn't want to give the militants fuel to bother you. But no matter what you wore, people like Niragi always found a way to be a creep.

"Shit, we need to get there," Chishiya muttered to Kuina. His eyebrows knit, gaze hardening as he saw a familiar black and white giraffe-print polo coming closer and closer to you. "Kuina, remember the medicine I gave you a while back?"

You felt a hand on your shoulder, gripping you firmly before spinning you around. You scrunched your nose, greeted by the sight of Niragi's crooked smile.

"Are you lost, little puppy?" he mockingly cooed.

Instinctively, you cupped a hand over your drink. Taking a step back, you stood your ground and peered up at him. Despite mustering all your courage, your voice came out wavery. "Go away, asshole."

He cackled as you warily looked at the gun slung over his shoulder. With a wicked glint in his eye, he closed the distance between the two of you, a hand snaking behind your lower back and forcefully pulling you towards him. "All that bark from such a small bitch. Where's your pussy of a boyfriend?"

"Not wasting his time getting shit-faced here, unlike you," you snarled. Your heart was thumping, skin crawling in disgust. He reeked of alcohol and his touch was uncomfortably getting lower. "If you won't let go of me right now, I'll break your fucking nose."

"I'd like to see you try. You won't be so mean after I'm done with you. Why don't you just give in and sleep with a real man tonight, huh?"

Before you knew it, you slammed your fist into his face. The music blared on in the background, but you swore you heard a faint crack. Your drink spilled all over him, ice cubes flying out. He staggered backward, clearly not expecting you to actually do it. Despite being good at games, everyone knew you to be mild-mannered, usually avoiding conflict.

But damn, it was so difficult for you to restrain yourself any further from people who gave you the ick.

A hand was suddenly on your elbow, tugging you away from the now undoubtedly fuming man. Chishiya landed a kick square on Niragi's chest, hurtling him towards the pool.

"We should run," he whispered close to your ear. Taking your hand in his, you slid out of the crowd and into the protection of the halls. Chishiya led you towards his room before shutting the door behind him. He peered out the peephole, waiting for a few minutes before deeming it safe.

When he turned to you, you were sitting quietly on his bed, busying yourself by winding your earphones up and tucking them away.

"Why were you at a party?" He sat down next to you. To your surprise, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a comforting hug. You knew he wasn't one to initiate physical contact, and you respected that. But having him be this affectionate to you was admittedly a nice change.

"Was trying to help Tatta find An," you murmured into his chest.

He hummed, starting to stroke your hair with his hand. "You okay?"

"I handled it," you lazily grinned at him. Truth be told, you felt proud of yourself.

"I know you did. But I'm asking you if you're okay, not if you handled it," Chishiya's voice was muffled against your hair. He was still very paranoid of what the militants could do to you, especially after news broke out of the two of you dating.

You looked up at him, cupping his face with your hands. "I'm okay now. I just really want to take a shower."

You offered him a small grin, one which he didn't reciprocate. You could tell he was still mad over what happened. You wondered how much of it did he see in general. This type of anger within him was familiar to you—one that was silent, but by all means, still threatening. Above all, it was the type of anger that only showed when it was directed towards himself.

"Shiya, I'm okay, I promise," you firmly repeated.

"I saw how he had his hands on you," he said darkly. "I'll make sure it won't happen again."

"Don't get into trouble because of me okay?"

"Niragi can't keep harassing you all the time. Even if Hatter did something about it, he wouldn't listen," he tsked. "I'll handle it, okay?"

One look at him told you that there was no convincing him otherwise. You just gave him a hesitant nod, before allowing yourself to be cuddled again. His lithe fingers pressed softly against your waist, his other hand twirling strands of your hair.

Outside, you could still hear the faint sound of the party, but it seemed miles away now. At that moment, there were only you and him—and nothing else mattered.

   .❀。• *₊°。 ❀°

"I'm sorry for dragging you into that mess, ___," Tatta looked at you mournfully.

"You should be." You dug an elbow into Chishiya's side lightly, making him roll his eyes.

"It's okay, Tatta. I'm fine now," you offered him a reassuring smile.

You were seated in the lounge, basking in the silence of the morning—mainly because a majority of the Beach's population was hungover.

"You know, if it makes you feel any better, I heard Niragi was bed-bound since last night or something," Tatta said, before munching on the bread he had for breakfast.

"Wow, I didn't know I could hit that hard."

Kuina let out a light chuckle, Chishiya smirking next to you. You flitted your glance towards the two, raising an eyebrow in question. Kuina caught your expression, giving you a playful shake of her head.

"Tell them why, Tatta."

Tatta let out his own tiny smile. "Well, from what I've heard, someone snuck laxatives into his drink last night. He downed it right after he got out of the pool and realized you guys were gone."

You let out a snort, turning your attention to Chishiya. The platinum blond avoided your gaze, though a playful smile was on his lips. He stated defiantly, "It wasn't me."

"Oh, it was definitely me," Kuina beamed. She then threw Chishiya a pointed glance. "Wonder who gave me those drugs though."

"Still wasn't me," he replied cooly, crossing his arms.

"You are unhinged," you laughed at him.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

[maxispixels]

We were here once - The skatepark

Hobie Brown x GN!Reader

3/6(?)

Part 1 > Part 2 > Part 3

2.2k words

Ah London. You ran away from that city a long time ago, but there are things you can't escape forever. Feelings, for one. So you come back, tracing the fading footsteps of your past, hoping to see the boy you left behind.

Warnings: general teenage angst, self indulging Im14andthisisdeep

“But it’s okay that you’re going.

You need to. And I want you to have everything.”

You wanted to believe you were mistaken. After all, you had been gone for a long time, the kind of time that blurs edges and rewrites maps in your head. But no matter how many turns you took, how hard you tried to remember, you couldn’t find it.

You were sure it was there. Between the Fish & Chips place and the launderette, yes, that had to be it.

There was only a warehouse now. Ugly and blocky, the kind of building made for forklifts and fluorescent lights, not for kids with scraped knees and too much time. At most, the stairs railings could still be skated on. It stood exactly where the skatepark should’ve been, like some architectural act of erasure. 

Your heart swelled with grief, or disbelief, or some explosive cocktail of both. You didn’t want to believe it, but what else could you believe? They’d paved over the place like it was nothing, built a coffin of corrugated metal right on top of all those memories.

It felt blasphemous. To bury a place like that under concrete and storage racks, as if the skatepark hadn’t been a church, a holy ground for the kids around. A sanctuary built of asphalt and splintered plywood and the smell of melting rubber. They covered it like a grave, face down, no headstone.

Anger prickled at the edges of your sadness. 

It only slightly eased at the sight of the graffitis splashed across the iron sheets. Layers on layers, some fresh, some sun-faded, some half-scrubbed away. Proof that not everyone had forgotten. You jumped over the pitiful attempt at a fence, easily trespassing to look at the art closer. It was colorful and lively on top of the rusting plates. Your fingers traced the outline of a large ‘S’ spelling spider or something, and you were close enough to almost smell the fumes of spray paint. Maybe it was just your memories catching up to you.

It reminded you of your own tags under the ramps, shaky lines sprayed in the shadows, hands trembling with cold or adrenaline, you were never sure which. You remembered crawling under there on rainy days, when the park was empty, the air thick with wet concrete. You had to step over the shaky metal armatures like webs, sitting in between them. You left your trace, your symbols, small claims staked in fluorescent blues and cracked black. You wanted to leave something behind. A reminder that you were here, too.

That summer, Hobie invited you to hang out at the park as well. The breeze was light with laughter and asphalt dust. It was different than when you went alone. It was the kind of evening that stretched and stretched, long past sunset, until time felt liquid and endless. The heat clung to everything; the rails, the ramps, the black-painted ground, like the whole world had been wrapped in sweat and sunshine.

You spent most of your time standing, the ground too hot to sit, pacing, watching him. Kind of ignoring his other friends, but it was okay. He wasn’t the same with you and with them anyway. You were briefly introduced to some of them, maybe Rob, and Riri, and a happy bunch you didn’t bother to get to know, not wanting to get attached to any more people.

You didn’t know how to skate, not really, and you were too proud to fall on your butt in front of Hobie. 

Hobie, of course, couldn’t stand that.

Once or twice, he shoved his board toward you. It was decorated with stickers and drawings, the edges were rugged and chewed up, taped back, held together by the power of sheer will and spite, and his voice almost made you want to try. “C’mon mate. Give it a try. Worst thing that can happen is you break something you don’t need. Like a tooth. Or your dignity.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “Pass. I’d rather not bite the curb.”

“That’s quitter talk,” he grinned. “C’mon,” his syllable dragged, “I’ll even teach you how to bail properly. Y’know, roll out, land like a stuntman. Real graceful.”

“I’m not interested in dying gracefully,” you shot back. “I’d rather not die at all.”

“Coward.” He shook his head dramatically. “Next you’ll tell me you wear knee pads.”

“You’re literally wearing knee pads.”

“That’s different. I’m stylish.”

He gave the board another push toward you, the wheels rattling over the cracks, but you didn’t take the bait.

“I’ll pass,” you said. “I’d rather keep my teeth.”

He squinted at you like he was calculating something, then raised his finger dramatically, like the world’s dumbest philosopher about to unveil some universal truth.

“Okay, but what if… you got on board and I held your hands, like some cheesy romance montage?” He waggled his eyebrows. “We could fall in love or fall on our arses, fifty fifty odds.”

“You’re daft.” You chuckled.

“But you’re laughing, so you’re daft-adjacent.”

“Laughing at you.”

“That still counts!”

You tried to glare at him, but the laughter made it impossible. It was the kind of ridiculous, pointless jokes, the ones that weren’t even funny. It was just enjoying each other’s company. 

“Alright, alright,” he said, still grinning. “But seriously, you sure you don’t wanna try? Just once?”

“Nah.” You kicked a loose pebble across the pavement. “I just wanna watch you.” The words slipped out too easily, like a truth you forgot to keep locked up.

He stilled for a second, like maybe he heard the weight behind it, but if he did, he let it go.

And shit, he looked so cool out of uniform. Ripped-sleeve punk band tee, arms all awkward and too-long like a lot of teenage boys, but somehow it worked on him. You tried not to look too hard at the way the sun caught the sharp lines of his biceps, or the flash of skin peeking above his belts when his shirt rode up.

The way he moved though, that you couldn’t look away from. The way he carved smooth lines into the world like it was the easiest thing. You wanted to memorize it. To trap his motion in your brain, hold onto it like it might mean something later (it did) (it meant everything).

Your eyes followed him, the flicker of muscle under his skin, the way his arms floated almost gracefully as he balanced, the effortless way his wheels kissed the edges of ramps. He moved like gravity was more of a suggestion than a rule. Like he trusted the air to catch him if the ground didn’t.

And the worst part? It wasn’t even for show. He wasn’t trying to impress anyone. He was just in it, loving the rhythm of it, the challenge, the feeling of cutting through time and space like it belonged to him.

You swore in some other world, he found a way to fly.

And now, standing here, years later, you feel like the biggest idiot in the world. He never cared about looking stupid. Not once. You could’ve let him hold your hands, let him teach you how to wobble across the concrete. Could’ve made an excuse to fall straight into his arms and laugh about it after. He wouldn’t have judged you. He probably would’ve found it hilarious. You rested your forehead against the cold wall.

At some point, when the sun was too high for any kind of exercise, even in London, you both had crawled under the ramp for a break. He flopped down beside you, his head tilted back to look up at the underside of the ramp. Tags, shitty drawings, great drawings. Names, whispers, all the people there before you. 

He pointed a finger at one tag in particular, a messy, half-legible scrawl in dripping blue. “That one’s sick,” he said, tracing over the edges of the letters like they might spell something if you squinted hard enough. “Feels real, y’know? And I really like the style. See that curve there? The energy?”

Your heart swelled in your throat. It was yours. You knew that. But you didn’t say anything. Pride and embarrassment collided in your throat, making your words thick and heavy like tar. You wanted to claim it, to hear what he’d say if he knew, but you were scared, too. Scared he’d laugh, or think it was stupid. Scared to want his approval that badly.

“You think so?” was all you managed.

“Yeah. It’s got… I dunno. It’s just neat.” He grinned, and the glint off his lip ring caught the sun, a tiny spark you’ll never forget.

“Yeah, yeah. I think it’s… Cool. I guess.” You shrugged like you hadn’t been quietly living off that comment for the following years. Hell, you wouldn’t have kept up with the hobby if it wasn't for that one moment.

You wished you told him, now. It could’ve been one more thing you had in common, one more thing to bond over, alongside modding consoles and swapping burned CDs. 

There was this one time — maybe that same day, maybe another, memory made a mess of time — when the air caught wrong.

It wasn’t even a dramatic trick. It was merely a turn taken too sharp, a wheel clipping the edge of a crack, and suddenly Hobie was eating pavement, the sound of skin scraping concrete sharp enough to make you wince.

He grunted, hissed through his teeth, and before you could think, you were already kneeling beside him, half your bag spilled across the ground, your markers, your electronics, your tickets. Your hands shook as you unscrewed your water bottle, pouring too much too fast over his palms, water running pink where it hit raw skin.

Your heart was loud, louder than the train rumbling somewhere in the distance, all adrenaline and something else you didn’t have a name for yet.

“Shit—” he tried to hide his wince, “fuck, I’m gonna sue the wind. Proper betrayal.” 

You snorted despite yourself, but you saw the way his eyebrows pulled together, his breath catching around the edges. A lot of things you’ve forgotten, but not the look of pain in his eyes.

“Shut up. Stop moving.” You scolded him, voice trembling slightly, which made it a lot less intimidating than you hoped.

“Oi oi, don’t start panickin’.” He wiggled his fingers at you, water dripping from them onto his jeans. “I’ve had much worse — see that one?” He jerked his chin toward a scar along his forearm, grinning like it was a badge of honor. “Got that from a fight with a bin, believe it or not.”

You frowned, not at the story, but at the mental image of him bleeding any more than he already was.

“Hobie.” His name came out softer than you meant, and you weren’t even sure what you were asking for. Just needed him to stop, to sit still, to let you take care of him.

He didn’t say anything, but you swore for a moment, he couldn’t look you in the eyes, his gaze fleeting and nebulous, hovering somewhere near your hands, your knees, anywhere but your face.

You remembered the sun burning down the side of your face. The scuff of your shoes against the hot pavement. The distant sound of a train, calling for you, passing behind the fence. The way his smile shrank, softened, not gone, just quieter, like maybe this meant something to him too. How even then, you couldn’t fully enjoy the moment, knowing you had already decided to leave.

You tried to play it cool, but your hand stayed where it was, wrapped around his wrist. His hand stayed too, resting easy on your knee. Neither of you moved first.

You don’t remember how it ended. That part’s gone, eaten by the wispy statics filling the gaps in your memory. Maybe one of his friends shouted his name from across the park. Maybe you cracked a joke and stood up too fast. Maybe you both just got scared. You chose to imagine that you never let go, your silhouettes still holding each other, like nuclear shadows now tucked somewhere between a shelf and a cardboard box.

But tonight, the ramp was gone. The tags were gone. The whole skatepark was gone, and you were left standing in front of a warehouse, heart too full of ghosts, wondering how a place that once held so much could vanish without a trace. 

You pulled a marker from your pocket and pressed the tip to the wall, shaking it till ink flowed. First, just a moniker. A familiar claim, something simple. Muscle memory. You had gotten better over the years, left your nickname in cities that barely knew you, carved proof of your existence into brick and metal, under bridges and on top of buildings. But as you kept going, the words came faster, sentences spilling out like threats, like prayers, like something owed. A message to the pulsing center of Camden, to the past, to your inner child.

It was time to take London back in broad daylight.

You hated this city, but worse than hating it was the thought that it might forget you.

That he might’ve forgotten you.

Tags: @hoe-bie (assuming you still want to be tagged?)

[strayrockette]

She Should Know Part 4

THE TASTE OF SOMETHING KNEW 

Summary: New feelings and old wounds are in abundance for Y/N. Unlearning everything she knew, is a lot harder than planned. But sometimes all that is needed is help.

Warnings: Mild Angst, some fluff

Part 1🟣Part 2🟣Part 3

Masterlist—Thomas Shelby Masterlist

Life moved on in its slow, unrelenting way, and you did your best to keep pace. The well of disappointment and insecurity nestled in your chest never emptied, but you’d learned to cover it with a façade. Smiles, fleeting and strained. Creations, some half-formed, some failed entirely. Laughter, light and fleeting, never quite touching the core of you. You buried the ache under long hours of work, let it mingle with the persistent sting of distance—distance from a past you had left behind but not truly escaped.

Still, there was progress. Small, almost imperceptible steps. Waking up in the mornings without the weight of fear pressing against your ribs was new. You no longer jumped at shadows or cast nervous glances over your shoulder, expecting trouble to materialize in the form of one of Thomas’s ill-conceived schemes—or someone worse. There was a kind of peace in being surrounded by people who followed the rules, who found joy in simple routines and shared goals. It wasn’t an exhilarating life, but it was steady and quiet. A breath of fresh air after years of suffocation.

Then there was Claude.

Claude was unlike anyone you had ever known. His edges weren’t jagged or worn down by the harshness of life. His hands, though strong, didn’t carry the calluses of violence or the stains of misdeeds. He didn’t need to command attention or weave charm with ulterior motives. He was simply himself—Claude—with green eyes that held an endless calm, a boyish smile that softened even the hardest days, and a presence that was as warm and comforting as fresh bread coming out of the oven.

Yet, the thought of Thomas lingered like a shadow. Your heart twisted at the memory of him, at the chaos and damage he had wrought. Your grip on the rag tightened as you scrubbed the counter with mindless fervor, the repetitive motion a small comfort in its predictability.

“Mon cher,” Claude’s voice broke through, soft and melodic, laced with that ever-present accent that sent an unbidden warmth curling in your chest. His fingers brushed your arm—a fleeting touch, light as a whisper.

You stilled, your gaze snapping up from the counter to meet his. His green eyes studied you, searching, but without prying. They were too soft, too patient, and somehow that made them more intimidating than any piercing blue gaze you’d known. You swallowed, forcing your breath to steady.

“Oui,” you murmured, shifting under the weight of his attention. “Lost in thought.”

Claude tilted his head slightly, his lips curving into a small, knowing smile. “Busy thoughts,” he teased lightly, though his gaze lingered, brushing over the faint lines of exhaustion that etched your face. He had never pressed you for details about your life—about Birmingham, about Thomas—but his curiosity was there, quiet and unobtrusive.

“Always,” you replied softly, eyes dropping to the counter. His presence was unnervingly steady, a stark contrast to the tumult you carried within. When you looked up again, he had settled against the counter beside you, arms folded, his posture relaxed yet attentive.

“You’re staring again,” you said, a weak attempt at deflection, your heart hammering against your ribs as you turned your attention back to scrubbing the same worn spot on the counter.

Claude hummed, a low, amused sound. “And you have been cleaning the same spot for the last twenty minutes,” he retorted smoothly. His smile widened, boyish and disarming. “You are lucky Chef isn’t here. He’d have you rearranging the entire storage room by now.”

A small laugh escaped you, light and genuine. “I suppose I am lucky then,” you said, shaking your head. But your fingers fidgeted with the rag, betraying the nervous energy you couldn’t quite contain. “Did you need something?” you asked, risking another glance at him.

He shook his head, his green eyes warm, holding your gaze like a steady anchor. “I’m walking you home,” he reminded you, his tone gentle yet firm.

Your breath caught, and you nodded, the weight of his insistence settling over you. It was hard to forget that he had made this his nightly ritual, ensuring you got home safely after the long shifts at the restaurant. At first, you’d protested. You’d argued, reasoning that you were perfectly capable of walking yourself home. Claude, however, was persistent in a way that wore down even the strongest of defenses.

Initially, he had pretended it was coincidental, walking the same path as you. But you knew better. He lived on the opposite side of town, yet there he was, strolling at your pace, always a few steps behind until you relented. It was maddening—and endearing.

“I’ll get my things,” you said softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. There was no point in arguing anymore. As you turned toward the back room to fetch your coat, you caught his smile—patient, unwavering, and so full of quiet care that it sent a ripple of warmth through the icy walls around your heart.

Perhaps it wasn’t so bad, you thought, to have someone like Claude. Someone who waited, who didn’t demand but offered. Perhaps it wasn’t so bad to let the warmth in, just a little. But that thought was as terrifying as it was comforting, and as you grabbed your coat, you found yourself hoping he wouldn’t see the flicker of uncertainty in your eyes.

When you returned, Claude was waiting, the soft light of the café catching the warmth in his gaze. He didn’t rush you, didn’t comment on the time you had taken. He simply smiled, and in that moment, the air felt lighter.

“Shall we?” he asked, holding the door open for you.

You stepped out into the cool night air, your heart racing as you fell into step beside him. His presence at your side was steady, unshakable, and for the first time in a long time, you felt something akin to safety.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Did you mention that Claude was persistent? Because he was. His kind of persistence wasn’t the loud, aggressive type. It was quieter, more patient, but no less relentless. You laughed softly, almost incredulously, as you watched him navigate your small kitchen like he belonged there. His movements were graceful, as if he had done this a thousand times before.

“Honestly, Claude,” you said, your voice tinged with a mixture of exasperation and amusement, “I can cook for myself just fine.”

His fingers didn’t falter as he sliced through a carrot with practiced ease. The rhythmic sound of the knife against the cutting board punctuated the silence before he spoke. “You are tired, mon cher,” he said, his tone carrying a gentle resolve. He glanced up briefly, his green eyes meeting yours with a warmth that made your breath hitch. “In many ways. Let me help.”

It wasn’t a command, nor a suggestion. It was a soft plea, and something about it hit you harder than it should have. Your brows furrowed as you sank into the creaky kitchen chair, suddenly feeling the weight of everything you had been holding at bay. The walls you had built felt flimsy, the steady cadence of his voice unsettling them in ways you didn’t fully understand.

Your eyes watered, and you blinked rapidly, as if that could banish the sting. It was stupid—unbelievably stupid. He hadn’t said anything groundbreaking. And yet, the way his green eyes held yours, unwavering and steady, spoke volumes. His voice softened when he said “let me help,” the words cradling something deeper, something unspoken. It wasn’t just about dinner. It couldn’t be.

Help with what? Dinner, just this once? The ache in your chest that had never quite gone away? The chaos in your mind that refused to quiet? The parts of you that still couldn’t trust, still couldn’t believe someone like Claude could exist without an ulterior motive? The questions swirled, tangling with the rawness of your emotions.

You dropped your gaze, your fingers brushing absently over the rim of your wine glass. The cool surface grounded you, but only slightly. “You didn’t exactly give me a choice, Claude,” you said quietly, the faintest tremor in your voice. You forced a small, bitter smile as you added, “You’re very persistent.”

He sighed softly, the sound so gentle it seemed to blend with the simmering pot of stew on the stove. Setting the knife down, he picked up the cutting board and scraped the neatly chopped herbs into the pot. The aroma of simmering herbs and broth filled the room, a comforting scent that did little to ease the tension in your chest.

“You’re worth it, mon cher,” he said, his voice low but firm. He turned to look at you then, the sincerity in his gaze so piercing it made your throat tighten. “I think, you forget this.”

The words landed with the weight of a stone in your chest. Your heart clenched painfully, and your lips trembled as you pressed them together, trying to hold back the flood threatening to spill. You didn’t know how to respond, didn’t know how to reconcile the ache in your chest with the warmth his words ignited.

The room was quiet save for the bubbling stew and the faint sound of your unsteady breath. Claude didn’t press. He didn’t push or demand more from you than you could give. He simply turned back to the stove, stirring the pot with careful attention, as though his only purpose in that moment was to ensure the stew didn’t burn.

You stared at him, at the way his shoulders moved, steady and strong, at the way he seemed so sure of what he was doing—both with the meal and with you. He wasn’t Thomas. He wasn’t chaos or manipulation or control masquerading as care. He was Claude, with his green eyes and quiet persistence and words that lingered in the air long after they were spoken.

Your finger traced the edge of the wine glass again, and this time, the tears fell silently and your lip trembled as you glanced at your glass. You didn’t realize how much a part of you had craved to hear those words from anyone but yourself. How often had you imagined Thomas saying it to you. Choosing you. Staying with you. He never did, 'Obviously'. Yet, in the here and now with Claude in your kitchen, in your life, a small part wondered if that had been a good thing. To not be chosen by Thomas Shelby despite how much your heart had craved his love and affection.

Claude didn’t turn around, didn’t acknowledge the tears slipping silently down your cheeks. Not directly, anyway. But he didn’t need to. His movements were unhurried and calm as he stirred the pot of stew, his back to you. The quiet between you wasn’t heavy—it wasn’t demanding or awkward. It was… patient. Like him.

The bubbling of the stew filled the space, a rhythmic, soothing sound that seemed to match the steady cadence of his breathing. He reached for a wooden spoon and, with practiced ease, dipped it into the pot. He tasted the broth, nodding slightly to himself before adding a pinch of salt and stirring again. The aroma of the meal enveloped the room, rich and savory, wrapping itself around you like a comforting blanket.

You wiped at your cheeks hastily, frustrated with yourself for letting your emotions spill over. When you glanced up again, Claude had turned, a bowl in one hand. He didn’t speak, didn’t comment on the redness in your eyes or the way your fingers fidgeted. 

Instead, he set the bowl down gently in front of you, along with a spoon. “Eat,” he said softly, the command wrapped in a kindness that didn’t leave room for argument.

You hesitated, looking down at the steaming stew. The rich, earthy scent of herbs and vegetables filled your senses, a quiet reminder of how little you’d eaten lately. Your stomach twisted from the vulnerability of the moment. You looked back up at him, unsure, only to find his green eyes waiting for yours, steady and unyielding but not overbearing.

“I’ll make a bowl for myself,” he said, as though he could read the reluctance on your face and wanted to ease it. “We’ll eat together.”

You nodded, the small gesture all you could muster as your voice caught in your throat. He returned to the stove, ladling stew into another bowl with the same care he had given to yours. When he joined you at the table, the chair across from you creaked slightly under his weight as he sat down.

Claude didn’t rush you. He didn’t press you with questions or try to coax you into talking. He simply started eating, his movements slow and unhurried, as if to remind you that there was no expectation here. You watched him for a moment, the way his shoulders relaxed, the soft hum of approval he gave as he savored the stew. It was a sound so small and genuine that it made your chest ache all over again.

You picked up your spoon, the warmth of the bowl radiating into your hands. The first bite was tentative, the flavors rich and grounding. For a few moments, the stew was all you could focus on—its warmth, the way it spread through you like a quiet reassurance that you were, at least in this moment, cared for.

Claude glanced up at you, his gaze softening as he saw you eat. He didn’t smile—he didn’t need to. The slight relaxation in his expression said enough. “Good?” he asked simply.

You nodded, swallowing the bite before murmuring, “It’s perfect.”

He hummed softly, returning to his meal, but not before reaching for the wine bottle on the table. He poured a little more into your glass without asking, his movements deliberate and thoughtful. “You’ve worked hard today,” he said, not as a question but as a fact. “You deserve to rest.”

The lump in your throat returned, but this time, it wasn’t from sorrow. It was something softer, something that made you want to believe him, even if part of you still doubted. You sipped the wine, letting the quiet between you stretch. The room felt smaller, cozier, the air tinged with the warmth of the meal and the man sitting across from you.

Claude’s presence wasn’t overwhelming. It was steady, a quiet assurance that he didn’t need you to fill the silence or explain yourself. His way of offering comfort wasn’t in words or grand gestures, but in the way he shared the space with you, letting you take what you needed at your own pace.

When the bowls were empty, he stood, gathering the dishes without a word. You moved to protest, to take them from him, but he waved you off with a slight shake of his head. “You sit,” he said firmly but gently, carrying the bowls to the sink.

You stayed where you were, your fingers tracing the rim of your wine glass again. For the first time in a long time, the ache in your chest felt… quieter. It wasn’t gone—it never fully was—but it had receded, softened by the warmth of the meal, the steadiness of his presence, and the quiet way he reminded you that you didn’t have to carry everything alone.

“Claude,” you said softly, your voice breaking the silence as he rinsed the bowls. He turned, looking over his shoulder at you, waiting. The words you wanted to say caught in your throat, too big and too raw to voice just yet. So you settled on the simplest truth. “Thank you.”

His lips curved into a small smile, one that didn’t need words to say everything you couldn’t. He nodded, turning back to the sink, leaving you to sit with the quiet warmth that had settled in your heart. For now, it was enough.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Taglist: @mysticalpandora, @ultimatreality@lovecleastrange@watercolorskyy@rockerchick05@lyarr24@automaticwizardnerd@mysticalbouquetwolf-posts, @chlorrox, @lothbrokcore, johnmurphys-sass, @allie131313, @meadows5, @immyowndefender, @jbrownta, @mokanesa,

A/N: Thank you so much for making it this far 💕I actually had to rewrite this chapter because I wasn't feeling the last one. This feels better than what I originally planned. Claude was literally going to be a minor character. he appeared briefly in Part 2 near the end. Somehow his persistence transcended the second chapter and he fought for a more prominent role for our ole gal🤣❤️

Anywhoooo, please comment, like, and reblog🫰❤️

[hard-core-super-star]

Random thought popped into my head but it's about vampire Kate x reader. What if reader was a witch of some sort who got her heart broken because Kate is an fboy and became terrified and left when she realized how much she loved the reader but came crawling back a year later because she needed reader's witchy help and they ended up casually flirting because they clearly still have feelings for each other and stuff

ain't that the kicker [K.Bishop]

pairing: vampire!kate x reader

summary: the morning after your late-night encounter with kate doesn't go quite as planned...and neither does the day after that or the day after that. [aka you and kate have way more issues than you thought]

warnings: none, i think?; did somebody order angst?; so much tension, you need more than one knife; i rob you of a longer wanda scene; cliffhanger ending because this got too long; weird vampire powers that are badly explained; very long dream sequences; a surprising lack of actual vampire stuff [i badly need to rewatch first kill]; idiots in love but emphasis on the idiots!

wodcount: 3.2k

a/n: hey everyone, my motivation was pretty dead for a while but, unsurprisingly, vampire kate brought it back! and before you all freak out, YES! THERE WILL BE ANOTHER PART! and maybe it'll be less sad and more spicy, who knows? anyway, thank you so much for sticking with me and my constant disappearing act. my second year at university is wrapping up so hopefully you’ll see more of me this summer ;) that's all i have to say, hope you enjoy <3

part one | part three | part four

* * * * * * *

Saying going home with Kate Bishop had been a bad idea would be a massive understatement.

You knew being alone with the heir of Bishop Security would come with problems but the problems all seemed relatively small compared to the continuous waves of pleasure you had been under all night.

To be fair, though, you never expected a grainy picture of you on Kate's lap to be part of that list of problems. You had expected some awkwardness from the charming brunette, the usual "we can't do this again" speech while actively making out in some random storage closet, maybe even some weird looks from your co-workers to further complicate things.

Your original plan had featured everything except you going viral overnight and waking up to the biggest PR disaster to ever hit Bishop Security. (Which is saying a lot considering the many one-night stand scandals Kate always finds herself wrapped up in)

You had so many ideas of what the morning after would be like but none of them included you waking up to an empty bed and a large pit in your stomach that tells you you fucked up big time.

Maybe it had been your fault, maybe you had been too naive for thinking you could really have it all.

Or maybe Kate was right. Maybe she had a longer list of enemies than you had been willing to entertain.

There were far too many “maybe’s” in your mind, an overwhelming amount of notifications on your phone, and you had no idea where Kate had gone.

You’re not sure how long you spend scrolling through Twitter and avoiding all the texts filled with unanswerable questions from your co-workers but eventually, you manage to regain control of yourself and get up from the archer’s ridiculously comfortable bed. You do your best to ignore how shaky your legs are as you get dressed, your mind unfortunately drifting to the night before.

You manage to find your way to the kitchen where there's a full spread of, slightly burnt, breakfast waiting for you. Your heart swells as you read the messy handwriting on the post-it note next to the biggest stack of pancakes you’ve ever seen.

Morning, sunshine. I didn’t know what you were in the mood for so I made a bit of everything. Eat as much as you can, you’ll need a lot of food and water to recover from last night ;) - Kate

It’s impossible to stop the wave of relief that crashes into you after reading that.

As impossible as it feels, you allow yourself to believe things will be fine. That Kate will stick by your side after opening up to you about her supernatural abilities.

But the fantasy doesn’t last long.

You’re halfway through your breakfast when you hear the front door slam shut with so much force you briefly wonder if the hinges came off. It takes no more than fifteen seconds for the archer to appear in front of you, her shoulders tense and an unreadable storm in her eyes.

Her posture already tells you the answer to the question forming on your lips but you ask anyway. “Everything okay?”

She seems almost startled by the sound of your voice as if hearing you makes you real.

It makes the mess you’re both in real.

“No,” she sighs. “I have some shitty news.”

“Shittier than being called a slut by all of New York?” You reply, unable to stop the urge to make her smile.

Kate doesn’t fully smile but she does let out a small chuckle, her shoulders dropping into a less tense position as the sound escapes her. “Yeah…shittier than that.”

You should’ve known where the conversation was headed. Should’ve realized there was no way you’d be able to have it all. No way for you to continue with your life as if nothing had happened.

Maybe you are too naive because you truly didn’t see her next sentence coming.

“y/n…I have to fire you and we...we can’t do this again. This has to be goodbye.”

Everything crashes into you at once.

The realization of what you’ve actually done, the stupid ease with which Kate is cutting you out of her life, the betrayal of her practically kicking you out onto the streets. You’re not an idiot, you know there’s no way you’ll be able to keep your apartment, your humble yet expensive life in New York, without your job.

Without her.

“You…you’re serious? You’re throwing me out just like that?”

“It’s not easy for me either-”

“It looks pretty damn easy, Kate.” You scoff.

“You’re not the one who spent her whole morning getting chewed out by her mom.” Her words come out like an afterthought, like she knows just how badly she’ll fuck up if you hear the annoyance behind them.

Unfortunately for her, you hear her loud and clear.

“Oh, come on. That’s your excuse? You had one bad conversation with your mom and suddenly I don’t mean anything?”

She doesn’t reply and her silence only serves to stoke the flames of fury and resentment rising within your chest.

“Do you know how many death threats I’ve gotten in the last hour? How many coworkers have tried to blackmail me already? Do you understand just how much of my life this has ruined? And you have the audacity to act like you have it hard?”

“Don’t pretend like you know anything about my life,” she spits back. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it, Katherine. If I didn’t know you, if you didn’t care, why the hell did you tell me your dirty little secret?”

She blinks, taken aback by the hard-hitting truth you throw her way.

If you didn’t know her, you wouldn’t notice the way she nervously fidgets with her fingers or the way she bites down on her lower lip while she tries to come up with something to say. If you didn’t know her, you wouldn’t know she’s hurting underneath.

You do know her, though, but knowing her isn’t enough if she’s not willing to let you stay.

So, because you do know her…you walk away.

It feels like giving up in the most infuriating of ways but it’s the only thing you can do. If Kate’s mind is made up, there’s no amount of reason that will get her to change. That’s another thing about her you’ve learned the hard way.

So you swallow your pride and walk away with no plan, no job, no way of supporting yourself. If you were a more spiteful person, you would have applied for a job at Stark Industries but instead, you do the second hardest thing you’ve ever done.

You restart.

It’s a bitter defeat and still, you pack up your things and pay an old friend a visit.

You had left Wanda behind after the Westview fiasco but she’s the only person you can think of running to after your entire life went up in flames. All it takes is one quick spell and the realization that a life without dark magic isn’t one you can live before you’re standing on the porch of her small cabin in the middle of nowhere.

Saying she’s disappointed would be an understatement, especially since she explicitly warned you not to fall in love with Kate Bishop. It’s hard to believe the witch knew about Kate’s vampire secret but you also wouldn’t be surprised if she knew what awaited you the second you left for New York.

Unfortunately, you had to learn things the hard way.

You could write multiple books on everything you’ve learned the hard way.

At the top of that list, though, is the true extent of a certain archer’s vampire powers.

It takes less than a month for Kate to reach you again…through your dreams. Dreams that feel far too real and leave you a tad bit more breathless than you’ll ever be willing to admit.

The first time it happens, you assume it’s one of Wanda’s new tricks, maybe it’s her way of helping you cope with what (or rather who) you’ve left behind. You think it’s weird but maybe a tad bit sweet and you make a mental note to ask her about it in the morning.

It’s not until you realize that you’re actively thinking that you start to worry.

To make matters worse, you’re inside Kate’s apartment…and she quite literally stumbles out of her bedroom to see you standing in the middle of her living room.

“Oh, shit.” She groans.

Your heart skips a beat at the sound of her voice. You know you’re just dreaming and yet it all feels so real. It’s like you can feel her eyes on you, hear the way your heart won’t stop pounding in your ears.

Your confusion must be written all over your face because she answers your question before you can even ask it.

“Yes, you are dreaming but this isn’t like a normal dream.”

“What the fuck happened to you not being a mind reader?” You blurt out.

You wait for that stupid smirk of hers to appear, maybe with a half-assed shrug and a semi-charming joke, but it never comes. “My dream, my rules, I guess.”

“That still doesn’t explain what’s going on.”

A beat of silence goes by before she sort of gives you an answer. “I can explain but you might hate me afterwards.”

The look in her eyes says more than you can possibly handle right now. You’ve never known Kate to be particularly insecure but all you can see in those blue depths is fear and insecurity. Fear that your feelings for her have changed, that you already hate her and never want to hear from her again.

Too bad you’ve never been good at lying.

“Try me.”

The corners of her mouth quirk up into a small smile. “Long story short, we’re bonded. That’s why we’re in each other’s dreams.”

There’s a bigger question to be asked but you’re still a little freaked out by how real this all feels. By how intense your feelings for her still are.

“But this isn’t like a normal dream, is it?”

“Nope, perks of having vampire powers.”

“So, you can do everything except read minds?” You can’t help but tease her like all the times before. “That sucks.”

“Shut up,” she says with an over-dramatic roll of her eyes.

A calm silence falls over both of you and you hate how normal it feels. How just like that, you forget your anger and the betrayal you’ve felt every minute since the day you left New York in favor of falling for her stupidly enchanting self all over again.

It doesn’t help that with every second, the distance between you gets smaller and smaller.

You don’t know who takes the first step, all you know is you blink and suddenly she’s standing right in front of you, those soft blue eyes of hers searching for the truth you can’t hide.

“y/n,” she murmurs, her hand tentatively reaching out to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “I’m sorry, I know this isn’t what you wanted.”

She’s technically not wrong, leaving because of her incapability to deal with her feelings was the last thing you wanted, but it’s not like you had any other choice.

She didn’t give you any other choice.

And now she’s here, staring at you with that wounded puppy look she so effortlessly embodies.

“I wanted you,” you whisper in response. “When are you going to get that through your thick skull?”

She chuckles, the sound warm but nervous. Her hand moves to cup your face and her touch is so soft, it leaves you breathless for a moment. “Never, I’m too stubborn for that, remember?”

You can’t help but tease her as the atmosphere shifts into something more affectionate than you’d like. “How could I forget? It’s your worst trait.”

“Ouch. Is that how you treat your favorite vampire?”

“Aw, poor little vampire baby.”

You wait for her to make one of her usual jokes but she doesn’t.

Instead, her eyes drift down to your lips and your mind instantly goes blank.

There’s an endless list of reasons why you shouldn’t do it. Just because it’s a dream doesn’t mean it isn’t a bad idea. Then again…when has that ever stopped you from being with Kate Bishop?

It’s subtle but you lean forward just enough to give her the invitation she’s too much of a gentleman to ask for. Her eyes widen the slightest bit before she meets you in the middle, the space between your lips becoming nonexistent in the span of a few seconds.

You try your hardest to hold on to your self control, to not seem as desperate as you’ve felt since that first night, but it’s useless. Your hands grip the front of her shirt in an attempt to pull her closer despite how insane everything is.

You’re simply dreaming and yet you can feel every touch, every breath, every desperate effort to make your desires a reality. You would feel embarrassed if Kate wasn’t acting the same way.

Her lips leave yours only to trail down to your neck, her fangs instantly teasing the sensitive skin she finds. The anticipation builds inside your chest as she toys with you and it’s all you can do not to beg for more.

“Kate.” Her name leaves your lips in the form of a whisper that disappears just as fast as it formed.

All you hear is her sharp intake of breath before it all fades to black.

Your eyes snap open and you’re greeted with the absolute silence you’re starting to associate with Wanda’s cabin. All you can do is lay there in the darkness, your heart pounding in your ears while your fingers trace the spot Kate’s lips had just been on.

It had all felt so real and now you’re all alone again. It shouldn’t be surprising at this point and yet you still hold on to the hope Kate will come looking for you.

But she doesn’t.

All she does is haunt your dreams in the most literal way possible. She doesn’t come to find you and fix your many, many issues, instead, she simply appears in your dreams long enough to send your mind reeling without offering any solutions.

You wish you could hate her for doing this to you but you can’t.

You love her.

Worse than that, you love her more and more each night. Even though it’s not nearly enough to heal any of your wounds, and maybe it only serves to hurt you more, it’s definitely addicting.

Wanda offers to help you sever the connection between you and Kate, something about a spell she read in the Darkhold being her only assurance that she knows what she’s doing. You don’t fully trust her on that but you do consider the option for longer than you want to admit.

You reason with yourself that there are much worse things to deal with on a daily basis than highly realistic dreams, though. That being bonded to a vampire isn't the worst thing in the world.

And maybe that would be true…if the vampire in question wasn't Kate Bishop.

You don't know what possesses you to ask but the question slips out in the middle of another midnight rendezvous. It’s been a little over two month since you moved away from New York, a little over two months since you've shared these weird dreams with Kate, when you finally ask.

“What exactly did you do for us to be bonded to each other?”

The question must catch her off guard given the way her eyes widen in panic. “What?”

“You said these weird dreams happen because we’re bonded or something but you never explained how that happened.” You watch the brunette from your spot on the couch and impatiently wait for a response, for something that will help you make sense of everything.

She swallows back her nervousness but gives herself away due to the way she fidgets with the rings on her hand. “Oh, yeah, that…it’s because I bit you that night in my apartment…remember?”

Her awkwardness would be endearing if her response wasn't so damn suspicious.

“Yeah but you're a vampire, biting people is kind of your thing. You're not automatically bonded to every person you bite, right?”

A beat of silence passes before she answers, her voice shaking the slightest bit. “No that…that only happens when there are…certain feelings involved.”

It takes a second for her answer to click in your brain. For her sudden nervousness to hold real meaning.

The answer hits you like a train and it makes your blood boil like nothing else.

“Kate, tell me that doesn't mean what I think it means. Tell me you didn't fire me because you were too afraid of having feelings for me.”

“y/n-”

“For fuck’s sake, Kate!”

The sudden frustration in your voice makes her jump, hundreds of meaningless explanations forming on the tip of her tongue.

You don't hear a word she says.

You can't hear anything besides the pounding in your heart and the devastation that threatens to swallow you whole.

You always knew being with Kate would be impossible but this was something else entirely. This wasn't a lack of feelings between you two, this was too many feelings and too many miles of distance and not one ounce of regret from her.

You're not sure when you stood up from your spot or when she approached you, you simply feel her hand on your waist and the unmistakable sound of her breathing.

“y/n,” she tries again. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m so tired of hearing you say that.”

“I know.”

The last thing you feel is her lips on the back of your neck before you wake up. Alone. Again.

Wanda must catch on to your desperation because she brings up the idea of cutting your connection with Kate that same morning.

“It’ll only be temporary,” she assures you. “No offense but you need sleep more than you need Kate Bishop.”

“I’m a little offended,” you grumble in response.

Despite your reservations, and the voice in the back of your head that tells you running away again is a bad idea, you go along with her plan. She's right, after all. You definitely need some time away from Kate Bishop and her never-ending messes.

The spell is simpler than you expect and it, thankfully, requires pretty much no effort on your part and no weird liquids.

It does also bring the best sleep you’ve had in months so you can’t complain…even when you wake up missing the sound of the archer’s voice.

You still miss her every day and you're sure that won't change any time soon but you welcome the peace with open arms.

Wanda spends her time teaching you random spells while you help her build a nice flower garden in the backyard. It's weird but…comforting.

You could even get used to life out here someday.

At least, that's what you keep telling yourself as the weeks go by.

Until Kate shows up unannounced and flips your world upside down again with those same soft eyes you fell on love with all those months ago.

[wonislife17]

POV: Yang Jungwon confronts you after the strange encounter during the lecture. Can your brain help you get out of this one?

Here are the first two parts: Pt1 (Your Pov), pt2 (Jungwon's POV)

pairing: reader x yang jungwon

WC: 1159

A/N: I guess I got inspired after watching En-drama ep2 and now it's 2AM again, was listening to 'First Impressions' by Shigeru Nagata (from the Studio Ghibli movie Ocean Waves) while I was writing this, Jungwon is kind of emotionally not so smart, Reader is a female, y/n has some braincells at least [i hope], I really tried, 'shit' is the only cussword used. Let me know if you want a pt4... I hope you enjoy! <3 ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

'WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE'S LOOKING AT ME!?'

You never thought that he would even cast a glance your way. Your predictions were wrong. WHY is he looking at you?! You hurriedly look away. You saw it. The smirk. That damn knowing smirk. 'Shit.' You knew you had to get out of here. Thankfully, there's only 3 minutes left in the lecture now, so you already start to pack your things.

By the time the professor dismisses you, you're already half-way out of your seat, ready to hightail it out of there.

You rush. Pushing past people, murmuring apologies. It's life or death. Your pulse is in your ears. Your hands are cold and clammy. The door is in sight. Within arm’s reach. You're going to make it.

At least, that's what you think, before a warm hand grabs your wrist and pulls you slightly away from the doorway.

'No. NO!'

(That metaphorical sound of glass cracking, is the last bits of your sanity breaking away.)

You hesitate, then look. Honey skin. Sparkling Cola. That damn smirk.

You feel your face getting warm before you can try to control it. Not that it would work, but because you wanted to try.

"Hi." He leans in slightly. 'Gosh, his voice sounds prettier- no. Focus. You're not some girl who's going to be taken by some pretty, charming- no.' You internally shake your head, perishing the thought.

"Hello." You respond, unsure of how this is going to play out. He chuckles.

"Why pretend? I know it's you." He says teasingly.

"Me? What do you mean?" You tried to push certainty in your voice, cringing as it tremored.

"You know what I mean. You're the one who's been staring at me during these lectures. You know that's creepy, right?" Jungwon says, calm. Confident. But not unbothered.

"You don't know if it was me looking-"

"We both know it was you."

You scowl. "Just because you saw me looking at you once, doesn't mean that I'm someone who spends the entire lecture slot looking at you."

"But this isn't the first time. (Y/N), right? I saw you at the grocery store the other day. When I caught you staring at me. You know, if you want to, you're free to take a photo."

Somehow, that's worse. You can feel your heartbeat stutter in your chest.

"And why would I waste my phone storage on that!?" You snap, trying to pull yourself out of this wreck, but somehow digging yourself deeper into it.

Jungwon smirks as he leans in a little more. "It's nothing to be embarrassed about, you know." Something you can't quite recognize flashes in his eyes when he does so. He realizes he's too close for decency's sake and straightens. "I'm flattered. Really. But I'd have to turn you down." He keeps his tone lighthearted, hoping that would soften the blow.

You sigh. "Turn me down? I didn't even ask you out or do anything that would make you think that I would."

"Your staring gave me enough information."

You roll your eyes, feeling like your mind is both reeling and a lump forming in your throat. You yank your hand away, and your fingers fiddle with the strap of your bag. "Well, it's not like matters anyway, right? I need to go." You leave, not wanting Jungwon to see your disappointment. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Truth be told, Jungwon himself doesn't know why he grabbed your wrist. He could tell you were trying to leave, to remain unseen in his eyes, but the idea of just letting you go without talking about it made something in his chest twist and squirm. Luckily, he's fast, and was able to catch up to you in no time. He recalls how your skin felt under his hand. Soft. A little cold, most likely during the AC, but it wasn't deterring him from holding on.

During that conversation, he didn't realize he was leaning in like that until he caught the familiar hint of vanilla that usually clings to your form. Soft, subtle. It's not like him to just... lean in like that. 'The doorway is quite crowded, and considering we're standing close by, I want to make sure she hears me...' He thinks to himself.

If it wasn't for you yanking your hand away, he would've probably forgotten to let go.

'Why was I so eager to talk to her anyway? That's not like me... Most likely just excitement from finding out someone is interested...' He quickly rationalizes, as he watches you leave. 'Besides, I already turned her down. Life will go back to normal, and that's exactly what I need right now.'

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

As soon as you got out of the lecture hall, you were already on your way back to your apartment. 'No ways. I'm never stepping a foot in that lecture hall again. Oh my gosh I want the earth to just open and swallow me at this point!' You wanted to hide under your blankets until the end of the semester. It was a broken record in your mind.

Honey skin. Sparking cola. That damn smirk.

You even recalled how he was looking at you before you were looking at him. 'It's not like there was a lot of time until the lecture ended anyway. It was like, what, 10 minutes? And he just had to be looking at me at that time. Wait. Was he already looking at me?' You pause, letting your mind go through the moment again, with purpose. 'He was. Wait a moment.' You pause, going over the entire interaction in your head, driving in your car to your apartment. ' Why was I even... floundering like that? I didn't even need to- dammit, I assumed. I assumed he knew, and because I assumed he knew, I panicked... no... it wasn't mean to play out like this!' He was looking at me first! He even knows my name! You clutch the steering wheel tighter.

"Why didn't I ask him why he was- no! I could've deflected. Asked him why he was staring at me!" You exclaim, realizing you could've avoided this entire shame show if your brain decided to be aware during the interaction.

'Since that's what happened, I have no reason to be embarrassed. If anything, it just means that he should be embarrassed instead, and I need to prove to him- no. I don't need to prove anything to him. I... my first focus is getting through this semester. Come on, (y/n), you don't have to worry about a single thing. Besides, who wants to show up to class on Tuesday at 08:30 in the morning? I could sleep in instead... maybe join my friends at their Wednesday 12:30 lecture... that's it. It's all coming together...' By the time you get back to your apartment, your earlier turmoil has been resolved.

That next Tuesday, for the first time in 2 months, you skip the 08:30 lecture.

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

pt4

[cheriladycl01]

The month of winning - Alex Albon x ZimbabweanOlympicSailing! Reader

Plot: As an old money girl, having been part of your dads sailing club for years you become an athlete, getting a silver medal for your country and a new boyfriend!

You and Alex new it was going to be a busy few weeks, You'd been training hard for the Olympics your whole life. Your dad was part of a fancy yacht and sailing club in your home town. And he was a very very wealthy man, some of the yachts he sold ended up in places of the world like Monaco.

You'd grown up with just your dad, and were homeschooled and were constantly helping him with the boats and that started your love for sailing as a sport. You started to compete in championships when you were old enough and your father had taught you everything you know about the sport.

Everyone you grew up with and Alex came to watch you at the Paris Olympics. And it was a moment to remember getting silver. You were stood on the podium your flag flying in the wind making the biggest grin ever to appear on your face.

You could see Alex and your dad in the stands cheering loudly for you, making you wave and blow them a kiss.

After your win, you wanted to travel home to see all your old friends and family who couldn't go all the way to France for the Olympics, and wanted to congratulate you on your win. It was the off season for Alex too, so you both got to spend loads of time sightseeing Zimbabwe.

Alex loved animals, mainly pets but that didnt stop him from freaking out when you guys took a day to go on a safari and see all the animals your dad would take you to see in the reserves as a kid.

He used probably 3 sd cards for the digital camera he brought to take pictures and filled out storage on his phone too with the amount of pictures he'd taken on just the safari alone. It was crazy, and when you asked him to take a nice picture of you, it would take him ages scrolling through to try find it when you wanted him to send it to you so you could upload it to your Instagram.

"Baby, come on its a picture of me vs a picture of a cheetah how cant you pick me out!" you laughed looking over his shoulder as he's scrolling through trying to find the picture of you at the watering hole.

"Look, I took so many of all the animals and only like 4 of you because the rest were on your phone!" he exclaims before he gasps and see's a gorgeous picture of you.

"Awwww look at my pretty baby!" he grins showing you the picture making you shake your head in disbelief.

"Right, send that to me now... before you loose it!" you chuckle. And he does air-dropping it to you there and then.

After a beautiful week in your home country it was time for the end of Alex's summer break and for him to get back in the car racing. You were excited because he'd extended his contract with Williams and you knew that even though this year wasn't going very well for them, that each race the data they were gathering making it easier to predict which upgrades were needed and worth it.

Monaco, being as historic as it was came with a few upgrades that not only had Williams buzzing but the whole paddock because it looked like they might be in the position to fight for some points this weekend unlike Alpine and Sauber who unfortunately were still struggling with various issues.

You could sense in both Alex and Logan how excited they were for these huge next steps.

"How's the car feeling this weekend? It's looking nicer to drive, more steady on both of you" you questioned the boys who both nodded with grins on their faces.

"Yeah, it's an incredible change it feels so smooth now. Like it felt like we were fighting the car before but now it's complying with us, its a great feeling!" Logan answered only for Alex to nod in agreement.

"Yeah i can definitely see us grabbing points this weekend!" Alex smiles.

Two days later on the Sunday Alex was in P11 and Logan was defending P8 incredibly well and there was only a few laps left to go. Ahead of Alex was two drivers. Yuki Tsunoda in P9 right behind Logan and Lewis in P10.

Last lap action was every fans favrioute but as a WAG it was the most stressful. Especially for you as you knew Alex, even though he was a smooth driver would start to push more than he might be able to handle.

You were stood with his mum and sister and Logans girlfriend and parents biting your nails in anticipation as he pulled up alongside Yuki and Lewis, and taking the inside line managed to overtake both of them.

A cheer came through the paddock upon realizing that Logan also just made the overtake of his career getting him up to P7, placing Lance Stroll in between the two Williams drivers.

They crossed the finish line, Logan in P7 and Alex in P9, a double points finish for Williams, the first points they'd gotten this season and the garage and pit wall went wild as you all ran out to go find the drivers to celebrate.

Alex was grinning from ear to ear in his post race interview, his eyes kept meeting yours behind the camera and interviewer making him chuckle every now and then.

"Amazing race today Alex, first points for both you and Logan. How are you feeling having this and your girlfriend winning and Olympic medal all in the same month!" she asks and his grin widens if that's possible.

"Yeah, i mean I'm so thankful to everyone this weekend for making it happen, it was definitely a long time coming getting these points but we've done it. We're happy with this weekends progression and yeah we're gonna push harder next weekend in Montreal! Obviously I'm so proud of my amazing girlfriend as well, she has worked so hard for everything she's achieved and yeah she deserves the world for the support she's given me over this weekend" he answers.

"Thank you Alex!" she smiles before letting him go and getting ready for Logan.

"What a month" he sighs pulling you into a hug and kissing the side of you head.

"What a month indeed!" you grin back.

y/user

Liked by alex_albon georgerussell63 landonorris and williamsracing

y/user: From a weekend in Zimbabwe Sailing and winning Silver to a weekend in Monaco, Fast Cars and Formula One all w/ Boo 🔥

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y/dads/user: Amazing medal sweetheart! So proud please come back soon!

-> y/user: we will! Alex loved all the animals and seeing you guys again!

fan1: so proud of this woman for bringing silver home!

alex_albon: two weekends I’ll never forget! Big celebrations incoming 🫶🏼🇿🇼🇹🇭

-> fan2: omg he put their flags together!

-> y/user: Love you Alex and I’m so great full you were there! 🫶🏼❤️

fan3: she just looks expensive, you guys know what I’m saying?

-> fan4: she comes from old money so she has those vibes!

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[writtenbyshama]

Long Way Home [Part VIII]

[Azriel x Reader fanfic]

Synopsis: Y/n is the daughter of a healer in the city of Velaris. After a small incident, she moves to the House of the Wind to work for the High Lord, Rhysand. Everyone in the house seems to welcome her except Azriel, the second in command. Even though he is just blankly polite and does not acknowledge her much, she can't help but fall for him. Does Azriel return her feelings or remain unfeelingly aloof?

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

Read Part 1 here. Read Part 7 here.

Read Part 2 here.

Read Part 3 here.

Read Part 4 here.

Read Part 5 here.

Read Part 6 here.

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

Part VIII

Since winter was settling in, there wasn't much work to do outside. My father had cast a powerful spell on the surrounding grounds to keep the water pipes from freezing, and the dead branches to always find their way to our wood stores. 

There was no work to do outside in the gardens, except harvest the fruit(if any) of the already existing plants and trees. 

It was the season of oranges and strawberries, though, and they had grown abundantly. I kept what I needed for myself, then windowed the rest to my father to sell in the market or make wine. He sent me the wine bottles which I stored in the basement underneath the villa. Father had dug it out for storing wine and made a cold storage partition for other items. 

When I was working outside, Azriel remained at a respectful distance and watched me. I had become used to it by now, and there were a couple of times where I had left some of the oranges and strawberries by the front door for him. 

It was my third round of harvesting oranges and I had put up a ladder against a tree, balancing on the rungs with a basket in one hand. I carefully plucked each fruit and deposited them in the basket. There was one fruit just out of my reach, and I leaned a bit further to try and grab it. Before I knew it, I had slipped off the rung and was tumbling on my way to ground. I didn't even have the time to scream, but Azriel intercepted just in time and scooped me up, gently landing on the ground. The ladder had fallen on its side with the basket, the fruits spilling out of it. 

"Careful," he breathed in my ear, and let me stand. 

In Cassian's arms, I had felt excitement rush through me and made my heart race. Like I was standing on a cliff and about to jump.

Azriel's arms held me like they wanted my body to understand that I was safe, and my body responded by making me feel like I was in a tranquil bliss. 

I quickly gathered the fruits, not acknowledging his presence. Leaving the ladder on its side, I entered the villa and closed the door shut. 

That night, as I sank into the hot bath, I laid my head on my forearms and watched him through the window. It was almost a month now, since he started hovering around. I didn't understand it. Why did he run away like that when we discovered we were mates, and why did he come now? 

I wanted to let him in and hear the answers from him, but not yet. I wasn't yet healed from the helplessness and humiliation I felt during the last meal we had together. 

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

Two days later, I was harvesting the remaining oranges from the first bloom. Winter rains were frequent around these parts, and I could see storm clouds gathering in the horizon. They predicted a thunderstorm later on. Azriel hadn't arrived yet, and I didn't want him to get caught in the storm. 

It began that night as I settled into bed. Azriel hadn't come at all, and it was good. The heavy rain lashed mercilessly against the windowpanes, and I fell asleep to the sound of it.

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

Tags:

@kalulakunundrum @thelov3lybookworm @hnyclover @impossibelle @sourapplex @brujitafantomatico @venuseuripedis @darling006

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

Read Part 9 here.

This fanfic can also be found in Wattpad, along with other exclusive parts like playlists and pictures. Here's the link: https://www.wattpad.com/story/358573037-long-way-home

Happy reading! <3

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

[I am overwhelmed with the amount of responses I've received for this fanfic. Thank you very much. This will be my last post of this year, as I have exams in my midst until January 7th, 2024. That's why I double posted today. A very happy new year y'all, and see you soon!]

[starlostastronaut]

DAY 16 | YOUR SWORD AND SHIELD

PAIRING: lee minho x reader

GENRE: spy au

WC: 1.14k

CW: blood and injury, reader is shot, brief crossfire (nothing is too graphic but its there)

PROMPT: "this is going to hurt like a bitch but i have to stitch up that wound"

soft minho hours! well, kinda lol (you'll see what i mean haha). he fits the spy au so much, i'm honestly happy i have one more spy au with him to do, because spy!minho is my new favourite thing. anyway, second post of the day, enjoy <3

title from meet me on the battlefield - svrcina

general masterlist here

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"Fuck!” Minho yelled, ducking back behind the wall. He gripped his gun tighter, pressing as much of his body into the wall as he could. He looked to the side, where you were in a very similar position. He immediately noticed the grimace on your face. “Are you hurt?” he whispered, looking at your hand that was pressing on your other arm unusually strongly.

You swallowed a curse and shook your head. Minho shrugged and didn't question it further, deciding to check how many bullets he had left.

Once he turned his head away, you let out something between a sigh and a moan. Your arm was on fire, and Minho couldn't know. He would worry too much, and you wouldn't complete your mission. You had to just suck it up and not let him know you were injured. Which was easier said than done when there was a bullet in your upper arm, but you would manage. You had worse injuries. After making sure Minho was busy, you checked your bullets too, hoping you didn't smear too much blood over the gun.

Next to you, Minho stood up again, firing back at your opponents. You joined him, and after a successful hit that incapacitated two of their shooters, you saw a chance to run. And Minho did too. He looked around for any snipers, but it seemed nobody was there. “Let's go before they start again,” he said, grabbing your arm and dragging you away, retreating to an empty office building nearby. You had to bite the inside of your cheek to not cry out in pain because his hand wrapped around your arm exactly in the place where the bullet was. You couldn’t hold a pain hiss, but you convinced Minho that he just grabbed you too strongly. He loosened his grip but kept his hold on you. You knew he just wanted to make sure you were with him and that he hadn't lost you when you were running, but your anxiety worsened with every second. You prayed to everyone who would listen to not let him discover the wound.

Once you were inside, he let go of you, and you sighed in relief, both at the pressure being gone and at being safe. Or, as safe as an agent hiding from their enemies can be. Minho eventually turned on his flashlight as he led you further into the building to the basement. It wasn't accidental that he chose this specific building. One of the many tunnels had an entrance in the boiler room. You stayed close to Minho, covering him from behind, your uninjured hand ready to pull out your gun at any moment.

Inside the boiler room, Minho locked the door behind you, letting his guard down a little. He hid his flashlight and turned on the light in the room. And then he froze, looking at his hand. You looked over to see what happened, and your whole body tensed. On his palm, there was a smear of red. Minho turned his head toward you.

“They got you, didn't they?” he asked, phrasing it more as a statement than a question. You knew there was no point in denying it now, not when there was clear evidence all over his hands.

You nodded. “In the crossfire. I didn't duck fast enough,” you murmured. “But it's fine, it's not even bleeding that-”

“Sit.” Minho pointed to an iron table pushed next to the wall. The room was old and no longer in use, so the agents brought in several things, such as medical equipment, weapons, spare gear, and all other sorts of things, using it as storage for everything they might need when using the tunnels. You rolled your eyes; you were perfectly fine to make it back to the base, where you could get proper medical care. But you knew that arguing with Minho was pointless, so you hopped on the table, waiting for him to find what he needed.

As your center of gravity moved, though, your head spinned. Oh. Maybe the wound was worse than it seemed. Minho came back soon, setting a few bandages and a bottle of alcohol next to you. He carefully took off your jacket, exposing your arm. Blood was smeared everywhere, drying with sweat mixed into it. Out of the darker spot, fresh blood was coming out, but there was less of it than before. Minho took a good look at it, cursing under his breath. He was running high on adrenaline and worry, but he still touched you with the utmost gentleness, being very careful with your arm.

“I need to get that out,” he decided. “It will hurt like a bitch, but I can't have you bleeding out on the way back to the base.” You knew he was right, though you were pretty sure you wouldn't bleed out. Either way, more blood loss only meant more complications. Minho reached for the bottle of alcohol, pouring a bit of it on the surgical forceps he found in the medical supplies kept in here. “I'm sorry,” he said, and then, without a warning, he poured at least half of the bottle onto your arm. Unprepared, you cried out, immediately covering your mouth with your other hand. You were safely locked in here, but the other agents could be scouting the building, and you couldn't let them discover the tunnels. Biting on your fist to keep yourself from making any sounds, you let Minho carefully take out the bullet stuck in your arm. He was as gentle as he could, but it still hurt. Closing your eyes, you let him work, focusing on your breathing to keep yourself occupied.

“It's done,” Minho announced after a while, finishing wrapping a bandage around your arm. He wiped his hands on his trousers, then looked at you, cupping your cheek with his hand to swipe his thumb over the single tear falling down your cheek. You let your head fall forward on his shoulder. Minho let you stay like that for a moment, but then he helped you back down on your feet. You still had a long way to the base, and you weren’t safe here. 

You found it sweet, the way he worried about you. It was sometimes dangerous out in the field because Minho would drop everything the moment you were in life-threatening danger, but it also made you stronger as a team because you knew you could trust him with your life.

He pressed a quick kiss on your temple. “You'll be okay. Let's get you back to the base where Seungmin can take care of you properly,” he said, placing one hand on the small of your back to support you, ready to catch you if you fell. Together, you made your way towards the entrance to the tunnels.

taglist: @stayconnecteed @saintriots @vivioluh @ivaneedssleep @jazziwritesthings @darkypooo

©starlostastronaut 2023 | do not repost/translate my work without permission

[waltwhitmansbeard]

3, 8, or 10 with dorym please? Whichever sparks your creativity more!

8. letting them collapse against your chest the second they make it through the door after a hellish day i didn't know which ask meme you were referring to so i guessed lol. setting this in a hypothetical post-c3

Zephrah makes Dorian nervous. It's not the people—every person he's met here has been the nicest person he's ever met in his life, and they've all gone out of their way to make him feel at home. It's not the culture, either, which is much quieter and more peaceful than the Silken Squall, just the way Dorian likes it. It's not not the rift to the Elemental Plane, but he's pretty sure that the Ashari have that covered, so he's not too worried.

It's Orym. He's a hero of them realm, a Very Important Person, not just to the Voice of the Tempest, but to all of Exandria. So is Dorian, who is technically—not technically, Orym would say, you're a big damn hero—but here, it's all Orym, all the time. And Dorian is not complaining; it's about time the world gave Orym his flowers, and besides, despite being a performer, Dorian's never reveled in the attention of others.

But all eyes being on Orym means that Dorian's actions reflect on him, and he's terrified of fucking things up for him. Orym has a big position with the Tempest Blades now—Dorian's definitely been told what it is, and he definitely can't remember—and the last thing Dorian wants to do is embarrass him or make the other Blades wonder where he found this blue dork he brought hom.

So mostly he stays home, the little cottage Orym once shared with Will and now shares with Dorian. There are echoes of Will all over the home—his winter clothes in storage, his training sword leaning against the fireplace, his aftershave beneath the bathroom sink—and Dorian is still figuring out how to settle in without erasing his memory. He's learned a lot about Will through the things he left behind, and he's bummed that he's never going to get to meet him. He's pretty sure they would have gotten along.

Like now, when the door to the cottage swings open and a haggard, exhausted Orym limps in, his Sentinel Shield dragging behind him. Dorian leaps off the sofa, where he had been noodling on his lute, a love song he now feels more qualified to sing. "Orym! Is everything okay? You look..." Better to let that though trail off than sound like a dick.

Instead of answering, Orym crashes headfirst into Dorian, who drops to his knees to hug him properly. He can feel every tense muscle in Orym's back loosen as he sighs into Dorian's chest. Dorian cups the back of his head, the other hand splayed across his back to keep him close. "Oh boy, you've had a day, haven't you?"

Orym tips his head to the side just enough to murmur, "I've been through worse, but gods, it doesn't feel like it."

Dorian presses a kiss to the top of Orym's head. "I'm sorry." Then he says something so wholly out of character that he catches himself by surprise. "Need me to crack some skulls?"

Orym stiffens, and Dorian could kick himself. Crack some skulls? Dorian has never said such a thing in his life, and now he's freaked Orym out, because he's a moron who doesn't know what he's doing—

Orym snorts out a laugh, straightening up to smile wryly at Dorian. "Y'know, Will used to say the exact same thing to me, whenever I was cranky."

Oh. "I...didn't know that."

"It's nice to hear it again." Orym kisses his cheek. "I think I'll take a rain check on the skull-cracking. Want to join me for a bath?"

Dorian's face instantly goes hot at the suggestion and warmth in Orym's voice. "Um, yeah, of course. You go run the water, I'll grab us some wine."

"Sounds good." And Orym kisses him again, on the lips this time, tired but smiling. As he trudges off toward the bathroom, Dorian stands and walks shell-shocked to the kitchen. Pulling wine glasses down from their cabinet, he finds himself thinking of Will—or maybe to Will, as if he were praying. Thanks for showing me what to say.

"You comin'?" comes the call from the bathroom.

"On my way!" Dorian pops the cork on a bottle of red, breathes in the fragrant bouquet. I just want to take care of him. I think we both know how much he deserves it. He heads toward the sound of running water, and he swears for a moment he feels a strong, broad hand rest on his shoulder. Dorian smiles, and he thinks that maybe he'll be able to do right by Orym after all.